#its titled fuck around and find out both because of dream's glare and the fact that i was fucking around with a different style of drawing

[cosmic--static]

fuck around and find out (dream lord edition)

[mid0khan]

Dreamling Week 2024, day 1

First time I participate in something like that, I can't wait to show you what I did for each day! Thanks to @mr-sadman for the prompts ^^

Prompt: Indulgence

Title: Just a Weekend

Summary: Dream and Hob had a fight. They will have to talk it through (and Dream can learn that the world won't end if he isn't workign 24/7, as a treat). (1,781 words, no TW)

Read on AO3:

It had all started with a stupid fight.

Look, Hob knew that Morpheus had responsibilities, and pretty important ones. He knew, when they started dating, that they wouldn’t see each other as often as they could if they were both humans. He knew Dream was doing his best, but his duties kept him away from the Waking World more often than not, and Hob couldn’t spend too much time in the Dreaming either (Morpheus had explained something about body modifications and compatibility with the Waking World, Hob didn’t understand everything but he had understood the result of him staying too long in his boyfriend’s kingdom would be Very Bad).

Still, their anniversary was just around the corner and Hob had wanted to make it really special; which is why he had asked Morpheus if maybe he could spend a whole week-end in the Waking World, or at least be there when Hob would be awake. Which Morpheus had interpreted as Hob trying to keep him from his function. Hob had tried to fix the misunderstanding but had quickly grown frustrated with Dream and it had soon escalated to a full-blown screaming match. Morpheus had stormed off in a dramatic cloud of sand, and Hob had spent the rest of the afternoon angrily sweeping his living room so it wouldn’t look like an indoor desert anymore.

It had happened three days ago. Hob’s anger had run its course, and now he only felt disappointed. And a bit worried, since Morpheus hadn’t come back since their fight.

Okay, maybe a lot worried. It all felt a bit too much like 1889 for his comfort.

Which is why he almost cried in relief when Matthew knocked on his window this evening.

Hob rushed to open the window and let the soaking wet raven inside. He barely had time to greet his friend than Matthew was flapping an accusatory wing at him, spraying him in the process.

 “I know it’s none of my business, except I’m the one who had to work in a fucking hurricane because the Boss has spent the last days in a terrible mood so it is in fact my business. What happened?”

Hob sighed. “We had a fight.”

“No shit,” Matthew deadpanned. Hob glared at him. “Sorry sorry. What did you fight about?”

“I asked him to stay a few days in the Waking World for our anniversary. It’s next week. But he took that as me trying to keep him from his work, and he got all defensive, and I grew frustrated, and we ended up screaming at each other…”

“Wait wait wait. Let me get this straight. Everyone in the Dreaming has been miserable for the last three days and finding a dry place in the realm has become Mission: Impossible because you guys couldn’t talk to each other?” Hob winced apologetically, and the raven let out an indignant caw. “You better fix this Gadling.”

“I can’t fix it alone you know; it takes two to make a couple.”

“I know but I’m not risking to anger a being with cosmical power who’s already in a bad mood.”

“Fair,” Hob sighed. “Listen, I’d like to fix it, I don’t like it when we’re angry at each other, but I can’t do anything if he refuses to see me.”

“That’s it. When you’re asleep tonight I’m dragging you to the castle and you two will talk it through like adults.”

 “What happened to not angering a being of cosmical power?”

“You’ll be the one facing him, not me,” Matthew shrugged.

“You’re such a good friend,” Hob teased.

“Don’t worry, you can’t die,” the raven retorted. Hob rolled his eyes and Matthew stuck his tongue out at him good-naturedly.

When Hob fell asleep this night, he barely had time to register what his dream was about before the raven pulled him into the Dreaming’s throne room. Hob cursed as he was immediately drenched, rain falling from the ceiling in literal waterfalls. Outside, he could hear the wind screaming, rattling the painted windows in their frames.

“I thought you were exaggerating when you said a hurricane!” Hob yelled to be heard against the storm as Matthew dragged him out of the room.

According to the raven, Morpheus had spent the last three days sulking in his quarters. Thankfully, it wasn’t raining in the hallways of the castle, so they manage to travel through the corridors without too much discomfort; it wasn’t dry though, as water was seeping from the walls, pooling on the tiles in puddles that Hob had to avoid carefully lest he ended up with wet feet.

“I’m surprised Mervyn’s crew isn’t fixing the castle,” he commented as they passed waterlogged paintings.

“The whole maintenance force has been mobilised in the library,” Matthew answered. “Water everywhere! I had never seen Lucienne so angry; the Boss is in for an earful when everything’s back to normal.”

When they finally arrived in front of Morpheus’ quarters, Hob’s feet were wet anyway. Matthew left him in front of the black door with a last “good luck” before flying away. Hob took a fortifying breath before entering his boyfriend’s bedroom.

Hob knew the place; him and Dream had spent some (very memorable) nights there together, so he didn’t take time to admire the finely sculpted furniture, the high ceilings, or the sheets so dark they would have made Anish Kapoor cry. He quickly scanned the room, and when he didn’t find Morpheus, he crossed the bedroom toward its balcony.

Just as he had expected, Dream was there, standing in the rain, wearing a robe so thin it was almost see-through, the wet material sticking to his skin.

“Morpheus?” Hob called, and the Endless flinched. “You’ll catch a cold if you stay in the rain like that.”

“I can’t get sick,” Dream answered. Yet he walked back inside the room, which Hob took like a small victory. Every time the immortal saw his beloved in his own realm, he was baffled anew by how otherworldly the Endless looked there. He did too in the Waking World, to some degree, but it was nothing compared to how Dream looked in his home. His body was slimmer, taller, more emaciated and more muscular at the same time, his skin so white it was almost luminous. His eyes, usually an impossible shade of blue, were completely black with swirling nebulas in place of a pupil. He was beautiful. He was always beautiful. Hob loved every aspect of him.

“I missed you,” he said softy. Dream answered with a pout, but a smile creeped on his lips all the same.

“…I missed you too.”

“Can we talk about our fight?”

“I don’t want to.”

“I know, but we will have to do it at some point.”

“I know,” Morpheus sighed. He sat on his bed, hugging his legs against his chest nervously. “Let us talk then.”

“Can I sit next to you?” When Dream nodded, Hob climbed on the bed with him. He tentatively took Morpheus’ hand in his own, and when the Endless didn’t push him away, he squeezed it lightly. He knew how hard those discussions always were for Dream.

“Are you angry at me?”

“I was a bit at first. I’m not anymore.” Morpheus let out a relieved sigh. “I’m sorry for screaming at you, love. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“I apologize for leaving abruptly. And for the sand. It was spiteful of me.”

“You’re all forgiven. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t do it again, though. I was worried.”

“I will try my best.” They sat in comfortable silence for a moment, Hob softly rubbing circles on Dream’s hand with his thumb. “… There is something else I should apologize for,” the Endless eventually whispered, avoiding Hob’s confused look. “I am entirely responsible for our argument.”

“That’s not true, I could have explained myself better…”

“I understood what you were trying to say perfectly well the first time, I just pretended not to.”

“If you didn’t want to spend the weekend with me you could have simply said so,” Hob said, hoping he didn’t sound too hurt by the idea.

“But I want to!”

“Then why did you-” The immortal realized he had raised his voice, and stopped, forcing himself to take a few calming breaths. “Love, I need you to explain why you did that.”

Morpheus’ form shrunk as he turned away from Hob without letting go of his hand.

“It was… easier to blame you rather than myself.”

Hob softened. Dream had made a lot of progress since they had started dating when it came to talking about his feelings, but he still struggled often. It didn’t help that he had literal eons of issues to unpack.

“What do you blame yourself for?”

“I shouldn’t want to be away for so long. I already left my realm for a whole century-”

“Against your will,” Hob chimed in.

“-and now I want to leave again? Spend two whole days in the Waking World?” Morpheus continued like he hadn’t hear him. “I was made to serve my function. I shouldn’t want to do anything else.”

“Dream, we talked about this. You’re allowed to want things outside of your job.”

“It’s not my job, it’s-”

“I know; that’s not the important part of what I was saying. Let’s try something else: your siblings, do they like things outside of their function?”

“Destiny doesn’t.”

“And he looks absolutely miserable if you ask me. What about Death?”

“… She likes apples?”

“Does it make her bad at what she does?”

“Of course not! She accomplishes her duties admirably,” Dream exclaimed, turning back toward Hob. The immortal took his face in his hands, trying to be the most convincing he could be.

“See? It’s okay to have likes and wants outside of your function.”

“But leaving for two days? What if something happens and I’m not there?”

“I’m sure Lucienne can manage. And Matthew can come fetch you if you’re absolutely needed here.” Morpheus still seemed doubtful. Hob sighed. “It’s okay if you don’t think leaving for to days is a good idea. But I want you to understand that you can let yourself have things sometimes. Constantly depriving yourself is not good for you, and it won’t make you better at your work.”

“It is a habit that will be hard to break.”

“I know. But I’ll be here to help you.”

“… I think I would like to spend the weekend with you. But I will come back to the Dreaming when you will sleep, just to make sure everything is alright.”

Hob smiled. “Sounds perfect love.”

Outside, the sun shone for the first time in three days.

[ayamturd]

job│punz

summary: every time punz gets hurt, you’re always there to patch him up; however, this time is different, and fearful truths come to light

warnings: injury descriptions, death discussions, angst to fluff

pairing: (requested) in-game punz

a/n: first punz fic! i’ll admit i don’t watch much of punz but love his character’s themes and intricacies nonetheless

wc: (1.3k) - m.list

“OW- Take it easy, will you?”

“Well if you weren’t such an idiot, it wouldn’t hurt as much.” You grunted as you pulled on the gauze again, Punz wincing from the tight wrap before clutching your arm, trying to steady himself from the pain. 

In spite of the late hour, you were wide awake and seething to say the least. The bedroom was hot, the air thick in tension and the space warm. You were both sweating in the heat, yet held different reasons besides for the enclosed temperature. 

Punz was sat on the edge of the bed, his shirt off as he panted from the small aches and stings that covered his entire body, the main damage residing on his chest. 

You, however, were livid to his condition and withheld an internal rage from the fact. Standing between his open legs, you finished off the final tie of the wrap around his upper body and right shoulder. 

Reaching for the small bowl on top of the night stand, you wringed the wet towel and moved to further wipe away the stains of blood that still oozed from his various cuts below his collarbone. It was then he decided to speak up. 

“Y/n,” he called softly.

“Don’t, Punz. Just don’t,” you murmured, your attention solely on cleaning his wounds as you interrupted whatever weak-ass apology he was going to try for. He went silent from your soft, yet underlying harsh tone, and clenched his jaw to work through the burning stings of his wounds. 

Once you finished, you then forced another healing potion into his hands for him to physically heal from the smaller cuts, the more severe one already dosed and bandaged. Punz swallowed down the elixir in one go before trying to talk again. 

“Y/n, I’m only trying to apologize here.”

With your back turned towards him, you avoided his gaze and worked to clean his blood off your fingers, the red stain caking your hands and bordering your fingernails dry. You shook your head with a scoff. 

“Well stop trying then, because I don’t want to hear it right now.”

There was a slight pause, your words hanging in the silence as you fiddled with your hands further to distract yourself from the whirlwind of emotions that roared within you. Although you couldn’t see him, Punz bit down on his tongue before shaking his head in disbelief, a humorless laugh leaving him.

“Why are you being so difficult?” You spun and turned towards him, your eyes narrow with a scrunched nose that did nothing but emphasize how much you were fuming. Shoulders tense, you practically spat at him. 

“Difficult?” 

Punz rolled his eyes and started to push himself up with a grimace, his movements slow as he tried to match your height in the heated argument that, no doubt, was about to ensue. You stepped forwards in unconscious fear that he could hurt himself, but physically restrained yourself from taking another step once seeing his own irritated expression. 

“Look,” Punz stated, his good arm lifting with a wave, “I’m sorry that things didn’t go as planned, but it’s not like I chose to get hurt.”

Your mouth dropped from the underplayed account and you crossed your arms together, leaning back to confront his false assumption. 

“Hurt? Hurt??” you began to yell. “You stumbled into this house in the middle of the night and I find you dying on the floor, passed out in your own blood, barely breathing as is and you have the audacity to say hurt?”

Looking down, Punz gripped his own arms to contain his unfiltered anger, muttering out his feeble defense. “That’s an extreme way of saying it, sure.”

Eyes widening in shock, you chucked the wet rag into his face and closed your fists tightly, them starting to shake in rage from his words. Punz was quick to pull the towel off his face after it smacked him, but his own anger slowly subsided when he saw how outraged you truly seemed.

“How fucking dare you,” you growled, “think that there’s any extreme way of stating the fact that I had to find practically dead, half way towards death’s door, with no warning ahead of time.”

You continued before he could intervene, your voice raising louder to the point where you were screaming raw.

“You left me! Without saying anything of where you were or what the hell you were doing, and it comes down to you almost loosing your life for me to get a half-assed excuse that you’re working for Dream?!”

Punz stepped forwards, no longer able to contain himself and sit through your cries and slanders of truth. Despite towering over you, you stood your ground firmly and stared straight into his eyes, them meeting your own in the same exasperated and inflamed intensity.

“You should already know, y/n! The job comes first! The job always comes first!”

“Then what about me!?” 

He froze, flinching from the question and freezing in shock to the connotations your meant. You, too, were startled by your outburst, unable to comprehend what you said before you deflated in anguish. 

“Then what about me?” you repeated again, voice cracked as the fire now faded and left the ashes of a burned ache in place of fury. 

“Are you really too thick to realize that I don’t care about the job, about the damn money or even whatever Dream has to say? All I ever wanted was for you to be safe, to know that there won’t be a day that I sit here, alone, just to wait for you never to return.”

Tears pooled while your eyes became glossed over, your lips quivering from the suppressed thoughts that have haunted you for months at a time now free from its cage. You glared down at your feet, unable to look at him without hurting more. 

Punz could only gape at you in incredulity, his own eyes pricking from emotion. 

“You’re out there, doing God know’s what while I’m stuck here waiting on you. I can’t- I can’t keep doing this, Punz.” 

Shaking your head softly, you closed your eyes in defeat, your tears now trailing down your cheeks as you turned away from him. Punz moved to comfort you, but his approach forced a sob out of you, your cries soon filling the room.

Clinging to yourself hopelessly, you whispered in words of loss, “I won’t if it means I’m inevitably going to loose you.”

Immediately, he pulled you into him and began to cradle your head into his chest, the physical pain he once felt now numb to his desire and need to hold you close. He shushed you gently as your cries became louder, and wrapped his arms securely around you. 

“Hey hey hey, calm down, calm down. Just listen, babe. Listen to my heart.”

After an extended period of time had passed and your cries had died down, now exhaling breaths of exhaustion from the fit, Punz bent down to kiss your hair firmly while you clung onto him.

“I’m never going to leave you,” he mumbled, his voice light yet earnest in full. “If its the last thing I’ll ever do, I promise you I’ll always be here, I’m not going anywhere.”

Sniffing faintly, you pulled your head away from his chest and peered up at him, your red eyes searching desperately into his for a truth to his reassurance.

“How can you be so sure?” Punz titled your head to meet his lips, kissing you tenderly and whispering his vow close to your skin. 

“No amount of pay can tear me from you, I swear to it.”

[nebulousnajm]

whose child is this? - levihan crackfic

Levi heads to his room to grab a document from his desk, but all thoughts of bureaucracy and paperwork fly out of the window as he finds a baby sitting and blabbering to itself on his bed. The baby looks up at him in the doorway and exclaims “papa!” upon seeing him.

He frowns. Very few of the survey corps have children, and so he’s familiar with how those look like. This brunette child is not one of them, “whose brat are you?” he asks, as if it is capable of answering him.

Did a governor or someone from the inner walls visit? It’s probably someone’s child that wandered off. He sighs, closes the door, and goes to ask the guards stationed at the headquarter doors about any recent visitors. The answer is “no sir, only the supply carts have come today,” he nods in thanks and deliberates on what to do.

On his way back to his room, Levi passes by Hange’s lab. He can hear them sorting through their books, probably looking for some obscure fact to back up a working theory. He knows that Hange is friendly and on talking terms with all of the staff, so they may recognize the tiny intruder.

(continued after the cut)

He knocks –to announce his presence– and enters the room. He finds Hange scanning a book with one hand and jotting down notes every other second with the other, all the while muttering to themselves. For a split second there’s something comforting about the sight; about seeing them be at some level of peace doing something they love. But he pushes the thought away into the forbidden corner in his mind where all similarly sentimental thoughts go.

“Hey four-eyes,”

Hange looks up, “hm? oh hey Levi! i didn’t hear you coming in”

“I’m not surprised. Anyways, did one of the supply staff have a brat recently?”

They look thoughtful, “..no i don’t think so. Why do you ask?”

It’s an expected question; he’s never expressed an interest in the detailed lives of the staff, but given his current predicament, he’s sort of forced to know more.

Levi also realizes that there’s no way to explain the situation in a way that will make sense, but then again, Hange has never needed things to make sense to take them seriously.

“There’s a... baby in my room, and i don’t know whose it is,” he looks away and doesn’t mention that said baby thought he was it’s father.

“What?!”

“I don’t know! Why do you think i’m asking you?”

He must look visibly flustered because Hange laughs and puts down their book, “alright, maybe if i see this mysterious baby i’ll recognize it,” they get up and –presumably– head to his room. He spares a glance at the lab before he follows; it’ll need a dusting soon.

Once he catches up to them, they ask, “what does it look like?”

“Brown hair and grey eyes, you’ll see for yourself,”

“Grey eyes huh? I don’t think I know of anyone who has a grey-eyed baby,”

Levi wearily hopes that Hange unlocks that memory once they see it; this whole situation is starting to take a lot longer than he’d like it to.

They reach his room and find the baby looking around in wonder at its surroundings. It’s quiet. He remembers that this is unusual for babies but doesn’t know what to do with that piece of information.

Hange giggles as they approach the tiny creature on the bed, “who are you, you little cutie?”

The baby raises its arms and says “mama!”

Hange complies with the request and lets it wrap its small arms around their neck and rest it’s head on their shoulder.

“I’m not your mother though,” a small pause as they notice something on the baby, “aww you have a book with you?”

It does? Levi hadn’t seen if it had something in its hands, but going off of the small yellow cardboard square it’s holding, it apparently does. He plucks the item from its hands, and reads the title out loud, “The Bumblebee and The Tulip”. The script on the cover is legible but strange.

Hange smiles, “it’s been ages since i’ve seen a children’s book, I’ve only ever found them in Sina,” they glance back at the baby, “so you’re a rich kid, huh?”

“Doesn’t look like one though. No fancy hair clips or jacket. Not even expensive shoes,”

They hum thoughtfully, “true. What a strange little specimen,” they take a look at the baby’s clothes, “speaking of strange, these clothes are weird too. Simpler yet somehow more complicated than usual,”

Well. This isn’t going great, “I don’t think there’s anything “usual” left in this situation,”

The baby, which has been sitting contentedly in Hange’s arms this entire time, now reaches towards him and says, “papa,”

He narrows his eyes at it, “why does it think we’re it’s parents? And can it only say those two words?”

Hange laughs a little, “I don’t know, but babies can only say so much. Do you know how to hold one?”

The answer must be on his face because they just continue, “you basically have them sit on your arm, and you support their neck or back with a hand as well, here try it,” and they offer the baby to him.

“I think i’ll drop it if I try to carry it,”

“You won’t, this one’s quite light so you’ll be able to handle it,”

Levi shoots them an unimpressed look but hold out his arms anyway. Hange hands the small thing over to him and arranges his arms so that they look like how Hange’s did. He’s still a little worried that he’ll accidentally hurt the child even as it just sits there and stares at him with strangely familiar grey eyes.

Hange tilts their head to the side and smiles, “you look kind of adorable together,”

He glares at them with no real heat, “no we don’t”

“It’s true! You know what? Actually..” but they trail off.

That’s weird. Hange never keeps an observation to themselves, “what is it?”

They look kind of sheepish, “okay, well, it’s ridiculous, but the baby does look a little like both of us,”

“What,”

“I know it’s impossible, but it has your eyes and it’s nose looks like what mine did when i was that age,”

Levi looks back at the baby and a weird feeling blooms in his chest. Hange’s observation explains why the eyes were familiar; he’s seen them everyday in the mirror. He also notes that even the baby’s hair is of a very similar shade to Hange’s, but that doesn’t mean anything; brown hair is very common.

“Right, well. This brat might look like us but that doesn’t mean shit. It’s not our child and we don’t know whose it actually is,”

Hange sighs, “I’m sure we’ll find it’s parents once we ask around, but it is confusing. You said you just found it on your bed?”

“Yeah,”

“No disturbance around it? Any footprints or signs that the window was open or anything?”

“I wasn’t really focusing on that when I found it,” but he does take stock of his room now and notes that nothing seems out of place; as if the child simply manifested into existence.

Just as they’re contemplating on who to ask, they hear voices. But not from the hallway.

The sound of two voices in conversation came from the wall to the left, the one that has no door or window and just connects to more stone. Yet it sounds like someone is coming from there as if through a hallway.

Levi and Hange glance at each other, “Levi do you have a secret corridor attached to your room?”

“No. why would I-“ but he stops short as the voices become clearer.

Because if this entire thing wasn’t weird as fuck already, it’s their voices that are coming closer, and he starts to be able to pick out the conversation:

“Four-eyes i swear to god if our child is in the universe of the cannibal-murder-giants,” that’s his voice. What the fuck. To make matters worse, the baby he’s holding turns towards the voice with excitement.

Someone, no, Hange laughs. That’s their laugh, but Hange is standing right next to him staring wide-eyed at the wall.

“There’s nothing to worry about! the drop range I set for here is limited to only the building where our parallels work at, so Kora should be safe. what I’m really hoping for is to find her alon-“

Two people materialize as they step out of the wall, and freeze upon seeing them.

Two people, may he add, that look and sound exactly like them.

A very thick silence suffocates the air, and it’s only broken when the baby squirms in his hold, reaches out towards the other two and says “mama! papa!”

The other Hange awkwardly waves at the child while the other Levi simply says “shit,”

Other-Hange tries to smile, “uh hi. can we have our child back, please?”

“your child?” the real Hange chokes out.

“Yes, she accidentally wandered here while we weren’t paying attention,” other-Hange replies as if answering a normal inquiry about the weather.

This other-Hange approaches him with their arms out to receive the child and he instinctively steps back. The other-Levi laughs, “we’re not gonna bite,”

His own hold on the baby isn’t going to last while she’s trying to jump into her mother’s arms, so he tentatively hands her and her book over lest he drops both.

He notes that other-Hange wears a wedding ring, and when he glances over to his apparent twin, he’s wearing a matching one too. Great.

“You just caused a huge mess, you know that Kora?” the other-Hange tells the baby with a fond smile.

Kora simply laughs in response.

Levi’s fairly sure that his brain short-circuited, because he asks “who are you?”

“Damn I didn’t think I would be this stupid” other-Levi says.

other-Hange laughs a little, “hey be nice! you weren’t the brightest bulb when you learned of this either,”

“Yeah whatever, we gotta head back anyway before we break this universe,”

“Right. Well, it was interesting meeting you two. Try to convince yourselves that this was some weird fever or lucid dream, things will go smoother that way,”

And with that, both Others turn back to phase through the stone wall they came from. Kora waves at them both as she disappears without a trace, just like how she appeared in the first place.

It might have been minutes or hours that Levi and Hange just stood there gaping at the wall, but eventually he says “what the fuck?”

“I have so many questions. I’m going to be thinking about this for the rest of my life,” Hange says as they sink down to sit on the floor.

Levi joins them and thinks that maybe one of the new recruits snuck something into the tea.

–––––––––––––

thanks for reading! 

this fic can also be found on ao3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/31065770

please don’t repost or upload on another site :)

[slothgiirl]

percolating gently (noah x mc)

au in which jane marshall lives and mc and noah and jane run off to live happily ever after a family of three and also smut (if you don’t want to read that skip the section that goes “its christmas, technically”. 

title from a tennessee williams quote 

15k

It's the three of them in the end. Jane. Noah. And you. Just like it started. Just like it had been.

Always you caught up between the two Marshall twins; Jane’s hand in yours gripping tight and never backing down as she poured water into dirt to make mud. At nine, and never having shared Jane’s attention before, Noah had snubbed you on more than one occasion, shooting down watching Resident Evil just because you had suggested it.

It was funny how you'd befriended Noah first. Jane had a fever the week your parents moved to Westchester (to study some microbe that was super rare or some other incredibly niche nerdy thing). You'd been left to roam the neighborhood on your own as per usual, drawing trees and pets you wished for in chalk, and then Noah.

Noah.

Redfield- Jane’s let up at least a little. You're no longer stuck to that awful chair in terror but griping Noah's shoulders, your fingers clutching the fabric of his denim jacket because he can't, you won't let him take her place.

He's been through so much already.

They both had.

“Noah,” you stammer out, chilled to the bone from terror or the fact that you were in a damp and freezing underground chamber--probably both. “Noah, you can't!” You tighten your grip on him even as his frown deepens, anger clear on his features as he glares down at you.

You cut him off before he can snap at you. Looking over at Jane, no longer blazing, but hovering around, a shadow spilling into the corners of the room, eyes a cold blue without an ounce of friendliness or curiosity.

“I'm sorry,” you tell her, because this was all your fault. You should've never encouraged her. You should've saved her. You should've done more: anything but brush the memory of her away instead of dealing with the events of that summer. Denial had long been your method of choice but here Jane was. It had all been real.

You owe her this much.

And Noah-

“I promised I'd be there for you,” you think of the whistle, “I promised I'd protect you so that's what I'm going to do now,” you say even as your hands shake. “Let me take your place.”

You move to stand, but Noah doesn't budge, his head shaking as his agonized wide eyes meet yours. There's always been a sincere quality in the warmth of Noah's brown eyes that put you at ease and had you feeling like you two were the only people in the world and you could never say no to him; not now. He's a mess (just how you feel), beanie about to slide off his tangled hair, tear tracks down his cheeks. There's a pull in your chest, the painful need to throw your arms around him and hug him until the world stops being this shitty but you doubt you'd ever leave his side if you hug him now.

Noah shakes his head. “It should be me,” he utters into the eerie acoustics of the chamber, the horror of the situation audible in his voice. “It should have been me then. I can finally make things right.”

Your lip grumbles as you cry out, “don't say that,” your hand reaching up to cup his cheek, “don't you dare say that bullshit Noah-we were kids! None of this,” you look around, look at Jane, “this shouldn't have happened to anyone. And it wasn't anyone's fucking fault!”

If-when you got out of this, you were going to throw hands with Mrs. Marshall.

You used to wish she’d been your mother.

The shadow that is Jane inches closer.

Right.

It had to be you or him.

His skin was warm against your hand and you don't-you don’t think you can live in a world where Noah isn't there and he's had the shittiest time and you could've reached out but you didn't and he doesn't deserve this because he thinks he deserves this.

Noah thinks he should've died.

Fuck.

This was all so fucked up.

“It's okay,” Noah whispers softly, his hand covering yours before gently removing your hand from his cheek, removing your hold on him. “It's okay.”

“But-” you look at Jane.

You didn't know what was worse, a world without Noah in it or a world where Noah became some twisted monster the same way Jane had over the years of loneliness. No one started out a monster.

You shake your head, reaching for Noah's hand, “I promised I wasn't leaving you again.”

His eyes widen in shock, giving him that doe eyes look that sort of made you want to kiss him, as if he'd forgotten all about that moment, as if he thought he wasn't worth it but Noah deserved more than death. He should get to go to culinary school and deal with shitty customers at Baby Jane’s.

And it was too late to save the day.

If you were being honest, it was nine years too late. It was all about doing the best you could  in impossible circumstances because Jane didn't deserve to spend an eternity alone and scared and a monster either.

Intertwining your fingers with his, you swallow thickly before replying in a steady voice, having made your choice the moment Noah had been willing to go find Dan alone, when he'd opened up to you at the shop and you realized all this time it hadn't just been you dealing with the repercussions of Redfield, “Together.”

You weren't going to fail Noah again.

Noah is speechless.

But Jane was always able to go with the flow. A shadowy limb ghost over both your hands, in the vein of those cheesy moments in anime when a best friend speech got everyone through a big battle.

“Allll play too g etherR.”

“Yeah,” Noah says sadly, accepting that there was no version of this ending that didn't end in tragedy. “together.”

At least this way, you could be monsters together.

“It's okay Jane,” he tells his sister, his hand squeezing yours, “we’ll take over from here.”

*

*

*

You wake up cold, thinking that you'd left your bedroom window open (not that you were doing much sleeping in that room after the Dan night terror) again, but you're greeted with the sight of Jane curled up asleep between you and Noah looking the same as she had at the many sleepovers you'd have at their house. You don't know if she's real or if this is a dream or if you're dead and this is just a figment of your new reality, but you don't care.

Finally, you understand the ending of Inception.

You don't want to wake them up, still exhausted yourself, but Jane keeps shivering and you can only imagine how worried your friends were. Your phone’s dead.

You couldn't stay here.

“Noah,” you whisper, the sound echoing throughout the chamber. “Noah…”

He grumbles in his sleep, but doesn't wake up.

“Noah,” you hiss.

“What,” Noah slurs, shifting as he lifts his head, jostling Jane at his side but your friend who was dead, was previously dead, continues to sleep looking like a particularly angelic little girl.

You can tell when the situation dawns on him: the twitch of his lips as his mouth settles into a frown, brows becoming drawn in thought.

It's day outside.

You're not sure which day.

Noah's phone is also dead.

Both of you stumble through the woods half asleep, Noah carrying Jane as if she was the most precious thing in the world which she was because she had been dead but now she wasn't and you were beginning to hope this was real and not a trick and that Jane was getting a shot at a normal childhood.

“We should go to my house,” you offer, keeping your voice low as to not disturb Jane who continued to sleep, no wonder Andy and Ava had been able to draw so many mustaches on her back in the day. “It's closer.”

And also you had no way of explaining how Jane had suddenly come back to life. That was something to process later. First a warm bed and sleep and then you had to let your friends know you weren't dead and figure out the whole Jane being alive with Noah. But first, sleep.

“Yeah, okay,” Noah answer’s, clearly still in shock. “Sounds good.” He says as if you two were discussing the weather and not sudden resurrection.

Then again, was this really that big of a leap considering everything that happened in the last few months?

You kick off your shoes and curl up with the Marshall twins to sleep.

*

*

*

“Why are you so much taller,” Jane asks once you’ve all woken up and yes, Jane’s still there, flesh and blood and the idea begins to solidify that she’s alive and well, well maybe not, you don’t know how much she remembers if at all and you still don’t know what to do with her but for now Noah’s rifling around your sparse kitchen, sending you a judgemental look at the half empty pancake box mix that expired a month ago but there’s no gross mold or anything so he uses it anyway, unwilling to leave Jane alone for a second.

Noah smiles easily, which has you smiling, “I’m not tall,” he replies to his sister, “you just shrunk.”

She frowns, nose wrinkling and you had forgotten she did that when she was upset, her nose wrinkling up as her lips turn downward. It was adorable. Then in classic Jane fashion she decides, “that’s a lie.” And sticks her nose up in the air, her fingers continuing to do whatever in your hair. It feels nice, her small fingers weaving clumsily through your thick hair, but Jane had never actually learned to braid so you’re pretty sure she’s just tangling your hair up but you wouldn’t refuse Jane anything right now.

It’s been days since the dance.

You have countless missed calls from your friends, texts getting increasingly and increasingly panicked, and nothing from either of your parents.

“Turn around,” Jane squeaks, tapping your shoulder urgently.

“Alright, alright,” you say, shifting in your seat. She’s tiny. All red hair and freckles and she hasn’t left your side since waking you up, knees in your side as she’d yelled that she was bored and wanted to play so loud it had woken Noah up.

Jane looks at you with a frown. “You’re big too.” Then her lower lip wobbles.

Shit.

Hastily, you pull her onto your lap, wrapping your arms around her.

“Why am I still small,” she whispers, looking up at you with the same wide brown eyes you were so used to.

“Uh,” you swallow thickly, trying to figure something out because maybe she didn’t remember and wasn’t that for the best? Wouldn’t that be the best case scenario? The only problem is you’re barely eighteen and not at all prepared to handle a nine year old. Had you really been this small when your parents decided to fuck off? “It’s because. . .you’re special, like Peter Pan.”

She crunches up her nose for a second, thinking. Then in her child innocence, she nods, deciding she likes the explanation. “You should’ve come with me,” Jane pats your cheek sadly, “grown ups are so boring.”

Noah wheezes, a pancake slipping off the spatula as his shoulders shake with laughter.

You hadn’t had time to talk about what had happened, what he had done, and you certainly hadn’t had time to process your feelings on any of it, but you were always glad to see him laughing.

“Someone had to take care of your dumb brother,” you reply, legs kind of going numb with her weight.

Jane nods sagely, “Noah is dumb. Because he’s a changeling.”

When you were kids, you’d both been obsessed with goblins and trolls and fairy tales. You two would dig in the dirt looking for hag stones. Sticks would double as magic wands and swords. The old fur jacket Jane liked to play dress up with was her selkie skin and you would take turns hiding it around the house.

Noah rolls his eyes. He hadn’t liked your weirdo kid games the first time around, he liked them even less now and you can’t help but grin at his expense. “You’re the redhead in the family.”

Jane blows a raspberry.

What a way to win an argument.

It’s past midnight before Jane crashes.

You’re on your third watch of frozen which had seemed like a great way to keep Jane inside the first time when you’d suggested it (kids loved that movie) and had become the worst, as Jane made you watch the movie again and again, singing “do you want to build a snowman” at the top of her lungs. That hadn’t stopped you and Noah from helping her find all the pillows in your house to build a castle with. Your living room has become a pillow castle fort.

During the second watch, Jane had dug around through your closet, before finding a blue hoodie you didn’t even remember you had and tying it around her shoulders. “You’re Anna,” she’d told you, giving you pigtails when she gave up on braids.

Now, she was asleep on the couch, drooling on her pillow.

Noah immediately turns off the TV. “You couldn’t have put on Shrek?”

You’re sitting next to him on the floor, finally giving into the urge to look at the news on your phone. You hadn’t risked it while Jane was awake. She was a nosy child.

You frown, “we need to tell the others.” Because this was really happening. Jane was alive and you didn’t know what to do with that. She needed. . .fuck-she needed school and parents and probably therapy if she remembered any of it. You were just eighteen. You had no idea what to do.

Noah’s responding frown mirrors yours. “What? Why!”

“She just came back from the dead,” you reply quietly. “She needs-fuck what are we going to tell your mom?”

His expression turns angry, brows furrowing. “Fuck her. She doesn’t deserve to know.”

“Noah,” you sigh, not wanting to argue with him because what was there to argue. His mom was a shitty parent. “Dan, Andy. . .they think we’re dead. They deserve to know after what happened. They deserve an explanation.”

He flinches.

“And besides-we’re in high school! What are we-what the hell are we going to do with her,” you say gently because you couldn’t keep her cooped up in your house. You had things like high school and maybe college if you could salvage this quarter. You didn’t have a job. “She needs parents. And school. And. . .” You throw your hand sup in the air. You had no clue what she needed. You weren’t a functioning adult. You didn’t know what kids need.

“She has me.” Noah hisses back.

You roll your eyes. “I know that-fuck Noah,” becuase he was getting angry with you when all you were trying to do was help. God, he could be so freaking dense sometimes. “She deserves a normal childhood. How the hell are we supposed to do that for her? Does she remember any of it?” You cross your arms over your chest and stare at your feet. The garish pink nail polish was still intact.

Didn’t people need birth certificates and stuff?

Lucas would know.

Lily could probably do her computer thing and help with that.

He falls silent, glaring at the blank TV screen.

Noah’s breathing is harsh and you wait patiently.

“I can drop out,” Noah finally says quietly. “Get a job. . .”

“I’m going to call Lily,” you reply. “We need groceries anyway.” Like hell were you leaving Jane for even a second. This time, you mean to keep your promise.

*

*

*

Jane bursts into tears when she sees all her friends grew up without her, eyes turning red as tears streamed down her eyes and she buried her face in Noah’s chest, refusing to budge. He rubs his hand comfortingly against her back, carrying her upstairs.

Even from the living room, still a mess, you can hear her sob upstairs.

“What the absolute fuck,” Lucas utters, taking a seat, resting his head in his hands.

“Explain,” Stacy urges, already unpacking the groceries you’d requested into your kitchen.

You do.

You go over the last couple of days, most of which you spent sleeping.

“I think it says a lot about how fucked our lives are that this is only like the second craziest thing to happen to us,” Andy mutters, pacing around the room. “I mean,” he says stopping near the kitchen island, “the whole town got brainwashed!”

“Does-does she remember,” Lily asks.

You shrug, “I. . .I don’t think so. Clearly she doesn’t know why we’re all older. Maybe it’ll come back to her?” You hope it doesn’t.

“So what are we going to do,” Lily says, looking around at everyone.

Dan speaks up, “Jane could have blocked out those memories. My therapist said that can happen with traumatic events.”

“That makes sense,” you find yourself saying, slumping in your seat. You think you could just finish high school at home. It’s not like your parents would know, or care. They’re not here. That way Noah can finish high school and you can look after Jane. But then what?

“Just so we’re all on the same page,” Ava asks rhetorically, “we’re just going to ignore the fact Noah tried to kill us?”

You flinch.

“Jesus fucking christ Ava,” Andy snaps, looking just as agitated as you’ve all felt for months.

“One crisis at a time,” Stacy complains, closing the cupboard door with a hard thunk, “I can only handle one crisis at a time.” Then she looks over at you, “are you-is. . .you can stay at my house if you need to.” No one suggests Noah and Jane going to their own house.

You shake your head.

At some point, you were going to hash things out with Noah, but it wasn’t exactly anger at Noah that you felt. It was hurt and the raw heart crushing betrayal. You know you hadn't been there for him when he needed you--for years-- but you thought, you wish he had just told you about Jane being Redfield.You would have helped, you would have done anything to help Noah and Jane and maybe no one would’ve needed to play are you scared at all. Fuck.

But no. You don’t feel scared at being here with him which was what Stacy was asking about. It hadn’t even crossed your mind even once.

But it feels too private to tell them that the three of you have been inseparable since the ruins. You’d spent last night curled up on the living room floor with him. But that knowledge was yours. You weren’t about to share that.

“It’s fine. I’m fine.” You don’t feel fine. “She can’t stay in Westchester can she?” Because you’re tired and want someone else to tell you what to do for once.

“Probably not,” Lucas answers tightly, still looking freaked out, eye twitching.

“It’s not a trick or anything. . .” Andy glances around.

You shake your head. Slowly, a plan forms in your head. Your parents would pay for your college, you’d apply out of state and take the Marshall twins with you. Instead of a dorm, you’d get an apartment. It could work.

Somehow.

“Have your parents called,” Dan asks gently.

“No,” you wave off. They weren’t important. Jane was.

“Have you thought about how you’re going to explain this,” Andy asks.

You wince. “Sort of. . .I don’t know.” You put your hands in your head.

It's Ava who wraps her arm around your shoulders, “we’ll figure this out.”

“Thanks.”

*

*

*

It's a familiar type of awful that Noah’s mom doesn’t really care that he’s spent the last six months living at your house.

With a great deal of arguing at 2 in the morning while lying next to a sleeping Jane, you’d managed to convince Noah to finish high school. And you’d promptly switched to homeschooling.

Lily had come through with Jane’s paperwork, now in your bag as your friends drop you off at the nearest regional airport.

You hold Jane’s hand, the only thing keeping her from running off as she takes the sight of the airport in. She’s thrown countless fits about being cooped up. But it was too risky for her to be seen in Westchester, a small town where everyone knew she’d died. The most you could do was your backyard.

So of course you’d made up for it by letting her pick your college.

“Someplace warm and sunny,” Jane had shouted excitedly, mind going crazy with plans as your acceptance letters came in.

Months on, it’s way less awkward even if Ava and Lucas have settled on ignoring Noah.

Andy hugs you hard. “Call when you land!”

You snort, “duh.”

Lily smiles and adds, “I might visit for spring break.”

“That would be great,” you tell her, tightening your hold on Jane as something catches her attention.

She pivots to Noah, who had the backbone of a toothpick when it came to telling Jane no which is why she keeps getting to skip brushing her teeth in the morning which was gross and she hated you for trying to chase her down, “I want that stuffed animal. If you give me that narwhal, I’ll eat my veggies.”

“You’re eating your veggies anyway,” you reply back, dragging her along.

“You won’t have to watch frozen tomorrow.” She continues, targeting her brother ruthlessly.

Noah’s already fishing his wallet out.

“That’s what you said about the hair color,” you point out, opting to carry her when she goes limp. “Don’t you dare Noah.”

Ava grins at you, amused and unhelpful.

“It’s just a toy,” he replies.

You roll your eyes.

“You two are such parents,” Andy laughs.

“I hate you,” Jane huffs. “We’re not friends anymore.”

“She told you,” Ava snorts.

Jane beams. Then reaches for Noah, who takes her from your arms without complaint.

You hug Lily one last time, and then. . .you’re going through security.

“I get the window seat,” Jane declares once you get past TSA.

“Go for it,” you tell her, belatedly realizing it’s going to be hell if it turns out she doesn’t like planes.

She nods, satisfied.

*

*

*

Tampa is no less humid and hot and awful a month in then it was when you first got off the plane but Jane loves it and there’s a park next to the building your living in: a tiny cramped apartment with only one room which went to Jane obviously which you and Noah had originally planned for you and Jane to share but both of you had capitulated to Jane’s demands within the day. She deserved being spoiled.

The A/C in Ikea was a godsend.

Sleeping on the floor with the bare necessities was not it and with you starting school next week, it was time to take your meager savings and get some furniture.

“Remember,” Noah says, pulling up the list on his phone. It had started with him grocery shopping since he cooked and needing to make a grocery list to Noah just taking over figuring out how to make the money your parents sent and his own contribution from his new job work. “Sofa bed. Bed for Jane. Blankets. One lamp. And a mattress.”

“Weren't you complaining about only having one pan this morning,” you ask as Jane drags you along to the first showroom, practically bouncing with energy.

Noah shrugs. “I can make it work.”

“Buying an extra pan won't kill us,” you counter. “We can just use my credit card.” And not eat out for the rest of the month, you didn't add.

“Let's play hide and seek,” Jane says with excitement. “I'll seek.”

You exchange glances with Noah.

Tomorrow you had to go sign her up at school. You had to go over the story with her again. Just to make sure you didn't all get in trouble.

Jane covers her eyes. “One. Two. . .”

You look around the tiny space, thinking of where to hide. Between school and Jane you weren't sure when you could or even if you could get a part time job. Noah was working at a diner during the evenings. You had gotten your classes early in the morning so you could be home with Jane while he worked. The problem was finding the extra free time to work.

Ugh.

Being an adult was hard.

But how much of an adult could you be when your parents were paying your tuition?

You head for the tiny bathroom which has a neat looking toothbrush holder and isn’t that something you need to buy? There were so many little things like a bath mat and towels and a dish rack that were only just occurring to you that were sort of essentials and jeez you really had one foot in adulthood. You don’t even hide behind the curtain, worried that Jane won’t find you easily and freak out and there’s weirdos everywhere. It was your job to look after her now. Not that Noah had asked for your help, but it was a given.

“Eight. . .nine. . .” Jane’s little voice carries and you’re struck by a flood of emotions that has your eyes tearing up.

Noah steps into the bathroom next to you, “we need a cutting board,” he says so seriously you can’t help but snort.

“What,” he asks, shaking his head at you.

“Nothing.”

He tilts his head.

You shrug, “just thinking. I don’t know. I don’t feel very grown up. And I took all the dumb towels my parents stockpiled for granted.”

“We should’ve raided your house,” he agrees, the corner of his lips lifting, “purge style.”

“Yeah,” you nod, “I never get why everyone jumps straight to murder. What does Ava always say? Redistribute the wealth, rob a bank.” You roll your eyes, scoffing, “murder.”

Noah snorts. “Pretty sure that’s Lucas. Ava’s more of a go straight to cutting people’s heads off.”

“Robespierre style,” you grin.

“Robes who?”

“Robespierre. From the french revolution.”

“I think that’s the class I must’ve ditched,” Noah admits.

You frown. “You could do community college,” because you had to corner him at some point. Noah was very good at avoiding subjects he didn’t want to talk about. “We could make it work. Do your G.E.’s”

Noah shrugs.

“Noah-” Because he said he wanted to go to culinary school and you get the urge to drop everything and buy a ranch in utah and live with Jane for the rest of your lives except Jane would hate that and grow up and leave and how are you going to afford spoiling her if you can’t get a decent job? Noah deserved to go for his dreams too.

None of you had to be defined by your incredibly shitty childhood.

Jane pops in, “found you!” She giggles in her Baby Yoda t-shirt and leggings, “you two are bad at this game! My turn!” Jane grabs Noah’s hand and drags him along to the next showroom that catches her eye, “remember,” she lectures you both, “no peeking,” before shooting off.

“What did you end up choosing for your major,” Noah asks, as you both fail to keep your eyes closed, looking over at the sofa section. It would be so freaking nice not to sleep on the carpet anymore.

“History,” you admit, “though I’m not sure it’ll stay like that. I don’t know exactly what I want to do after college. Or if I even like history enough to major in it. . .it just sounded fine at the time.” You had done well in APUSH. That had to mean something. But you had also liked your economics class. . .maybe you should do economics? “I really have no clue. Has it been ten seconds?”

“Probably,” Noah says with a smile, “nine, ten, coming to find you,” he calls out.

It’s a living room showroom, and yet Jane had managed to squeeze herself right behind a floor lamp and the TV stand. She’s a slip of a girl, but her red hair makes her easier to spot. Thank god.

“Let’s go pick out things for your room,” you offer, because you still have to go downstairs and find all the different pieces and then still go home and put them together. Thank god for uber. Oh shit, did this mean you had to get a car at some point? How do people buy cars?

“Okay,” Jane nods, immediately taking off, and she has you and Noah speed walking after her, on the border of a full out run. It was hard to be annoyed when you were still so happy to wake up in a world where Jane was alive and here and who cares that it took three hours to get her to stand still long enough to comb her hair and putting her to bed was a long drawn out affair of a bedtime story and a snack and needing to be tucked in and checking on all her toys and deciding she needed a glass of water next to her just in case she woke up thirsty.

It was worth it.

You liked not living alone.

You liked not being alone.

*

*

*

You weren't sure who was more exhausted as you finished washing the dishes. Jane was sleeping, thank god. The nice thing about Florida was it was fall and it was still warm enough to spend the evening at the park so Jane could tire herself out while you read fifty pages of your history and sociology textbook. It was what all the other moms did and you winced when Jane asked to join the soccer team that practiced at the park by your building because you didn't have the money and you could only hope she didn't ask Noah because he came home tired enough but for Jane he'd take more shifts.

There was laundry you didn't want to do and a quiz in english which was a nice class even if everyone was half asleep at 7:30 in the morning because your professor was somehow awake enough to engage and rant about short stories that thankfully weren't the same ten dead old white men you'd read in high school but actual people alive today whose english you could understand. It's night, so you don't bother drying the dishes before turning off the light. Noah had brought food which showed how tired he was. Yesterday's leftovers had saved you from attempting anything because you sucked in the kitchen as your poor microwave could attest: aluminum foil and microwaves don't mix.

Noah’s already asleep when you slide into bed next to him. You can still smell the scent of oil and grease on his skin even as you stay decidedly on your side of the bed.

It's mid september in Tampa and it's still warm and it doesn't stop you at all from curling up with a blanket.

The window panes are cracked open letting in the soft moonlight and you lay in bed, brain melted from class and reading, and look at Noah's profile and how much lighter he looked compared to a year ago. The lines around his mouth from frowning had eased; Jane teasing out a side of him that had previously shriveled up.

It's done him good to get away from his mom. To have his sister. You just wish you could do more for him.

Like he was doing for you and Jane.

You drift off to sleep. . .

“Move over,” a small voice asks, and your eyes crack open to the dark of the room and Jane a hair's breadth away with wide scared eyes, a pillow hugged to her chest. Her voice is raw, as if she'd been crying.

You move over, brain sleep addled, to make room for her.

She slips in besides you, immediately curling up in your chest the way she does when she decides she's done walking for the day: the way she runs up to Noah when he gets home from work.

“Did you have a bad dream,” you mumble, not wanting to wake up her brother.

“I don't know.” Jane admits, “I just don't want to sleep alone.”

“I thought you wanted your own room,” you tease, a little more awake now.

“I do,” she cries out loudly in the dark of the night.

You can just imagine her pouting even if you can't see her, your eyes falling shut again. “Okay. You can sleep over tonight.”

“Yay,” she whispers back. “We should draw a mustache on Noah.”

You snort, “too late. He hasn't bothered shaving in like two days.” It was a good look on him: stubble. You'd teased him ruthlessly, almost choking on your water when he'd gone pink.

Jane giggles.

“Go to sleep,” you tell her. “You have school.”

“So do you.”

“Sleep.”

“Tell me a bedtime story.”

“Jane,” you whine, rolling over away from her, because she sure wasn't going to stop. “Sleep.”

*

*

*

“Where the fuck are my shoes,” Noah says, as he stumbles around trying to find his things.

You should've folded the laundry last night. Instead, it was a pile on the floor, clean, but a mess. You had parent teacher conferences today, and of course you were rushing at the last minute. Between finishing a paper for sociology and ditching class because of the conference and it's not like your statistics professor took roll call, you were still in a towel, freshly showered.

“Check the hall closet. I told Jane to clean last night and I'm like one hundred percent sure she just stuffs everything in that closet. Dan's right, we're fucking her up by spoiling her too much.” You search the pile of clothes for a nice dress. Was that right for a parent teacher conference? You were 18, what did you know? Besides, you were like guardian adjacent. Not a parent.

“Okay,” Noah replies when you hear the door open and why can't you find any clean underwear, you just did laundry this is insane and you have like five minutes to leave or you will be late, “but why'd she only put away one shoe?”

“Don't goblins only steal left shoes or something,” you reply, finding clean underwear but giving up on the bra. You'd go with a blue and white plaid dress. It wasn't too revealing for school even if it was one of those back of the closet dresses you never actually wore.

You slip your underwear on under the towel as Noah reappears in jeans and a t- shirt, freshly shaved. “What if they ask too many questions?”

“They won't,” you wave off. “And if they do we can just lie.”

“You're a bad liar,” Noah teases, rifling around in the kitchen.

You toss the towel aside, trying incredibly hard to act cool and calm when you weren't anything but, as you go to pull the dress over your head. It's not like you were flashing him. You sleep next to Noah every night.

But then why did you feel so flustered right then. “Am not!” You squawk indignantly, turning over to look at him as your dress goes over your head and your boobs are no longer hanging out for the world to see (there was a point to curtains after all).

Noah goes bright pink when he realizes your half naked in the living room, as if he hasn't slept next to you for close to a year now but then again, you used to sleep in an old shirt and underwear and now you've got matching pjs because Noah and yeah you should probably do something about that like you had wanted to since the party ages ago now but there had been Redfield and Noah admitting he was in a terrible headspace and it wasn't the time and now. . .you brush the thought aside for now. You roll your eyes (because your cool and calm even if your heart’s beating erratically) and grab your purse, before joking, “so are you going to get a haircut or are you going to do the man bun thing.”

Noah groans, “Jane told me I looked like homeless dog.”

“Ouch,” You laugh, “when she say that?”

“She woke me up again last night but I got her to go to her bed this time.” He admits as you walk to Jane’s school.

“Again?” Fuck maybe she was having nightmares after all. “It has to be nightmares, but. . .” you trail off.

“I don't know,” Noah shrugs, “she says she doesn't remember. Just wakes up. But like why else would she keep waking up if it's not nightmares,” he frowns.

“Do you think they could be,” you purse your lips before continuing not wanting to be the one to bring it up but you sort of had too, “you think it's redfield related.”

“I really don't know,” he says, looking over at you with a sad smile.

Smiling softly, you squeeze his hand as you wait for the white pedestrian sign, “hey, she's got us. She'll be fine.”

Which makes you think about how Andy was right. You were such a mom. Had you mom-zoned yourself? That was good, you'd have to text that to Andy later.

Then you sigh, realizing that if you had a nightmare back then, your parents wouldn't have even been home for you to wake up. There had been weeks spent at Pine Springs and driving over to some niche science conference in Rochester or over to New Haven for a lecture.

“What,” Noah asks, intertwining your fingers with his as you cross the street.

“Just realizing how shitty my parents were,” you offer with a sad smile. What could you do about it now? You'd grown up.

“Just now,” Noah quips with a smirk.

You roll your eyes, “shut up.”

Jane’s teacher, an older black woman who's style leans close to Lily's own preppy academic choices, looks at you both skeptically. “You’re here for Jane Marshall's conference?”

Both you and Noah nod.

She doesn't look reassured.

You bump Noah's knee with yours, hoping he'll say something to clear things up. Neither of you looked old enough to be her parents. You had a serious case of baby face.

“Uh,” he says, still an eighteen year old who's spent most of his life bowing down to teachers authority. You understood, still feeling strange going to the bathroom during lecture without asking for permission. “I'm Jane’s brother.”

You nudge him again when it's clear he's done taking.

“Noah,” he manages.

You roll your eyes. “We’re her guardians,” you had gone over the story hundreds of times, “their parents passed,” you look down at you lap trying to look sad, “a few months ago.”

“Oh,” Jane’s teacher, Miss Sanders, says sympathetically. “I'm sorry to hear that.”

“Yeah well,” Noah trails off.

“Well Jane is a very outgoing girl,” Miss Sanders says, launching into her talk, “she's made lots of friends though sometimes getting her to be quiet during class time can be a challenge. She's at her grade level for reading and math. She does need more practice with writing longer sentences and,” she shuffles papers around, flipping through a red folder, before taking out some childish drawings. “These had me worried but in light of the loss she is going through, I think it's understandable.”

Each drawing is a variation of a theme: huge black blobs make up most of the page, with occasional stick drawings differentiated by hair color. Jane is obviously the girl with the red hair and triangle body. Redfield, she remembered something then.

Could it be subconscious?

You feel the blood leave your face as you look over at Noah. He looks just as shaken as you.

“It's normal for children going through the loss of a loved one, especially parents,” Miss Sanders tries, “to work through it in drawing and writing. But we could always let her talk to the school psychologist. Mrs. Hernandez is a wonderful child therapist.”

“Do you think it would help,” you ask, wondering if it was a good idea when Jane’s actual problem was of the supernatural variety. Maybe they would just assume that was her imagination, or her way of explaining away a loss.

“It couldn't hurt.”

You look over at Noah, slipping your hand into his, giving him an encouraging squeeze in his palm. It was his sister. It should be his call.

He pulls his hand out of yours, straightening up in the chair. “Yeah. That could be good.”

“Okay. I'll let Mrs. Hernandez know. That and make sure Jane’s reading books for AR. Her goal this year should 40 points if she wants to be part of the end of the year celebration.”

“I'll figure out where the library is,” you nod, “I'm sure she can find books while I study.”

“Sounds perfect. Any other questions.”

You look at Noah who shakes his head. He was starting to need a haircut. Even if you did like the way he looked with his hair loose.

“Alright then. It was lovely to meet you Mr. and Mrs. Marshall.”

“Oh,” heat builds up in your cheeks.

“We're not-”

“I'm not-,” you stammer, “I'm just a family friend.”

“Oh,” Miss Sander says, “I'm-sorry for assuming.”

“It's fine,” you manage, starting to leave. “Thank you. It was good to meet you.” You shake her hand, wanting to die inside.

“Nice to meet you as well,” she shakes Noah's hand and then you can finally leave.

You both hurry out the classroom, out the school.

“So that was,” Noah says, raising a brow.

“awful,” you finish. “But there were no red flags and we got free therapy out of it.”

Noah laughs, “I think we probably all need some therapy.”

“Rewatching arrested development isn't cutting it anymore,” you grin.

“I do feel like Gob most days.”

“Good,” you laugh.

“Really?”

“I don't trust people who identify with Michael. No self awareness.”

Noah laughs, “they are all horrible people.” His face becomes drawn, as he tucks loose strands of hair behind his ears. “How much do you think she remembers?”

You shrug, placing your hand on his arm. “I think it's probably bits and pieces. She did spend years and...she doesn't have nightmares? That's a good sign right? It's been months, she's not some creepy horror movie child?”

“Of course not,” he nods, looking down at you, with a frown. “She's fine. Jane's good.”

You smile shakily. “We're doing amazing. And she's happy if she hasn't stopped watching disney vlogs. No clue how we're going to swing that one if she asks.”

Noah matches you’re unsure smile, “take her to those rich people parks and call it disney.”

You snort. “It's Jane. That won't fool her.”

“It's Florida. We can just go to the beach.” He says with a shrug. “It'll be just as good.”

“Aren't there alligators though?”

Noah laughs at your expense. “Those are in the lakes and rivers.”

“Shut up. Want to go for pizza before you go to work?”

“Let's go get Indian food actually. There's this place I've been meaning to try but Jane’s-”

“Picky as fuck,” you say pointedly. “Like you used to be.”

Noah blushes. “Okay so my mom just cooked like kraft mac and cheese. That wasn't my fault.”

“And those pizza bites! I loved those,” you add, thinking back on all the sleepovers at their house as a kid. “I think when Jane came over was the only time I'd get to use peanut butter.” Your parents weren't around, but your nanny was philippina, you ate spice before kids discovered hot cheetos were delicious.

He snorts, running a hand through his hair. “We should probably get a car at some point.”

“Face it bro, we're broke. I keep wanting to tell you to get a haircut but we're broke.”

Noah raises a brow. “Fuck off. I look like post-Beatles George Harrison.”

“You wish you looked like George Harrison,” you tease.

The food was amazing. Lunch indian buffets were where it was at. And since you don't have a class right after, you offer to walk Noah to work, “I've got to walk off the food baby,” you tell him, before you head back to pick Jane up.

Noah laughs, “The malai kofta was just too good.”

“I should've stopped at three plates but buffets always make me think it's a food contest,” you admit. “My nanny would take me to this seafood buffet with her family around lunar new year and we’d spend all day there to try and eat our money's worth.” It had been your favorite holiday as a child, after your parents had decided you were old enough to be left behind, only a handful of years after they decided you were old enough to bring along with them, and you hadn't seen them even at christmas.

“Damn,” Noah says with an easy smile, “at least I had good times with my parents.” His smile is so fragile. That just means it hurt him more when things fell apart.

“I had nice times too. . .with your family.”

Noah cackles.

You cross the street to the diner he works at next to a retirement complex with what you think are the best waterfront views next to the hotels you can't afford.

It's strange.

Your entire life, Noah has been this huge part of it and you've always lived in a tiny town so you knew everyone he did and knew what he got up to just by living near him in a town of like 500 people or what felt like such a small amount, your elementary school only had one class for each grade but now you hug Noah goodbye even though he always tenses against you, as though he's unused to the physical affection and that just makes you hold him tighter, then he's heading inside and greeting people you probably will never know and he's having this whole part of his life your not a part of and one day he's going to go on and live his life without you and it hurts: watching him laugh with some waitress that's tall blonde and beautiful in a way you've never been.

It hurts but you suck it up and go pick Jane up from school.

“Don’t worry,” your friend says, holding your hand once she realizes you've been standing at the water's edge. It's warmer than you'd imagined as it laps at your bare feet.

Jane has not stopped smiling since you'd bought her a bathing suit at Target: a pink one piece with sloths. You'd been more nervous, not knowing how to swim. You also felt every single bite of pasta you'd had last night in your black bikini.

Damn Noah for being so good at cooking.

“I've got you,” Jane says, leading you out further into the water, over to where Noah's out, up to his waist and you're pretty see it's deeper than Jane is taller, but if Jane can do it-a wave, a massive looking wave comes crashing towards you both.

You don't hesitate to run away.

Noah points and laughs.

You flip him off once the wave passes, leaving your hair wet.

Jane grins. “It's okay. I won't let you drown.” She pulls you back out again, a perfectly happy water baby. She always had been fearless. And unlike you, as the water deepens, she starts to swim alongside you.

“See,” she laughs, “it's easy.” Then she pops down under.

You make it to Noah, figuring the water wasn't that crazy. No tsunami like waves to pull you out to sea and drown you.

Jane comes up for air, “I'm Jaws,” she yells at Noah, tackling his side.

“Ooof,” he says, exaggerating, “oh no, a shark, I'm. . .dead dying. . .”

Jane giggles.

“Do not,” you warn her. “I'm barely here as is.”

Noah rolls his eyes and you have a feeling there about to roast you: both of them.

“It's just a little water,” he teases.

“It's not even that deep,” Jane adds. “It's the beach!” She pops back down under the water as another wave rolls towards you.

“Fuck,” you mutter, tensing, as the wave soaks what's left of your dry hair, splashing salty water into your mouth.

Jane pops her head back up, strawberry hair plastered to her head, smiling so wide. It's November and it's still warm enough to go to the beach. Even the rain here isn't cold that way it was back home.

The world was so much bigger than Westchester.

Noah reaches his hand out to yours. You take it easily, stepping closer to him, pushing your wet hair out of your face.

He had the right idea, now looking more like the fifth beatle than a shaggy haired hippie. Less to deal with at the beach.

“You okay,” he smirks.

“Shut up. I can't swim. You know that.” You'd complained about it a hundred times as they both forced you off the pile of towels where you had planned to read through your notes. Studying, it was gross.

“You're,” Noah rolls his eyes, “it's like three feet. You're not going to drown.”

“What if,” you counter, “I trip and swallow water and drown.”

“That's not going to happen. What you can't stand up?”

“Don't,” you warn.

He smirks, “it's because you're short.”

“Asshole,” you say, smacking his bare chest. Nothing you haven't seen, you tell yourself. Act normal, you reminded yourself.

“It is!” Noah crouches down a couple inches to your height.

You roll your eyes-

-and laugh when Jane launches herself onto her brother's back.

“I'm an orca!”

Noah lets go of your hand to regain his balance. “Wow there shamu.”

Jane frowns. “Sea world is evil. Ava and I watched Blackfish.”

You vaguely remember some orca documentary that you had mostly slept through. Taking care of Jane was hard and you had fallen asleep in those early weeks whenever you got the chance.

“No seaworld then,” you shrug.

“But I do wanna go to Disneyworld. I wanna go on the star wars ride!”

“You don't even watch Star Wars,” Noah points out.

“I would if we went to Disneyworld. My birthday is coming up.”

“No it's not,” you frown. They were April babies.

“I think you mean my birthday,” Noah says playfully.”

“I was born first,” Jane yells.

“So, I'm taller.”

You roll your eyes, sinking down to your neck. The water was nice. “You better throw yourself into the water if I start drowning,” you warn Noah.

“Yeah yeah,” he says with a soft smile, “I'm not going to let you drown.”

Jane nods in agreement, “I'll kick him if he does.”

You laugh, happy to spend the days with the Marshall twins.

Bells don't ring, but the whole class knows when class is over, shoving their papers away into bags as soon as there's a minute left.

You leave English happily enough. It was a fun class, with plenty of movies and conversation that you were able to make friends in, unlike other lecture heavy classes where you had five minutes before class to talk during.

Sasha and Kevin both walk with you out of the lecture hall. “Have you started studying for the midterm,” Sasha asks, “I really don't want to write two in class essays. Multiple choice is where it's at.”

“I'd rather have an in class essay,” Kevin says, “and Professor Laux said it's just one. But he'd give us two prompts.”

You wrinkle your nose. “I love english I just hate the writing part. Or rather the long essays.”

“At least your not a computer science major,” Sasha counters, “physics is so much worse.”

“Not as bad as o chem.”

“O chem is not that bad,” Sasha counters.

You shrug, “art history major,” you grin smugly.

Kevin shakes his head, “just wait until you have to find a job.”

“Grad school. Both my parents love that shit. They'd help me pay for it.” They both had Ph.Ds.

“I wish my parents helped me pay for school,” Sasha complains again, “they are such hard asses about school but they want me to pay for everything, and live at home-can you imagine how many house parties I've missed to work at the movie theater.”

“Speaking of house parties,” Kevin pushes his glasses up his broad nose, “we're throwing this pre thanksgiving bash at my place. Beer. Snacks. Weed.”

“Shouldn't you be studying for midterms,” you ask, shaking your head. You also hadn't figured out what you were doing for the holiday. You had Jane and Noah now. It had to be special.

“Pfft. I will,” Kevin says. “You're only twenty once am I right?”

Sasha shakes her head. “Okay. But I'm stealing some weed.”

“You in?” They both look at you.

Noah's off Monday and Wednesday, when you get out too late to go pick up Jane. You can't leave her by herself, not that you would want to. You were looking forward to going to waste time at the mall and buy snacks at target: your usual Friday night.

You shake your head, “Can't. I've got Jane on the weekends. Babysitters are expensive.”

“Just tell your parents to look after your sister,” Kevin says petulantly.

You hadn't really explained things. It was complicated. Redfield had really messed up your life. Jane should be your age and going to house parties with you. But you'd have her alive in any shape or form so long as you got to see her. “Umm, actually,” you decide to explain a little, the practiced version, “her parents died a few months ago. They were-they were really close family friends and practically raised me so,” you trail off, thinking about how exactly to explain Noah. He was your best friend, a childhood friend, and. . .that was it.

“Oh shit, I'm sorry.”

“Yeah-”

“Well, if you're even able to figure it out,” Kevin says, “hit me up.”

You wave them goodbye and rush to your next class.

*

*

*

Noah's hair is still damp as he lays down on his side of the bed.

You were still going over your art history notes, wanting to go over the dates of the list of paintings you'd have to identify on tomorrow's quiz. The names were easy since styles even within art movements varied so much. It was a little harder in regulated art worlds: the buddhists of southeast asia didn't go outside their geometric ratios.

“You've been studying all day,” Noah says with a yawn. He no longer smelled like burnt oil.

“Yeah, I have a quiz.” You're sitting cross legged on your side of the bed. “It's on art identification.”

“That's what googles for,” he snarks back.

It was past midnight. Jane had been asleep for three hours.

“Smart ass.” You shut your notebook. The numbers had started swimming in your eyes a while ago. Nothing more was going to stick in your brain.

You turn off the light on your side.

“You're the smart one,” Noah laughs, “I'm just an asshole.”

“Oh,” you smile in the dark, highly aware of his body laying next to you, carefully keeping your leg from brushing against his skin. “You're self aware too!”

“Dick.”

“Takes one to know one.”

You lay in silence, listening to the sounds outside your windows, the cars passing by even at this hour, Noah breathing next to you. It was soothing, having people you loved with you. It wasn't lonely being home all the time.

Noah shifts onto his side: facing you.

You stare up at the ceiling, black from the curtains pulled right even as the window let the breeze in. It had been raining the past few days, but the cold days don't hold a candle to Westchester this time of year.

“Thank you.”

“For what,” you ask, smiling freely.

“What do you mean,” he pitches his voice higher, “for what? For everything.”

You giggle. “I haven't done much.”

Noah's tone is dead serious the next time he speaks. “You didn't have to help . . .with Jane. I don't know how I would've made it work without you, so yeah. Thank you. I didn't even ask-I wouldn't have asked you to give up college and partying-”

You have to stop him right there. “I didn't give shit up Noah.” He could be so dumb sometimes. If he had just told you Jane was Redfield, you would've helped him from day one to save her. But there was no point in bringing that up: just more salt in the wound. “And you didn't have to ask me: I wasn't just going to let you flounder alone. I wanted to-I wanted to be with you and Jane. That was never a question.” Heat flares up in the skin of your cheeks and nose as you smile, before you turn onto your side, looking over at Noah in the dark.

You can't really see him at all.

Thank fuck.

It's bad enough that you feel so flustered you might explode from the emotions swirling about in your chest. You don't know what to do about Noah, about your feelings for him.

Months ago, you would've just bitten the bullet and kissed him, but he'd also opened up about not feeling ready at all about relationships and you will not fuck things up for either of you. It had been easy with Connor when all the lights were green as he was clearly into you and responded right back.

It had been light and a way to not think about the terror of your day to day life for a few moments.

But it wasn't Connor you thought about so much your skin got all hot as you looked out the window during lecture.

You swallow thickly, squashing those feelings into some back corner of your mind.

“Thank you though, I don't know what I would have done without you.”

“Don't be dumb. It's getting rid of me that'll be hard.” You could admit now, “Now that I know what it's like to have people in the house to kill spiders, I'm never leaving,” you felt lonely in your childhood house all through high school.

“I don't think Jane would let you leave.” Noah laughs.

“True,” you sigh. “it's nice not to come home to an empty house.”

“Our childhoods were so messed up,” he replies softly.

“It's like the gift that never stops giving. But hey, who cares. I have you two and my parents monthly deposits-and FAFSA!” You laugh, because what else could you do, wallow in self deprecating angst like Noah? You weren't sure you could beat him at his own game. “As far as I'm concerned, you're my family now. . .both of you.”

“When did you become a walking talking greeting card?”

“Asshole.”

Noah laughs.

It's a sound you love. For so long, it had been so rare. It warms you up, blots out all the horrible shit you've gone through and makes everything okay.

You fall asleep smiling.

*

*

*

Sasha settles in your ikea bland table with her bag full of notebooks and textbooks. “I wish I had my own place.”

Next week was finals.

Next week was going to kick your ass.

Matthew looks up from his calculus solutions manual for the first time in an hour, “it really depends on the roommates, mine eat all my snacks.”

“Hide them in your room,” you suggest, opening your computer up to the study guide the TA had sent out last week. “With your underwear or something.”

Jane giggles as she watches spongebob on the TV. Fourth graders had it easy. The upcoming winter break meant Jane was practically doing arts and crafts all week.

You open up a notebook to a fresh page as you write down all the key items from the study guide, underlining key items. You wanted to knock the art essays out of the park. It wasn't as easy to bullshit those as it was to make up themes for an english paper.

Fuck, you were already pretty much done with a semester at college.

Jane had almost been back for over a year.

“Can I see your midterm,” Sasha asks, “I want to see what comments you got.”

You fish it out from your binder. “Go for it.”

Matthew looks up from his pages worth of calculus, “I hate math. I should've just done an anthropology major.”

“Sucks to be an overachiever,” you snark, annotating your notes with a pink gel pen. You had never cared to study much in high school, but a major you actually cared for made all the difference in the world. You wanted museums and van goghs and the asmr of cleaning paintings like in youtube videos.

“I didn't think double majoring would be like this,” Matthew sighs. “I haven't slept in three years.”

Sasha shakes her head, “just go for the one you like the most.”

��So I can be unemployed with tons of student debt?”

“Or get that grant money,” you wiggle your eyebrows. It was what your parents were up to.

“That would mean a PhD,” he complains, but doesn't look completely turned off by the idea. “And I could put off figuring my life out for another four years. . .”

Sasha laughs, flipping through flash cards with a bunch of arrows and equations written on them. Physics.

Intro to Biology was so much easier. You practically only had to remember high school biology and read through the study guide a few times. You could remember the difference between eukaryotic cells and prokaryotic cells.

Sasha suggests ordering Pizza hut as Jane starts asking for food and you feel like yeah, a study break sounds good.

“Four hours is the max people can concentrate for,” Matthew says, as he eats a third slice of pizza.

“So we're done for the day,” Sasha asks, getting up to stretch, and joining Jane on the couch. She'd been an angel, sort of, content to just watch tv all afternoon as you studied. Sure, she'd raised the volumes to movie theater standards every half an hour, but other than that-an angel.

“If you're good for the day.” You were nervous. You didn't want to be a C student anymore. You wanted to try. Surely you had inherited some of your parents brain cells.

“I am,” Sasha admits. “I've been studying every day for four hours. My brain has melted.”

“Honestly,” Matthew says, “I just started studying. The semester seemed so long.”

“Same though bro,” You grin. “All the tests and quizzes went right out of my mind as soon as I was done.”

Sasha shakes her head. “Well, I'm taking a slice for the road. See you around.” She leaves.

Jane joins you and Matthew at the table, licking the pizza grease off her fingers. “I like Noah's pizza better.”

You wince. A cook you were not. “Well, he's working.”

“I know.”

“Noah?” Matthew says, clearly a question.

“My brother,” Jane says flippantly. “They sleep together.”

You're face burns; you want the earth to swallow you whole right then and there. “We live together,” you explain to Matthew who looks more confused. “Jane go watch TV.”

She sends an annoyed look at you, before running off.

“Noah's her brother. They're family friends-” you explain lamely.

“You don't have to explain anything to me,” Matthew says sweetly. “It's your business.”

“Yeah,” you push your hair behind your ears, feeling out of whack. Matthew was cute, but it wasn't like you wanted to jump his bones. He made sociology bearable. “Can you look over my paper? I'm still not sure I got the sources incorporated right-”

“Yeah. Sure. I didn't know sociology 101 would include writing research papers.”

“Everything was going good until I remembered we had that paper due,” Matthew agrees.

You study for another hour, mostly giving each other feedback on your research paper. “It would've helped if he'd given us examples,” you mutter.

“Right.”

Jane tugs on your arm. “Come play with me,” ignoring your classmate entirely.

“Yeah. Sure,” you smile tiredly. You were at your study limit. “Want to call it a night,” you ask Matthew who nods and grabs his things.

Jane scrutinizes him the entire time. She puts her hands on top of the empty pizza box.

“I don't like him,” she pouts, “He's boring. Who studies?”

“Boring college students,” you laugh. “He's fine. We have sociology together. We're also taking english literature pre 1800s together next semester. It was that or latin literature which sounds really pretentious.”

Jane giggles. “Let's play uno!”

“Okay, but just one game. You still have to take a shower before bed.”

“I don't want to take a shower,” Jane protests, “I want to be a horrible reeking troll! Rawr!” She chases you around the living room.

You burst out laughing, letting her tackle you to the floor. It was easy to forget how stressed out you were about finals when you had Jane.

*

*

*

You take deep breaths as you scramble to find your sneakers. It got cold in lecture halls.

Noah makes coffee, “you're going to do fine.”

“I'm going to fail and flunk out of university and my parents are going to hate me forever and i'll never get a job and take Jane to disney world,” you groan, slumping at the counter with a hand on your forehead. You should've studied all night. Why had you bothered going to sleep?

Noah pours you a tumbler full of coffee, with the hazelnut creamer that basically turned the coffee into a hot chocolate, “you've been studying all week. You might not be Lucas levels of 110% on a rest but you're going to do great. I know it,” he says with a genuine smile.

You blush. “I hope all the studying has worked. I've never tried this hard in school.”

“Yeah,” Noah nods with a soft smile. “High school sucked.”

“It did.” You take a sip of your coffee, hoping to steady your nerves.

He looks good in the morning light, before it's too hot to exist. Winter in florida meant temperatures in the low 70s, laughably temperate. Noah's wearing the same boxers he'd gone to sleep in, with a soft worn in grey t-shirt, and a serious case of bed head as his hair curls around his ears in the most adorable mop top.

If you didn't have finals to head to, this would be the perfect morning.

“You're going to do amazing sweetie,” Noah chuckles in the dickish way of his.

You snort, shaking your head. “Fuck yeah I will.”

“That's the spirit.”

You shove your feet into your beat up vans, grab your backpack. “See you later,” you smile at Noah.

“Yeah, good luck,” he says, putting his mug of coffee down on the counter and leaning down. One second he's smiling down at you, and in the next one he's pressing his lips against yours.

Holy fuck.

Your eyes widen.

Was this really happening, or were you just that tired.

“Shit,” Noah stammers, pulling away quickly. “I-”

You raise a brow, “What-”

“It was an accident. Sorry.” Noah steps back, running a hand through his hair, pink up to the tips of his ears.

You feel a bit like a deflated balloon. “What even was that?” Because what it seemed like was like he'd kissed you but-how do you accidentally kiss someone. No-this was way too much for you to dea with at the moment.

“I just-nothing. Just forget it,” Noah says. “I'm going back to sleep.”

“See you later,” you try, feeling all messed up. Had he wanted to kiss you? Was this you messing up for the both of you?

You wish you could call Lily right now, but you had a final to get to.

*

*

*

It's Christmas day, technically.

Jane's been asleep for hours and Noah's taking a bite out of the cookies laid out for Santa as you watch it's a wonderful life trying to puzzle out how this was a Christmas classic. It was boring.

Things had been so awkward with Noah as of late, as you both danced around the kiss, that you had let Jane talk you into a sleepover in her room almost every night. There was no way you could lay there next to Noah and not think yourself to death. Absolutely no way.

You had wrapped up her gifts in baby yoda christmas themed wrapping paper: an assortment of more clothes because Jane really didn't have much considering she had basically popped into life a year ago, random books you remembered liking in elementary and middle school, and toys that you had definitely splurged on including a two hundred dollar set of legos that you looked forward to building with her. It had been hard to keep it secret from her when you all spent the majority of your time together. Stacey had sent a big care package for all of you. Lily had sent gifts through the post office. Lucas’ contribution was a few amazon packages.

All your friends had sent something.

It was touching, considering the distance. You couldn't wait to see them again-Ava wanted to visit in the summer.

You flip the channel, deciding Full House reruns were better.

“Not Full House,” Noah groans, turning the kitchen light off.

“Let me guess. You're a Die Hard fan?”

“Best christmas movie,” he grins.

You shake your head. He could be such a guy. And just like that, the tension between you two dissipates. “No way. The Grinch is the best. The 2001 one anyway.”

You click the side table lamp off.

Noah sits down next to you as you flick through the channels, trying to find something to watch. “Bob's burgers?”

“Sounds good.”

It's dark. The volume’s on low. You're all curled up in bed, and Noah's not being weird-it helps that you're trying to be chill about it.

“How did your finals go?”

“Well I didn't flunk out,” you shrug. “I got a C in sociology but a B in everything else.” It was fine. It's not like you were a sociology major.

“I told you you'd do good.”

“Yeah,” you sigh, laying down entirely, ignoring the tv. “I just figured all the studying would...I don't know, mean I'd get straight As?”

“It's college-isn't it supposed to be like super hard or whatever,” Noah says with a shrug.

“I guess.” You just wished you were that kind of student. Even seeing how hard the effort was on Lucas’ mental health, maybe your parents might visit if you did get straight As. It was dumb. “I just figured my parents might pay attention if I did get all As.”

“Fuck your parents,” he says easily.

You snort. “Shut up. They pay like half the rent.”

“The least they could do.”

“Yeah,” you sigh. “Did you ever want to go to college? You know like when we had to write colleges letters in fifth grade, or was it sixth?”

“Naw. School was never my thing,” Noah says in the quiet of the night.

You smile softly, tilting your head so you're looking at him, the moonlight illuminating the angles of his jaw as it poured in through the windows. “Then it was always culinary school for you?”

He shrugs. “Yeah-I mean,” he closes his eyes, thinking silently. “I'm a little too dumb for school. I could never get the whole trig thing or what Shakespeare was saying let alone the subtext.”

You sit up. “Shut up,” you state, slapping his bicep lightly. “Don't say that shit.”

“It's true.”

You shift, closer to his side of the bed, closer to him still lying there staring up at the ceiling, not meeting your searching gaze. “You're not dumb. Noah-you are not dumb. You're so fucking smart-who remembered to buy toilet paper and figured out how to rent an apartment?”

“You can google that shit,” he says, covering his face with his hand, embarrassed.

“And cooking takes skill. Maybe it's not mensa harvard type smarts, but it's not nothing!” You just wanted him to see himself the way you did. You're sitting up on your knees now, as his expressive wide eyes meet yours, a dark romantic brown you could drown in, staring down at him. “Say it! Say you're smart and clever and amazing!”

“I'm not saying that,” he laughs off.

“Say, I'm fucking smart and I can do anything,” you repeat, nudging his chest.

Noah smiles and it does all sorts of things to you, makes your pulse race as heat winds its way all hot under your skin, all hot and bothered and feeling giddy like a dumbass and you never meet someone who felt like home the way it is with Noah. “I'm fucking smart,” he says quietly, rolling his eyes, “and I can do anything.”

“We're going to have to work on that,” you laugh, belatedly realizing you're almost on top of him. Well, you are on top of him, you're knees are by his waist, but you're leaning over him and fuck you want him. The way he's laying there under you, looking like the sun shines out of your ass, it's thrilling.

“We will,” Noah says, wiggling his brows in a way that has you laughing into his chest.

Then you're looking up at him, unable to catch your breath, because you can't stop laughing and it's not like you're particularly comedic but-fuck it, you lean up and kiss him. It's what you've been itching to do since the party at-fuck, you don't even remember, but you remember finding him there and realizing he's what you had been missing, the reason you didn't feel like being there until you sat by the pool with him.

He's Noah and you're you and there's not a version of you that doesn't love him to bits; there's not a version of you that doesn't go with him to face the monster and rescue Dan and would give your life for him and Jane. Always. Because he's Noah-

You lean down and kiss him, trying to communicate the depth of this feeling.

It wasn't some crush.

Or some drunken affair at a house party.

You kiss his lips with a dizzying fever that burns hot under your skin as desire builds in the pit of your stomach: a bundle of nerves sparking to life. And he kisses you back, his hand cupping your cheek. His thumb rubbing circles into your skin.

You tremble under his gentle touch, afraid that this too would disappear in your hands. You were so used to losing: to getting nothing.

Noah stares up wide eyed at you when you pull away.

You bite your bottom lip.

“I-,” he stutters.

“I've really been wanting to do that for a long time,” you confess.

“Me too.”

You swallow thickly at his confession. “Then it wasn't...it wasn't an accident,” you ask carefully.

Noah shakes his head once. “No. That-I just, I didn't want to mess up something good just because I wanted something more.” He looks so heartbroken in that second-

“Noah,” you sigh gently. “I was surprised and thinking about school but I've-I would've kissed you then if my head hadn't been so far up my own ass.”

He snorts, the line of his shoulders relaxing under your hands. “After what happened- I was lucky that you even wanted to talk to me at all. I didn't think you'd want anything to do with me and then I thought it was just for Jane,” Noah admits painfully.

“I've always loved you.” You tell him. “And I'm going to keep telling you until it gets through that thick skull of yours.”

Noah chuckles.

“So are we on the same page?”

He rakishly raises a brow with a shit eating grin on his lips, “I don't know, are you gonna kiss me again?”

You vow to wipe that look off his face as you do more than press your lips hungrily against his, your hands against his chest as you shift once more, situating yourself and getting comfortable straddling his waist with your legs. You press hard kisses to his mouth as Noah kisses you back with the same fervor; you nibble on his bottom lip, bringing it between your teeth.

It's an exercise in breathlessness, a mexican stand-off in which both sides are ready and happy to pull the trigger because of the rush of blood to your head as you taste him on your lips. It's intoxicating the way in which he kisses your mouth and you forget the need to breathe.

But you, smiling against the skin of his jaw as you catch your breath. His chest rises and falls under your hands as he laughs giddily, feeling as crazy as you do.

It's not that epic romeo and juliet love that burns and destroys, but the fullness in your heart as you lay there with him.

You plant kisses down his jaw, savoring the hitches in his breath as you nip on the skin at the crook of his neck. “Is this okay,” you ask wickedly.

“Fuck,” Noah utters, voice breaking as he sucks in air. “Yeah-”

He cups your cheek with his hand and leads you up, brings you back where he can kiss you again. Noah kisses you-he lets himself kiss you. His tongue experimentally whetting against your all too willing lips before your mouth opens up to him and it's clear in the clumsy way he's eager to explore your mouth--the boy has no idea what he's doing.

It's fine.

You smile against his mouth, taking charge and running your tongue against his. Reaching for his free hand and guiding it, inviting him to explore the shape of your body in an oversized t-shirt and tiny booty shorts that you wouldn't even take the trash out in.

Noah does, clasping your hips with his hand as you binch up the fabric of his shirt in your hands as you lose yourself in kissing him, in drinking him in like a comfort series you could endlessly rewatch.

You're both breathless, as you lay your head down on his chest, content.

“That was,” Noah says all out of sorts, “wow.”

“Guess you're going to be the next great american writer,” you tease.

He rolls his eyes, running his hand up your side.

“Hey,” you continue, relaxing into his touch, “Hemingway was a man of few words.”

“Was he the alcoholic one?”

“I think a lot of writers were,” you admit. “I tried to read his whale book but it was boring as fuck.”

“Moby Dick,” Noah says thoughtfully, “did Hemingway write Moby Dick?”

“Who cares,” you reply, pressing a kiss against the edge of his lips, fine with spending the wee hours of the morning making out with Noah.

“Well now I want to know.”

“Really,” you tease, bringing your hand up, running your fingers through his soft hair.

His eyes close. Noah leans into your touch. “I'll google it later.”

You giggle.

Then he’s kissing you again and you could care less about books and long dead writers. Noah captures your lips with his and you intertwine your fingers in his hair, a hand on his chest, wondering what it would feel like to have his bare skin against yours and caught between the enormity of your want and letting things happen naturally. It was Noah. You didn’t want to rush him.

You were still amazed he’d kissed you back,that he wanted you the same way you wanted him. The love had never been the point of contention between you two. You loved him at nine and you loved him at nineteen.

Noah losses some of his hesitation, his hands sliding down your side until they reach the swell of your hips straddling his waist. Then his hand slips under the fabric of your shirt and you moan into his mouth at the sensation of his fingers splayed against to taunt muscles of your abdomen.

It’s just flaring want consuming you whole.

“Is that,” Noah manages between bated breaths, “okay?”

You kind of want to shake his shoulders and say shut up and keep going, because you might just combust in the next few minutes if he keeps going like this, this clumsy tenderness mixed with the assault of his body discovering yours. “Yeah,” you stammer out, more feeling than young woman. “Great actually.”

Noah chuckles, trailing kisses down your neck as you lean back a little, before pulling away. . .before pulling your shirt over your head.

He sucks in a breath at the sight of your naked torso.

You can’t help the headyness in your chest at his reaction, at the way you were affecting him. “Like what you see,” you grin, all brash confidence that threatened to topple over like a house of cards at every turn, at the shift of his body under yours.

For once, Noah doesn’t have some smartass comment, just reaches his hands to your cheeks and pulls you down flush against him.

Fuck.

You kiss him feverishly, your hands finding the hem of his shirt as running yours fingers against the sliver of skin.

Noah moans into your mouth and you swear you can’t even function at the sound. The entire world is boiled down to you and him, him and you, and building pressure in your belly that threatens to explode.

“The shirt-,” you stutter out, half out of your mind.

“Yeah,” he obliges, sitting up and tugging it off.

And then you’re melting against him, the warmth of his skin against yours. Your breasts flush against his bare chest. Your toes curl up as you sigh, hands clutching at his neck, at his cheek, at the ends of his hair.

You kiss his jaw, you suck on the skin of his jaw and none of it is enough. Fuck, you want him so bad. You’re so fucking horny. It’s not like you’d been with a lot of people. But it had been over a year since your last sexual encounter.

And that might explain part of it-

Noah cups one of your breast with the palm of his hand, and fuck-

Your mind blanks as you moan his name. “Noah,” you whimper.

He kisses your collarbone, smiling against your skin.

“Do you want to-,” he asks, sounding more self assured by the word.

“Yes, yes,” you eagerly answer, kissing him hungrily. “I thought you’d never ask.”

Noah laughs breathlessly.

Then he’s whimpering as you run your fingers under the waistband of his boxers.

His hand closes around your wrist before you can get further, “condom?”

“Fuck,” you swear. This was so unsexy of you both. But it wasn’t like you had a reason to buy condoms along with pads and fruit snacks. “I think I have one,” you vaguely remember there being one in your wallet.

“I really hope you do.”

“Jerk.”

With great reluctance, you crawl off him to go look for your purse. You had to stop throwing it wherever and hang it up. It would've made it easier to find right now.

You don’t look back at Noah, even though you can feel his heavy gaze on you. The airs filled with static electricity as you rifle around and find the slim black bag.

It’s another few minutes of fishing through its contents before you find the thin small envelope that you were pretty sure you’d gotten in health or at planned parenthood at some point. Ava had definitely been there.

When you turn around, Noah’s sat up in bed, in your bed, in the bed you two share, have shared for months. It’s too dark to make out the expression on his features from this distance, but it’s under his dark eyes that you make your way back to him.

You push your shorts and underwear down in one go, discarding them by the side of the bed, taking care not to lose the condom (you were going on another target run asap) before you’re once again straddling his waist, feeling Noah already hard under your thigh.

“I’ve,” he starts as you sit up on your knees, feeling incredibly vulnerable. “I’ve never done this before.”

“Oh.” You’re off kilter. Does he not want to? It’s fine. You’re just surprised. It’s Noah. He’s tall and funny even if you want to strangle him half the time --he can cook-- and he’s so fucking hot when he’s not being adorkable. You’re surprised. “We don’t. . .have to.”

He sits up under you. “No. It’s,” Noah blushes, “I want to, it’s just-you should know?”

“Oh. Okay,” you lean in, kissing him with a tenderness he deserves in spades, “if you’re sure.”

Noah grasps your hips in his hands, pulling you in, “I’m sure.”

He kisses you.

You push him down onto the bed by his shoulders. His eyes are full of trust as he looks up at you, full of love like the moon on a clear night. You carefully open the condom up.

Noah shimmies his boxers off.

And because you’re you, you reach down and stroke his cock with your hand.

He shuts his eyes, moaning your name as he throws his head back into the bed, his back arching.

You wait a moment for him to still underneath you, before you roll the condom onto his cock, letting your desire carry your through as you fumble a bit. Again, you didn’t exactly have much experience on Noah. You just had some experience.

You lean down flush against him, kissing his lips, as you guide his cock to the apex of your thighs and part your legs, moaning into his mouth as he enters your soaked entrance. Noah stretches you out, leaving you a trembling mess, faring no better than he currently was under you, as his hips thrust against you and you-fuck!

It’s a tangle of limbs as you wrap your arms around him, lacing your fingers behind his neck, wanting more, and more as your hips more erratically against his.

Noah is all kisses and moans and his fingers bruising the skin of your hips as he presses you closer against him.

You don’t really know or care about anything but the feel of his cock inside you, as he thrusts with fervor, and clutches you near. You just want and want and stars dance across your eyelids as your skin catches fire, the heat in your belly finally boiling over as you fuck him, grinding your hips against his.

You splutter, reaching your climax while topping the boy you’ve been in love with for what might as well be your whole life. It’s just your strained voice, repeating his name, “Noah,” like it’s an answer to the whole meaning of life bullshit.

Good.

Bad.

It always comes back to him.

Noah.

He comes against you a second later, your name a sharp breath on his lips, before he goes as boneless as you feel. You’re on cloud fucking nine.

It’s a feeling no amount of weed can come close to.

Exhausted, you get off of him, slumping into a puddle on the bed. Fucking Florida. You were too hot and sweaty to curl under the blankets now.

“I fucking love you.”

“Oh,” you snipe back, feeling all warm and fuzzy inside, “now that I’ve fucked you you tell me.”

“Shut up,” Noah manages. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, yeah. Go toss the condom.”

He sits up slowly, “oh this episode’s my favorite.”

You’d completely forgotten about Bob’s Burgers reruns playing on the TV.

*

*

*

It’s New Year’s Eve and the three of you are eating ice cream on the beach. Only in Florida.

“And why can’t I go in the water?”

“Because you don’t have your bathing suit,” Noah tells Jane for the hundredth time.

“I promise I’ll just stick my feet in.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” you shake your head.

She frowns. “I promise!”

What the heck. It’s not like you were going anywhere else after this. “Okay. But you have to finish your ice cream first.”

“Wow,” Noah says, throwing his arm around your shoulder and leaning his weight against you, making you stumble in the sand. “What a pushover.”

“Me!” You reply, offended. “You let her stay home for no reason.”

The twins exchange glances. “She had chickenpox,” Noah shrugs shamelessly.

“And I’m the Queen of England.”

“Korean skincare does miracles.”

You roll your eyes at him, “shut up.”

Jane giggles easily as she decides this patch of sand is the one, and sits down, licking her rocky road ice cream happily.

“Jane,” you ask gently.

“Yeah?”

“Do you remember why you’re ten and we’re not?” It had been bugging you, ever since the parent teacher conference. There had been no more nightmares since September, but it bothered you, that she might remember anything. That Jane might not want to tell you. You couldn’t help her if she didn’t tell you.

She shrugs. “Not really,” with a child’s ability to shrug things off.

Noah asks the question you’ve been dreading. “Do you remember Redfield?”

Jane looks at you both, frowning. “Who?”

Your shoulders sag with relief. You hide it with a bite of your ice cream cone. Jane had a habit of picking up on things.

“No one important,” Noah brushes off, running a hand through his hair.

“You guys are being weird,” Jane complains. “Is this about you two being gross together? I saw you holding hands.” She narrows her eyes at you accusingly. “Don’t you remember boys have cooties.” She shakes her head. “Grown ups.”

“Jane,” Noah squeaks.

You laugh, covering your mouth with the back of your hand. “Yeah. We thought you should know.” It was better to leave the whole Redfield business behind. She didn’t need that shit weighing her down. “I don’t know. I like your brother a lot for some reason. Ava says it’s trauma induced codependency but she’s Ava so. . .”

Jane frowns again, letting the ice cream drip onto the sand as she thinks. “Does that mean I’m getting a sister?”

It’s your turn to be flabbergasted, as your skin reddens into a ripe tomato. “What!”

“It’s only fair,” she explains. “If you get my brother then I should get a new sister.”

“How about a stuffed animal,” you barter.

“You let me play five Nights at Freddies?”

“No way Jane,” Noah says, shaking his head. “It’ll give you nightmares.”

“What about minecraft,” you try. “Just on Fridays though.”

“Okay. i don’t want my ice cream anymore. I want to go play in the water.”

You nod, kicking your shoes off. “Okay yeah. Let’s go throw it away. I’m sick of mine too.”

You toss the ice cream and race Jane into the waves.

[amazingphanisnotonfire-imagines]

Sweet Pea//don't know if you love me or you want me dead

Request: I dunno if this'll go through or not but can i request a Sweet Pea/reader based on this text post, I can't find the original version lol 

hey! sweet pea imagine based off this ^. originally posted by @riverdalecentral​, so thank you! its enemies to lovers!! which is a trope that i adore! (side note, if you ever see anything to do with enemies to lovers you can 100% just send it to me with literally no explanation and i absolutely will not mind). title is from ‘teeth’ by 5sos! i had so much fun writing this! i hope you all enjoy it! i also hope you’re all having a lovely day/night!

No matter where you are in the world, you never want to be in a forest at night. But if you live in Riverdale, thats just a given. Nobody in their right minds goes into Fox Forest at midnight, however, spending five minutes with Sweet Pea can make anyone go insane. And so here you are, trekking through the woods like you’re in some sort of shitty horror film. 

“I can’t believe Jones has got us running around town like we’re in fucking Scooby Doo.” Sweet Pea huffs as the two of you walk through the trees. You let go of the branch you’re holding, and it narrowly avoids hitting Sweet Pea. You can feel the glare you’re getting and a small smirk twitches at your lips. 

You and Sweet Pea have a complicated relationship to say the least. You’ve both been part of the serpents for the same amount of time. (You were actually initiated 5 minutes before him but he doesn’t like to admit that). You have grown up in the same trailer park, five trailers from each other and you share the same friends. But there’s just something about him that makes you want to stick pins in your eyes. And there’s something about you, that makes him want to repeatedly stub his toe every single minute of his life, rather than spend five minutes with you. So yeah, its complicated. 

There’s been so much speculation around why you two hate each other. Fangs says its because you’re both too stubborn to actually have a proper conversation (whatever Fogarty). Toni says its because you secretly like each other (gross), and there was once a theory that it was because you had secretly dated and then broke up (again, you would rather stick pins in your eyes). 

You just hated each other. That was it. 

Although, despite the fact that spending five minutes in the same room with him makes you nauseous, he is kind of attractive. If you’re into the whole ‘bad boy, gang member, secretly soft at heart’ thing. Not that you’d ever admit that to anyone. 

“You’re Shaggy!” “You’re Scooby.” You both say at the same time making your expression mirror his. You both glare at each other before reluctantly turning away and continuing to walk.

“If you’re implying that I’m lesser because I’m the dog...1. You’re an idiot. Everybody loves dogs and Scooby Doo is evidence of that. And 2. Scooby Doo is the main character. The whole franchise is named after him, making him the lead. He even has a snack named after him. Its Scooby’s world and we’re just living in it.” 

“What. The. Fuck.” He stops and you roll your eyes, turning around to look at him. 

“You know I’m right...Shaggy.” You shine your torch in his eyes and he squints before flipping you off.

“How am I Shaggy?” 

“You give of major stoner vibes, you’re always eating and I never see you wear anything other than a dark t-shirt, black jeans and your serpent jacket.” You look him up and down and he huffs in response, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“They all wear the same outfits...they’re cartoons.” 

“True.” You nod. “But the other two are right. Plus, you’d be nothing without me.”

“I’d be a lot happier without you.” He replies and you send him a sarcastic smile back. He returns it and the two of you continue through the woods, your torches casting a variation of shadows against the tall trees. Its less like Scooby Doo and more like Blair Witch. And despite your company being Sweet Pea, you’d rather him than nobody.

You suddenly get the feeling your being watched, and the intensity of it makes you stop in your tracks, Sweet Pea soon catches up to you, stopping beside you and also looking around. 

“What is it? Did you catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror?” He teases and even though you’re absolutely terrified, you still find it in yourself to punch him in the arm. 

“We’re in the middle of a forest. Where would I find a mirror?” 

“I don’t know.” He shrugs. “I’ve found some weird things in the woods. I once found a pile of bones, a belt and a half eaten apple.” 

“I-What?” You look up at him and he shrugs casually. 

“To this day I have no idea why they were there. Although, the belt does look pretty good on.” 

“Hm-Wait what?” You glance at his belt, the silver reflecting off the rays of your torch and he quickly looks away. 

“Nothing.” 

“What exactly are we looking for?” You ask, changing the subject. 

“I dunno. Jughead just said ‘anything strange’.” 

“In Riverdale? Yeah, that’ll be easy.” You huff before quickly pointing your torch to the side of you. Sweet Pea joins, the two of you silently listening and watching (and praying) that its just an owl. After a minute you both continue walking, this time in silence and you’re sure you’ve huddle a little closer to each other, but neither of you seem to mind. 

Twigs snap underneath your shoes and a gust of wind makes the trees rustle around you. It makes you shiver, and you swear Sweet Pea pauses for just a second to look around. The whole atmosphere makes you feel suddenly claustrophobic, despite being in the great outdoors, and right now you’re unsure who you hate more, Sweet Pea...or Jughead.

“What did he mean by strange?” You whisper and look around again. 

“I don’t know. Anything that could explain the weird going ons at his preppy new school.” 

“Why would that have anything to do with the woods. They’re in the opposite direction of each other.” 

“Ask Jones.” He holds his hands up defensively making you huff loudly. Your barely make it two steps before freezing again, Sweet Pea grunts as he walks into you but you don’t acknowledge him, too busy trying to decipher whether the noise you heard was a bird or a murderer. 

“Did you hear that?” 

“What!?” He looks around quickly and somehow, the two of you end up closer together than you were before. “Y/n, I swear to god, if you’re fucking with me, I will actually kill you.” 

“Surprisingly, you don’t sound that threatening when I can feel you literally shaking beside me.” 

“Shut up.” 

“Why did Jones even pair us together. You’re about as much use as a wet sock.” You mutter angrily, but you cut yourself off when you see a shadow move out of the corner of your eye. Before you can stop yourself you’re reaching out for Sweet Pea, grabbing his arm and squeezing. “Sweet Pea?” 

“Yep?” His doesn’t even hide the fear in his voice, and if you were in any other situation, you would have definitely made fun of him. 

“Did you see that?” 

“...yep.” He nods. “Do you think we should investigate?” 

“Do you think we should investigate?” You mock. “Its like you want to get murdered.” 

“A lot of people wouldn’t be opposed to that.” 

“Getting murdered, or you specifically getting murdered.” 

“Either, or.” He shrugs. 

“I think at least a few people would miss you.” You reply and a smirk appears on his face. 

“Am I dead? Have I already been murdered? Are you actually being nice to me?” 

“We can find out if people would miss you if you want.” You smile sarcastically at him and he shoves you lightly. For a second, the two of you forget where you are and what you’re supposed to be doing. It feels light, even if you are being rude to each other, and you swear, for a split second, you feel yourself enjoying each others company. But of course, he ruins it. 

“No thanks. I’m happy knowing that you’d miss me.” 

“I never said tha-” He only looks away for a few seconds. He saw something move and he thought he’d check it out. But in the time that he turns around, that he pulls his eyes away from watching your lips as they say whatever sarcastic comment you’d come up with, you vanish. Your sentence being cut off. 

He swears he’s never moved faster. Instantly he turns back around, shining the torch in every direction he can. It suddenly feels darker and the only thing he can hear is his heart beating in his throat. “Y/n?” It starts off as a whisper, unsure of what to do. But when you don’t answer, he manages to find his voice. “Where did you go? Y/n? I would very much like to hear your annoying voice.” His eyes close, despite every fibre of his body screaming at him not too. He’s seen horror films, he knows he shouldn’t close his eyes, but he needs to wish and prayer and do anything he can to find you. 

“...sweet pea?” Your voice is quiet and trembling, but he hears it and his eyes snap open, frantically looking around. 

“Y/-” Your name dies in his throat once he sees you, and he can’t speak anymore. 

For as long as Sweet Pea can remember, he’s been day dreaming about you getting into traumatic accidents. There’s a running competition between the two of you, over who can come up with the most gruesome and violent end for the other.  Unfortunately he is winning due to a very traumatizing death that he said was inspired by both Saw and Final Destination. 

Right now though, your actual life is in threat and he has never wanted anything less in his life. 

A blonde, creepy looking boy around the same age as both of you holds you tight to him, one arm over your chest while the other holds a knife to your throat. There’s a dark haired girl stood beside him, also holding a knife, and even though she doesn’t look as intimidating as the blonde, it does nothing to make Sweet Pea feel better. 

“Wow, Jones was too scared to find us himself he sent his lackeys to do his dirty work.” 

“Let her go...please.” His voice breaks and he takes a careful step towards you. His hands already reaching into his pocket, desperately searching for his knife and brass knuckles, but he stops when he makes eye contact with the boy. 

“And we are not his lackeys.” You protest, despite the knife digging into your skin further, and the hold on you becoming tighter. 

Whatever Sweet Pea was feeling, whether it was fear, vulnerability or something in between completely disappears. And his gaze shifts from the man holding you, to you yourself, the same annoyed expression on his face. “Maybe focus on the knife being held to your throat, and then argue about what we are to Jughead.” 

“Don’t tell me what to do.” You roll your eyes. 

“Oh sorry for trying to save your life.” 

“Save my life? You couldn’t even sav-” 

“Is this a bad time? Do you want us to come back and kill you later orrr?” The girl asks sarcastically as she looks between you and Sweet Pea. Both of you look at each other before looking at the floor. 

“Continue.” You grumble and you feel the knife slice into your skin. A small cry escapes your lips and Sweet Pea looks up quickly. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him look so frightened, and you definitely didn’t think you’d be on the receiving end of such a look, but there’s something about it that stirs something inside of you, in spite of the very inappropriate moment.

“Okay.” She says, twirling the knife in-between her fingers. “We can either do this the easy way, or the even easier way. We’re going to make it look like a fight that went wrong. And then we’ll stumble out of the woods, covered in blood, crying, saying that it was self defense.” She smiles wickedly. 

“Even better idea, we don’t even have to be here. We could make it look like a fight between two gang members.” 

“Hmmm.” You and Sweet Pea say at the same time. Both of you know it’s very rare that Serpents kill each other, so that wouldn’t work, but as soon as you look at each other after the collective thought, do you realize the mistake you made. Never say ‘hmm’ when faced with death. 

“Aww, thanks for helping us plan your death.” The boy says. “So no to the fight between gang members. What about a fight between two lovers.” 

“Ew.” You mutter. 

“Gross.” Sweet Pea adds. 

“I’d rather just die.” You shrug and Sweet Pea sends you a look. 

“Y/n.” He sighs. 

“Fine, we’ll just go with the fight.” The boy huffs, moving the knife to the other side of your neck and digging it in. Blood trickles down your chest making both you and Sweet Pea wince. 

“You want to fight?” Your force the words out of your mouth and you can feel the look Sweet Pea is giving you. “Come on then, fight me.” The two of them exchange glances, they clearly weren’t expecting an answer from you. Whoever sent them to do this, definitely underestimated how stubborn serpents are, so maybe Fangs was right about you and Sweet Pea, maybe you were both too stubborn to get along. 

The ten seconds that they’re distracted, gives you and Sweet Pea a chance to look at each other. A silent conversation happens between the two of you and even though you’re not entirely sure of what he’s saying, you just hope you got the basic idea and so you send him a nod. 

While they’re distracted, Sweet Pea reaches into his pocket, slowly pulling his knife out, and as soon as they look back, you start your plan. Quickly you kick the guy as hard as you can in the shin making him fall and push you away from him, dropping the knife as he does. You swiftly pick it up and Sweet Pea uses the distraction to grab the girl, pressing his own knife against her neck. 

You stand a few feet away from them, holding your own knife and the one you stole out in front of you. 

“Touch her if you never want to see the light of day again.” He whispers in the girls ear and he sends a look to her weird friend that makes him stop in his tracks. 

“Now.” You smile. “Do you want to do this the easy way, or the hard way?” 

----

Dawn breaks as you both stumble out the forest. You’re covered in cuts and bruises, but thankfully you’ve stopped bleeding so you’ll take that as a win. Usually you enjoy beating up rich kids, its one of the few things you and Sweet Pea can bond over, but right now you just want to go home. 

They may have been preppy, but they definitely knew what they were doing. And they’d managed to escape, slipping away from you and through the trees. They may have gotten away, but they were barley in one piece, and so you figured that would be enough to bide Jughead some time with whatever he was planning. 

There’s a togetherness about fighting. For a while you, both you and Sweet Pea were sure you were going to die in there, and so now that you’re walking through the sleepy streets of the town, there’s a part of you thats glad the other made it out. 

They say fighting changes you. It awakens something in you. Usually that something is hate or anger, but both of you already have enough of that. 

No, this is something else. 

Respect for the other? Or maybe fondness? Whatever it is, its new and it swirls around the both of you, leaving you unsure of how to act. So you walk to Jughead’s house in silence, your arms brushing gently against each other every so often. 

Jughead’s house is quiet as the two of you walk through the front door. The Jones/Cooper house is full, serpents mill about the place, with either food or drinks in their hands. And Jughead is in the middle of them, stood right in the centre of the living room. It seems you and Sweet Pea weren’t the only people sent to their deaths last night. 

Everyone looks surprised as you walk into the living room. They probably expected at least one of you to be dead, whether that was because of something is the woods, or one of you, its surprising to see you two alive, with just a few cuts and bruises. 

“Did you guys find anything weird.” 

“Oh, you know. The usual.” You shrug. Jughead nods, deciding to talk to you about it in private later on. And so he starts talking to the group again, you and Sweet Pea practically blending into the background. But there’s a definite shift in atmosphere. 

Usually when you and Sweet Pea are in a room together there’s tension, and everybody is aware of it. But this time, its different. It feels light, despite the tense subject being discussed. Everyone can feel the change, but nobody can figure out what it is. 

Only you and Sweet Pea know what has changed. And as he squeezes your hand in his, a soft smile appearing on his face as he looks at you, you have a feeling a lot more things are going to change. Some of them may not be for the good, it seems like there’s a lot more to be uncovered in Riverdale, but one things for sure, you’re glad Sweet Pea is by your side for it.

[belpheroo]

Title: A “maybe” Pairing: Belphegor x MC Summary: Belphie is guilt-ridden, but also horny. Funny how often those two things coincide when you catch feels for the girl you killed. Rating: this one is G despite that summary LOL Notes: This story kinda functions under the assumption that while Belphie was imprisoned the MC developed feels and those feels have continued on while Belphie’s are shiny and new. I may do a part 2!

There were things that Belphegor, given his passed actions, was willing to accept. The silence that overcame a room the moment he entered and even the suspicious, hostile stares of his brothers was something he knew he deserved to endure and he did so without complaint.

Anger, resentment, judgment… he had felt the burn of those emotions himself, burrowing within his body as surely as the arrows that had burrowed into Lilith’s. Each ache, each flare of pain had been as dear to him as every one of her embraces. He had nurtured his hatred like a precious flower until it unfurled in his chest with petals as black as old blood. He empathized with that. He understood that.

What he did not understand, was how she immediately cheerfully welcomed him to the breakfast table, set him a plate and asked him how he had slept.

At first, Belphie figured it was a game, a show of indifference or forgiveness of his crime in order to quell the awkward tension in the room. And yet… there was nothing indifferent in her acceptance of his request to spend time with her, or how she did not even flinch in his presence.

What time he did spend with her was usually between walls of plaster and paint, connected by the screen of their D.D.D.’s alone. Anything else was chaperoned by another brother, sometimes two or three. Belphie found quickly that all his attempts to be alone with her in person were thwarted spectacularly by Mammon or Beel often enough that he knew it was by design.

Still, Belphegor did not complain. Of all the dangers she had faced in Devildom, of all the threats… he had proved himself the worst.

Thinking of such things made his hands throb, the memory of her soft yielding skin beneath them and the rapid pulse of her throat until it had slowly… softly…. stopped.

He’d tear the skin from his palms if he knew it would make the phantom sensation of her life being squeezed out by his hands go away. Instead he’d clench his fists, holding until the joints of his fingers screamed for release and his nails bit into his palms, leaving red half-moons indented in his skin.

It would have been easier if she hated him. Feared him. He could quantify those things, he could accept them.

But this? This was torture beyond his comprehension.

She’d invited him to watch some DVD of Mammon’s with her and Beel in their shared room. She was already sitting on one end of the sofa, chattering to Beel over some nonsense that had transpired with Mammon and Asmo that afternoon.

He would have been content to sit on the other end of the couch, leaving Beel free to sit between them like a protective detail… but instead, the moment he had sat, she quickly moved across the length of the sofa and curled up next to him.

Pressed flush to his side, Belphegor felt his breath catch as she lifted up his unresisting arm and tucked her head beneath, content to let his arm rest around her shoulders. Belphie quickly moved it to rest over the back of the sofa, noting with a quick glance that at least for now, Beel had not reacted.

He was too busy putting in the DVD and adjusting the TV. After that, his twin was too busy gathering up a large bowl of popcorn and making himself comfortable next to her and she happily adjusted to accommodate being squished between the both of them.

Belphegor didn’t know why, but it made him curl his arm just a little bit closer towards her as Beel munched happily from a big bowl of popcorn. There were pretzels and chocolate candies mixed into the batch, which Beel graciously offered a smaller bowl of to her.

She rested the bowl on Belphie’s lap, happy to force him to play side table as the lights dimmed and the DVD started.

Belphie convinced himself, willed himself to believe it wasn’t that bad. This was nice, wasn’t it? Compared to hatred and brimstone and fury? Right?

And then her hand reached down into the bowl, moving it around as she scooped out the treats, every tiny movement of her fingers against the plastic barrier sending a direct line of sensation against his thighs. With an exasperated sigh, Belphie quickly lifted the bowl up and shoved it back into her hands.

“I can’t sleep if you do that.” He said in a harsh hush.

“You aren’t supposed to sleep during the movie, stupid.” She whispered back in reply.

“You aren’t supposed to talk during one either, stupid.” Belphie replied, but to his surprise he could see her grinning in the faint light, eyes dancing with unspoken humor. She put the bowl back in his lap.

He wished he was trapped back in the attic; he wished he was imprisoned in heaven; he wished he was on the fucking moon as long as it wasn’t here with her body warming his and her scent in his nose and the feeling of her throat cracking beneath his palms.

Belphie took in a deep breath and let it go slowly, quietly clenching his hand into the fabric of the back of the couch until he was certain he’d have lines imprinted on his skin. He let the memory wash over him and then recede, refocusing his attention to the film and finding it was some weird detective-comedy-romance blend. It was insipid and perfectly Mammonish, but even she sometimes laughed at the terrible jokes.

At one point, he felt her weight shift, leaning to the side as she whispered something quietly to Beel. Something prickled in his chest. She leaned further, cool air touching where she had once been at his side and without thinking, he released the couch and took hold of her shoulder, pulling her back firmly.

“… I’m cold.” Belphie offered in his defense, trying to cut the sudden surge of tension that had Beel frozen, not even chewing as he stared at his twin.

“Oh, sorry!” She said, settling back against him, “I could get a blanket and tuck you in if you want?”

“N-no!”

Heaven’s sake, now he sounded like Mammon.

“Just quit wiggling so much.”

In direct opposition of his request, she wiggled all over, giggling like a fool. Belphie instinctively held tighter until whatever seizure of defiance passed her and she settled again, breathing a bit heavier, against his chest.

There wasn’t going to be room for her damn bowl if she kept trying to half crawl into his lap. It never, thankfully, went that far. The film flickered on and Belphie felt the slow creep of sleep inch its way into his eyes and into his breathing, the demands of being the Avatar of Sloth rising up, unchecked and uncontrollable as Beel’s hunger.

He tilted his head back and let oblivion have him.

—

“You missed it.”

A voice sliced through the dark, close and warm on his cheek like the soft exhale of breath… because that is what it was. He opened one eye to spot her, whispering close to his ear. Judging by the great collapsed mass next to them, Beel hadn’t made it any further than he had, the empty popcorn bowl discarded on the floor along with several wrappers, bags and empty cans he didn’t remember having been there before.

“Tragic.”

“Beel’s in a food coma. I went and got him more snacks half-way through.”

“You got up?”

She hummed her confirmation quietly, “You got mad at me when I came back.”

“I don’t remember.” Belphie grumbled.

“You told me to ‘take responsibility’ and grabbed me by the scruff like a cat.”

At the very idea, Belphie felt his muscles tense… which drew his attention to the fact his hand was still rested on the back of her neck, fingers buried into her hair.

“… is that why you’re this close?”

“You wouldn’t let go!”

He started to, slowly letting his grip loosen all the while keenly aware of the strands of her hair tickling across his skin.

“Kinda late now.” She said in reply, quick and defensive. Did she… not want him to stop?

“I wondered if you were dreaming about throttling me again.” She said, far too cheerful. The words were like ice thrown over him, seeping immediately through his skin and chilling his blood. And yet at the same time, he let go of her as if he had been burned. He tried to repress a shudder.

“No,” Belphie managed to croak, “I wasn’t dreaming. I… I wasn’t dreaming.”

“You repeated yourself.”

“Get off me, I’m going to bed.”

“No.”

Childish, defiant, foolish. A thousand insults formed and died on his tongue before they reached her ears as he glared back at her face, still too close and too warm and too beautiful.

“… I’m scared.”

How many times was she going to strike him directly to his very soul? But this was is it, this was the punishment he craved, the anger and the fear he knew should exist between them. He was ready, braced and prepared to hear it, but what came next was… not what he expected.

“I’m scared if I let go now, you’ll never let me this close again.”

“You should be grateful.” Belphie said, more sigh than words, “And you should be scared, but not because of that stupid reason.”

“You won’t hurt me again.”

“The fact you even sound remotely sure of that makes you a complete idiot. I’m a demon, of course I’ll hurt you again.”

“Because you want to?”

“No!”

The word came too fast, too loud. Beel shifted on the couch next to them, but fell back into sleep and did not stir again.

“… you didn’t know I was Lilith’s descendant. If you’d known—”

“You don’t understand anything,” he whispered, harsh and low, “Get off of me.”

And this time, he made to make her, but her arms snaked around his chest and held even tighter. Belphie could have easily pried her off with his superior devil strength, but explaining that to Beel would have been… less than ideal.

Instead he set a tight grip on her upper arms, giving her a warning squeeze.

“What don’t I understand?”

“Are you seriously doing this right now?”

“You wouldn’t have hurt me if you knew who I was, that is the truth, isn’t it?”

“I do not want to talk about this shit—“

“Isn’t it?”

Belphie felt heat ball up at the base of his throat, so thick and so scorching his one relief was to let it escape.

“I don’t know!”

There was no keeping Beel asleep now, his brother jolting awake. She let go of Belphie then, untangling herself swiftly and instead turning a bright smile that barely reached her eyes towards Beel.

“Good morning! You missed the end of the movie!”

Beel was still mostly groggy, but alerted at the same time, looking between the two of them with wide questioning eyes.

“… why was there shouting?”

“I woke him up!” She said with a cackle, “I deserved it, probably. Anyway, it’s super late and you both got to have a nap and I didn’t!”

Standing up she gave an over exagerated stretch and a yawn which turned genuine half way through. Belphie clutched his jaw together to keep himself from doing the same.

“Come walk me back to my room.” She said, clearly meaning Belphie, not Beel. He thought to refuse, but the look in her eye said that such a refusal would most likely lead to an inexhaustible battle and he was way too fucking tired and too fucking stressed out to go back and forth with her in front of Beel.

“I can come too.” Beel said.

“Nah. It’s just a short walk. Go get in bed, it’s late and Belphie has had more rest than you. He can do it!”

Beel looked uncertain, eyes turning toward Belphie with ill-ease. Of all the brothers though, he was most likely to believe his twin was safe alone with her, that Belphie was certain of. Sighing, Belphie stood up.

“I’ll be right back.”

Beel said nothing, that familiar tension settling over again until, quietly, Beel nodded to himself and smiled.

“Okay…”

“Make sure to brush your teeth, Beel!”

“O-oh. Right… mint does sound good right now.”

—

They had barely made it out into the hall, the door shut behind them, before she picked up their conversation as if the interruption had never happened.

“What do you mean ‘I don’t know’, huh?”

“I mighta done what I did even if I knew who you were. Maybe I wouldn’t have believed it, maybe I would have been pissed Lilith was contaminated by human blood.” He said, cold and factual.

“Is that why you’re holding back?”

“…You’re imagining things.”

She didn’t look at all satisfied, but she fell silent, heading off down the hall towards her room and pausing expectantly a few steps away. Belphie sighed and followed behind.

“I don’t think you would have.”

“Does it matter? I did. There is no taking that back.”

She tilted her head, slowing enough to fall in step with him, “I’m still here.”

“By the very grace of Lilith. And that doesn’t make it better.”

She slowed, falling to a dead stop. Belphie made it a few steps ahead before he stopped, turning towards her with a look that he hoped convinced her to give it up.

“If I told you I hated you, would you stop being like this?”

He felt his heart seize a little, jumping in something akin to anticipation.

“Could we just move on then?”

“I would understand if you did hate me.”

“But you can’t understand that maybe, maybe, I’ve weighed all the weirdness and the madness of this situation and came to the conclusion that there was a lotta bullshit flowing around and it was fate I got caught in the crosshairs? And yeah, that sucks. Being dead for real would have been really shitty and I am mad… at you and at Lucifer and at this entire stupid situation pulling me into a garbage family drama I never asked for.”

She paused, “But it was supposed to happen. Lilith knew and I know now. Nothing anyone coulda done would have changed what happened, it had to happen. It’s why I was brought here to begin with, whether Diavlo knew that or not.”

They were both silent for a stretch, until Belphie couldn’t help but laugh, cold and bitter.

“What? So it’s okay that I murdered you because it was destiny?”

“Attempted murder. And yeah, I think that if I’m gonna be mad, I’m gonna be mad at fate. You? I forgive.”

Belphie hated that word. Hated how easily it came from her lips and hushed the flame of rage in his heart to a quiet simmer. It was never that easy for him to forgive, it shouldn’t be that easy.

“You can’t.” He said, flat and simple.

“Pretty sure that is my call.”

“It’s a stupid call.”

“And it’s mine.”

“And you think that makes it all okay? You think you can just say ‘I forgive you’ and it makes everything better and we can just pretend to be friends?”

“You pretended to be my friend once.” She said, her words a whisper.

“Don’t.”

How that positively gutted sounding voice could be his was beyond Belphie’s comprehension.

“You wanna be hated? You wanna be punished? Too bad. That’s your punishment. You don’t get to be hated.”

His mind whirled, a petal black as night coming free and falling from the flower inside his chest. Wilting, dying. How many had he lost so far? How often had she shaken his resolve and in doing so, began to kill the seed of hatred and anger he had rooted so firmly in his soul?

Belphie didn’t have the strength to fight her anymore, shoulders sagging as a new wave of exhaustion hit over him, taking with it any resistance he had left in its tide.

“Fine.” He said, trying to force what was left of his resolve into that word if only to give the illusion she hadn’t really won.

“Fine.” She repeated, crossing her arms and glaring back at him.

“Can you make it to your own room now? Can I go?”

“No.”

“I’m not sleeping with you.”

“W-what?! How did that become an—! Oh… you meant…”

Belphie resisted the urge to roll his eyes… well, at least for a few seconds.

“You’ve been spending too much time with Asmo.”

“And whose dumb-obstinate fault is that?” She retorted, smiling despite the redness in her cheeks.

“Yours, stupid human.”

“Yours, lazy cow.”

A smile crooked at the corner of his mouth and he quickly tried to hide it.

“I want a hug.”

God, how did an adult woman manage to sound so pouty? Belphie could barely contain a scoff as he saw the way her brow furrowed and her bottom lip stuck out a bit more. He tried to ignore the voice inside him that wanted to set his teeth into it… that wanted to find out if she still tasted like popcorn and chocolate.

“Too much.”

“What about a pat?”

Belphie groaned, but after a moment, gestured a little with his hand to indicate she should come closer. She did so eagerly.

“Your tail is wagging.” Belphie said with a sigh, gently resting his hand on top of her head and soothing his fingers down the strands, brushing them passed her temple and tucking them behind her ear.

“I don’t have one.” She said, a look of disappointment coming over her features when he stopped touching her hair.

“Still wagging.”

He caught her under the chin with the back of his index finger, tilting her head to the side before he leaned in and pressed his lips to her temple. The touch was featherlight and fleeting, like the soft opening and closing of a butterfly wings on her skin.

“Go to bed.” He said quietly.

“I want a kiss.” She replied, just as softly and Belphie felt a whole new sensation burst somewhere deep inside his chest.

“You’ve had one.”

“I want another.”

“…Not tonight.”

“But sometime?”

Belphie didn’t answer, leaving the question an open note hanging in the air.

A someday, an almost... a maybe.

[wlwreader]

Devil’s Adovcate

A/N: Alright I finally got this done whoo!!! (at 7am rip) I’m actually kind of proud of this one, mainly because this was a very self-indulgent fic and I also think the dialogue is slightly better than my other fic or at least imo but the ending is a bit rushed and abrupt. Still, I hope you guys like it as much as I do <3

Summary: A summoning incantation goes wrong (or does it?)

Warning: magic!cock, degradation, bondage, Mistress kink (I’m not sure I’d say it’s a master/slave dynamic so yah mistress kink?), anal, breeding, choking and I think that’s all?

WC: 3.3k+

Pairing: Succubus!Natasha Romanoff x Reader

You read over the words printed on the page in front of you once again, making sure everything was as it was supposed to be. You had found the book hidden in a far off section in a small quaint library. The store had appeared practically out of thin air and it immediately grabbed your attention with its high arches and tall windows. The cover of the book was plain. In fact the whole outside was empty, devoid of any text or title, just a brown leather-bound book. The teller had given you a secretive smile when you walked up to the counter with the book in hand and a wink as you left. The race home seemed to take forever due to your growing excitement to continue your exploration of the mysterious book.

That was a few days ago, now you stood in front of a crudely drawn pentagram and surrounded by candles on the verge of summoning (or trying to) a demon. The book you discovered contained spells, rituals, and incantations of all kinds and your curiosity couldn't be contained any longer. You had to find out if any of them worked. Reading over the words on the page again, you start to chant lowly. The flames on the candles start to flicker as you repeat the conjuration over and over before they’re blown out all together on the last iteration. You hold your breath and eagerly wait in silence. Nothing. 

With a sigh of disappointment, you flick the light on in your bedroom while muttering to yourself, “I can’t believe I even thought that would work.”

“Oh, it worked alright doll.” You jump in shock at the sound of another voice in your room before quickly spinning to face whoever spoke to you and you lose your breath at the sight. A beautiful creature stood in the middle of the drawn pentagram. Hair as fiery as the depths of hell and eyes just as red. Horns as black as obsidian curved back away from her face and draw your eyes to her pointed ears. Your cheeks heat up when you notice the skimpy clothing barely covering her body.

“What? Cat got your tongue, darling?” The grin she sends you is predatory and a shiver runs down your spine when you spot her fanged teeth.

“A-are you a—“

“A demon? Yes.” She slowly makes her way across the room towards you and you backpedal till she’s pressing you against the wall with her own body, “Though, I’m not your standard demon.” 

She crowds around you, hands flat against the wall on either side of your head and a thigh wedged between your own. A strange crawling sensation rises along one of your calfs and you stare in shock as a sleek, red tail wraps itself along your leg. Panic fills your chest as you realize that your trapped and utterly at this demon’s mercy. 

You hesitantly meet her steady gaze when she speaks up again, “I’m a succubus.” Your blush deepens and your eyes widen when you catch on to why she’s here. The spell was supposed to summon a demon who could grant you your deepest and darkest desires, you just never even considered the possibility that your sexual fantasies could factor in at all. Air fans across your face when she laughs.

“That’s right, sweetheart. I’m here to make all your dreams come true.” The muscles in her thigh tighten, giving you a sturdy surface to aid your subconsciously grinding hips and she chuckles lowly at the smear of slick left. “We haven’t even started yet and you’re already so wet.” 

Her nose runs along the curve of your neck, inhaling the scent of your arousal, before her lips brush along your ear. “Tell me darling. Is it the fact that you’re about to get the best fuck of your life that has you soaked,” A clawed hand snakes around your throat restricting your airflow and causing you to choke on a gasp. “Or do you enjoy the thrill of being in danger.” 

The predatory grin the paints itself across her lips leaves her fangs glinting in the low light of the room and your cunt clenches at the sight. Her grip tightens and you grip at her hand as hazy blackness slowly starts to creep into the edges of your vision.

 “Or maybe it’s both.”

Finally, her hand leaves your neck and you rub at the bruises already forming on your tender skin as you take in gulps of air, your lungs burning.

“On the bed. Now.” The tone of her voice leaves no room for arguing, not that you’d want to argue with a demon, and you scramble hurriedly onto your mattress. You sit waiting for her on your knees and take the chance to really look at her while she watches you. She’s gorgeous. Unnaturally so. Soft, pale, flawless skin only hidden by the strappy ensemble she calls an outfit. Her horns were much like a goat’s. Curved away from her face with rigids running along the length of them. You could see her silky tail swaying behind her, vaguely reminiscent of a cat’s tail in its movements. 

Her body shifting pulls you out of your admiring as she deliberately stalks towards you. Her gleaming red eyes seem to bore through you and you suddenly feel like a fly caught in a spider’s web. The bed creaks as she climbs atop it and she presses on your shoulder, leading you on your back. You feel the heat radiating from her pussy on your skin as she straddles your hips and you realize with shock that you’re naked, clothes nowhere to be seen on your body or in your room. As if they had just vanished into thin air. 

“What is your name?” you ask it quietly, fearful of her reaction.

Her hands trail up your abdomen and your stomach clenches at the unexpected heat that radiates from her touch. “Natalia.” She caresses your breasts, pebbled nipples scraping against the palms of her hands. You arch into the touch with a sigh. “Though, you’ll only be calling me Mistress from now on.” You watch in awe as she bows her head closer to your chest, her tongue slithering around one of your breast while the tip licks at your sensitive bud and you feel your clit throb as you imagine her fucking you with the long, serpent-like tongue.

Natalia’s fingers pinch and roll your other nipple as she takes the other one into her hot mouth, her pointed teeth teasing your areola as she lathers your breasts with attention. Your back arches off the bed while you moan, your hands reaching to tangle in her soft hair before her tail is wrapping around your wrists and pinning them above your head.

“No touching unless I say so. Understand?”

“Yes.” She grips your cheeks in one hand, her nails digging into your skin as she glares at you and you whimper.

“Yes what, slut?”

“Yes, Mistress.” 

Natalia hums in satisfaction while she releases your face. You watch as she sits up, one hand held out in front of her palm up and your mouth drops open in wonder as two clamps materialize in the once empty space. The throbbing in your clit intensifies as she attaches them to your pebbled nipples, a moan falling from your parted lips as she tugs on the chain connecting them. Her tail unravels itself from your wrists, but you’re only free for a few seconds before you’re face down on the bed.

“Arms behind your back.” soft rope is tied along your forearms, binding them together from your wrists to your elbows and straining your shoulders. She sits you up on your knees, the display of her strength while she manhandles you into position has a small stain forming on the sheets beneath you. More red rope appears in her hands, more slick gathering between your legs as she works. The rope criss-crosses along your chest in an intricate pattern, framing your breasts. 

“Now,” she tugs on the chain and you groan, thighs clenching together, “the real fun can begin.” She grins devilishly, fangs on display as she pushes you onto your back again. Clawed fingers scratch down your stomach, leaving reddish raised lines in their wake and pulling a shiver from you. Natalia rests between your parted legs, hands braced on the insides of your thighs while her warm breath ghosts over your slit for a few teasing moments. You whine, hips arching up towards her mouth, desperate to feel her touch. Her grip tightens on your thighs hard enough to leave bruises and she growls.

“Stop fucking moving, whore.”

You immediately still and she rewards you with a swipe of her tongue through your folds. The heat from her mouth is intense, mewls and whimpers slipping past your lips when she teases your opening.

“Please…” 

Her gaze meets your own as her tongue sinks into your cunt, pulling an appreciative moan out of you. Natalia’s fangs graze the sensitive skin of your labia, her nose pressed to your clit as her tongue reaches depths no finger, tongue, or dick has ever reached before. Your back arches as you cry out, shoulders starting to burn from the awkward position they’re tied in. She eats you out diligently, tongue flexing and curling sinfully while her eyes hungrily rake over your quivering, moaning form. 

One of her hands release your thigh and move to grip onto the chains of your nipple clamps before giving them a harsh tug that leaves tears gathering in the corners of your eyes. Natalia shakes her head side to side, her nose rubbing across your clit in just the right way that it has you cumming without warning. Your climax rushes through you quickly and unexpectedly, body trembling as you cry out. Panting softly as you come down, you shrink into yourself under her intense glare.

“I didn’t say you could cum.” She grips the ropes that adorn your chest and yanks you so that you lay face down across her lap. “Too busy moaning like a wanton whore to beg like a good little slut should.”

You whine pathetically as you squirm in her lap, “I’m sorry, Mistress.”

“Count.” Her dark tone sends a shiver down your spine.

“Wha—“ You cut yourself off with a yelp when she swiftly swats one of your ass cheeks.

“I said count, bitch. And don’t forget to thank me for each one.”

Another smack is delivered to your other cheek, harsher than the first and you grimace at the sting it leaves behind.

“One. Thank you, Mistress.” Natalia alternates between each cheek, every slap delivered only getting more painful.

“Eight. Thank you, Mistress.” Tears trickle down your face, a mix of your slick and cum coating the insides of your thighs. 

“Thirteen. Thank you, Mistress.”  You can’t help but moan each time her hand meets your ass, the skin painted red.

“Twenty. Thank you, Mistress.” By the time she’s finished, marks vaguely resembling the shape of her hand decorate your bottom. She gropes and caresses the tender skin, the heat radiating from her hands doing nothing to soothe the stinging sensation.

“I think you enjoyed your punishment a little too much.” Her thumb pushes through your folds (her long claw-like nails now gone), gathering the abundant wetness that’s pooled there. “You’re dripping all over my thighs you filthy girl.” 

Her thumb traces your puckered hole and you push back into the sensation with a pathetic whine. She spreads your cheeks before spit lands on the newly exposed skin. Natalia teases her thumb against the tight ring again, her spit acting as lube so that she can slowly sink her finger into you and you can’t help but whine. “Please, Mistress. Please fuck me.”

“Look at you. You’re so pathetic, begging me to use you as my personal fuck toy.” The words send a jolt of pleasure straight to your clit and you press your thighs together, desperate for any kind of stimulation. Natalia seems to take notice of the slight movement and soon her thumb is replaced with two slender fingers. 

“Oh fuck.” You moan, forehead pressed into the sheets on your bed.

“Aww, does the little whore want me to fuck her ass?” You nod vigorously while moaning after trying and failing to speak when her fingers scissor inside of you. She grabs the ropes that encase your torso, moving you till you’re face down on the bed. Her hips press flush against your ass, her hands groping your tender cheeks roughly, and you feel a foreign bulge that wasn’t there before.

“I wanna hear you beg for it, bitch.” Her voice is low, the slow grind of her cock through your folds making it near impossible to form a sentence but you still manage. “Pleeease, fuck me Mistress. Please fuck my ass, I’m just your fuck toy to be used and played with.”

“Mmm, that's what I like to hear. What a good little slut.” Her fingers gather your slick from your dripping cunt before stroking over her dick, wetting it. Natalia holds the base, the head of her member pressing against your tight ring and she watches intently as it slowly disappears inside you. Your groan turns into a full on moan when she bottoms out, one hand gripping your hip while the other grabs on tightly to the ropes trailing across your back. Her cock was big, larger than any toy or person you’ve ever fucked. You couldn’t see it, but you could guess from the way she was stretching you that she had to be at least around seven or eight inches.

Her pace is slow and gentle, letting you get used to the foreign feeling and you hum in appreciation. Though it doesn’t last for long. Soon you start pushing back into her, silently begging for more and she starts fucking you in earnest. Each stroke fills you entirely, her grip on the rope lifting your upper body off the mattress to pull you back into every thrust of her hips. Her tail snakes between both of your legs and wraps around the chain connecting your nipple clamps. Her movements jostle you forward and the resulting yank on your sensitive nipples has you crying out in a mix of pain and pleasure.

You can hear the soft moans of Natalia behind you under all the sounds of skin meeting skin and your own moans. Her pace quickens, your eyes rolling back into your head as her hand gripping your hip moves to rub tight circles around your neglected clit.

“Oh God.” 

She laughs loudly at that. “There is no God here, you silly whore.” Her fingers press harder into your clit and you wail, your body trembling from the plethora of pleasure. She pulls you up till you’re kneeling, the warm skin of her front pressed against your bound arms and your upper back. Her now free hand wraps around your throat and you subconsciously clench as her grip tightens. The resulting moan in your ear leaves you whimpering and her breath ghosts against your skin as she chuckles.

“Mistress, p-please.”

“Oh, does the little slut want to cum?” She coos and you choke out a ‘yes’ when her hand constricts around your neck. “Go ahead. Cum for your Mistress.”

With her tail tugging on your nipple clamps, her hard thrusts pounding up into you, and her fingers playing with your clit you see stars as you orgasm. Your mouth drops open in a silent scream, any possible noise stopped by the hand around your throat.

Before you’re even finished cumming, Natalia is maneuvering you onto your back with your legs propped on her shoulders and her cock disappears into your dripping cunt. There’s no waiting this time, immediately she’s pounding into, each thrust deep and purposeful. Her warm breath fans across your face as she leans in and your lips connect in your first kiss. It’s sloppy and doesn’t last long due to the moans falling out of your mouth, but the feeling of soft lips against your own lingers.

The obscene squelching noises as her dick plows into you repeatedly fill the room and your eyes squeeze shut when her member brushes against your g-spot. She dips down to kiss and suck along the curve of your neck when your head tips back as another orgasm rapidly approaches. The fluttering of your walls has Natalia pulling back, hushed moans spilling from plush lips. 

Your voice is shaky and hoarse when you speak, “Can I cum, Mistress? I’m sooo close.” Her pace slows considerably, making you whine pathetically while you squirm under her.

“You can cum when I do. Am I understood, slut?” Her eyes bore into your own and you stop moving instantly under the intensity of her stare. “Yes, Mistress.”

“Good girl.” She sits up on her knees and grips your thighs, your legs still balanced on her shoulders as she fucks you slowly. Her gaze sweeps over you hungrily, taking in your disheveled hair, flushed face, and heaving chest. “You almost look like a proper whore, all you're missing is my cum filling up this pretty pussy of yours.” 

“Fuck…” Her tempo picks back up, her thumb rubbing at your clit as she fucks you. Your toes curl as your orgasm starts climbing once again. “Oh, please, please, pleaasseee cum Mistress. I need you to breed me, need you to fill me with your cum.”

“Only since you asked so nicely.”

She leans down, your legs pressed back near your head as she brings you into a heated kiss. The new angle has you sobbing into her mouth, each thrust nudging against your g-spot. Her strokes get rougher and sloppier as she nears climax. Natalia pulls back from the messy kiss, forehead resting against yours while moaning lowly and you feel her cock twitching before you feel the warmth of her seed spilling inside your cunt. You follow right after, crying out as you cum. The intensity of your orgasm leaves your body shaking, the slow drag of her dick as she pulls out only prolonging it. You slowly come back down, small tremors still running through you as her warm hands caress your thighs.

“Holy fuck…” You laugh breathlessly, your now free hand coming up to run through your tousled hair after noticing that the ropes and clamps have disappeared. Your eyes finally open and you bolt straight up when you don’t see Natalia anywhere in sight. In fact, all the items for the incantation were gone, even the book and the pentagram drawn on your floor. Like it never even happened. But the marks that cover your body and the warm cum leaking out of your used cunt lets you know that it did. You flop back onto your mattress with a sigh before turning to look at the clock on your bedside table. 

There sits a foreign black box you’ve never seen and you hesitantly sit up to grab it. It wasn’t very large, nor was it small. There weren’t any discernible symbols or lettering of any kind marking the box and you shake it softly next to your ear, hoping it isn’t anything dangerous. After a silent moment of contemplating on whether or not you should open it, you do. A black leather collar sits inside and you eagerly pull it out to admire. Your fingers run over the soft padding along the inside before tracing the red stitching and stroking over the black lace that lines both sides. A ‘D’ ring sits at the front of the collar and with it, a large tear drop shaped tag that read ‘Mistress’s Slut’. You set it off to the side and peer back into the box. At the bottom sits a small note card with neat, curving handwriting.

“If you ever wish to see me again, just don this collar and I shall be there. Though consequences are to be had if you ever choose to wear it. For if you do, you will forever be my personal fuck toy to do with as I please. 

Hope to see you soon,

N.R.”

[modernagesomniari]

“When I Waked, I Cried to Dream Again”

Solavellan, 2149 words

R (sexual imagery, brief use of strong language)

An unexpected guest at an Evanuris salon catches the Dread Wolf off-guard. 

Title from William Shakespeare’s ‘The Tempest’, Caliban.

@pikapeppa you did say you were intrigued *hides*

**************************

Solas wondered how many people here wanted him dead.

Probably fewer than he’d like - the upper echelons of society still thought him a joke, an idle amusement that was fun as long as it was happening to someone else.  It was an old annoyance and he brushed it aside - when he returned Tarasyl’an and saw the hope and determination reflected in the faces of those who now lived there, he knew that what he did mattered.  What these flitting butterflies thought of him did not.

That said, the fact that the black and gold of his clothes marked him more of a scandal than a threat here?  Well, he would be lying to himself if he said it didn’t satisfy him.  A wry smile to one lady, a low-lidded sideways glance to a young ward and he could admit the warmth of their appreciative gazes on his back made him preen, just a little.

He took a crystalline goblet from the tray of one of the slaves around him, made sure to smile and voice his thanks.  As was frequent at such places, the woman pretended to take no notice.  It wasn’t worth her hide to show any kind of interest in him.

He took up his place leaning back against the cold stone of the wall, the moonlight pooling on the marble at his feet from outside the window beside him.  Beautiful and pure, he always found it melancholy to see it struggling to find its way into this glittering hall, where jewels sparkled with no light to set them, stars twinkled in the festooned darkness of the ceiling and everywhere was the glow of the wisps, bobbing gently around the perimeter.  What possible chance did the mundane moonlight have against such a throng?  Why could his people not see its beauty as it was meant?

The sweet wine burst ice cold against his tongue and he let his eyelids flutter closed at the pleasure of the sensation.  It wasn’t often he allowed himself these luxuries any more, not if those he served couldn’t have them as well.

As he drank, a starlight owl swooped low to clip the top of his thick hair as it passed.  He did not flinch from it, but conceded to glare at it as it glided around the top of the room, passing others in various colours and constellations.  Falon’Din had not yet deigned to show himself into this particular room and Solas was not about to weep over it.  The man was a boorish, unsubtle, cruel master to his slaves and he didn’t treat anyone else much better.  That he sent his owls out to boast of his power and bully any guest he disapproved of said much about his pettiness.  Solas could not abide pettiness.

“Well, look who decided to grace this hall with his presence?”

He inclined his head slightly at the arrival of his visitor, not feeling the need to speak particularly.  He couldn’t quite bring to mind the man’s name.  He knew he was a scholar of some kind, a powerful one, but couldn’t place his face.  In this light he could barely tell the colour of his eyes.  Strange, because from the distaste pooling like a bad smell in his mouth clearly he didn’t like him very much.  “Too proud to speak to me, eh Wolf?  Such a fucking self-righteous prick you are.”

Well, rare enough that anyone would be so open with him, rarer still that they’d shed their shallow mask this quickly.

“Ever eloquent, good sir.  To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“You could just tell me to fuck off in plain words, Mongrel.  Your tone says as much.”

Cruel hands tugged at the twisted hair hanging to Solas’ waist and he jerked his head away, letting his lip curl.  Fade but he hated a bully and this man was flouting protocol in a way that set warning bells off in every fingertip of Solas’ hands.  Why was no one pointing and whispering yet?  They generally enjoyed that.  However, regardless the strange apathy of the crowd, Solas was not about to make a spectacle of himself.

“I find it curious that you’ve sought me out, I’ll admit.”

The man laughed, harsh and drunk in his ear, letting his weight fall over Solas’ shoulders, hand catching at the back of his neck.

“Because I know you’ll let me put hands all over you and call it strength that you don’t strike me for it.  Save we both know it’s cowardice.  I’d spread your teeth over the damn marble.”

This, Solas knew, was highly unlikely given his own recent development of his talents.  It was only the fact that he himself knew this and whoever this jumped-up Lord was didn’t that kept him from proving it.  He clenched his jaw instead and knocked back the rest of the wine, setting the glass delicately down on the windowsill as he heard a low whistle and appreciative cuss from beside him.

Idly wondering what manner of attraction his acquaintance had just spotted Solas turned, nimbly stepping away from the man at the same time now he was apparently distracted.

But oh, what he had been distracted by.

She was small and wearing a black, figure-hugging gown that pooled at her feet like water.  The fashion this season was for whites, but her bare shoulders glowed in the Fade-light above the deep, heavy material like the sun out of a sky heavy with storm.  Bright green eyes the colour of spring leaves after rain were large in her face and looking directly at him.  

He looked back.  Let the moment hang, content to wait for her next move and trying to pretend his heart wasn’t hammering in his chest.  The man was speaking to him, he was vaguely aware of that, but given that it sounded like he was listening through water he couldn’t bring himself to care.  As he watched, the curve of her mouth twitched upwards and she began to glide towards him, utterly silent as the hem of her gown let only the tiniest glimpses of her bare feet peek from under it as she walked.

When she was in front of him, all he could smell was grass and sunshine.  He couldn’t even bring himself to sneer at how silly that sounded.

“Well, I’m glad he’s gone.”

Her voice was deeper than he thought it would be and she was suddenly closer, a small strong hand slipping into his own like it belonged there, that twitch of a smile on her face again.  “Come, dance with me.”

So he did.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

She was glorious, this Ellana.  Lithe and strong under his hands as they danced, she made his belly curl in culture-learned scandal as she pressed her body up against his in front of the whole hall, threw her head back and laughed as he spun her, her hair glittering in the lights so it mesmerised him despite himself.  When they were certain they had shocked the entire gathered assembly he took her hand again, glasses of cold sweet wine in the hands that weren’t tight together.  He led her outside the open windows to where the light grew colder and more solemn, watched in helpless wonder as her voice trailed off, face open and smiling as she took in the beauty of the moon.  Just as he had.

He watched that moonlight play off the contours of her cheeks, her nose, her lips.  Led her to the balustrade around the balcony and sat beside her, letting their fingers fall idle and tangled between them.  They spoke of the party and the people there, although he forgot completely to ask where she was from or who she had come with.  Then they were speaking of magical theory, of spirits and wisps and their mutual frustration with narrow-minded academia.  She was fearsome in her knowledge, her ideas embryonic but unfettered by the usual restraints of scholastic tradition.  He adored her.  Immediately and without reservation.  This should frighten him, terrify him.  Solas and romance had not been friends for a very, very long time.  And yet it didn’t scare him, couldn’t in the face of her presence.

He looked up to see her smiling at him gently, a hint of mischief in the corner of her mouth as she raised her glass, once again full, to chink against his own.  The sound seemed to echo, merging into her smooth giggle.

“You are staring into space, my Wolf.  I think perhaps you are a little drunk.”

He let himself smile back, unreserved and bafflingly happy.

“Perhaps, but it is you who has sweet wine upon your lips.”

He raised his hand to her mouth, the droplet of wine at the corner still shockingly cold against his skin.  She was looking at him differently now, quiet and waiting.  Not like some prey, helpless and passive, but as a wolf of her own, content to hold on to herself until he unleashed her.  And, Fade help him, but he had suddenly never wanted anything so badly in his life.

When he kissed her, the taste of the sweet wine mingled with the taste of her mouth.  He wanted so much and so quickly.  In his mind they were alone in his bed in Tarasyl’an, taking hours and days over giving and taking pleasure from each other until they were laughing and spent.  Or they were here, grasping at each other, ripping and pushing fabric aside to take each other on the marble in front of the faceless throng.  He took her to the woods and laid her down on the moss, tender and worshipful, or let her push his bare back into the rough bark of the trees to take him like she’d owned him his whole life.  His mouth was on her lips, her breasts, the skin on the inside of her wrists, her cunt, the arch of her foot and he was drowning in her.  Surely, he must be drowning.  Some low, dull ache of alarm was echoing uselessly in his stomach at how little he cared about this sudden obsession - somehow it all made sense.

When she laughed against his lips it went straight to his cock by way of his heart.  He was lost, somehow.  Utterly lost.

“Solas.”

When had he told her his name?  Had he told her his name?  He didn’t want to think, so he kissed her again.

“Solas.”

He grew desperate now, the sounds of the palace and his people deafening in his ears like they’d take her from him.  His fingers gripped at her waist, was he hurting her?  He must be hurting her!

“Solas!”

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

His eyes flew open from being clenched shut and, for a moment, he was profoundly confused.  Her face was in front of him but she wasn’t laughing.  And it wasn’t night, he could see sunlight dappling through the trees of the forest they’d camped in.

His stomach dropped and he knew he’d made a sound by the distress he saw flashing across her face before he buried his own in his hands.  Fool.  What an utter fool he was.  He could still feel the wine on his tongue, only of course now it had the ashen, shadowy taste of a mouth kept closed through sleep.  He felt cool fingers touching his own and gripped his forehead to stop her from taking his hands away from his face.  He could not look at her now, not now.  He couldn’t hide the grief from his expression.  Fool, to forget how convincing dreams could be.

He should have known this wasn’t going to stop her.  The hands left his fingers only to slide down his arms and around his shoulders, her body pressed so close he could let his face fall into her chest.  Her arms were small and strong, he could smell the leather of the belt around her robe, the slight tang of sweat from silk worn for a day too long, sweet freshness of her hair.  The Fade was never good at mimicking smell, it was only ever like a shadow.  He could hear the mumblings of their companions somewhere else, but in the dark, warm place within her arms and his own grief-stricken hands he couldn’t bring himself to care.

“It’s all right, Solas.  Whatever it is, it’s all right.”

It wasn’t.  It wasn’t.  Her hand came to smooth along the back of his scalp, dragging one last breath of grief from him before he relaxed into her embrace, content that he could contain himself for just a little longer.  It wasn’t all right, but just for now he selfishly, selfishly decided to pretend it was enough.  She hummed low in a smile when he snuck his arms around her waist and he hated himself for it.

[starlightsearches]

Hey hun I would love to request a Hux x Reader oneshot where the reader literally stops Armitage from an abusive episode from Brendol by getting struck instead. I wanna see our boi be scared for reader but also get hella pissed at his dad. Thanks love

Free of Charge Pt. 2

Absolutely! I decided to make this the second part of the Hux x Bounty Hunter! reader because I got a few requests for part 2, and the abuse storyline was already established. (Here’s the first part, if you missed it!)

Requests are closed for now ✨

Armitage Hux x Bounty Hunter! Reader

Warnings: Both physical and mental abuse to Hux and the reader, and language.

You’re in his office, studying your surroundings with an indecipherable smile, occasionally looking back at him as he sits at his desk, and Armitage is struggling to look at ease even though he’s dying to know what you’re thinking. It’s been a while, too long in his opinion, since he last saw you. He’s thought of your last meeting constantly since you left, but gathering the courage to contact you had more to do with banishing his own self-doubt than any thought of sparing his father, who—despite Armitage’s recent accolades—had only increased his abusive behavior. He wants Brendol gone, and he wants your help, but there are other wants as well, and those are the ones that are holding him back.

“Congratulations on the promotion, Commander,” you say, finally taking a seat, “I’m sure it was well deserved.”

“Thank you.” Armitage fidgets in his chair now that he holds all of your attention. How should he go about this? It’s brand new territory in more ways than one. There’s a specific image he’s trying to portray and he’s not sure if it’s working; he needs you to see someone self-assured, confident, in control. “Should we discuss-”

“In a moment, of course. But before we talk about any specifics, I’d like to make sure that this is what you really want?” You speak casually, discussing the terms of his father’s death like one would discuss the weather.

“Of course, my mind is made,” he responds, and he knows there’s no chance of doubt, although a part of him regrets that he needs help at all. A heavy silence follows his words, filling the air, and there’s something in your eyes that he can’t identify—a decision to be made, maybe, or a judgement. You leave the chair and walk to the other side of his desk, resting your hip lightly against it and crossing your arms over your chest, steady and at-ease, and emitting an electric intensity that Armitage can’t ignore.

“Alright, then.” You hop into a seated position on his desk, leaning forward, and one of your legs rests against his now, your shin brushing up against the lower half of his thigh. Now this is unexpected, and decidedly not accidental on your part, but Armitage pretends to take no notice. He doesn’t want to be presumptuous.

“Normally these conversations take place in areas that are a little more private. Is there somewhere else we could go to discuss details?” you ask quietly, “maybe my ship? Or your quarters?” Armitage must be imagining things. You can’t be saying what he thinks you’re saying, but it’s hard to keep his mind away from the possibility of it, especially when your gaze stays focused on his mouth, sending a thrill up his spine.

“We should be safe enough in here,” he responds, concentrating all his effort on keeping professional, ignoring the hammering of his heart, “no one should be able to listen in.” He can’t believe that you might want him. He won’t let himself believe it.

“Yes, but could we be interrupted?” You lean closer, and his heart stutters in his chest as one of your hands pushes gently into his shoulder, holding him in place against his chair. He knows that when you release your hold his uniform will be wrinkled, but it’s a small price to pay for such a lovely feeling. He doesn’t know how to act when you’re this close.

“What are you doing?” he whispers. Your hair falls into his face, brushing against his cheeks, and the smell of you evelops him: surprisingly sweet, with something mysterious beneath, something clean and metallic.

“Do you want me to stop, Commander?” Stars, he had heard the new title countless times, but never said like this. Any discussion you would need to have about his father could certainly wait.

“No,” he whispers, and he’s worried that he might be breathing too loudly. He places a tentative, shaking hand on your waist, urging you closer, and you oblige, sliding from the desk and winding your arms around his neck in an embrace. It’s better than he had imagined—but there’s something distracting him from truly enjoying the moment.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, because he must. There’s no persona he can adopt now to make this any better. He’s back to being himself: an insecure boy in desperate need of some validation.

“You sell yourself short, Commander.” It’s the only answer you give, undeterred by his apprehension, before leaning fully into him.

When you kiss him, he leaves his eyes open for a moment to make sure that he’s not dreaming. He doesn’t want to move, refuses even to breathe, afraid that you might stop. Your mouth is soft and warm against his, and surprisingly gentle, like you’re trying not to startle him. When your hand wraps around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, he finally lets his eyelids flutter closed, fully prepared to enjoy this moment. He’s surprised to find that he feels good, very good, despite his doubts. There’s something about you that makes him feel safe, even if he’s not quite sure what he’s doing.

The feeling doesn’t last long; just as he’s beginning to enjoy himself—adoring the feeling of your body against his, the way your hands run gently through his hair, the thrill that something like this is happening to him, and with someone like you—there’s a muffled noise outside the door, the hushed tones of conversation. At first, he’s able to ignore them, but they grows louder—inescapable—and he’s sure that it will require his attention.

He pulls back, and you follow him lazily, unaware of the commotion happening just outside, nuzzling your face into his neck, pressing soft kisses into the skin of his throat. He shudders, distracted, before catching himself, putting a hand on your shoulder and creating some distance.

“You need to hide,” he says urgently, looking around his office before landing on the desk in front of him. It’s not an ideal space, but it’s the only one where you’ll be shielded from view of the doorway.

“What are you-” you start to ask, but he cuts you off, guiding you below his desk, and you go, despite your confusion, curling up and watching him with serious and questioning eyes. There’s no time to apologize, no time to regret the fact that you’ll probably never speak to him again after this; he’s already managed to ruin things. You’re sheltered now, and not a moment too soon; he’s just barely managed to rearrange himself into a believably casual position, looking over the documents on his desk when the door flies open. It’s his father, looking wild, followed quickly by Armitage’s new assistant, who is trying to both placate the general and apologize to Armitage at the same time.

“What the fuck do you think you’re you doing?” Brendol says with an accusatory glare, brushing his secretary out of the way more with more force than necessary, and Armitage stands, hoping his father won’t come any closer.

“I’m going over the plans, like you requested, General,” his father silences him, pointing at him with one shaking hand, his leather glove squeaking quietly as his fingers flex against each other. He forces himself to keep his eyes on his father, away from the area below his desk. Had the general found out about your visit? He had tried to be inconspicuous, but Brendol had ways of knowing things his son would rather keep private.

“Not now, stupid boy!” he yells, moving closer, and Armitage moves around his desk, cutting him off from your hiding place. Brendol’s hand makes a fist in Armitage’s uniform, pulling him closer.

“You went behind my back to the admiral,” it’s not phrased like a question, but Brendol waits anyways for Armitage to confirm, searching for the truth in his son’s eyes. Despite himself, and his precarious situation, Armitage is relieved. He wouldn’t phrase it that way, exactly, but he did speak to the admiral about his initial ideas on the plans before going to his father. Of course Brendol would interpret his actions as subterfuge, but Armitage doesn’t care about that right now. He just wants to keep you safe.

“General, I-” the back of his father’s hand collides with his cheek, and Armitage is thrown down to the desk with the force of the blow, bright spots appearing in his vision. A thought floats through his head, singularly lucid in his currently hazy mind: his father is breaking all of his own rules. He has an audience: Armitage’s assistant, still in the room, standing with her hands over her mouth with an almost-comical level of surprise; he’s leaving visible marks, aiming for the face; and he has not bothered to remove his gloves, denying himself the thrill of feeling his son’s skin bruise under the flesh of his hand.

Armitage turns back to his father, anticipating the next blow, but there’s a flash of movement out of the corner of his eye, and a hideous dread rising in his stomach, threatening to escape. He has regained enough presence of mind to see a new scene unfold before him, one that he his powerless to stop: his father, a leather-covered hand flying through the air, and you, out of hiding, blocking its intended target.

The impact shatters the room, or maybe it only shatters Armitage, who swears that he can feel it reverberate in his chest, the moments after long and silent and soaked in a blood-colored rage. Your appearance does not deter Brendol, does not prompt him to ask any questions about why you’re here and what you’re doing. It only serves to provoke him further, and he recoils his fist again.

“No,” the sound comes deep from within Armitage’s chest, and he strikes out as well, gripping his father’s wrist in his hand and forcing it upwards, blocking the punch instinctively. Armitage stares into his father’s eyes as he keeps his hold and sees an emotion that would look at home on any other face, but never here. Fear. Plain. Potent. Unmistakable. For a moment Armitage is stunned as he looms over the man. Had his father always been this small? Or does the look in his eyes just make him appear that way?

You lurch back to standing, holding your face in your hands, blood pouring from between your fingers and a fire in your eyes as you stare Brendol down. You don’t have your weapons, and for that Armitage is grateful, because it seems to him that you would end Brendol here and now if you could, regardless of the number of witnesses. Armitage releases his hold on his father, gripping you by the shoulders and turning you to face him. Your nose is swollen, maybe broken, and there’s blood smeared across your mouth, the lips he had kissed what felt like a lifetime ago stained red.

“We’re leaving,” he says, and his father stands in stunned silence. Armitage doesn’t wait for permission, wrapping a protective arm around your shoulders and pulling you to the door. His assistant steps out of the way, clearing the path, the same expression of shock on her face.

“Wait one damned minute!” Brendol yells, finally recovering, holding his arm out as if to pull his son back but he doesn’t make contact, even though Armitage is still within reach.

“I will not have my own son disobey me and get away with it. Have you no shame?” His father tries to regain an air of authority, but the illusion is gone. Armitage can see him for what he really is—a tyrant and a bully, grasping for power in the pain that he causes.

“If you ever raise a hand against me again, father, you’ll see exactly how shameless I can be.” The threat lands, and Brendol is left slack-jawed, watching blankly as his son walks away.

There are eyes on both of you as he walks you through the ship, officers with questions written plainly on their faces. He’s sure it must be a sight to see: you with your swollen features and blood-covered hands, and his own injured face, distorted by the bruise undoubtedly spreading over his cheek, but he stares down anyone brave enough to meet his gaze, and they look away.

“Where are you taking me?” you ask quietly, breathing heavily through parted lips.

“The medbay. Someone needs to look at your nose.” 

You pull him to a stop, “I have a medkit on my ship,” and then with a painful-looking smile, “I think I may have overstayed my welcome.” Reluctantly, Armitage obliges, following you now in the direction of the hangar where you had docked.

You lead him aboard your ship, guiding him by the hand, and then close the hatch behind you. The space is clean, quiet and dark, and Armitage does not have a chance to adjust to the dim lighting before you pull him further in towards a set of shelves, finding the medkit you had mentioned. He takes it from your trembling hands, leading you now to find a seat on a small cot set up against the wall.

“You didn’t have to do that,” he says, kneeling on the hard floor of the ship and holding your face in one hand, trying to get a better look at the damage his father had done. He feels no anger now that he’s alone with you, but a cold determination instead, one that settles into a space below his heart. His father will pay for what he’s done; he’ll make sure of it.

“I did, though,” you say, with a little gasp. He’s afraid it might be the pain, and he releases his hold, but you grab his hand and bring it to your cheek, resting against his palm with a serene expression. The blood trailing from your nose has reduced to a slow trickle, but bruises have started to appear, twin marks beneath your eyes growing darker with time.

“When will I see you again?” you whisper your question into his palm, and your breath tickles against his hand. The gesture fills him with warmth, the now-familiar thrill of being close to you, but he pulls away, opening the medkit and wiping the blood from your face. You scrutinize his movements, and he can’t resist the urge to run the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip once all the blood is cleaned away.

“As soon as you’d like.” He’s not sure if it’s true, but he wants it to be. His father would be an obstacle to that, certainly, but Armitage is prepared to take care of it.

“I’m sorry,” you’re crying, the tears trailing down your cheeks, a small sob escaping your throat.

“There’s nothing to be sorry for,” Armitage replies, a little dumbfounded. If anything, he should be apologizing to you for dragging you into this. You pull him off the floor so that he can sit beside you, resting your head on his shoulder. He’s tired. Despite the ache in his face, he finds himself dozing as he lies with his cheek against your hair, breathing in your scent that can most closely be described as home. You intertwine your fingers, resting your hand against his thigh. He wants to live in this feeling, but there’s business he must take care of now, before things with his father get out of hand. Brendol will not forget Armitage’s disobedience so quickly; he’s probably scheming against him right now. Armitage stands, and you look up at him with sad eyes, holding his hand in yours, unwilling to part so soon.

“Shouldn’t we discuss our plans … for your father?” you ask, trying to pull him close again. He wishes he could stay, but chooses to satisfy himself with a kiss  pressed to your forehead instead, releasing your hand and walking towards the hatch.

“I’ll take care of it,” after everything you’ve been through, he doesn’t want you coming anywhere near his father ever again. It’s time for Brendol to get a taste of his own medicine. 

[oh-theatre]

Objection!: Chapter 27

Chapter title: Clocks Tick and Phones Still Ring

A/n: ....yall im so sorry for how long this took and the fact that not only did it take forever but it fucking sucks. I hate this I'm sorry I can't just here I'm so sorry

First | Previous | Next

words: 2155

summary: Through troubling times Logans mind run wilds trying his best

pairings: Eventual logicality, prinxiety, platonic demus, romantic remile

warnings: Murder mention, child murder, Law and Courtroom, swearing, blood, hospital, crime scene,  murder, gun mention, guns, swearing abuse, graphic descriptions, alcohol, shooting, crying

Ao3 Link  

Twenty minutes later...

Do you know what you are supposed to do when the love of your life sits pale and barely breathing in a room?

No Im genuinely asking

Because running out of the room and collapsing to sobs on your knees does seem valid however Logan just stood there. He stood there frozen, Barbara knew what to do. She ran to Pattons side, taking his cold hand, silent tears as she examines his soft face. Virgil emerges moments later, the family rule disposed of as he takes Patton's other side.  Roman took the end, and soon the room felt tight, he couldn't breathe.

He wanted to yell

Or cry

Or do anything remarkably human

But he just stood, nurses and doctors rushed by him, his friends talked in whispers of concern.

Why didn't he care?

He could hear the rest of them talking, questions fired at the nurses and doctors, sweet words of encouragement for a speedy and safe recovery for Patton. Telling them how much they care for him, but not Logan. In what seemed like minutes, the rest had decided to give Logan a moment. A moment for what? That was lost on him but alas the room fell quiet.

“This is your own fault, you understand that right?” He finally sets on speaking, not that anything would respond. Unless you count the steady monitor and the wheezes from the machines. “I'm not sure how many times I must clarify this but I'm not Liam. You can tell me things, you can trust me”

He scoffs, his arms crossed over his heart.

“None of us are Liam. You know I don't say ‘I love you’ ok?” He pushes, he can feel his nostrils flare. Do something Patton, respond. “I've only said it to my mothers and you” He glares, why was he just laying there. How dare he? “You took that from me!” He takes a second, breathing deep. “You knew...you knew this was going to happen. You have a will...its reasonable. You have two kids, a sister and assets at your disposal. But they showed it to me, they brought it to me”

He took his copy out, the crumpled and tear stained document felt too heavy.

“I, Patton Hart, residing at 1823 Millow Lane, declare this to be my Will, and I revoke any and all wills and codicils I previously made.” Logan begins to read, his hands shake noticeably but he continues. “I leave minor children surviving me, my daughter Valerie and son Remus. I appoint as guardian of the person and property of my minor children my partner Logan Tolentino. He shall have custody of my minor children, and shall serve without bond. If he does not qualify or for any reason ceases to serve as guardian, I appoint as successor guardian my sister Barbara Hart.” He finishes, some small part of him almost hopes that Patton awakes. An explanation ready. “This was recent, you knew, you knew something was going on!” He shouts, he tries to recenter but he can't, everything is too much. How was he supposed to handle these things?

“Logan? Everything alright?” A knock allows him to remember he's here.

“M’fine” He lies, and soon it's just him once more. “You changed it, this was clearly recent because I know you. I know that it takes you forever to trust people...although looking back on this unfortunate event you don't trust me. How dare you do this? How dare you not tell me, how dare you turn away from and do this” He rips the paper, watching its remains crumple to the ground “It's not that I can't do it, or won't” He states “Its that I don't want to…” He approaches Patton, finding himself next to the pale faced man. “I don't want to do this without you” He breaks, the anger shatters as his hand meets Patton's cold touch. “Please Patton..” He barely whispers at this point, his heart feels too heavy to be his own. “You do not get to be the love of my life and then die, you do not get to do this to me. Do you understand?”

“Papa?” Logan turns and eyes in horror as the twins, so bubbly and sweet, lose everything about them. Emile bursts through, his eyes and breath apologetic. “What happened...to papa?” Remus cries, Valerie shakes her head.

“Logan I am so sorry, they ju-” Emile begins but Logan sighs.

“It's alright” He assures standing, Emile takes his cue and walks away, leaving the three of them in the room...well four of them, for now. He takes them both in his arms, a breath of relief knowing they exist, knowing they are there and ok. He leads them to the bed, sitting at the end as they fear their place. Valerie squirms first, crawling closer, but alas her hands recoil. Remus has no qualms, he jumps hugging his father.

“Papa wake up please” He begs, his voice so soft. His energy and excitement for the mystery of life is gone. He wanted certainty, he wanted his father. Soon his sad calm aura turned quick to confused anger. “Wake up! Wake up papa! Wake up!” he cries, Valerie's simple tears, as she watched in pity for her brother, were nothing compared to the waterfall. Logan takes the boy, embracing him gently in his arms, soothing him to breathe. Valerie adjusts herself under the blankets, hugging Patton as she tries to mimic his sleep pattern. Logan watches knowing his world is breaking, and he's only got a smidgen of knowledge of what to do.

“The itsy bitsy spider went up the water spout, down came the rain and washed the spider out” Valerie hums, Remus eyes her red and puffed. She continues her gentle tone, and Remus joins her on Patton's other side. Both cozying up to him, simple and sweet tunes until the pair tire themselves out. Sleeping away, Logan sits in the chair, he watches hoping to protect them for a moment before his own eyes fall prey to the idea of rest.

~~~

A week later…

“So we ended up going to the wrong store” Logan explains as he sets up the meal, the children giggle placing the sheet over the table. The hospital had granted them permission to use a table, and set up for meals in Patton's room. “Here you are” He hands plates to Valerie, she juggles them carefully setting them neatly upon the surface.

“Imma go get napkins!” Remus declares, he enjoys the sweet gushes the nurses give him so running through the halls was his favorite pastime.

“He's not gonna come back with napkins” Valerie sighs, continuing to help Logan. He sits by Patton, recalling their day. “Lollipops maybe, but not napkins” She finishes giving Logan his moment to set the food. He had been trying his hardest, help from Roman and Remy was required for cooking. He followed the recipe and tried for a simple mac and cheese today, with some salad and sweet desserts.

“Ready?” Logan asks as Remus emerges with a bundle of his own finds, none of which included his treasure he had set to get.

“Don't forget food for papa” Remus reminds, Valerie nods already chomping into her meal. The twins had insisted they set a place for him every time, serve him food and Logan would wait until he was alone to pack it back up. They knew he wasn't eating it but it was nice. “He's going to be so big and strong when he wakes up”

If he wakes up

“Absolutely” Logan agrees. So they eat and Emile comes to pick them up for a day away, Logan cleans and makes sure everything returns to normal. He can't say he doesn't enjoy the few moments alone, it takes time to go from a solitary routine, to adding a romantic partner and then children.

But he misses the second part more than he cares to admit. He sits at the end of the bed, stroking away Patton's loose hairs, the freezing touch scares him. He moves closer, somehow finding himself exhausted and wrapped around Patton. Its funny, he used to dream of the day's end when he could cuddle up in bed alone, the world was his own. But he hadn't realized how much he missed having someone, Patton, there with him until it was gone. Sleep had been awful, restless, but as soon as he had his protective arms around Patton, making sure he was ok...Logan fell fast.

“Careful Lo, hes just a baby” Patton smiles, swaddling the young child in Logan's arms. The man fears his own breath, the smallest of tears as he watches the young one snore so easily. Patton keeps his arms connected and in this moment they just are, they feel connected. A soft kiss to Logans cheek as footsteps shuffle behind him.

“This is Jamahl, Terrences brother” Cindy introduces, Patton flashes his award winning smile. The boy remains hesitant, keeping his eyes steady on the little child in Logan's arms, he has no choice he thinks. If he wants to keep his brother safe this is his option. So he goes with them.

“Where are we going?” He asks, as the neighborhood finds itself less familiar. Patton looked at him, he insisted on sitting in the back with the children. Keeping an eye on the baby.

“Home” He replies, Jamahl scoffs shaking his head. “My home, and Logans and if you would like it to be...your home” Patton corrects, Jamahl gets a choice? That's new. “Oh I should warn you-”

“Here it comes” The twelve year old sighs, Patton keeps a gentle grin.

“I have two twins at home, they're both five years old.” He pulls out his phone, swiping to show a shining photo of Patton and two young ecstatic children, “Thats Valerie and that's Remus” He points, beaming with pride. Jamahl nods, ok...not as bad. “They're wonderful and...five years old and very excitable so just be wary” He laughs, Logan could never get tired of the sweet sound.

They arrived at the house quickly, and Patton was not wrong to warn the child.

“Im Valerie!” A young girl smiles, shaking his hand vivaciously.

“Im Remus!” The boy greets, a giant hug. Jamahl freezes but allows it to happen, thanking whatever ethereal being let Patton pull the twins off him.

“Remember what I told you humbugs, no touching unless they are comfortable with it ok?” Patton reminds, they nod before waving their goodbyes. They run off and Logan disappears into the hall, coddling the baby. Jamahl looks worried and Patton assures him. “You wanna come see what's going on?”

“Yes please” He nods and finds himself allowing Patton to lead him into the baby room. A bed set up for him as well, he watches Logan be ever so careful with the baby and Patton respect his boundaries. He shrugs.

Maybe this won't be so bad.

~~~

A month later...

“Its your fucking fault!” Logan decides, Emile shushes him backing him up from Virgils heated face. “Everything that is happening is your fault!”

“Logan you're being a dick right now” Remy announces, a glare from Emile quiets him. Logan scoffs kicking the chair underneath him, scaring even Roman.

“And yours too” He points, his nasty finger threatening the detectives. “Why didn't you do anything, day after day he came to you! About Liam! And now because of your fucking negligence, he was too scared to come to you and tell you about these phone calls!”

“You know what Lo? I shouldn't have told you, as of now you have no legal bindings to Patton, so me telling you that we searched his phone and found the phone calls, that was a courtesy” Virgil spits, Logan goes to approach not sure what his next move is but thanks to Roman and James he has no time to figure it out. They command him to sit, calming both parties and get a soothing talk down.

“You know it's his fault Roman” Logan sighs exasperated, Roman nods unsure but doesn't want to to escalate.

“You know what, fuck you Logan!” Virgil screams, Logan stands.

“You're the reason those children are gonna lose their father!” Logan retorts, that catches something. Virgil pushes past Remy, almost landing one on Logan before Roman grabs him, both surprised by how well they fit together. Silly to think about at this moment.

“Maybe if you weren't so fucking cold they would see you as a father” Virgil replies once more, that hurt. Logan won't lie that his knees buckled and he might have fallen right then had Barbara and Marcy not taken him and cared for him. He wants to keep going but a chilling throat clears the room. Instantly they both look to the doctor who stands, judgmental but patient.

“Hes awake”

[jungle321jungle]

Run A Rig: Part One

He wanted the title, and the Captain wanted to be anything but idle.

The Siren wanted the sea, and the liar wanted all to be free.

They wanted their brother back, but each journey is more perilous than the last.

The Serpent’s Song is a ship for many, and at the same time a ship for none. Because when everyone runs a rig, nothing true can be done.

Tagging: @hells-missing-a-goat @angels-and-dreams @ollyollyoxinfree @gattonero17

Ao3 - Masterlist

~~~~

Part One

He had been born for this.

His mother had given birth to him here, on the ship when a storm had stranded them too far from shore. He has grown up here, watching in awe as all the true pirates around him lived out their daily adventure.

His mother had taught him how to sail, how to read maps, how to run a ship. While his father had taught him how to use a cutlass, use a pistol, and how to be a true Captain.

All his life he had reaped the benefits of being the Captain’s son.

So why wasn’t he being made Captain?

He watched his father smile as he swung an arm around Logan’s shoulder a large smile on his face.

“What’s yer first order as Cap’n?” His father asked.

Logan smiled in return, “Kicking ye the hell off me ship!”

A laugh erupted in return but he just couldn’t bring himself to join in.

“Ye gave away me ship.”

His father raised an eyebrow as he entered the Captain’s cabin, “A ship is earned, not given. I taught you that.”

“Ye gave it to Logan! Him of all people! Logan belonged to me ! Ye gave me him as a present!”

“Aye,” his father nodded. “I had planned to kill the little stowaway, but I had thought ye’d like someone yer own age. So I gave ‘im to ye. But he proved himself. He is smart, and skilled and he’s tried harder than anyone else. He proved himself... more than ye ever have Dante.”

“Ye bilge rat! ”

His father’s eyes narrowed as he stood his hand on his cutlass’ hilt as he did, “I dare ye to speak such words again.”

Dee faltered taking a step back against the door before he spoke again, “This ship was supposed to be mine .”

“The Serpent's Song is better off with ye as far from being Captain as possible.”

Each word was a blow.

Quite frankly Dee would have preferred his father running him through with that sword. Because even days later as they dropped his parents at the port, he could still feel them.

“Ye hate me.”

Logan didn’t phrase it as a question.

Dee didn’t move or even look up from where he sat on the bowsprit looking at the water below, “I don’t know if hate is the right word.”

“Yer going to fall sitting there.”

“Ye always say that, and yet I never have.”

“I can’t give ye Captain,” Logan said after a short pause. “Not after yer father...” he gave a sigh. “but how does first mate sound?”

“Patronizing.”

He heard as Logan gave a chuckle, “I guess it would. But the offer is there. I don’t want to have to give it to someone else.”

“Feel free too.”

Logan left then, a sigh spilling from his lips as he did. Leaving Dee alone with his thoughts, the ocean air, and the setting sun.

“You wish to be Captain?”

The voice stirred Dee awake and he hurriedly grabbed onto the bowsprit before he could fall from it. He gave a deep breath to calm himself as he pulled himself back up on the deck and looked out at the starry sky.

How long had been sitting there?

“Do you wish to be Captain?”

The voice pierced itself through his psyche once more and Dee searches for its owner. The others on the deck were in the back at the helm with Logan, so it was too far away for it to be them.

“You’re jealous of him. He’s only where he is today because of you. And you want that.”

Dee grit his teeth as he leaned back over the side and his eyes widened as he noticed the figure down below. It was hard to make out in the moonlight, but it almost looked like a person.

But despite how far away he was, his voice still rang clear in Dee’s ears.

“I can make you Captain. I can make you all that and more... jump down here and we can talk about it.”

Dee’s eyes narrowed as he understood, “Siren.”

He could hear the laugh he got in return. It was light, it was kind, it was friendly . “I can make you into someone even greater than your father.”

“I’m not stupid!” Dee called down at the creature.

“No one ever said you are. But perhaps that’s what your father was implying.”

Dee bit his lip as he forced himself to take a step away. He was going to go to his cabin, and get some sleep.

“Running from your problems? What will that accomplish? Do you plan to run from being first mate too? Are you hung to become a lowly deckhand when you could be in charge?”

Dee took a step forward, then another, then another.

“Logan was once your pet... but no w I suppose I should congratulate you on becoming his.”

The water was cold and it gave him a sudden shock but Dee paid it no mind as he drew his dagger swimming towards the creature.

The siren only smiled at him, baring it’s pointy teeth. Up close Dee could see his scales were a brilliant purple, but he didn’t care enough to stare as he slashed at it only for its head to duck below the waves.

Dee paused, treading water trying to figure out where it went-

He was pulled beneath the waves before he could process it. He bent slashing wildly on instinct and was rewarded with the hand releasing him. He kicked to the surface and he was vaguely aware of someone shouting for him.

“You’ll pay for that.”

Dee smiled out at the water as he readied his dagger. “Make me wench .”

“Dee!”

Dee glanced up as he noticed Logan descending Jacob’s Ladder. “What the fuck are ye doing?” He shouted.

“There’s a siren!” Dee yelled back. “And I’m going to fucking kill it! Get back on the ship!”

“Ye first!”

“Since when do I take orders from ye?”

“Since I became ye Captain!”

Dee’s eyes narrowed before he went back to focusing on the environment around him, “Then I’ll take me chances with the siren.”

“Ye insolent knave!” Logan shouted back descending further.

Dee was going to respond when a shimmer caught his eye. He lunged toward it- but the siren was faster.

And Logan’s neck was in his scaled hand.

Dee’s grip on the dagger tightened almost painfully as he watched the creature smile. “Let him go.”

“Why?” The siren challenged. “I thought you wanted to be Captain.”

“If I wanted him dead I’d do it myself.”

“Oh I see,” it cooed. “You love him.”

Dee threw himself forward, but instead of going for its face he dove beneath and stabbed the siren in its tail.

It gave a howl of pain which could be heard under the water before it lashed out, its long nails digging deep into Dee’s in the face. But Dee ignored it as he twisted in his blade.

Hands pulled him back to the surface and he rose gasping for air as Logan dragged him toward the ladder. Dee closed his eye to keep the blood from dripping in as he looked to the siren to a net thrown down around it.

~~~~

“Fighting a siren! How stupid are ye?”

“Where did they throw it?” Dee asked in response. “I will kill it.”

Logan gave him a glare, “Ye will do nothing of the sort. We’ll wait until we reach port, and then we’ll sell it. There’s no point in killing it... Not to mention ye need a rest a bit.”

Dee’s gaze fell to the floor as touched the bandaged side of his face, “I’m fine.”

“Fine people don’t jump off ships to fight sirens. Ye could have died! If it hadn’t killed ye, ye would’ve been keelhauled if I hadn’t seen ye jump!”

“Why did ye follow me?”

“Because yer outta yer mind.”

“Ye got hurt because of me.”

Logan gave a sigh, “I chose to go down there Dee.”

“Ye shouldn’t have.”

“What kind of Captain would I be if I didn’t try to help my only friend?”

Friend.

Dee shook his head, “Can I at least talk to it, Captain ?”

He glanced to look up at Logan's surprised face, “Come morning,” he answered. “Come morning.”

~~~~

Despite what Logan had said, Dee had found his way down to where the siren was being held, and he was surprised to hear voices from inside.

“You’re quite stupid for a Captain.”

“Oh?”

“Yes, a good Captain would never go save a crewmen himself. He’d order the others to- that is if he decides to save the man at all.”

“Ye know many pirates I take it?” Came Logan’s mocking tone.

Dee slowly moved closer and peered in the open crack at the door. From the lantern glow he could see Logan sitting across from a basin of water.

The siren had changed forms.

Gone were those purple scales and long tail. Instead two legs stuck out of where it was sitting in a large tub of water. One of the legs was bandaged as was it’s hand. But most shocking of all was the fact that he was naked.

“I’ve killed a great many, yes,” he shrugged the chain around his wrists clanking as he did. “They’re usually the easiest to catch. And I nearly had that pet of yours too.”

“He’s not a pet,” Logan said shortly.

“Ah yes of course, I’m sorry you’re his pet aren’t you?”

“Ye-”

“You were young and a stowaway. Running from the brothel and the strumpet you were birthed to. That ship she always spoke was leaving and it was your chance. So you took it. And you’ve regretted ever since. All you’ve wanted since that moment was to return and find your mother. To apologize... But you can’t. And you never will .”

“Unless I let ye go?”

“Oh no, I’d expect no such thing from you.”

“Then what do ye expect?”

“For you to accomplish your goal. For you to burn your father’s ship and legacy to the ground.”

Dee watched in confusion and he saw as the siren’s purple eyes met his in the doorway, but in front of Dee Logan hadn’t seemed to notice.

“I don’t know what yer talking about.”

“There’s no need to lie with me Logan,” The siren purred. “I already know what you want, and all that goes with it... but does he know?”

“He doesn’t need to know anything.”

“But I’m sure he has some questions.”

“And I don’t care.”

Logan rolled his eyes and rose from his seat, and Dee scrambled away, back toward his cabin.

~~~~

“What were ye talking to Logan about, siren?”

The siren raised an eyebrow and now up close Dee could see his short hair was a deep purple, as were his eyes. Both seemed to serve as proof that he wasn’t human.

“I do not call you ‘human’,” he replied. “I do have a name.”

“And I don’t care to know it.”

“Ah, so your brother received all the manners I see?”

Dee raised an eyebrow in confusion, “I don’t have a brother.”

“Oh? Apologies, I must’ve have been horribly mistaken.”

“Just tell me what’s going on.”

“Why don’t you ask your Captain?”

Dee paused, “Logan doesn’t talk about his past... was what ye said true?”

The siren gave him a smile and Dee could see some of his teeth still were pointed, “And what would I gain from doing so? Regardless of if I choose to help you or not, I will be sold once we reach port.”

“Ye words won’t have an affect on me this time,” Dee said shaking his head.

The siren gave a shrug, “Worth a shot.”

Dee gave an eye roll as thought occurred to him, “I thought ye sirens were supposed to sing to yer prey? Meanwhile ye just talk a lot.”

The siren stared blankly back, “I can sing if I wanted to. But you’re so simple I don’t have a need.”

“You spoke to him?” Logan asked. “Did ye actually gain anything from it?”

Dee shook his head, “No, but I did want to say I’m sorry.”

Logan raised an eyebrow amused, “Would ye like to repeat that? Perhaps in front of the crew?”

Dee rolled his eyes, “I want to be ye first mate.”

Logan paused and turned to look him in the eye, “Are ye plotting a mutiny?”

“ I was born a pirate.”

Logan gave a nod accepting the answer as he stared out at the open water, “Good. I will need ye help the most... Because I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“Become the best captain in history?”

Logan shook his head, “Ye have always been good at dumbing things down to be as simple as ye.”

“I’m not simple. And why isn’t that simple? Yer a Cap’n now.”

“I’d always thought ye’d be the youngest Captain of the age and I’d be one of yer hands... Never thought I’d be given the Serpent’s Song.”

“A ship is earned,” Dee corrected. “And according me father ye earned it. But perhaps if he had waited two years so I could reach ye age, I could’ve done even better.”

“Sure.”

“I know what ye need! After we get that annoying siren off our hands at port, we’ll get ye some proper Captain clothes. The coat, the hat, it all.”

“I’m not a flashy person Dee.”

“Ye don’t have a choice. Ye still look like a hand right now.”

“...Fine.”

~~~~

Hello and welcome back to I have too many AUs, featuring Pirates!

Part One - Part Two

[space-------kid]

can’t keep my hands (off you).

Anime/Manga: One Punch Man Pairing: Garou/fem!Reader  Additional pairing/characters: platonic Metal Bat/fem!Reader, Zenko, mentions of other heroes such as Saitama, Watchdog Man, etc. Genre: Romance, comedy Warning: Absolute silliness. Language – Garou and reader both ate rainbows for breakfast. Dumbassery. Teeth-rotting fluff, maybe? Reader is hella strong like Saitama. Half-assed spice because you’re good at cockblocking Garou despite being low-key thirsty for him. And LOTS of dumbassery from the reader, most probably. Additional tag: Dream-based fic, canon-divergent, Garou is horny af A/N: This is supposed to be a lengthy one-shot, but I’m a dumbass who can’t keep my word so the supposedly one-shot isn’t a one shot anymore.  Now I have to worry how I should properly divide all those parts (I mean, they’re already divided, but--) 😅

Establishing yourself in their world.

Summary: 

Your life had its general ups and downs, pros and cons, the good and the bad.

You were admittedly a coward and afraid of being targeted by people for it. Following the advice of your (best) friend you trained hard, like, FUCKING hard, and now you’re blessedly, utterly strong you can take down enemies with just one hit. A good thing, really. Can’t let any bad guy harass you or something.

But-

You were probably cursed with the biggest, baddest of luck. Not only were monsters chasing you, suddenly there was this fucking hot bastard weirdo who kept on calling himself the Hero Hunter. “I’m not a hero, goddamn it!”

iii. and iv. | v. | [more to be added]

“i can’t keep my

 hands

 off...!”

 - can’t keep my hands off you/simple plan

i.

If anyone who knew you could pick a single word to describe you, it had to be coward.

But it wasn’t like you could blame them, the choice was easily justifiable with how you always seemed to cower whenever a threat - even the smallest - popped out to inconvenience you and disturb the hopefully peaceful life you wanted to live.

You though that having a hero as your best friend would be enough to keep you safe. But considering his busy schedule, you were left with no choice but to fend for yourself.

“You just gotta get strong, ya know!” Badd (aka the one and only Metal Bat) told you countless of times whenever you would run to him, either telling him that some creepy guy was harassing you or a monster was chasing you.

It might have been the ‘what the fuck are you on about?’ look you had given him that day that left you sporting red, aching cheeks for the remainder of the afternoon, Badd having pinched and squished them - so hard you actually cried - for having the gall to non-verbally question him.

Fearing for the safety of your cheeks (Badd might pull your ears next, something you couldn’t afford to experience), you followed his advice.

Day after day you would lift weights, do some core exercises. You even went as far as to following some guy in a blue tracksuit’s training regime (he saw you training, you asked him on a whim on how to be strong, he nonchalantly answered your question) which consisted of doing a hundred push-ups, sit-ups, squats, and a 10-kilometer run every day. It was gruelling enough, and most of the times you would only find yourself waking up to Zenko’s glare, the girl telling you how Badd found you unconscious somewhere around the city.

“Are you trying to kill yourself?” Badd asked you one day, brows pinched with concern when you woke up in his arms.

Huh. You must’ve passed out again while working out.

“You told me to get strong, stupiiiiiiid,” you whined pathetically, hitting him on the face and chest with a trembling hand.

The recently minted S-Class hero snorted at your weak and pathetic display of attempted violence. “Yeah, I did. But I didn’t tell ya to train ‘til you’re on death’s door.”

You threw your head backwards dramatically, exposing your neck and making Badd drop you when he got an eyeful of the tops of your sports bra.

“Ow! Bat, what the heck!?”

“I can see your- y-your- ew! I need to wash my fuckin’ eyeballs! And why are you even wearing those in the first place when you don’t have any boobs?”

“I will fucking murder you in your sleep, Badd!”

You ended up in his arms again, only because you fainted once more due to exhaustion.

But you continued with your training nonetheless, slowly building up both stamina and strength to the point where you could finally make it home and collapse on your own bed after a long day of hard work.

Your parents were worried at how far you were pushing yourself, but they never stopped you when – for the first time in your life – you insisted that you had to do this for your own betterment. Never had they seen you so determined, your eyes still filled with fear but were now mixed with the fires of fortitude, and the way you settled the discussion made them relent. But that didn’t mean that they would stop worrying for you, often pleading for Badd to look after you whenever he could. Your parents might always be busy and far from home most of the times due to their jobs, but you (Badd and Zenko included) were always in their heart and mind.

For a year and a half, your training had been one of your constants.

You bawled like a kid the first time you punched some weird mushroom monster into oblivion - its legs the only evident of its existence after that one hit - because finally, your hellish (to you, anyway) training finally paid off!

Badd had hugged you and cried a little, telling you how proud he was of your achievement and how you could finally be strong enough to look more effectively after yourself. Being an S-Class had demanded more time from him and you couldn’t exactly come running to him every time you find yourself in a pinch. Aside from being a hero, his greatest priority was his precious little sister, and you would never have the heart to take away Zenko’s onii-chan from her.

“So, [Name]. Wanna be a pro-hero?” Badd asked you one night when you were out eating ramen with him and Zenko. “You’re pretty strong now, and you can take on monsters on your own. Man, I haven’t even seen you pummel one, now that I mentioned it!” he added, looking at you excitedly.

Your ears turned red from embarrassment at being praised. “I’m really not... at least not on your level. The monsters I meet by accident were all weak, thank god for that,” you replied. You returned his gaze, eyes narrow, and clicked your chopsticks at him. “And nope, I don’t wanna. Why would I want to be a hero? Why would I actively seek out those that I try to avoid at all costs?”

Zenko, who was seated between you and Badd, shot you a questioning look.

“Why did you get strong, then, [Name]-san?” she asked.

You chewed on your bottom lip, gaze zeroing on the steaming bowl of ramen in front of you. You could feel the siblings’ eyes on you and you flushed a bright shade of red under their scrutiny.

“Well, I did because I’m scared of monsters,” you replied. “What if there’s no hero nearby to help me when a monster appeared? I don’t wanna get eaten, you know, or worse-” here, your voice turned hysterical and caught a few fellow customers’ attention “-get killed and have some creepy, gross monster do lewd things to my body!”

“Eh? Lewd?”

A flustered Badd covered Zenko’s ears a little too late and made her turn her gaze away from your disgusted and scared expression.

“No, no, don’t bother with that, Zenko,” said the S-Class, eye twitching at the insinuation of your words. “Just eat your ramen while it’s hot.”

“But I was asking [Name]-san a question-”

“Just eat your ramen,” Badd gently pressed his sister who rolled her eyes in return.

“Teenagers,” the little girl huffed exasperatedly.

Nevertheless, Badd kept on asking you if you wanted to be like him. He would tell you the privileges you could get as a hero, not to mention the salary you would be earning. You, on the other hand, would never get tired of telling him no. As if a coward like you would actively fight monsters as a job. You were better off staying as a civilian, no matter how strong you finally had been.

You just weren’t cut out for that hero gig.

---

ii.

Yeah, you trained to get strong so you could defend yourself from monsters and creepy people who would harass anyone they fancied. And like you told Badd time and again, you would never be a hero. 

But you wouldn’t deny the fact that helping others when there weren’t heroes around would put a huge smile on your face and a fuzzy, warm feeling in your chest.

Growing up, your parents taught you that helping other people didn’t need a licence or a title. One just needed to have the drive and compassion to do so, lending your hand not because you’re a hero but because you’re a decent human being.

And wasn’t that what capable people should do regardless of their job or title?

However, helping people required courage - and you were sorely lacking on that department.

And truth be told, your aid would always be purely accidental. Well, more like your fight or flight instincts have switched your mind into autopilot whenever monsters come crashing wherever you were.

A monster resembling a humanoid iguana showing up in the shopping district while you were out buying groceries? Fight. You had kicked its head off its shoulders because its long tongue freaked you out.

Some giant and evil sentient tree started terrorizing the children at the park you usually frequented? Fight. You punched it to kingdom come when you felt some of its vines trying to creep up your shirt.

A weird humanoid octopus, harassing the ladies at a spa you once visited? Fight. What was left of the monster was a bloody smear on the walls after you’re through with him.

And perhaps your favorite was an honest-to-god giant fire-breathing worm which threatened to destroy the forest you had camped on when you felt like leaving the city for a few days. F i g h t. You blinked back into awareness bathed in the purple blood of the monster, its remains scattered as far as your gaze could reach.

The worst (or best?) part was that you were unaware of how you defeated them - your only confirmation that you yourself had beaten the monsters were from eyewitnesses themselves. People would ask you if you were a newbie from the Hero Association, and you would immediately shake your head no.

You even received an invitation from the Association itself to join their ranks, to which you gave an easy “nope!” as your reply.

Your main concern, however, was not H. A.’s incessant invitations for you to become a hero.

Alarmed at how you would seemingly black out before facing any monster who would disrupt your relatively peaceful life, you sat on your bed and put your head on your hands.

Was it really a fight or flight instinct that guided you during those moments, or was it just plain fight, your mind blanking out and your body moving on its own accord while you finish off any monster that came to your path? 

What controls your body during those moments? Instinct? The primal urge to survive?

But how come you couldn’t remember even just a single moment of the fight?

You rubbed your face with your hands and nodded to yourself. Of course you remembered something. That fleeting moment of feeling fear grip the entirety of your existence, when thoughts of surviving another day no longer filled your mind as a monster turned its malevolent gaze on you. The feeling of wanting to throw up your swiftly beating heart out of your own seizing throat, and you breaking out into a cold sweat. Your hand closing into a fist for a punch or lifting a foot to deliver either a stomp or a kick in a hopeless attempt to defend yourself.

And then your world would turn black.

And always, automatically, you would return to awareness once your auto-piloted mind deemed the monster for the day well and truly dead.

Looking back on the times you were still a weakling, you had never experienced undergoing a fight or flight instinct as odd as what you were having now. If it had always been flight for you before, the former now seemed to overcompensate for your spinelessness now that you have gained more than enough physical strength to back it up.

(If you had come across a certain Dr. Genus and he had come to witness your power, he would go as far as to claiming that you were the second person he met to have removed their limiter.)

(And if you would ask him if it had affected your fight or flight instinct, he would have said yes: your instinct to flee had been erased by your instinct to fight, and your id would not stop until it had the pleasure of witnessing your assailants’ death.)

You disliked fighting, you were too cowardly to face it, even. And while being strong had given you a little reassurance that you could now go outside of your house without having the need to get Badd check up on you for your safety every now and again, you still avoided getting attention to yourself either from creepy guys or monsters. A huge scaredy-cat at heart, you kept your head as low as you could muster.

There was, however, one thing you seemed to be forgetting, something you seemed to have been born with and you wanted to live without.

You were the human equivalent of a magnet for the biggest and baddest of luck.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

And so you spend your days being chased by monsters, blacking out as your fight instinct took over, and wake up somewhat drenched in monster blood.

Man, when would heaven give you a break?

---

to be continued

[chemicalmagecraft]

A Black Wind Howls Chapter 3: The Fight

A/N: I hate finals and am glad that I'm done with them. Merry Christmas and happy holidays, everyone!

By the way, if you haven't noticed by now I decided to give all the chapters titles. A chapter that follows the events of an original ATLA name will share its title, but original chapters will have original names.

Also, in case anyone was curious, my mental image of Lhamo is that she looks and sounds like Scorpia from She-Ra and the Princesses of Power, except not a scorpion and with black hair. Meanwhile, I may or may not have thought of Old Toph from TLoK a little when writing Tsering. To be honest, though, I don't really have any one character to point to for Dorji, aside from the in-universe comparison between her and Aang (though it might be more accurate to say she looks like a mix between Toph and Aang, just nobody's seen Toph yet and therefore cannot make that comparison). As for personality, according to TVTropes she might be described as a Rei Ayanami Expy, though I haven't seen Neon Genesis Evangelion so I can't say for sure if that's the best comparison. And just a little fun fact, despite being currently the shortest member of the Gaang (roughly 3'11, and I found a thing that says that Aang is 4'6, Katara is 4'9, and Sokka is 4'11, though it wasn't exactly official so it might be slightly off) she is the second oldest, being a few months older than Katara. Assuming you count Aang as 12 and not 112.

oOoOo

Previously on Avatar...

The firebender that the girl had hit shakily got back up and punched at the airbender's back. Only a puff of smoke came from his fist.

"My name is Dorji. I'm an airbender."

"The power of airbending may have survived through my family line, but unfortunately the spirit of the Air Nomads lives on only through you." Aang winced at that comment.

"Should you really be stealing moon peaches?" Aang asked her in a slightly accusatory tone.

Dorji shrugged. "Not stealing."

Lhamo gasped and hugged the three. "Dorji has friends her age!"

"Is that you, Tsering?" Aang asked.

Tsering grimaced. "I survived."

At some point Katara had shifted in her sleep, ending up with her arm hooked around Dorji's waist. Judging from the red glow dusting her cheeks and ears Dorji had some very conflicting feelings about this. "Shiiiiit..." she muttered softly.

Aang simply couldn't sleep.

oOoOo

Aang and Dorji, both very tired, grunted at each other sleepily when they met in the hall, both rubbing their eyes. "Couldn't sleep?" Aang asked.

"Couldn't sleep..." Dorji nodded after a few moments, like she hadn't heard Aang at first. While Aang had fully opened his eyes, Dorji's were still half-closed drowsily.

"I kinda stayed up all night thinking. You?"

Dorji's cheeks turned a nice shade of pink. "...Also thinking." After a silence that could have been either her insomnia-addled brain trying to think or just her having dozed off for a bit she said, "Actually could you please put your hand on my stomach?"

"What? Why?" Aang asked.

Dorji's blush returned. "I'm... curious about something."

"Oookay..." Aang looked at her weird, but carefully placed his hand on her stomach. "Why?"

Dorji grabbed Aang's arm and twirled around so that his arm ended up hooked around her waist. "Hmm... Nothing..." she muttered as she leaned on Aang's shoulder.

"What are you doing?" Aang asked.

Dorji released his arm and started walking away. "Checking something." She sniffed the air. "Smells like Lhamo made breakfast. Let's go." She walked away before Aang could ask her more questions. Aang sighed and followed her down the hall.

"Hey, Lhamo," Dorji muttered when she walked into the dining room, turning her head slightly to face her cousin who was currently placing food on the table. Katara and Sokka were seated at the table, eating.

"Hey, what'sh up!" Sokka said in between chewing. "You two are up late!"

"Sokka, please don't talk with food in your mouth," Katara scolded.

"Itsh sho good, though!"

Lhamo smiled. "Thank you! I made it myself!"

Dorji stared at Sokka, seemingly deep in thought. Sokka swallowed. "Something wrong?" he asked.

Dorji jumped, sailing through the air to land gently on Sokka's lap, causing him to squawk in alarm. She forced his free arm around her waist. "Ew. Weird," she muttered.

"One of us is weird here and it isn't me," Sokka objected. He put down his food and picked Dorji up, placing her in the seat next to him. Dorji started snoring despite sitting up. "She is weirdly light. Is that an airbender thing?"

Lhamo rushed over to Dorji. She placed one hand on her shoulder and the other over her forehead. "Dorji are you okay? Have you been eating well?"

Dorji grunted lazily and touched the thumb of her open hand to her chest and then her chin, then started snoring again.

Lhamo put some food in front of her. "Still, you need to eat."

Dorji made a small noise, but started eating. She made another sign after a few bites of food, then stopped eating.

"Ya gotta eat more, kid," Tsering said as she entered the room. "You're worried about your dad, right?"

Dorji sniffed and nodded after a few moments.

Tsering sighed and sat down next to her, facing her despite the fact that her eyes were closed. "I am too, kid. You have to eat, though. I remember, back when I'd just escaped the massacre, I couldn't bring myself to eat at all. It... wasn't good for my health. Felt like I was floating all the time, nearly passed out a lot. Think I did pass out a few times. Remember dreaming about everything being upside-down or something... Where was I?" Dorji touched her thumb to her forehead. "Right, your father. Honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he busted out of prison and assassinated the Fire Lord or some of his generals, or simply razed their capitol to the ground. He can take care of himself. Now eat."

Dorji nodded and started eating again, ignoring Aang, Katara's bewildered stares from what Tsering had said about her son.

oOoOo

"Goodbye, everyone!" Lhamo said with a wave as Aang, Katara, Sokka, and Dorji boarded Appa. "It was nice meeting you all! Take care of Dorji!"

"Goodbye, Lhamo," Dorji said.

"Thanks for the pie!" Sokka shouted.

"Speaking of pie," Tsering said as she walked into the clearing, followed by a few workers bearing a box, a few sacks, and a few tubes. "I have a few gifts for you all." Despite not moving her hands from where they were clasped behind her back, the packages started floating in bubbles of air and were loaded onto Appa. "One of those is the rest of the pie from last night. Eat it before it goes bad. Those bags contain some of our produce, freshly picked." She smiled and stroked Appa's fur. "I'm sure between the sky bison and the three growing teenagers, you'll need them."

"Thanks!" Aang said. "We'll be sure to use them."

Tsering chuckled. "That's not even the thing I figured you'd like the most. The scroll tubes contain, among other things, copies of genuine Air Nomad scrolls."

Aang's eyes widened. He grabbed one of the tubes, one with the Air Nomad sigil on it, and with shaking hands carefully opened it. He reverentially pulled out a pristine scroll that also had the Air Nomad sigil on it. He unfurled it, revealing instructions for advanced airbending techniques. His eyes welled with tears and he quickly rolled the scroll up and put it back before wiping his eyes. "Y-you..."

The old woman smirked at him. "Figured you'd like that. I may not have been too cut out for the whole monk life, but I'm still an Air Nomad. I decided a while back to preserve as much of Air Nomad culture as I could, hopefully for future generations but at the very least to preserve records of my people." She chuckled. "Made a bit of name for myself in the field of anthropology as a result."

"And you're just giving these to me?" Aang asked.

She shrugged. "As I said, they're copies. I made sure to put the originals in safe hands, so don't worry too much if you lose them."

"What are the other scrolls?" Katara asked.

"I also wrote down some techniques Wangchuck and I made that Dorji might want to refresh herself on. And you might want to learn some of those, Aang." Aang looked a little uncomfortable when she said that. "Just a suggestion, kid. There's also some stuff on Air Nomad culture in there that I thought you might like, plus some recipes in case you want something from home. Aside from that, there are a few scrolls on bending the other elements that I've managed to obtain. Figured that as the Avatar you might have more use for those than me. Unfortunately I wasn't able to get much more than theory for fire and water, especially because Wangchuck never fucking told me where he put his scrolls, but it's better than nothing, huh?" She smiled at Katara. "Plus I figure you might appreciate it too, Katara. You are a waterbender, are you not?"

Katara nodded. "Thank you."

"I also managed to find a scroll on healing with waterbending. It's not anything you can use in a fight but, well..." Tsering rolled up her sleeve, revealing a faded but still slightly visible burn scar. "Let's just say I speak from experience when I say that healers are the kind of thing that are always great to have around. I'll try to find practical waterbending scrolls to get to you."

Katara bowed. "You've already given us a lot. I'll try to work with what you've given me already."

Tsering shrugged. "Don't worry about it, I've got enough connections that I should be able to get you a few scrolls eventually."

"That stuff's cool and all, I guess, but I don't suppose you have anything I can use?" Sokka asked.

She nodded. "Fair enough. It might not be quite your fighting style, but there are also a few scrolls on chi blocking in there. The art was originally developed by nonbenders to give them an edge against benders. Dorji can teach the basics to you, if you want. And finally, I added in a few scrolls on Earth Kingdom Sign Language."

"Is that that weird hand thing Dorji was doing earlier?" Sokka asked.

Dorji winced and Katara glared at Sokka.

Tsering stared at him flatly. "Little rude to phrase it like that, but yeah. It's good for sneaking around because you have to be pretty fucking bad at it to make noise while doing it. And while it's not my place to tell you why, Dorji sometimes prefers talking in it so it'd be for the best if at least one of you learned enough of it to hold a conversation."

"Thank you, Grandmother," Dorji muttered shyly.

"Right, you all should leave now. Goodbye, Dorji and Aang." She waved them off with a smile.

"What about us?" Sokka asked as Appa started to rise.

She shrugged. "Yeah, I suppose you too." Despite being far away from them at this point and not speaking up at all, her voice traveled perfectly to them.

oOoOo

Aang touched Appa down in a large forest clearing so they could rest for the night. He patted Appa on the head before jumping back onto the saddle. "All right, buddy. Let's see what Tsering got you." He was a little woozy from lack of sleep, but hopefully they'd be sleeping soon so he didn't say anything about it.

Dorji jumped off of Appa and pointed at the ground by his side, making a small circle with her pointing finger. A small cloud of dust kicked up where she pointed. "I'll cushion your fall," she offered.

"Thanks!" Sokka said, then jumped down. When he hit the dust cloud his fall slowed and he fell on his ass with a yelp.

"Sorry," Dorji muttered. She moved her hand to the right slightly, and the dust cloud moved to where she was pointing. She widened her circles, causing the dust cloud to grow larger and wider. "This one should be better, hopefully."

Katara jumped. She also lost her balance when she hit the cloud, but Dorji quickly stepped forward and caught her.

"Thank you," Katara said.

"Y-you're welcome," Dorji said, blushing slightly. She immediately let go of her and stepped back a bit.

"Thanks for catching me, too," Sokka deadpanned as he got up.

"You're welcome," Dorji said.

He looked at her flatly.

Dorji tilted her head and blinked. "Was that sarcasm?" she asked.

Sokka sighed. "Yes, that was sarcasm," he said exasperatedly.

"Ah," she said. She looked a little nervous for some reason. "I'm sorry, I... have trouble with detecting tone, sometimes."

Katara glared at Sokka yet again. "How was I supposed to know that!?" Sokka snapped at Katara.

Katara sighed. "Sorry, you do have a point there. Is there anything else we should be aware of, Dorji?"

Dorji eyes widened. She blushed and gave Katara a very appreciative smile. "I... Sometimes I have... problems processing sounds. It's not too bad anymore, I hope anyway, but please be patient if I need you to repeat things," she muttered.

Katara nodded. "Okay. Is that why your grandmother said you sometimes prefer to use sign language?"

She bit her lip. "It's... part of it. I would also prefer if you faced me while speaking to me, for similar reasons. I can read lips, in case I'm having trouble with hearing."

"How do you read lips?" Sokka asked.

"Lots of practice. Start by looking at lips."

Sokka shrugged. "Fair enough."

Aang jumped off of Appa's saddle after putting the bag of apples he was feeding Appa back. "What're you guys talking about?" he asked.

Katara gave Dorji a look, as if asking her if it was okay to tell him. Dorji nodded to her. "Dorji was telling us about how she has a few... issues with hearing."

"Oh, is that what the sign language was for?" he asked.

Dorji nodded. "I can hear, but I have trouble processing sounds sometimes, if that makes sense," she clarified.

Aang nodded. "I remember one of the boys I grew up with, Dema, had an issue like that too." His face fell. "Dema..."

"I apologize," Dorji said.

"For what?"

Dorji fidgeted. "I... brought up a memory. One that must be painful for you."

Aang shook his head. "No, you didn't even know that'd remind me of Dema."

"Would... would you like something to take your mind off of it?" she offered.

"Thanks!" He smiled at her. "What do you have in mind?"

"If you're going to be fighting the Fire Nation, you need combat skills. Traditional airbending may have had martial arts, but they were mostly restricted to evasion, disengaging, and defense," she explained. She unsheathed one of her daggers and swiped it at a tree off to her side, not even breaking her gaze with Aang. A blade of wind rushed from her blade, slicing a deep gash in the ground as it kicked up a large cloud of dust and slicing the tree almost in half vertically when it hit it. "All of that is good, but you might be a bit lacking in your offensive capabilities, decisively ending a fight." She spun her dagger, then sheathed it. "Shall we begin?"

"I don't feel comfortable with that," Aang said nervously.

"Why not?"

Aang clenched his hands, a sour expression on his face. "That's... That's not airbending."

"Um... Aang?" Sokka put his hand on his shoulder. "Maybe..."

Aang forced his hand off. "No. That's not airbending."

"It is, though," Dorji rebutted. "Well, some of the moves I intend to teach you don't need airbending, but for the one I just showed you? Doing it requires you to stream air along a thin surface, like my daggers or your staff. It might be a little hard at first if you haven't done anything like that, but-"

"That's not what I mean!" Aang shouted. "You're doing it all wrong!"

Dorji sighed. "It's not wrong. Just... different. I understand that it might be upsetting to see such a different style from what you're used to, but... it's not wrong."

"It goes against all of airbending culture!" Aang shouted.

"Aang..." Katara said.

Dorji frowned slightly. "I see. You know, I had always been fascinated with grandmother's scrolls and books about the Air Nomads. Part of it was just that reading was... nice... for me, I will admit, but..." She turned away from Aang and walked a few steps away from him. She stood there for a few seconds, then sniffled and wiped her face. When she turned back around her eyes were a little red. "For a while, I wanted to be like them. They were my people, my ancestors. But at the same time, I was always worried a true Air Nomad would despise me, as I am still my father's daughter, and my father was not a traditional Air Nomad. Thank you for confirming it for me. I told you before, the pacifistic monks of the past died out a century ago. I'm not an Air Nomad. I was never an Air Nomad." She touched one of the green highlights of her clothing. "I was born of the Earth Kingdom. I was raised by the Earth Kingdom. Why should I call myself an Air Nomad?"

Aang's face contorted in anger, then softened slightly. "Fine." He turned around and walked away.

"Fine," Dorji echoed. She pulled the two halves of her father's staff from her belt and started walking towards a large rock.

Sokka and Katara sighed at the same time. "I'll talk to Aang, do you want to talk to Dorji?" Sokka asked.

"That sounds good," Katara agreed.

"Cool." Sokka started climbing back onto Appa, struggling a bit. "Let me just... get something... real quick."

While Sokka was doing that, Katara walked over to Dorji. Wielding the two halves of her father's staff like dual swords due to how long they were compared to her, Dorji swung at the rock with one segment. A wide gash appeared in it despite the fact that the staff never made contact with it. She swung with the other segment, creating a second gash. Next she slashed both, deepening and widening both of the gouges she'd made. She quickly put the two halves of the staff together and started twirling it with insane speed. The wind in the area picked up, and dust clouds flowed towards her staff. She jumped back and threw the staff at the boulder. The spinning staff cut cleanly through the boulder, grinding it in half with little resistance. After it was on the other side Dorji held her hand out to it. The staff shot back, pulverizing the upper half to smaller rocks with pure windy force. Dorji caught the staff and swung it, blowing all the rocks and dust away. She used the momentum of the swing to turn around, jabbing the end of the staff a few inches away from Katara's throat. Tears streamed down the shorter girl's face, and her hands were trembling. The air stilled again.

Katara slowly put her hand on Dorji's shoulder. The airbender stiffened a little, but didn't resist. Katara smiled at her and slowly lowered Dorji's staff with her other hand before pulling her in for a hug. Dorji dropped the staff and started sobbing. "W-why?" she asked. Katara let her go, and she rubbed her eyes. "Why can't I go a day without crying?"

Katara sat down on the remaining part of the boulder, which had conveniently been cut and smoothed into a serviceable, if a little tall, bench by Dorji's practice. She patted a spot next to her and smiled at Dorji, inviting her to sit next to her. Dorji hesitated, but slowly sat down. She tilted her head slightly to Katara, staring at her.

"When my mother died... It was hard on all of us. And the first few days were the hardest. But... it does get easier. And I'm sure I speak for Sokka as well as myself when I say that we will both be here for you when you need a shoulder to cry on." She sighed. "And I'd have hoped that I could say the same of Aang, but now I'm not sure..."

Dorji whimpered.

Katara scowled. "To be honest, I didn't think Aang would blow up like that. I mean, he was a little touchy when he saw what happened to his old temple, but I thought that that was just from seeing the remains of someone he knew..."

Dorji winced. "Did I... some of the things I told Aang must have hurt him. I should apologize." She tried to get up, but Katara put her hand on her shoulder.

"Don't. I think he should apologize first. He's hurting, yes, but he has no right to take that out on you."

Dorji leaned on Katara. She didn't say anything else, but Katara hugged her.

oOoOo

Aang sighed. He sat at the edge of a small lake near where they had landed, prodding at the water with some attempts at waterbending. "Maybe I shouldn't have..."

Sokka slapped him on the back of his head, then sat down next to him. "Yeah, you really shouldn't have." His tone was annoyed.

"I'm so-"

Sokka slung his arm around Aang's back, clamping his hand on his shoulder. "No. You're gonna listen. You lost your people and found out the world crumbled after you left. I can't even imagine how horrible that feels. But." He tightened his grip. "If you even begin to think that gives you a right to dump all that out on a girl you just met, who recently lost her father, that's unforgiveable. Imagine if some old friend of that one monk guy you were fond of... Gyatso, I think, came out of nowhere and told you that you weren't fit to be the Avatar, or even an Air Nomad. That's what you just did to Dorji."

Aang sighed. "You're right. I should never have said that. I... I'm sorry."

Sokka patted his shoulder. "I'm not the one you should be apologizing to, buddy. And first... maybe we should talk a bit. You've got a few issues to work out, clearly."

Aang looked down. "I... I miss them."

"Yeah, that's pretty natural. But what made you lash out at Dorji like that?"

He sighed. "I guess... I'm sure she's not trying to, but she always seems to... remind me they're gone. That I was gone for a hundred years, and my people are long gone." He sniffed and rubbed his eyes. "But... I should never have taken it out on her."

Sokka patted his back. "You know, I know I always complained about the lack of meat and everything, but... If you want to make a traditional Air Nomad dish or something, I'd totally be willing to help." He grinned. "And I'm sure Dorji would, too. But first you gotta apologize to her." He pulled out a scroll. "And I have an idea of something you can do for that."

oOoOo

Dorji had fallen asleep, resting with her head on Katara's shoulder. Katara smiled and stroked her hair gently, as not to wake her. Sokka walked up to her, Aang trailing sheepishly behind.

"I hope you're here to apologize," Katara glared at Aang.

Aang shrank back slightly. "Yeah, I... Shouldn't have taken my feelings out on Dorji." He got out from behind Sokka and faced Dorji. "Dorji, I want to apologize to you," he said, raising his voice to try to wake her up. "My suffering was no excuse for what I said to you. And I was wrong, you may be other things, but you are an Air Nomad, too!"

Dorji, perhaps due to her hearing impairment that she had yet to fully explain to the others, did not react at all to this.

"Maybe you should wait until she wakes up, Aang?" Sokka said.

He nodded. "Right, sorry. Should... should we wake her up or..."

Dorji stirred, then sat up and started rubbing her eyes. "Sorry, did someone try to wake me? You'll need to shake me awake, shouting won't work..." She noticed Aang and stiffened slightly. "R-right. Y-you..." She bit her lip.

Aang placed his hand, a loose fist, on his chest and made a small circular motion with it. The sign, as best he understood the EKSL scroll, for 'sorry.' "I'm sorry," he said, as sincere and contrite as possible. "You reminded me of what I've lost, and I couldn't take that and lashed out at you. But that's not an excuse for how I acted towards you. I understand if you don't forgive me. For what it's worth, you are a real airbender." He smiled. "You are airbending culture, as much as I am. And you have every right to call yourself an Air Nomad."

Dorji sniffed. She rubbed her face, but a few tears fell onto her shirt still. "Th-thank you. And... f-for what it's worth... I'm sorry for hurting you, even if it was unintentional. I'll... I'll try to be more mindful of what I say in the future."

Aang smiled at her. "Thanks. If you want, you could show me that one airbending move. I don't think I'll ever use it on a person, but if I need to cut down a lot of trees really fast I could use it for that?"

She smiled slightly. "Actually... I think I know another move that my grandmother made that might... suit your tastes slightly better. When used on a trained warrior, especially a firebender due to how firebenders train their lungs, it will never cause any lasting damage. And at the same time, it will temporarily disable the person you use it on, especially if they are a firebender."

Aang hugged her. "That sounds great! And later, I can show you some airbending moves of my own!"

Dorji backed up nodded when Aang released her. "I'd like that. But first..." She got into a fighting stance and took a deep breath. "The best way to explain this is with a demonstration. And the best way for you to learn how to do it is to experience it yourself. But I will not do it without your permission, as it can feel... unpleasant."

"Um, is this a good idea?" Sokka asked.

Aang nodded. "Do it. Is there anything I should be paying attention to?"

"Your breath." In a blur, Dorji was suddenly standing inches away from Aang. She paused for just long enough for Aang to focus on her, a rush of wind punctuating her stop, then jabbed him in the solar plexus with two fingers. The amount of force she put into the physical movement was negligible, but Aang still toppled backwards as he felt his lungs empty against his will. He struggled on the ground for a few seconds, finding it hard to regain his stolen breath. Eventually he coughed and shakily took the hand that Dorji had offered him at some point.

"Are you okay, Aang?" Katara asked.

"Gimme... a minute..." he said between pants, a pained grimace on his face as his breathing slowly returned to normal.

"Sorry, I should've mentioned it can be... unpleasant." Dorji said, taking a few steps away from Aang and the others. She looked nervous again.

"No, it's fine," Aang assured her. He chuckled. "I probably should've guessed it wouldn't feel too good, anyway. Still, I can see what you were getting at. And you're sure it doesn't hurt people you use it on?"

She nodded. "Unless you use it on the same person multiple times in a row without letting them breathe, or use it on someone with weak lungs. But a trained soldier should be fine, and the technique will let you take them out of a fight for a few seconds at least, as well as open them up to a finishing move. And most notably, it temporarily disables firebending."

"It disables firebending!?" Sokka parroted, incredulous.

Dorji nodded. "Grandmother made the technique with some principals involved in chi blocking, after performing some... research on firebending." She breathed deeply, in and out, and when she exhaled her breath was very warm. "In fact, she learned that the breathing techniques the Air Nomads used to keep themselves warm in even the coldest of weather were originally based on knowledge given to them by firebenders. Firebending does not come from muscles, but rather the breath. So a technique that disrupts a firebender's ability to breathe..."

"Also disrupts firebending," Sokka finished. "That's... that's amazing!"

"It only lasts a minute or so at best, but it will still throw a firebender off," Dorji continued explaining. "And a master of it can do it from a distance, or even without moving at all, or at least my father and grandmother can. If you need more guidance to learn it, Aang, ask me. But..." Dorji turned to Sokka. "Perhaps you would like to learn chi blocking? You seemed pleased with the concept of disrupting firebending. And it can do more than just disable bending for a few seconds."

He grinned. "That sounds awesome!"

She nodded. "Then let us begin." She collapsed, but still somehow managed to hit the ground lightly. "Tomorrow. I'm tired." She closed her eyes, already asleep.

[keelywolfe]

FIC: In a Twinkling (baon, 12 days of Cheer)

Note:  For the 12 Days of Cheer!

Day #5: Decorations

Notes:  This one is Kustard for a change of pace and I don’t think the word ‘cheer’ quite applies. Melancholy would be more appropriate and a reminder that growing up in Underfell didn’t make for much of a childhood. A little citrusy at the end. 

Tags: Kustard, Alcohol Usage, Hurt/Comfort, Growing up in Underfell sucks

Read it on AO3

or

Read it here!

~~*~~

Red’s front door was almost always locked; wasn’t much point in ever unlocking it, not when the two main occupants of the place didn’t need to use it. Sometimes Sans wondered if being able to shortcut was robbing him of a prime opportunity to gauge his relationship with Red, cause seriously, why bother giving him a key?

Thinking about that too long would give him indigestion in the guts he didn’t have and maybe he should take the fact that Red didn’t shove a bone through his socket whenever he shortcutted in as a sign of...well, something, anyway.

He always stuck to the doormat when he shortcutted in, not because he cared about tracking in anything on Red’s already dubious carpet but because it made it easier to find his damn shoes when they weren’t buried in whatever wreckage Red had scattered around. Today was about the same as any, bare walls except for the occasional hole through the drywall, a coffee table that was probably scrounged from the side of the road, covered in dirty dishes and fast food wrappers. It was sat in front of a swayback sofa that was currently occupied by everyone who actually lived in this shithole. Namely, Red and his damn cat.

Red didn’t even look at him. His head was tipped back on the sofa arm, his sockets closed, but only an idiot would think he was asleep. Sans might be a fool and proved it every time he came here, but idiot was a title he hadn’t earned. Not yet, anyway.

“nice to see you’ve done up the place for the holiday,” Sans said, prying off one of his snowy shoes with the toes of his other foot. He kicked it off, repeating the process on the other side even as he hissed at the cold against his bare bones. “they got those charlie brown trees on clearance down at the pharmacy in town.”

“don’ need a fucking tree.”

That made Sans hesitate. The way Red’s words slurred together was telling, a slurry of consonants in search of a vowel. That damn cat was sitting curled into a loaf on Red’s lap, purring rustily. Red could call it any name he liked, but in Sans’s mind it would always be that damn cat. Had its motor running pretty good right now, Sans could hear it purring from way over here.The cat opened one yellow eye, glaring at him balefully, daring him to try to unseat it.

Yeah, it was way too early to try anything like that. If this was gonna end without broken furniture, then Red would push the cat off his lap himself, and if it wasn’t, eh, Sans was fine with having a furry little hostage sitting between them. Gave him a few more seconds to dodge.

He sat on the opposite side of the sofa instead, sprawling out so his foot barely touched Red’s ankle. Not to play footsie, nah, he didn’t try any fancy footwork. But he left it there, like a conduit between them as he asked lightly, “not one of santa’s biggest fans, huh.”

Red snorted loudly. He shifted, rummaging next to him and pulled out a whiskey bottle from the couch cushions like a magician pulling a rabbit from a hat. The loud sloshing was a warning of an awful lot of empty space in it. “never met the guy. only nobles got to have a gyftmas in underfell. ain’t much point for anyone else. when you don’t got any food or a bed, you ain’t putting up lights.” He took a long pull off the bottle and Sans could see the flow of it underneath his jaw, guzzled so fast that a few drops splashed down before his magic could incorporate it.

He lifted the bottle in offering to Sans and he took it, but only drank a small swallow. What he wanted more was to keep the bottle until Red demanded it back. Could be immediately, sometimes it was. This time, Red only slumped back against the sofa arm again, gazing pensively up at the ceiling. “but there was this one time…”

His hand never paused in its stroking, the damn cat purring so loudly Sans had to strain to hear Red. “we were still living in new home in those days, mostly. back then, we didn’t go any further than hotland and paps hated that place, whined and bitched so much i usually went there alone. so we hung around town together, kept in the alleys and shit.” Red blinked slowly, once, and the soft diffusion of his eye lights seemed less from the booze than memory taking over. “this’s before we found the dump, even. shit got a little better, then. less havin’ to steal and more’n sellin’ the junk i could fix up. i ain’t no engineer but i don’t do too bad--”

It was damn hard not to prompt him to go back to ‘this one time’, but Sans was afraid to speak. One word and he might break the spell, get this memory stuffed back into the overflowing closet of Red’s mind, and he’d bet hard G that Red would never bring this up again, no matter how much he drank. He sat, statue-still, listening to Red ramble and the damn cat’s engine revving until he thought he’d lose his mind. He almost missed it when Red did wander back, words slipping over his drifting thoughts until they jolted him back.

“it was cold that day and i left paps bundled up with all the blankets in one of our better hidey holes. figured i’d try to find us somethin’ to eat. most places threw away at least some food at the end of the night, and if ya were quick enough, you could get your share. i was on the main walkway, didn’t usually use it, but it was so damn cold even the beggars were takin’ the night off. and that’s when i walked past it. muffet’s bakery.” He sounded dreamy and far away, lost in the cloudy memories of childhood. “she had these lights up. i’d never seen anythin like ‘em before, tiny and twinkling, like stars are supposed t’ be. they’d painted the front window to look like snowflakes were fallin, only any snow i’d seen never looked like that, big snowflakes with patterns i never dreamed of. and right up front in these trays were piles and piles of gingerbread cookies. every one of ‘em was decorated different, weren’t two alike in the whole pile and there musta been a hundred, two hundred of those fuckin things, sitting there behind the glass and fake snowflakes. i thought i could even smell ‘em, was drooling on my damn shoes, lookin’ at those things.”

“what did you do?” Sans’s voice sounded strange, too loud, wrong in the midst of the past.

It was enough to yank Red back to the present. He snorted loudly, slanting Sans a look. “what the fuck could i do? i threw a fucking brick thru the window, grabbed some cookies, and ran.” He sank back again, scratching the cat under its chin maybe a little too hard, but it only purred on. “wasn’t worth it; we were on the move for weeks after that, couldn’t hardly stop to sleep. muffet almost got paps once, and after that, i took him to waterfall. wasn’t worth it.”

He trailed off moodily, staring empty-eyed at the ceiling, but Sans wasn’t entirely convinced, thinking back on a coupla faded memories of his own. “how did they taste?”

That got him a startled look. “what?”

“the cookies. how did they taste?”

Red’s mouth worked for a moment, sharp teeth gnashing, and here was the part where he might say something awful, that volcano of anger in his soul would erupt. He’d spew out a lava flow of bitterness and cruelty, and Sans’s would have to decide if he was going to take it or if he was gonna hang up his hoodie for the night.

Instead, Red threw back his head and laughed, his entire body quaking with it. “they were the best fucking cookies i ever ate!”

That thrashing laughter was enough for the cat. He hopped off Red’s lap, giving both of them a snooty look before wandering off to see if any kind elf left him some tuna in his dish. An empty lap was a terrible thing to waste and Sans crawled into Red’s, straddling him.

“know somethin?” Sans murmured, draping both arms around Red’s neck. Hands settled on his hips, fingertips pricking sharp even through his shorts. “sounds to me like you just need some better experiences with decorations.”

Later, when he was riding Red and trying to keep his balance with both hands tied behind his back with a shiny strand of garland, Sans was the one snarling and swearing. The Santa hat perched crookedly on his skull was making him sweat, his knees were aching, and Red only lay there, grinning up at him and letting him do all the damn work.

“come on, harder,” Sans panted, “get your elf on my shelf.”

Red laughed, rough and gleeful, and he wasn’t thinking of any awfulness from the dregs of childhood when he panted out, “that don’t even make any fucking sense!”

“harder!” Sans snapped, and the glitter in Red’s eye lights as he did, bright and fierce and wild, was better than any shitty light on any tree.

-finis-

[kyukun]

Kokichi Ouma: Shirt thief (OumaSai)

thanks for the request anon! i decided to do number 26 so i hope you enjoy

prompt list

prompt: 26 -“No, like…its just, i can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.”

title: Kokichi Ouma: Shirt thief

summary:  Kokichi is left home alone while Shuichi is at work. He finds out that he’d miss the detective a lot more than he would have thought.

word count: 1704

~~ prompt starts after cut! ~~ 

Kokichi sighed to himself, throwing his small body across the queen sized mattress. His violet eyes stared at the empty ceiling above him, a mixture of boredom and contempt taking over him. You see, Kokichi was the type of person to love exciting things. He absolutely loved when things gave him adrenaline or made him think. He considered himself quite the thinker, and a thinker like himself needed lots of intellectual stimulation. 

Thusly, why he was in fact, dying of absolute boredom. He had no entertainment. Usually, he’d bug his boyfriend in order to keep himself busy but there was an issue with that. His boyfriend was at work. Ah yes, his lovely detective boyfriend Shuichi Saihara, was at work. The seemingly long and aggravating days he went to work were often too much for Kokichi who often grew rather lonely without someone to incessantly tease with his love and affection. Sure, he could text one of his mutual friends to bother but they weren’t as fun as Shuichi was. 

Now here he was, laying with his back to the mattress, dull eyes glaring at the ceiling desperately trying to find something to do. Kokichi let out another long sigh, his eyes closing briefly into a crescent like shape. He decided he’d just think for a bit since he had nothing better to do. With his arms and legs spread like a starfish on a rock, he reopened his eyes as they drifted towards a picture frame beside their bed. A warm smile crossed his lips as memories flooded his mind back to when they had taken that photo. The photo was of Shuichi and Kokichi on their first date. Shuichi had his arm awkwardly wrapped around Kokichi’s waist while the shorter male had a grin on his face, holding up two peace signs.

He thought back to their first date at the carnival and how cute Shuichi was. That day, Shuichi was beyond flustered with pretty much the simplest of gestures. Kokichi remembered when he and Shuichi had shared their first kiss there and how shocked and embarrassed he was. They shared their kiss at the ferris wheel, which was probably the most memorable thing out of the entire date. Kokichi had convinced him to join him on the ferris wheel as a last ride of the trip sort of thing to help calm things over. They chatted and talked about how much they really enjoyed one another’s company, which was really domestic and sweet. Kokichi never had intended to kiss Shuichi on the first date, or at the top of the ferris wheel but these things happen naturally. They weren’t things you could really plan. 

Once they both had reached the top, Kokichi could still, even know, remember how beautiful he looked when his eyes flickered down towards the fairgrounds. His eyes shone so brightly, brighter than he’s ever seen them. His face glowed with the fluorescent lights beneath them, hitting his face so well. And in the heat of the moment, without even thinking, he leaned over to Shuichi and placed a longing kiss on his lips. Shuichi was practically frozen while they remained at the top, even having Kokichi shake him a bit after they kissed. Afterwards, Shuichi had asked him several times to pinch him to make sure he wasn’t dreaming. Kokichi knew then and there that Shuichi was the only one for him. 

The picture had such huge significance to them both. As for who had taken the picture, Kokichi wanted to have something to commemorate their success of a date and asked a random person to take the picture. Thankfully, the stranger was nice and did so without further questions or comments. A wave of heat flushed through his cheeks as he recalled the memory. Great, now he actually missed Shuichi. Though, today wouldn’t have been exactly the first time. As much as he liked the fact that he found a career he really enjoys doing, he couldn’t help but feel sad knowing that now he doesn’t get to spend as much time with him as he would’ve liked. Kokichi sat up with his arms folded over his thighs. 

He shifted his gaze towards their closet, scanning over the closed doors from across the room. With a nervous bite of his lip, he jumped down from the bed and made his way across the room towards the closet. 

His slender fingers pulled apart Shuichi’s side of the closet. They soon had made their way to touch the fabrics, gently grazing over each item. Shuichi’s wardrobe mostly consisted of formal wear and not many casual clothes. Kokichi has endlessly bugged him on and on about buying more casual wear but to no avail. He’s constantly stated how good he looked in just a pair of jeans and a regular graphic tee but he gets the same answer every time. 

“No.”

Every. Time.

But, even though Kokichi is well aware of this, he does know that he owns a few band t-shirts. For what reason? He had no clue. All he knew was that Shuichi wore one to bed last night while he clumsily tucked himself into bed. The poor boy had to stay up for work related business a few extra hours and didn’t go to bed until around three. He figured Shuichi thought he was asleep and not wide awake since he still had said band t-shirt on when felt him climb into bed beside him. Regardless of that, he moved his hand down towards the hamper just beneath Shuichi’s clothes. He reached down, scouring through a few dirty clothes until finding the item he had been searching for.

He brought the shirt to his face, giving it a good inhale before moving it away from his nose. It smelled so good. It smelled like Shuichi. It smelled like home. Kokichi gently placed the shirt at the side of the hamper as he took off his own shirt. His pale and fragile body grew cold without the warmth of his shirt. He threw his own clothing into the hamper, replacing it with a slightly oversized shirt. The shirt was a black color (as expected,) and had a skeleton with what seemed like a marching band hat on top of it. The bottom had grungy text and what seemed to be the band’s name in the same font. 

“My Chemical Romance.”

My Chemical Romance? What and who was that? He didn’t know. All he cared about was the fact that it was Shuichi’s. His tiny fingers gripped the fabric tightly, his fingers almost turning red in color from the intense grip he had. His eyes stung lightly as tears made their way towards his eyes. He shook his head. No, he shouldn’t be feeling this way. He should be thrilled Shuichi finally has a career he loves and looks forward to. Despite all of that, his chest hurt. It hurt. He fucking missed Shuichi so much. Even though he was only gone for a few hours, those hours felt like days. He hated that he was being clingy but a part of him was worried that he would overwork himself and grow ill or worse, they split up due to him being too invested into his work. 

Being too busy over-thinking, Kokichi hadn’t noticed the door to their bedroom door open. It was until he heard a gentle knock on the door where he had came back to the surface. Kokichi’s head snapped towards the sound, it took a minute to realize who it was and what he wearing before he completely turned into a blushing mess. He didn’t expect him to come home so early. Shuichi blinked in slight confusion as he scampered off towards their bed, covering himself with the sheets. “W-what are you doing here so early?! I thought you were coming at nine!" 

"Mr. Tanaka let me out early… I’m sorry, am I missing something? Why do you look so shocked that I’m here?”

Shuichi inched closer, causing Kokichi to sink himself further into the corner. “I-I’m not! It’s just so out of the blue and-!”

“Why are you hiding? You’re usually hugging me the minute I come home. Are you feeling okay?” This was bad. The detective, who was now sitting on the bed, moved his hands closer to Kokichi. He gently removed the blanket which sheltered Kokichi, not saying anything before realizing what he was hiding. Kokichi crossed his arms, giving an embarrassed huff as he avoided eye contact with the detective. “Great. Now you caught me, go ahead, make fun of me.”

“Kokichi I… Are you… wearing my clothes?”

“Y-yeah. So what? Look, I was just making sure they were still wearable and comfy. I swear I had no other intentions, that was all I was doing. There, now you know the truth so don’t get angry.” Shuichi’s eyes softened at the sight in front of him. The tiny male was cornered but all he could resort to was lie. His arms crossed over his chest and his head was hung low, staring down at the ruffled sheets below him. “No, like… it’s just, I can’t believe you’re actually wearing my clothes.” He let out a low giggle, which seemed to push Kokichi’s embarrassment further. Kokichi could feel his heart about ready to explode. Even though he knew Shuichi would never blackmail him, he knew that he’d hold this above his head for a while and constantly remind him.

"I’m not… It wasn’t because I missed you or anything, it’s like I told you. I was just checking to make sure Shumai’s clothes were comfortable.”

“And are they?” Shuichi pulled the liar closer, embracing the body in his arms tightly. Kokichi could still feel the heat on his cheeks as he buried his face inside of Shuichi’s chest, unable to look at him in the eyes. “They are. But Saihara-chan is more comfortable.” Kokichi smiled warmly, wrapping his hands around his waist. He could deny it all he wanted, but what he couldn't deny was the warmth Shuichi gave him. It was only then did he realize that this warmth was made only for him, and nothing would take that away.