#i dunno if that makes sense and maybe if i just push myself i’ll make it on

[tvrningout]

will y’all still love me if i’m not active tonight 🥺

[almostheav4n]

Tomorrow Never Came: Chapter 2

masterlist | ao3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ warnings: unspecified age gap, hints at past SA, no break-out, no y/n, no reader description, discussion of past trauma, reader develops a reliance on him, hints at a ddlg relationship in terms of a caregiver x little relationship (reader is of legal age) word count: 3,693 summary: set in Texas in the 1980s, Joel picks you up on the side of the road when headed west, you embark upon a journey of self-discovery with the help of a seasoned man a/n: lots of fluff in this chapter before it gets real - Joel honestly doesn't seem like a guy who would rush anything so he gets a little push by the reader :p

“He looks like he works with his hands & smells like Marlboro reds…”

The morning light pierces through the flimsy motel curtain as you toss over on the mattress, stuffing your face into the pillows, as you blink away your grogginess. 

The sudden pounding at your door is enough to jolt you awake as you realize suddenly it’s Joel, springing up to sit on the bed before checking the time.

“Bout ready to head out?” His voice bellows from outside the door, slower and thicker from his own sleep. You can see the outline of him through the window and it makes you hyper-aware you haven’t washed up in the slightest, quickly giving yourself a smell as you lift your arms.  

It’s easy to tumble out of bed, tripping onto the floor, attempting to hurry as you stumble over the sheets, closer to the door, “Um, I um, just need a few minutes, maybe you can get breakfast or somethin’, I dunno, Ill be ready then…” 

You huff and puff trying to find your discarded clothes from the night, cursing yourself for not washing them the night before, smelling them, and finding it honestly quite fine, thank god. 

“No…” You can hear him thinking. “Ya need’ta eat, I’ll make myself busy, take your time,” He mumbles departing with two knuckle knocks on the door as you watch his figure disappear. 

You find yourself surprised by his reaction, half expecting him to get annoyed, maybe rush you at least. You wonder deep down if it’s a trick and you’ll find his truck gone. 

The truck remains there, however, spotting it in the lot after a good half hour of scrubbing your teeth clean and taking a hot shower to wipe away any grime left by sleep. 

You knock on the only door next to you, finding that Joel isn’t it. Eventually taking it upon yourself to find him. 

It’s not hard to spot him, dressed in fresh attire, forgetting he had planned on this trip & packed for it accordingly. His handheld luggage at his side while he talks to a woman, a young woman, probably around your age as they pass a cigarette between them. She laughs at something you can’t hear as she passes it back to him. 

You are quite well aware he doesn’t owe you anything, he doesn’t owe you any sense of loyalty, in fact, you feel in debt to him. But the rock in your belly sits hard as you come to understand he is a solid man, a good man. Women will want him, he’ll inevitably attract him and it’s stupid of you to feel jealous as he leans over to talk to her, wishing it was you.

Bitterness is ugly, sits on your tongue quite heavily though, makes your fingers flex as you cough, loudly, a bit too loudly, gaining both their attention as Joel’s back straightens up before turning to you, breathing the bit of smoke left from his nostrils. 

“Ready, darlin’?” He adjusts the luggage in his hand, walking over to take the bag in your hands, once used for the new shoes, now used for all your belongings that were shoved in your utility jacket pockets, feeling lighter for the first time in months.  

You happily allow him to, nodding up to him in approval as he tosses the girl a farewell before turning back to lead you to the truck, allowing for you to cut your eyes back at her. Watching as she returns a similar annoyed expression. 

He opens the door for you before getting in on his side and sliding the bags underneath the seats, starting up the truck with a quick motion. 

“Who’s the chick?” You hum, attempting to seem as nonchalant as possible, hoping not to come across any other way.  

“Not sure, wanted a smoke, only had one left,” He shrugs, pulling the vehicle out of the lot and onto the road with a few harsh bumps. 

You nod, twiddling your thumbs in a circle as you bite your lip back, calculating your response. 

“Jealous?” 

You don't expect it, your head shooting up to find his eyes already on you, a hidden grin where his hand that’s not on the wheel, scratches at his beard as he raises one brow, teasingly. 

“Joel, I’m not…..” You shake your head, unable to stop the tremble that knocks your words apart as you attempt to correct him, “I’m not jealous.” You lie. 

“Just teasin is all, don’t waste your time worryin’ now…” He chuckles, Texan accent flowing over like honey, focusing his gaze back on the road, leaving you breathless as you feel you didn’t state your case as clearly as you could've. Feeling found out. 

You remind yourself to quit the longing glances, that could've given you away. 

You don’t even realize you’re still staring at him, lost in your own thoughts but you think you almost miss it, the quirk of the corner of his mouth, a small tinge of redness coming to his face then settling, a blush. 

Eventually, he pulls into a lot of a diner. You’re seated quite quickly, in a booth towards the back, menus handed to you as Joel immediately orders a coffee, you stick with a hot chocolate watching Joel's brow raise at that. 

“You like sweets huh?”

“I do…” You nod, gaze focused on the menu before looking up to him, “think it’s cause I’m quite sweet too…”

He smiles a bit then, the first actual smile from him, a quick flash of the teeth before disappearing under his thick beard. 

“You are… sweet.” He agrees, calculating his words before focusing his attention on the menu, giving you little time to react to his comment. 

“Need you to get real food in your system, understand?” His eyes latch onto yours as you nod, desiring the least to see him upset by your actions. 

He sets his eyes back on the menu, “Good girl.” 

Good girl. 

It’s all you can focus on when the waitress returns to drop off drinks and take orders, the wheels in your head turning over the comment, good girl, good girl, good girl. 

It isn’t until Joel says your name, alerting you to look up apologetically, ordering a nice stack of pancakes, something you haven’t had in months, allowing her to take the menus. 

The hot chocolate presented stacks high with whipped cream, you scoop up a fluff of it in your index finger, bringing it to your mouth to suck gently, gaining the confidence to speak, “Joel?” 

His gaze is stern as he looks out the window, focused on some altercation outside between two men over god knows what, “Yeah?”

“You can kiss me ‘f ya want.” You bring the mug to your lips watching as his eyes cut to you, quickly, watching a gulp go down his throat, maintaining his hard exterior nonetheless. 

“That right?” His voice is softer than ever, as if he’s whispering a secret as you nod, taking a sip. 

You wondered all night if him putting you in another room was an act of kindness or if he maybe was gay or if he didn’t even necessarily view you as anything but platonic. But you want to make yourself clear. You want him to know of your blossoming feelings.

You set the mug down, feeling the whipped cream along your upper lip, tracing your tongue over the spot to remove it, watching as he sucks in a quick breath. 

He’s swift, moving from the booth. For a quick moment, you think you may have scared him off. Instead, he slides in next to you, your body pressed between him and the wall by the booth, his burly arm snaking around your waist to pull you close to his chest, as you release a soft quick gasp before his lips connect with yours, your hands holding to his chest to sturdy yourself as his warm mouth opens onto yours feeling his tongue slip into your mouth, velvety smooth. 

You moan, too loudly for the small diner as it's absorbed into his mouth, your eyes closing, allowing him to take the lead as his mouth moves against yours roughly and eagerly as if he hasn’t kissed someone in decades, completely at his will. 

It isn’t until the sound of plates scraping against the table gains both of your attention as he breaks away suddenly, leaving a whine to linger at your lips as he turns to the waitress who doesn’t seem to care one bit as Joel releases you. 

“I’ll be back, gon’ get some fresh air…” He mumbles before sliding out of the booth, running his hands through his hair before setting his hat on, walking towards the door, and soon exiting. 

It would worry you if you couldn’t see him, walking towards a payphone outside and making a call. 

You wonder what the hurry was but busy yourself with your pancakes, sopping them up in a ridiculous amount of syrup, before digging in. 

You eat slowly watching him argue with someone on the phone, his body language showing clear agitation as you sip your beverage. 

Eventually, he comes back soon after, apologizing, “Sorry, forgot to make a call earlier…” 

He sighs deeply, tearing into his eggs, the runny yolk bleeding onto the sausage on the plate. 

“What was that about?” You hum happily, content, patting your full belly. 

“Work.” 

“Sure it wasn’t your wife?” You test the waters, never noticing a ring but just in case, to be safe. 

“Ain’t got a wife,” he stuffs sausage into his mouth, “Think Im’a type of man to smooch on ya before headin’ home to my old lady?” 

“You’re older, Joel. Usually, men like you are married…” You tease, rubbing your foot along his leg under the table 

“I'm older huh?” He smirks a bit, raising his brow, bringing his coffee mug to his lips.  

“Yeah, you’re an old man Joel…” you lean over, resting your elbows on the table as your hands cup your face in admiration, your foot still knocking against his leg.  

“What do you do?” You question, desiring to know him fully. 

“Construction… just need to make calls every now’n then to make sure dumbasses don’t fuck up while I’m gone.” He clicks his mouth once more, annoyed it seems by the whole interaction on the phone. You decide to leave it alone

He eats quickly, quite loudly too. It makes you want to laugh, all his Southern charm replaced by a grumbling food monster when eating. 

He pays the check after finishing, mentioning the need to get you some clothes as the waitress brings by the change, he leaves a tip on the table. 

“You don’t like my clothes?” You gasp, fake offended, understanding what he means. 

To be fair you hadn’t shoplifted any clothes recently & the jeans that you wore now full of tears and rips matched the shirt that could give at any moment. 

“Ya know I can’t pay you back right?” You remind him, following him out as he holds the door open for you. 

“I am very well aware of that, sweetheart.” He chuckles lightly as if it’s the most obvious thing you’ve ever stated. 

You’re quick to turn to him though, in the middle of the lot, standing on your tiptoes to get the best angle as you press your lips to his once more, quickly, a peck, a little test of the boundaries to see his reaction. 

He returns it once you depart, his hand coming around the back of your neck, his mouth crashing onto yours, hot and hungry, before releasing, taking your hand in his warm and dry, leading you to the truck, following the same routine of scanning the lot, opening your door, before focusing on getting back on the road. 

The trip before Joel seems to come crashing down on you, the need for rest, the knowing that Joel is there that reassures your safety. 

Understanding you have true protection is enough to have you falling asleep in the seat until the jolt of the brakes has you blinking back the sun that has begun to slip below the horizon, realizing you slept through the day. 

“C'mon, sleeping beauty…” Joel jokes lightly, as your passenger's side door opens. 

You groan, too loudly and in an extremely un-lady like manner, stretching out your limbs as you smack open a yawn, clearing the sleep from your eyes. 

“Did I really sleep that long?” you murmur as Joel wraps his arm around your waist, hoisting you out with a surprised squeal as your feet connect with the pavement, a giggle spilling from your lips.  

“Sure did…” He helps to straighten you out, pulling your shirt down where it exposes your stomach slightly. 

You allow him, feeling pampered as he observes you to make sure you’re put together before giving you a hard nod, approving of his work. 

He takes your hand as you finally gain full consciousness, leading you into the building labeled ‘WAL MART’ 

Passing cars in the lot, you’re able to read ‘New Mexico’ on the license plates as you become aware you’re in a new state. Once in the shopping center, a buggy is presented as Joel turns to you, looking down at you with a familiar hard gaze, and for some reason, you come to understand when he’s wearing this look, he’s serious and means business. His eyes narrowing in and focusing as you know he needs you to listen as you look back up at him, blinking up at him as if he is the only thing that matters in the world. 

“You’re gonna go get some clothes and a bag to store 'em in, I need you to fill er up-” referencing the buggy, “I'll be ‘round, getting supplies alright?” 

He adjusts his pants, fidgeting on his belt as he looks around and then back to you. 

You nod, offering a little salute followed by a ‘yes sir’ and giggle before he presses a chaste kiss to your mouth, sending you on your way. 

You do indeed, fill’er up with an assortment of clothes, pajamas, bras, underwear, some shorts, skirts, jeans, and an arrangement of tops and you find a duffel bag that could surely hold it all. You also decide to shop for some feminine care items, sniffing at the different body & hair washes for far too long before finally making your way to find him. 

After looking down far too many aisles, you find him in the firearm section, talking to the worker who shows him a certain gun. You keep planted where you are, not wishing to interrupt, studying him, admiring him as he purchases it at the counter. 

You could've sworn he had one in the truck, saw it in passing. Maybe he just needs another you think, just in case.

“Starin ain’t too friendly baby doll...” He mutters taking control of the grocery cart before pushing it, sliding his basket on top filled with first aid and other basic necessities. 

“Just too handsome, can’t help it,” you apologize with a teasing shrug, looping your arm into his as you walk. 

He gives you a slight snort before you make it to the checkout stand. His hard hand pushes you back slightly out of the way so he can unload the cart. 

You busy yourself as you pick up a nearby magazine off a rack, the corny headline gaining your attention as you flip through it, only for Joel to snatch it from you. 

“Hey!” You whine, nose scrunching up in annoyance as he hands it to the cashier who scans it before he hands it back to you, nudging you out of the way a bit more as he throws the bagged items back into the cart. 

A certain freedom is found as you skip back to the truck, no worries or cares as Joel hollers at you to slow down, the sun now gone, making it easy for a car to hit you, you realize.  

You offer to help pack the bags into the back only for Joel to shoot you a disapproving look, that has you piling into the truck with a quickness. 

Eventually, you both are able to make it to a nearby motel. He tells you that you can stay in the car as he pulls up to the lobby of the motel. 

You decide against it, opening the door as the car barely rolls to a stop. 

“Hey now…” Joel warns, still in the vehicle as he sighs, stressed. Kinda makes your heart beat, his worried reaction. 

“You need to wait till I'm in park and I’ll open the door for you… you understand that?” He speaks seriously once he exits the vehicle, his eyes cutting down at you as his hands place on his hips, seemingly exhausted by your antics as you nod, moving closer to him as your feet scrape against the pavement. 

Your body collides against his chest as you lean up against him to kiss the scar on his nose before reaching up to grab his hat, setting it on your head instead. 

“I got it Joel, but how do I look?” You swiftly change the conversation as he folds his arms over his chest, veins prominent as he flexes lightly. 

“You’re as pretty as a peach in June, ‘f I say so myself, now c’mon…” He offers a small smile before reaching his hand out. 

You take it, sliding your own against it before taking your other hand to cover the other side of his, keeping a two-handed grip as he leads you into the lobby that plays 60’s music & holds an older dude at the front counter who reads a Playboy magazine. 

It takes Joel about a second to place you behind him, before walking up to the counter to greet the guy who speaks in grunts. 

“How many rooms yall need?” 

“One!” You squeak out, poking out from behind his back before Joel pushes you back behind him. 

“Alright, one room, two beds…” Joel mumbles, fishing into his pocket for his wallet as you pout. 

“Joel…” you grumble, fingers tracing along his brawny back. 

“You ain’t getting me into trouble tonight,” He whispers over his shoulder as you can’t help but break out into a smile. He’s old, probably too tired from the drive, you try to remember to tease him about just that. 

“What’d you want to eat?” He asks once you settle into the room, unpacking the Walmart bags, folding your new clothes neatly into the duffel, using the various pockets for other items picked up. 

“Not hungry…” You hum lightly, throwing some pajamas on the bed for post-shower wear. 

“Darlin’…” You know this tone, his stern one, a warning. 

“Joel…” You whine. “I’m used to eating corn nuts every two days, I gotta warm up to eating more food, but I promise I'll eat more.” 

You are quick to hurry to press a kiss to his lips where he stands by the door with arms crossed over his chest, an attempt to shut him up before making your way to the bathroom to turn on the shower, avoiding his disappointment. 

“Alright, I’ll be back real soon…” He hollers as you hear the door open and close. 

Your shower is one of the best ones you can remember. The water hot and the tub not as grimey as others you have come across, but the fact you can wash your hair and scrub every inch of yourself is refreshing. You wish for Joel to know how grateful you are. 

Eventually, you slink into your shorts and tank top made for sleeping, flicking on the television to some Western film, before painting your toenails with some red polish picked up earlier. 

Joel returns eventually, scolding you for not locking the door behind him as you blow onto your drying nails, apologizing before seeing that he brought back some greasy takeout. 

He kicks off his shoes aggressively, exhaustingly, placing some type of chicken nugget and fries on your bed as you roll your eyes slightly but no better than to challenge him, his hard stern telling you to “just eat”. 

You do eat it, dipping fries into ketchup, not wanting to refuse him of anything. Laying on your tummy to eat in silence, watching the film that Joel says is one of his favorites as he finishes his food fast and soon finds himself in the shower after the film ends. 

You try to stay awake to wish him goodnight, maybe get a goodnight kiss but sleep is heavy on you as you eventually wake up to pure darkness & the bedside clock glowing at 3:09 a.m. 

You can’t see him in the room, but you hear his deep snores as you remove yourself from your bed, realizing he must’ve tucked you in as you tear off the sheets. Soft footsteps lead you over to his bed, lifting the covers to slide in. 

You hope it won’t disturb him, you hope he’s comfortable with it as you wrap your arm around him, his back pressed to your chest as you kiss him there, once then twice. 

He stirs, a light sleeper you discover, grunting as he turns towards you, feeling his beard scrape against your cheek as you squeak, his warm lips connecting to yours, softly, sweetly. You sigh openly into the kiss as your tongue pushes against his, a groan whispering in his throat as you desire more. 

However, he’s quick to turn you over, pressing his chest to your back as your body curves to fit into his body, attempting not to pout at the loss of affection but grateful as you find yourself exhausted. 

It isn’t difficult to miss the hardness pressed against your bottom as he holds you tightly to him, it makes you coo as you move closer to one another, his face fitting into the crook of your neck as his breath there gives you butterflies & tickles your skin, your thighs clenching as you rest your hand over his on your stomach. 

“Night, Joel.” 

“Goodnight, sweet girl.” 

[xxsabitoxx]

Team Bucciarati & Accidentally walking in on you while you are changing

Warning: all characters are 18+ in this situation, kinda suggestive content ahead if you squint? Well beside Mista’s but… really nothing crazy lol

Reader is female!

A/N: I have like 37 fucking JJBA smuts I could finish yet here I am writing this stupid shit LMAO — also my phone is acting so infuriating lately so please bear with me if there are any typos Proof read? Never

Giorno Giovanna

He knocks, every single time, so how this even happened is beyond him. Maybe it was because your door was slightly ajar, maybe it was because it was only the two of you home in the apartment the entire gang shared, whatever the reason was… Giorno still failed to knock. “Y/n do you ha—oh.” He froze midway through the door, eyes widening ever so slightly as he looked at you. You were mid-change, a shirt on but no pants, panties sticking to your frame as you turned to face him. “Giorno!?” You yelped, grabbing the closest item to shield your lower half — in this case it was your pillow. “I’m sorry I…” he was turning around so you only saw his back. “I just wanted to ask you something but it can certainly wait till you are decent…” he was making his way back out of your room, face burning just as brightly as yours.

Bruno Bucciarati

He wasn’t thinking, knuckles hitting your door a few times and pushing it open without waiting for a response. “Y/n I need you to help me with this paperwork…” he locked eyes with you, his tired brain taking a second to process that you looked shocked. “B-Bruno!” Your hands were over your bare chest, hugging your breasts tightly. He blinked once, twice, three times before his cheeks were turning neon red. You’d never seen him exit your room so quickly, hand over his mouth as he clicked the door shut. “My deepest apologies…” he was muffled from behind your door but you could still hear the embarrassment in his voice. “I am… so so sorry… forgive me I…” you began to laugh, reaching for a shirt to throw over yourself. A second later, you were opening your bedroom door. “No need to apologize, Bruno. It’s alright.” Your cheeks were still warm, but it felt less awkward seeing how shy he had gotten. You found it rather cute.

Pannacotta Fugo

It’s a rare occasion for Fugo to even come close to your room. He probably couldn’t even accurately describe it if he wanted too. So how he ended up where he was now? So red in the face he was nearly purple? Was still a mystery to him. “Oh? Hi Fugo.” You smiled, reaching for your perfume, it seemed you were oblivious to the fact that you were only in a pair of panties and a bra. His mouth was hanging open, eyes comically wide as he tried to process what he was seeing. “Fugo? Are you alright? You usually don’t come in my room?” For you, it wasn’t really a big deal. I mean you’ve all been to the beach together before, you weren’t really showing that much more skin at the moment. “Earth to Fugo? Did you need to tell me something?” Your hand waving in his face was the only thing that snapped him out of it, mostly because of your new proximity. “I-i’m so sorry! I don’t even know why I came in here! I’ll just let myself out I…” he was still muttering as he left, hands coming up to hold his face once he was out of your sight.

Narancia Ghirga

You’re used to it by now, he quite literally never knocks and always lets himself in. “Hey Y/N! I need to ask you…” you jumped, moving to cover yourself before realizing it was just Narancia. You mostly zoned out when he started asking you questions, some how you’re half assed answers seemed satisfactory for him. Most of the time, Narancia sat in your room talking your ear off as you got ready for the day. He was, in every sense, not phased seeing you half naked. Of course he’d never seen you in anything less than a bra and underwear, but in your eyes it was the same as being seen in a bikini. Narancia was just…Narancia. “Where do you even come up with these questions?” You slipped a shirt over your head, laughing as he tilted his head. “I dunno.” Was all he could give you, eyes training on your CD collection as you rummaged through your closet for a pair of bottoms. Really, it didn’t even phase you anymore.

Mista Guido

The last thing he expected was to get a face full of your ass when he walked into your room. “Merda, y/n! You could kill a man with a sight like that!” Always a smart ass… and a flirt. You rolled your eyes, straighten from where you had been bent over rummaging for pajamas. “You scared the fuck out of me, Mista.” He made his way into your room, throwing himself on your bed. “Ah well, you scared me too with an ass like that. The very thought of you sitting—“ you picked up your pillow and began hitting him with it, laughing as he attempted to block. “You are such a horny bastard.” You shook your head, finally flopping yourself beside him when he stopped putting up a fight. “I can’t help it! Having a roommate as good looking as you… who loves to walk round half nude…” the pillow was hitting him once again, this time both of you couldn’t contain your laughter.

Leone Abbacchio

He was only walking into your room because Bucciarati sent him to get you… what he failed to do though was knock. “We’re going to dinner, hurry your ass up so we can…go…” he froze, eyes matching the size of yours as you instinctively covered yourself with your towel. “Why wouldn’t you knock?!” You felt your face getting warm, knowing full and well that Abbacchio had quite literally just seen all of you. “I—“ he swallowed, as much as he didn’t want to admit it, even that quick glance of your body was engraved into his mind. “I’m sorry…I…” he was stumbling backwards out of your room, praying his cheeks weren’t turning as red as they felt. “J-just hurry up so we can go get dinner…” his voice was strained, quite unusual for him, which was making the situation all the more awkward. “Okay…” you croaked, mentally reminding yourself to lock your door from now on.

[celandeline]

Summer of Like // Farleigh Start x OC (20)

Someone is shouting in the hallway.

I wake up slowly - so it takes me a while to place what’s happening. The voices are distant, drifting through the walls of the house and finding my ears. Distant, but not quiet - someone is very angry - maybe two people. It’s hard to tell. 

Rubbing the sleep out of my eyes, I slip out of bed and put on a little more clothing - a big tee shirt that Venetia stole from Felix that somehow ended up in my bedroom, and my easiest shoes. I open my door quietly, and step out into the hall. Venetia’s door hangs open - she’s already up, no doubt roused by the noise too. I follow it down the hall, trying to get the words to catch in my ears. 

At the end of the hall, Felix and Venetia are stood at the top of the stairs, looking down the spiral at the commotion. The voices are much clearer out here, but it still takes me a moment to recognize Elspeth - I’ve never heard her yell before. 

I sidle up to Venetia, and make room for Oliver as he comes out of his room as well, squeezing between me and Felix. 

I peer down the spiral to see Elspeth and Duncan marching Farleigh down the stairs. He’s obviously distraught, taking the stairs slowly so that he can keep turning around to face Elspeth. His voice is strained - angry and anxious at the same time - and a pang echoes in my chest when he speaks. “But why would I do this?” He pleads, turning to look at Elspeth again.

Tipping my head towards Venetia, I whisper. “What’s going on?”

“Farleigh tried to nick something.” She says, sounding more excited than sympathetic. 

Tried to steal what? Why? Well - I guess I could understand why, he did seem tired of asking for everything, but to just outright steal something is dumb. Too dumb for Farleigh to even consider as an option. He’s not stupid - I know that he’s not stupid, I’ve seen it for myself. And it’s only been maybe six hours since he left my room - surely that’s not enough time for anyone to realize something is missing. These people have so many things, there’s no way they keep track of everything. 

It must have been something important then. But that sounds like Farleigh even less - if he was going to steal something, it would be something small, but still something he could sell. He would never take something big enough to be noticeable. 

“What are you talking about?” Felix whispers, leaning over the banister to look over at us. 

“He’s a fucking idiot.” Venetia says, almost laughing, angry. 

But he’s not. He isn’t an idiot, which is why none of this makes sense. I don’t think he would steal something - but I’ve also only known him for the roughly two months that I’ve been here. I don’t think he would steal something - but I can’t really know. 

Next to me, Oliver looks at Felix. “What was it?”

Felix just shrugs, his gaze fixed on Farleigh below us. 

Farleigh’s fully turned around now, stumbling down the stairs backwards, sounding more and more distressed the more steps he takes. “Please, please, Elspeth-”

Duncan just grips his shoulder as they reach the bottom of the spiral, forcing him around. “Move.”

I watch as they disappear from view. It isn’t until Venetia tugs my arm that I realize that Elspeth’s turned her gaze towards us. We all scurry away from the railing, pretending that we weren’t looking. 

Felix pushes his hair away from his forehead with a sigh. “Fuck.”

Oliver chimes in again. “What’d he take?”

“Dunno.” Felix says, looking to Venetia. 

“I’ll figure it out.” She says, taking a few steps away from the banister. “I’m going to get dressed for breakfast.” She pads back down the hall, towards her room. “Evie?”

“Yeah.” I say, retreating after her. I feel dazed - a combination of the sleep still lingering in the corners of my mind and the impossibility of making sense of everything that just happened. I keep turning it over in my mind, trying to fit this new piece into the puzzle of Farleigh that I’ve been constructing. But it just doesn’t fit. 

Venetia lingers in the door to her room, an unreadable expression on her face. “I can’t believe him.” She says. 

I stop in the door of my room. “Me neither.” I say. I get the feeling that we mean it in different ways. 

She sighs, leaning against the doorframe. “Will you braid my hair?”

“‘Course.” I say. “Just lemme get dressed first.” 

“Cool.” She grins. 

I close the door of my room, and go through the motions of getting dressed, exchanging my pajamas for the clothes of the day. I put on my bikini first, using it as underwear under my day-wear - something I picked up from Venetia, given how often we sunbathe and swim. It’s easier than having to run back to the house and change every time. 

I have no idea what happened last night. I do, of course, of course I do - my lips are still tingling from the kiss - but at the same time I don’t. There’s a chunk of time where anything could have happened, and I’d have no idea. And I’m not able to ask him, because he’s gone - one thing I’ve learned about the Cattons is that underneath their kindness, they are unforgiving. I doubt I will ever see Farleigh again. 

How silly I was to wait. But at least I got to kiss him goodbye. 

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[scratchybeardsweetmouth]

#ted lasso#the guy we meet in season one is so so so much sadder and is suffering so much more#than the guy we say goodbye to in season three#but the guy in season three doesn't crack as many jokes and doesn't grin and laugh at every opportunity#I really didn't expect the fandom to interpret that as 'he's even worse off than before!'#when the fact is that when you're able to have an inherent sense of self-worth rather than relying on Doing Everything Right#that you become less manic about making sure everyone likes you all the time#which is what ted did for the first two seasons#I dunno I just wish there was more room for this kind of character#and... for this kind of person#believe mothereffers#theodore lasso (from op’s tags)

it’s really good to read other people’s perspective and this is very interesting. i still don’t fully see this the way the show portrayed it but understand its importance. maybe when i’m braver to do a full rewatch someday, i’ll keep this in mind.

‘he was visibly less happy and that’s okay. he was still loved’

that is true. it’s just that we also saw a ted begin to slowly express what he could not initially - his vulnerabilities, his anger, his pain. and i thought that was equally significant. s1 ted was indeed so much sadder than the guy in s3, and he doesn’t have to joke or charm his way to hide the pains he feels inside for what he really misses and longs for anymore. he began to speak his mind and heart to his family. and i was really cheering for him keeping up with that. because that shit is hard to do. the show not allowing us to hear ted express himself about his choice to go back home was a bit of a let down i.e. cutting off the truth bomb conversation with rebecca. i suppose it is symbolic - it matters to him now, no longer to the audience or anyone else in richmond, that the audience and richmond should trust ted on his uneasy but solid decision. (like fleabag’s i guess). it’s just difficult not to see that he doesn’t talk about it at all throughout the finale, when expressing himself fully has been a journey we’ve been seeing him struggle with since the beginning. 

and this is the belief i want to have for him with his choice to go back to Kansas: he’ll take all he learned and apply it home, for himself, and for his son. but i cannot easily let go that the environment that allowed him to face himself and ‘able to have the inherent sense of self-worth’ was the external love and support he had in Richmond. and now i am the mothereffer who really wants to believe he’ll keep that up or build that for himself in Kansas to continue managing or getting better with his mental health issues.

i admit i can be biased as i’m a shipper, that i longed to hear more from him when he faced rebecca every time - in the stands, in the airport - because the latter in her own journey was also allowing herself to be her most vulnerable and try and ask someone she knows is family to stay when she’s very aware how much she’s pushed people away in the past. she’s sure she wants this person to remain in her life, and she reads in his eyes of his choice not to and the silence just hurts. as much as i value the way they converse with just looks, the understanding of both on the choices they made, and the impact they know they made together for the team and on each other, i just would’ve really liked that expressed verbally as well, more so from ted. probably contradicting myself at this point. maybe i’m just sad that one of the persons that cares and loves him after seeing him for all that he is and allows him to emote all sides of him outside of therapy and of her own volition, is someone he may never see again.

#when the fact is that when you're able to have an inherent sense of self-worth rather than relying on Doing Everything Right#that you become less manic about making sure everyone likes you all the time#which is what ted did for the first two seasons

i want to think about this some more because i don’t think i absorbed this lesson yet. I find that Ted was never manic about making sure Richmond liked him all the time - didn’t care about Wanker, or if the players initially disliked him, or if locals were disappointed in him as a coach, or if a journalist thought he was not good enough. But he did want to do everything right by his family - to give Michelle space to save their marriage, or to make sure his mom is being taken care of while staying with him - without addressing his own issues. Looking through these lenses, going back to Kansas and seeing his self-worth grow, facing Michelle and his mom just might not be as difficult as he might have envisioned it to be, including facing that spending time with henry to be a good father only for him to grow up and leave one day isn’t going to be as scary anymore. If Richmond’s influence helped him take their love with him, then his love for family and especially Henry can never be taken away from him too.

Ted Lasso, the character, is one of the only representations of 'sometimes getting better with your mental health issues means that you are less visibly happy, and that is okay, because you are not required to be happy in order to be loved' out there and I am really discouraged that so much of the audience is angry at that.

[robynlilyblack]

female reader using her best friend James' head as a hot water bottle for period cramps maybe the other marauders help too like remus donates some chocolate I dunno how sirius and peter could be of help. I know this is a weird ass request but my uterus has been mean this morning lol

She's underwater again

Cramps

James Potter x fem! best friend! reader 

Summary: James helps comfort y/n when she has bad cramps

Warning: mentions of cramps, food and eating

A/n: 0.7k words, I started getting some cramps today, my hot water bottle works but I’m too incompetent to use it and would probably burn myself, hope yours are better now x thanks for the request 

Navigation | James Potter Masterlist | Celebration

You had skipped all your classes, holed up in your dorm clutching your stomach most of the day, none of your usual methods to ease the pain working especially since your dorm mate had broken your hot waterbottle.

Your lack of presence at class however hadn’t gone unnoticed by your best friend, James, as you heard a knock at the door followed by an ‘I’m coming in’

“Y/n?” he calls out softly as he walks into the dorm, frowning as he sees you still in your pyjamas and in a blanket cocoon “Are you sick?” he asks making his way quickly to your side, sitting on the bed and checking your head,

The act makes your heart warm “I’m not sick I just have…ouch” you wince clutching your stomach making James panic

He cups your cheeks “What’s wrong you need me to take you to Poppy?” he asks worried

You shake your head still wincing “No it’s cramps” you say lowly

His eyes light up in recognition “Oh” he removes his hands from your cheeks “What can I do? You want me to make one of those muggliy things?” he makes the shape of the water bottle with his hands

“It’s broken” you sigh letting out a small whine

James looks in pain watching you thinking of what he can do to help “What about this?” he sides his hands under yours but you push them away yelping “What?” he asks looking at you shock

“Your hands are cold” you pout

He lets out an ‘ah’ of a chuckle looking relieved “I have another idea, shift down a bit” he motions and you do as he says, watching as he moves to lay his head on your stomach lightly

You bite your lip wondering how this would help before you feel the warmth of his head, this combined with the sense of comfort, made the pain subside becoming manageable and less crimpling

You smile down at him “Would you mind if I lift my shirt a bit?” you ask to which he lifts his head nodding, a light blush on his face but he hides it by resuming his position now on your bare stomach with your shirt bunched up just behind his head

“Thank you, Jamie” you say ruffling his hair

He lets out a pleased sigh at the contact before shifting to kiss your stomach “Anything for you, sweets” you can feel the apples of his cheeks raising

Your moment was cut short by the other marauders walking “Hey y/n…” Peter starts before noticing the position, Remus and Sirius smirking behind him

“Finally tell her?” Sirius asks to which you tilt your head and James gives Sirius a death stare

“Y/n had cramps I'm just helping” he explains quickly snuggling into your stomach more making you smile and forget what Sirius said

Remus is the first to step forward “You want some chocolate?” he offers with a smile pulling out a half-eaten bar which you giggle taking asking if he was sure “Yeah I got mountains of the stuff” he jokes before looking at you “You want more I can go get you more…” he doesn’t even give you time to answer as he’s walking out saying 'I’ll get you more bun'

Sirius and Peter snigger at Remus “Anything we can do?” Peter asks with a smile 

You think for a moment “I haven’t eaten all day” you say taking a bite chocolate “Okay, now I’ve only eaten this bit of chocolate” you giggle 

“We’ll sneak down to the kitchen darlin” Sirius says gesturing to peter “Want your favourite?” he asks 

You nod “That would be perfect, thank you so much” you give them a grateful look

“Anytime” Peter says smiling at you as he and Sirius head out

You munch down the chocolate while you wait on the boys getting back, feeling happy for the first time all day “Jamie” you say quietly but there is no response, you lean forward as gently as you can seeing his eyes are closed

You smile as you lay back again, hand moving to play with his hair “Night, night Jamie” you say, kissing two of your fingers and placing them on his forehead

Thank you for reading 💛

[strawberrymilkgeorge]

Part Eleven. The Dream

warnings: swearing, jokes about sex dreams (not actually true though) word count: 4.8k (not including images)

behind the screen (irl dream x f!reader) series masterlist ultimate masterlist

A/N: NEW POV??? DREAM POV???? MORE LIKELY THAN YOU THINK. (note: sapnap actually lives with dream now, no longer just visiting) also i really didnt wanna read through it all for a millionth time so i hope it makes sense and i didnt make too many very bad mistakes.... also praying its as cute as i think it is lol and hope you can understand and feel dreams frustration with all his emotions ENJOY!!

***********

Dream huffed out a deep breath as he wiggled around between his cool sheets, searching for warmth that the soft sun shining through his curtains wasn't giving him. He groaned as the sun escaped through a crack and shone in his eyes, making him quickly roll to the side out of the beam, immediately finding warmth in the form of another body. He sat up slightly and rubbed his eye as he looked to his left, his eyes adjusting to the light to see a girl laying with her back to him. He smiled warmly and laid back down, scooting closer to her and wrapping his arms around her waist.

She hummed as he kissed her shoulder lightly and turned around in his arms, burying her face in his chest instead. He giggled and squirmed lightly as she peppered slow kisses to his collarbone and neck, eyes still closed and sleepy.

"Good morning," Dream whispered into her hair with a soft kiss to the top of her head.

"Morning," she replied sleepily, her voice familiar. He didn't have time to process it all before she said, "you're very warm," in the cutest mumble he had ever heard.

"You're very cold," he countered with a chuckle as she wiggled in his embrace, seeking further comfort. He was confused about how he felt warmer next to her even though her skin was cold as ice. Maybe he just felt warmer in his heart because of her presence, which spread throughout his whole body from head to toes.

"But you hate cuddling when I'm cold," she informed, snapping him out of his confusion.

"That's not true," he said as he closed his eyes, deciding he would much rather stay here in this girl's comfort than get up to make them breakfast. "I like that you use me as a heater."

He felt her giggle under his arms and place another kiss on his collarbone. "Did you sleep well? Any more nightmares?"

"Never when you're 'round."

Dream felt lips press against his and he sighed contently as he kissed back, loving how such a tender kiss could give him so many butterflies.

"I love you," she hummed against his lips before placing another quick kiss.

He still had his eyes sealed shut. "I love you too, lovebug," he promised. "So much."

"I'd love to stay here all day but you need to wake up."

He frowned playfully, pulling his eyebrows together. "Only if you get up too."

"Wake up, Dream," she repeated, her voice starting to morph into something masculine.

"What—" he opened his eyes and was faced with the girl staring at him as she pushed herself away from his embrace. He could only assume she was staring at him because he was looking at a blank slate of a person as if her features had fallen off cleanly or maybe were never given to her in the first place.

"Dream, wake up." Her voice was no longer sweet like honey, but he recognized it as someone else he knew. Despite him recognizing it as his best friend's voice, it was distorted and felt weird coming from this pretty, faceless girl in front of him.

"DREAM!" Sapnap's voice rang suddenly from a different plane and Dream shot up in bed, widening his eyes to get a grasp on the real world. His room was much brighter than it had been seconds ago and it gave him an immediate headache. "Dude, wake up," Sapnap repeated, his voice no longer distorted and scary, but coming from the doorway of Dream's room.

As Dream's eyes adjusted to his surroundings, he looked to his left and reached his hand out as if the girl from his dream was there, just invisible. When his arm fell on his sheets empty-handed, he looked back at Sapnap's confused but amused face.

Dream groaned and leaned forward, cradling his head in his hands in defeat. Why did he have a soft, romantic dream about some random girl? Sure, he's had some spicy dream's about girls he's dated and liked before but they always had faces, or at least there was no question about their identities.

Dream, his inner voice said as if reprimanding a child gently, don't pretend like that girl wasn't-

He snapped his head up quickly to shake his thoughts and was surprised to see Sapnap still standing in his doorway. "You good, man?"

"Yeah?" Dream replied, not sure whether he was trying to convince himself or his best friend. "Why are you still here?"

"You look guilty like you just committed murder or something. Do you... need help hiding a body or some shit like that?"

"I just woke up, dude," Dream argued, lamely reaching to throw a pillow at Sapnap.

He caught it easily. "No, for real, are you okay? Did you have another bad dream or something?"

"It was definitely a dream for sure..."

Sapnap paused before his face twisted in disgust. "Oh, gross! Like, a sex dream? I don't wanna know about that, dude!" Sapnap screeched, throwing the pillow back at Dream's face.

"No," he groaned. "Not like that! You're the one that said that, not me!"

"Whatever, just get up."

"Why?" Dream groaned, falling back into his pillows, hoping that if he wished hard enough, he could resume his dream and maybe find out who the girl was.

Again, dude, come on. You know who it was. You just wanna cuddle with her more. His inner voice was really annoying this morning.

"George is starting a stream soon and wants us on."

"Just the three of us?" he asked, eyes closed.

"And Bugsy."

Dream sighed and swung his legs off the side of the bed.

"Ah, that got him up," Sapnap teased, earning one last lazy pillow toss in his direction, before leaving the room.

"I already regret you moving in!" he yelled jokingly and smiled at Sapnap's loud laugh from the hallway.

Dream shook his head with a hand through his hair as he grabbed a pair of sweatpants from the floor, not bothering to find a shirt. His dream wasn't sexual but for some reason, it lingered in his mind. His skin burned where the girl had kissed him and he wished it was real or at least that he knew who--

A nagging thought in the back of his head interrupted his thoughts. No, he wasn't going to admit it was her unless there was solid proof. And there wasn't any so... forever in denial, he will remain.

Dream wasn't stupid. He knew what his feelings for Y/n were and he had for a while. It was hard to deny it when he messed up a perfect speedrun just because she said hi to him. His texts to his friends were all very incriminating, packed with evidence that he had a little crush on her. Okay, a huge crush. He liked her a lot. But that didn't mean he wanted to have a domestic dream about her and invade her privacy. So, no, he wasn't going to give in to the knowledge that nagged at the back of his head.

He grabbed his phone and sure enough, he was being summoned to a stream.

"Dream?" George asked, not giving him any time to settle after joining the voice channel.

"Yeah."

George laughed. "Finally! Where have you been?"

"Asleep," he mumbled.

"Awww poor Dreamie," Sapnap teased.

"Shut up. Is it just us?" he asked as he looked at the names under the voice channel, knowing full well that it wasn't in fact everyone. He just wanted to know when Bugsy would be joining them.

"Bugsy went to grab her comforter from her bed," George explained briefly.

"...What?" Dream asked, soon answered by Bugsy unmuting.

"I'm back. Oh, hi Dream!"

The air in his lungs evaporated at her words as it always did and he was left grinning at his desktop background like a fool. "Hi."

Sapnap scoffed at Dream's soft reply, but he ignored it.

"What are we even doing today?" Dream asked.

"Skribblio!" George huffed. "Do you even read your texts, Dream?"

"No. Wait, how are we going to play with four people? It's gonna be so lame!"

"Karl's coming later," Bugsy explained. "He's with Jimmy and Chris."

"And Quackity, Sam, and Ranboo and Tubbo are coming in a few. They're just being so slow."

"Then why did you start your stream already?" Dream laughed. "Why didn't you wait?"

"Because Quackity said he was going to raid me and made me start! It's fine, we can just mess around on the SMP or something until the others are ready."

Dream groaned. "Can I just go back to sleep then?"

"No!" George yelled. "If you leave I'll never talk to you again."

"Oh boohoo. I have Bug, I don't need you."

Bugsy giggled as George scoffed. "Whatever, I'm gonna go start the stream."

Dream tapped his fingers against his desk and stared at his Minecraft launcher. "So, Bug, what's this I hear about you getting your comforter off your bed?"

"What about it?" Bugsy asked. "It's comfy."

"But you just... take it off your bed? Do you own other blankets?"

"Yeah," she laughed. "But my comforter is way fluffier and it's nicer to just... wrap myself in. I dunno."

"That's cute," he hummed, not meaning to verbalize his thoughts. His lips seemed to be getting looser every day he spent with her, more and more thoughts spilling from his locked brain to the world each day. One of these days he was going to let it slip that he liked her or something.

"Whatever. It's comfy," she said. "How are you doing Sapnap?"

Dream couldn't hear his best friend's response but he didn't need to. If he wanted to know how Sapnap was doing, he could just go to the other room and ask. Besides, his mind was too busy swarming with how sweet Bugsy's voice was and how much it compared to the girl in his dream's.

Nope, he thought quickly, shaking his head. We are not going there, especially when George is about to start his stream. Stop thinking of her that way.

"SAPNAP!" Bugsy yelled, snapped Dream back to the conversation. He had finished loading into the SMP and was just standing, but he could see Sapnap chasing after Bugsy's avatar. He smiled and threw his phone down, placing his hands on the keyboard and mouse to join them.

"I'll save you!" Dream offered heroically, hitting Sapnap.

"How are you going to save me?" Bugsy asked. "Go cry to DreamXD, pissbaby."

"Bug!" he yelled fondly, not being able to hide his smile. "What the hell?!"

Sapnap cackled loudly while Bugsy giggled, which made his heart soar.

"You've been spending waaay too much time with Karl and Quackity!"

"What, jealous?" she challenged, running around him in-game.

Yes. Absolutely, yes.

"Nah, they don't have what we have. They should be jealous."

"Oh, whatever."

"Hello!!!!" George said loudly as he unmuted and undeafened. "Hello."

"George, save me!" Sapnap cried, making the other ask what had happened in the ten minutes he was gone. "Bugsy and Dream are flirting. Help, I'm scared."

"No we aren't," Bugsy laughed. "George!! How are you?"

"Great," George laughed. "How are you? Did you get your, uh, comforter or whatever it's called?"

"Yes," she said with childish joy in her voice.

"You doing okay, Bug?" Dream asked. "You're in a weird mood today."

"I dunno. I am in a weird mood today. I'm just very happy for some reason."

Dream wanted to pretend like it was because he had recently shown her his face, but the other part of his brain ridiculed him for being a narcissist. It wasn't narcissistic, the other part argued, he just liked to think that she meant it when she said he was attractive.

"Are you guys on the SMP?" George asked, receiving a variation of confirmations in reply.

"Oh, George!" Bugsy started. "Did you ever fix your house? Are you homeless?"

"I-I'm not homeless," he argued. "My house is just.... under construction.

"I was just gonna say we could fix it while we wait for the others," she offered, warming Dream's heart. It didn't even have to be directed at him, he just loved the happiness in her voice every time she offered to help anyone with anything. She was the sweetest person he thought he ever met and if he wasn't careful, he was going to be in too deep too fast.

"Oh!" George pondered for a moment. "Yeah, sure! Since we have nothing else to do."

"Wooooow," Bugsy said softly. "You wouldn't want my company otherwise? You're literally soooo bored so I gueeesssss we can build your house," she mocked his words.

"No!" George laughed. "Not like that! I just don't like building that much."

"Bug's really good," Dream complimented quickly. "She's a good teacher."

"Where's Sapnap?" George asked after a moment.

"Uh... I don't know. I'll go check if he's okay," Dream mumbled before taking off his headphones and leaving his room. He checked Sapnap's room before looking in the kitchen. "Sapnap?"

"In here," Sapnap replied, standing up from being hunched over in the fridge, a jug of orange juice in his hands. "We really need to go to the store."

"Yeah, true," he said distractedly as Patches rubbed against his leg. He bent down and scratched under her chin, making her purr lightly.

"You okay?"

Dream stood up and looked at his friend. "Yeah, we were just making sure you're okay. You just left."

"Oh, yeah, I'm good. Just thirsty."

Dream turned on his heel with the new knowledge that everything was, in fact, okay, but Sapnap stopped him.

"Hey, um..." Sapnap paused when Dream turned back to face him. "Just, not to be a parent, but, like, remember not to flirt with Bugsy as much."

Dream raised his eyebrows so Sapnap sighed and continued.

"You know, cause of the hate she's been getting? She asked all of us to dial it back?"

"Oh, yeah. I know." Dream nodded once. "Wait, she told you too?"

Sapnap nodded. "Yeah, except she told us in a groupchat. Not privately over the phone."

Dream felt his cheeks redden a little. "Wha—what? Does she think I'm a bigger problem... or something?" he asked shyly with a hand on the back of his neck. Was he really that obvious that she felt the need to tell him separately.

"I mean, you are, for sure, a bigger flirt towards her than any of us. But I have a feeling she just used it as an excuse to call you."

"What do you mean?" Dream asked. "Stop shrugging!"

Sapnap laughed. "I'm just saying! Girl definitely likes talking to you as much as you like talking to her, so..." He grinned and turned to go back to his room.

"Sapnap! You can't just talk like you have information and then leave."

"Sure I can. Watch me."

Dream groaned as Sapnap's door closed, turning to go back to his own room. Did Sapnap know something?

Sliding his headphones back on, he noticed a few new members in the voice channel and was thankful since it gave him time to process Sapnap's words. Did she talk about him to the other boys?

"DREAM!" Quackity yelled accusatorily.

"Quackity?"

"HELLO."

"Wh—? Why did you yell that?"

"I don't know," he laughed. "I just have a lot of energy."

"Yeah, join Bug. She does too."

"BUGSY!" Quackity yelled the same way, making Bugsy laugh loudly.

"Hello, mom," Ranboo greeted, making Bugsy squeal a little.

"Ranboo, my beloved. Where is your brother?"

"He's coming. He's on the phone with Tommy last I heard."

"Hey, Bug, how come Tommy isn't one of your kids?" Dream asked, just wanting an excuse to hear her talk.

"You think that boy would let himself be controlled by a woman? The first time I talked to him he yelled at me. He is no child of mine. Only my childrens' rebellious friend who I sometimes let hang out at our house and destroy my favorite vase."

Dream's laughter was interrupted by George's big mouth. "Hey, you know what I just realized? How come Dream is the only one that calls her Bug?" George asked before pouting. "Bugsy, I want a cute nickname for you, too."

"We know her real name, George, so we already beat him in the Bugsy name category of life," Quackity laughed.

Dream hummed hesitantly. He wasn't sure if she was okay with the fans knowing that they had that precious information but Quackity had already let the cat out of the bag. "That's not true. I know it, too."

"You what?" Quackity yelled. "HOW? You weren't in the groupchat??"

"Yeah, as if that's the only way to talk to Bug? She and I talk without you guys, you know?"

"Wait, she willingly told you?" Sapnap gasped. "Bugsy! I was your friend first and you didn't even tell me your name, I found out from Karl!! I'M SO HURT!"

"Ah..." she said softly, clearly uncomfortable with how much the chat was learning. If they knew Karl accidentally told them all her name, they might come after him to try to pry it out of him, even though that obviously wouldn't work.

"Okay, okay, Sapnap," Dream said in a voice he hoped Sapnap would recognize as 'drop it, dude'. He listened.

"Sorry, Sap. I still love you more."

"Wait, now I'M hurt!" Dream yelled. He was about to tell everyone how she knew his face but he realized how possessive it would sound bragging like that, so he held his tongue.

"It's because of their weird flower thing, Sapnap," George said. "Do you guys still have those, by the way?"

"Yeah, duh," Bugsy replied instantly. "It's in my enderchest for life."

Dream's heart swelled at her words. He hoped she wasn't just playing around and meant it, because God knows he wasn't playing around when he said he loved the flower she gave him. He walked over to and enderchest and hovered over the flower. love, bug.

Wait. Why did that sound familiar?

Love, Bug.

Lovebug.

His smile dropped. Gears turned in his head as flashes of his dream showed in his head.

"Dream?"

I love you too, lovebug.

His inner voice was back, teasing him senseless. What more proof do you need before you accept it was her in the dream, cuddling you, kissing you—

"Wha—?" he asked dazed, half-listening as he tried to shut his brain up. Not now. Not when he was supposed to be not flirting with her.

"I asked if you're gonna play Skribblio or just stay on the SMP?" Geroge teased. Dream hit tab and noticed he was the only one left, everyone else had logged out and was navigating to the new game. "Tubbo and Sam are on their way."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sorry, I'm pretty tired," he admitted, knowing full well that his voice still sounded somewhere else.

"Probably still stuck in his dream from this morning," Sapnap teased, not knowing he was a thousand percent correct.

"Shut up, Sapnap," he warned, voice laced with venom.

"What do you mean?" Bugsy laughed.

"Man was deadass smiling in his sleep and then he woke up, like, so confused that he was in the real world again. I'm pretty sure I interrupted a sex dream or something..."

"What, Sapnap?" Dream asked loudly as everyone laughed. "What the hell is wrong with you? I told you it wasn't that kind of dream!"

"He was smiling? Dream..." George called teasingly.

"This is a weird place for me to join, I'm gonna be honest..." Tubbo's voice announced for the first time.

"TUBBO!!" Bugsy yelled.

"BUGSY!" he matched with a laugh.

"What was that about Dream having a sex dream?" Sam's voice asked, making Dream groan.

"Oh, come on! Sapnap's exaggerating! It was a nice dream, that's all. Would you rather I have more nightmares?" Chills ran down his spine at the thought. He had been having horrible nightmares lately, all involving the same concept and he always woke up in a panic. He'd much rather have stupid domestic dreams than those nightmares.

"Well, what were you dreaming about then, huh?" Sapnap asked. "If it wasn't a girl?"

Dream smirked. "It was about a girl, but I just didn't wanna say because it was Quackity's mom but... whatever, I guess it's okay if he knows."

"WHAT THE HELL?" Quackity yelled.

**********

After about an hour of playing Skribblio, everyone needed a break to use the bathroom and get snacks, so Dream leaned back in his chair and stretched, relaxing after hearing the satisfying click of his back and shoulders. His phone buzzed aggressively on his desk and he sighed, picking it up to check the messages flooding his home screen.

Dream set his phone back down with a large sigh.

"You okay, Dream?" Bugsy's voice asked softly. His head snapped to the discord screen, not realizing she was back from getting her snack.

"Oh, yeah," he said as he cleared his throat. "I'm just tired today." That and my friends are super unhelpful when it comes to having feelings for someone apparently.

"Well George said he only wants to play one more game, I think, so you can go take a nap soon."

He smiled at the warm care in her voice even though she was laughing lightly. He wanted so badly to say something stupid like, it would be better if you joined me, or something but that would be breaking her new "no flirting online" request. That was probably for the best because that line was awful. Imagine if he actually had said that out loud. Cringe.

His phone buzzed on the desk again and he looked down to see Bugsy’s name instead of his idiot friends.

"Hey, I think Patches wanted to say hi," he chuckled as his cat jumped onto his lap, making herself a useful distraction from the loud pounding in Dream's chest from his recent text interaction. The others needed to come back quickly so he didn't have to talk directly to Bugsy any longer.

Was he seriously so panicked about his dream that he didn't want to talk to Bugsy? His literal favorite person on earth? Maybe he would rather have more nightmares.

"Patches! My love!" Bugsy cooed happily, making Dream chuckle lightly as he scratched the cat's head.

"I'm back," George announced. "Sorry I took so long."

"It's still just us and Dream," Bugsy explained and George groaned. Soon, everyone else was back and they could keep playing.

"Hi, pretty girl," Dream whispered to Patches, really hoping no one heard as he continued petting her fur. The lack of mocks and laughs assured him that he got away with it.

"Any time you're ready, Dream," Sam teased as they all stared at a blank slate.

"Oh, shit, sorry," Dream apologized as he leaned forward and looked at what word the game auto-gave him for not choosing.

Lovebug

You're joking. You have to be kidding. He smiled at the irony and quickly snapped a picture to show George and Sapnap later... and maybe Bugsy.

"How do I draw this?" he asked loudly, stalling as he tried to think of what the animal looked like, the only image in his mind being the Minecraft skin of one BugsyGames.

"Just draw something!" Quackity laughed.

"What color is that? Wait, is that brown?"

"It's red, George," Karl explained as Dream used red to add the head of the animal.

"No, it's yellow," Dream joked, earning scoffs from a few people.

"I can see yellow, idiot."

Bugsy guessed the word!

"What? How?" Sam asked. Dream glanced at the chat and smiled that she had understood his interpretation of a lovebug. Ironic.

"Wait, got it?" Karl said before he guessed it right too. "Okay, bye guys. Bye."

"Shut up, Karl. What is that??" George asked.

George: mosquito Sam: firefly Sam: lightbug Sapnap guessed the word!

"HAHAHA!" Sapnap laughed loudly, making Dream turn red. He was never going to hear the end of this from him.

When the time ran out, only Bugsy, Karl, Sapnap, Ranboo, and Sam had guessed correctly.

"What the hell?" Quackity scoffed.

"Lovebug?" George laughed loudly, too loudly. "What is that? Is that a real thing?" he asked between gasps for air. Dream knew he was thinking of Dream's dream too, wondering how he managed to get such a serendipitous word.

"George and Tubbo said, 'wE DoN't HaVe ThoSe iN eNglAnd!!'," Karl mocked with a loud cackle.

"Yeah, it's like... uh... you know... what I drew. I drew it perfectly," Dream boasted.

"Honestly, it sounds like a cute name for Bugsy or something," Tubbo laughed.

"Aw, wait, that's so cute," Bugsy giggled and Dream's heart thumped loudly. Because of her comment, Dream desperately wanted to tell her he came up with it first, calling her lovebug, in his dream. No, bad idea. Bad idea. Not something to brag about.

"Oh, this is a good one. It's good, it's good," Ranboo said as he started drawing.

"What on Earth, Ranboo?" Karl asked after many moments of pure silent confusion from everyone.

"I— hold on..." He scribbled some more things above what looked like someone laying down. "It's—it's harder than I thought it would be!"

"Oh, wait? I'm cracked?" George said before his name popped up, revealing he had guessed the word right. "I'm actually cracked at the game."

Dream's brain was nowhere in the right zone to be playing this game. He was so distracted and out of it that he was pretty sure he was seeing things.

"Stop using your hacks, George," Sam joked.

Sapnap: dreams sex dream with quackitys mom

"Sapnap! That's messed up!" Quackity yelled.

Quackity: sapnap sux Dream: sex with quackitys mom

"Stop!"

"Oh, got it," Karl announced. "Bye guys."

Karl guessed the word! Toob: thunderstorm

"What is this? I'm so confused?" Tubbo whined.

"Me too, dude," Dream agreed.

The word was 'nightmare'

"OOOHHH!" Tubbo shouted. "Yeah, I see it now. The weird cloud thing confused me, I thought it was a storm."

Dream could not catch a break today.

"One more game?" George asked. A few people agreed but Dream couldn't take it.

"No, I think I'm gonna get off."

"Nooo..." Bugsy whined, unintentionally causing him more heart pain.

"One more, Dream," Quackity tried persuading. "One more."

"No, dude," Dream said firmly. "I'm really not feeling good right now. And the computer's just giving me a bigger headache."

"Oh, sorry. Go get some rest," George told him, the others agreeing.

"Feel better, Dream!" Tubbo chirped, making Dream smile. He was starting to understand why Bugsy loved the young boy so much.

"Do not die in your sleep. No one but Sapnap will be able to rescue you," Ranboo pointed out.

"Thanks, Toob. Thanks, Ranboo... I think. I'll talk to you all later," Dream promised. "Have fun." His mouse hovered over the 'leave call' button, waiting for a good time to leave, not wanting to miss any goodbyes.

"Bye, Dream," Sam and Bugsy said in unison.

"Bye, everyone." He clicked the leave call button and slid down in his chair pathetically as he ripped of his headphones, feeling the cool air rush to his on-fire ears. "What am I going to do, Patches?"

The cat meowed softly in reply and he smiled. He wandered to his bed and flopped down, his brain full of thoughts since he no longer had a distraction.

What was he going to do about his massively overwhelming crush? Or should he just leave it be? Bugsy already was overwhelmed by hate she got for the boys flirting with her, imagine how much worse it work get if she was dating one of them? Not to mention, he had no idea if she liked him back and there was no chance he wanted to ruin their friendship.

His phone buzzed from his pillow and he lifted his head, expecting George to tell him some dumb philosophical quote about how life will get better, but was both pleased and panicked to see Bugsy's name instead.

**********

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[belphies-cuhm-sluht]

If It Means That Much To You (Mammon x GN!Reader) Slight Angst -> Fluff

I realize now that if I had written this last night and Levi's tonight, I could have posted in the order of the brothers... but I goofed up on that... Whoops! It's slightly angsty, just the teeniest tiniest bit, but soft Mammon is so sweet. I don't write enough for him, feel kinda bad for skimping out on Mammon fics. So here's a Mammon fic!

Word Count : 1.7K Warnings : Slight angst;

The smile spread across your face as you swiped through the pictures that you had taken with your boyfriend. You both looked happy, and it wasn’t fake like those other couples that you had seen way too many times back in the human realm. This was the first time in what seemed like your entire life that you had been one hundred percent, without a doubt, happy. You had someone who loved you more than words would ever let him express, but he didn’t need words to tell you, he always showed you that he did, whether it be through the way he would hold you, or even just the way he looked at you. The way his lips would crash against yours whenever he saw you after being apart for five minutes or more. Even the way that he looked at you, you could see the emotion, so raw, you could feel it, you could almost hear it, just by looking into his eyes. His love, and his adoration for you was unmatched, other than by your own feelings towards him.

It was a perfect relationship, anyone would be able to tell just by looking at the two of you together. They would be able to see it through the multitude of pictures that you took together, pictures that he would never let you upload. Every picture was taken within the House of Lamentation, or somewhere deep in the garden behind the house, places where no one other than his brothers would ever find out that the two of you were together. It never really bothered you, not enough to bring it up to him at least. Lately though, it had been getting under your skin a little more than usual. It could have something to do with the fact that his latest modeling gig had garnered new fans for him, which should have been a good thing, but reading through their comments on his Devilgram posts had bugged you more than it should. He wasn’t the type to feed into their comments, whether they were raunchy or sweet, he would reply with a simple “Thank You” to as many as he could. You on the other hand, you weren’t allowed to comment on any of his posts, and while he hadn’t explained why that was, you just went along with it. At least you could still like them, and that was enough for you, at least up until now.

“Hey Mams, isn’t this picture cute?” You asked, idly flipping through the latest pictures you had taken together. They were taken in his bed after a long night of… fun… Both of you looked especially worn out, but the smiles on your faces were honest, sincere, and you loved waking up next to each other. His and your hair was completely messed up, and neither of you cared. It wasn’t a modeling shot, but it still looked perfect. You wanted to show him off, show the rest of the Devildom that he was yours and you were his, show them how lucky you were, and what better photo to use than one where you’ve woken up together. “I was thinking of uploading it to-”

Those words had caught his attention, drawing his eyes away from his own phone where he was scrolling through more comments and liking them, giving them the basic reply. The thought of you uploading anything like that though had made him stop, and now he was grabbing your phone from your hands and slipping it into his pocket. “Ya don’t haveta upload nothin’. I know we’re happy, so da you… nobody else needs ta know.” He smiled at you as if his words would actually make you feel better, and most of the time they did. It’s not that he was wrong, and maybe demons didn’t fully understand the concept of essentially showing the world that they were happy, that they had found love and being excited about that, but in the human realm it was a normal thing.

“Alright… I’m gonna go get myself some breakfast… you want anything?” You didn’t want to argue with him about it, you didn’t want to blow it up into something that it didn’t need to be, so changing the subject entirely was the best option. You pushed yourself up off the couch and started heading towards the door, grabbing your jacket off the edge of the bed on your way over. You turned back to face him, to see if he was going to answer your question, and he was turned completely around on the couch, pouting up at you. “You don’t have to worry, Mammon. I’m taking Beel with me.” Which was something you always did when you went to get breakfast… or really any food related item. Mammon was one who worried about your safety often, and since he didn’t like going out in public places with you, he would always tell you to have one of his brothers take you.

His pout only grew as his eyebrows lowered, crossing his arms over his chest. You weren’t really sure what he was trying to do or why he was even doing it, but you were hungry, and you really wanted to know if he wanted anything so you could get going. “Well… just remember who yer first demon was. Beel ain’t no better than me.” He huffed before turning back around and you were left in the doorway feeling nothing but confusion. You weren’t even sure what he meant by that, it made absolutely no sense to you. Obviously you thought Mammon was the better brother out of them all, you wouldn’t put up with so much of his crazy antics or try so hard to keep him out of trouble if he wasn’t your favorite. He also never had a problem with Beel taking you before, so you weren’t quite sure why it was a problem now. “Tell ya no and ya wanna go runnin’ off ta get food with Beel…”

“You know… I can still hear you.” He had whispered the last part, but his whispering sounded more like breathy screaming, especially when he was irritated by something… something that he shouldn’t even be irritated by. “I can go with Asmo or Satan… It doesn’t have to be Beel.” He groaned at the other two brother choices and now you were getting irritated. You didn’t know what he wanted, you were confused, and you were hungry, and he wasn’t explaining anything, and it was just really really annoying. “I don’t know what you want! You don’t want to be seen together, you don’t want me to leave the house by myself, and you don’t want me to leave the house with your brothers either. What do you want?”

His head whipped around so he could face you again, his eyebrows quivering slightly as he looked at you, his voice softer now. “I never said I didn’t wanna be seen with ya…” He sighed, shaking his head. “I just didn’t want anything ta happen…” You weren’t sure what he meant, or what could possibly happen if the two of you were seen together. Simple Devilgram photos couldn’t be enough to stir up problems, could they?

That’s when your brain, your already ticked off and, at this point, hangry brain started piecing together the puzzle, or at least, you thought you were piecing it together. “You mean you didn’t want your fans to get upset… If they saw a picture of you with someone they’d stop giving you likes and commenting on your posts.” His eyes narrowed as he listened to your assumption. He was shocked and even… hurt… that you’d think that that was why he didn’t want you to be seen with him. What was more upsetting was that he had apparently, at some point, given you reason to believe that he cared more about his fan base than he did about you.

He got up off the couch quickly, practically running to you and pulling you into his arms. You weren’t sure if you were just hearing things or if he was actually crying, or maybe he was coming down with a cold… but you could definitely hear him sniffling. “It ain’t about them… It’s about you…” He took a shaky breath, and that slightly verified your thoughts that he was crying, or at least on the verge of it. His hand held the back of your head, keeping your face buried in his chest so that you couldn’t see him, but you could still hear him, his voice vibrating his chest as he spoke. “I owe lotsa Grimm ta lotsa people… demons… witches… I dunno if they’d try ta snatch ya up… take ya away from me ta get their money back…” He finally took a step back, cupping your face lightly as you finally looked up at him. “I don’t want nothin’ ta happen to ya… I don’t wanna lose ya, Y/N…”

“Mammon… I-” You felt awful, terrible for even assuming that he would care more about his fans than your feelings. You had never once thought that he was doing it to look out for you, to take care of you because you meant that much to him… Because he loved you. Sometimes you fail to remember that he was greedy, and he did like to gamble, and usually that money came from other people's pockets. It was hard to remember because with you he was completely different, he never asked for your money and all of your dates were free, spent in his room or the living room or the gardens just enjoying your time together. Everything he did… he did it for you.

“It’s okay… If it means that much ta ya… Upload the pic… If it makes ya happy… I’ll even go out with ya… keep ya safe. No one messes with The Great Mammon’s human…” He smiled proudly, and you let out a small giggle as you shook your head. You didn’t want to worry him anymore than he already did about you, he didn’t need that.

“I know we’re happy… You know we’re happy… No one else needs to know… Right?” The words that he had said earlier made more sense now. You both were happy, and if anyone else knew, it could potentially ruin both of your happiness.

Things were perfect just the way they were. You had the perfect relationship, and it meant way more to you than a little picture being uploaded onto the internet.

[bardicbeetle]

Normally Jesse is my go-to for pure of heart, dumb of ass. But today you're getting Isaac deciding to call his best friend instead of, i dunno, a damn ambulance while he bleeds to death on the floor.

They dropped him.

They dropped him and he was on the ground between bookshelves and there was something warm soaking through the left side of his shirt.

Something.

Right.

Isaac pushes himself up, bracing against the corner of the nearer shelf as the world around him spins and threatens to go dark. He can’t pass out. He can’t. He has to get the door shut so he can deal with—

With whatever this is.

His slow walk to the door doesn’t reveal any other customers, thank god. He flips the open sign, slides the deadbolt into place, and takes stock again. His neck is still bleeding. A lot. The stain of it is hitting the bottom of his shirt and he can feel the way it’s clinging and drying against his skin and—

A wave of nausea rolls through him that forces his eyes shut. It’s okay. He’s got this. Just breathe.

He slides down to the floor just beside the door and calls Carrie.

Pick up.

Be home.

Please.

“What’s up Raes? You that bored at work?”

“Need you at the shop, now, please, bring your stupid box.”

He hears the crash of movement on the other line, “What—”

“—Bleeding a lot. Hurry.” The room is spinning so much.

“On it. Stay on the line with me, okay?” Her voice has changed, short and sharp and he knows she’s going professional mode just to keep calm. That’s fine. That makes sense.

“Okay.” Isaac mumbles, free hand clamped over the— bite. “Talking is hard.”

“That’s alright, just keep the phone where I can hear you breathing. I’ll talk to you.”

“Okay.”

He hears the sound of her truck starting, the rumble of it on her end of the line. “Someday I’m going to give you so much shit for not calling 911. Not today, but someday, because if I hadn’t been home that was a stupid waste of time and it could kill you—I can’t have you dying on me Raes, you got that?”

“Got it.” He says softly, the world has gone very hazy, the spinning has the edges softening into a colorful blur.

Carrie talks to him the whole drive, it’s not far, barely ten minutes and she’s definitely speeding. Before long there is a banging on the door, Isaac manages to reach up one handed and unlatch the bolt.

“Oh fuck, Isaac—” Carrie drops to the floor beside him, gently pulling his hand from where it’s pressed over the wound. “—okay, just—just keep breathing for me alright? This is probably gonna suck, a lot.”

It does.

She wipes his throat down with something that makes him cry out for how it burns, then pads it up with a bunch of gauze and medical tape. Satisfied enough, she pulls the blue gloves off and discards them in the trash behind the check-out counter.

“Here—” She pulls a bottle of some room temperature sports drink out of her box. “—drink or I’m dragging you to the ER myself.”

“Carrie,” His voice is too weak right now to protest properly. It tastes like orange and bile and mostly like blood—but maybe that’s just his own tongue being confused. He swears all he can taste is his own blood.

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[inkykeiji]

bright light city gonna set my soul on fire

ace anon said: wanna suggest dabi taking you to a poker game as a good luck charm then betting you on a game and losing...or winning and bragging about it by fucking you on the table

genre: smut + implied crooked secret agent/spy AU set in the late 1950s???

notes: AH ace i loved this idea SO MUCH it ended up sparking an entire fic!! heavily inspired by ian fleming’s 1953 novel casino royale + martin campbell’s 2006 film casino royale. it is set in clari’s version of the 1950s and in no way historically accurate!! think of it as an AU of the 1950s, if that makes sense ehehe | title credit: viva las vegas by elvis | songs mentioned in the fic itself: don’t and i beg of you by elvis, rockin’ robin by bobby day

warnings: 18+, period typical use of the word Daddy (not with dabi), inappropriate use of the word Mister, slight degradation, mentioned somnophilia, slight dacryphilia, minimal prep, night terrors, blood, murder, generally toxic codependant relationship, one implied mention of drug use (morphine), mentions of tense family dynamics

words: 8.5k

synopsis:

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Sticky pink candy, translucent and gleaming with saliva, clacks against teeth as you roll the heart-shaped lollipop around in your mouth, twirling the stick between your index finger and your thumb.

Legs kick idly as you lean back on your other hand, seated on the edge of Tomura’s massive, pristine mahogany desk, watching as his personal tailor helps Dabi shrug on a navy tuxedo jacket, stitched and sown perfectly to his measurements.

“I dunno,” he’s saying as he pivots his body a little, making a face at himself in the mirror. “I still think the black looks better,”

Ruby eyes roll up towards the ceiling, a frustrated groan spilling from between Tomura’s lips.

“You always think the black looks better. We’re going with the navy, it brings out your eyes,” he gives the back of Dabi’s head a sharp look before strolling towards you, features softening as he observes—the perfect picture of innocence, legs swinging slowly in cute little motions, strawberry lollipop sucked against the roof of your mouth, sparkling eyes floating from your boyfriend’s broad shoulders to his—your—boss’s face as he advances.

“Gimme some,” he demands, large hands finding your knees and halting your movement, using his hipbones to push them wider, making a space for himself between them and sticking his tongue out. With a giggle, you place the now misshapen candy on his tongue, gasping loudly as he snatches the candy from you, movements too quick for you to catch, and jumps away with the grace of a cat.

“Daddy!”

Tomura snickers around the lollipop in his mouth, sucking it into his cheek as he speaks around it. “Aw, come now, don’t pout,” his bottom lip pushes out to mimic your expression, tilting his head in false sympathy. “I’m sure your Mister will buy you another,”

“He better,” you mumble through your pout, eyebrows knitting together as arms cross tightly over your chest, eyes flitting to Dabi.

“I will, dollface, I will,” he vows distractedly, gaze not straying from his fingers reflected in the mirror as they fiddle with his bowtie.

“Promise, Mister?”

“Promise, baby, promise,”

Dabi’s already been briefed on the specifics of this mission—something to do with playing a poker game with a bunch of other crooked hotshots at the Sahara hotel in Las Vegas, but that’s all you know. That’s all you’re authorized to know.

Despite being Dabi’s accomplice and working for Tomura’s underground organization, you’re rarely allowed to be in Tomura’s office while the briefing happens. It’s sensitive information, dollface, and the less you know the better, and don’t misbehave now, sit pretty and quiet like a good little girl until the big boys are finished, and then Daddy and Mister will give you a pretty reward.

But! you had protested with a bottom lip involuntarily jutted out. But maybe, if I know more, I can be of better help—

But Tomura had shut that idea down before it had even finished leaving your lips.

No. Absolutely not. It’s for your own good—your own safety, you little brat—why can’t you understand that? 

You do understand that, you’ve been told a thousand times—your specialty is distractions, used to keep enemies occupied before Dabi splatters their brains on marble floors, or to pry information out of men weak to the smile of a pretty girl.

And, to be fair, Tomura does reward you pretty generously, with glittering evening gowns and designer pumps and all the handbags a gal could ever want.

You turn back to face him, red lips spread into a cunning, mischievous smile, a smile he knows all too well, a smile Dabi loves—because he taught it to you—and Tomura hates—because it means you’re about to get what you want. “So. How much money are you giving me to play with this time, Daddy?”

Tomura’s face screws up, nose scrunching. “None,” he spits, removing the lollipop from his mouth. Tiny hands grab at the air, reaching for it like a child, Tomura swiping it just out of grasp as he continues his scolding. “Last time, you nearly bought the entire shopping complex,”

“Ah, c’mon, boss,” Dabi says around a cigar, still standing in front of the full-length mirror and smoothing down his clothing. “Give the lil lady a lil somethin’, will ya?”

“Yeah, boss, c’mon,” you plead, mimicking your boyfriend, adorning your face with your signature pout and award-winning puppy-dog eyes.

“Absolutely not.” His voice is stern as he speaks, facial features hard in finality and resolution, but his eyes—irises a crimson so brilliant, so beautiful it’s terrifying, almost looks as if it’s glowing—are beginning to waver.

“You know, if you don’t, then I’m sure I’ll get bored in that big city all by myself while Dabi’s working,” you begin in a singsong voice, eyebrows raising. “And you know what happens when I get bored, Daddy,”

“She gets int’a trouble,” Dabi grumbles, eyes catching yours through the mirror, though there’s a smirk forming around the cigar, held between sharp gleaming ivory teeth.

“S’true,” you nod simply, eyelashes fluttering as you gaze at Tomura. “Please, Daddy? Pretty please? I swear I won’t spend too much this time,”

“Jus’ give ‘er your credit card r’somethin’,” Dabi waves a hand in nonchalance before patting down his pockets. “I’ll keep a’eye on ‘er, promise,”

“Take that damn cigar out of your mouth and speak properly,” Tomura spits, and you and Dabi share another look, another smirk, through the mirror. “Fine, alright? Fine,” nimble fingers pull out a sleek leather wallet, flipping it open and searching through the card slots, grumbling to himself. “Christ, the two of you are insufferable, I swear to God,”

“Thank you, Daddy,” you giggle, soft and gentle and innocent, all of the things you weren’t mere moments ago. Platinum plastic gleams in your fingers as you tilt the card in the light, gaze captivated by the way it sparkles and glitters as you speak again. “Promise I’ll bring you back something neat,”

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It’s been a few years now since the two of you met, since the two of you became partners, and Dabi swears to high heaven and back that he had tried his hardest not to fall in love with you, cross his heart, hope to die.

At least, that’s what he likes to tell himself. In actuality, he fell for you the moment he laid eyes on you—it’s as cliché and cheesy as one of those Jimmy Dean flicks, but goddamn it, it’s true all the same.

Doesn’t help that that’s one of the first things you said to him, though.

You look like Jimmy Dean, Mister, you had giggled dainty behind your hand, batting those long, thick eyelashes as you gazed up at him, gracious and polite and all the things a good little girl like you should be. Is supposed to be.

It made him want to fucking ruin you. It sparked a white-hot fire deep in the pit of his stomach, a blaze that grew, and grew, and grew with each of your cute mannerisms. It procured an inferno full of pure desire, heady and intoxicating, that nearly engulfed him in an instant.

“Oh, yeah?” he had asked with a smirk, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest, tongue running along his front teeth as he steadily held your eyes. “‘N why’s that, little miss?”

Those eyes, the sparkling ones that had been so bold only a moment ago, bashfully flitted down to the teal typewriter sitting in front of you on a large oak desk, fiddling a little with your nails against the worn keys.

Baby pink. Cute.

“Oh I—I—” your gaze flashed up to his for a moment, intense cobalt burning into your very skull, before you averted your stare again. “Well, I-I don’t mean to be rude, Mister, it’s just that—your hair,”

Sapphire eyes flicked up, as if to gaze at his forehead, as if he were able to see his own hair from just that motion, eyebrows raising with the action.

“S’all messy like the way he wears his. You know, when he’s not doing a picture and all that,”

And you noticed your mistake immediately, eyes widening, tongue tripping over your words in your haste to correct yourself, to speak properly, like a lady. “I-It’s all messy, s-sorry, excuse me, it’s all messy like the way he wears his,”

A smirk, slow and dangerous, spread across his face as he observed you, tilting his head a little as his eyes travelled down your neck, to your shoulders and the sweetheart neckline of that pretty, pretty dress, and then back up again, narrowing slightly as they did so. It’s in that moment that Dabi first wondered what you’d sound like underneath him while sharp hipbones bruise his name into the tender flesh of your inner thighs, how you’d slur your words together then.

His voice was a touch huskier when he spoke again. “You like Jimmy, miss?”

“I sure do,” you nodded, painted lips morphing into a little melancholic smile as you looked down at the typewriter again. “It’s a real shame he passed,”

“Sure is,” Dabi mimicked your movement, giving a simple nod in agreement. “But thank you for the compliment, doll, I’ll take it,”

Your head snapped back up. “Oh, c’mon, m’not stupid y’know,” you huffed with a roll of your eyes and a light laugh.

“No?”

The traces of amusement that played in his azure eyes had your own narrowing a little in response, sitting up straighter as you rolled your shoulders back.

“No,” you shook your head. “I know who you are,”

“Yeah? And who’s that?”

“Touya.”

And it’s the way you said his birthname, the way your lips curled into a devious little smile around the word, the way one of your perfectly arched eyebrows raised in question, in challenge, that had confirmed it for him, right then and there, in that stupidly luxurious office.  

“Touya Todoroki.”

He was sure he had to have you. He was positive he had to make you his—forever.

“You’ve been compared to Jimmy since he debuted—”

“And you know this because—”

“—because I read Time and Vogue and all those other stupid magazines, just like all the other women in this country. And I’ve seen you,” you paused to point a manicured nail at him. “On or in every single one,”

Oh, and he was sure you had, sure you knew that he was notorious for stealing several of his father’s girlfriends when he was in his early twenties, infamous for fucking them and then selling the Polaroid’s and information to vying tabloids and the like. He always did like to spice up those stories a little, to fluff them and make them a hint more scandalous, glamorous—those ones always sold for more.

Not that he needed the money.

“It’s rude to point, baby,” he winked before he straightened up, pushed himself off the wall and stalked towards your desk, stopping in front of it as large hands splayed out on the wood, and leaned close to your face.

“And I don’t go by that name anymore, sweetheart,” he had told you, voice smooth as scotch over ice, though something dangerous glinted in his eyes as they carefully searched your face, something omnious etched into the sharp smile on his face

A shiver crawled up your spine, frosty and slow, fingers tiptoeing up each vertebra as you nodded your understanding. “Y-Yes, sir,”

The door to your boss’s office had swung open then, Dabi straightening up and spreading his arms out in a grand sweeping movement.

“David!” he greeted as if the two were old friends, large smile stretched too tight across his face as he walked forward and clapped a large hand on the smaller man’s shoulder. “How are you doing?”

He murdered your boss that day. You didn’t know, of course, didn’t have a goddamn clue until over a month later, Dabi had made sure of that. But by the time you found out, you were already in too deep; too enamoured by him, wholly captivated by him in every sense of the word, too dependant on him, to care at all.

He had made it quick—quiet and painless and looking as if it was an accident, strolling out of the office only a few moments later and asking you out on a date like nothing had happened, words flowing smoothly from his lips in that drawl that is so distinctly him, almost lazy in a way, glittering lidded sapphire scalding your skin with its intensity.

Yes, as much as he’d like to deny it, it’s true; Dabi fell in love with you the moment he laid eyes on you.

Because Dabi saw more than just a pretty little thing when your gazes first met.

He saw the perfect weapon, a diamond in the rough just waiting—begging—to be cleaned and cut and formed into the most brilliant gem, into the most ideal accomplice for him—because, really, what’s more dangerous than a beautiful woman? Especially when she looks like innocence personified?

Nothing, that’s what.

Honestly, he did you a favour—he swears he could see it in your eyes, sparkling as they gazed at him like he sculpted the moon himself, pleading for someone—for him—to come along and take care of you, to put you in your place, to keep you in line, absolutely desperate for someone to mold you, shape you, construct and arrange you into his most perfect creation.

Perfect, perfect, perfect, that’s what you are; so good for him, so obedient and compliant, always hanging on his every word and eagerly awaiting his next command, enthusiastic to submit to him, to please him, to receive the praise you crave so badly.

And Tomura had agreed, too, after only fifteen minutes of meeting you, of observing you, of assessing you, that you’d be a flawless addition to their operation.

So Dabi did what he does best.

He started slow, of course, enchanted you with strings of pearls and gorgeous dresses and expensive dinners, fed you tidbits about his mysterious lifestyle, about his family and his job and his past, just enough to keep you coming back for more, until you were practically begging him to let you in, to permit you to join his vocation, to accompany him on the wild ride that is his life.

And that was the best part of all—you didn’t care, you wanted it just as badly as he did; wanted to help him, to serve him, to be his, without ever requiring the full story. You readily gave everything up for him, accepted his orders, his wants and his needs without as much as a single question, never faltering in your honesty, in your pure devotion to your creator.

It’s love in its truest form, you’re both sure of it—possessed by one another, infatuated with one another, dedicated to one another—both consumed by the most potent drug, this love, a force to be reckoned with, the strongest pull either of you have ever felt before.

And, really, what more could you ask for?

     ✰          ✰          ✰

He took you under his wing, crafted you into a master of manipulation, pairing it perfectly with that innocent kitten demeanour you wear so well, and taught you everything he knew: all of the infiltration techniques and self-defence he had learned before he was ostracized from his father’s company—a privatized intelligence agency that works closely with the federal government—the very organization he’s been working so tirelessly to burn to the ground.

You still don’t exactly know what happened. He doesn’t like to talk about it, about where those scars decorating his body came from, about why he’s thrown away his old identity and constructed a new one, trading ivory hair and a high-fashion wardrobe for inky black and weathered Levi jeans with big black motorcycle boots.

But you do know a little.

He had been the favourite son, the chosen son, the one set to inherit the empire his father had built. That was, until he got himself into an accident—one that he still isn’t ready to disclose the full details of, and you never push. But you know it had involved a twelve year old Touya—always devious, crafty, and ever-so intelligent, even as a child—sneaking along on a mission he absolutely shouldn’t have. The silvery burns that adorn his skin, puckered and soft and shimmering like moonlight when they catch in the sun, scars tinged with the slightest hint of baby pink, are from this incident. Whatever had happened after had scarred his soul forever.

Because you’ve never encountered such intense hatred, burning bright blue flames that rage and roar inside of him, the words that are spit from between clenched teeth when he talks about his father, about his baby brother, positively scalding.

But it doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter that you don’t know the full story, that you aren’t entirely aware of why this vendetta against his family exists. It doesn’t matter that his one goal in life, his only true desire aside from you, is to take down his father. It doesn’t matter that he’s willing to do anything and use everyone to achieve his objective.

Because he is letting you in; slowly, bit by bit and piece by piece, the most fascinating and tragically beautiful jigsaw you’ve ever put together. He may never be ready to tell the full story, and that’s alright with you, because as you’ve reassured him countless times in the dead of night, you’ll always love him anyway—you’ll always be by his side.

That’s when he’s most vulnerable, it seems—in the middle of the night, at two and three and four in the morning, when he wakes trembling and whimpering and soaked with his own sweat.

He never tells you what they’re about, the nightmares. Sometimes, they’re so violent that they wake you first. He doesn’t fuck you immediately on those days, doesn’t say a word as he finds solace in your warm bosom, little fingers pushing back sweaty strands of inky hair from his temples as your other arm wraps around him, holding him close to you as his shaky breathing calms, as his muscles stop quivering. On those nights, he says nothing as he spreads your legs and climbs on top of you, railing you into the mattress like it’s his last day on this earth.

That’s how he likes to be comforted; that’s what calms him down best. It’s standard procedure at this point—not that you mind waking up to his soft sniffles and him shoving himself into your barely prepped cunt, or rousing to feel the tip of his naked cock rubbing against your clit through thin cotton undies as he tells you in that wavering voice to stay sleeping and let your Mister take what he needs. You’re there to serve him—and you do, so perfectly. You just want to help, after all. You’ve always ever just wanted to help. You never know which nights he’ll gift you another little piece of himself, of his soul, for you to try and fit in somewhere in the puzzle that is DABI. You don’t know the triggers—as far as you’re concerned, they don’t seem to exist anywhere outside of the padlocked barricade of his own head, no rhyme or reason to them, more random than anything else. But you’ll readily accept anything and everything he’s willing to give, the very instant he’s willing to give it.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

Sprawled out on the hotel bed with his white t-shirt riding up and exposing your lacy panties, you watch, in an almost trancelike state, as Dabi does his hair in preparation for the game set to begin in an hour or so. He leaves it messy and ungreased when he isn’t working, all tousled and fluffy, a sea of half formed curls that flow into each other, akin to tremulous waves hours before a storm like an inky ocean atop his head. But he cleans up well, when it comes time to get down to business.

“Every little swallow, every chickadee, every little bird in the tall oak tree,”

Standing in front of the mirror clad in a white undershirt and his suit pants, he sings along to Bobby Day’s staticky voice as it flows through the small radio set on the bathroom counter, nimble fingers dipping into a tin of greasy pomade and gathering a generous glob, a responding giggle bubbling up in your chest.

“The wise old owl, the big black crow,” he catches your eye through the mirror, a devilish smile materializing on his face as he continues, lathering his hands together. “Flap-a their wings singin’ ‘go bird go’,”

“Should’a been a singer, I’m telling ya,” you say as you roll onto your stomach, chin resting in your palms and head propped up, eyes glittering. “Could’a rivalled Elvis,”

Huffing out a laugh accompanied by a roll of his eyes, his hands begin to rake through his hair, slathering it with the substance and slicking most of it back from his face, sure to leave a few curls at the start of his hairline untouched. “So sweet you’re gonna rot my teeth, baby,”

“M’serious!” you insist, blinking at him as your eyebrows raise, watching the teeth of the black comb run through the slicked-up strands, his palm following close behind as he smooths it over; crisscross, crisscross, crisscross, fluff, pat, crisscross.

 “Uh-huh, uh-huh,” he shakes his head in disbelief, though there’s the faintest pink tinting his stubbled cheeks. “I think I’m better at this job,”

What? Playing poker with a bunch of criminals and making deals with mafiosos and murdering those who wrong you? you swallow the words, letters stinging and scraping your throat as you force them back down, schooling your face into a neutral expression. “I respectfully disagree,”

“‘Course you do,” he mumbles to himself distractedly, leaning closer to the mirror to complete the look. “Elvis, you say?”

He begins belting out lyrics in an exaggerated deep voice as he adds the finishing touch—your favourite part—slender fingers shining with residual pomade as they twirl and coat the few stray curls left neglected, allowing them to hang artfully in the middle of his forehead. 

“When I feel like this and I want to kiss youuu,” pivoting on his heel, he gazes at you with that shit-eating grin and continues. “Baby, don’t say doooon’t,”

“Oh, God, no, not Don’t!” you groan, flopping onto your back dramatically, face screwed up as if you had just tasted something sour.

“Alright, alright, alright,” he’s chuckling as he advances towards you, a small towel in his hands as he cleans them. “How ‘bout…” trailing off, he hums a little as he thinks.

“Hold my hand and promise,” he begins in a low voice, smooth and sweet like the finest melted chocolate, depositing of the towel and crawling onto the bed.

“That you’ll always love me too,”

Large hands gently pry your legs part, signature crooked smirk spreading across his face when he’s met with zero resistance, rough palms caressing silky skin as they slide up, fingers gripping and grabbing and kneading.

“Make me know you love me,”

The words taper off into a whine, beginning to sound more like begging than singing, as his body settles between your thighs, hipbones digging into the soft flesh while he hovers above you, supporting his weight on his forearms.

“The same way I love you, little girl,”

Lips trail along your jaw, leaving tender kisses in their wake—unhurried, careful, and full of purpose—as he mumbles against your skin.

“You got me at your mercy, now that I'm in love with you,”

Calloused hands begin to ruck up his t-shirt, digits dipping into the lacy waistband of your panties, his voice starting to tremble ever so slightly.

“So please don't take advantage, cause you know my love is true,”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, sapphire eyes gleaming in the golden sunlight and he pauses, blistering gaze searching your face for something, muscles relaxing and head dipping a moment later to finally press his lips against yours, whispering into the kiss. “Darling please, please love me too, I beg of you,”

And despite all the glitz and glamour, all the extravagance and exhilaration, that comes with each mission, this will always be your favourite part—when it’s only you and him, lounging around in some luxurious five star hotel or some dingy roadside motel, exchanging lazy, messy kisses full of stringy shining saliva, goofing around and whispering stupid Elvis lyrics to each other, words that hold more weight than either of you care to admit.

     ✰          ✰          ✰

It was supposed to be a fairly simple operation—minimal violence, Tomura had instructed. No guns or casualties, if it can be avoided, if Dabi can keep his temper in check. It was supposed to be easy, straightforward, safe.

It was supposed to be. But Dabi gets bored easily, likes a little spike of adrenaline with his missions, rolling his broad shoulders and cracking his neck as he joins the rest of the men around the poker table, a sly smirk on his face as they name the bets and the prizes.

“And my little doll,”

It’s hard to resist rolling your eyes as those four words slip from between his lips, slow and smooth in that deep, lazy drawl, trademark smirk painted across his lips as his lidded eyes scan the faces sitting around the table, an eyebrow raised, daring any of them to protest. Several hungry eyes dart towards you for a moment, standing like the reward you are a few feet behind Dabi and leaning on a railing, a shy little smile briefly gracing your lips in greeting, elegant evening gown shimmering under the crystal lights.

This isn’t new—Dabi usually bets you when he plays. Keeps him sharp, he claims. Keeps him on his toes, keeps it fun when there’s something important at stake, something valuable to lose, he says. He plays better that way, he promises.

Except he’s always craved that thrill of danger, has always liked to push further and further simply to see how far he can go before he topples over the edge. It’s a rush, a blast, a high akin to the morphine that so often flows through his veins, and he fucking lives for it.

It’s been over an hour now, since those words were murmured in that velvet voice, floating across the table and cloaking the thoughts of the other men like a lethal haze, most of whom can’t seem to keep their eyes from wandering back to you every so often, leering gazes coating your skin with grime you itch to scrub off.

But that’s the point—or it’s supposed to be, anyway. That’s the whole reason you’re here in the first place. To act as a distraction, Tomura’s words drift through your mind, just whisps of his voice that tickle the walls of your skull.

And what a perfect distraction you are, in a Dior dress that looks like it was made only for you, tapered perfectly to every curve and edge of your body, silk flowing gracefully with every miniscule movement, with every rise and fall of your chest.

But it bores you to tears, this poker game, eyes dry and sticky, sick of staring at the back of your boyfriend’s immaculate, intricate hair as his nimble fingers play with the mountain of chips accumulating in front of him, plastic clacking together as he shuffles through them.

You had begged him to let you go shopping—just for the first half of the game, you swear!—but he refused. I need my good luck charm there with me the entire time, babydoll, he told you, brushing calloused fingers down your cheek then tracing along the line of your jaw, gazing at you with brilliant sapphire that glitters in the late afternoon sun, streaming in through the hotel’s floor-length windows. We can go shopping after the game is finished, he promised.

You regarded him with skepticism.

“And dancing?”

“Of course,” he responded with a playful scoff. “We can dance until our feet are bleeding, pinky promise,”

Keigo comes to join you just before the game passes the two-hour mark, large hands finding purchase on your hips and pulling you back against his chest as his head dips down, soft full lips against your skin.

“Lovely dress you’ve got on,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, tickling the shell. “You look stunning—breathtaking—I mean, gosh, look at me, I can barely breathe,” he gasps dramatically, chest heaving against your back as he does so, chuckling when you roll your eyes and giggle at him to shut up, Kei, the vibrations from his laugh a comforting sensation, a familiar sensation, a welcomed sensation, sending warmth spreading through your body. “I’m so happy you’re here,” you whine, leaning further into him and head tilting against his collarbone to gaze up at him. “I’m so bored,”

“Yeah, I bet,” he says, something unusual—unreadable—settling in his topaz eyes as he glances up at the table. “You aren’t used to games lasting this long, are you, baby,”

A little pout settles on your lips and you nod, playing right into his condescending cooing as you snuggle into him, eyes following his stare. Truthfully, you haven’t a clue what’s going on, and, really, you couldn’t care less. You aren’t entirely sure what the significance of this poker game is, or who most of these men are, and you aren’t allowed to. Just sit pretty and perfect like you always do; it’s the thing you do best.

Except tonight—tonight something is different, unsettling, off. It’s no big deal, though, of course—you can almost hear that deep, dark voice drawling the words out in your mind, phantom breath tickling your skin.

Because Dabi’s always been startlingly good at what he does. Because Dabi’s always been able to worm his way out of a difficult situation. Because there’s never really been a reason to worry about it before, anyway. But tonight—well, tonight you’re watching as his Balenciaga clad shoulders are getting tenser, and tenser, as his jaw is clenching tighter, and tighter, as his grip on that singular sparkly chip resting in his palm is becoming stronger, and stronger, thin skin stretching painfully over sharp bony knuckles.

Keigo’s breath is bated, his fingers digging into your hips as he observes the game unfolding in front of the both of you, pulling you closer to him, hushed curses falling from his lips every so often. And Keigo knows what’s happening, of course, but he refuses to tell you, promising you that you wouldn’t understand even if he tried to explain it. Creases form on your forehead as your eyebrows knit, eyes drifting back to the table. Whatever it is, it’s clear that it isn’t good, Keigo’s body tensing against yours as he sucks in a breath and holds it for a moment before blowing it out from his mouth, exasperated.   “Well, I’m positive it’s fine,” you say, trying to wave it off lightly, to whisk away the acrimonious dread that roots deep in the pit of your stomach and begins to spread, thick and dense as it slithers into your surrounding organs, to brush off the impending sense of foreboding that seems to lurk over you, getting heavier and heavier, darker and darker with each second that ticks by—though your voice sounds high to your ears, tinny and false. “Dabi’s never lost a game before, that’s why they send him to these things,” But Keigo doesn’t sound so sure, responding with a nervous breath of a laugh, lithe fingers flexing on your hips, rubbing little lopsided circles into the flesh. “First time for everything, songbird,”

The words send ice piercing through your veins, but you persevere, rolling your shoulders and standing up a little straighter, swallowing past the painful lump that’s lodged itself in your throat. It’s fine. It’s always fine. He’s always found a way to get out of messy, tight situations before. Why should tonight be any different?

It won’t be, it isn’t—you can already see Dabi collapsing on the cream sofa upstairs in your luxurious hotel room, tugging at his bowtie with a sigh as his head falls back, nimble fingers popping the first few buttons on his crisp white dress shirt, and had you scared for a moment there, didn’t I, kitten?

And you’ll playfully slap his shoulder as you crawl into his lap, roll your eyes as you straddle his hips and allow him to tilt the champagne flute to your lips, laugh it off as his hands begin to wander, rucking up your dress and kneading your ass, cock tenting his expensive trousers. Like always. You’re sure of it

It’s just past the three-hour mark when Keigo speaks again, all traces of teasing, of that easygoing lilt that is so distinctly him, gone from his voice. Golden locks stand in all directions, his hair having fallen out of its usual ducktail style, a curtesy of fingers raking through it nervously. His smile is tight as he looks down at you, front teeth nibbling at his cuticles as he speaks, muffled a little by his fingers. “Maybe we should get you out of here, sweetheart—”

“No,” you respond instantly with a firm shake of your head. “I’m not going anywhere,”

“Sunshine, listen—”

“I said, no, Kei,” you pull back a little to look at him, resolution sown into your voice, chest puffing out just a touch. “I won’t leave him,”

Honey eyes hold yours for a moment, and you can almost hear Keigo’s molars as they grind together. He exhales a deep sigh a moment later, shaking his head and tugging his fingers through golden strands again. “Alright, alright,” It finally comes to an end, a few minutes past the four-hour mark. Heavy lids start to lift as commotion begins to stir—soft murmurs among the men and chairs scraping against the floor, plastic chips clacking together and the sharp whisp that travels through the air as cards are shuffled—whining a little as you lean further into Keigo, who is now supporting most of your weight.

“Kei, feet hurt,”

“Shh, I know, songbird,” he hushes you, a large palm stroking your head. “But I need you to wake up, sweetheart,”

Rough, unfamiliar hands are wrapping around your arms only a moment later, yanking you from the warm sanctuary that is Keigo and hauling you against stiff muscle.

“I believe you’re mine now, darling,”

The words are gravelly, uttered in a low voice against the crown of your head. A vicious shiver crawls along your skin, whole body trembling with the force of it, as your lids snap open.

“Wait, what?” frantic eyes search the gaudy room for familiar cobalt, breath beginning to accelerate as you struggle a little in the grasp of a burly man with one eye. His grip tightens in retaliation and a pained yelp hitches in your throat, Dabi’s eye twitching at the sound. “Dabi? D-Dabi!”

Sapphire blazes into your skull, steadily holding your watery gaze as his jaw clenches, swallowing thickly at the sound of your pitiful little whimpers of his name, at the way you squirm and wiggle in your abductor's grasp, desperate to escape, to get back to him.

“H-Hold on, now,” Keigo begins, holding his hands up in surrender, a motion meant to signify peace, to signify that he isn’t a threat—even though you know he’s got the cold metal of his favourite pistol tucked into the waistband of his trousers and pressed against his warm skin. “Let’s talk this through, yeah? Just wait a minute—”

“Nope,” the man cuts Keigo off mid-sentence with a loud, harsh laugh, and you wince at the sound. “No way, a deal’s a deal, friend. I won her fair and square—she’s mine,”

A light chuckle, laced with irritation and dubiety, escapes Keigo’s lips as he shakes his head a little. “Come on, Dabi jokes around like that all the time,” and while his voice seems amicable on the surface, its ridden with cold undertones, phantom threats that are felt, not said. “And this little lady—as pretty as she is—is a person, not a prize. Taking her against her will is, in fact, kidnapping, and I’ll be forced to—”

“Let him go,”

“What?” the word falls from your lips and Keigo’s simultaneously—one incredulous and pitched high with distress, the other breathed out in disbelief, both equally as concerned—gazes snapping to Dabi, who sits quiet and brooding, dim lights casting shadows on the sharp planes of his face.

Azure drifts between your faces, features ridden with terror and alarm—furrowed brows and deep frowns tugging at the corners of lips, one pair of eyes wide with scepticism, the other pair glistening with tears. Dabi’s silent for another moment before he pushes on his knees and stands, squaring his shoulders and clearing his throat, voice ringing out loud and clear, dripping with admonition. “Let him go. He’s right; he won her, fair and square,”

He speaks slowly, annunciating each word with careful precision, sapphire glinting in the dim light has he holds the muscular man’s gaze. It holds something threatening, something menacing, something terrifying deep within the depths of his eyes, and you feel your captor pause for a second, tense, and then shiver.

“Uh, r-right,” he says, voice wavering a little as he nods to himself. “Fair and square,”

Dabi stalks towards you, shiny oxfords echoing against the pristine, freshly waxed marble floor, tutting his tongue and shaking his head, casual and relaxed as ever.

“Don’t struggle, you hear me?” he says, voice softer, gentler, as a calloused thumb swipes across your cheekbone, catching a stray tear. “Be a good girl for him,”

And I’ll see you soon.

The promise doesn’t need to be vocalized—you can see it, shining bright and true in his sapphire eyes, can sense it, in the air surrounding him, can feel it, at the very core of your soul.

A sudden sense of relief floods your body, pathetic little sobs getting caught in your chest as you exhale shakily and deflate in the burly man’s arms, tears finally spilling over your lashline and streaming down your cheeks.

“Okay,” you breathe.

Dabi gives you a simple nod, lips quirking up into a ghost of his signature lopsided smirk. Okay.

And just like that, all of the fear and trepidation and panic vanishes from your body, a serene calm chased by a sense of giddiness replacing it, scorching through your veins.

Because before the door to the man’s hotel room has even swung fully shut, Dabi’s barreling through, crystal handle smashing against the wall and cracking as skilled fingers tangle in short hair, yanking the man’s head back with a sickening crack and dragging the razor-sharp edge of his favourite switchblade across the man’s exposed throat.

He moves like a flash of light, a spark igniting a fire, so fast he’s merely a blur of black and navy and blazing sapphire. Thick crimson begins pouring from the wound immediately, a large splice spanning from one earlobe all the way to the other.

The man hits the shiny hardwood floor with a distinct thump, but you aren’t paying attention to him or the way he’s writhing as he tries to claw at his neck, coughing and gagging as he begins to choke on his own blood.

No, you’re captivated by sapphire, bright and burning as it surges towards you, calloused hands seizing your face roughly as chapped lips find yours, unforgiving and ferocious, bloody knife still in one hand, cool metal pressed against your cheek, smearing streaks of scarlet across your skin as you try to get closer to him, to get more, the stench of copper stinging your nose.

It’s eradicated in an instant though, Dabi’s heady scent—campfire and hickory wood and expensive cologne—filling your lungs, your mind, your entire being as it curls around you in the most intoxicating embrace, familiar and comforting and him, him, him. Stumbling backwards, you just about trip over your own feet as Dabi shoves forward, strong hands wrapped around your biceps keeping you steady. The sharp edge of the small rosewood dining table digs into your lower back, Dabi swallowing your resounding yelp as he sucks your bottom lip between his teeth and tugs, large hands finding your waist and squeezing before he hoists you onto its surface, using his hipbones to force your thighs open.

You nearly topple over from the power, from the urgency, hands flying out behind you and grappling against the table’s surface to keep you sitting upright as he heaves and pushes and leans against you, motions knocking sparkling crystal glasses and fine porcelain plates off the top.

The sound of shattering glass and cracking china mingles with the gurgling and garbling of the man who lay a few feet away on the floor, suffocating on his own blood. It creates such a beautiful symphony, intertwined with Dabi’s ragged breaths and your broken moans, with the ruffling of clothing and the screech of the table legs against the gleaming hardwood floor. And it’s desperate, and needy, and messy, teeth clashing and clacking together violently, saliva dripping down chins as tongues rub and glide and lick, hands pawing and gripping and tugging and ripping, the delicate material of your silk Dior dress practically turning to ash as his fingers materialize through it, tearing it to shreds.

“Off, off, off, I need this off,” he’s growling against your lips as his hands work, a low whine getting caught in your throat as you nod frenetically.

Yes, yes, yes, you’re whimpering, your own little fingers helping him destroy the silvery fabric, eager and anxious to rid your body of the bothersome garment.

A guttural groan, deep and dark and inducing a fluttering in your tummy rumbles in his chest as his eyes roam over your body, clad in the daintiest white lace.

“You’re fucking gorgeous, y’know that,” he’s mumbling between sharp bites to the flesh of your neck, fingers snapping the clasp of your bra, breaking it in one simple motion. “A fuckin’ angel, that’s what you are, baby. My very own angel,”

Rough palms slide down your torso, slow and purposeful as they trace, feel, knead the dips and curves, planes and contours of your body, slender fingers pausing to play with the elastic of the garter belt adorning your waist, holding up your lace-trimmed thigh-highs which have begun to tear, then hooking in the waistband of your thong.

His cock grinds against your inner thigh, hot and hard and throbbing as it strains against his trousers, digits toying with the lacy elastic, twirling it between his fingers before he lets it snap back against your skin, the harsh slap! echoing throughout the hotel room. 

“Oh, Mister, I want it,” the plead falls from your lips in a shameless moan, high and whiny as your hips press forward in an attempt to grind against him. Slender fingers untangle themselves from the lacy fabric in an instant, gripping your hips to still them, fingertips digging into your flesh. “I need it,”

“Need what, dollface?” his lips brush against your skin as he speaks, teeth sinking into your collarbone a moment later, hard enough to break the skin, a loud cry getting caught in your chest. He sucks on the wound, hard, tongue laving over it in soothing little circles, slowly dragging over the bite.

And it’s a compulsion, a sickness, a fucking disease surging through your veins, infecting your mind with thoughts of him and only him, entire body buzzing with the desperate, pathetic, urgent need for him, for his cock, for his cum.

“Need you, need you,” you’re whimpering out, squirming and struggling a little in his grasp, a warning hiss spit through his teeth as blunt nails nip your skin. “Please, Dabi, please, lemme have it,”

“Have what, baby?” lips curling up into a coy smirk, he pulls back just enough to look at you, finally pushing his hips into yours, a patronizing laugh spilling from his throat as you instantly grind against his cock, impatient and impetuous. “Use your words, Mister wants to hear you say it,”

Scalding heat seeps into your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut tightly, a broken whine of complaint sounding in the back of your throat as you shake your head. “Y-You know,” you mumble. “You know,”

“Oh, come on, baby,” he tuts with a disappointed shake of his head, voice overflowing with condescension. “You act like such a little slut, but as soon as I want you to say what you apparently need oh-so-badly, you can’t? You get all shy and bashful like you’re innocent, or something?”

An arrogant chuckle bubbles up in his chest, a rough palm colliding with the flesh of your ass a moment later. Scarred lips graze your ear as he leans back in, speaking low and smooth, words leaving his mouth in a huff of warm, sweet breath. “You’re being bad, y’know that?”

The huskiness in his tone sends chills pebbling across your skin, a delicate shiver dancing up your spine.

“Please,” you whisper, bottom lip beginning to tremble. “Please, Mister, please,”

“Tell me,” he rasps, taking the lobe of your ear between his teeth and sucking, bruising his name into the sensitive skin. “I know you can do it, doll. What is it that you want? Tell me,”

And, God, it’s so embarrassing, vision blurring with the sting of tears, entire body beginning to tremble from the combined humiliation and lust surging through your veins, his clothed cock still rutting against your core, poking and prodding and so close, you’re so close, two tiny words, just say them. “Your—Your cock,” you almost yelp, blinking back the tears in your eyes as you try to gaze levelly at him, teeth digging into your bottom lip to quell its pathetic quivering. “W-Want your cock, please, Mister, I-I need it,”

“Yeah?” he breathes while he rests his forehead against yours, butting forward a little as his glazed eyes rapidly search your face, pupils blown to hell and lips bitten red, shining with spit. “Where, huh? Down here?”

A finger tugs the flimsy soaked lace to the side, another dark chuckle slipping from his lips as he drags a knuckle up your dripping slit.

“Here?” it presses into your cute little hole, your hips eagerly bucking forward in response.

“Yes, yes, there, Mister, there, please,” you keen, head nodding in almost frantic movements, skull knocking against his. “Please, n-no fingers, want your cock, need your cock, stretch me out, fill me up, I need it,”

And it’s your senseless babbling that does it, bratty and needy and incessant in high broken whines, that snaps the final thread of patience holding him back, and a growl rips from his chest, so violent it vibrates through your own.

The heavy buckle of his belt clinks as hasty fingers fiddle with it, shoving his trousers down his thighs just enough to free his cock.

You can’t help the mortifying moan that escapes your throat the moment you see it, velvety and pink and oh-so-pretty, flushed tip glistening with precum and two thick veins snaking around the shaft like vines.

“Christ,” he groans as he pushes into your cunt, burying himself inside of you in one swift thrust, your nails biting into the hard muscles of his shoulder through the thin material of his shirt as your hole stretches around him, both of you exhaling simultaneous sighs of relief.

It burns and it stings and God, you need more, eyes rolling back in your skull as the sharp heels of your stilettos dig into his lower back, little fingers tangling in white cotton as you try to pull him closer, closer, closer.

“Greedy little brat,” he snarls out as his hips begin snapping, the movement sudden, unexpected, welcomed, a choked cry of his name catching in your throat.

And it’s brutal and relentless, primal and desperate, lacking most of his usual finesse as he pounds into you, cockhead slamming against your cervix with every harsh thrust of his hips, hard enough to move the entire table itself, legs scraping against the floor a little more with each pump.

Inky curls cling to his forehead and temples, the white cotton of his dress shirt becoming translucent as it sticks to his damp skin, highlighting the hard planes of defined muscle that flex with each ragged inhale.

Surging forward, his tongue runs along the inside of your teeth before it drags against yours, slow and heavy, depositing his taste and staining it with the flavour of him, fiery cinnamon gum and smoky Marlboros. Gorgeous, needy little whines break in his throat in time with each strong piston of his hips, muffled by your mouth, and you greedily swallow whatever he’ll afford you.

It’s total sensory overload—he’s all you can see, all you can hear, all you can taste, touch, breathe, hijacking all of your receptors and overwhelming you with him.

It’s building inside of you, deep in the pit of your stomach, scorching flames that glow as blue as his eyes as they rage, climbing higher and higher, licking at your insides and expanding further and further until they finally engulf you, consume you, with their blaze, and everything shatters, body convulsing almost violently around his cock as you cum with a strained cry of his name.

“Fill me, Mister,” you’re babbling, begging, swearing you’ll die if he doesn’t, the flames will burn you to ash if you don’t get his cum soon, voice absolutely wrecked. “Fill me, fill me,”

And he obeys, filling your cute little cunt to the brim with thick, hot cum as his cock pulses, a cracked whimper of f-fuck, slipping past his lips.

His chest heaves as he collapses against you, the two of you falling back against the table’s surface with a thump, his cock still buried inside of you. A soft whine sounds in the back of your throat as you carefully unlock your legs from around him, wincing a little at the stiffness in your thighs.

I love you.

The three words are murmured into your shoulder, so soft you barely hear them, so quiet you’re sure you’d have imagined them had you not felt his lips move against your flesh, not felt his hot breath on your skin, not felt the gentle vibrations in his chest as he spoke.

“I love you,” you respond, voice tender as tiny fingers comb through his dishevelled hair. “I love you,”

He’s silent for a moment, your combined pants the only sounds ringing out among the hotel room, and then he nods—once at first; just a quick, sharp motion, and then again a moment later, with more vigour, more purpose, more acceptance.

Little hands smooth down the damp cotton hugging his back and your head lolls to the side, cheek pressed against the cool wood of the table. A certain type of giddiness—a type that’s sick, that’s twisted, that’s stuffed full of love—floods your body as your eyes connect with those of a dead man, laying in a pool sticky crimson, and God, yes, you love him, you love him, you love him—more than anyone else ever could, more than you could ever love anything else.  

[peninkwrites]

Wake Up. Ch 15 of ?

Tommy gets a bracelet. Wilbur picks a fight.

[CW: burns, discussions/threats of violence, dehumanization, c!Dream being nuts.]

crossposted to ao3

Ch 1

Ch 14

Ch 16

~

You whisper to Dream: stasis

Punz’s injured leg still twinges slightly as he hits the trap door.

“How are things on the home front?” Dream asks dryly.

“Oh, they’re hopeless.  They’re just picking a direction to run in because it’s better than giving up,” Punz scoffs.  “How about here?”

“I wanna show you– I’m trying to figure out that trick with the lodestone,” Dream returns to the narrow corridor, Punz close behind.  Punz pauses as he sees light streaming from an open doorway down the side corridor.  Punz tries to bottle his irritation.  “Where’s Tommy?”

“What?  Oh, I dunno.  Probably found some corner to cry in– come see what I have so far,” Dream proceeds past an iron door to his library.  Bits of Netherite are laid out on the enchanting table, alongside a few test runs of carved stone.  An enchanted Netherite pickaxe is very difficult to wield delicately, but Dream has clearly done his best.

“Why are you working on this stuff, then?  Shouldn’t we continue with the experiments?” Punz asks.

“Are you kidding?  Tommy’s not going anywhere, and if we figure out this, if he does go anywhere we’ll know where!” Dream continues on excitedly.  “I can’t believe those idiots figured this out and I’m having a hard time with it.”

Punz gives him a look.  “Thinking awfully highly of yourself, are we?”

Dream looks up at him, seemingly puzzled.  “I’ve beaten death.  I think it’s fair for me to expect myself to figure out some old man’s science project.”

“Fine, but we haven’t fully beaten death, right?” Punz continues on impatiently.

Dream sighs, fishing into his inventory before shoving a copy of the revive book into his hands.  “Here.  Do what you want with him.  Just no permanent damage, remember, limbs don’t grow back.”

Maybe Punz should be more unsettled by Dream’s words, but he’s almost relieved.  Clearly Dream isn’t totally obsessed with Tommy, he’s obsessed with having something to work on.  Whether his fascination is in the psyche of a half crazed teenager or an unusual mechanism doesn’t matter.  Punz doesn’t move just yet.  He doesn’t want to admit that without instruction he doesn’t really know what to do, what there is to test that Dream always goes on and on about.  Dream has resumed his work on carving into a tiny piece of stone, using more fine tuned iron tools.  Making detail on Netherite without the use of enchantment in some form, whether a book or the enchanting table, is all but impossible.  Dream still seems to be doing his best.

“Except the thing is, I don’t know what you’ve already done, so,” Punz tries to sound inconvenienced rather than lost.

“Why does that matter?” Dream is only half paying attention to him now.  “Damnit!” He slams the tool onto the table, the piece of stone he had been carving into no bigger than a standard cut emerald and thin as the blade of a sword.

“It’s too thin,” Punz points out dully.

“I know it’s too thin– the fucking point is to make it smaller!” Dream snaps.  He pauses.  “Sorry,” he says sharply, a dismissal of Punz getting annoyed with him, not a genuine sentiment.  “I’ll figure it out– what were you saying?”

“I don’t know what you’ve already tested.  I don’t see a point in repeating stuff, right?  I’m here for one reason only, Dream.  You said this book could get us immortality.  So, I don’t see a point in waiting around,” Punz grows more irritated.  Dream doesn’t respond, so he continues, pushing for any answers.  “You said before– You said something about when he feels pain–”

“Look,” Dream turns around to face him.  “This stuff– there’s no precedent for it, alright?  We are in uncharted territory.  And while that makes our work important, it’s not like there’s an instruction manual.”

“Which is why I’m asking you.”

Dream drums his fingers on the enchanting table, thinking.  Punz gives him time for his silence, sensing Dream is finally giving genuine thought to his question.  Dream is.  “Have you ever beaten someone to death?”

Punz stares at him.  He makes no move to respond, almost like he’s waiting for Dream to get to a punchline.

Dream continues like this is some indication that Punz is waiting for more answers.  “Just kept on hitting them and hitting them and hitting them,” Dream’s hand right curls into a fist, “until they stopped moving?”  Another pause.  Punz still doesn’t move.  “What about strangled?”  Dream steps closer.  Punz refuses to step back.  “You ever felt the life literally drain out of someone,” Dream is very close to him now, hands held up almost in demonstration just a bit too close to Punz’s own neck.  “Your hands around their throat until they just sort of break?”   Dream says that last word with a sort of eerie reverence.  He lowers his hands and Punz still doesn’t move.  Dream tilts his head, still somehow expecting a reply.  “No?  You can find out, Punz.  I won’t mind.”  Another pause.  It’s all too slow, Dream’s words careful and precise and with far too much room for Punz to engage even if Punz hasn’t even blinked, staring, fixated on that white mask like it’s suddenly dawned on him that that is not a person’s face.  He cannot remember when he last saw Dream’s face, what it might look like underneath that shield of his.  Whatever Punz does, however he reacts, Dream continues anyway.  “Or you can wait until we have Wilbur back.  He’s fresher.”  Punz has some vague inkling that this is something he should be reacting to in some way, a shiver, a shudder, something to say, and still there is nothing.  And still Dream keeps going.  “He doesn’t know what it feels like to die all those ways yet.”  Behind that mask it’s still too clear that Dream is sizing him up in some way.  “It’ll make it more real for the both of you, I think.”  Dream waits again, five seconds, ten seconds, twenty.  Dream turns back to the enchanting table.  “Like I said.  Do what you want.  Just no permanent damage.”

Punz doesn’t let go of the book Dream had pressed into his hands.  He gives a sharp nod, the only acknowledgement he can manage, and leaves.  He walks a little ways down the corridor, and then he pauses, leaning against the wall.

What the fuck what the fuck what the fuck–?

Punz is beginning to think he might’ve dived into this particular business venture without knowing what sort of depths were waiting for him.  Dream has always been powerful, a little intimidating, incredibly driven.  Punz has no idea what else he is.

You’re going to be immortal, Punz.  You get what you came for, you and Dream go your separate ways.  You put all of this behind you for literally an eternity.

For a moment, a thought emerges which Punz is quick to push aside.

And when you leave, when all this is over, what happens to Tommy?

Tommy hears the iron door open from the other end of the room and bolts to his feet, scrambling over the fence in an effort to get away from the chickens as quickly as possible.  He can be the only target.  He relaxes maybe a hair when instead of Dream it’s Punz who stands cautiously in the doorway, watching him with a frown.  Tommy glances down to his hands.  Punz has a copy of the revive book.  Tommy takes one step back.

“What?” Tommy asks, accusing and wary.

“What’re you doing in here?” Is what Punz asks first, glancing around at the rows of crops in muted disinterest.

“Uh.  Getting… getting a snack,” Tommy turns to the nearest plant and digs up a filthy, raw potato.

“Right,” Punz is already irritated.  “Come with me.”

Tommy wants to protest or complain or something.  But really, they’re still too close to the chickens for comfort, so Tommy follows him out without a word, dropping the potato by the door.

“Where are we going?” Tommy manages that question, even daring to sound whining.

“Does it matter?  We’re in a bunker.”

“Yeah, some rooms are scarier than others, dickhead…” Tommy mutters gloomily.

Punz returns to the dome.  Tommy scans the floor.  His blood is no longer in the water.  Interesting.  It means there must be some circulation somewhere.  Maybe Dream planned on this room being where they killed him, like how the room at the old base had a drain.  Whatever is causing the waterflow, it’s very slow, other than their splashing footsteps the water seems undisturbed, except of course for the two bubbling stasis chambers near the trap door leading out into the water.

Punz leans against the wall, sitting on top of one of the chests, observing the revive book carefully.  He knows it combusts upon opening, which is irritating.

“So, what’d you want with me, then?” Tommy is impatient in a way he could never get away with with Dream, scuffing his feet, splashing the water as he stands in the middle of the room.

Punz looks up at him, mulling something over.  These questions might be better saved for Dream, but Dream is busy at present, apparently.

“The revivebook.  It burns automatically.  Do you think there might be a way for it to actually work automatically without conscious thought?” Punz asks.

“What’d you mean?” Tommy squints at him.  He’s not interested in philosophy or logistics.  He just wants to know what Punz is going to do to him.

“So, it requires conscious thought, right?  You open the book, you focus on the intended target, it burns, and then you’re revived,” Punz begins.

“Why the fuck do you think I’d know that?  I’m always dead for that bit, remember?” Tommy scowls.

“Okay, well.  Now you know,” Punz continues irritably.  “If there was a way to… I dunno, maybe alter the enchantment?”

“Okay, but you’d still need a trigger, obviously,” Tommy scoffs.  “You want it to bring you back to life without needing any help, but you can’t trigger shit when you’re dead, bitch!”

Punz doesn’t know if he’s more irritated by Tommy’s audacity or the fact that he is most definitely right.  “What makes you think you can talk to me like that?” Punz says coldly.

Tommy doesn’t answer, even though he could.  He resents Punz, he finds him unpredictable.  He doesn’t seem as nuts as Dream, but he goes along with it nonetheless.  And Tommy has to push, to see where the line is.  Last time he’d pushed, Punz had responded too kindly.  He hadn’t hit him, he’d given him food and left.  That’s dangerous.   Tommy cannot let himself get too comfortable, and somehow pushing with the kind of rough insults that used to come so easily to him is more manageable than considering a time where bending the rules matters.  Tommy doesn’t really know why he’s pushing.  He should be trying to make an ally here.  No.  No, you’re not trying to make a fucking friend here, because last time you thought Dream was your friend.  You cannot try and make a truce with Punz because this motherfucker is still killing you and he still took you away from home and he’s still with Dream.  He doesn’t need to start kicking you around too for you to know he is wrong.  You cannot be weak around him.

Punz sighs, giving up on getting a reply, and he doesn’t scold Tommy further or threaten him or anything.  Again, that’s dangerous.  Punz doesn’t look at him anymore, instead his gaze wanders the room, as he passes the closed revive book between his hands, thinking.

“What’d you think Dream’s plans are?  Once the experiments are done.  When this bit is over.  What do you think he’ll do after?”  Punz asks, unsure if Tommy senses the unspoken question, what do you think will happen to you?

Tommy gives him a funny look, confused, almost as if trying to gauge if Punz is joking or not.  “What’d’you mean over?”

“When he’s done with the experimenting part,” Punz repeats.

Now Tommy is really confused, looking wary.  “...why would it ever be over?”

Punz blinks, hoping he doesn’t look startled.  “Well, I mean, the goal is to figure out how to be immortal, properly immortal, and then why would it need to continue?”

Tommy looks almost delightedly intrigued, like Punz has just said something fascinatingly controversial.  “Is that what the goal is?”  He raises an eyebrow.

Punz knows they’re inching closer to the matter he’d been dreading and looking for.  “That’s why I’m here.”  A weighted pause.  “Why do you think Dream is doing this, then?”

Tommy snorts, poorly burying a laugh.  He gives Punz another look of condescending pity.  “Ohhh, Punz, my friend, I do not think you’re prepared for me to answer that question.”

Punz’s anger sparks once more at Tommy treating him so differently to Dream.  Is that what you want?  Do you really want Tommy to view you as the same as Dream?  “I don’t know why you’re acting like you have a choice,” he snaps.  “I’m asking, and you’re going to answer me.”

Tommy considers this for a moment.  He’s getting tired of standing, his feet are so cold in the water they’re almost numb, everything about him is cold.  He walks up to the chest beside the one Punz is sitting on, and joins him, pulling his feet out of the water and crossing his legs, his hands covering them in an attempt to get any feeling back in his pruned, icy flesh.  Punz made his best attempt at ordering Tommy around, and Tommy has walked in range of his fists without a second thought, sitting beside him utterly at ease.  Tommy leans back against the stonebrick, looking over at Punz with all the patience of a school teacher.

“You think, Dream dragged me all the way out here, that he fought tooth and nail to fucking keep me or get me back or whatever– all that shit, because he wants to be immortal?” Tommy already knows the answer, but he can’t help but ask.

“What else would it be?” Punz hisses.

Tommy glances back to the dark doorway into the corridor, before leaning in closer.  “He thinks he’s a god, Punz,” Tommy whispers.  He pulls back, looking at Punz expectantly, when Punz simply stares at him, expecting more, Tommy just shrugs, blasé as can be.

“What do you mean?” Punz forces himself to put together a question.

“What’d you mean, what’d I mean?” Tommy scoffs.  “I mean what I said and I said what I mean.  He’s–” Tommy gestures with some vague, meaningless flourish in the direction of the tunnels where Dream is hiding out somewhere.  “Y’know?” Tommy blusters, nodding.

Punz knows the man has a bit of an ego, but he hopes– he thinks, Tommy is being a bit drastic.  Then again…

Dream’s delighted little monologue, discussing not only the manner of killing someone, but the feeling of it.  The textbook delusions of grandeur one might find inspired by a god smiting mortals for fun.

Punz decides to bury the thought for now.

“And what does that mean for you?  What does that mean for– for this not being over for you, then?” Punz refocuses.

“I don’t really know what you want from me, bub,” Tommy says gruffly, gesturing to himself for emphasis.  “If you’re really not getting the picture so far, I’d say you’re hopeless.”

Punz loses control for just a moment, grabbing the collar of Tommy’s shirt, dragging him closer, Tommy shuts his eyes tightly the moment Punz’s hand approaches him.  “Quit screwing around and answer my question.  I’m being nice right now, Tommy.  I don’t know why you’re so dead set on me not being nice anymore.”

Tommy nods, opening his eyes just a hair, still bracing for a blow, when none comes, he relaxes, not caring that Punz is still holding him by his shirt, better his shirt than grabbing him by his throat or pulling him by his hair.  Punz doesn’t even have a scale for what Tommy considers to be frightening.

“Fine,” Tommy says mildly.  “Fine fine fine– you want to know what Dream’s whole deal is?  Why he’s got me around, instead of nabbing an easier lab rat?  Hell, why he let Wilbur go?  Alright.  Alright.”  Tommy pauses once more, lips a thin line, eyebrows furrowed as he grimly thinks it over.  He hasn’t just been messing with Punz, and definitely not trying to spare his feelings or opinion on Dream or whatever bullshit, the truth of it is Tommy is ashamed.  He knows Punz must have some idea, but naming the state Tommy exists in is another beast entirely.  Tommy doesn’t look Punz in the eye, staring instead at his own distorted reflection in the water.  It’s only an outline with the way the shadows are cast from the sea lanterns embeded in the floor at regular intervals.  He has no face, no expression, only a shadow, pulled forward helplessly by the vague implication of an arm.  He is nothing.  “My life is Dream’s,” Tommy sounds strained, every word certain and so heavy.  “He–” Tommy sighs, still not looking at Punz, but he sees his own reflected hand reach up to brush against Punz’s hold on his shirt.  “Can you let go, please?”  He asks quietly, voice shaking for just a moment.  Punz obliges, but he doesn’t say a word, so Tommy continues.  “He thinks he owns me.  And I… I think he hates me for… for a lot of things, one of them being that I don’t think that’s true.  Or I… I try to think that’s not true.  So he tries to prove it.  He hurts me, does whatever he wants with me,” Tommy shrugs, tone turning into something lighter, more mild, something horribly like acceptance, “because he can.  Why wouldn’t he, then?  If he’s entitled to me, why would he stop hurting me for… for trying to steal that back from him?” Tommy finally breaks his stare from his own reflection and looks Punz in the eye.  They both look so weary, but Tommy’s expression is equally marred by bitter understanding, and Punz’s by something dangerously close to concern.  Punz starts to say something, but he doesn’t get a word out.

“I did it!” Dream’s voice echoes into the dome like a firework has gone off.  They both jump.  Dream stops at the sight of them sitting across from one another, apparently engrossed in conversation.  “Am I interrupting something?”  Dream sounds amused.  “If you were going to kill him, go ahead.  I don’t need him alive right now.”

Punz turns away from Tommy sharply.  “No– No, not right now.  What is it?”

Dream approaches excitedly, holding in his left hand a glowing compass and in his right, a lodestone about the size of an acorn.

“You did?  Like, actually?” Punz is shocked.

Dream stops, fist curling around the lodestone, reproachful.  “I mean, obviously I did it.  Did you really think I wouldn’t?”  Dream turns to Tommy.  “Look.  You should be excited too, Tommy.  I mean, this means you might even get to be even more free range one day.”

Tommy forces himself to nod.  “Y-Yeah, that’s– That’s cool.  I think it’s even smaller than the one the others made.”

Punz looks back at him, almost irritated that Tommy is so quick to turn back to desperately going along with whatever Dream says.  Punz is getting a better grasp of how Dream earned that respect– it’s not respect, it’s fear– but he can’t help but envy it just a bit.

Dream isn’t oblivious to Tommy’s praise only being a panicked instinct, but he doesn’t seem to care.  “Come with me,” he nods back toward the doorway, pausing for a moment.  “Unless– well, are you done with him?” He asks Punz as an afterthought.

Punz is unsettled by the implication, that Tommy is just some tool Dream has loaned him.  Still, he shakes his head.  “Yeah, I don’t care.  I… I didn’t know what I was doing anyway.”

“Hm,” Dream nods, uninterested.  “Come on, Tommy.”

Tommy follows him down toward Dream’s library, but library feels like the wrong word now.  There’s still a row of bookshelves around the enchanting table, but there’s also an anvil, a stonecutter, crafting table, blast furnace, and a grindstone.

“Come here,” Dream nods him over to the crafting table.  “Hand.”

One word and Tommy knows to hold his hand out.  Usually he goes with his left.  He’s already down a finger, might as well let it take the rest of the damage, but Dream simply pinches a piece of leather around it, marking the length with charcoal.

Tommy wants to ask what he’s doing.  He doesn’t, just stands there quietly.

What happened to your resistance, Tommy?  I thought you didn’t want to get quiet again?  He thinks gloomily.  It’s just easier.  That’s the bitter truth of it.  He can push Punz’s buttons because thus far the consequences have been mild, but he knows how quickly and how viciously Dream can respond to any misbehavior.  He fell too easily.  Dream has hardly even hurt him yet.

“What are you doing?” Tommy asks, even with some sharpness behind his words.

“You’ll see,” is all Dream says.

Tommy stands there gloomily, watching with some curiosity as he sees Dream is making a mould.  He watches as Dream lines up the leather and makes a band about an inch thick, nestling the lodestone on the top, before making one more loop at the bottom.

Then he begins to heat the iron, and Tommy understands.

He’s too tired for even anger.  He’d known from the moment he set up the stasis chamber he would be a dog on a leash.  What is this but an extension of that?  Tommy sits on the floor, here it is only a bit damp because of the books, as Dream continues.

Punz has followed them, it seems, and either hasn’t had the same realization as Tommy or is asking more in the hopes of understanding why:  “What’re you doing?”

“Making a way to keep the lodestone on him,” Dream says mildly.  Punz frowns.  “What?” Dream scoffs.  “This is the humane option.”  He sees Tommy’s expression change from grumpy to stricken.  “I’ll explain in a bit, Tommy, but as long as you keep this, you don’t need to worry about it.”  How fucking generous of him to clue Tommy in at all, even if it’s clearly only to hold it over his head as a threat.

Punz leans against the wall beside Tommy, and yet again Tommy finds it unnervingly like having company in his hellhole.  He is not a fellow captive.  He’s a different brand of monster.  Keep your head on straight, King.

It doesn’t take very long to get enough iron melted to pour into such a small mould.  Dream douses the metal in water soon enough after, steam rising with a sharp hiss.  The lodestone is now encased in iron, the liquid metal running messy rivulets down the surface of the cube, so it almost now looks like the thing is encased in a web.  The lower half of the band is open, obviously, for Tommy to actually get it around his wrist.

“Perfect, right?” Dream says smugly.  “Come here,” Dream nods him over.  “Hand.”

Tommy again offers his left hand.  The metal is still warm as Dream pushes the band around his wrist, Tommy wincing as it pinches, but once settled, it’s a perfect fit.

“Great.  You gave the kid a fancy bracelet,” Punz says dryly.  “If he were to run away, you’d think he’d take off the tracker, right?”

“Oh, I’m not done yet, obviously,” Dream scoffs.  Dream again grabs Tommy’s wrist, turning it over to expose veins far too visible under pale, breakable skin.  “Hm,” Dream considers it for a moment.  “Yeah, this is really gonna hurt,” analytical, not sympathetic.  “Punz, can you hold him down?”

“What?” Punz asks sharply just as Tommy frantically looks up at Dream, “what?!”

“Quickly, if you don’t mind.  Tommy is very well trained now, but I think this one might just make him break a little,” Dream continues on, talking to Punz like Tommy can’t even understand him.

Punz does as Dream asks.  Better to get whatever this is over with quickly.  He comes up behind Tommy, one arm wrapping around him, keeping his right arm pinned to his side, Punz’s other hand holds Tommy’s left forearm, keeping it pinned to the table.  Tommy tries struggling.

“W-What’re you– What the fuck–” Tommy tries to pull free, wriggling and kicking back against Punz’s shins to try and make him let go.

“If you don’t move as much, I’m less likely to touch your skin, Tommy,” Dream returns to the molten metal still waiting.  He removes the remaining ring of metal, still glowing a violent orange, with tongs.

“No– No, let me go,” Tommy stares with wide, petrified eyes as he sees it get closer to his wrist.  “Let me go!  Just–  Just tie it on!  Chain it on!  Please, don’t!”  Dream carefully places the ring of metal so it joins the other two sides, just from proximity Tommy’s wrist already starts to burn.   “STOP!  STOP STOP STOP–”  Tommy cuts himself off with a strangled scream as the metal finally brushes directly against his skin, flesh sizzling away immediately.  Dream grabs a bucket of water almost lazily, finally pouring it onto the metal.  It cools rapidly, the steam alone covers Tommy’s hand in a less severe burn, the metal is still hot enough to deepen the already viciously burnt tissue on the sensitive, delicate skin inside of his wrist.

Punz lets go, Tommy hits the ground with a choked cry, curling in on himself, clutching his burnt wrist, trying to push the still hot metal away, but it is a perfect fit.  There is absolutely no give, other than maybe the hole in his wrist left by the burn.  Tommy’s breathing comes out in frantic, whimpering gasps.  Dream kicks the bucket of water his way, Tommy, struggling to sit up, hands trembling violently, whole body trembling, dips the wound back into the water.  Finally, it cools enough to at least not deepen the burn.

Punz refuses to look down at Tommy, even as he can still hear him struggling to breathe around his sobs.  Punz looks at Dream instead.  “Health pot?”  The words come out almost strained.

“No brewing stands allowed in the base,” Dream shrugs as if to say rules are rules, “unless you’ve got one.  If you’re that worried about his pain,” he says that last word like it’s a joke, “kill him.  Make him bleed out from that wrist just to be sure, and the revival will take care of the rest.”

Punz tries to make himself move automatically, making it so far as crouching down beside Tommy and reaching toward him without recoiling away.

“No…” Tommy croaks, struggling to almost crawl to put some distance between them, injured wrist still cradled to his chest.  “ No no no no no…” Tommy mumbles helplessly.

Punz doesn’t know how to explain that he’s sort of almost trying to help, that he just wants to kill him to make his wrist fucking hurt less.  Instead, Punz stands, turns around, and leaves.  He hadn’t really wanted to help Tommy, surely.  He hadn’t really been scared for that stupid fucking kid, not when he’s the one who dragged him out here.  He’d just wanted him to stop whining.  His hysterics made him uncomfortable, obviously.  That was all.  He walks down the tunnel until he can no longer hear Tommy crying, and he has to admit, that knot of pain in his stomach settles.

He just needs to remember to keep his distance.

~

Wilbur is not going to kill himself.  He’s committed himself to that at least, even if only out of grudging understanding of Tubbo’s logic and maybe a decent bit of guilt over how much he owes that kid, but nonetheless, alive he shall remain for now.

Tubbo thinks he might know something.  He thinks that by some fucking miracle, Wilbur might have some tiny key that will lead them to Tommy.  He has nothing.  Dream is a deranged fucking mess with a god complex, but he’s also horribly careful and precise.  Nothing Wilbur knows will get them any closer to Tommy.

And there is fucking Sapnap working away, planning patrols, talking to Tubbo.  Wasn’t he supposed to be the one who knew Dream best?  What’s he even doing here?  He had been there alongside Tubbo, Techno, and that Ranboo kid to chase down Dream and Tommy.  Why?  In what world had Sapnap ever done more than lick Dream’s boot?

What if he is why they found you instead of Tommy?  I mean, why didn’t they catch up when Dream was grabbing you in the base?  Out of everyone on this fucking server– Why him?

The crowd on the platforms of New L’Manberg disperse, Tubbo following Ranboo back into his little home, hopefully to get some rest, and Sapnap begins to make his way toward the Prime Path.  Wilbur, following some peculiar, manic impulse, quickly scrambles to his feet and all but runs to follow him.

“Hey, Sapnap!” Wilbur has absolutely no volume control, he catches up to Sapnap and immediately shouts at him breathlessly.

“Fuck–” Sapnap almost squeaks, hand to his chest.  “Oh my god, you scared me.  Uh.  Hey, Wilbur,” Sapnap stares at him with wide eyes.

Wilbur laughs with something a bit too vicious behind it.  “Oh, sorry about that!  Ha, you know, still getting used to this whole being alive thing,” he smiles.  And from Sapnap’s nervous look it probably appears a bit too manic to be genuine.

“Right,” is all Sapnap says.  What other way is there to respond to that?

“I think it’s really great you’re so… invested in Tommy’s rescue, you know,” Wilbur makes sure this compliment comes across as accusatory as possible.

“Yeah.  I mean, how could I not be?” Sapnap says warily, glancing back toward the prime path instead of at Wilbur’s piercing stare.

“I was thinking the opposite, actually.”

“What?” Sapnap looks back over to him now, concern quickly rising, almost stumbling over the threshold into the community house.  The very place he had lost Dream.

“Well, Sapnap.  I’ve been gone a very long time, I know,” Wilbur is patronizing him like it’s a weapon to do so.  “But last I checked, you were Dream’s favorite bitch– Or, my apologies, his second favorite bitch.  Would you like to fill me in on why that is no longer the case?”  Wilbur walks as close behind Sapnap as he can, set on making him uncomfortable.

Sapnap stops, turning around sharply, pressing a hand to Wilbur’s chest.  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Wilbur responds to Sapnap touching him about as well as a dog to someone tugging on its tail.  He grabs Sapnap by the front of his shirt and slams him into the brick wall with surprising strength, barely choosing the more civilized option, the alternative being a very real urge to bite him.  He’s not used to being able to use his hands to defend himself.  There’s something wild behind his eyes, more than a little dangerous.  The look of a man who has spent too much time existing as prey.  Sapnap doesn’t push him off, he just freezes, hands raised passively.  Wilbur attempts to calm himself, it looking like he’s burying the urge to tear into Sapnap’s throat.  He breaks away from Sapnap’s eyes, glancing down to his own hands, unclenching his fists and letting go of his shirt, straightening it and almost apologetically brushing out the wrinkles.  “How about you don’t…” Wilbur smiles, voice unnervingly soft, and inhales sharply through his nose, pausing, clearly containing something far less friendly.  “How about you don’t put your fucking hands on me, considering your best friend has been dragging me around, tossing me which ever way he likes,” Wilbur can’t stop himself from curling his hand back into a fist, pressing against Sapnap’s chest almost with the intent to bruise, “deciding which chunks of me to cut off,” another deep breath, a shaky laugh, “yeah?” He looks Sapnap in the eye again, daring him to defend himself.

“Wilbur…” Sapnap doesn’t look angry, it’s not even defensive, it’s more like pity.  Wilbur cannot remember such a careful expression ever gracing this man’s face, maybe it’s just because Wilbur was most familiar with him in a warzone, but he had always been bravado and anger and arrogance, not this, not horribly, genuinely gentle.  “I’m sorry.”

Wilbur scowls, once more wary, but this line of antagonism cannot be separated from this eager, desperate hope for an enemy to be in reach.  “Do you have something to be sorry for, Sapnap?”

“I mean, maybe?”  Sapnap is somehow helpless, hoping for Wilbur to give him atonement.

Wilbur’s frown deepens, rage a rooted, consuming hum in his chest.  “What kind of fucking answer is that?”  He snarls.

“I dunno– uh, a bad one?” Sapnap shrugs, leaning back against the wall, looking up at the old oak planks of the floor above.  He knows just around the corner, on the other side of the brick, there is a tiny hole between the bricks where a bolt had landed instead of its intended target.  He hasn’t slept in over 24 hours.  He’s so fucking tired.  He’s so fucking irritated with himself for never managing to shoot his best friend properly.  “I haven’t been able to kill him yet.  And Tommy is gone.  And-And Dream is my responsibility, so,” he looks back down at Wilbur.  “I’m sorry.”

Wilbur barely pauses to consider his words, still set on getting the answer he wants.  “Your responsibility?” Wilbur hisses like an insult.

“Yeah,” Sapnap continues more firmly now.  This he knows, this he will say without hesitation.  “You’re right.  He was my best friend.  And he did this.  And I didn’t stop him before he got this bad.  So.  It’s my job to kill him now.  And to get Tommy home.   That’s why I’m here, Wilbur.  That’s it.”

Wilbur had pursued this man out of some desperate, delusional hope that he might secretly be working with Dream, that somehow he could find some channel back to that monster and his little brother already among them.  Maybe that delusion hasn’t vanished, but clearly his target isn’t here.  Wilbur weakens, all the hostility drained out of his posture as he stumbles back, a hand tugging at his tangled curls.  “You’re–” Wilbur struggles to find the words.  “You’re different.”

“Uh.  Thanks?”

Wilbur nods, deciding that was the appropriate answer to what he had said.  “Good.”  Wilbur, rather than conclude this conversation, or offer Sapnap anything like an apology or explanation, turns around on his heels and walks back the way they had come, leaving Sapnap alone in the community house, a reminder of his failures pressing down around him.  He’d missed that one fucking shot.  And he would never stop feeling the price of that around his neck.

~

Tommy is allowed hours of sickening peace.  He remains curled on top of his thin mattress, unable to stop thinking about the pulsing pain of the burn in his wrist.  He’s sweaty and clammy from the ordeal.  He’d puked the moment Dream dumped him back in his cell.  The only thing to distract him is the terrible thought that right now Dream has a compass tucked away in his inventory pointing right at him.  It’s just a needle showing a direction, but it feels horribly like he’s being watched.  It’s been hours.  Tommy managed to sleep some and when he woke there was a tray of food waiting.  He’d struggled to touch it.

Hours more have passed, maybe Tommy is overestimating out of irritation, but he could even see most of a day having passed, and no one has come to treat the burn.  It’s fucking damp down here– is no one worried about infection?!

Tommy is in pain, but right now, after this much time alone again, that pain feels only like fuel to his fury.  Dream fucking tagged him like a dog.  Tommy didn’t want to get quiet again, he didn’t want to get weak, but nonetheless he had, and Dream had still made an excuse to give him a fresh understanding of agony.  Tommy is so fucking tired of it.

Dream breaks him from his solitude, but when he returns, Tommy is too pissed off to flinch.  The door slides open and Dream enters.  Tommy doesn’t bother moving.  He stares at the faintly glowing compass now hanging from Dream’s belt with visceral hatred.

“Get up,” Dream orders.

“Why?” Tommy asks, voice still weak from sobbing until he was hoarse, but he still manages to sound accusing.

“Because I’m not finished with you, yet,” Dream says irritably.  “I gave you plenty of time to rest, no need to look so ungrateful.  Maybe if you’re good I’ll give you a health pot or something.”

Tommy sits up slowly.  “What?”

“Come on.  I need to explain something to you,” he nods back out into the corridor, heading off without bothering to check if Tommy is following.  He knows he is.  He can probably see the needle turning.

Tommy still can’t help but keep his injured wrist held to his chest.  The weight of the metal is unfamiliar still, but he can barely notice it underneath the brutal sting of the wound.  Dream walks forward down the main corridor, deeper and deeper into whatever chunk of earth that underwater cave exists within.  Dream goes past the room with the farm, and at the very end of the hall, Tommy sees obsidian.  He stops, and for a moment, all that fury drains out of him and is replaced by cold dread.

“I… I didn’t do anything wrong,” Tommy whispers frantically.  “Please– I d-didn’t– I‘m sorry I struggled–” He thought he’d run out of tears, but a lump forms in his throat, and with it the anger returns, this isn’t fucking fair– “I haven’t done anything wrong, I haven’t, I– I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Tommy!” Dream shouts over him.  “Shut up.  I’m not locking you in here.  Just– Just come over here.  Now.  Or maybe I will.”

Tommy doesn’t know where he gets the willpower, but he crosses that threshold.  This room is even fucking smaller.  Tommy thinks he might faint, or start clawing at the walls already.  It’s 2x2, walls of obsidian, and absolutely nothing else.

“Do you feel that, Tommy?”

“Y-Yes,” Tommy says shakily.  Like the whole world is fucking closing in on you.

“That’s mining fatigue,” Dream says.

Tommy snaps out of some sort of daze.  “What?”

“If you try to dig out from any direction, you know, instead of trying to swim, eventually you hit mining fatigue.  On the other side of this, there’s an ocean monument,” Dream brushes a hand against the wall almost fondly.  “Stole that one from Sam, I’ll admit.”  A pause, Tommy says nothing, only watches him, waiting in terror.  “Come on,” Dream turns back around, heading the way they’d come.

He continues monologuing.  “If you somehow, against all known odds, managed to escape from here, you’ve earned it.  I mean, if you can get out of this?”  Dream gestures grandly to the system of tunnels they now navigate, heading toward the slightly brighter light of the dome.  “You’d have won, fair and square,” he laughs.

Tommy follows him.  And suddenly the pain in his wrist feels weak, infinitesimal, because Dream seems to mean it.   It’s a double edged sword.  Dream is so certain that Tommy cannot escape he is saying this in such a way that he fully believes it.  Both parts of it.  He does not believe Tommy can escape therefore he believes if he did he’d have earned it.  Dream wants a game.  Games can be won.

They cross over into the dome and it’s like that vast expanse, the weight of the world and a million gallons of water pressing down on them, it feels like an echo of his epiphany.  He’s in pain.  He’s exhausted.  He’s weak.  He’s scared out of his fucking mind.  And Dream has given him an opening, sure, it’s a plot for the mad, but that suits both of them perfectly.  Dream thinks he literally cannot escape.  Then Tommy will spend every moment looking for a way out.  If Dream wants him to play, for the rat to run the maze, fine.  But Tommy is going to get out.  He’s going to win.  Or at least he’s going to make sure Dream loses with him.

“Okay.  Promise it.”

Dream turns around, “what?”  He doesn’t even sound annoyed, just puzzled.  Punz is barely on Tommy’s radar, looking up from his seat on top of one of the chests.

Tommy feels like he’s about to catch fire, there is something burning inside of him, nothing as feeble as molten metal or charred flesh, something stronger, something that refuses to die and maybe it’s dangerous but he doesn’t care.  So he stares Dream down and he demands it– not pleading, pleading Dream will gladly refuse, but a challenge.  “Promise it in front of Punz and me and mean it.  You said you wouldn’t lie to me, and I know you bend the truth like a fucking bendy straw, but this is just a promise.  Can’t bend it without it being a cheap shot dickheads make when they’re losing.  And like you said, you know I can’t actually get out, so no harm, right?”

“Huh,” Dream considers him carefully, that same assessing tilt of the head Tommy can read as intrigued.  Maybe even tempted.  He laughs.  “Now this, this is going to be fun.”  He pauses another moment, weighing the price.  “Fair, if you earn your freedom, if you escape, you can go.”

Dream is so sure he’s a god.  Tommy remembers stories, stories from Techno told around a fire in Pogopia, late into the night, stories where the heroes get away from the gods.  Maybe they don’t beat them, but sometimes they win anyway.  Tommy reaches out his right hand, shake on it or it’s worthless.

“And, obviously, I’m still allowed to punish you for failed escape attempts.  Why would you earn a reward for being a failure?” Dream adds coolly.  “Because, however impressive it would be if you actually earned your freedom, you trying to leave is still wrong.  It still needs consequences.”

Tommy frowns, but nods, hand still extended.  He expected something like that.  Fine.

“A successful escape earns your freedom,” Dream begins to offer his own hand.  “But then I’d have to get Wilbur, right?”

Tommy recoils, pulling his hand back, not yet giving in, but on the defensive now.  “The fuck do you mean?”

“Come on now, you escape, you earn freedom.  Wilbur hasn’t earned anything.  I gave it to him.  He owes every breath of free air to me.  Right now I’m not interested.  I don’t need him, but if I lose you, I’ll need someone to work on the revive book with, right?” Dream thinks he’s back in control, less curiosity, more arrogance as he tilts back on his heels, hands in his pockets, mulling it over.  “I’ll be fair, I’ll be generous, really.  One escape earns one freedom.  And you can decide who gets it, right?”

Tommy does the same thing Dream has been doing.  He weighs the pros and cons, the risk versus the reward.  He thinks about how he’s going to play the game.  No more surviving, it’s moves and countermoves now.  “Alright, fine,” Tommy grins and however mad it is, he means every bit of that vicious joy.  “But Wil is out now, eh?  Hunting your ass.  You’d have to catch him first.  And if you come after him, all the better, right?”  Tommy takes a step forward.  He feels like a god himself.  “However fast you are, however tricky, you’ll be running down the barrel of a gun.  Every fucking eye is looking out for you, man.  And, well, I think Wilbur knows how to shoot fish in a barrel,” he gives Punz an appraising glance, as if the two of them were in agreement.  Even if Dream doesn’t care, he knows it’ll unsettle Punz.  This is not about Tommy’s faith in Wilbur as a hunter– fuck no– but as someone who is currently surrounded by all the protections Tommy had to actually fight to thwart and get away from.  Wilbur is not alone.

There’s a weighted pause, Tommy watching that mask despite knowing there’s no expression to read, the burning of his wrist like a fuzz of static in the background.  Everything Tommy has done has spelled insolence and danger.  He’s being too loud.  He’s talking like he and Dream are equals.  But Dream doesn’t hit him, not even an insult.  Instead, he offers a hand.

“Alright, Tommy.  You’re on.”

They shake on it.  It’s familiar.  A different time, discs could be traded alongside lives and that meant something.  Really, Tommy doesn’t think the game has changed that much.  It’s still him and Dream.

[piningfor-pinestwins]

Natural Attraction - Confrontations (Stan X Reader Slow Burn; Eventual Not SFW)

Yawning, you find yourself still dozing off while stretching out your legs, waiting for Fiddleford to finish packing up his tent while the twins bicker about the “correct” way to fold a sleeping bag. You smile to yourself, cracking open an eye and biting your tongue from making a comment about this being why you’d brought a quilt instead, but you keep it to yourself as you lean forward to stretch. Wincing as you roll your injured ankle back and forth, you’re reminded of the night you’d dealt with.

It ached as you adjusted your shoe on your foot, tying the shoelaces tighter to try and support your ankle a little better for the trek ahead. Ford hasn’t said much (to you, anyway--he’s still very wordy when it comes to his current argument with his brother as the both of them shove differently-folded sleeping bags away into their respective packs), but you’re certain that the day will prove to be long and tiring. Still, as you fix the tops of your socks, you have an odd sense of...hopefulness? Excitement? You aren’t sure, but the anticipation is strong.

The sensation only grows as Stan comes toward the tree you’re leaned up against. Warmth flutters in your stomach when he catches your eye, a knowing sort of smile spread across his cheeks when he adjusts his and your bags onto his shoulder. He clears his throat as he reaches his hand down to you, his smile warming you from the inside. “Hey, you. About ready to head out?” He asks, voice soft with an almost-gravelly sleepiness which makes you smile.

As I’ll ever be, you answer as you take his hand. Stan pulls you up slowly, your hand in his with his other arm outstretched to catch your side, just in case. Wincing as you put weight onto your tweaked ankle, you hold to Stan a little tighter, all the while hearing his voice whisper soft encouragements until you’re upright. “That’s it, honey--slower, slower,” he soothes. You’re unsure if it’s his words, the gravel in his voice, or proximity, but your cheeks flush at his soft urging, a flutter in your chest. His outstretched arm is closer now, that hand resting securely on your lower back to remind you of its presence, gently brushing his thumb against your hip (which, frankly, doesn't help, since the flutter only moves to your belly).

“There ya go, hon. Y’feeling any better today?” Stan levels his gaze to you, the concern knitting his brows together in a way that makes you smile, averting your eyes quickly so he can't see the tenderness there. You reach, patting his chest lightly to ease his mind when you meet his eye again, Feeling just fine, thank you.

“Kissed you all better?” He asks low, voice playful as he quirks a brow down at you. You flush as your own brows shoot upward, pushing lightly on his chest as you urgently shush him, looking toward where Ford and Fidds are chatting. The both of them quickly avert their gazes, knowing smiles still spreading their cheeks as they turn away--you almost wish you hadn’t caught them looking.

Your cheeks burn despite your smile, giving the cocky man ahead of you a stern look, Don’t be so obvious, Stanley, you tease in a whisper, your thumbs brushing lightly over the hem of the white tank top he wears, acting as though you’re smoothing down his shirt. Your hands drop away with one final pat, smiling wider when he looks at you with something akin to surprise. “Sorry, hon. Just...a little giddy this morning, is all.”

Wonder why? You hum in question, shaking your head as you hold out your hand toward him. At first, he stalls, eyeing your hand with a furrowed brow, questioning. He reaches to take your hand, a bashful sort of smile growing on his face before you motion to your bag. He coughs a gruff sound, and you only barely save him the embarrassment this time, looking down as you feel your smile at his pinkened cheeks. He releases your hand easily, trading its place with the strap of your bag as he turns to look toward the other two instead, lightly rubbing at the back of his neck. You take the duffle bag, looping your arms into the straps to turn it into a good-enough backpack for the trek ahead.

You stretch your ankle gingerly, biting into the inside of your cheek. Surely, there should be some sort of tracks for your creature somewhere around here… Moving carefully to test your first few steps, you crouch beneath a tree limb, leaving the familiar grassy space to try and find your next clues to where it may be.

“Hey--don’t run off!” Fiddleford scolds from his place beside Ford, taking a few steps as he reaches, as if to catch you in the act, “Even if it’s sunny out, yer luck hasn’t been great for the past….well, 12 hours.” You almost laugh, shaking your head, Not running off, just...trying to find where we go next, you explain. He keeps walking closer, a little smile budding on his face as he comes to join you. “At least lemme help you,” he teases, pushing away a branch near the top of your head. You look over to him and duck under it as you laugh, Thanks, Fidds.

“The last tracks we’d seen were just that direction,” He points toward the unnervingly-familiar patch from the night before, and you frown as you take a few more tentative steps. “I’m sure there’s more o’them somewhere around here....”

Fidds moves alongside you, the both of you looking for some sort of indication of the creature. It’s almost frustrating--you’re certain something had to be here, some sign of the damn thing. You finally huff, a frown pulling at your lips when you look to Fiddleford, not far off in his own search. “I can’t find anything, either--”

“Hey, uh...guys?” Stan’s voice calls from the other side of the brush, sounding almost concerned in a way that makes your stomach drop in worry. Your eyes meet Fidds’, sharing a furrow-browed glance between you as you both move toward the grassy spot once more, toward Stan’s voice.

Stan? Are you okay? You call, looking out from the brush, your question joined by Ford’s voice, calling at the same time, “Stanley?”

You spy the twin as he’s readjusting his pants, buttoning his fly and re-buckling his belt as he walks up the hill you’d been ‘attacked’ at the night before. You quirk a brow, eyes trained on his fingers at his belt before realizing what he had been doing that far down the hill, feeling a flush as you quickly look up to his face instead.

“What’d you see?” Ford asks his twin, knowing the tone of his voice well. “Well, ah...remember when she,” Stan motions to you, “had an owl bothering her last night? It was around here, right?” He asks you with a furrowed brow, hands finished with the buckle as he motions to the ground near the top of the hill. You finally look at him again, biting your lip as you nod, Right over, uh….here, you say, eyes narrowing at the spot he’s referring to. In the area you’d fallen, you can see the scuff marks of your shoes going down the hill, and a strange indentation in the grass, right in the same spot.

“...Huh,” Fiddleford hums, moving to the dip in the grass and pushing some of the longer tufts away, finding two large tracks, looking very much the same as the tracks you’d followed from the cabin.

“There’s no way,” Ford murmurs, rushing ahead closer to see the tracks, too. He looks up, toward the direction of the trees where you’d all seen the owl last night. “If these are here, that must mean, either the owl last night was much bigger than we’d all expected, or--”

“Or your big ‘birdlike thing’ came around afterward to check us out.” Stan finishes, crossing his arms. He looks almost uncomfortable, looking over you with something unreadable in his gaze before pointing the same look towards his brother and Fiddleford. “I guess it makes it easier to track, but...I dunno, I’m a little weirded out that the thing is as interested in us as we are in it.”

“Nonsense,” Fiddleford shakes his head, standing from where he’d crouched with a quiet grunt, “We don’t have all those pieces, Stanley--we can’t just assume the thing’s a menace, just ‘cause it ends up near our campsite. Maybe it’s more a sign that we just… tracked it real good?”

You shrug, I’m sure it’s just an...odd, albeit helpful, coincidence. Stan doesn’t look swayed, arms still folded across his chest. Sighing, you nod, I admit, it’s weird. And a creature my size being hunted by an owl isn’t normal by any means, but...is anything in this town normal? You pose the question toward the man, who’s still frowning down at you in uncertainty. He finally sighs, relenting, “Not at all. Alright. But if this gets freakier, I say we call it off and head home.”

Ford scoffs at his brother’s insistence, shaking his head. “If the creature is hostile, that’s even more reason to track it,” He argues, continuing, “God forbid the thing tries to come for the town.”

Stan’s brow furrows, and you can instantly tell that his brother has struck a nerve. “God forbid the thing goes after one of us again! Especially her!” He scowls, motioning to you with his hand as he takes a step closer to his twin. “The fucker’s got big feet, look,” he points down to the tracks, “If he decides to grab one of us and fly off next time one of us goes off for a piss, we’re screwed.”

Ford rolls his eyes, but says nothing more as he shakes his head. You can tell the action annoys Stan, the latter clenching a fist at his side. You reach to him, one hand landing on Stan’s arm to pull his focus back. He turns to look at you, a frown still on his face, but more relaxed now.

eI know you’re worried, you start, smile warming up, But you know...I can handle myself. You wink, putting up your fists as if prepping to fight. The action makes him scoff a laugh, shaking his head at you as he speaks, “Right--I almost forgot, you’re a killer.” He winks, a hint of the dimple at his cheek peeking out at you, even as he rubs at his face to calm down a little. He takes a breath and you release his arm, eyeing Ford and Fidds, the latter being the only one who meets your eye (and rolls his own, apparently very used to the duo’s mini-arguments).

Alright boys, you say with a smile, pushing your thumbs into the straps that rest on your shoulders when all three heads turn to look at you, I’m ready to track down a weird bird creature, how about you?

“Of course!” Ford laughs as he answers, argument easily dismissed. He moves, only struggling a little as he hoists his heavy backpack into place. Fiddleford snickers at the brunet, pulling one of the straps of the backpack up to help the man put his arm through the loop, “Hold onto yer britches, Ford--there you go.” The taller man smiles wide at his friend before nodding at you, “I’ve been ready. We’ve gotta take advantage of the daylight for as long as we’ve got it.” You smile at Fiddleford in agreement, glancing to Stan beside you with a quirked brow, surprised to find him already looking your way.

Stanley finally grins, his gaze catching you off guard in a way that makes your chest flutter, and you find yourself mimicking his smile when he reaches to clap a hand on your shoulder, giving you a little shake, “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

“Good,” Ford pipes up, instantly making the former twin’s smile falter. Ford doesn’t seem to notice, taking one last glance around at the grassy space you’d used as a resting point for the evening, just to be sure. “We haven’t got time to lose. As you so graciously found out,” He motions in your direction, peeking at you from over the rims of his glasses, “Being out in the dark isn’t quite the safest option we have, both in terrain navigation and… creature interaction, I suppose.”

You scoff a quiet, No shit, which causes Stan to snort a laugh beside you. All things considered, last night wasn’t too bad, but… bits of it were scary, to say the least. The ache in your foot reminds you to keep your eyes on the ground just as much as you’re watching for signs of the creature, though it seems the boys are doing their best to keep you on your feet, too.

--

Unlucky only begins to describe the hike of the day. After the strap on Ford’s backpack broke, and Stan had to cut himself out of a thorny bramble with just a pocket knife, the four of you were sure that the rest of the day would be a little easier.

You were wrong, you realized, when the only-slightly-cloudy sky became much more cloudy and started thundering.

“Fuckin’...” Stan grits, using the bottom of his already soaked t-shirt to wipe away the rain mingling with sweat dripping down his forehead, “Did any of you geniuses decide to check the weather before we set off to find your little monster?”

“It’s just a little rain, Stanley,” Ford scoffs, walking ahead of his brother, “Contrary to popular belief, you won’t melt.”

“Y’could track any kind of creature with your heavy machine, but you can’t even turn on the tv to look at the news once in a while? Especially when the whole damn family’s coming out on a hike?” The twin argues, and even though he’s kind of chewing you out too, you find yourself snorting a laugh. It is a little ridiculous, you can admit. It’s even more ridiculous when Ford whips around to look back at his brother in annoyance, and you see him squinting at the both of you, glasses absolutely useless as they rest atop his head, fat water droplets sticking to the lenses and rolling off to saturate his hair even more. Stan snorts then, casting a glance to you as he does, shaking his head. “Unbelievable.” Despite his frustration with the weather, Stan’s voice holds no real malice, the indent in his cheek almost giving him away as he continues to follow his brother and Fiddleford.

“Dammit, if we could just...get somethin’,” Fidds murmurs, his own glasses folded closed and hanging from the collar of his button-up. “Even if it’s rainin’, there should be a sign of the creature somewhere, right?” He turns back to look at you, an almost pleading look in his eye. You jog a little, boots squelching in the muddy ground as you get closer to the front of the pack.

Surely there’s some signs, you agree, offering a sympathetic smile his way. Fidds is intrigued by this thing, you can tell; maybe even a little more than he usually is in the creatures you find in town. As you look for a sign, any sign, you step a little quicker, getting in front of the pack. Really, there should be something…

The more you look, you realize, the more you find. Whether that’s a good thing or not, you’re unsure. Guys! You call, turning to look over your shoulder at the group and finding yourself considerably further away from them than you’d expected. There are tracks here in the mud! I-I think it might have trouble flying in the rain? Your voice lifts like a question, Ford’s voice calling after you over the rain, “Wait for us! We don’t want a repeat of the last time,” he warns. You know he’s right; as it begins to storm in earnest now, the grass and earth at your feet seem to relax beneath you, steadily becoming mush at your heels.

You wait just a few moments more for the boys to catch up, hearing the muted sounds of their huffing and puffing up to you. Entranced, you stare down at the muddied floor of the forest, the tracks in the mud seeming to beckon you to follow them. If you were fast enough, you might be able to snap a picture of the prints without your camera getting too wet. It would help in tracking the creature further, and whatever research comes next…

You bite at your bottom lip as you adjust your bag onto your shoulder, rummaging through the slightly-damp insides as Fidds catches up to you, looking down at the tracks much like you had been. “Woah,” He starts, almost breathless, “These are the best prints we’ve seen from this thing yet! Lookit--you can see every segment of the thing’s foot, all the way to its claws...How big d’ya think this thing is? The whole foot’s almost as big as my hand,” The honey blond man crouches down, even in the mud, to inspect and absorb as much information as he can, stretching his palm next to the print but not touching the mud beneath.

I don’t know if that’s an accurate measurement, you tease with a grunt, turning your back to the heaviest of the rain and the other tracks, You’re a tall, lanky guy. If its claws are that big, I’m sure it may be proportionally huge, you finish with a laugh. He glances up to see you fumbling just a little, trying to block the rain from hitting your camera full force and get the footprint and his hand in the shot all at once. Fidds snorts a laugh, and you smile as you shake your head down to him, your wet hair mimicking the motion out of the corner of your eye as you scoff a fond, Shut up.

In your movement, you’ve turned to be able to watch as the other two boys make their way up to you, glancing to see the both of their bodies coming into view, smile still on your face when you look through the viewfinder to center the shot. You know you don’t have much time left to have your camera out in this rain without ruining some film or the mechanisms inside it, so you’re quick to press the button, even as you hear Fiddleford gasp at something behind you at the same moment. The flash of your camera goes off, the light similar to a strike of lightning, illuminating the woods around you in one brief second. You move the camera from your face, reaching to start and put it away despite the sound of it printing the snapshot.

Fidds, what’s wrong? You ask over the loud rain, turning your head in time to look at him, seeing…fear? You don’t have the time to think or ask anything else as Fiddleford stands abruptly and grips your arm, nearly knocking your camera from your hand as he yanks you back toward the way you came. You yell out, frightened by the sudden change in the man, until you turn your head to see why.

“WATCH OUT!” Stan’s voice bellows over the downpour, suddenly so much closer than you’d imagined. When you’d glanced up at them, you hadn’t noticed the duo were running, mud caking their shoes and the bottom of their pant legs as the twins made their way toward you and Fidds. Now they’re right in front of you, looking up and over you with something akin to fear as Stan throws something--you think a rock--at the thing.

This must be the creature, the feeling of dread in your stomach at the sight of it reminding you of the hillside incident the night before. It stands somehow taller than you’d imagined on the feet that match those prints, a mass of pitch-colored ….hair? feathers? looming tall against the trees of the forest. You’re not sure where its height ends and its wingspan begins, neither more entrancing, or terrifying, than its eyes. Big, red and almost-shining eyes watch as you’re pulled by Fidds, nearly running face-first into the chests of the Pines men. The rock Stan threw hits it square in where its chest would be, were it a man, and the creature seems to puff up more, appearing larger as its wingspan opens, remarkable and terrifying all at once even as they drip with the incessant rain.

The four of you watch up at the beast, wide-eyed. You would almost swear Ford was enamored with the thing, if it weren’t for the tightening of his grip on Fidd’s sleeve, all of you panting from either exertion or pure adrenaline-toned fear. Thinking on your feet, you push down on the camera’s shutter and point the thing at the creature, hoping for a moment that the flash would blind it as you back into Stan’s chest. In the same instant, lightning strikes, rendering your flash useless as the thundering clouds rumble loud enough to feel in your chest, the storm right atop you now. The creature rears back, then lets out a high, wailing screech unlike anything you’ve heard before. It steals your breath, and before you can react, Stan has a hand wrapped around your arm, fingers firm in his grip to you as he pants, a word stumbling from his lips in one harsh breath.

“Run.”

[lxvislxdy]

Shotgun Kisses pt.2 | Bakugou K.

Links: Bakugou x stoner!reader au & Shotgun Kisses (Read these first!!)

Notes: Firstly, I want to thank you all for the positive feedback my work has been receiving! I’m extremely thankful for ya’ll!! I also want to apologize for the delay in my posting; I’ve been traveling this week, and on top of that, dealing with the gas shortage on the east coast (it’s been HELL). But hopefully things will start picking up again soon! As always, my requests are open, so feel free to send in your requests or questions!

Summary: After apologizing to you, Bakugou is still struggling to get over his mistrust of your coworker, Shinsou. When you invite Shinsou to hang with everyone, Bakugou thinks it will be his final straw. That is, until Shinsou makes a move on someone unexpected. And suddenly, everything makes much more sense, and Bakugou looks completely oblivious. 

Pairing: Bakugou x reader

Warning(s): 18+!! drug use, language (if you are underage, this fic is not for you!)

Bakugou was trying. 

He really, really was. 

He trusted you, and he hated fighting with you (especially when it was his fault, and he had to apologize), but damnit, that purple haired bastard wasn’t making it easy on him. Still, Bakugou was making an effort, and that meant he was visiting you at work, even though Shinsou was there, too. 

“Hello,” Shinsou drawled, a lazy, but definitely teasing, grin spread across his lips. He was leaned up against the counter, half of his purple hair tied back in a knot at the back of his head. “How can I help you?”

Bakugou narrowed his eyes, taking a deep breath in like Kirishima had taught him. His hands were wound into fists, shoved into his jacket pockets. “Just my regular.”

Shinsou hummed in response, turning to shout over his shoulder, “Y/n! Your loverboy is here!”

Bakugou grit his teeth, willing himself not to snap back at him. Technically, he wasn’t wrong. But he hated the teasing lilt to the other man’s voice. 

As per usual, his anger melted away - mostly - when you popped your head around the corner, from the storage room, smiling brightly. “’Suki!”

As much as Bakugou hated your job, you did look cute in your apron, and he was admittedly fond of the free coffee. 

You bounced over to him, definitely hyped up on too much caffeine, and wrapped your arms around him. “Hi.” You said, looking up at him. 

He squeezed you against him, pulling you in for a kiss, to your surprise. Normally, Bakugou was hesitant when it came to PDA. Of course, the cafe was almost empty, and it wasn’t much of a secret that Bakugou was turning up the heat in front of Shinsou. 

“You want your usual?” You ask sweetly, when he pulls away, dopey grin on your face. 

Shinsou, who had slipped away during the kiss, calls over his shoulder, “Already on it!”

“Try not to spit in it.” Bakugou says, lowly. 

Shinsou lets out a low chuckle, “I’ll try to contain myself.”

Apparently, this banter is friendly enough, because you laugh along with him. 

“You mind if I take my break now, ‘Toshi?”

Bakugou swallows down the burst of jealousy at the nickname, fists tightening in his pocket. 

“Yeah, no problem,” Shinsou tells you, as he sets the coffee down on the counter. “There you go. One coffee, hazelnut cream, no sugar. Extra bitter, just like you.”

Bakugou sneers at him, snatching the coffee from the counter and grabbing your hand to pull you along behind him. The two of you end up in the alleyway behind the shop, sneaking through the ‘employees only’ door. Bakugou sips the coffee, wishing it wasn’t so good. But damn, if Shinsou didn’t know his coffee. As far as Bakugou was concerned, that was the only thing the guy was good at. (Of course, he didn’t really know him that well, at all).

“You’re very broody today.” You say softly, looking over at him from where you leaned against the brick wall. “Something on your mind?”

Bakugou rolls his eyes, sipping his coffee again. “M’fine. Just... tired, that’s all.”

You hum, fumbling with one of your bracelets. You gaze up at him, grinning, “Do I need to call Kirishima to get it out of you?”

“Tch,” He scoffed, marching over to where you stood and leaning down over you. “Smartass.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a soft kiss. You both taste like coffee, and Bakugou recognizes the faint, bitter taste of marijuana on your tongue too. He pulls away, raising a brow. 

“What, rolling up before work, you delinquent?”

You giggled, shoving his shoulder playfully, though it’s not enough to move him away from you. “Maybe. Gonna rat me out?”

“Hm,” His lips barely brush against yours, bumping his nose against yours. “I’m sure you could convince me not to.”

“Yeah? That easy, hm?” You say, leaning forward to kiss him again, but he pulls just out of your reach. You pout, and he laughs lowly. 

“I never said it would be easy.” He answers, smirking. 

You feel your breath hitch again, and his lips are back on yours. 

“Mm, Kats, love you, but I need to get back to work.” You mumble in between kisses.

Bakugou nips your bottom lip, but concedes, pulling away with a sigh. “Sure I can’t keep you occupied just a little while longer?”

“And people say I’m the bad influence.” You tease, laughing. “Sorry, babe. Can’t. Besides, I know you’re supposed to be getting lunch with the guys, and I’m not gonna be responsible for making you late.”

“Screw ‘em.” He says, planting another kiss on the corner of your mouth. 

You smile up at him, shaking your head. “What am I gonna do with you, Bakgou Katsuki?”

“Keep me, I hope.”

He’d meant it as a joke, but it came out much more serious than he’d meant. Thankfully, you don’t press him on it.

“Yeah, and what’s in it for me?” You tease, poking his stomach. You stretch up on your tiptoes to place another kiss on his jaw, voice softer than before, “I’m here till you don’t want me, Katsuki.”

Bakugou kisses the top of your head, “That’ll never happen.”

You turn to go back inside, stopping in the doorway to look back at him. “You coming to Sero and Denki’s tonight?”

“We’ll see.” Bakugou grunts.

“Mhm,” You grin. “I’ll see you there, then. Bye, Kats!”

...

By the time Bakugou shows up, he’s the last one there. Even Jirou, infamous for showing up fashionably late to their hangouts, was already inside, sitting with you and Mina on the floor. The three of you were deep in conversation, clearly already more than buzzed - your giggles and half-lidded eyes gave you away.

Bakugou felt the tug of a smile on his lips, watching you. He was glad the day was over. Finally, he could just relax.

And thats when he saw him.

Shinsou Hitoshi was sitting on the couch, leaning over a wide-eyed Denki to get the lighter off the table. 

Bakugou tried. He was trying. But even still, his hands shook with anger. 

Kirishima met his gaze, shaking his head, and he didn’t have to speak out loud for Bakugou to hear his usual, ‘Breathe, man. Everything’s fine. Deep breaths. It’s not worth it.’

“Bakugou!” Mina shrieked, “You made it! I told you he’d be here, Sero, you owe me $5!”

Bakugou scowled. “You bet against me?”

Sero shrugs sheepishly. 

You grin up at him from your spot by the girls, and Bakugou quickly crossed the room to sit by your side, ignoring the intruder on the couch. As he took a seat, he pulled you close to lean against his shoulder, and you instinctively reached for his hand without stopping your conversation.

“C’mon, Jirou, you should invite Yoamomo next time!” You were saying, “How will you ever get to know her if you don’t talk to her?”

Jirou, uncharacteristically flustered, shook her head. “No way. Absolutely not. Momo doesn’t seem the type to... ya know, any of this. We aren’t really her crowd.”

“So? She likes you doesn’t she?” Mina offers, puffing smoke.

Jirou’s cheeks turn a brighter shade of pink, and she slouches down more. “I dunno... Pass it here, Min.”

“I’m sure we could behave ourselves enough for a night.” You tease, grinning, “We could have a movie night! Totally sober, if that’s what you’re worried about, Kyo.”

A loud groan cuts into their conversation, from across the room, “Yeah, speak for yourself.” Denki says.

“As if you could get through a movie night totally sober, y/n.” Sero snickers. 

“Hey!” You shout back, sticking your tongue out at him. 

“He might have a point, man,” Shinsou cuts in. He’d been so quiet, Bakugou had almost forgotten he was there. Of course, his luck ran out. “Y/n can’t even make it through a shift sober.”

The room erupts into laughter, though Bakugou stays quiet, rolling his eyes. 

“Not true!” You say, blushing as you lower your voice, “You weren’t supposed to know about that.”

Shinsou’s laugh is apparently contagious, as he says, “Are you kidding?!” He breaks into an eerily accurate impression of you, “Hey, man, what can I get for ya? Aw, totally, nice choice! Have you tried the muffins, man, they’re sooo good.”

You burry your head in your hands as everyone joins in on the joke, leaning back into Bakugou to hide. “Fuck you, dude! Fuck you!”

“Holy shit!” Denki and Sero are gasping for breath, “How are you so good at that, man?” 

Shinsou grins slyly, reminding Bakugou of the cheshire cat (another reason he doesn’t trust the asshole). “Hey, a man can’t give away all his secrets, huh?”

Bakugou tightens his hold around your waist, mouth downturned into an unhappy scowl. 

“I think a movie night would be nice,” Kirishima changes the subject, and Bakugou sends him a small smile in thanks. “I’m sure we’d all like to meet Momo, and if she’s as sweet as you say she is, she’ll totally go for it!”

“Yeah,” Mina says, wrapping an arm lazily around Jirou, “Besides, you’re a total catch, babe! She’ll love you!”

“Thanks guys,” Jirou responds quietly, passing the joint to you. “I’ll think about it.”

You take a few drags, offering to Bakugou, who shakes his head. You don’t push it, blowing the smoke away from the two of you. 

“Man, and here I was, thinking you might finally relax some, Bakugou.” Shinsou comments.

Across the room, Denki has slouched against the other man’s shoulder, his feet propped up in Sero’s lap. 

“The fuck did you say?” Bakugou snaps, glaring. 

Shinsou chuckles, “Relax, dude, I’m kidding.”

“Yeah?” Bakugou growls, snatching the joint from between your fingers. “Fucking whatever.”

He takes a long drag, face red as he resists the urge to cough out of spite. Shinsou raises a brow, mouth twitching into a smirk. His fingers are in Denki’s hair, scratching lightly at his head, and the blonde looks like he could fall asleep any minute, a sleepy smile on his face. Bakugou feels an odd surge of jealousy, and frustration. These are his friends. You’re his girl. What the fuck is this guy playing at?

As Bakugou goes quiet, eyebrows furrowed and face drawn into a fierce scowl, and shoot Shinsou a look. He sighs, rolling his eyes, but silently agrees to lay off. 

“You okay?” You ask, leaning back and placing a light kiss on Bakugou’s jaw.

He yanks you into his lap with a huff, pouting. 

It takes everything in you not to giggle at him when he’s like this (it’s cute, okay?) but you knew that would only irritate him more. 

“’Suki.” You coo, quiet so no one else can hear you, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” He mutters, frown deepening. 

“But-”

“I said it’s nothing, y/n.”

You sigh, giving up and leaning back against his chest. Why did he have to be so stubborn? 

Besides, you aren’t stupid. You know he’s unhappy because Shinsou is here. And, by all means, Shinsou is being an asshole. But he’s your friend, and a really good friend (only a friend). You just want the two to get along, and you want to show your boyfriend that he has nothing to worry about! But, as per usual, both boys are being... difficult, to say the least.

After a few minutes it becomes clear that Bakugou’s mood isn’t going to improve, so you go back to your conversation with Mina and Jirou, absentmindedly rubbing your thumb over his knuckles. Eventually, he starts to relax, but remains quiet. He’s too stubborn to admit that you know how to calm him down, after all. And, besides, he can’t risk the guys telling him he’s going ‘soft’ (his words, not yours).

As your high reaches its peak, you forget about the exchange almost completely. You’ve moved to lay your head in Bakugou’s lap, staring up at him. You reach for his hand, bringing it to rest on your head and he rolls his eyes, fingers gently scratching your scalp. You smile up at him lazily, blowing him a kiss. 

With his hands in your hair, you feel yourself begin to drift off, the conversations around you fading into a low buzz in the background. 

Suddenly, Bakugou’s hands stop.

“Kats,” You whine, one eye cracking open to see what was wrong.

Bakugou’s mouth is agape, brows raised, and face red.

“Kats? You okay?” 

He doesn’t answer, and you follow his gaze to the couch, where Denki has climbed into Shinsou’s lap. The blonde’s fingers are threaded into his hair, Shinsou’s firmly gripping his waist, and they’re kissing. You sit up, a laugh bubbling in your throat.

“See, bubs?” You plant a small, teasing kiss to his lips. “Told ya you have nothing to worry about.”

[muffinrecord]

“Why doesn’t anyone like me? :(” 

I dunno Oriko, maybe it’s because your first response to everything is murder?

But in all seriousness, last time I liveblogged I talked about how Oriko must feel like she lives in the dark depths of an ocean, peering up towards a surface where more innocent individuals frolic. Oriko feels like she lives in a world that no one else could understand.

But that goes two ways. Oriko lived a wealthy life amongst politicians and other such individuals. Someone who sticks out negatively is going to be pushed down to save their own reputations. Someone living at the bottom of the ocean isn’t going to understand how people at the beach live either, and Oriko doesn’t seem to understand that.

But you know, I also think this is on purpose for her too. She has to interpret the world in this horrible negative sense, because it justifies her killing of Madoka (or Mitama in this case), it makes her extreme methods seem morally wise, and it might be nicer to think that everyone is like this and it’s not just specific to your situation.

In fact, it’s probably nicer to assume that everyone is hurt like this, and not just you. Oriko wasn’t singled out by anyone-- no one in her situation could possibly have gotten out of it without getting their hands dirty... right? 

I’m kinda struggling to articulate myself here, hmm.

Well, there is a scene coming up that adds extra meaning to this one right here, so I’ll try to explain it more then.

[melliflovs]

Chapter Two - Yuji x Reader

Word Count: 2,301

Warnings: Sukuna being Sukuna

Summary: A movie night with Megumi gets interrupted and training the next day with Yuji.

Series Masterlist Pinned!

You burst into Megumi's dorm room without knocking, throwing Nanami's freshly dry cleaned suit over the back of a chair. "You'll never guess why I was summoned earlier." You said, walking over to your friend who sat on his bed. His eyes lifting from his phone, the black haired boy's thumb only pausing the repetitive scrolling for a moment.

"What?" He deadpanned before resuming whatever he was doing on his phone. "Well," You said sighing loudly. "I am now partners with the one and only Yuji Itadori, effective immediately."

Megumi looked up at you in confusion, eyebrows knitted together. "Why would Gojo want that?" You sat down beside him on the small bed.

"Beats me." You shrugged. "But," You began, a shit eating grin lighting up your face. "A certain King of Curses thinks I'm hot."

Megumi's arm shot out towards you shoving you lightly, "That not funny, don't joke about that."

You scoffed at him "What, do you think I'm not pretty enough for Sukuna or something? Besides I wasn't joking." You got up from beside him, admittedly slightly annoyed at his reaction. The dorms were small but each one had a cupboard for a small amount of food storage. You walked over to it and grabbed a bag of unpopped popcorn.

"So you're telling me that Sukuna - the baddest of the bad has his eyes on you now?" He said in disbelief, following you around the small room.

"Does it really matter? He's not the one in control anyways." You said reaching down to pull out the microwave you hid in the closet. Something you could only hope would never be found by a teacher. Potential fire hazard and all. You plugged the microwave into the wall before putting the popcorn in. You turned back to Megumi as the soft popping sound began.

"Yes it matters, he's dangerous. Itadori doesn't know what he's doing yet-" He was cut off by a loud thud a shout sounding from the room next to you.

"What was that." You asked, the room going silent aside from the microwave in the background. Together the two of you listened carefully, ears practically pressed up against the wall. A few seconds passed and you'd heard nothing. "That was weird-"

"Ow!" The two of you stilled, looking at each other with wide eyes.

"Whos next door?" You whispered.

Megumi straightened out as a lightbulb when off in his head. "Yuji is."

The two of your ripped out of the dorm room, running the short way to his door as the pained cries continued. "Should I," You gestured to yourself, "Do the thing?" He finished for you "No of course not I'll just break down the door."

"What?! That's so unnecessary I can just unlock it, you idiot." You continued to bicker back and forth for a moment, not realizing that the sounds had stopped. The two of you froze as the door in front of you began to open. Yuji stepped out, a confused look on his face and a sleeping cursed doll in his hand.

"Is everything okay?" He asked, looking between you and Megumi.

"Uh, yeah. We just heard some strange sounds and got worried-" You watched in shock as the corpse in his hands woke up, immediately turning towards the boy holding it and punching him.

"Fuck!" He yelled, holding the doll as far away from his body as possible - a small red bump rising by his temple.

Megumi burst out laughing, his arms clutching his sides. You stared wide eyed at your friend, possibly more shocked by his reaction than by the abusive toy. "Gojo's making me practice control." Yuji began to explain, "I'm watching some movies if you guys want to join."

"No, it's okay. Just wanted to make sure you were safe." You responded, sending a soft smile his way as you watched the puppet's chest rise and fall with every breath while it slept.

"Are you sure?" A deeper voice asked, a mouth popping out of the back of Yuji's hand, "I'm sure you'd have a good time." It tempted. Megumi stiffened beside you, stepping forward to get in between you and the cursed boy. Itadori was still very much in control but Sukuna's words irked Megumi.

"What's wrong, Spikes." He toyed, pulling at Megumi's patience. "Am I flirting with your girl? I bet she'd enjoy herself more with us."

Yuji frowned, still holding the animated puppet away from his body. He knew that fighting with Sukuna would only encourage him in the long run, even if it upset his fellow students. At least they didn't have to hear everything he said, constantly speaking in his head.

"I dunno, Sukuna." You said, "Megumi sure knows how to make the bed rock."

Flabbergasted your friend looked down trying to hide his blush. It wasn't true, none of it was. But you figured that if you were going to have to deal with the unwelcomed spirit's chatter then you would at least have fun with it.

"Oh?" Sukuna asked, "You two don't make a very cute couple. Why do the hottest girls always pick the ugliest guys." He mused.

Out of the corner of your eyes, you watched Megumi's hands raise, subtly beginning to summon his shikagami. Your own hands shot out, grabbing him and stopping his actions. "Ya know what, it was really great catching up with you Sukuna but I have a bag of popcorn just calling my name." You smiled, trying to cover up what almost could've happened. The mouth pouted momentarily before disappearing. Satisfied you nodded goodbye to a clearly humiliated Yuji and walked back to Megumi's door, pulling him along with you.

You waited before the two of you were securely behind the wooden door before turning back to your friend. "What were you thinking out there?!" You tried to keep your voice down but quickly found yourself failing. "You could've been badly hurt or, or even killed, Megumi."

"That's what I've been trying to tell you." He rebutted, "Sukuna isn't safe, Itadori isn't safe. You shouldn't be working with him."

"You're not getting the point. Sukuna doesn't seem to care about anything that's happening right now. He's content with his vessel. What would've pissed him off is getting your dogs to attack Yuji, why would you even try that to begin with."

Megumi exhaled loudly, his anger disappearing as his shoulders deflated. "I didn't like how he was speaking to you." You shook your head at him, your own anger fleeting.

"I can handle myself. You know that."

"Yeah," He nodded, "I do know that. He should treat you better though." You walked up to him, leaning forward and resting your head on his chest. You let out a soft sigh.

"The most powerful curse known to man is living inside the body of one of our new classmates. He can say whatever he wants to me as long as it keeps everyone safe, including you." You lifted your head to look at Megumi. "So please," You stressed, "Don't do anything to upset him."

"I won't."

In truth, you didn't really believe him. Megumi was stubborn and above all would do anything to protect you. But you were a big girl now, you could hold your own. Regardless you smiled at him and put it aside, "Thank you."

Pushing yourself off his chest you turned back to the microwave, your slightly cold popcorn waiting patiently for you to eat it. "Now, what movie are we watching tonight?"

He shrugged, "Up to you."

"Maybe I should go ask Yuji for some movie recommendations." You teased, wiggling your eyebrows at Megumi. "I bet Gojo gave him a great selection."

"Yeah," He scoffed, "If you like Jennifer Lawrence."

"What are you talking about?" Sure you liked her as much as the average person but his comment caught you off guard.

"Ah, it's a guy thing." He said nonchalantly, "You wouldn't get it."

You rolled your eyes, grabbing your popcorn and striding over to his bed. "Well, are we watching a movie or not."

Megumi finally joined you as the smell of butter invaded his senses, sitting beside you and pulling out his laptop. It'd take time but eventually, you'd be able to agree on something to watch. Even if it took all night.

---

You woke up the next morning to your phone buzzing on the bedside table beside you. Without looking you answered it, worried the sound would wake the boy sleeping on the floor next to you. "Hello?" Your voice was groggy as you let out a small yawn still tired from the movie marathon the night before.

"You're late."

The sound of Nanami's voice on the end of the line made your eyes widen. You were so screwed. "Sorry, Sensei. I-" You heard a soft beep as he hung up the call. Quickly you threw the covers off yourself, careful not to wake Megumi as you grabbed your things and tugged a sweatshirt on over your pajamas.

Making your exit you quietly closed the door. Megumi was many things but he was most definitely not a morning person and the last thing you needed to deal with was the wrath of two men so early in the morning. Sprinting through the dorm hallways you made your way down the staircase and towards the gym. When you finally made it to your destination you stood outside for a moment, taking a deep breath. The last time you were late he'd made you run a lap for every second you'd missed. You were five minutes late.

Three hundred laps.

But Nanami never used the same punishment twice, which now led to an internal panic. It could be anything his brain could think of.

Trying your best to now calm yourself you were at least ten minutes late. The latest you'd ever been, but hopefully you wouldn't get hurt too bad when it was all said and done. Fearfully you pushed past the gym doors quickly spotting your mentor and Itadori.

How could you have forgotten the events of the day before? In the rush to wake up and get to training in time it'd completely slipped your mind that it wasn't just you and Nanami anymore. The sound of the door closing made both of the men turn towards you. Yuji's eyes quickly meeting yours as you walked towards them, slipping your shoes off.

Suddenly you felt oddly aware of the boy's attention, beginning to regret your wardrobe choice of leggings and a wrinkled hoodie. You bailed so fast from Megumi's room that you hadn't even stopped to look in front of a mirror, let alone wash your face or brush your teeth. Grimacing internally you attempted to brush it off - to ignore it. Being a sorcerer wasn't about your appearance or presentation it was about skill and techniques.

At least if Yuji did notice how bad you looked he was nice enough not to mention it, turning back towards his new mentor as you went to stand beside him.

"Finally." Nanami huffed, "You've decided to grace us with your presence."

"Did ya miss me 'Nami. It's only been a few hours, couldn't stand to live without me, huh?" He sent a glare your way, if looks could kill you'd be six feet under. Yuji snickered quietly beside you, trying not to get on his new teachers bad side.

"Today we're practicing teamwork. Something that you aren't great at, (y/n)." Now it was your turn to send a glare his way. "I'm fantastic at it. I don't know what you could be talking about."

"Where should I begin? Maybe the time you shoved Megumi into a room of curses as a prank? Or the time that you got Nobara so annoyed that she almost struck you with her nails? I think she still has that locket of your hair, maybe I should call her up-"

"Hey, hey, we get the picture I'm not as funny as I think I am." You grumbled, shifting on your feet. In your defense, it was a room of fly heads and Nobara was just easy to piss off. You weren't exactly expecting her to try to kill you though. It was all water under the bridge.

"Now," Your mentor continued, "I've been told there's a grade two curse at a nearby school. Tomorrow we will go and exorcise it, but today you need to get to know each other." You and Yuji turned towards each other, eyeing one another apprehensively. "But, you may under no circumstances share your cursed techniques. That will be discovered in time.

"Shucks, how will he ever know how special I am." Another glare from Nanami was enough to shut you up, maybe you should stop pushing it for now.

"I'll see you guys later."

"What?" Yuji asked, eyebrows furrowed as he looked at the blonde man. "You're just leaving us like that?"

"Yes. Is there a problem?" Nanami questioned, pulling his glasses down slightly to look directly at Itadori.

"Can't say I have a problem with being alone with (y/n)"

You let out a soft groan when you heard the deeper voice. You didn't even need to look to know that Sukuna was now talking. Your sensei, now clearly annoyed just walked away leaving the two of you - technically three of you alone in the gym.

"So.... Jennifer Lawrence?" You said, attempting to break the somewhat awkward silence.

Sukuna started laughing from Yuji's hand as his cheeks turned red, "Who told you that?"

"I never reveal my secrets." You teased at the obviously embarrassed boy. "Well if we just have to get to know each other wanna go get something to eat? I never got a chance to eat breakfast."

"Yeah." Yuji grinned, "Let's go."

[kinetic-elaboration]

September 6: Fall Writing Framework

I dunno what to write today because I basically survived the work day--it was fine but my back kept hurting--and haven’t done much in the post-work day and now I want to go to bed soon.

Anyway, I’m not doing ‘goals’ for the month/next couple months/season but here is sort of my framework for this period, the projects that are most on my mind.

Southern Gothic Fic: nothing new to say about this one, murderers, thieves, witches, ghosts, vampires, crazed preachers, and Halloween (the usual), and I swear I will work on it. Soon.

Kane/Luna Troped Conclave Fic: Ark AU with ~magic~ and weird alien objects; I am not so much drawn to this as it is a fic that is semi-close to being writable so it’s kind of on my radar.

Troped Madness: Horror Round: not sure how to describe this one yet, but roughly it’s about repression, madness, decay, and visuals I personally find extremely scary. Maybe a little bit of terror-in-the-blank-spaces going on, the disorientation of not-quite-knowing? I’ll be experimenting with form as well. NO traditional narration here! I’m excited about this one but it’s still so vague there’s a chance it simply won’t get off the ground. Still, every time I make another pass at it, I get a better sense of it and come up with more details that just might hold the whole thing together. The biggest things for me are the narrative structure, because I have no idea how that will go, and the goal I’ve set to actually seriously scare/disturb myself. Will I push the envelope as much as I want to?