#some other things happen in the distortion world too and if it weren’t for your (also children) friends and the champion

[lyricalchrysanthemum]

Never mind I’m not done making stuff about Sinnoh trio. Thinking about Barry nonstop

[capuccinodoll]

The boyfriend act, part 5: "The one with the red lights" Pairing: Frankie Morales x F!reader SERIES MASTERLIST

Chapter summary: Despite your reluctance, you find yourself at Santi’s house for dinner. But Frankie presses too hard, pulling things out of you that you’d rather keep buried—until all that’s left is the worst version of yourself. WC: 10.1k

A/N: Hope you enjoy this one 🤍 and don't forget to let me know what you think! I looove reading your comments <3 If you want to be in the tag list, let me know. Don't forget to follow capuccinodollupdates for notifications!

The white ceiling stretched above you, blank and unfeeling, while your mind filled in the emptiness with shapes that weren’t really there. Faces, maybe. Or memories, distorted at the edges. You knew you were indulging in unnecessary pessimism, but you let yourself sink into it anyway. Surely you were entitled to a day like this every once in a while—one where grief sat heavy on your chest and refused to move. Unfortunately, your timing couldn’t have been worse. Not that you had chosen it; no one ever does. You don’t get to decide when your heart shatters for the second time, or when the pieces that were already broken fracture further, splintering into something even smaller, even harder to hold.

The day before, Frankie had left without much ceremony, tossing out a casual see you tomorrow as he passed you. You hadn’t answered. You’d been too consumed, too wrapped up in your own head, and he hadn’t pressed you on it. Just walked out the door like it was any other day. After that, the ghost of him lingered in the space he’d occupied, his scent still woven into the fabric of the couch where he’d slept. You hated it. Hated that it made your stomach twist, that it pulled you toward something you didn’t want to name. You forced yourself upright, inhaling sharply as if that could steady you.

Because, really, what was it about him? What had changed? He’d always made you uneasy—before, because you were simply too different, two puzzle pieces that would never click together. And now… now it was something else. Something worse. It had to do with the way he looked at you, the way he seemed to understand exactly what was happening inside your head without you having to say a word. As if he could see right through you, past all the sharp edges you put up to keep people from doing exactly that. And that wasn’t good. That wasn’t good at all. Because the last person you wanted to be understood by was Francisco. The person who irritated you most, who had always known exactly how to push your buttons. And now, somehow, he had figured out where your soft spots were too.

And after he left, you did your best to pull yourself together. You pushed yourself up from the couch, stretching limbs that felt heavier than they should, and searched for something to fill the space. A book, a movie—something to quiet the restless ache in your chest. But nothing worked. The feeling stayed, creeping up the way it always did, slow and insidious, like ink bleeding through paper. A dull, familiar ache, resurfacing in waves, catching you off guard just when you thought you’d distracted yourself enough to forget.  

Eventually, you gave up. Skipped dinner, still drained from friday’s birthday and the weight of everything you were carrying. You crawled into bed early, exhaustion settling into your bones, hoping—without much conviction—that sleep would make things better. That maybe sunday would arrive with something softer, something easier to hold.

And now, it was sunday, and you had promised yourself—firmly, resolutely—that you wouldn’t do this again. That you wouldn’t let yourself spiral down this particular rabbit hole. But somehow, your phone was already in your hand, your thumb moving over the screen with quiet urgency, scanning for details, for scraps of information, anything that might offer some insight into this world that was no longer yours. That had never truly been yours to begin with.

Harry.

Harry looked happy, the kind of happiness that came easily to people who knew exactly where they were going. His profile was filled with snapshots of motion, of departure, of a life that never stayed still—deep blue lakes, endless seas, rivers cutting through valleys, mountains rising against wide open skies. He had always loved to travel. He had asked you to go with him, more than once, throwing out invitations like they were simple, effortless things. But you had always said no. Too much to do. The bookstore, your finances, some minor health concern—a cold, a flu, a vague sense of exhaustion that never seemed to lift.

Now, Harry traveled with Lisa. They stood together in front of massive cliffs, on balconies bathed in golden light. She fit so easily into the spaces you never stepped into, the spaces you had let slip through your fingers. In one photo, a caption read:

"I would recognize you in the dark. Always you. There I belong."

The words blurred almost instantly. Your vision swam, the sting of tears creeping in before you could stop them. You set the phone down beside you, face down on the mattress, as if that could somehow soften the blow. Then you pulled the covers over your head, curling into yourself, as if hiding could protect you from any of this. As if it could make any of it hurt less.

Then your phone vibrated, the screen lighting up with a new notification.

Santi: Be here at seven. I got that cake you’re obsessed with, so don’t even think about bailing.

A grimace—something between a smirk and a scowl—tugged at the corner of your mouth as your fingers hovered over the keyboard. Then you typed:

You: Eat it yourself.

Silence. Then the three little dots appeared, pulsing like a tiny, judgmental heartbeat.

You let out a sharp exhale, tilting your head back against the pillow.

Santi: No

Santi: Don’t make me come drag you here

Santi: Consider yourself warned

His reply came almost instantly. He’d been expecting this.

You: I look terrible dude I’ll see you another day

You: Tell Yov I’m sorry

Santi: Too late, she’s already setting everything up 

You shut your eyes and pressed the phone against your chest, as if that might somehow shield you from the conversation happening in real time.

You: I’m serious

You locked your phone and let it drop onto the bed beside you, exhaling sharply as you rolled onto your side. Your hands tucked under your cheek, your eyes shut, as if squeezing them closed hard enough might make everything disappear.    

Santi: And so am I

Santi: Get. Out. Of. Bed.

Now what? Were you really supposed to drag yourself to Santi’s house and pretend everything was fine? Sit there, smiling, making small talk, acting like you weren’t unraveling from the inside out? And worse—look Frankie in the eye, knowing that just yesterday he had been prying into the most private corners of your mind?  

And how much had he read, exactly?  

Not that it mattered. Not in the sense that would be humiliating. Because Frankie wasn’t someone you were interested in impressing. If anything, he was the last person whose opinion you gave a damn about. You had spent years not caring what he thought of you, what he assumed about you, what conclusions he might have drawn from the glimpses he caught of your life.  

But then again.  

You weren’t stupid. You knew exactly what kind of man he was—sharp, perceptive, the kind who could take something small, something insignificant, and wield it like a weapon if he wanted to. He had the power to tear you apart if he ever felt like it.    

And the truth was, you’d already embarrassed yourself enough.

The cab rolled away behind you, tires humming against the pavement, as you climbed the steps to Santi’s porch. You had wanted to look decent—you had tried. A long, scalding shower, ages spent drying and combing your hair, a careful hand smoothing makeup over tired skin. Just enough to bring some life back into your face, to soften the edges of the bruises that still clung stubbornly to your lips. The swelling had gone down, but the mark was still there, a smear of purple at the curve of your mouth. A fresh bruise was blooming just above your upper lip, darker now, more noticeable.

The summer dress you’d chosen hit just above your knees. Light, effortless. You hoped it would be enough to make you look put-together. Unbothered. As if there was nothing clawing at your insides, nothing unsettled under your skin.

Behind you, the sound of a car door shutting made your breath hitch. You knew before you turned. Of course you did.

You pressed the doorbell, inhaling through your nose, exhaling slow. Behind you, footsteps. Measured. Unhurried. Then, close—too close—you felt him at your back.

“You gave me a black eye,” Frankie said, his voice easy, almost conversational. He stepped up beside you, watching you the way someone watches an oncoming storm—half amused, half waiting to see how bad it’ll get.

From inside, Santi’s voice called, distant over the low thrum of music. “Coming!”

You gave in, looking at Frankie. Couldn’t help yourself. And yes, there it was—proof of your handiwork. The deep violet shadow blooming under his eye, the cut along the bridge of his nose, healing but still raw. No more swelling, but unmistakable evidence that, at some point, your phone had connected with his face.

You smiled, slow and sharp.

“Hi, Francisco,” you said, saccharine-sweet. “Nice to see you. How are you? Do people not greet each other anymore?”

He huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head.

“You and I are way past formalities, don’t you think?”

Before you could fire back, the door swung open.

Santi’s eyes flicked between the two of you, amusement quickly giving way to confusion.

“What the—” His brows drew together. “What the fuck happened to you two? Are you okay?”

You stepped inside, the familiar warmth of the house wrapping around you as you leaned in to press a kiss to Santi’s cheek, neatly sidestepping his question. The air smelled incredible and that, more than whatever interrogation he was preparing, held your attention.

Behind you, Frankie pulled Santi into a brief hug, murmuring something low enough that you couldn’t quite catch it. Not that you cared. Whatever was said between them didn’t concern you.

“Aren’t you going to tell me what happened?” Santi asked again, falling into step beside you as you made your way toward the kitchen.

Before you could answer, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hallway, her bright, welcoming smile instantly faltering when she caught sight of you. Her gaze flicked from your face to Frankie’s, concern replacing confusion.

“What the hell happened?”

You wrapped her in a hug, squeezing tight. Behind you, Frankie greeted her too, though his hug was more polite, restrained, as if wary of how much space he was allowed to take up here. Yovanna pulled back just enough to get another look at him, her expression shifting toward something almost amused.

“Damn,” she said, tilting her head. “You got the worst of it, huh?”

“Yeah, we got into a fight,” you lied breezily, propping yourself against the wall.

Santi shot you a look, eyebrows knitting together.

“With some drunks,” you elaborated. “Not that it means much, considering we were drunk too. Weren’t we, Francisco?”

Frankie turned his head toward you, one eyebrow raised, his hands settling on his hips like he was about to demand an explanation for whatever this was. His face was all curiosity and mild disbelief.

“I—”

“It was after the wedding,” you steamrolled on. “At a gas station. God, you should’ve seen us, it was ridiculous—”

“Oh, shut up,” Santi cut in, waving a dismissive hand.

Frankie bit back a laugh, tipping his head back slightly.

“Actually,” he said, as if suddenly feeling generous with the truth, “she hit me.”

Santi and Yovanna blinked at him.

“Right here,” he added, gesturing in a small circle beneath his bruised eye.

You let out an incredulous scoff, crossing your arms.

“I was naked,” you announced, tone scandalized, “and this pervert was just standing in my living room when he’d told me the night before that he was leaving.”

Santi looked between the two of you, his exasperation deepening.

“Stop it,” Frankie muttered, shaking his head.

“No, Santi should know,” you pressed on. “And while we’re at it, what’s with the whole going through my stuff thing? I swear to God, I’m sure—”

“Okay, enough,” Santi interrupted, slashing his hand through the air like a referee calling time-out. Yovanna, beside him, was practically vibrating with amusement.

“I’m hungry,” Santi continued, voice firm. “And you’re already late. Save the drama for later.”

An hour later, your plate sat in front of you, half-eaten, your fingers curled around the stem of a wine glass. The conversation had drifted, as it inevitably would, to your brother’s wedding. Across the table, Yovanna was talking animatedly about the preparations, her hands moving as she spoke, while Santi just stared at her like she’d personally hung the moon. He had that ridiculous, soft expression—the one that made you roll your eyes but also kind of want to cry because, well, love like that wasn’t exactly common.

Beside you, Frankie was quiet, his own glass in his hand, his plate already cleared. He wasn’t looking at you, but you could feel him there, as much a presence as the wine in your bloodstream.

“We were lucky we didn’t completely lose our minds,” Yovanna was saying, shooting a knowing glance at Santi, who nodded in agreement. “You know what they say—wedding planning is a trial for a couple. If you can’t survive that…” She shook her head, lips pressing together in mock seriousness.

“That’s true,” Santi agreed, his gaze lingering on her in a way that made you want to gag.

“Uh-huh,” Yovanna hummed, her eyes flicking from her fiancé to you and Frankie. Her expression shifted, just slightly, her amusement sharpening. “But, I mean, parties in general can be… intense. And I think you two might know something about that by now, don’t you?”

A laugh bubbled out of you before you could stop it. “I was wondering how long it would take for someone to bring it up.”

Yovanna just lifted a shoulder, clearly entertained. “Can you blame us?”

“No, she can't,” Santi chimed in. “And trust me, I have so many questions. Number one—what the fuck happened to your faces?”

“She hit me,” Frankie said immediately, lifting a shoulder like it was no big deal.

Santi rolled his eyes. “Come on, I’m serious.”

“So am I.” Frankie’s grin widened. “She thought I was an intruder or something and threw her phone at my face.”

Santi turned to you, eyebrows raised in pure curiosity. Yovanna, beside him, stayed quiet, her gaze bouncing between the three of you like she was watching an increasingly ridiculous play unfold.

You exhaled, shifting in your seat, throwing Frankie a glare. “Okay, let me explain this properly.”

Frankie made a gesture like please, go ahead.

“So, after the wedding, we went to my place, and we were… kind of drunk—”

Santi raised a hand, cutting you off. “You both went to your place?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Yes, and then I fell out of the car, which is why my mouth is messed up. Frankie helped me inside, and then I went to sleep—”

“You fell?”

You huffed. “Yeah. He gave me slippers that were way too big, and when I stepped out of the Uber, I tripped.”

Santi looked between you and Frankie, biting back a smile. “Well, you were also drunk, right? That might’ve been a factor.”

You rolled your eyes, and beside you, Frankie let out a small, knowing huff.

“She doesn’t look where she’s walking,” he said, like he had just uncovered some deep truth about you. “She just moves and expects the world to accommodate her, her eyes always on the clouds. I noticed that last night. That’s why she fell, not the slippers.”

You turned your head slowly, squinting at him. “Francisco. If I hadn’t been wearing those slippers, I wouldn’t have tripped.”

Frankie exhaled dramatically. “Oh, I’m sorry for trying to help with the fact that your feet were literally almost bleeding from your shoes. Would you have preferred that? Just say ‘thank you’ and move on.”

“No.”

“Jesus Christ,” Yovanna muttered under her breath, shooting a glance at Santi, who just shook his head, trying—and failing—not to laugh.

You sighed and turned back to them. “Anyway. I fell, got hurt, my dress was ruined, so we went upstairs, Frankie helped me clean up, and then he said he was going to leave—”

“I was going to leave,” Frankie interjected. “But I fell asleep on the couch before I could even order an Uber.”

“Right. Anyway, the next morning, I woke up, went to shower, and when I got out, I couldn’t find my phone. So I went to the living room, and there it was. And I was naked—”

“She had a towel on,” Frankie groaned, rubbing his temple.

“Naked,” you repeated stubbornly, “and suddenly someone speaks behind me, and obviously I panicked! What was I supposed to do? I didn’t think, I just reacted, and my phone happened to be in my hand, so I threw it.”

Silence.

And then: “Well, I get it,” Yovanna said, tilting her head like she was weighing the situation. “You freaked out.”

“Of course I freaked out! But he doesn’t get it.”

“No, no, no, no,” Frankie cut in, shaking his head, holding up a hand like he could physically block the accusation. “I never said I didn’t get it. Obviously, I do. But the way you’re telling it makes it sound like I did it on purpose, like I was out to terrify you.”

“And how do I know you weren’t?” you asked, narrowing your eyes.

Santiago snorted. “Okay, this is getting weird,” he said, rubbing his temple, amusement flickering in his expression. “Can we move on? I just want to hear about the party. Helena called me yesterday.”

Frankie straightened. “What? What did she say?”

You glanced at him, but he was already looking at your brother, his posture suddenly tense, like he was bracing for impact. His eyes were curious but edged with something else too. Concern.

“She sounded... happy. Surprised, mostly,” Santi said, dragging out the words for effect. “Asked a bunch of questions—what I thought, how I found out, if I saw it coming. A lot of questions, actually. Oh, and she also said she’s thrilled for me. That I have a beautiful, lovely sister.” He shot you a look, grinning. “And, well, I can’t lie. I may have gotten a little carried away. Told her I was also delighted about this whole ‘union made in heaven’ situation. And Frankie, man, you were already my brother before, but now… now it’s official. We are so much more.”

“Oh my God, Santi,” you groaned, throwing your head back. “You’re messing with us, aren’t you?”

Yovanna burst out laughing, lightly smacking your brother’s arm as he gave her a knowing smile.

Beside you, Frankie flushed. A deep, irritated pink creeping up his neck as he ran a hand over it—a nervous habit you’d noticed, one he did when he was overwhelmed.

“Of course not,” Santi said, his grin widening. “If you two get to have fun, why can’t I?”

“Fun?” Frankie scoffed, straightening up. “You think this is fun? We’ve been seeing each other for two days, and we’ve already collected enough bruises and near-death experiences to last a lifetime. That’s plenty.” So exaggerated.

Santiago just shrugged, barely suppressing a laugh at the absolute fury on his best friend’s face.

“Yeah. You’re matching.”

“Oh, cut it out, let them be,” Yovanna said, rolling her eyes.

“Well, anyway,” Santi said, his voice easy, casual, like he wasn’t dropping the weight of someone else’s curiosity into the conversation. “Helena asked about you guys. Wanted my opinion. I told her you were fine, that you—” he glanced at Frankie, leveling him with a look—“were doing well. That she didn’t need to worry, and that I’d come visit her soon.”

Frankie exhaled, sharp and short. “Good. Thank you.” He cleared his throat. “I mean it. Even if you’re enjoying this way too much.”

Santi scoffed. “No worries. You know I wouldn’t screw with you about this.” He leaned back, tilting his glass slightly in his hand. “Now, are you gonna tell me how the party went?”

Yovanna’s lips curled at the edges, her eyes gleaming with something decidedly un-serious. “Did you guys kiss?”

The question landed between you and Frankie like a slow-falling coin. You turned your head toward him, almost on instinct, and he was already looking at you, his expression caught somewhere between apprehension and amusement. His face was still faintly flushed, like the conversation had warmed the room a degree too much.

Santi’s gaze flickered between the two of you, and his expression sharpened. “You better not be method acting with my sister.”

Frankie’s mouth twitched into something resembling a smile. “Never. It’s platonic between us, isn’t it?”

“Of course,” you said smoothly, returning the smile. “I’d call it the opposite of method acting, really. This is professionalism at its peak.”

Santi raised his eyebrows, his signature I’m-about-to-ruin-your-day expression settling in. “Yeah, well, I wouldn’t call a situation involving towels and black eyes professional, but hey, who am I to judge?”

You groaned, rolling your eyes as Santi took a slow sip of his wine, barely suppressing a grin.

Yovanna, undeterred, steered the conversation back. “So? The party?”

This time, you forced yourself to give a proper answer. Frankie took the lead, his voice steady as he laid out the sequence of events with his usual matter-of-fact efficiency. You filled in the gaps, adding details here and there, but skirting around certain parts—the encounter with Frankie’s cousin, the kisses that followed. Frankie didn’t mention them either. You weren’t sure if that was a conscious decision or if he simply preferred to pretend they hadn’t happened. Either way, it felt like an unspoken agreement, and you weren’t going to be the one to break it.

From an outside perspective, everything had gone well. No disasters, no humiliating slip-ups. Just two people executing a plan. Yovanna seemed delighted by the entire ordeal, laughing at all the right moments, nudging you when Frankie said something particularly dry or sarcastic. Even your brother, despite his usual talent for being infuriating, had to admit you’d done a good job. In fact, too good.

“Helena was a little too excited when I talked to her,” Santi admitted eventually, his brow furrowing like the realization had only just settled in. He leaned back in his chair, swirling the last bit of wine in his glass. Then, after a pause, he added, “How exactly are you two planning to break up?”

There was a beat of silence. You glanced at Frankie, and he exhaled through his nose, shifting in his seat.

“We could say it just… didn’t work out,” he offered, his voice slow, careful. “Or that the feeling just faded.”

It was an answer, technically. But not the right one. Because the issue wasn’t how to break up—it was what was going to happen after that.

What was going to happen when Helena found out about the breakup, when the excitement wore off and disappointment took its place? Had either of you even considered that?

The questions started to wear on you, pressing down like a weight you hadn’t noticed until now.

You needed air. You stood up, murmuring something about stretching your legs, and Yovanna followed you outside.

The backyard was dimly lit, the air thick with the scent of warm grass and something faintly floral. Yovanna lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as she leaned against the railing. You stood beside her, arms crossed, letting the quiet settle between you.

For a while, the conversation stayed light—frivolous even. You talked about inconsequential things, things that had nothing to do with your fake relationship or her wedding or anything remotely demanding. It was a relief, an escape, and you let yourself sink into it.

But just as you were about to suggest going back inside, she stopped you with a gentle nudge of her shoulder.

“Hey,” she said, turning to face you more fully. “You okay tonight? You seem a little off.”

You sighed, tilting your head back to look at the sky. The stars were faint, barely visible against the city glow. “Yeah, yeah. I’m fine. Just tired. This whole thing is fun, I guess, but exhausting.”

She nodded like she understood, like she’d already known that was what you’d say.

“Are you guys going to Harry’s wedding?”

“I don’t think so,” you admitted, shifting your weight against the wall by the back door. “To be honest, things get kind of chaotic when I’m around Francisco, and I don’t know if I want to put myself through that again.”

Yovanna exhaled another slow drag of smoke. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know.” You hesitated, searching for the right words. “It’s just... we shouldn’t be around each other. It’s not good for either of us.”

She hummed, unconvinced. “I don’t think that’s true. I think you two are fun. And I think you should admit that you like the chaos a little. You like the fighting. The drama. The making scenes.” She glanced at you knowingly. “I have eyes. I can tell.”

You snorted. “Yeah, maybe. Sometimes. The rest of the time? He just makes me feel bad. Really bad. It’s fun until he says something horrible or pushes the wrong button, and then I want to kill him.”

Yovanna gave you a long, thoughtful look. “What happened between you two? I’ve asked Santi, but he never has a real answer.”

“Nothing,” you said automatically, the lie slipping out before you had time to reconsider it. You thought about the first thing Frankie ever said about you, the way it had stung in a place you hadn’t known was raw. “We’re just not compatible. That’s all.”

Yovanna raised an eyebrow, waiting for more.

“You and Santi, for example,” you continued, “you just work. It’s easy, it’s natural. You get along.” You paused. “Frankie and I are the same, but the opposite. We repel each other. It’s like we were designed to be at odds.”

Yovanna tilted her head, eyes sparking with something suspiciously amused. “That’s kind of romantic.”

You groaned. “Oh, shut up.”

Time started moving faster once you were back inside. Conversations drifted toward things you didn’t care about, but you let them happen around you, nodding occasionally, offering a well-timed laugh when necessary. Santi was in a good mood—you could tell by the way he gestured when he spoke, the relaxed slouch of his shoulders, the way his voice lifted at the end of sentences like everything was lighter than usual. He was happy. And that pleased you.

Because he deserved it.

The girl, the house, the family, the quiet sense of certainty about his life. He deserved all of it.

But inevitably, like clockwork, the moment you found yourself comfortable on the couch, your thoughts took a familiar turn. The same restless tide pulling you under. You thought about earlier in the night, lying in bed, scrolling mindlessly until you landed on pictures you hadn’t meant to see—your ex, his fiancée. Smiling, glowing, happy. Their future stretched out in front of them like a neatly paved road, no cracks in sight.

And then—

“So how are you getting home?” Frankie’s voice broke through your thoughts, low and secretive, like a question meant just for you. You blinked, turning slightly to find him beside you, arms folded, his body angled toward yours. His face was close—too close.

You glanced around. Santi and Yovanna were nowhere to be seen.

“They’re in the kitchen,” Frankie said, reading your mind. “What are you thinking about now?”

You hesitated. Held his gaze for a second too long before looking away.

“I’m thinking,” you started, pausing as you searched for an easy answer. “I’m thinking I want to go to sleep.”

Frankie made a quiet sound in his throat, unconvinced. “I don’t believe you.”

“You don’t believe that I’m sleepy?” You lifted an eyebrow, trying for something light. “I drank three glasses of wine.”

“No,” he said, watching you too closely. “I don’t believe that’s what you’re really thinking.”

You exhaled, tilting your head. “And what do you think I’m thinking, then?”

He smirked slightly. “Something self-destructive, probably. I can see it in your crazy eyes.”

You huffed out a laugh, nudging his shoulder. “I don’t have crazy eyes.”

Frankie just smiled, slow and knowing.

“But you are thinking self-destructive things,” he pressed. “Right?”

“Why?” You leaned in slightly, matching his tone. “Are you enjoying it?”

His smirk faltered just a little, barely enough to notice. His brows pulled together, the amusement in his face dimming.

“Not at all,” he murmured. “What kind of fake boyfriend would I be?”

You let out a short laugh, crossing your arms. “I can’t wait to break up with you.”

He arched an eyebrow, interest flickering behind his eyes. “Oh yeah?”

“Oh yeah,” you nodded, your voice taking on an exaggerated lilt. “I’m going to prance around like Nicole Kidman in that photo.” You threw your arms in the air in a triumphant gesture.

Frankie huffed out a laugh. “So what are we doing about custody?” he asked, shifting to face you more fully. “I want Santi during the week.”

You scoffed. “No chance. I get the weeks. You can have him on weekends.”

“That’s not going to work for me.”

“I’ll have my lawyer contact you, Francisco.” You turned your face away, lifting your chin dramatically. “This is not the place or the time.”

Frankie leaned in again, his voice conspiratorial. “You always say that,” he whispered. “You’re always so busy when I want to talk about the important things.”

You bit your lip, suppressing a laugh.

“First you take my dignity,” he continued, “and now Santiago. What’s next, Darcy?”

You turned to him, eyes wide. “Excuse me? That’s my son. Don’t confuse things.”

Frankie gasped, clutching his chest theatrically. “But he loves me.”

“He’s just a kid, he doesn’t know what he wants.” You waved a dismissive hand. “You bribed him, that’s all. He’s not yours.”

Frankie straightened, looking properly wounded. “I don’t care that I’m not his biological father,” he declared. “I love him—”

“What the hell are you guys talking about now?”

Santi’s voice cut through the air like a dull blade, rough with exhaustion but tinged with something closer to amusement than actual curiosity. He stood at the end of the hall, watching you and Frankie from beneath slightly furrowed brows. In his hands, he held two Tupperware containers, their lids sealed shut like he was offering contraband instead of home-cooked leftovers.

You straightened your posture, turning to face him with complete and utter seriousness.

“I’m sorry but this is private.” You shook your head solemnly.

Beside you, Frankie stifled a laugh, turning his face slightly like that might somehow disguise it.

Santi rolled his eyes, moving toward you with a slow, unimpressed gait.

“Sure. Well,” he said, setting the Tupperware down on the coffee table with an air of finality. “We made these for you.”

You reached for one immediately, lifting it to your nose and inhaling dramatically.

“I love you,” you murmured, then added, with more fervor, “I love you.”

Santi smirked, shaking his head. Before he could respond, Yovanna appeared at the end of the hall, her presence as effortless as ever. She moved toward the couch and perched herself on the armrest beside you, tucking her legs beneath her.

“Are you taking an Uber, honey?” she asked, her voice soft and unbothered.

“Yeah, I was just about to—”

“I’ll drive you,” Frankie interrupted, already getting to his feet. He grabbed his own Tupperware with the same efficiency as someone collecting evidence. 

You narrowed your eyes.

“What macabre plan do you have, Francisco?” You stood, crossing your arms. “Get rid of me so you can have Mr. Darcy all to yourself? It’s not going to work.”

Frankie ignored you, patting his pockets, searching for his car keys with the quiet urgency of someone trying to make a smooth exit. He found them and then—casually, effortlessly—reached out to clap Santi on the shoulder as he passed him in the doorway, like they were in some kind of silent agreement.

You watched them step outside, Frankie’s posture relaxed, Santi following with the sluggish reluctance of someone who had just endured an entire evening of unnecessary theatrics.

You turned to Yovanna, hoping for an ally. Instead, she just lifted her shoulders, gave you a half-hearted grimace that barely lasted a second before shifting into a knowing smile.

“I think your car is waiting for you,” she said after a beat, nodding toward the door where Santi and Frankie had already disappeared outside.

With no real choice in the matter, you stepped outside too, the night air cool against your skin. Your brother and Frankie were by the car, standing close, heads tilted toward each other in conversation. You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but whatever it was, they were both engaged—gesturing, murmuring, nodding. The way Frankie’s brow furrowed and Santi rubbed at his jaw made it look like something actually interesting. Your curiosity sparked, but before you could linger too long, Yovanna’s voice cut in beside you.

“Okay,” she said, nudging you lightly with her elbow. “Don’t take too long to visit again, alright?”

You turned to her, nodding. “Of course not. Are you free this coming week?”

“For you? Always.”

You smiled, warmth bubbling in your chest. “Good, let’s get coffee.”

“Or a drink,” she amended, sighing dramatically. “I need it.”

You laughed, shifting your bag in your shoulder and the Tupperware in your arms to hug her, the container pressing awkwardly between your bodies. She smelled like perfume and warmth and something familiar.

When you pulled away, you started toward the car with her, trying—subtly—to catch fragments of whatever Santi and Frankie were talking about. It was something about Will and a car he’d just bought. Frankie was in the middle of saying something about the clutch, his voice low and even, when he abruptly stopped mid-sentence and turned to you.

“Ready?”

The word felt heavier than it should have, settling between your ribs. You glanced at your brother, mouth parting slightly, not sure what answer you were searching for. Yes?

Santi didn’t wait for you to say anything. He stepped forward, wrapped his arms around you, kissed your cheek. His warmth was familiar, grounding, the kind of comfort you’d had your entire life.

“Take care of yourself,” he murmured near your temple. “I’ll come see you in the week.”

You nodded against his shoulder. “I love you.”

“I love you too.”

When you pulled away, Frankie was already holding the passenger door open for you. That threw you off for a second. He wasn’t usually this polite. You hesitated, glancing at him, but he just raised an eyebrow like, What? Get in.

So you did.

You waved to Yovanna as you settled into the seat, and she smiled, giving you a little salute in return before stepping back toward the house.

Then, with a quiet thunk, Frankie shut the door.

For a couple of strange, suspended seconds, you were alone in the silence of the car, the interior dimly lit by the soft glow of the dashboard. You bit the inside of your cheek and carefully dropped your Tupperware in the backseat, watching as Frankie rounded the hood, slipping into the driver’s seat with an ease that made your stomach feel unsteady.

He turned the key. The engine hummed to life, the speakers crackling softly before Red light by The Strokes filtered through the space.

You rolled down the window slightly, letting the night air in, watching the house disappear as he pulled onto the road.

“So, how’s that list of yours coming along?” Frankie asked abruptly, pulling you out of your thoughts.

You turned your head slightly, eyeing him.

“Are you asking if I’ve made any progress? I doubt it. In the last twenty-four hours, I haven’t gone clubbing, I haven’t camped in the woods, and I definitely haven’t gone skinny dipping. If that’s what you were hoping for.”

He hummed, hands steady on the wheel. “Well, you could cross off ‘kicking someone’s ass,’ if you count giving me a black eye.”

You exhaled sharply, unimpressed. “That was an accident. Get over it.”

“But are you actually planning on kicking someone’s ass?” He glanced at you, curious now. “How exactly are you planning to do that?”

“I didn’t say ‘kicking.’ I wrote ‘learn to.’ As in, learn to defend myself.” You folded your arms across your chest. “Were you even paying attention when you were spying on my diary?”

Frankie snorted. “Spying?”

“You barely even listen to me anymore,” you said, feigning exasperation. “We should break up.”

His laugh caught in his throat, rough and amused. “Nice try. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

“I could set you up with someone else. A real girlfriend.” You straightened, only half-joking. “I actually know a couple of women you might like.”

“I told you—I’m not dating anyone,” he said, glancing at you like he was waiting for you to drop it. “Who are you now, my mother? I’m not going on one more date. With anyone.”

You smirked. “I could make you a Tinder profile. Craft it to perfection. I bet I could make you a success story.”

He shook his head, lips twitching toward a smile. “Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’d be fun,” you insisted, already forming a mental plan. Good photos. A witty but slightly mysterious bio. He was a pilot, for God’s sake—women ate that up, didn’t they?

“I tried it once,” he admitted, like he regretted saying it the second the words left his mouth.

You gasped, delighted. “No way. You were one of those guys, weren’t you? The ones who post a group photo, making women guess which one they’re supposed to be interested in.”

He shot you a look. “Sounds like you have some experience with that.”

“I bet you had a picture holding a giant fish,” you said, grinning wider as he made a face that all but confirmed it. “Jesus, Frankie. That’s typical.”

He exhaled, shaking his head. “You know, if you have so many opinions on dating apps, why don’t you make yourself a profile? I really think you could use the 'going out' thing.”

You rolled your eyes and turned toward the window, arms crossed. “What makes you think I need it?”

Frankie hesitated. You could see it in the way his fingers flexed against the steering wheel, like he was trying to decide if this was an argument worth having.

“Well,” he said carefully. “If I’m being honest—”

“Don’t say it,” you cut in, raising a hand between you. “I have a faint idea of what you’re about to tell me, and trust me, I already know. So spare me the speech. I’m not in the mood to fight with you tonight.”

“Why? What's wrong?”

Frankie eased the car to a stop at the red light, using the pause as an opportunity to look at you—really look at you. His brows pulled together, the sharpness of his gaze pressing against your skin. “And you don’t actually know what I was going to say.”

You let out a breath, short and sharp.

“Nothing. Nothing's wrong.” You could hear the irritation threading through your own voice, but you didn’t bother softening it. “And yes, Francisco, I do know what you were going to say.”

“Is this about Harry?”

You let out a dry, humorless laugh, your hands slapping down against your thighs. Of course. Of course, he had to ask. He couldn’t just drive like before, couldn’t just let the silence stretch between you like a neutral space. When he’d come to pick you up in Dallas, the air had been thick with unsaid things, but at least he’d let you sit with them. Now, though—now he was prodding, poking, pressing in on a bruise that hadn’t even begun to heal.

“Why do you care?”

“I don’t care,” he said, too quickly. “I’m just asking why—”

“What do you want me to say?” you cut in, turning toward him, exasperation spilling out of you. “Apparently, you already know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” His tone was sharp now, defensive. “What are you talking about?”

You exhaled heavily, shaking your head.

“I hate it when you do that.” You turned your face toward the window, resting your chin in your palm, elbow wedged against the car door.

Frankie didn’t ask again. He just sat there, hands flexing against the wheel, his knee bouncing the slightest bit. But you could feel it, the weight of his attention, the questions hanging in the air between you. He was waiting for you to give in. To spill something you didn’t want to. And it bothered him—you could tell. The uncertainty, the not-knowing.

But in the end, he didn’t need to say anything. Because the way he looked at you, the way his eyes kept flicking toward your face, said enough. You knew exactly what he was thinking.

And when you turned back to him, catching the way his jaw tensed, something in your chest tightened.

Because he wasn’t going to let it go.

He wasn’t just going to drive you home, drop you off, and pretend none of this had happened. No, he was going to sit with it, turn it over, keep pulling at the thread until it unraveled completely. He was going to ask and ask and ask until he got the version of the truth he wanted. And the worst part was, he’d disguise it as concern—like this was about you, when really, it was about something else. Something that would probably hurt.

“I hate it when you act like this,” you said finally, voice quieter now, but no less pointed. Your eyes glowed in the reflection of the windshield, catching the red of the traffic light. “Like you’re above it all. Like you don’t already know I feel like shit about Harry. But you ask anyway, just to make me say it out loud.”

“That wasn’t my intention,” he said, softer now, shifting slightly in his seat. His right hand twitched off the steering wheel, hovering like he wanted to reach for you. But then, at the last second, he pulled back, curling his fingers into a fist before dropping his hand to his thigh. Like he’d thought better of it.

“You don’t act like it,” you said, your voice unsteady, throat tight. “You act like someone who enjoys figuring out my weak spots just so you can shove them in my face at the worst possible moment.” You swallowed hard, staring ahead. “Can you just take me home?”

Frankie’s jaw tensed, his hands gripping the wheel. The green light flickered on, casting a dull glow over the inside of the car. He didn’t hit the gas right away, just exhaled through his nose, long and frustrated.

“I was supposed to call a car,” you continued, your voice quieter now. “Is that why you insisted on driving me home yourself? So you could dig around in my life a little more?”

“No, I—” He cut himself off, shaking his head, eyes locked on the road as he finally pressed the gas.

Silence stretched between you.

A few blocks passed before he spoke again, voice tight.

“I know you’re upset about the wedding.” His fingers flexed over the wheel, his knuckles pale. “But I’m not going to assume things unless you actually tell me.”

You scoffed under your breath, gaze fixed on the window, on the streetlights smearing past. “Yeah. Sure.”

Home wasn’t far now.

“I don’t like this,” you said after a moment.

Frankie glanced at you. “What?”

“This.” You gestured between you, your expression hardening. “Everything was better when we didn’t talk. When we just ignored each other and kept our distance.”

“I think the same thing,” he said immediately, no hesitation. He turned his head just slightly, just enough to look at you before shifting his eyes back to the road. “Because talking to you is so hard all the fucking time. You know that?”

You blinked, taken aback. It was such a strange thing to hear, like he’d just told you the sky had turned green.

“When in your life have you ever tried to talk to me, Francisco?”

“Yesterday. Now. Probably sometime friday,” he muttered, clicking his tongue in irritation, shaking his head like he hated that he was even engaging in this conversation.

Another red light.

The street was empty, quiet. The glow of the signal reflected off the pavement, casting red against the buildings you knew so well—the café on the corner, the park where you went on morning walks. Your house was just a few blocks away.

You turned in your seat, facing him directly. The car’s dim interior light barely caught the sheen in your eyes, the warmth in your flushed cheeks.

“That’s not how this works,” you said, your voice quieter now, but no less sharp. “You can’t treat me like shit for years and then expect me to just—what? Open up to you? Tell you about the worst parts of my life? We’re not friends, Frankie.”

“Of course not,” he shot back. “But I’ve seen you get small today. Yesterday too.” His voice wavered slightly, but not enough to make him sound soft. He wasn’t soft. He was pressing in, hard and insistent, like he was trying to carve something out of you. “You pretend really well in front of other people, and they buy it. But I don’t. And it fucking bothers me.”

Your fingers curled into fists in your lap. “Oh, it bothers you?”

“Yeah,” he said, exasperated now. “It bothers me because you don’t do anything about it. You just let it all pile on, and I—I get it, okay? I get it. The guy broke your fucking heart, but you let him keep doing it. Over and over again.”

His voice rose, his hands waving slightly as he spoke, his frustration sharp and cutting. His eyes burned into you, filled with something you didn’t want to name.

“And no,” he went on, “maybe he’s not the villain in this. Maybe he couldn’t help falling in love with someone else. But I don’t buy for a second that he didn’t know exactly how you felt. And that makes him a fucking asshole.”

Your breath hitched.

Frankie leaned in slightly, voice lower now, but no less intense. “And you’re so mean to me, aren’t you? Doesn’t take you a second to snap back, to bite my head off. So why don’t you use some of that energy and tell Harry to fuck off already?”

Your eyes stung. You blinked, and the first tear slipped down your cheek, warm against your skin.

The weight in your chest was unbearable, like something pushing down from the inside out, something clawing its way up your throat. You felt transparent, like every single bone and muscle in your body was on display, like he could see straight through you.

“I never told him I loved him,” you whispered.

Frankie stared at you for several seconds, his gaze unwavering, scanning your face like he was searching for the lie, like he couldn’t believe you’d actually said it.

Then, quietly but firmly, he said, “He knows.”

You shook your head. Your eyes dropped to your hands, resting limp in your lap, one over the other like you were trying to steady yourself.

“He knows,” Frankie repeated, shifting slightly toward you. “Because it’s obvious. Because you wear every single thought on your face, whether you want to or not. Because it’s all right there in your eyes. If he doesn’t know, then he’s either blind or an even bigger idiot than I thought.”

A frustrated breath left your lips. You lifted your hands, exasperated, only to let them fall back onto your thighs with a muted slap. Your eyes, glossy and burning, locked onto his, frustration rippling beneath the surface.

“So then what?” you said, voice tight. “He knew I loved him, and he still left me overnight to commit to someone else? Is that what you’re telling me?”

“I’m telling you it’s fucking cruel to break someone’s heart and then send them a wedding invitation like nothing happened.” His voice was sharp, laced with something close to anger. “And that day, the way he acted so happy to see you, like you were just two old friends running into each other—does his fiancée even know what happened between you?”

You didn’t answer, but something must have flickered across your face because Frankie exhaled sharply, shaking his head.

“Are you fucking kidding me?”

“We didn’t have anything serious, Francisco,” you said, your voice quiet, trembling but stubborn. “We were friends and—”

The traffic light turned green, but Frankie didn’t move.

You swallowed, waiting for him to break eye contact, to turn his attention back to the road. But he didn’t.

“Don’t give me that excuse,” he said finally, his voice quieter but no less forceful. “Even you don’t believe it.”

A fresh wave of exhaustion rolled through you, but it came tangled with something else—something hotter, heavier. You straightened up, shifting toward him, closing the space between you, and you felt more than saw the moment he registered the tears slipping down your face.

“Why do you care about it?” Your voice cracked, the words tumbling out in uneven breaths. “What do you want me to say, huh? That even if Harry knew I loved him, he still didn’t choose me?”

“Yes!” Frankie snapped. “That’s life! He didn’t choose you, he broke your heart. Well, fuck him! Get over it!” His hands lifted in frustration, his voice pitched higher, sharper. “The sooner you do, the better.”

The words hit you like a physical thing, like a slap to the chest, like something clawing its way up from the inside.

A sound broke from your throat—something half a sob, half a breathless, wounded laugh—and before you even knew what you were doing, your fingers curled around the handle, and you shoved the door open.

The night air hit your skin, cool against the heat burning in your face, and you were out of the car in seconds, walking fast, heart pounding against your ribs.

You heard Frankie behind you, his voice calling your name, followed by the thud of the car door slamming shut. But you didn’t look back.

It didn’t take him long to catch up, his footsteps heavy against the pavement.

“Get back in the car,” he said, breathless but firm.

“My house is three blocks away.”

“I don’t care.” His hand brushed against yours, an attempt to stop you, but you jerked away from his touch like it burned. “I’m not letting you walk home alone.”

“Oh no,” you said, your voice wobbling with emotion, “why? Because Santi’s going to be mad?”

Frankie didn’t answer. He just reached for you again, this time more deliberately. His fingers curled around your arm, not rough, but firm enough that you felt the weight of his concern.

“Please—”

“God, just leave me alone!” You wrenched your arm away, shoving both hands against his chest, pushing him back a few inches. Your breath came fast, shaky, fury and heartbreak tangled together in your throat. “Fuck you, Francisco! Get the fuck out of here! Why are you still here? Why the fuck are you still here? Why won’t you just leave me alone? I’m so tired of you, just go away!”

You stepped forward again, your hands pushing against his chest, but this time, Frankie didn’t budge. He just lifted his hands, fingers brushing against your wrists, hesitant, like he wasn’t sure he was allowed to touch you. The contact sent a shiver up your arms, and you recoiled, jerking your hands away as if you’d been burned.

“I’ll leave you alone,” he said quickly. “Just let me take you home.” His voice was tight, strained with something he wasn’t willing to name. He was trying to sound firm, but the way his eyes moved over your face—restless, searching—gave him away. “It’s late, and it’s dark.”

You shook your head, blinking against the tears threatening to spill over again. Your face felt hot, your throat raw.

“Stop pretending you care,” you said. “About me, about what happens to me. I don’t need this. I don’t need you talking to me like you’re some kind of—some kind of fucking therapist.”

Frankie exhaled hard. “I’m sorry, okay? I won’t say anything else about Harry after this—”

You spun on your heel, turning your back to him, walking away.

A noise of frustration caught in his throat, something between a sigh and a groan, and before you could get any further, he was in front of you again, moving easily, stepping into your path. You stopped short, barely avoiding a collision.

Your breath came fast, uneven. You could feel how blotchy your face must be, your lips swollen, the bruise on your mouth sharper in contrast. Frankie's gaze flicked to it, and you saw the exact second he felt something close to regret—the slight pull of his brows, the way his mouth parted like he was about to say something and then thought better of it.

“You have to accept what happened,” he said finally, voice steady, though his jaw twitched. “For what it was. Don’t turn Harry into some tragic hero who hurt you by accident. That’s not what this is. It just—” he exhaled, shaking his head. “It didn’t mean anything. He didn’t choose you. So what?”

Your stomach twisted.

“You have no idea how I feel,” you snapped, your voice trembling, sharp with the effort of keeping it together. You dragged a hand down your face. “And why do you even care? It doesn’t matter. None of this fucking matters.”

Frankie shook his head. “I know how you feel. That’s why I’m trying—”

“Trying what?” You stepped closer, looking at him fully now. “To fix it? You can’t. I don’t need anything from you. I don’t need your pity, your useless advice. I know how this works. I know how people work. I’m good enough until the real thing comes along. That’s all I’ve ever been.”

His expression changed then—his eyes darkening, his mouth pressing into a line.

“That’s not true,” he said.

“Yes, it is, Francisco.” You said his name like it hurt. Like it was something you needed to spit out. “Because I’m always missing something. Because there’s always something I don’t have. And I know, I know that’s just life, that’s how it is, someone always gets left behind, someone always gets hurt. But why does it always have to be me?” Your throat ached from the force of your words, and when you spoke again, your voice sounded wrecked, on the verge of giving out. “Why do I always have to be the one to accept things as they are? Why am I the one who has to be mature, move on, be fine?”

Frankie exhaled, slow, measured. “You’re letting this define you.”

You let out a sharp breath, almost a laugh. “I’m letting this define me?”

“It doesn’t mean anything,” he insisted. “He wasn’t for you—”

“It does mean something.”

“No, it doesn’t.”

“Yes, it does! And you have no idea what you’re talking about. You don’t know me, you don’t know anything about me or what I feel or what—” Your voice broke, and you swallowed it down. “You don’t know anything.”

Frankie’s gaze stayed steady. “You’re just—numb. You think no one’s ever going to choose you because you’re in a bad place right now—”

“Shut up.” Your hands pressed against his chest again, lighter this time.

“I understand,” he said. “I do—”

“Shut up.”

But he didn’t.

“Somebody’s going to!”

"Or maybe not!"

Frankie let out a breath that was almost a laugh, but there was nothing amused about it. He glanced to the side, then back at you, his jaw tight, frustration bleeding into every line of his face. His eyes were dark with something unreadable, something that made your stomach twist.

"Okay," he said. "So what, then? You gonna spend the rest of your life wallowing? Feeling sorry for yourself forever?"

Your fingers curled into fists at your sides.

"You must have a lot of experience with that sort of thing, don't you?" The words sliced out of you, unfiltered, sharp enough to wound. Something ugly stirred in your chest, something raw and aching. The pain wasn’t his fault, not really, but he had pulled it to the surface, made it unbearable. And for some reason, you wanted him to feel it too. Even just a fraction of it.

"Feeling bad about yourself," you continued, your voice quiet but cutting. "Drowning in your own misery. Being a complete fucking loser."

Frankie didn’t flinch. Didn’t so much as blink.

"Yeah," he said simply, his voice flat, like he was stating an obvious fact. He was looking at you as if he was waiting for more, like he could take whatever else you threw at him. Like he wanted you to.

"Then why should I listen to you?" You took a step forward, closing the space between you. "Why should I care about anything you have to say?" Your head tilted up, and from this close, you caught every micro-expression—his eyes widening, his brow tensing, his mouth parting just slightly, like he was about to speak but couldn’t find the words fast enough.

"I take things as they come from people who matter," you said, voice low but unwavering. "And you? You’re nothing to me, Francisco. Just an inconvenience I can't seem to shake, no matter how hard I try."

His throat bobbed, but he stayed silent.

"This whole thing," you went on, gesturing between the two of you, "this back and forth, this—whatever the fuck it is—it’s pointless. Because no matter how hard we pretend to be something we’re not, it doesn’t change reality."

You exhaled, your pulse hammering.

"And the reality is," you said, looking him dead in the eye, "you're nothing but a failure."

Frankie exhaled, but he didn’t move at first. He just stood there, staring at you, unmoving, like he was bracing for something. His expression didn’t shift, but there was the faintest sheen in his eyes, catching the dim light. He blinked once, hard, and when he opened them again, the gloss was gone.

Then, suddenly, as if some invisible thread had snapped, he took a step back. It was abrupt, almost involuntary, like his body needed distance from you before his mind could catch up. But he didn’t say anything. His mouth pressed downward for a second, his gaze dropping to the ground.

When he looked at you again, his eyes met yours—just for a moment, like he was memorizing something. Or maybe letting something go.

And then he turned.

No hesitation, no last words, just the quiet sound of his shoes on pavement as he walked back to his car. His shoulders tense, his head slightly bowed. You watched him go, your arms folding tightly across your chest, trying to hold everything in. The rising ache, the anger that curled at the edges of your grief, the way your throat burned with unshed tears.

He didn’t look back.

You waited until he was nearly at the car before you forced yourself to turn away. Your legs felt heavy as you walked, like you were dragging some unseen weight behind you. Your breath came too fast, your ribs constricting painfully. All you wanted was to disappear inside your bed, to sleep until your body forgot how it felt to be this exhausted.

When you reached home, Mr. Darcy was there, waiting. He brushed against your legs, his tail sweeping across your calf, his little face tilting up as if he could sense something unsettled in you.

You dropped to the floor.

The second you sat down, your shoulders caved in. Mr. Darcy curled into your lap, his soft purring vibrating against your hands, but it didn’t soothe you the way it usually did. You pressed your face into his fur, and the sobs that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free, shaking your whole frame.

Your words echoed in your head, bitter on your tongue, and you hated the way they tasted. Because you knew you had been cruel.

But it didn’t matter.

He had been cruel too.

And maybe—finally—he would leave you alone.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Taglis: @paleidiot @gothcsz @everyth1ngfan @katw474 @mellymbee @pedritosgirl2000 @tsunamistorm123 @jokesonthem @sunnytuliptime @greenwitchfromthewoods @ashleyfilm @darkheartgatita @joelmillerisapunk @nandan11 @whirlwindrider29 @onlythehobi @diabaroxa @yellowbrickyeti @daybleedsintonightfa11 @mys2425 @pigeonmama @speaktothehandpeasants @pez3639 @stylesispunk @imaginecrushes @isla-finke-blog @smiithys @jokesonthem @brittmb115 @sukivenue

[devdozes]

Whats the worse that could happen? :3

two best friends,, stuck in a creepy train :0 (i need to make these two sillies playing mimic too istg I love mimic rblx)

The train doors shut behind you and Phainon with an ominous clunk.

“Okay, cool. Super normal,” you muttered, shifting your weight from foot to foot. The empty train car stretched out ahead, eerily quiet. Not a single other passenger. Just you, Phainon, and the dim, flickering lights overhead.

Phainon exhaled sharply, rubbing his arms. “Right. No big deal. We’re just stuck in a suspiciously abandoned train in the middle of nowhere.” He turned to you with a forced grin. “Totally not a horror movie setup.”

“Not at all,” you agreed, glancing at the dark windows. The city lights should’ve been visible. Instead, there was nothing but pitch-black void.

The train lurched forward suddenly, making both of you stumble. Phainon yelped and grabbed your arm. “WHY did it move? WHO’S driving this thing?!”

You didn’t have an answer. The doors didn’t budge when you tried them, and there was no sound of an engine. Just the unsettling hum of flickering electricity. Your heart pounded as you looked down the train car again.

A shadow moved.

“Okay, that was definitely something,” you whispered, gripping Phainon’s sleeve.

He inhaled sharply. “Nope. Nope. I am NOT built for ghost encounters.”

The shadowy figure stood at the far end of the car, featureless, its presence unnatural. The lights flickered violently as it inched forward.

“Plan?” Phainon whispered.

“Uh… I don’t know. Be brave?”

Phainon gripped your hand. “We are cowards at heart. Don’t lie to me.”

The shadow jerked forward suddenly, and you both screamed, running to the opposite end of the train. The doors were still locked. You banged on them while Phainon frantically pressed random buttons.

“HELLO, CONDUCTOR? CUSTOMER SERVICE? EXORCIST?? ANYONE?!” Phainon shouted.

The shadow was closer now, towering, its darkness spreading like ink. The lights flickered wildly, casting strange, warped shapes along the walls.

“I SWEAR IF THIS IS SOME PARANORMAL ACTIVITY PRANK, I’M SUING!” you screeched.

Then, the lights went out.

Silence.

You clung to Phainon, barely able to breathe. He clung back just as tightly.

“…If we die, I just want you to know, I—”

The lights flickered back on.

The shadow was gone.

“…was the one who ate your last pizza slice,” Phainon finished shakily.

You blinked. “Phainon.”

“What?”

“We just almost DIED and that’s what you were gonna confess?!”

He shrugged weakly. “If I was gonna go out, I wanted to leave this world honest.”

The train remained silent, unmoving. The horror of moments ago left an eerie, uncertain calm in its wake. You and Phainon exchanged nervous glances.

“…We’re still stuck, aren’t we?” you muttered.

“Yup.”

“…And the creepy shadow thing could come back at any time?”

“Oh, absolutely.”

You sighed. “Great. Love that for us.”

“…So should we, uh, play I Spy to distract ourselves or—”

A distant thud echoed through the train.

Phainon clung to you instantly. “I SPY WITH MY LITTLE EYE—TERROR.”

You groaned. “We’re so doomed.” "Better than doomed yuri" "SINCE WHEN DO YOU READ DOOMED YURI OR YAOI?"

Your stupid bickering with Phainon was interrupted by another sound,—footsteps.

Not just one set. Multiple. Slow, dragging steps echoing through the empty train car.

Phainon’s grip on you tightened. “NOPE. NOPE. THAT’S A HARD NO FROM ME.”

You swallowed hard, barely able to turn your head toward the source. The flickering lights made the figures ahead shift and blur, as if they weren’t fully solid. More shadows. More of them.

The intercom crackled suddenly, making you jump. A distorted voice, garbled and almost robotic, whispered:

“Next stop… nowhere.”

The lights flickered out again, and this time, they didn’t come back on.

“…I take back everything. I DO want an exorcist,” Phainon whispered.

You grabbed his hand tighter. “Screw that, I want a miracle.”

A sharp, ear-piercing ding rang through the train, followed by the sensation of the car tilting slightly—like something, some things, had climbed aboard.

Shuffling noises. Ragged breathing. A whisper so close to your ear that you swore something was right behind you.

“Run,” Phainon breathed.

Without hesitation, you both bolted into the next car, barely making it through before the door slammed shut behind you. You panted, pressing your back against the cold metal wall.

“Okay. So, options?” Phainon huffed.

“Uh… keep running and scream louder?”

“Solid plan, ten out of ten.”

The lights flickered in the new car, revealing long, claw-like marks on the seats, deep scratches in the walls. It smelled like rust, like something metallic and old.

“…We are not alone,” Phainon whispered, barely audible.

You turned, your stomach sinking.

At the far end of the car, there was something slumped over in a seat.

A passenger.

Or at least, it used to be.

It moved. Twitching. Its head jerked slightly, as though noticing you for the first time.

The flickering lights gave you only glimpses—empty eyes, skin too tight over its skull, a smile far too wide to be human.

Phainon whimpered. “Nope. Nope. NOPE.”

The thing stood up.

It took one slow step toward you, then another. The car groaned under its weight, the very air thickening with something wrong.

Your pulse hammered as you grabbed Phainon’s hand. “We are going to run now.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

You both bolted again, pushing through another door, then another. The train stretched impossibly long, the windows still showing nothing but void.

The sound of footsteps behind you grew louder.

Then—

The train intercom crackled again, but this time, the voice was different.

Clearer.

“Keep going. Don’t look back.”

Your breath hitched. The voice was unfamiliar, but something in it felt… human.

You and Phainon exchanged looks, silent understanding passing between you.

Whoever—or whatever—was speaking, you had no choice but to listen.

You kept running, even as the shadows twisted behind you. Even as the train seemed to stretch on forever. Even as your lungs burned.

Because the alternative was stopping.

And stopping meant death.

The train rumbled beneath your feet, shifting slightly. Your grip on Phainon tightened as you forced yourself to keep running. The air around you felt suffocating—thick, heavy, like something unseen was pressing down on your shoulders.

Then—

The lights cut out completely.

The train jerked forward.

And a hand landed on your shoulder.

You didn't think—you reacted.

With sheer, primal instinct, you whirled around and threw a punch behind you, aiming right where the hand had been. Your fist connected with something solid. A choked yelp echoed through the darkness, followed by a dramatic thud as something—or someone—hit the floor.

The lights flickered back on.

Phainon lay sprawled on the ground, clutching his stomach, his expression caught between pain and absolute betrayal.

"WHY," he gasped, "DO YOU HAVE THE REACTION TIME OF A SEASONED BOXER?!"

Your breath hitched as realization dawned. "Oh my god, Phainon!"

You immediately crouched down, gripping his shoulders. He looked up at you with watery, exaggeratedly hurt eyes. "You punched me."

"In my defense, I thought you were a demonic entity trying to consume my soul!"

Phainon whined dramatically, curling in on himself. "That doesn't make me feel better!"

You groaned. "Okay, okay, my bad. Are you—"

The intercom crackled again.

“Next stop… nowhere.”

Both of you froze.

Slowly, your heads turned in sync toward the front of the train.

The door at the end of the car—locked just moments ago—was now slightly ajar. Beyond it, the next car was bathed in dim, flickering red emergency lights. Shadows stretched unnaturally long, as if something other was lurking just beyond your sight.

Phainon gripped your wrist. “I don’t want to go in there.”

“Me neither.”

“Let’s go in there.”

You both inched forward, step by hesitant step, despite every single fiber of common sense screaming at you to turn the hell around and wait for rescue.

As you crossed into the next car, the air grew colder. A strange static filled your ears, like a radio barely tuned to a station. The seats here were in even worse condition—ripped fabric, deep claw marks, and something wet staining the floor.

Then, the worst part—

A single, withered passenger sat slumped in one of the seats.

At first, you thought it was a corpse.

But then—its head snapped toward you.

Phainon made a noise so high-pitched it could’ve shattered glass.

You grabbed his arm, yanking him forward as the figure lurched to its feet, joints cracking grotesquely. Its limbs moved stiffly, like a marionette being pulled by invisible strings.

And then it grinned.

Far too wide.

Far too wrong.

The lights flickered.

When they came back on, it was closer.

“RUN,” you screamed.

Phainon didn’t need to be told twice. You both sprinted, crashing through the next door, then the next. The train felt endless, an infinite loop of terror.

Then—

A different voice crackled through the intercom.

Familiar.

Warm.

Phainon’s voice.

“Hey there, gorgeous. You still with me?”

Your heart skipped. The voice was clear, not distorted. Not like the others. You turned to Phainon beside you.

His eyes widened. “I—I didn’t say that.”

The intercom chuckled.

Then, your own voice echoed through the speakers:

“You really think you can get out of here?.”

You froze.

Phainon froze.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the two of you turned to stare at the nearest speaker.

The train was playing back your voices.

And then, in a low, distorted version of Phainon’s voice—

“…Do you really think you can escape?”

The lights exploded.

Darkness swallowed everything.

And then—

The creature smiled at you

The withered creature took one slow step toward you, then another. The car groaned under its weight, the very air thickening with something wrong.

Your pulse hammered as you grabbed Phainon’s hand. “We are going to run now.”

“Yes. Yes, we are.”

You both bolted again, but this time, you started grabbing anything you could—loose metal poles, discarded newspapers, even an abandoned shoe—and hurled them behind you.

The creature let out a guttural growl as something smacked it in the face. "STOP THROWING THINGS AT ME AND LET ME FUCKING DEVOUR YOU!"

“NO THANK YOU!” Phainon shouted, chucking a seat cushion at it.

“TRY A DIFFERENT DIET!” you added, launching an entire fire extinguisher.

The thing hissed in frustration, dodging objects as you and Phainon kept running, making it increasingly difficult for it to catch up. You had no idea where the train would take you, but one thing was certain—you weren’t going down without a fight.

You were already scrambling toward the other end of the train, looking for anything else to weaponize. You picked up a discarded shoe and yeeted it at the spirit. "YEAH, TRY A DIFFERENT TRAIN, BITCH! THIS ONE’S OCCUPIED!"

The spirit flickered wildly, hands clawing at the air in frustration. "DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA HOW HARD IT IS TO HAUNT THIS TRAIN? I SPEND HOURS BUILDING UP ATMOSPHERE, AND YOU TWO ARE JUST THROWING CRAP AT ME LIKE I’M A STRAY CAT!"

Phainon was hunched over, gasping between laughs and adrenaline, while You simply wiped away tears of panic-laughter. "WELL MAYBE IF YOU HAUNTED WITH BETTER CUSTOMER SERVICE, WE’D CONSIDER GETTING DEVOURED!"

The spirit shrieked, full-body glitching, before taking a deep, dramatic breath. "Okay. You know what? Fine. I’ll give you a five-second head start. Then I’m chasing you, and when I catch you, you’re SCREWED."

Phainon grabbed Your wrist. "WE GOTTA GO."

The lights flickered violently as the spirit began counting down. "Five... four..."

"SCATTER!" You yelled, diving behind a row of seats as Phainon nearly tripped over his own feet, sprinting toward the opposite end of the car.

The spirit cackled. "TWO... ONE! READY OR NOT—"

And then, with a horrible jolt, the train LURCHED forward, throwing all three of them off balance. The spirit let out a confused, "WHAT THE FUC—?!" as it tumbled forward, smacking into the wall. You and Phainon crashed into opposite seats, groaning.

"Did… did the train just MOVE?" Phainon wheezed, gripping his stomach.

You were well terrified, still upside-down in a seat, nodded. "Oh yeah. We’re so screwed."

The spirit groaned from the floor, twitching. "You IDIOTS threw so much at me that I ACCIDENTALLY POSSESSED THE TRAIN INSTEAD."

A heavy silence fell over them.

"...Can we throw more stuff at you to reverse it?" You asked, deadpan.

The spirit let out a soul-piercing screech.

The train sped up.

The train screeched as it sped up, the lights flickering erratically. The air turned thick, suffocating, as if the train itself was breathing—alive and watching. The metal walls groaned, stretching unnaturally, and the floor beneath your feet shuddered as if something massive was crawling underneath.

Phainon swallowed hard, pressing himself against a seat. "This isn’t funny anymore."

Your fingers curled into fists, trying to steady your breathing. "It was never funny."

The spirit, now a swirling mass of darkness, twisted unnaturally in the center of the train car. Its form convulsed, faces stretching and melting within the shadows—expressions of agony, rage, hunger. "You… cannot escape," it whispered, voice layered with a chorus of the damned. "You are within me now."

The windows showed nothing but void—pitch black, a consuming abyss outside the speeding train. The outside world was gone. The train was no longer just a train; it was something else entirely. Something wrong.

Phainon turned to you, voice low and tense. "We need to do something before this thing turns us into whatever the hell those other faces are."

The overhead lights suddenly went out. The darkness swallowed you whole.

A sharp, wet sound echoed in the void—something dragging, something breathing too close.

Then a whisper, directly in your ear. "I see you."

You lunged forward on instinct, desperate to move, but something yanked your ankle—cold, bony fingers wrapping tight, pulling you into the dark. You gasped, thrashing. "Phainon—!"

A blinding spark of light suddenly erupted—Phainon, wielding a phone flashlight with shaking hands. The dim glow cut through the abyss, revealing the grotesque, stretching limbs of the spirit reaching for you. Its eyes—hundreds of them—glowed an eerie white as it recoiled from the light, hissing violently.

"Get off of them!" Phainon kicked at the skeletal fingers, and they retracted with an inhuman screech, leaving you gasping as you scrambled away.

The train screeched, the walls pulsating as if enraged. The windows cracked. The air turned ice cold.

And then the whisper came again.

"The lights won’t last forever."

Then… the flashlight flickered. ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥ ♥

The dim glow of Phainon’s flashlight sputtered, barely keeping the darkness at bay. The spirit loomed, its skeletal fingers twitching, inches away from your leg as it hissed in frustration. You sucked in a breath, adrenaline surging through you.

And then, without thinking, you swung your foot forward—hard. Your boot connected with the bony fingers, sending a sharp crack through the air. The spirit recoiled, screeching in rage.

Phainon’s eyes widened. “You just—”

But you weren’t done.

In a last-ditch effort, you lurched forward and bit down—hard—on the spirit’s skeletal hand.

A horrible, distorted scream echoed through the train car.

“WHY THE FUCK DID YOU BITE ME?!” the spirit shrieked, jerking back like it had been personally offended. It cradled its mangled fingers, wisps of darkness curling from the wound.

You spit to the side, gagging. “You taste like burnt dust and disappointment.”

Phainon wheezed, half laughing, half horrified. “Holy shit, are you insane?”

The spirit, still clutching its fingers, hissed furiously. "You—stupid—insignificant—mortals—!"

The train shuddered violently, sending both you and Phainon stumbling against the seats. The windows cracked further, hairline fractures stretching like spiderwebs. The overhead lights flickered madly, casting the spirit’s shifting form in unsettling bursts of clarity. It was writhing, its shadowy body stretching and convulsing as if struggling to keep its shape.

You wiped your mouth, glaring. “Listen, I don’t care what kind of cursed, horror-movie-ass entity you are, but I am NOT getting dragged into the void today.”

Phainon grabbed your wrist. “And we’re running again. Now.”

The moment he pulled you, the spirit let out an unholy screech and lunged. The doors at the far end of the train slammed shut, trapping you in. Its many glowing eyes fixed on you both, the rage palpable.

“NOWHERE TO RUN.”

And then—the last light flickered out, plunging everything into black.

For a moment, there was only silence.

And then—

The train jolted violently, sending both of you crashing into the seats. A deafening metallic groan tore through the air, and then… stillness.

The train had stopped moving.

You gasped, your heart hammering. "Did we just—?"

Phainon didn’t wait for an answer. He grabbed your wrist and pulled you up. "No way in hell we’re waiting to find out."

The air was eerily silent, no longer filled with the spirit’s screeches or the train’s unnatural groans. The flickering light from the emergency signs barely illuminated the space, but through the cracked windows, something new came into view—a platform.

A station.

You both turned to the doors, staring in disbelief. "We actually stopped somewhere," you muttered. "We can get out."

Phainon hesitated for only a second before grabbing the nearest object—a fire extinguisher mounted on the wall. He ripped it free with surprising force and, without a second thought, hurled it at the train door’s glass.

CRASH.

The glass shattered. The station outside was bathed in dim, flickering fluorescent lights. The eerie silence of an abandoned place stretched beyond the open doors.

"Go, go, go!" Phainon pushed you forward, practically shoving you through the broken door.

The moment your feet hit the platform, you took a sharp breath. It was cold. Too cold for an enclosed station. The air smelled stagnant, as if no one had stepped foot here for years.

Phainon landed beside you, panting. "Alright, we’re out. Now what?"

A sudden, slow creak echoed from the train behind you.

Both of you turned just in time to see the spirit still inside—its twisted, shadowy form shifting, barely held back by the threshold of the broken door. Its many eyes narrowed at you, seething with frustration.

"You cannot leave," it whispered.

And then—

The train doors SLAMMED shut.

The entire train shuddered once before its lights flickered off completely, its massive form now nothing but a black void on the tracks. Then, without warning, it started moving again—pulling itself into the darkness of the tunnel ahead, disappearing completely.

Silence.

The station remained still, untouched. It was as if the train had never been there at all.

You turned to Phainon, your breathing still unsteady. "Did that just—"

Phainon nodded slowly. "Yeah. Yeah, it did."

Both of you stood there, staring at the empty tracks.

You glanced around, breath catching in your throat.

The advertisements. The tiled floor. The station name displayed on the screens—

This was your home station.

Phainon caught on at the same time. He stumbled to a stop beside you, panting. “Wait. This is—”

“The place where we got on the train,” you murmured in disbelief.

Your heads snapped back toward the tracks.

The train was still there.

And through the shattered doorway, the spirit stood frozen, watching you. Its hollow gaze burned with something unreadable—rage? Amusement? A curse unspoken?

Then—without a sound—the train doors sealed shut. The station lights flickered wildly. The overhead speakers crackled with distorted static.

And before your very eyes—

The train faded away.

Vanishing into nothing.

Silence fell over the station.

Neither of you moved.

You slowly turned to Phainon. “…I don’t even know how to process that.”

He sucked in a deep breath, hands on his knees. “Same. I’m gonna need, like, a week to recover from whatever the hell just happened.”

“…Let’s just go home.”

“Best idea you’ve ever had.”

And with that, you both stumbled toward the station exit, still shaking, still processing, but alive.

The night air was cool against your skin as you and Phainon walked through the quiet streets, the weight of everything that had just happened still pressing on your chests. The eerie train ride, the spirit, the frantic escape—every detail still lingered in your mind like a bad dream that hadn't fully faded yet. But the familiar sights of your neighborhood grounded you, reminding you that you were really back. That you were safe.

Phainon was unusually quiet beside you, shoving his hands into his pockets, his head tilted downward. He was still catching his breath, still processing.

Then, under the glow of a streetlamp, you finally got a good look at him.

His lip—

Bruised. Swollen. Slightly split.

And it hit you why.

You had punched him.

You had done that.

Your eyes widened. Without even thinking, you grabbed his face, cupping it in your hands.

Phainon blinked. “H-Hey—?”

You tilted his face side to side, inspecting the damage with a deep frown. His skin was slightly flushed from the adrenaline, his eyes wide with surprise at your sudden closeness.

“…Shit,” you muttered, thumb hovering near his chin. “I actually decked you, huh?”

Phainon let out a choked laugh, his voice slightly strained. “Y-Yeah. You’ve got a mean right hook.”

You winced, guilt creeping in. “Sorry, I thought you were, y’know, a ghost about to kill me.”

“Nah, understandable. But damn, you fight like you meant that punch.”

Your lips twitched, but you still frowned, tilting his face a bit more. His bottom lip looked painful, and you could already see the bruise forming.

“…You need ice,” you mumbled, still holding his face.

“I need therapy,” Phainon deadpanned.

That made you snort. “Yeah, that too.”

Phainon gave you a lopsided grin despite the pain, but there was something in his eyes—something flickering and soft.

Neither of you moved.

You were still cupping his face. Still close.

The weight of the night still lingered between you, the echoes of terror and chaos slowly settling into something else. Something quieter. Something warmer.

You felt your heartbeat pick up.

“…I should probably let you go,” you muttered.

Phainon’s lips parted slightly, eyes still locked onto yours.

“…Yeah,” he said softly.

Neither of you moved. And then— Phainon swallowed hard, his voice dropping.

"You know…" he started, eyes locked on yours, serious for once. "I genuinely thought we were going to die there."

Your breath hitched.

He let out a shaky exhale, a small, nervous laugh escaping him. Then, barely above a whisper—

"And I thought I was gonna die without telling you how much I liked you."

The words hit you like a train of their own.

Your fingers tightened on his face. Phainon barely had time to react before you leaned in and pressed a kiss to his bruised lip.

It was soft. Barely there. But the second you pulled away, his entire face exploded into a bright red, his eyes wide, lips parted in sheer disbelief. "You—" His voice cracked. "You just—what—"

Phainon let out a wrecked noise. Hands immediately flying to cover his burning face.

"Oh my god."

You laughed. Loud, relieved, warm.

But Phainon? He wasn't letting go.

The second the shock wore off, he clung to you—arms wrapped tight around you, face buried into your neck, refusing to let go.

"I'm never taking the train again," he mumbled, voice muffled. "I'm walking everywhere. I’ll ride a damn bike. I’m moving to the mountains. No trains there."

You huffed a laugh, but his grip only tightened.

"Also, you’re never leaving my side again," he continued, clutching you like a lifeline. "Nope. I’ve decided. We’re a package deal now."

You raised a brow. "Oh?"

He pulled back just enough to pout at you, still hugging you like a koala. "Yes. Do you know how scared I was? Do you? I thought you were gonna get eaten or—I was gonna get eaten—"

"You literally threw a fire extinguisher at it."

"And I’d do it again! For you!"

You bit back a grin. "Oh, so now you’re brave?"

"I was always brave," he huffed. "I just—function better when you’re around."

That was… a lot to admit.

You blinked, heart stuttering, but before you could say anything, Phainon suddenly pulled back just enough to look at you properly.

Then, determined, still puppy-clingy, he cupped your face this time.

"Can I kiss you again?"

Oh.

Your breath caught.

He looked at you like you were his only solid ground after everything—wide-eyed, a little desperate, entirely smitten.

And how could you say no to that?

"Yeah," you murmured, barely above a whisper. "You can."

The second the words left your lips, Phainon did not hesitate.

He kissed you.

Not just a quick, hesitant peck this time—a real kiss. Warm, lingering, a little shaky but full of everything he was trying to say.

Like holy shit, I thought I lost you.

Like holy shit, I don’t ever want to lose you.

His arms tightened around you again, as if making sure you were real, that this was real, that you hadn’t been swallowed whole by the dark after all.

When you finally pulled away, breathless, Phainon let out a small, giddy laugh, still clinging.

"Okay," he said, "maybe almost dying wasn’t all bad."

You snorted. "Don’t get used to it."

He grinned, still holding you close. "Can’t help it. You’re kinda my favorite person now."

THE SILLIES AUBFRJNFEK!! REQUESTS ARE OPEEN AND LIKES, COMMETNS, REBLOGS ARE APPREICATED!! LOVE YOU ALL :DD

[inkspiredwriting]

The Diner of Destiny - Part 2

Five Hargreeves x reader

A/N: Okay, some of you wanted a second part. So I thought why not? I've never written a second part to any of my stories, so I'm not so sure if the second part is any good.

Warnings: spoilers for season 4 episode 5-6, angst

Five wandered through the fractured remains of countless timelines, driven by a singular purpose: to find y/n, the woman he had unwittingly erased from existence. He had become a phantom, slipping between realities like a shadow, his resolve hardening with each failed attempt. Every timeline, every world was a dead end, a cruel reminder of the life he had obliterated with one careless choice. But giving up was never an option. He had to find her.

Weeks blurred into months as he tirelessly pursued the faintest hints of her existence. Fragmented memories, distorted whispers, and fleeting visions of a woman whose face he had never truly known. Each clue led him deeper into the labyrinth of time, and each step weighed heavier on his conscience. He was close—he could feel it.

Finally, one day, in a timeline that felt strangely still, as though it had been waiting for his arrival, Five found her.

She was sitting in a small, secluded garden, surrounded by overgrown ivy and vibrant flowers. The sun cast a warm, golden light over the scene, but there was an air of melancholy that clung to the place, as if it remembered the things that had been lost. Y/n was there, her back to him, her head bowed as she absentmindedly traced patterns in the dirt with a stick. She looked almost like a statue—beautiful, but untouchable, frozen in a moment that he had shattered.

Five approached her cautiously, his heart pounding in his chest. His footsteps crunched softly on the gravel path, and y/n looked up, startled. Her eyes met his, and for a brief, agonizing moment, it was as though she recognized him. But then the flicker of familiarity vanished, replaced by confusion.

“Who are you?” she asked, her voice tinged with wariness but not fear. There was a gentleness in her tone that cut Five deeper than any anger could have.

He swallowed hard, his mouth dry, and for the first time in a long time, he hesitated. How could he explain the unimaginable? How could he make her understand what he had done?

“My name is Five,” he began, his voice rough with emotion. “I’m not sure how to say this, but… you were supposed to be someone important to me. To all of us, actually. But I made a mistake, a terrible mistake, and I… I lost you.”

Y/n’s brow furrowed as she tried to make sense of his words. “Lost me? I’m sorry, but I don’t understand. We’ve never met before. How could you have lost me?”

Five’s chest tightened with the weight of his guilt. “You’re right. We’ve never met. But we should have. I was supposed to find you, fall in love with you. You were supposed to be my anchor, the person who kept me—and all the other versions of me—grounded across the timelines. But instead, I got involved with someone else, someone named Lila.”

At the mention of Lila’s name, Y/n’s expression softened, but only slightly. “Lila?” she echoed, the name unfamiliar and distant.

Five nodded, his voice trembling. “Yes. I thought I was making the right choice at the time, but it was the wrong one. Choosing Lila… it erased you from our lives. You were supposed to be there, and because of me, you weren’t. I took away your life, your future, and I didn’t even know it until it was too late.”

Y/n stared at him, her eyes searching his face for any sign of deception or malice. But all she saw was a man haunted by his mistakes, a man who had come to her not for forgiveness, but for something even more elusive.

“What do you want from me?” she asked quietly, her voice laced with a sorrow she didn’t fully understand.

Five closed his eyes for a moment, gathering the strength to continue. “I don’t know if I can make things right, but I had to find you. I had to tell you what happened, even if it doesn’t change anything. I’m sorry, y/n. I’m sorry for what I took from you, for what I took from all of us. I just… I wanted you to know that you mattered. That you were supposed to matter.”

Y/n looked down at the ground, her hand still clutching the stick. She was silent for a long time, and Five feared that his words had only hurt her more, that there was nothing left to say. But then, she spoke, her voice soft and distant.

“Do you really believe we could have been happy?” she asked, almost to herself.

Five’s heart ached at the question, at the lost possibility of what could have been. “I don’t know,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “But I would have liked to find out.”

Y/n nodded, her expression unreadable. “I can’t remember you,” she said softly. “But something in me feels… something. Maybe it’s just the idea of what could have been. Or maybe… maybe there’s something more.”

Five watched her, his breath catching in his throat. This was it—the moment that could change everything. But even as hope flickered within him, he knew the truth. He had come too late. The damage was done, and there was no going back.

“I wish I could change what happened,” he whispered. “But all I can do is tell you the truth. You deserved so much more than what I left you with.”

Y/n looked at him, her eyes filled with a sadness that went beyond words. “Maybe we were never meant to be,” she said quietly. “Maybe… maybe this was always how it was supposed to end.”

Five shook his head, tears welling in his eyes. “No. This isn’t how it was supposed to be. But it’s what I’ve made it. And for that, I’m sorry.”

Y/n stood slowly, the stick falling from her hand as she faced him fully. “I don’t know if I can forgive you,” she said, her voice trembling. “But I appreciate that you tried to make things right. Even if it’s too late.”

Five nodded, the tears finally spilling over as he met her gaze. “I’ll never stop trying to make it right,” he vowed. “Even if I never see you again, I’ll keep looking for a way to fix this.”

Y/n gave him a small, sad smile, the kind of smile that spoke of acceptance and resignation. “Goodbye, Five,” she said softly. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

And with that, she turned and walked away, her figure growing smaller and smaller until she disappeared into the distance. Five stood there, alone in the garden, the weight of his actions pressing down on him like a suffocating blanket. He had found her, but he had also lost her—again.

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the garden in a blanket of twilight, Five knew that this was his burden to bear. He had made a choice, and now he would live with the consequences for the rest of his existence. The woman who was supposed to be his anchor, his salvation, was gone, and he was the one who had pushed her away.

And so, with a heavy heart and a mind full of regrets, Five turned and walked back into the shadows, disappearing from the world that could have been his. The timelines would go on, fractured and unstable, and he would continue his endless search for redemption. But deep down, he knew the truth—some things could never be undone. And some losses were meant to be permanent.

The garden, now empty and silent, bore witness to a moment that had passed, a possibility that had slipped through time’s fingers. And as the stars began to twinkle in the darkening sky, Five’s silhouette faded into the night, carrying with him the memory of what could have been, and the sorrow of what never was.

[covid-safer-hotties]

also preserved in our archive

There's a lot of good reads in this article. My favorite part is below.

The 'immunity debt' narrative

In the fall of 2022, parents were told to blame “immunity debt” for the surge in children and youths’ respiratory infections. Immunity "debt" or "gap" was proposed to result from the lack of immune stimulation due to the reduced circulation of microbial agents and reduced vaccine uptake during the early years of the pandemic.

As Dr. Henry, B.C provincial health officer, explained back then: “The flu season… hit young people early and hard this year [2022-2023], likely due to their lack of immunity after two years of COVID-19 prevention protocols.” (January 13 2023, Globe and Mail)

But is this really what’s going on? Many scientists didn’t buy it then, and don’t buy it now. Some have pointed out that increased levels of infectious disease have persisted after several years without widespread mitigations -- and kids who weren’t even born yet during lockdowns bear much of the brunt of current infections.

Dr. Satoshi Akima, an Australian Internal Medicine specialist, bluntly stated then, “the “immunity debt” propaganda … means that if there is a surfeit of infection, this can only have resulted from there previously having been insufficient infections. The solution to excess infections is always more infections.”

Ironically, the authors of the original “immunity debt” article never suggested more infections as a way to fill the gap/debt but rather pushed for the “implementation of reinforced catch-up vaccination programs” with a broadening out of the vaccines being offered. As for diseases without an available vaccine, they recommended that “rapid screening, timely re-enforcement of hygiene measures, and adaptation of health-care systems should be implemented."

Unfortunately, these exhortations were ignored, and the “immunity debt” concept was distorted to become synonymous with a weak immune system from too few infections.

On Oct. 22, 2024, at her last update on B.C.’s respiratory illness season, Dr. Henry stated as much: “If you’ve had COVID recently, you’ve had a boost to your immunity, so that’s a good thing.”

If indeed “immunity debt” is the result of too few infections, and lasts for years, would it follow that not only airborne but other mitigations should be avoided? Should kids drink untreated water, consume unpasteurized milk, and stop washing their hands? This might seem like a good way to strengthen children’s immune systems -- were it not for the fact that we know what happens without hygiene: prior to 1850, before these advances in science and sanitation, roughly 50% of children died before their 15th birthday.

“Immunity debt” provided a simple, easy-to-grasp explanation that was repeated over and over by media, scientists and physicians alike, until it took hold in the population. This is how dis/misinformation spreads. Anyone who pointed out that’s not how the immune system works was drowned out by this loud chorus. To this day, the purely made up and misleading concept of “immunity debt” stubbornly endures.

[dreamycloud]

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss with any Lokius variants of your choosing :D

@mobius-m-mobius, it's finally HERE!!!!! I've been SO excited to tackle this prompt, and I'm happy to report that this story is doneeeee. I did in fact use a Lokius variant, but not one seen in my Losing Dogs fic. This one is about a Loki who never had to sacrifice himself to save the multiverse, and a Mobius ignorant of how close he had come to losing Loki for good 😭 And there's also unlimited pie involved. So there's that.

FYl, if you missed any of the kiss prompts l've answered, you can find them on tumblr or all together on AO3 here. This is the last kiss prompt that was sent to me, so if anyone has anything else they'd like to see, feel free to ask. It just may take me a while since l'll be divided with other projects.

Loki rubbed his thumb back and forth on the lip of his coffee mug, staring into his distorted reflection. Like a crystal ball, the pitch-black liquid revealed the lines of exhaustion on his face. Lines that weren’t going anywhere unless he acted.

“Still having nightmares?” Mobius asked, spearing a baby tomato with his fork.

Loki nodded, watching his reflection lead nose first in the motion. “Something inside me knows that the mission could have gone sideways.”

“But it didn’t,” Mobius said easily, the way someone who did sleep at night would speak.

The power of friendship, a concept foreign to Loki before the TVA, ended up being the key to saving the multiverse. He had time slipped far enough back in time to forge an easy friendship with O.B., who wasn’t troubled at all with some strange man invading his work space and begging him to take on a special project. Loki lived on smuggled food and slept under O.B.’s desk in the Repairs and Advancement Department until O.B drafted up a workable design for the expansion of the Temporal Loom. Then, flashing forward in time, he knew exactly where O.B. Had squirreled the plans away so that they wouldn’t have been disturbed in the interim. Loki pulled the plans, O.B. vaguely recalled them, and the rest of the TVA family stepped up to turn those blueprints into reality.

The new Sustainability Department was in charge of building and installing further extensions as the tree grew. Good thing the TVA had kidnapped millions of employees, because they needed everyone involved in this massive undertaking. Verity got the new department up and running in record time.

And yet, Loki still felt unsettled. “Yes, but it could have gone terribly wrong, Mobius,” he insisted. “What if the plans hadn’t worked? You know as well as I do what needed to happen next.”

Mobius stiffened. His knuckles bloomed white as he gripped his fork. “I wouldn’t have let you,” he whispered.

The heart fluttering inside Loki’s chest skipped. “I know,” he said softly. It was all too easy to imagine Mobius fisting his hands in Loki’s jacket, vise-gripping him into stillness while the world ended. He demanded a Loki Who Remained, and he would have been the biggest fool alive to keep Loki from sacrificing himself to save the multiverse—not that Loki didn’t appreciate the gesture.

The problem was, his dreams reminded him of the alternative future he narrowly avoided, where Loki watched his friends die on the gangway over and over. He saw himself draped in a green cowl, bare-handedly pouring his magic into dying branches and making them live again. A horned crown of black rock and gold cracks. An eternity alone.

He couldn’t take anything for granted. Loki needed to reach for what he desired, starting—and ending—with Mobius. So he had a plan. A bit of mischief. “Let’s talk about something else,” he said, leaning his elbows on the table. “Like the big party at the end of the month-cycle? Verity’s idea, if I recall?”

Mobius blew out his breath. “Yeah, okay. It’s a good idea. We all deserve a party after the reorg.”

Loki schooled his expression into bright-eyed innocence. “Then you heard about the contest?”

Mobius gave him a searching look and shoveled another forkful of salad into his mouth.

With an hour lunch break, they had fallen into the habit of eating slowly, feet tangled under the table, watching the TVA wind itself up. Mobius was on a weight loss campaign, and with no small amount of displeasure, Loki watched that primordial pouch of belly shrink over the top of Mobius’ belt. But he had to pick his battles, and he had a more important one to engage.

“The cutest couple contest,” Loki supplied as Mobius chewed his salad. He batted his lashes and watched the way Mobius’ throat bobbed in response. “The prize is unlimited automat pies for an entire year-cycle.”

Mobius swallowed. “Some lucky bastards will enjoy that.”

“We’re the lucky bastards,” Loki said with a wide grin. He fanned out his hands. “You and I. We’re going to win.”

Mobius blinked. A frown tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You want us to pretend to be couple so we win the prize?”

“There’s my clever agent,” Loki said, holding the grin.

Mobius rocked his head side to side, irritated. “Come on, Loki. No one is gonna buy that.”

“Why not?” Loki nudged his foot against Mobius’ under the table. “It’s easier than you think. We’re always together. All we have to do is turn up the heat. All that pie is as good as ours.”

“You don’t even like pie.”

“But you do,” Loki said, so quietly Mobius must have strained to hear him. That was the point. Loki would gladly stuff his cheeks with key lime, cherry, and guava just to see Mobius glow with simple joy. He wanted to sit across from Mobius for a whole year-cycle, watching him eat pie. He couldn’t think of anything more pleasurable. He wanted to give this to Mobius, because his gut was telling him that it was a miracle he was even sitting here, right, now, with the opportunity.

Mobius set down his fork, appetite oddly lost. He looked confused, annoyed, but also hopeful. There was twinkle in his eye. He licked his lips and seemed to settle into the idea. “It would be nice not to have to watch our tokens.”

Loki nodded, encouraging.

“We wouldn’t have to put off pie if we wanted it. Hell, I could eat pie for every meal of the day,” Mobius said, flashing a boyish smile.

Loki’s own smile twitched. He didn’t think he could stomach eating that much pie, but Norns, he’d do it. He would subject his stomach to torture for this man. “Then we’re in agreement.”

Mobius gave a cautious nod.

“Good,” Loki said, unable to hide his devious grin, “because I already submitted our names.”

“Loki!”

#

Loki had always been a master at brooding, but Mobius thought the god was laying it on thick now. Plagued with nightmares that left him pale and skittish, talking about what ifs as if the depressing scenarios could still happen—Mobius wished he could understand why Loki was so worried when their problems were behind them.

Thanks to Loki’s time slipping, saving the multiverse had been a cake walk. Mobius offered encouragement and an extra pair of hands as they unearthed the hidden blueprints and the extension parts from deep storage. Everyone suited up, crowded the gangway, and completed the installation under Loki’s direction. Judge Gamble, promoted to Director of the TVA, bestowed the gleaming medals herself for a job well done. So to Mobius, the future was what mattered, and it was looking awfully bright.

Why then, did Mobius catch Loki looking at him like he was about to disappear?

Falling into the beam of Loki’s gaze left him breathless and flushed. The god’s eyes seemed to grasp at him, looking for something in Mobius to glom onto like an anchor in a stormy sea. He would give anything to stop Loki’s nightmares. That was what best friends did.

That was what friends who craved more did too.

Mobius harbored a crush on Loki for so long it felt like an extra appendage on his soul. The last thing he wanted to do was ruin their friendship by asking for more, and here was Loki, hitting the accelerator to launch them into new, dangerous territory.

Fake dating. Free pie. What could go wrong? Assuming of course, that Mobius was only in it for the pie. Which he wasn’t. He was very much interested in the fake dating being real. But Loki probably wasn’t.

“What Loki is,” Mobius muttered, making his way to the Archives, “is bored. The God of Mischief needs an enrichment activity.”

If the god chose Mobius as the enrichment activity, then damn it, who was he to say no? He didn’t have that kind of strength.

The Archives got more use after entire departments had been reorganized for the tracking and eradication of dangerous Kang variants in the multiverse. With such a wide and rotating audience, it seemed like the perfect spot to demonstrate their fake coupleness.

As Mobius walked between tables, he recounted the ground rules: touching above the belt was okay, and touching thighs and knees were fine when they were seated, and pet names could be laid on thick, no matter how cringeworthy. Mobius had plenty of those.

“Hey, sugar booger,” Mobius called, loudly, with an impish grin. A few heads turned, brows quirked, and Mobius grinned wider. Then he softened when he realized his god had dozed off, gently snoring on a stack of files.

Loki’s hands curled loosely on the surface of the desk. Each exhale made the papers flutter.

Mobius would have normally taken a seat across from the sleeping god, but they were supposed to be a couple now so he sat right next to Loki, thighs brushing as he pushed in his chair, and unearthed a file from under Loki’s elbow.

He read for a bit, content to listen to the unprince-like snores coming from Loki. Loki hadn’t been sleeping well, the ghost of his old self, and Mobius wasn’t about to risk disturbing such a rare moment of rest. But they had an audience, so what could he do to further their cause?

An attentive lover would find ways to caress and claim his boyfriend, even in sleep. Mobius snuck a glance over his file and saw that a lock of Loki’s hair had spilled onto his cheek. Mobius gently reached over and tucked the curl behind Loki’s ear.

Loki shifted, mumbling incoherently. His curled hands twitched and closed, as if he was trying to grab something.

Mobius’ insides melted. “Hey,” he murmured, running his fingers through Loki’s curls, “I’m here. I’m right here.”

Loki made a soft moaning sound. His brows notched in distress and a muscle jumped in his jaw. His fingers curled into fists. “No,” Loki hissed as a tear squeezed out of his eye. “Come back.”

Mobius dropped his file and put more pressure into his touch, sweeping through his curls and caressing the god’s scalp. “I’m not going anywhere,” he said, tensing when Loki tensed, sensing how deeply Loki was spiraling from dream to nightmare. “Loki, please. Wake up.”

Loki gasped, thrashing and knocking a file off the table. Tears spilled like rainwater down his cheeks.

“Loki,” Mobius whispered, shaking the god awake. “Hey, you’re having a nightmare. Get up. Open your eyes.”

With a shout, Loki whipped his head back. Green eyes wet with fear and unspeakable sorrow scanned the room and then fell heavily on Mobius. “Mobius?”

“Sweetheart, you’re okay,” Mobius said, shifting in his chair to face Loki. He slotted one knee between Loki’s thighs and pulled the god’s face closer to his. “Wanna tell me what the nightmare was?”

Loki panted, his hot breath washing over Mobius. “You weren’t you. You went by another name, your timeline name, and you didn’t trust me.”

“That doesn’t sound like me,” Mobius agreed, still framing Loki’s face. He swished a thumb through the glimmering tear tracks on the god’s face, disturbing the pattern.

“It was you but it wasn’t you,” Loki said, gibberish really, but Mobius just nodded encouragingly. “You had a life, Mobius. There was no room in it for me.”

Mobius rejected the notion with the shake of his head. Absurd. “That can’t be true. You carved out a Loki-sized hole in me, and there’s no filling it with anyone but you.”

Loki’s breath hitched. A fresh tear slid down his cheek.

He wasn’t sure what dormant instinct flared to life from seeing Loki in such misery, but he knew what to do, even though he had never done it before. He leaned forward and pressed a kiss against Loki’s glossy cheek. He tasted salt and felt silk under his lips. The god had perfect skin, but now he felt just how perfect and wanted to keep his lips there forever.

Loki made a soft sound, like a sigh. “Mobius—”

“Hush,” Mobius whispered, pressing kiss after kiss on his left cheek, and then tilting the god’s head so he could cover his right cheek with gentle kisses. He drifted lower, feeling the sharp jut of Loki’s chin with his mouth, tracing the line of his jaw and drinking up the god’s sour tears. His heart pounded. His hands shook as he held Loki still. Something was driving him, and he let go of the wheel.

Loki spoke his name like it was an incantation, hot and breathy. One hand grabbed Mobius’ tie, using it as an anchor. The other hand drifted ghostlike up and down the front of Mobius’ shirt, following the trail of buttons but making no move to open his shirt.

Mobius pulled Loki’s head down and pressed a firm kiss to his forehead. “No more nightmares, schmoopie. Let it go.”

Loki coughed. “Excuse me, but ‘schmoopie?’”

Mobius buried his nose in Loki’s hair and idly kissed the bump of Loki’s temple. “Got a problem with that?”

“It’s horrible.”

“It sounds like music when I say it,” Mobius said, leaning back with a smug smile. “Go on. Fight me. You wouldn’t do that to your boyfriend.”

Loki cracked his first smile since waking up. “I shudder to think of what other names you’re saving for me.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Mobius murmured. His gaze flicked to the god’s lips. New territory. Once he was there, he couldn’t tear his eyes away. Since they were pretending, wouldn’t it be okay to kiss Loki on the lips? Shouldn’t they do it soon, get some practice, before they have to do on command to trick their friends?

Loki went still, his palm flattening against Mobius’ chest.

Mobius inched forward, licked his own lips, desire pooling in his belly like liquid fire. But then he heard someone clear their throat.

Casey stood on the other side of the desk with a file in his arms. His face was red, but he was grinning as his eyes darted between the two of them. “Um, sorry, but Verity wants you to have a look at the case file from Xandar. Uh. Here you go.” He threw the file on the table and darted away.

“Well,” Loki said, leaning far enough back that Mobius had to drop his hands from the god’s face. “He caught us kissing. This is good. He’ll tell everyone.”

Mobius flinched. Right. This was all a ruse. For the unlimited pie. By the time Loki looked at him, he had his own mask on, a foolish smile that was so far from his real feelings on the matter. “Hah. Right. Casey is quite the gossip.”

Loki sniffed and scrubbed the tear tracks off his face.

Mobius watched, heart aching, and hoped he wasn’t also wiping off the memory of all those kisses he gave the god. He was too afraid to ask.

“So. The file?”

Loki took a shaky breath. “Right. The file.”

They got to work.

#

Covered in filmy asteroid dust, filthy and worn down from the fight, the TVA unit closed in on the Kang variant. Loki grabbed hold of Mobius’ arm and swung him out of the way of a passing bullet from the Kang variant’s gun. He was too keyed up to get angry; expending his magic as a solid green shield was one thing to protect his partner, but he couldn’t seem to stop Mobius from getting right in the middle of the action.

“Stay behind me,” he said, grunting when he pulled one way and Mobius the other, resulting in them slamming into each other.

“The hell I will,” Mobius replied, frying a stray bullet with the tip of his Time Stick. He whooped and adjusted his grip, ready for more. “Someone has to watch your back.”

“That’s what I’m doing for you,” Loki said.

“Sure, honey pot.”

Loki rolled his eyes.

O.B. and Casey had come along on the mission, but neither made a move to catch the variant. And why should they have, when Sylvie put everyone to shame by beating the Kang variant to a pulp?

Sylvie shoved a booted foot into the variant’s back and crushed him into the ground so Verity could clamp a Time Collar around his neck. Once the collar’s red light hummed on, everyone breathed a sigh of relief. Mission successful.

Loki squeezed the meat of Mobius’ upper arm, all muscle and softness and warmth. He flung his hair out of his eyes and glared down at the man. “You could have gotten yourself killed.”

“Your worst nightmare, yeah, yeah,” Mobius said with a shrug. He didn’t fight the grip Loki had on him, now that the danger passed. “Keep in mind my eons of experience in the field. I used to be a hunter, pudding. I can hold my own. You, on the other hand, didn’t even land a hit on Kang. Where was your head?”

On you, Loki wanted to say, but that was too close to the truth for their charade of a relationship. He wasn’t sure why pretending to date enflamed his protective instincts, but it did, and he hadn’t yet mastered those chaotic feelings.

“Hey, lover boys,” Sylvie shouted with a shit-eating grin, “mission’s over. You can stop bickering and just kiss already.”

The breath punched out of Loki’s chest. Alarmed, he looked around at their friends.

There was an… expectation in the air. O.B. had been fiddling with his TemPad, and without taking his eyes off the screen, he laid on a sweet smile. Casey blushed. Sylvie crossed her arms, lifted her chin. And Verity, who was on the committee that would decide which couple got the unlimited pie, cocked an eyebrow their way.

Cutest couple. Right. Yes. That was… them. Him and Mobius. Time to prove it. With. A. Kiss. Loki felt all this muscles freeze up at once. He knew he had a wild look in his eyes. His chest worked like bellows, but there wasn’t enough air on the asteroid to feed him.

“Hey,” came Mobius’ whisper, a light in the dark. “Earth to Loki. C’mon, pookie. We got this. It’s just a kiss.”

He was not Loki, God of Seduction, no matter what history thought of him. He could count on his fingers the number of times he’d kissed someone. But Mobius knew that. Mobius knew everything about him. There was nothing to be ashamed of, right? Loki shot him a pleading look that said please, understand me. I want this. I want you.

Mobius seemed to read him fine. Of course he did. Affection made the analyst’s eyes glitter. “Let’s give ‘em the old razzle dazzle,” he said loudly and pulled Loki down to land on his mouth.

They could have kept the kiss simple, a perfunctory statement that would keep them in the running for pie but not cross any friendship-ruining lines. However, Mobius hadn’t gotten the memo. He stood on his toes to slot his mouth firmly against Loki’s. His lips were soft, kisses scratchy thanks to the mustache, but that didn’t stop the wave of goosebumps breaking out on Loki’s skin. The god instinctively looped his arms around Mobius’ neck; he hung on for dear life, fingers curling into the analyst’s jacket, a low rumble building in his throat.

Mobius flicked his tongue against the seam of Loki’s lips, turning that rumble into a moan. He was playing dirty.

Loki gasped, pulling back to catch his breath, and then dove between Mobius’ parted lips with his searching tongue.

Time crumbled away. His was dizzy with the sweet, clean scent of Mobius’ skin mixed with the musky asteroid dust, the heat of Mobius’ mouth, Mobius’ hands steady and gentle against his brittle bones. This was a game Loki had always been destined to lose.

“Is it getting hot on this asteroid or what?” Sylvie said with a snicker.

The kiss broke off as sharply as it started. Loki panted, cracking his eyes open to see Mobius looking up at him with flushed cheeks and a soft, wondrous grin. His mouth was red from their kissing. Loki wanted to catch the analyst’s bottom lip between his teeth, but he couldn’t feel his own legs.

“Well,” Mobius said, his voice deliciously hoarse, “you certainly asked for it, Sylvie.”

Sylvie scrunched her nose, but she looked rather pleased with herself. “I sure did.”

Loki reluctantly peeled his arms off Mobius. Taking stock of himself, he knew he looked rather shaken up, and he couldn’t throw on a mask to hide it. His body ached with fresh pleasure. He was terrified that his heart was in his eyes, so he looked down at the ground instead. Dust caked his shoes.

Verity snorted, but she didn’t sound annoyed. Like Sylvie, there was smugness in her voice as she hauled the Kang variant up off the ground. “Let’s get going. We have paperwork waiting for us.”

Oh joy. Loki drew in a shaky breath and snuck a glance at Mobius.

Norns, the analyst caught him looking and winked.

#

“Darling” was the pet name Loki settled into for Mobius. Just one pet name, but said so tenderly that it sent shivers down Mobius’ spine each time he heard that silky tag at the end of an unsuspecting sentence.

Sometimes it would come after an insult, a sharp little “could you be more careless with your life?” on a mission where Mobius threw himself into firing range, a flimsy human shield shoved between a Kang variant and one of his friends, but then Loki’s stinging bite would end in a soothing lick when he’d say “darling” in that shaky, sweet tone that put Mobius in knots. Other times, like today, it would be innocently murmured at the lunch table alongside a gesture of kindness that was becoming more and more common in their charade.

Casey, O.B., and Verity joined them for lunch, eyes on Loki as he approached the table with an orange lunchbox stolen from Mobius’ apartment.

“What the hell is that?” Mobius asked, only vaguely realizing it was his TVA standard-issue insulated lunchbox, one most employees never used because the cafeteria was more convenient than cooking.

“My lunch, darling,” Loki said, brushing his finger softly against Mobius’ cheek as he sank into the chair next to him.

Mobius used all his willpower not to trace the warm line on his tingling skin. He looked down at the sad little bowl of salad he’d plucked from the day-cycle’s offerings. With all the field missions, he needed to cut down on his sugar and carbs, which only increased his peevishness… but that was the price of healthy choices.

“You wouldn’t believe what happened to me on the way here,” Loki said as he slowly unzipped the lunchbox. His eyes glittered, his grin was stage-ready, as he launched into a story about a rude man he bumped into while waiting for the elevator. “He said I needed a haircut. A haircut? Can you believe it? Cutting off these curls would be a crime. The punishment? A swift pruning.”

“We don’t prune anymore,” Verity pointed out, sternly, but a smile snuck up on her.

“Perhaps that new rule should be reconsidered,” Loki said lightly, pulling out a container steamed over with hot food. He popped off the lid, revealing a bed of rice and a cut of perfectly-cooked salmon glistening with brown sauce. The smell was exquisite.

Mobius felt, rather than heard, his stomach growl. He stubbornly speared a few leaves and shoved them in his mouth.

“So I told him, ‘have you ever tried growing out your own hair? You might be surprised to find that a nice long braid would flatter your face shape,’” Loki said, cutting his salmon into slices. Without taking his eyes off his captive audience, he scooped up a few slices, a portion of rice, and set them on the lid of the container. Then he slid the lid over to Mobius.

Mobius blinked, hard. His stomach begged for that offered salmon. The delicious scent teased him like Loki often did—irresistible and unrelenting.

Loki said something else Mobius hadn’t caught, let out a gracious laugh, and nudged Mobius with his shoulder. “Go on, darling. Eat.”

“This is your lunch,” Mobius said stupidly.

“Clever man,” Loki said with a knife-like grin. “But I made too much. You’ll just have to help me finish it.”

Casey hid a chuckle behind his hand. O.B. watched with a sweet little smile. And Verity? Verity was very much amused.

Mobius didn’t know how and when the pampered God of Mischief learned to cook, but the salmon was perfect. More than perfect. Savory and tender and still hot from the oven rather than the smelly microwaves in the cafeteria. There was magic involved, but Mobius was too ravenous to care.

This became a habit in the weeks leading up to the party. Whenever they shared meals between missions, Loki would show up with that lunchbox hanging off his shoulder, and he would yap incessantly as he split his homemade (magic-made?) lunch with Mobius. Was this how the god chose to flirt? Was it a quiet thank you for saving the day with a kiss?

At the time, Mobius had been all flash, all show, while inside he’d been shaken to the core. That mission had been weeks ago, and they hadn’t kissed since, but Mobius replayed it often enough in his head.

Moving first to press their lips together had been easy because it came from a place of protection. Loki needed protection, both from himself and from others, and Mobius had been doing it so long, it was second nature to shield Loki from the consequences of his actions. What had been the consequence that time? A kiss Loki had never planned on giving.

If he died tomorrow, Mobius would call up the memory of Loki’s rumbling moan and talented tongue until the lights went out. One kiss was one kiss more than he ever expected to have with Loki.

Mobius was greedy, though. A glutton in more ways than one. He took what Loki offered. The hot meals, the “darlings,” the brief, gentle touches, the heated glances.

“Don’t mind if I do, jellybean,” Mobius said, digging into the trout Loki slid his way.

Loki grimaced at the nickname. “Darling, what is a jellybean?”

“You don’t know?” Casey asked, which, all things considered, was the funniest sort of irony.

Mobius laughed mid-chew and lost some of his trout. He was disgusting but Loki only looked at him fondly and wiped his chin with a napkin.

He was a goner.

#

The command center had been liberally decorated with orange and red streamers hanging in loops from the suspended monitors. The screens had been turned off to discourage work for a few hours, though Loki knew Verity had employees on rotation, watching the Loom to make sure the extensions would outlast the small reprieve. Serving staff orbited the room, offering hors d’oeuvres and wine as clear as water.

He sniffed the crusty bread topped with tomato balsamic glaze he’d plucked from a passing tray. No doubt this came from a branch rather than the TVA kitchens. Loki slid the whole thing in his mouth and chewed loudly while his gaze flicked over the crowded room. Where was Mobius?

“Don’t you look dapper?” Sylvie said, sipping from a glass of whisky. She must have smuggled the whisky with her, because he didn’t see an open bar.

“You clean up well yourself, sister,” Loki said.

She looked down at the black sheath dress and jingling gold bracelets on her wrists. With a shrug, she said, “Can’t let Verity down. Where’s your boyfriend?”

Boyfriend. What an uninspired term. How he loved it. Weeks of hard work went into making the TVA think he and Mobius were an item. He couldn’t wait to see the look on Mobius’ face when they won.

“Fussing with his tux, I imagine,” Loki said.

“Shouldn’t you be fussing with his tux?” Sylvie said, suspicion creeping into her voice.

If anyone thought the relationship was a sham, it would be another Loki. Still, he wasn’t worried. She wouldn’t rat them out this late in the game. “Not my choice,” Loki said smoothly, which was true. They’d picked out their tuxes together, but Mobius had hung back in his apartment, looking for a different pair of dress shoes or something silly.

He couldn’t remember the excuse, but he could tell Mobius was nervous. Truth be told, Loki was nervous too. The pressure was on and he didn’t know what tomorrow would look like. Would Mobius want to “break up” right away, or extend their pretend relationship for a few weeks, just to make it look more realistic when they parted ways?

Loki took a shuddery breath. He blinked away the extra water in his eyes. Where in the nine realms had that come from? He wasn’t going to cry.

Sylvie watched him over the lip of her whisky glass. Then a lethal grin stretched her lips. “There he is.”

Loki turned, nearly giving himself whiplash.

The analyst was beaming as he entered the room, immediately caught up with greetings from his fellow employees. His black tux was simple but tailored perfectly, showing off his broad shoulders and the mere hint of that sweet belly tucked behind a crisp, ivory button-down. Mobius had styled and gelled his silver hair, parted on the side, and his mustache looked neat and freshly trimmed.

Sylvie shot him a fond look. “Wipe that drool off your chin and get going.”

Loki almost did, scowling at her when he caught himself, and strode across the room. It felt easy, like sliding into a pair of silk house slippers, when he snaked an arm around Mobius’ waist and tucked into his side.

Mobius’ breath caught; he leaned into Loki, his own fingers splaying over the dip between Loki’s waist and hip. “Hey, sweetheart,” he said with a tense but genuine smile. “You look incredible.”

Loki wanted to weep. This was too easy. Too warm and comfortable, the way they fit together. How was he going to give this up after tonight? “You’re not so bad yourself, darling,” he murmured.

The rest of the TVA drifted away like a fragile daydream. Loki was alone with Mobius, as alone as anyone could be at a big party, and he refused to let go. “Are you interested in any wine?” Loki said, struggling for words when all he wanted was to memorize the way Mobius looked tonight.

“Nah,” Mobius said with a nervous laugh. “Too fancy. When are they wheeling out the pizza? That’s more my speed.”

Loki tilted his head, brimming with affection for this man. He felt his own smile melt like butter, spreading his real feelings across his face for anyone to see.

Mobius looked right back, puzzled. His lips parted, and he was about to ask—

“Can I have everyone’s attention?” Verity asked, tapping her knife against her wine glass.

Loki blinked, stuffed his heart back under his skin, and led Mobius into the crowd circling Verity.

This was the first party the Time Variance Authority had in… immeasurable time. Verity acknowledged that, while also reminding everyone in attendance that the old TVA was gone for good, and together, they would protect the natural growth and expansion of time and all its wayward branches. A lovely speech, but Loki only listened with one ear. Mobius’ hand resting comfortably on his waist crackled like a fire under his skin. He felt drunk on that steady touch, more potent than the wine in his half-drained glass.

Caught up in the feeling of rightness, Loki lost the thread of Verity’s words. He could freeze time, right now, using his powers selfishly just to keep the moment a little longer.

“…the vote was unanimous,” Verity said, loudly, puncturing Loki’s thoughts. “The winner of the cutest couple contest is… our very own temporal heroes, Loki Laufeyson and Mobius M. Mobius!”

The crowd erupted with cheers and clinking glasses. The faces staring back at him weren’t surprised. As if the vote, which statistically should not have been unanimous, was agreed upon behind the scenes. If he and Mobius had been cheating, then the rest of the TVA had cheated as well. Funny, that.

Loki put on his most charismatic smile, all for the crowd, as he held Mobius close—his analyst was not allowed to break away, not for any reason—and then he finally snuck a glance at Mobius.

His heart cracked down the middle.

Mobius was not, in fact, smiling. Lines of worry claimed his forehead. His brows scrunched, like he was trying to hold back a storm of feeling.

Loki panicked and snapped his fingers. The room ticked to a stop.

Mobius pulled out of Loki’s grip, startled by the sudden silence that came with paused time. “Loki,” he said, his voice echoing strangely, “what have you done?”

“We need to talk,” Loki said over the pounding on his heart.

Mobius studied the cheering, joyful faces beaming back at them. Then he slowly, painfully, returned his gaze to Loki. “Yeah, okay.”

“You don’t look like a man who is about to gorge himself on unlimited pie for a year-cycle,” Loki said gently.

Mobius huffed. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, Loki.”

Grateful? Loki flinched.

“You know how much I love pie. This really is a dream come true. For me, really, because you hate the automat pie.” Mobius said with a sad little chuckle. “I don’t know why you felt like you needed to give me this, but…”

“Because it was in my power to do so,” Loki said, gripping Mobius’ forearms tightly. “Because there are days when the only bright spot is you and pie and the effervescent glow you give off when you partake in that slice of artificial, chemical filth.”

Mobius swallowed thickly. “What are you saying?”

“Maybe I wanted to make you happy, but I want to make myself happy too. Sometimes,” he said, squeezing his eyes shut as his chaotic thoughts settled, “when I’m tangled in a nightmare, I can claw my way out of it because I remember the little moan you made from the first bite of guava pie, or the bit of whipped cream that stayed on your nose even after you wiped your face. Those memories ground me. They keep me from falling deeper when you’re not…” There. With me.

Mobius gingerly removed himself from Loki’s hold. He read Loki like a book he’d found splayed open on the floor.

Loki let himself be read. His fears and hope mingle sickeningly in his gut.

Then, of all things, Mobius laughed. It was a bright, hash sound, made terrible by the unnatural silence in the command room. It was a belly laugh. Tears pricked the corners of his eyes. His cheeks flushed.

Loki could have died right there.

“Wait, sweetheart,” Mobius said between laughs. He clumsily reached out and pawed at Loki’s sleeve. “Give me,” he wheezed, “a second.”

“I’m glad you find this all so funny,” Loki said stiffly.

“It is funny,” Mobius said after finding his breath. “It’s called irony, Loki. I thought you were faking it to win the contest, so I pretended like I was faking it too. But we both were pretty bad at pretending.” He wiped his face with shaking hands. “The only two people fooled were us.”

Loki made a choked noise. His heart was shattering and repairing itself all at once.

“We’ve been dating the whole time,” Mobius insisted with a great big beaming grin.

Loki let that sink in. Warmed his face in the light of Mobius’ happiness.

“Why’d you fake it? Why didn’t you just tell me what you wanted?” Mobius said, smile dimming but no less potent.

“I have you now as my friend,” Loki whispered, and a tear he couldn’t stop slid down his cheek. “I don’t want to lose you, ever. Not the way the nightmares show me, and not because I wanted more.”

“You won’t,” Mobius said softly. He closed the gap between them. “You’ll never get rid of me. Not now, and not in any universe.”

Loki whimpered and pressed his mouth to Mobius’. Misery and love in every kiss. He nipped at Mobius’ lips, leaving them red and soft, licking the pain away. Mobius welcomed the bites and licks, opened his mouth wider, fisted Loki’s curls and yanked them together so their noses smashed and they stepped on each others’ feet. It was messy and aggressive. Loki wanted to claw and dig his way into Mobius’ chest and stay there, protected by his bones and strong, throbbing heart.

“It’s okay, Loki,” Mobius said brokenly, between breaths, roughly stroking Loki’s jaw.

“‘Sweetheart,’” Loki corrected, kissing Mobius’ cheek.

“That’s the one you like?” Mobius asked with an amused huff.

“Sounds real when you say it,” Loki confessed.

Mobius groaned and dipped his tongue between Loki’s lips.

Time snapped back into ticking. Loki must have done it unconsciously. Suddenly the room was roaring and paper confetti was being thrown in their faces. Verity banged loudly on her wine glass and yelled, “Hey, you two! Stop the show before clothes start coming off.”

Clothes. Off. Now that was an idea. Loki and Mobius exchanged a heated glance.

Loki bowed to the crowd with a flourish and plucked the two special orange tokens Verity held out.

“Shall we get pie?” Loki asked, tossing a token to Mobius.

His analyst grinned back. “I thought you’d never ask.”

[thequeenofthedisneyverse]

Lil prowler! y/n reveals themself to spider!Miles

Mentions of g*n violence, b*llet wounds, cursing & character death.

Any one over 16 DO NOT INTERACT WITH THIS FIC

Y/n watched as miles approached the finger that looked scarily the similar their boyfriend. He just didn’t have braids and looked more…youthful? 

‘He looks so…pathetic’ y/n thought

They watched as the two look-alikes exchanged a “conversation” or whatever you can call it. Y/n could see how they contrast, Miles G looked more tired and just rugged. The other Miles looked tired too but much more hopeful in the eyes, like life was easy for him. 

y/n loathed that thought, ‘better life, wtf even is that’ 

“Your fathers still alive” G said with the distorted voice in his mask

‘He has a father?’ y/n thought. Quickly thinking back to how nice Mile’s father used to be, how much happiness and kindness he brought to the city. Now that he’s gone…the entire new york fel to ruin. 

“What?” the other miles raised a brow

“Your father” G said more sternly

“Yeah” 

“....oh” 

“ Who are you?” the other miles asked

The mask peeled itself off the figure's face, revealing to be G, your one and only. Miles' face showed terror and shock. 

“I’m Miles Morales, but YOU, you can call me the prowler” Mils G said, not showing much emotion given the situation he’s in. 

You got down from the pipe and walked up to them, not taking your eyes off of the “clone” version of your boyfriend. Your mask peeled off the same way G’s did, revealing your beautiful but tired face. 

You had seen the day Mr. Morales died, you almost died that day. Everything was going fine, everyone was gathered at the park for a cookout. Music, laughter, and smiles was the only thing you could see. Miles was smiling so widely, his laughter being contagious for you. All of it was so nice…til it wasn’t. Some f*ck head gangster decided that the cookout was a good place to test out his shooting abilities. 

Mr. Morales died a hero, he was trying to save you, you were the closest to him at the moment. Miles wasn’t nearby so he had to get someone to safety. You were already shot and losing blood, he had to do something. As he was trying to get  you to safety, he got shot in the process. You had already passed out from shock so you didn’t see it happen but it still stuck with you. 

You feel that you were the reason he got shot, you were the reason he died. Survivors guilt like a mf. Rio and Miles had reassured you that it wasn’t your fault, all of your friends and family reassured you that it wasn’t your fault. But you still can’t help but think it was. 

Y/n stood next to G, eyeing every little trait the clone had that was similar to Miles.

“Hmph…quite scrawny aint he” you joked, putting your arm on G’s shoulder and leaning on him. 

The clone Miles stared at you with sadness and disbelief, it was you, but it wasn’t. His y/n was always cheerful and happy, always with a smile on their face. His y/n died, y/n died trying to save him from kingpin. The y/n he was looking at looked as if they’ve seen better days, there was no hope in this y/n’s eyes, no joy or anything. But this y/n was alive, this y/n is breathing and looking STRAIGHT into his eyes. 

“...y/n?” Miles choked out, with a tear strolling down his eyes. 

“Damn…I must’ve died in his world by the way he lookin’ at me” You said, softly laughing a bit. 

“It’s…you” 

“Yeah it’s me tch…and?” you said with a smirk

Miles took a second to gather his thoughts, you weren’t his y/n. This “conversation” clearly showed that. He had to go, maybe he pleaded more and reached some caring and innocent part of you and G. 

“Please….you have to let me go” 

You and Miles activated your metal claws and put both of them on the sides of his head. Nearly moving in sync. 

“Why would I do that” you both say, looking Miles in the eye with an almost emotionless face.

You were not letting him go

@weirdo09

[startseeingstars]

Killer Instinct - Charlie Walker (Scream 4)

CH16 🎶 Vertigo - Hundredth 🎶

The cold night air nipped at your skin, but Kirby’s soft blanket wrapped around your shoulders offered a fragile comfort. The bright red and blue lights from the ambulances and squad cars cast an eerie glow over everything, creating sharp, distorted shadows that seemed to linger in the air like ghosts. You were perched on the back of an ambulance, surrounded by a hushed crowd of students and faculty. They stood at a distance, some with worried expressions, others staring as if they couldn’t quite believe what had just happened - some filming. It felt like the whole world was watching, but you barely registered them.

You hadn’t noticed the pain in your arm until now, the slow, deep throb as the adrenaline started to wear off. It was a sharp, relentless sting—like fire creeping along your skin. The wound was deep, an angry gash that had come from Ghostface’s hunting knife during the struggle. But that wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was the feeling that came after. The realization that you really were a fool for believing you’d be anything other than another victim.

The physical pain in your arm was nothing compared to the ache of regret in your chest. It was too much to bear, and the tears threatened to spill over, but your body felt numb. It was like all the emotion was being drained from you, leaving only a cold, heavy emptiness.

The officers had tried to ask you questions, but the words wouldn’t come.

Kirby’s phone buzzing beside you broke through the haze of your thoughts. You glanced at her as she answered, her voice low and steady, but you could see the tension in her posture, the way her shoulders were pulled tight.

“It’s Charlie,” she muttered under her breath, the words carrying a weight of relief you knew she wouldn’t understand.

You watched as she took a few steps away from you, her tone quick and clipped as she spoke into the phone. The noise of the world around you faded, but you couldn’t block out the low murmur of voices—the way people were speculating, murmuring their disbelief.

Before you could get lost in your thoughts again, a familiar voice broke through the fog.

“You survived, kid.”

The words were meant to comfort, but they didn’t. Not coming from Officer Dewey. His voice was kind, but there was something in it, something you couldn’t shake. Pity. It seeped into every syllable, every word, and it felt like an insult. He was a man who knew exactly what this kind of trauma cost—mentally, physically. You could see it in the way his eyes softened, but it didn’t change the fact that you weren’t just another survivor. You were a victim.

“I know it’s hard, but I’ll need to bring you down to the station to make a report.” His voice was gentle but firm, like a parent telling a child that no, the fun was over now. It wasn’t a choice.

You nodded, barely hearing him. Before you could respond, Gale’s voice cut through the air, sharp and biting, like the snap of a whip. Her gaze was hard, unforgiving as she walked toward you. “Run me through what happened.”

You didn’t even want to look at her. You didn’t want to speak to her. But your eyes met hers, and it was like the weight of everything pressed down on you at once. You could feel the tears threatening to spill, but you didn’t let them. Not yet.

“Gale,” Dewey said gently, stepping in between you and her. His hand was outstretched, a quiet plea for her to back off. “Give her some space.”

But Gale wasn’t having it. She muttered under her breath, glancing back at you one last time before stepping away, her sharp gaze still cutting through the air.

You exhaled a shaky breath, feeling the weight lift just a little. You were grateful for Dewey. He knew the toll this kind of thing took, even if you hadn’t said a word. You didn’t have to speak for him to understand. It made you feel guilty, though, that you had protected the killer on the night Olivia died - that you didn’t mention your call with Ghostface the night Paris was murdered.

The guilt was heavy on your conscience, but you refused to include the details in your statement for fear of getting in trouble. Technically, you were interfering with a murder investigation. Two.

xxx 🎶 Fall - Palisades 🎶 xxx

Your bed felt vast and unwelcoming, its deep expanse threatening to swallow you whole. The weight of the emptiness pressed against your chest, each breath feeling more labored than the last. It was as if the mattress itself could sense your anxiety, drawing you deeper into the dark pit of your thoughts. The muffled sound of Kirby and Kimmy’s mixed snores from across the room did little to soothe you—if anything, their rhythmic noise made the silence between your own breaths feel more deafening. Your stomach churned, unsettled by the unease that gnawed at you from every corner of your mind.

With your eyes locked on the ceiling, you tried to focus on your breathing, the rise and fall of your chest offering some semblance of control in the midst of the chaos. But it didn’t help. The thoughts wouldn’t stop. They swirled in your head, like a hurricane you couldn’t escape.

The buzzing of your phone jolted you from your spiraling thoughts, the sound vibrating against the mattress like an electric shock. You glanced down, heart hammering, and saw the name that made your pulse spike. Charlie.

Come to the door x

For a moment, everything else faded. The chaos inside your mind quieted, and a strange sense of relief settled in your chest, warm and unexpected.

Your heart beat hard in your chest as you crept toward the door, careful not to wake Kirby or Kimmy. The door creaked slightly, opening to reveal a concerned looking Charlie. He wasted no time, gently taking your wrist and pulling you out of the room. Before you could gather the words, his hands held your face and he pressed his lips to your desperately. You returned the affection, hands mindlessly running through his untamed hair.

You kissed deeply for what felt like ages, when he finally broke away for air, he rested his forehead against yours, eyes closed and hands still caressing your face tenderly. “I’m so sorry,” the words were strained, dripping in regret and your heart ached. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” The words had barely left his mouth before he pressed it to yours again, leaving you melting at the passion and warmth you felt radiating from him.

Charlie’s heart was racing with panic at the thought of losing you. He needed to protect you, be there with you. “Can I stay?” He pleaded and you immediately nodded, a delightful warmth spreading through your chest at the idea.

You slipped quietly back into your dorm room, Charlie following behind you. Luckily, Kirby was snoring away and didn’t even flinch when the door creaked close. You turned to Charlie, unzipping his hoodie and helping him take it off. You didn’t hesitate to begin unbuttoning his jeans. While he was surprised, there wasn’t lust behind the gesture - only a desire to help him get comfortable.

You longed for the comfort of his presence, to feel anchored amidst the chaos swirling in your mind. You knew, deep down, that Charlie’s presence wasn’t a guarantee of safety—nothing could be in times like these—but for the moment, it was enough to allow yourself to breathe, to let the tension in your body ease.

As you slipped under the sheets, Charlie followed, his warmth enveloping you as he settled beside you. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat thudded against your ear when you pressed your head to his chest. It was a familiar, soothing sound, one that, despite everything, made you feel grounded. You smiled softly at the comfort of his closeness, the simple act of being with him filling you with a quiet sense of peace.

“You okay, Char?” you whispered, your voice barely audible in the stillness, a touch of concern lacing your words. You could feel his body tense just slightly beneath you, but the vulnerability in his eyes softened your question.

“Yeah, I just,” he sighed before continuing. “When we first met, I-I figured you wouldn’t bother with me,” he continued, his eyes staring at your ceiling, noticing the peeling paint in the corner. “But hey, if you’re into people who can quote Friday the 13th at you non-stop, I’m your guy.” He chuckled quietly and you blushed.

“You are my guy,” you muttered, barely able to hear yourself over the pounding in your chest.

“You’re really mine?” Charlie’s voice was tentative, as though he couldn’t quite believe it. The hesitation in his tone made you smile softly, a small laugh escaping your lips despite the heaviness that still hung in the air between you two.

“I don’t wanna be anyone else’s…” you murmured, your words barely above a whisper, but they carried a weight that pulled at his heart. It was the kind of truth he hadn’t dared hope for, the kind of truth that anchored him. You were his. And deep down, he knew—without a shadow of doubt—that he was entirely, irrevocably yours.

Your fingers traced delicate patterns across his chest, the subtle touch a tender, almost absent-minded gesture. What you didn’t see was how Charlie’s skin shivered under your fingertips, the sensation leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. His heart tightened, his breath hitching slightly as he fought to keep his composure. He brushed the thought aside, focusing instead on your closeness, on the warmth of you against him.

His hand moved to your hair, his fingers gently sweeping strands away from your face. He closed his eyes, losing himself in the soft touch, the rhythm of your breath in sync with his own. Earlier, rage had consumed him—at Jill, at the situation, at the threat to you—but now, with you in his arms, there was a quiet calm. He knew what he had to do.

If Jill wanted to hurt you, she would have to die. That thought lingered in his mind like an unspoken vow. His demeanor remained composed, but his mind was already running through the details of the plan he’d crafted long before. The plan that had been set in motion the moment he realized he was falling for you. Jill’s impulsive attack on you had only provided the excuse he needed to execute it. He was ready. He had to be.

As you drifted off to sleep, the quiet rhythm of your breathing soothing in the stillness of the room, Charlie remained wide-eyed, his thoughts dark but resolute. You were safe—for now. And he would make sure it stayed that way, no matter the cost.

xxx 🎶 Kiss Me More - Doja Cat ft. SZA 🎶 xxx

“Had a sneaky rendezvous, did we?” Both you and Charlie woke to Kirby’s smug taunting and he groaned at the light shining in from the window. As she and Kimmy laughed, he rolled away from them and pulled you closer into him, burying his face in your soft hair that still smelled of the strawberry shampoo he’d grown to love.

You blushed but Kirby didn’t press further, so you kept your eyes closed. Charlie’s breathing was steady, and your breathing fell into the same rhythm, like you were perfectly in sync.

Kirby pulled out her phone and, without hesitation, added you both to a group chat for a movie night. You groaned in annoyance when you heard yours and Charlie’s phones vibrating, but he reached over and handed yours to you. You glanced down, seeing the invite.

“Are you sure about this?” you asked quietly, glancing over Charlie’s shoulder at her as she absentmindedly played with Kimmy’s hair, eyes glued to the TV. You barely noticed what was on the screen - no doubt a horror.

Kirby smirked without looking up, the same easygoing confidence in her voice that made you envy her. “Strength in numbers, right?” Her eyes flicked to yours with a hint of mischief, the kind that made you want to laugh but couldn’t bring yourself to. “And anyway, you’re not exactly giving me much of a choice,” she added with a wink, as if trying to lighten the mood.

You forced a smile, your fingers instinctively reaching for Charlie’s hair, earning a sleepy smile that tugged at your heart strings. You wished you could wake up like this every day.

“Well, I’ll meet you later. I’m helping Rhys with a project,” you said with a small sigh. Leaning in, you pressed a soft kiss to the tip of Charlie’s nose, making him scrunch it up in surprise.

At the mention of Rhys, Kirby’s brow furrowed. “Alone?” Her voice held a note of skepticism, and you could practically hear the unspoken What if he’s the killer? lingering between the words. You had already thought of that, but you’d been sure to organise it at the library and was going to ask Charlie to walk you there.

“I think even if he was, she could take him. Have you seen the guy?” Charlie’s voice dripped with sleep but he chuckled, and you smiled.

“My concerns are no longer valid,” she joked, accepting your plans with a shrug, though there was a lingering wariness in her mind.

Charlie smirked before pressing his lips to yours. You couldn’t help yourself as you deepened the affection, tracing your tongue along his bottom lip, earning a playful groan from him.

Kirby pulled a face but Kimmy giggled. “Can you two get a room, please?” Kirby rolled her eyes.

“Last I checked, you were in my room.” You mumbled, continuing to smile through your long kiss with Charlie. Charlie’s cheeks were flushed, but, who was he to deny you? he thought.

“Whatever. Since Charlie’s here, I guess I’m relieved from my post.” You heard her and Kimmy collecting their bags and you grinned, excited to finally be alone with Charlie.

“See you later,” you grazed your nose against Charlie’s, paying no mind to them as your cousin and her girlfriend left.

The door had barely clicked shut before Charlie’s voice broke the silence. “Skip Kirby’s tonight,” he said, trying to sound casual, though his heart pounded in his chest with anxiety.

“Why’s that?” you asked, your eyes still closed, completely content in the comfort of his arms.

“I’ll meet you back here when you’re done with Rhys,” he murmured, his tone low and suggestive. You could sense the hint of something deeper beneath his words, and a smirk tugged at your lips.

“Alone time with my cute boyfriend?” you teased, a playful glint in your eyes. “Consider me sold.”

You smirked, tossing a leg over his waist and you rolled on top of him.

Charlie’s breath hitched before you kissed him deeply again, earning a more relaxed, pleasurable groan as you grind your hips on his morning wood.

“Y’know, that’s usually the part in the movie where the girl discovers her boyfriend is really the killer.” Charlie’s words held a teasing tone as his hands gripped your waist, guiding you as you let out a small whimper at the friction of your clothes core against his length.

“Lucky for you, I’m a sick freak who might just be into that,” you teased lightly, blushing as the hint of truth came through your words.

“I know you are, Princess.” His lips mumbled against yours before his teeth gently took your bottom lip, eliciting a silky moan from your mouth.

Just then, Charlie’s phone began to buzz incessantly. He groaned in frustration, glancing down at the screen, then sighed when he saw the caller ID. Without saying a word, he swiped to reject the call, running a hand through his messy hair, his expression a mix of irritation and resignation.

“I’m sorry, I’ve gotta head out,” he muttered, his voice a little strained as he avoided your gaze. When he finally met your eyes, his chest tightened at the soft pleading look in yours.

“I’ll be back later to walk you to the library,” he promised, the words slipping from him before you had to ask. You couldn’t help but smile, touched by how he always seemed to know what you needed without you having to say a word.

As you both stood up, Charlie started gathering his things, and you watched him in silence, your heart already aching with the thought of him leaving. It was a strange, heavy feeling, as if you’d miss him before he’d even gone.

“Don’t die,” you teased, flashing him a small smile as you walked him to the door.

“Lock the door and be safe,” he said, his voice low, almost a command, as he turned back to plant a soft kiss on your lips. Neither of you seemed to want to let go, the kiss lingering for a moment longer than necessary, both of you stalling the inevitable goodbye.

“Bye,” you whispered as you pulled away, your voice barely audible. He smiled, a small, reassuring curve of his lips.

“See you later, beautiful,” he said softly, before turning to leave.

[autumnalwalker]

Seven Snippets Seven People (Part 1)

Thank you for the tag, @mysticstarlightduck.

I've actually had two of this tag game sitting in my Drafts for a while now, and given what I just wrote last night for Chapter 21 of Empty Names I thought it might be fun to combine them a bit. This most recently written bit was basically one long sequence of Eris tripping out and losing her sense of self due to exposure to a Lovecraftian eldritch entity and experiencing warped hallucinatory versions of old memories that have either happened or been referenced earlier in the story.

So I thought it would be fun to put all those scenes back-to-back with the earlier parts that they're referencing.

But before I get started, softly passing the tag to @talesofsorrowandofruin, @druidx, @emeraldmew, @oh-no-another-idea, @ceph-the-ghost-writer, @theimperium, @acertainmoshke, and the usual open tag for anyone else who wants it.

(And here's the link to Part 2)

(Content Warning for some violence and mild body horror.)

Starting off with a conversation between Eris and Gretchen (her ex) a bit before this whole sequence starts:

“I’m sorry,” Gretchen says.  “Like you said, I wasn’t really myself when I was going on like that.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“It’s just… You know what it’s like.  The rush, the thrill, the anticipation.  The drumbeat in the back of your head that seems too loud to be simply your own heart.  The electric tingle down your spine that spreads through your whole body.  The way smell and taste start blurring together and your other senses all start feeding each other so that the whole world seems more.  The craving.  The memory of blood’s viscosity and the way a drop’s trail down the back of your hand catches on all the little hairs and gathers in the pores and creases.  The constant knowledge of how good the climax of the hunt feels.  Has felt.  Will feel next time.”

“I do.  All the more reason for you not to go in there.”

“It’s like that all the time now.  Even basking in that moment right after a kill it only ebbs away to a murmur.  It’s enough to make you think it might not be so bad if you never felt anything else.”

“Only ever feeling one thing?  Sounds like death to me, and I’d rather die as myself.”

Gretchen’s laugh is soft and bitter.  “You always say that.  Have you ever stopped to think that it might be becoming more yourself, not less?”

Now let us rewind a bit, back to the side story "There Are No Dogs In the Dog Park" with a scene from the POV of a werewolf being helped through her first transformation by Eris:

Howling.  All around her.  Inside her.  From her.  From her?

Lights growing so bright.  Nearly hurts. Colors warping draining distorting.  No more red.  No more green.  Wash of blues and yellows and grays. 

So loud.  Noises deafening.  Too much all at once.  Smells too.  So many.  So sharp.  Sickening. 

“She’s panicking!”

“First time’s always a trip.  She’ll get through it.”

Skin crawling.  Stretching.  Bones cracking, extending, filling in.  Doesn’t hurt but feels wrong.  Alien.  Itchy.  Where’s the mass coming from?  Can’t think about that.  Itches too much.  Outside and in.  Try to scratch.  Skin feels too soft.  Scratch feels too sharp. 

Look down.  Flinch back up.  Down again.  Arms covered in fur.  Hands end in claws.  Muscle growing as she watches.  She whimpers. 

“Sarah.  Sarah, look at me.”

Look up again.  Piercing eyes.  Solid face.  Holding her in place without touching.  An anchor. 

“You’re going to be alright.  Just breathe.  Take it slow.”

Nod.  Try to speak.  To say “okay.”  Hear a bark instead. 

Clap hands to mouth.  Hit her face too soon.  Mouth and nose are too far out.  Don’t think of the word for it.  Don’t make it real. 

Try to stand up.  Stumble.  Center of mass is all wrong.  Joints don’t bend right.  Body so heavy.  Struggle back up.  Look around.  Surrounded by wolves and things that are almost wolves but wrong.  Where is she?  How did she get here?

“Sarah…”

People here too.  Staring at her.  Why are they looking at her?  Please stop looking at her.  Go away.  Get away.  Need to get away.

“She’s running!”

“It’s fine!  She just needs time to work through it.  Follow but give her space!”

Keep moving.  Two legs?  Four?  Which works better?  Find a rhythm.  Pick up speed.  Just need to get away.  Can’t get away from herself.  Something wrong inside her.  Need to get it out.  Get it out!

Fence ahead.  Trapped.  In a cage.  Need to get it out.  Need to get out.  Need to escape. 

“She’s going for the fence!”

“Should I tranq her?”

“Jeez, calm down guys.  Don’t worry, I got this.”

Hand on the chainlinks, furry and clawed.  Is that really her hand?  Who else’s could it be?  Feels wrong.  What does right even look like?  Stop looking.  Just climb.  Pull to climb.  Pulling rips the metal away.  Breaks the links.  Snaps and pops hurt her ears.  Too loud.  Everything is too loud.  So strong.  Monstrously strong.  She’s a monster.  She’s a monster.  She’s -

“Sarah…”

Is that her name?  Is that her?

Turn around.  Someone right behind her.  Looks familiar.  Looks too small.  

“I know yer freaking out right now, but I’m going to need ya to get away from the fence.  Can’t have you getting lost out there.”

Solid presence.  An anchor.  Remember to breathe.  A hand extended.  Reach out to take it.

“That’s right.  Now let’s get you back to the others.”

Now then, let's us look at the nightmare version of that:

Eris is hunting.

A chill wind blows across a moonlit prairie.  The rush, the thrill, the anticipation, are almost too much to bear as she chases down a pack of lupine shadows.  One falls to a spear.  Another is caught by its tail and dragged to the ground.  A third turns and raises itself on two legs to face its hunter.  Its claws meet with only open air.  Her claws meet with its heart.

There is a disappointing lack of blood.  They are naught but shadows afterall.

The pack’s lone survivor sprints for the treeline, wild with fear, only to find a chainlink fence between itself and safety.  She is still half human, and her eyes are fully so when she looks back at her hunter.

There’s a name Eris should remember and call out at this part.  She doesn’t, but what does it matter?  It’s just a beast.

What was she hunting again?  It doesn’t matter.  It’s all just prey in the end.

The clock turns back to another conversation between Eris and Gretchen, reminiscing on old times:

Eris gasps in mock indignation.  “Me?  A menace?”

“You got an amusement park shut down.”

“Miraclezone Fun Park had already closed its doors for four whole days by the time we got there, thank you very much.  You know, on account of all the mysterious deaths that got our attention in the first place.”

“Maybe, but derailing a roller coaster so that it crashes into the middle of an amphitheater certainly didn’t help their odds of reopening once the weird ape spider things that were eating the night shift employees were dealt with.”

“Says the woman who decided to draw the beasts out by plugging her phone into the sound system, turning on all the stage lights, and doing a solo dance number without realizing how many there were infesting the park.  You’re lucky my aim was good enough to take out half of them when I landed.”

“More like you’re lucky I was fast enough to dodge that mess.  I’ll hand it to you though, you made one helluva first impression climbing out of the wreckage, ripping off one of the coaster’s safety bars one-handed and using it as a club to lay into the rest of the… what even were those things anyway?”

“Some alchemist’s escaped mad science experiments.  It was in the Crossherd papers a few days later when the guy got bagged for a gross violation of the Masquerade after the cops showed up and found a bunch of dead eight-legged monkeys.”  Eris shakes her head in exasperation.  “I still can’t believe we didn’t get caught for that.”

“Fitzy’s always been good at covering for his bar’s patrons.  It’s half the point of 121813.”  Gretchen pauses, searching her memory.  “That night was your first time there, wasn’t it?”

“Yeah.  You offered to buy me a drink and I was too busy trying to hide the fact that my arm was broken to turn you down.”

“Your arm was broken?”

“And a few ribs.  Did something to my ankle too, but by that point I already had a good grasp on how fast I heal and I was trying to look cool for the chick who was killing rabid chimeras with a spear in time with the baseline on metal music blasting from stadium speakers.”

But this memory too can become twisted:

The chainlink fence rattles and shrieks when she tears it down and stalks between the support struts of the rollercoaster.  The drumbeat in the back of her head seems too loud to simply be her own heart.  Perhaps it is the music pounding from that amphitheater over there.  Eight-legged shadows leap from support strut to support strut and skitter along the tracks above.  What an annoyance, that noise is luring her prey away from her.  

A freezing from the spear, a few good kicks, and a mighty heave are all it takes to knock out the nearest pylon and set the entire rollercoaster around her crashing down.  The music of the collapsing metal all around her is enough to drown out the metal of the music from the amphitheater, but the drumbeat in her skull is louder still.

She steps on one of the wretched chimerical shadows trying to free itself from the wreckage as she stalks toward the alleyway behind the amphitheater.

Oh, yes, that’s right.  She’s hunting Gretchen.  The snake, the spider, her lioness.

A moment of comparative memory from Lacuna's POV, back in Chapter 10, in the wake of the team's first mission together as a group:

It is well and truly night by the time the two of them ascend the stairwell of their building.  Neither of them break the heavy silence as they pass Lacuna’s floor on by up to Eris’s together.  Lacuna strains to keep from grunting as Eris leans on her more heavily than she had been for the last ten minutes - ever since she started limping - while she fishes out her keys and opens the door to her apartment.  It’s Lacuna who quietly flips the lightswitch as they step inside and then gently shuts and locks the door behind them.

It’s not the first time Lacuna’s helped her friend to bed.  That had been about three months after meeting her, and had thoroughly killed the crush she’d had on her at the time but thankfully been too scared to confess.  The fact that Eris took to calling her “sis” not long after had nailed said crush’s coffin shut tight.  But in all honesty, she prefers their relationship this way.

It is however the first time Lacuna’s seen what got her friend into this state for herself.  Sure, even that first time Eris had regaled her with the dramatic tale of the monster hunt that left her tired enough and badly cut enough to ask for help getting home (that one had been something called a “hodag”), but she’d always found her friend already some distance away from wherever the battle had taken place, even on the night when she took Eris to Doc’s instead of home.  And even on that worst night, sitting in the waiting room of the clinic they met at, the reality of what her best and only friend does for fun never truly sunk in until now.

What was that first encounter that made Eris ask Lacuna to help her get home? It wasn't this. This is just a twisted shadow of that memory cut short...

The alleyway is awash with the scent of buzzard meat, skunk perfume, and pine scented car air freshener emanating from the dumpster at the far end.  An electric tingle runs down her spine and spreads through her whole body as she walks past the garbage truck that has taken her to so many trailheads with signs of new quarry within the dream-born city.  The shadow that erupts from the refuse is all horns, claws, spines, and teeth.  It is long enough to wrap itself around her, heavy enough to pull her down to the ground when it does, and vicious enough to keep wrestling with her even after she snaps off its saber fangs.

She recalls a dim memory that this thing once hurt her badly enough that she called for help to return to her home lair afterward.  The one who answered should never have had to see her like that.  She will make this shadow pay for that.

By the time she realizes the shadow is dead and gone, the pavement is shattered, the dumpster is rent in twain, and the engine of the garbage truck she was once responsible for is totalled.  There is no proper satiation to hunting shadows.  All chase and fight, but no release.  She retrieves her spear and vaults over the wall at the end of the alleyway.  Perhaps when she finds her true prey at the end of this she will bring satisfaction.

No, that’s not right, she’s supposed to be searching for Gretchen, not hunting her.

(Continued in Part 2)

[father-time-and-baby-new-year]

happy 200! i’m so glad to see your blog grow, it’s one of my favorites and i adore all your writing. i’ve never cried so much and i love the kind of unsettling feeling you write in your fics, it’s perfect in the category of yandere and dark content. in particular, i loved your drabble about shigaraki mourning over a dead reader and i’ve reread that one too many times to count haha! as for asks for headcannons and drabbles, it would be amazing to see that with bully!eren especially since he was such an awful person to the reader. i’d love to see him suffer honestly, but if you don’t want to write it, that’s completely fine! once again, i’m so proud of you for hitting 200! that’s such a huge milestone and hopefully, there will be many more in the future! :)

SYNOPSIS: bully!Eren has to navigate the world without you.

Pairing: Bully!Eren x Fem!Reader

A/N: I can't even explain in words how much I CHEESED at this message like my grin was ear to ear. can't explain how many times I read this. It singlehandedly made my day anon, and to repay you for my happiness....here is some angst. this is a slightly different route than the shiggy one but I hope it still suits you <3

TW: mentions of death, past dubcon/noncon, mentions of trauma, bullying, alcohol addiction, drunk driving, abusive behavior, revenge porn, nonconsensual photography/videography, mentions of infidelity, angst, so much of angst, violent behavior

WC: 2.5k

It's not like Eren had been doing a lot of soul-searching. He's not delusional enough to label his half-assed epiphany of "maybe I'm a shitty person" as soul searching.

It's just the conversation with his very sick mother burned holes through the back of his mind. Carla had asked about you and why you don't come by the house anymore. How she missed baking with you in the kitchen, and how you sweetly smiled whenever you would see soft creamy peaks form in the meringue.

Eren felt like he was swallowing needles as he assured his mother with false truths, that nothing was going on and distance between childhood friends is natural, and if it means so much--ok ok he'll bring you over.

He stays until he sees her chest slowly rising and falling into a gentle asleep. He touches the tip of his ears, unsurprised by how hot it was.

Eren, when you tell a lie, the tips of your ears turn red.

You're not at school the next day. Or the day after that. Or the day after that.

Guilt is not an emotion he feels often but the events of the past weekend replay in his mind. It was just a dumb party that Floch threw, and he was surprised to find you cornered by a trio of thee dunderheads. Like a distorted fairytale, he swept you away from the bad guys like a knight in shining armor, to only shove you in an empty room and demand compensation for playing hero.

Fuck, with that big mouth, you would think that you'd know how to suck cock.

Use your tongue stupid slut. If you use teeth, I'll shove this dick in your ass without any prep.

No, I don't care, you're taking all of it.

There's a video on his camera roll. How could he not record it? You're sobbing, mascara running down your cheeks, looking so beautiful and ruined with jizz smeared at the corner of your mouth. He was brutally fucking your mouth, making you take all of his length.

Breathe through your nose dumb whore. Or else you're gonna run out of air.

You were pleading with whatever garbled sounds you were constricted into producing.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren is conflicted with muting the video because he can't stand to hear himself like that. But he didn't want to miss out on your pitiful whines.

He remembers the distraught expression on your face when he was finally done with you. He tucked himself inside, and sneered, "I've got a girl coming here. Get lost." You looked so fucking distraught. Why? All he did was make you suck his dick. He didn't even fuck you.

He should have. Eren thinks grimly when he stares at your empty desk on the first day you didn't show up to school. He's gotten off to the video more than enough times than he can count over the weekend, and he was aching to see your pretty face twisted into a terrorized expression when he flipped up your skirt to grope your ass.

Kindly, Eren decides he'd allow you to have a rest day. But the second day, Eren pays a visit to your house finding it dark and locked, like no one was home and hadn't been there for a while.

On the third day, you're declared missing.

Your incompetent workaholic mother who finally came home and decided to give a damn reported you missing to the authorities who had scratched their heads because as far as they knew, the pivotal 72 hours were up.

Paradis was surrounded by forests. No one wanted to say it, but they were all thinking it. If you got lost in there, chances are you wouldn't make it out.

Eren wasn't always this admired and fawned over. He had his fair share of behavioral issues that frightened people (not you though, not then at least, not when you were children, and you still came back every day to play).

But when he channeled that anger into sports, there was somewhat of a star in the making, especially for some small-town boy. He was becoming extremely popular, and that's nice and all, but at the end of the day, he has a mother whose health was taking a sharp decline. He was constantly under stress, stress that he took out on you.

Where did his favorite stress-ball go?

It's all fucking surreal. Having detectives in the school. Not that there were many students to question (because christ, did you even have any friends after Eren turned everyone against you?).

Eren was questioned. He can't help but mirthfully chuckle. Maybe this was your grand plan, maybe you were able to finally sort out a mountain of evidence against him. If you were going to fuck him over, didn't you want to see it happen with your own two eyes?

The dark-haired boy wishes that was true. If you had gotten your revenge, would you be here? No, revenge isn't the right word. If you got any justice for what he made you suffer, would you come back?

Hi, I'm Detective Hange. I would like to ask you some questions today. You're Eren Yeager, right?

Yes, that's me.

How do you know ___?

We were childhood friends. We're uh, we're not as close anymore.

When was the last time you saw her?

Friday night at Floch's party-

-Floch Forster right? There were a number of kids there from your school.

Yeah. It was a big party. She uh, doesn't usually come to parties but she was there that night.

You were the last person to be seen with her. Other kids have said that they saw you and her entering a room together, and then only her leaving the said room.

[Sigh] Yeah we sorta...hooked up.

I thought you said you guys weren't close anymore.

You can be not close to someone and still hook up with them.

But you guys were close once right?

Yeah. Once.

The dark-haired boy asks if he was under any suspicion. The detective waves their hand in a dismissive gesture, “If her diary tells us anything, it’s only that she really liked you.”

Were detectives even allowed to divulge that sort of information? Eren doesn’t know but the stray detail that they offered off-handedly made him feel like he was swallowing needles.

At that point, Eren honestly still doesn't believe you're gone. You had a habit of running away, even when you were little kids, but you always came back.

Still, he participates in the search parties with a renewed vigor, even going alone in the forest with a flashlight on most nights.

And he's just so fucking tired. The darkest crevice of his mind almost wishes you were dead because this ignorance was just agony. Almost. Because he still clings to the feeling that one day, he’ll stroll into class and find you in your seat in the back of the class, looking out the window like some cliche shojo manga protagonist.

There are folders and folders on his phone. Albums. The most recent one is dedicated to your crying face as you were choking on his dick. Earlier albums are composed of creepshots of your panties, of that obscene o-face, of your skirt flipped up and your ass cheeks, pictures of your cleavage, videos of you thrashing as he dunked your head into toilets like a villainous middle school bully.

Pictures of your neck covered in hickeys, your naked breasts, ass cheeks striped with red after getting spanked, your leaking cunt, just endless and endless media dedicated to pieces and pieces of your body like you were never a whole person.

The earliest ones though tell a different tale, from off-guards to your drooling face as you napped in the middle of the day.

He has a favorite picture. Your eyes are watery from the cold, snowflakes stuck between lashes, nose and cheeks flushed red, and you're smiling. Smiling right to the camera. Right at him.

"Eren, are you taking a picture?" You asked, bouncing in place, giddy that it was finally snowing.

"Not of you, shut up. Get out of the way." His voice is gruff but not harsh.

You laughed and jumped into frame anyway, and the bright streetlamp behind you made you seem like you were wearing a halo.

He wishes he had more pictures of you being...yourself. Because now your crying face displayed over countless pixels haunt him. But like a fucking degenerate, he still jerks off to all the nudes he coerced from you. Sometimes he cries when he's jerking off which is probably the most pathetic thing he's ever done. This is what you've reduced him to.

He hates the sound of his own voice.

Breathe through your fucking nose. This is for your sake. Otherwise, I don't mind face fucking your lifeless body. You'd be more useful that way anyways.

Eren goes through the motions of life without really feeling like he's in the moment. Seasons change and time flies. His mother dies, and his withdrawn father dies a year later. He proposes to Mikasa because it's something he was always supposed to do. She loves him unconditionally, so even when he doesn't put any effort into the relationship but proposes, she says yes hoping he'll change and be a good husband.

He doesn't go to his parents' funerals because they're already dead. What's the point. He doesn't visit the candlelight vigils in your honor either. After tearing his ACL again and a somewhat traumatic injury, he kisses his pro-football career goodbye. To be totally honest, he's relieved. Because he had gotten quite bored, and maybe he was looking for excuses to quit the entire time. It's not like you'd be cheering on the bleachers anyways.

Mikasa has an affair, more out of a desire to see her fiancé feel something for her as opposed to any burning lust. But when she asks him if he's ever cared at all, with tears springing out of her eyes, he's just calmly drinking his fifth of whisky.

The dark-haired man doesn't even look up, "Let's break up."

"Is this about her, huh? Fucking get over it already Eren. She's GONE. And you have some big fucking audacity moping about her death like you weren't making her cry in the bathroom stalls every fucking day you piece of shit."

"Get out."

"You know what, I bet she killed herse-"

SMASH

The dark-haired woman doesn't finish her rant because the whiskey bottle smashes on the wall next to her head, sending glass everywhere and staining the carpet amber. She's unharmed, knowing it wasn't Eren's intention to hit her but Jesus Christ, what a monster.

She packs her bags and leaves the town like she should have a long time ago. All her friends had left years before and she stayed behind because that's where Eren was. She thanks her lucky stars that they didn't marry.

It's funny because he had always imagined himself being the first to move out of their small town, but he's the one staying. He can't leave this place. feels too tethered to ever leave. Every diner and liquor store is saturated with memories of you. He remembers buying cigarettes and exhaling the smoke to your face to piss you off in empty parking lots.

Maybe he stays in case you'll come back.

Eren's days consist of alcohol-fueled hazes. He doesn't know how his liver is still functioning. He doesn't know he's still alive after crashing his car into a tree when he was drunk out of his mind. He was on his way to get some more vodka.

He barely recognizes himself in the mirror anymore, not that he looks at himself much. His hair is long, nestled around his shoulder because he couldn't be bothered to cut it, dark circles under viridian eyes, and a perpetual stubble on his jaw.

His parents had left quite a sizable inheritance so there's no need to work but he's good with his hands. Likes crafting up birdhouses and cabinets, and occasionally does odd jobs around the neighborhood, never charging the elderly.

He's under the sink, tinkering with a wrench against the pipes when he hears the old lady coo at him.

"We're so lucky to have you Eren. I'm surprised a handsome young man like yourself doesn't have a special lady. The girls must be lining up at your door!"

The dark-haired man winces, and offers no comment, knowing that that the older lady was susceptible to long tangents.

"You know, we're getting a new neighbor." Eren grunts as a response. "They're young, I've heard. Isn't that exciting? Oh my, Eren! I think they're gonna be living in the house right next to yours..."

He tunes out the rest of the conversation because doesn't really care. He just hopes his new neighbors are quiet.

It's Sunday noon when obnoxious noises of moving trucks and people wake him up from his deep slumber. Eren's annoyed to wake up despite the fact he's probably been sleeping over 15 hours. He oscillates between getting too much sleep and getting none, his sleeping habits completely dependent on his dreams.

His nightmares are too visceral, visions of your corpse asking him if he'd enjoyed hollowing your soul with his teeth.

His dreams are achingly sweet. You in your prom gown, shining so iridescently like diamonds were sewn into the silk. He's dancing with you, holding you close, and then after you guys go to your favorite diner and gorge on burgers and milkshakes.

There's a peal of distinctly feminine laughter that stirs up Eren's senses. He's so pathetic, was the mere sound of a woman laughing getting him excited?

He sighs. He thinks of the whore he's frequently visited because of her resemblance to you. Hair color, skin color, face shape--with enough alcohol, he could really convince the person beneath him, was you. Maybe it's time to give her a call, but she's gotten so fucking needy and he hated how her voice didn't match yours.

The green-eyed man peers from the lace curtains, irritated by the brats playing on his lawn. A full family next door? Great, just what he needs.

The friendly knock on his door breaks him out of his daze. He contemplates whether he should answer but on the second more muted knock, he lets his feet guide him.

He turns the knob.

And Eren Yeager completely shatters.

Because it's you isn't it? You're the person standing in front of him? He can hear what you're saying but he doesn't really register it, soaking in the cadence of a voice he had long forgotten because all he had were pleading whimpers and frenzied moans stored on his cell.

He's shaking. Is he dreaming? He's dreaming, right? He knows it's you. You're older, far more beautiful than he's ever seen you. You have a different hairstyle, wearing clothes he would have mocked you for, and there's this joyfulness within you that makes you glow.

There's a mess of emotions electrifying in the pits of his stomach from euphoria, anger, and dread. He could feel his skin growing clammy like he was about to vomit at any second.

"Hey, are you all right?"

Doe eyes full of concern peer up at him. He voices out the syllables of your name like a desperate prayer.

You tilt your head to the side, "How do you know my name?"

[redorich]

to those who carried on

A fic for @petrichormeraki​ and their Hermit!Tommy AU.

-------

The hermits know Tommy as a quiet young man who is very sad and contemplative. The more time they spend with him (against his will, but they know he needs the company) the more they learn of the little details. His favorite block is cobblestone, he likes building towers, and apparently his favorite woman is the Queen. They don’t ask why he wears a smiley mask even though he never seems happy. They don’t ask why he hides important things in his ender chest. They don’t ask why he wears a shattered compass on a chain about his neck.

(Once, he died in lava and lost his absolute mind. He was so upset about the compass that he didn’t even mention the stack and a half of diamond ore he had on him. Xisuma ended up manually rolling back the server just so Tommy could have it back.)

As time goes on, the tremors in Tommy's hands grow lesser. His dull blond hair seems a bit brighter, his bruises fade quicker, he doesn’t look quite so skinny-- he spends his time serenely building, resource gathering instead of running and fighting. He has a sense of humor under all that trauma, which the hermits unfortunately find out after another massive-scale prank war thought to be instigated by Grian actually turns out to be Tommy's fault.

Tommy starts swearing more. Doc gets the stink eye from Stress for this, but Doc insists he’s never once sworn around the young man. (That’s an absolute lie, but it wasn’t anything Tommy hadn’t heard before. Tommy thinks Doc is remarkably unoriginal in his cursing. He does take note of the German ones, though.)

Inviting Tommy to PvP minigames can be touchy, they learn. He likes to fight, but he fights like an animal with nothing to lose. Grian once chanted, “It stays in the pit!” and everyone present had to spend the next five minutes wrangling Tommy’s soul back into his body from wherever it’d floated off to.

Tommy likes to glide with his elytra. He claims he’s never had one before, but he flies like such a natural that a few people have their doubts. On a dark desert night, with dark blue eyes watching the night sky, he confides to Cub that it reminds him of the way his dad used to fly. He hates rockets, though. He does not confide to Cub that it reminds him of what his brother did to his best friend. He says enough that Cub can guess, though.

Scar gets fed up with Tommy’s creeper holes and makes Tommy help him fix them. At first, Tommy has no clue why Scar is breaking out things like coarse dirt and birch leaves and making the ground all fancy, but he’s not afraid of a little hard work and Scar makes it fun. He learns a lot about terraforming that day, and awkwardly comes back a few days later asking if Scar needs any more help terraforming. Tommy still hasn’t built a real base, not by Hermitcraft standards, but the small hill he’s built his dirt hut near now has a very beautiful, if amateurish, waterfall. He doesn’t tell Scar about this, but Scar finds out anyway. Tommy wakes up one morning to find that someone has left a shulker box in his house. Instead of iron-gripped paranoia, he just feels wonder that someone would give him a gift-- to the hermits, a single shulker box is nothing. To Tommy, it’s everything.

The shulker box contains coarse dirt, birch leaves, and a silk touch shovel.

Tommy helps Xisuma mine a giant hole in the ground near bedrock, because he realizes that he’s never thanked the admin for getting him his compass back. Well, that and the fact that instamining with a haste two beacon and an efficiency five pickaxe is a novelty. Xisuma lets him keep the cobble, since everyone knows it’s Tommy’s favorite block, but also insists he keep some of the other blocks like andesite and diorite. He pats Tommy on the head and tells him to talk to Bdubs about building a house some time. Tommy nods. He's taken aback by how tall Xisuma is, completely contrasting his mild nature. He reminds Tommy of Wilbur, on one of his good days before... Before. Not Ghostbur, though-- the admin is much too alive.

Tommy waits too long, so eventually Bdubs comes to him. The man is silly and outrageous, playing everything for laughs and unexpectedly tender. Bdubs plays up how beautiful he thinks Tommy’s hideous dirt shack is, then offers to help him build a house that’s better. For Tommy, building a house means settling down, accepting that this is his home now. Bdubs doesn’t know this. Tommy builds cobblestone dicks while Bdubs tries to lecture him about depth and block variation. Nothing gets done and Bdubs feels like he might have failed, but come next week Bdubs is flying over the area and sees the dicks are gone; so is the dirt house. In its place is a spruce-and-cobble cottage nestled near the tiny waterfall. Off to the side, he’s made a cozy doghouse for his fox, Theo. Bdubs doesn’t know how close that fox came to being named Fundy.

He spars with False, and she very pointedly does not mention how his stances are uniquely suited to a piglin. There’s only one renowned fighter who’s a piglin, after all. It's Tommy’s story to tell, if he ever does, why he’s seen enough of the legendary Technoblade’s fights to pick up on his stances, yet he’s not experienced enough to know that they don’t suit him. Instead, False gives him different stances suited more for tall, skinny people like the two of them. She’s got blond hair and blue eyes just like him. (Not that she’d know. She’s never seen his eyes, hidden behind his mask as they are.) Every now and then, he imagines her as an older sister, and the one time he says so, she smiles. When Tommy’s at home, looking at his own distorted reflection in his waterfall (he’s improved it since he built it), he muses that their eyes aren’t the same, their hair colors are subtly off. It’s close enough, he thinks.

Stress dies from fall damage and Tommy goes out of his way to pick up her stuff, because the hermits do these things out of the kindness of their hearts. The thought never even crosses their minds to steal. It crosses his mind. He doesn’t do it. Stealing from Stress would be like stealing from Niki.

He shows up at Cleo’s base unannounced and demands to see the “cool shit”. He is appropriately enthused by the giant armor-stand-bugs. She tries teaching him her armor stand magic, but it doesn’t really sink in. It’s okay, she assures him, most people don’t have the knack for it. He does, however, learn that buttons make excellent decorations. He also learns how to braid hair, bribed by ice cream. He is terrible at it, to the point where Joe has to come by to help the two untangle her hair so Tommy can start again. Watching the two bicker over capitalism and six million armor stands and a whole host of other inside jokes he doesn’t get, he thinks he’s starting to understand what friendship is supposed to be like. Joe and Cleo don’t see him clutching his compass. He and Tubbo weren’t too far off from this, given their circumstances. Maybe...

Maybe Tubbo can be forgiven.

Tommy makes minigames of his own, ones that don’t just kill you and steal your stuff. He builds things that are pretty instead of just functional, brews potions with Stress and only calls them drugs once (again, upsetting her is like upsetting Niki. Best not done), and sets up chicken bombs above people’s bases instead of just lavacasting them. (As Grian saw the hundreds of chickens slowly raining down upon his mansion, he got such a peculiar look on his face that Tommy feared he’d fucked up. The shorter, stronger (much stronger oh god why is he so strong despite being so small) man nearly crushed Tommy’s lungs in a hug, proclaiming how proud he was of Tommy. Tommy was proud of himself for not accidentally murdering Grian out of reflex. Was this what healing was like?)

Yes. It is what healing is like. Tommy knows this because that wound gets ripped open again. Tango shows him how to build the most obnoxious redstone-powered noise machine the two can think of. Tango digs a small pit, and asks Tommy to throw down his axe. Suddenly, Tommy’s in Logstedshire again; it’s not Tango asking, it’s Dream. His hands don’t shake when he tosses his axe into the pit, followed by his sword and his armor. It isn't until he’s placed the TNT down that Tango grabs his wrist and asks him what he’s doing. Tommy’s eyes clear enough that he can see past the blond hair and freckles. Tango isn’t green, he’s red. He's shorter than Dream, and his worried eyes are unhidden. Tommy shudders, then tells Tango everything.

Tango has no pity for Tommy, just understanding and sympathy. He doesn’t push Tommy to talk about it, but when Tommy’s done telling his story, Impulse and Zedaph show up. They all pretend that Tommy’s voice isn’t hoarse, that they all didn’t conveniently happen to look away when Tommy took off his mask just long enough to wipe his eyes. The men bake a cake together, fool around with honey blocks, and don’t talk about it.

Tommy knows very little about redstone, considers himself more of a builder and a fighter than an engineer. Still, Mumbo’s living base is inspiring, and Tommy often hangs around the man’s industrial district just to watch Mumbo work. Mumbo knows that Tommy hasn’t purchased a day pass, but it’s nice having someone around to talk to while he works. It’s not like Tommy is stealing anything. (Tommy totally steals from Mumbo’s industrial district storage system. The man’s farms are so efficient that he doesn’t even notice, so Tommy assumes it’s fine. What Mumbo doesn’t know won’t hurt him.)

Lava still isn’t his favorite thing in the world. He stays far away from it, instead of imagining what it would be like to hurtle towards it. Ren doesn’t really notice this, but he does notice that Tommy doesn’t seem to like his mustafarian base. On a spur-of-the-moment whim, Ren whips up some absurd plotline in which he is a lone weary traveller seeking refuge at Tommy’s base from strange alien overlords. The two have fun together, and the young man cracks more absurd jokes about it than the hermits have ever seen him do. When Ren leaves a week later to return to his own base, Tommy keeps being absurd, if a bit more subdued without someone to play off of. He builds a shrine to the “prime log”, which grows more elaborate each day. Beef and xB pretend to be his acolytes, despite having no clue what a “twitch prime” is.

They can’t see his face, but the smile in his voice is a far cry from the despondency he once wore like a heavy cloak. He is so much more animated and alive, full of motivation. He builds an entire island in three days, and hand-delivers an invitation to each and every hermit for his beach party. Everyone shows up, even those with packed schedules (Iskall) and those with introverted tendencies (Etho). Tommy is nearly moved to tears when they show up in groups of twos and threes, as though he hadn’t expected anyone to come. There aren’t enough chairs for everyone, but there is more than enough cake to go around. Tango brings drinks, Impulse brings meat to barbecue, and Zedaph makes an elaborate jump-powered grill. Keralis brings way too much confetti and several handfuls of cheap, obnoxious party noisemakers. Stress brings Tommy a crown made out of alliums. It shines far less than his brother’s gold crown, and it’ll die in a few days, but he wears it all night and keeps it in his ender chest until it withers away.

He spends five days teaching himself to make flower crowns. Even his best attempt is awful, nowhere near as pretty as the crowns Stress makes, but when he gives it to her, she takes off the one she was wearing and wears his until it falls apart.

He dies fighting a creeper on Grian’s behalf, and doesn’t even panic, because he trusts that however many times he dies, no matter how stupid or ignominious or revolutionary or important, Xisuma will always let him respawn.

He spends a grand total of nine diamonds to buy a single plot of land in the shopping district. He builds a cute little bench facing the sunset, with warmly glowing street lights on either side and a small garden. At the end of the bench he places a jukebox, and buys every single disc that Beef’s music shop sells, including Pigstep. He sits on the bench while Mellohi plays and watches the tiny silhouettes of his friends flying in the evening sky. Tommy looks alone on that bench, even if he seems happy, so sometimes other people stop by to sit with him. Scar declares the bench area a public park, since everyone likes it so much, and refunds Tommy his nine diamonds straight from the throne.

[twisted-fishbaiit]

I recommend listening to this music while reading

Book [!]

The Fantastic Prefect

Chapter 1: Just make it stop

✎ 1st person pov

✎ 400+ words

I woke up to see that I was in yet another dream, but this time, there weren’t any odd characters. There was no mad queen, no lion, not a single sea witch and not one sorcerer.. 

I look to see behind me and there wasn’t a beautiful queen nor was there a blue flamed god…

I didn’t see a stern powerful sorceress either.

All I could see around me was how the environment slowly shifted its dark view to a familiar house. My now nostalgic family's house. But it didn’t look the same way I had left it, it looked old and to the brink of almost wanting to fall apart. I felt like my throat was being choked by something — a similar feeling when you feel like you’re about to cry.. The house then turns to sand and is washed away by the wind. Until it was completely taken away from me. I feel my eyes slowly completely flooding themselves and as though I couldn’t breathe anymore. The wind got stronger, dirt and sand hurting my watering eyes. I struggled to look up at the sky to see it had completely turned red, the air had become suffocating and unbearable, making both my inside and outside feel as if it was burning.

The world I had longed for had become uninhabitable, it pained me so much worse to come to that realization.. A thunderous storm approached, I covered my ears and closed my eyes shut so that I could no longer see what was happening. I felt so scared and in pain to do anything. Distorted voices and static noises were suddenly everywhere, I could not understand a single word any of them said. Everything got louder and louder, giving me an immense headache that was too explosive to comprehend.

But with all the chaos around me, I heard loving voices calling out to me. Ones that were so familiar yet somehow was slowly beginning to forget. Every other noise faded away even though the events were still happening around me, only those voices I chose to listen.. I see their familiar silhouettes but the storm isn’t making it easy for me to see properly. I painfully stood up and tried so hard to run towards those people, but no matter how fast or hard I ran towards them, I wasn’t getting any closer to them.

At some point, I couldn’t move anymore, The voices quickly were washed away with the previous awfully loud noises. I could no longer even hear my own thoughts. It just didn’t stop. Everything began to spin and it wasn’t waiting for me to think. Please let it stop, I want everything to stop, I want time to think! Please let me think! Everything hurts, just make it stop! Make it stop! Make it stop!

JUST MAKE IT STOP!!

I woke up alone not in my room of Ramshackle Dorm, but in an infirmary bed. The halls were completely silent. I looked out the window to see it was dark outside. I was speechless. My head felt lightheaded but at least nothing too serious. I felt hot, I was sweating and felt out of breath — as if I had just finished running or something. I took the bed sheets off my chest to breathe and just… sat there for a little bit. I look to the bed next to me to see that grim was peacefully sleeping the way he always has been. But he had a few bandages around his little body. Seeing him gave me a sense of relief, reassurance I’m a way.

How long have I been asleep anyway..? I needed a distraction… I don’t feel like sleeping anymore.

Thank you so much for your time if you read to whole thing, I hope you liked the first chapter and are interested in the next coming chapters of Book [!]. This is not canon to the actual story of TW, it is just my own fan-made book — which is why it has an exclamation mark instead of a number.

Side note: [Not every chapter will be in the Prefect’s perspective, the pov will change depending on the story.]

[burnedbyshoto]

go the distance

(will you) go the distance

— You’re perfectly content in life except for the fact that you are not dating Deku. When his best friend won’t help you out, you turn to the dark side to get what you want.

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pairing: pro hero!midoriya izuku x bad villain!reader

warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, manga spoilers, pro hero!au, villain!reader, ofa usage for sex lol, size difference, manhandling, public sex, slight degradation and praise, deku eats his cum outta ya pussy, big dick deku, corruption but make it opposite, deku is a pervert change my mind

word count: 12,715

a/n: well, yall already knew I wanted to make this fic a reality, so here it is for bnharems villain collab!! check out all the already amazing stories if you haven’t already. thank you to kara, sky, and jo for reading this for me because lmao im ass rn. I’m gonna go to bed because I partied a bit too hard last night.

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your quirk: distortion – can make afflicted persons vision shift 6 cm to the left or right at the cost of having their own vision shift the same way

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“Breaking news: We have yet another report to add to the slew of attacks this month, this comes just days after we broadcasted rumors of a villain running rampant over the city. This spate of attacks has put the entire metropolitan area at a standstill, road closures, and damaged property making it difficult for commuters to get to work in the morning. 

“Road maintenance endeavors to do its best to keep the city running, but it seems futile when these attacks continue to increase. The entire city was brought to a standstill by the mysterious villain who has still not been named, but reports show they are nothing like we have ever experienced before. 

“Where are the heroes now? Who will save us from the terror overwhelming our city? 

“Every day the crime toll continues to rise and we have no one here to protect us. The Hero Public Safety Commission assured us earlier in the week that the crime rate would go down, that the top Heroes are out there protecting our city, but if so, where are they? Is it really safe to go out anymore, who can we trust? Would you put your life in the hands of a Hero today? When they have proved our streets are no longer safe. We still have no information on what is going on, or who is involved, but we must remain observant. We will continue to report the latest news as we receive it, but for now, we must implore you to heed the warnings of the city-wide curfew that is soon to be implemented. If anyone has any information on these occurrences in the city, please send them to us or contact the police, you can remain anonymous. The safety of our citizens is what is most important, stay vigilant and don’t go out unless it is absolutely necessary. One thing we know for sure: we can no longer rely on Heroes to protect us. The streets of our once-great city are no longer safe, we are no longer safe.”

The female reporter closes her eyes, despite still being on the air, her eyebrows furrowed as she exasperatedly sighs.

“Was that good enough, Mirage?”

You look at her with a pout, your eyes then clenching shut as your lips move with unsaid words as you motion for the cameras to stop rolling. You tilt your head right and left, muttering a bit.

“Did that seem better to you this time? I don’t know, I don’t think it was scary enough...”

You open your eyes to see the exasperated reporter looking at you as if she personally sought to end you right where you were sitting.

“You are the worst villain I’ve ever encountered,” she deadpans, and you laugh in agreement.

.

.

.

You weren’t really a villain.

If you must put a label on what you were, you would say that you were the best PR head any hero agency could ask for. You were, after all, the top student graduate from UA’s Business Course and had been ushered into a condensed agency the moment you were finished taking your graduation pictures. 

And well, if you are actually curious about the… villainy, you would like to uphold and continue to stress that you weren’t a villain! You were just a public nuisance – like those stupid YouTubers – with the ability to garner Pro Heroes’ attention! People had no reason to scoff at what you did on the daily.

You took both of these jobs very seriously!

It was like being straight out of a comic for you!

A simple – hopefully should the heroes you’re in charge of not be stupid – nine to five job by day, and a badass, crime-committing, sexy as shit villain by night! How could anyone ever hate you for your lifestyle! How could anyone ever hate you?!

But we are all noisy people, and everyone wondered just why you became a villain because you had a beautifully stable job with an impressive salary! Why would such an amazing woman such as yourself dabble in the evilness of humanity? 

Well, you did have an answer for the public.

“Why do you engage in evil, villainous schemes?” the reporter deadpans, absolutely and utterly not being paid enough to humor you in this forced interview.

The public loved drama, pizazz, a little showmanship even from what they deemed humanities worst! So, you told the world why you chose to be evil instead of good:

“Because I want to be!” you grin, flashing a pose as you make your away from the interviewer you had very much illegally forced to interview you. “And because a hero killed my cat!’

Of course, that was a lie! Why would you ever hand over the real reason as to why you decided to become a villain! You’d be laughed right out of Japan, possibly be murdered by a horde of fangirls!

For you see, there was one reason and one reason alone as to why you decided to take your place within the villainy hall of fame. Why you chose to do more in your day outside of your already demanding job.

And that one reason was: Pro Hero Deku, civilian name Midoriya Izuku.

Now, trying not to come off as some creepy, weirdo, stalker fangirl, you could fully admit that you were in love with the stupidly large hunk of a man that debuted as an official pro a year before you graduated from high school. 

You remember how the world was finally recovering from the year-long nightmare that had ensued. To be honest, you were stupidly surprised you had even managed to graduate, given that most of schooling had become somewhat of a joke.

FIVE YEARS AGO, MARCH, 2XXX:

It had been in the evening, the clear blue sky becoming ruby red and blood orange as you made your way out of campus. The air somehow smelled of sweet hay and gasoline, but you didn’t mind. There was hardly anyone out at this time, most students had made their way home already, and the only sounds were the moving cars of businessmen just trying to get back home.

There really wasn’t any reason to suspect anything to go wrong, this was a simple daily walk back home after school that wasn’t like any other. But then there had been a loud pop, an ever louder screech, and finally, you managed to whip your head in time to see a car tumbling through the air straight at you. 

There was hardly any time to think, even less to react, and the only thing you knew was that you were not going to survive.

You braced yourself, eyes clenching and body curling, your mind screaming because this was not going to be the way things ended. But before it could happen, before the car could come down upon you and squish you like a bug under a shoe, something picked you up and you were weightless.

Waiting for an impact that never came, the tears that were endlessly streaming down your face were suddenly stopped by rough, warm fingers smoothly wiping them away.

“Hey, it’s okay! You’re safe now!” a voice says softly to you, endearingly warm and comforting. “I’m here, don’t worry.”

“Am I… did I die?” you whisper, unsure if you even want the answer, your eyes remaining closed because you refused to open them up to some angel that could confirm your death. “God, what an embarrassing way to die!”

“Oh – um, no! You’re not dead! I promise!” the voice laughs brightly, just softly enough that you believe him and not be entirely horrified by the amused reaction. Your eyes crack open slowly, just barely peering back into the world, still half praying you weren’t dead. But all you saw was green. 

Green eyes, green hair, green clothes.

You blink, once, twice, realizing only then you were staring into the eyes of a boy about your age.

He had curly hair, freckles littering his face, and eyes that easily pierced through your very soul.

Without meaning to, your breath stopped, frozen in your lungs as you were captivated by a handsome man with a curving, beautiful smile. 

“See, I told you it was okay!” he teased you, head cocking to the side as he grinned largely.

The action itself seemed to strangle the strangest noise out of your mouth as you realized suddenly and immediately that your face was burning and all you could think was:

A cute hero rescued me, a cute hero rescued me, a cute hero rescued me, acuteherorescuedme!

“Sorry about that scare! I would’ve caught that car sooner, but I wasn’t paying attention to who was around!” the green boy apologized, bowing deeply in front of you in his apology. “There’s a commotion just up ahead, so I recommend you take the next road over.”

You nod numbly, unable to conjure even the slightest hint of your voice again as he stood up to his full length. He was average in height it seemed, taller than you, but still not towering. The hero looked behind his shoulder, those big green eyes focusing onto the distance, onto something you couldn’t even begin to imagine – or see, really. He blinked and turned back to you, smile gone but the gentle aura to him remained, but now his face, his mouth, was underlined with a sense of urgency and engagement to whatever sent a vehicle tumbling your way.

“Which train do you take home?” he asked, eyebrows relaxing from his stern position, as his smile picked up again. “I’ll take you closer to your station!”

“B train,” you manage to wheeze out – unable to be the reason why he was held up but also confused as to just what he could do to get you closer to the station that was at least a mile away from here.

“Perfect! I know where that is!” he laughs for just a moment, and before you could even ask if this was going to be some escorted thing – because you definitely did not need it – his arms were fastly secured around you, and suddenly you were weightless.

A cold wind rushed against your face, nipping at your nose, cheeks, and ears, sending your hair flying around – into your mouth! Oh, you were screaming! You were soaring through the skyline, being held by some hero you couldn’t name, and you were screeching at the top of your lungs.

Making the mistake of looking down, your arms were suddenly around his shoulders, your voice growing even sharper and louder as you squeezed against his body and refused to let go. His hands, despite the gloves, were warm on your back, and his soft chuckle warming you from nose to toes as he secured his grip on you.

“I got you,” he spoke, “I won’t let you go, I promise.”

Those words don’t exactly ease you, but there’s a comfort to the genuinity to his words. You nod nonetheless, your face buried deep into his neck. The cold wind continues to whip around you, the only thing sounding in your ears is the cruel whipping wind and quiet city below.

“I’m landing now,” he informed you, body shifting in the wind, and reflexively, you clung even tighter to him, expecting the similar stomach dropping motion of a roller coaster going straight down. “You’re – ack – c-choking me!”

The knowledge of that, hearing the strain and entirely unhidden sound of him choking against the current chokehold you had on him, you released him entirely with a shriek of your own. Was it a smart move? No, definitely not because you were how many hundreds – if not thousands – of feet in the air with a quirk that could not, and would not save you.

“It’s okay! I’m fine!” he quickly said, his arms shifting around your waist as you felt your body weight drop just the smallest bit. To which your focus landed to the concrete floor so far down, and you began screaming again. He panicked just a bit too. “Y-You’re okay too! We’re landing! We’re landing!”

Soon, but not soon enough, the concrete floor came underneath your feet, and you practically felt your knees buckle underneath you. The train station behind you was practically invisible, and you felt the floor come in contact with your knees, and you collapsed onto your hands and knees. You could feel the tears streaming down your face as you wheezed and panted, unable to move from your position. 

“Hey, look, we made it!” he laughed gently, probably being said in hopes that you would feel better. (It did make you feel slightly better, his laugh was light and pretty to listen to.) You could feel him approaching you, iron covered red shoes appearing before your vision. Looking up, you saw that the young hero was crouching, his face holding a wobbly smile that was earnest, worried, and full of unspoken hope. “I do need to get back, but before I do, are you good enough to be left alone?”

You blinked your soaked eyelashes at him, still largely unable to say anything at the cute hero in front of you who had a few scratches on his cheek, right below his freckles.

“Y-Yeah, um,” you say, your tongue cotten and lead in your dry mouth. “I-I’ll be fine, I think.”

The green eyed hero nods, offering you a hand and assisting you to your trembling legs, “That’s good to hear!” he chirped, his wobbly smile becoming a grand, bright grin. “You were really brave! I was impressed!”

Now, you were an idiot at times, but even you could spot a stupid lie. Still, hearing it said with such honesty, as if this hero who was no taller than five foot eight truly believed it, made something bubble in your chest, and soon you found yourself laughing.

“No need to lie to me, h-hero,” you manage to speak between stammering breaths, “thank you for saving me, though. I appreciate it.”

You grin crookedly at him, and to your utter delight, he reciprocates it.

“It’s the least I can do. I’d offer to take you home but… I’m not quite finished yet,” he says, and you can only nod, the conversation obviously reaching its last strides. You watch as he floats up, his eyes looking at you, but somehow focused how many miles away from where he had brought you from. “Stay safe?”

“I’ll try my best,” you agree to his question, hands clasping before your lap. “Finish the job quick, hero?”

He grins, “I’ll try my best.”

You feel a breathless sort of laugh escape you as you watch him beginning to shoot back up, but a sort of horror shoots through you as you rush forward, running right after him, hands cupping around your mouth as you scream:

“What’s your name?!”

The blur of green in the air freezes, and you stop running as you see green eyes and freckles focusing back onto you.

“Deku! My hero name is Deku!”

You stop at the curb of the street, eyes focused on the sky as the green eyed hero named Deku grins one last time before shooting off at a speed probably much faster than when he held onto you. The wind blows around you, and you can only feel the heat sitting on your cheeks and the way you’re smiling as you stare after his figure that's long, long gone.

“Deku...” you whisper to yourself, ignorant to the world of commuters beginning to appear at the station. “Thank you.”

And thus came the very apparent and obvious day in which you fell head over heels for Pro Hero Deku.

Now some people called you a stupid fangirl, obsessive stalker, and sometimes, yeah, you were obsessive and weird about your slight infatuation with a stranger. It was strange, you knew that! But you also knew that you had practically no chances of ever being able to woe the man behind the image of Deku because Midoriya Izuku practically existed as Deku 24/7.

After you graduated from high school, you were put into the same agency that was currently holding Deku. Without tooting your own rom-com obsessed horn too much, you fully expected to walk in and be handed Deku’s file as his PR manager and be able to thank him for not only saving you all that time ago, but also eventually sweep him off his feet. 

But your reputation preceded you well, probably too well, because the first day you entered the office and was handed your list of three clients to work with, neither one was for Deku. Being a PR manager for heroes was hard, a job that practically held no set hours because, unlike your typical celebrities, heroes had no type of privacy or protection. They were constantly under the spotlight, being viewed by adoring fans and scornful critics. Your job served as the first line of defense for heroes against the public, and there were some heroes that were quite hilariously easy to work for because they were genuinely good.

The older PR managers typically held the quieter, easy tempered, or less combat heavy heroes. These heroes typically never had a bad thing said about them, their job was a glorified PA job but even less because there was no expected demands from the heroes they had to take in. Unless, of course, a hero wanted to do some sort of public event they hadn’t considered. 

But there were the louder, quick to temper, or the heavy combat heroes that while made you an insane amount of money, also brought you a near 120 hour work week because there was so much to do, so much to consider, so much to keep your eyes on. There was the constant slander, the people who hated the louder, quick to temper heroes because they didn’t like their attitude, completely disregarding that they had been unsafe and a liability the entire time the hero was dealing with them. The talk shows that took months to convince to allow for an interview because they heard false rumors, and so you have to practically wrestle a boa constrictor to get a measly five minute interview done. And then the combat-heavy heroes… no one would ever shut up about building damages and how this hero broke his nose while he was stealing a store! 

Not to mention having to have every single piece of social media on your phone, set to notify you whenever your clients names were brought up so that you could look at it. You’ve seen more than enough lewd drawings of your clients to last you a lifetime, enough fanfiction, and fan edits that left you with blazing cheeks and the need to never look at your client ever again. But mostly you checked each and every update because you were their first and only line of legal defense on these sorts of things.

You’ve taken down leaked nudes, fake news, and qualmed rumors and speculations.

It was hard.

So when you were shown to your desk on your first day and three files were handed to you, you were shocked to see the hero names you would be working with.

Dynamight

Phantom Thief

Shouto

Somehow, without having yet to speak with a single one of your now current clients, you knew that you were going to have your work cut out for you.

“Good luck newbie!” the woman who gave you the initial tour chirped, clapping you on the back. “You got this!”

Good lord.

Without much to do other than reading through the three’s files, you realized that you already knew a bunch about two of three of your clients. DynaMight and Shouto were two heroes that you knew teamed up with and hung out with Deku a lot, both on-field and off-field if any of the out of costume pictures said anything. Because of their connection with Deku, you had at one point learned a bit about them.

You knew that Shouto was a crowd favorite. He was tall and sweet and a complete airhead at the best moments despite him being smart. Controversy still surrounded his character, despite all the good he did, because of the past history that was brought out about his father Endeavor and his brother Dabi. The country couldn’t figure out where they stood in terms of that reveal. Endeavor did a lot before the reveal, and continued to rise up to everything in his path despite the skeletons in his closet being thrown out for the world to see. They neither forgave him, nor hated him, they only watched and waited. Then Dabi, of course, was seen as a could-have-been version of Shouto, and many tried to ask if he was really a hero and not actually siding with the League. After all, why on Earth would he be defensive of his father too?

The public had an unmoving image of Shouto based on anything but who he was as an individual, and you decided immediately that it would be your job to fix that. He was also, after all, a dear friend of Deku, so you’d do anything.

Phantom Thief was your easiest of the three clients. A relatively well mannered man who was kind and a bit weird in a fun way. He had a great sense of self and was a reliable person on the field. He made a great hero, but you could see the way his spirit blazed with an unspoken rivalry between him and the other two of your clients. Well, it seemed like he was the best until his former self appointed rivals came into the picture, but that was hardly ever, and according to Shouto, he was way worse back in their first year. 

The greatest scandal he’s had so far in your three years of working at their agency was the one time he was lied to about a quirk and accidentally copied a woman's quirk that gave her the ability to change her cup size. Safe to say that Phantom Thief accidentally broke a few buttons on his shirt and was unable to stop civilians from snapping pictures. 

But of course, the one that had you practically crying yourself to sleep nightly for more than one reason was Dynamight.

You’d known about him the moment you looked up Deku on your phone.

They were practically a hero duo in everything but name. They were always seen doing the same things together, whether that be on patrol together or maybe getting dinner, most of their top recorded fights were done with each other by their sides. You had also learned that they were childhood friends, and you practically vibrated at the thought that even though Deku was not your client, the chances of meeting him were still astronomically high.

There was no way you wouldn’t not meet Deku!

But you were wrong, so very, very wrong.

Turns out the hero duo in everything but name meant that Dynamight refused to let Deku be anywhere near him in the agency – the very small amount of time they spent in here. The few times they were in the same room, Dynamight absolutely refused to be interrupted because that was their paperwork hour. You had only ever been blessed with seeing green curls turning the corner as Dynamight gripped your forearm, refusing to let you follow.

“Like hell I’ll let you distract the shitnerd,” he stated simply, his red eyes narrowed as he stared down his nose at you. You opened your mouth, ready to defend your not so innocent intentions. “I’m not stupid, so don’t pretend like you won’t try anything.”

Your jaw snapped shut.

Safe to say that you couldn’t do anything about Deku so long as Dynamight was around.

But Dynamight as a client was exhausting to put it kindly.

There were so many opinions and thoughts and issues and praises coming from everywhere. Hell, even the fucking Americans and westerners had caught wind of the Wonder Duo at one point and while you were well knowledgable on their opinions on Deku, the ones on Dynamight were the ones that you had to focus on now.

People still called him a villain, so many unhappy with the fact that he still screamed and cursed and threatened. There were many conspiracy theories that he was working with the long dead League of Villains. They turned their nose up at the fact that he was childhood friends with Deku, claiming that no way an asshole like him could have ever been friends with him. And of course the bullying revelation that had come out shortly after your debut. 

That had been a trip, one that had you even shocked as Dynamight approached the table in front of the media, his body calm and composed. You had watched as he simply said he owed nothing to the media, that he had already done all that he could to deserve his atonement and deserve Deku’s forgiveness. He had spoken clearly, concisely that it wasn’t any of their damn business as to what he did, and if he apologized to them, the unaffected, the ones that had nothing to do with his early years of bullying Deku, of his previous weakness and insecurity, it would be a waste of his breath. 

It isn’t to them he should ever be apologizing to anyways.

You had watched as he stood up, face calm, and hands shoved into his pockets as he stood and walked away despite the screaming reporters. You had wanted to stay longer, have your own hand in damage control, but a swoop of green came in and Deku was at the microphone eyebrows furrowed as he pointed a finger at them all and said that his past with Kacchan was between him and Kacchan only, and his decision to forgive Kacchan were his and only his.

You didn’t hear the rest, didn’t even get the option to hear the way the hero you loved defended the hero you worked for – his childhood friend.

No.

Dynamight had grabbed your elbow and dragged you out of the room with him, the metal doors clanging closed the moment fierce green eyes met yours.

You watched in the company car as Dynamight looked outside the window, one elbow on the doorframe holding his chin; his gaze focused sharply on nothing but the passing sidewalk. Had it not been for the way the hand on top of his lap trembled, you would have thought he was perfectly okay.

Neither one of you talked about that again.

But just because you didn’t talk about it again, didn’t mean the world was the same. People claimed he brainwashed Deku, others demanded that Deku beat the shit out of Dynamight. You knew that Dynamight would want nothing to do with this, but you would stay in the office (an almost useless, empty office as most PR managers did their business at home) for hours long after you were supposed to be gone, practically arguing with someone who only existed behind a screen and didn’t even care that much – but you couldn’t stop.

Seeing Dynamight’s shaking hand had really done a number on you.

“The hell are you still doing here, eyelashes,” Dynamite asked from the dark entrance of the floor. “Go home already, don’t waste your time.”

You had startled at the initial intrusion, but you immediately relaxed seeing the smudged paint around red eyes and blond hair. You barely kept your gaze on him before turning back to your computer and continuing your argument.

“I’m not wasting my time, I’m doing my job,” you remark, eyes squinting at your keyboard because your vision is definitely blurry. “I’ll be heading out soon anyways.”

“God you’re fucking annoying and stubborn!” Dynamight barked, the heel of his hand slamming into his forehead. “This is exactly why I won’t introduce you to the fucking nerd!” 

“What?!” you shriek, suddenly looking at your client as if he had personally attacked you – and in a way he did. “What do you mean you won’t introduce me to Deku because of that?! I’ve already met Red Riot, Chargebolt, Cellophane, and Pinky through you!”

“Yeah, because they’re not stubborn idiots too!” Dynamight accuses, jamming a gloved finger at you as he begins stomping your way. You startle, your chair shooting backward as the explosion hero makes his way towards you at alarming speed.

“What are you—?!” you shriek, hands flailing about as he grabs you by the collar of your distressed shirt.

Dynamight lifts you up to your feet as if you were a sack of flour and you grasp onto his forearm.

“I might tell you that you’re the most annoying and stubborn bitch in the world, but you’re not worse than fucking Deku,” Dynamight sneers, his red eyes narrowed and stern. “I’m not going to let you meet him until you learn how to give or you’ll hurt him, and I’m not going to be part of any reason as to why he gets hurt again.”

Your jaw dropped, clearly offended, but you closed it just as fast; the weight of his words made you a bit sad, even for just a bit.

“You’re kinda cute when you care for Deku, you sure I’m his biggest fan?” you tease, grinning at the hero to which he rolls his eyes.

“Shut the hell up and go home already; it’s annoying seeing you fight a losing battle that’s none of your damn business,” Dynamight simply said, putting you back onto your feet and blocking out your desk. 

“I’ll go home on the condition that for my birthday you at least consider introducing us!” you say, unwilling to move from your spot. “I’ve been working for you for three years! You’ve kept me away for three years!”

Dynamight’s stare didn’t even shift the slightest millimeter, his red eyes unamused as you groaned in grief and annoyance.

“I’m stubborn? Have you met yourself?!” you grumble snatching your jacket and purse from the hook on your cubicle and shoving them on. “My names God of Explosion Murder: Dynamight and I am Stubborn™ but will never admit it.”

You continued mocking your long time client and most definitely friend if you dared to say so, and dragged the heel of your foot all the way to the elevator to which you were joined by Dynamight. The trip down the elevator is silent, and you keep your gaze locked on the closed doors, unwilling to even look at the hero next to you.

Soon enough, the elevator reached the ground floor, and you got ready to walk out.

“I’ll consider it,” Dynamight said as the elevator doors opened. “Also, fucking stop calling me Dynamight, Bakugou’s fine.”

He walked off the elevator with his hands shoved into the pockets of his pants.

“Thank you, Bakugou!” you shriek, your lungs failing you at the thought of finally being introduced to Deku! You hadn’t moved from your spot from the elevator, your chest hammering with the thought of getting to meet Deku.

“Don’t get your hopes up, you’re still irritatingly stubborn,” Bakugou merely calls over his shoulder before lifting his hand in a halfhearted wave before stepping out of the glass door.

That brought you back to reality just a bit and you scowled, knowing you would have to go beyond and above to prove that. 

But you see, there were many reasons to cry about having Bakugou as your client. Besides the stinkhole of his previous bullying, people just were not understanding his typically prickly exterior. You had to go head to head with reputation tarnished, had to slap fangirls away who demanded that Bakugou degrade them where they stood. It was hard to not be stubborn as not only his PR manager but his friend, and in less than a month, still plenty of time before your birthday, you had already grown irritated of the meeting-Deku-card he waved over your head.

“Mei, if I have to go any longer than this, I will die and hope I am reborn as Deku’s new guardian angel,” you pouted, chin pressed against a cold metal tabletop. Your hands being used as glove models for one of your best friends Hatsume Mei. “It’s first of all impossible getting anywhere near him with his guard dog Bakugou literally stopping me whenever I’m within a ten foot radius! And then I’m not even sure what will happen when we do meet again! Would I even be able to talk to him?!”

“Why wouldn’t you? You talk to all my babies with me! There’s practically nothing you can’t do,” Mei laughs, smacking you against your back before returning her intense gaze back to the gloves. “Deku’s uh… I actually can’t remember him but I’m sure he’s a great conversationalist! I think he helped me with the Sports Festival my first year.”

 “That was Iida,” you laugh, wiggling your fingers as Mei demanded. “You’re so bad with names and faces, I’m impressed you know mine.”

“You saved my baby, of course I remember you,” Mei turned her grin towards you, “but come on, why can’t you get with him besides this Bakugou guy?”

“Well, he’s just like Bakugou! He’s practically married to his job! Their schedules basically match together perfectly! There’s literally only three hours a day while they’re on the job that they’re not together! And that’s when they patrol their own parts of town because there’s hardly any activity they don’t need to be attached by the neck.” You explain and rant, your cheeks puffing as you stand up and allow Mei to run further tests on the glove. 

“Sounds like you gotta become a villain to woo this hero guy, huh,” Mei spoke, eyes focused on the glove as you pointed a finger at the far wall and watched as a beam exploded from the fingertip and pierced through the steel wall like butter. “Too bad you’re a goody two-shoes or else I could make you some serious villain gear and make you a fearsome villain to then prove that Hatusme Mei’s babies and creations are untouchable and the best in the world! Muah-ha-ha-ha!”

You know her words are more joking than serious, but that doesn’t stop your eyes from widening. Your body shifts over to where she was standing and you screech pointing at her and just narrowly missing setting off the laser again. 

“THAT'S IT!”

“What’s it?” she asked, completely confused.

“You have to make me a villain!” you exclaim, rushing over to Mei, who is eagerly waiting for her babies returnal especially since it ran perfectly. “You have to make me near-invisible gear that can keep me going toe to toe with Deku until I can seduce him!”

“You want to turn evil?” Mei questions, finger pressing quizzically to her chin. “That doesn’t seem right.”

“I am definitely not villainous to pull that off, but like I pretend to be a villain so that he talks to me and we can like get to know each other!” you exclaim, you’re unable to keep from hopping up and down on your feet, your grin unfathomably bright. “It's practically a romcom in the making!”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea,” Mei laughs, altering the band of fabric around your waist. “You do know heroes and villains hardly speak? It’s more like… ‘I’m more powerful,’ ‘No me!,’ ‘No, ME!’”

“Um, I’m pretty sure that’s not true, but whatever! I’ll figure out a way!” you continue on unaffected because this plan was genius! Especially if you had Mei in your corner?! Her recent development of not using such… steampunk designs made her creations elusive and dangerous to own. Hence why she was an extremely sought out manufacturer, by villains and heroes alike. “And if I can go toe to toe with Deku of all people, you’ll know that you and your babies are the undeniable best!”

“Hm, that is promising,” Mei agrees with a nod as she forces you around. “Is this Deku guy all that good?”

“He’s the one you made the iron soles for!” you chirp and watch as the recognition and challenge spark immediately in Mei’s yellow eyes.

“Oh,” Mei chuckles, turning away from you and looking at her pile of made babies. “This would be good.”

“So we have an agreement?” you grin excitedly. 

“Give me a month, and we’ll have your debut!”

Fuck Bakugou for thinking you weren’t good enough!

.

.

.

You hadn’t expected the initial phases of villainy to be quite as hard as it was, if you were being honest. The late nights at Mei’s personal lab made sure to keep your plans a solid secret, but you had to prepare for the wild range of what Deku’s quirk entailed.

There was smoke, something you were already used to working in because of Bakugou and his quirk. You’ve navigated quite a bit in his smog, and as long as you knew where you were, you would be fine. 

There was also that danger sense, which allowed him to know when things were coming – something that shouldn’t be too big an issue considering you weren’t actually attempting to extract danger onto him. 

Blackwhip was a big issue. How far or how much could you do if he even grabbed a hold of you. With sleuthing and the help of Mei having files on everyone's quirks, you were able to find information that blackwhip was a creation made of energy. Meaning that Mei was now making some type of destructing material to lessen the energy of the quirk, allowing for you to escape should he attempt to capture you this way.

Float was stopped by having most of your fights occur within a confined area, which was needed for you anyways! You didn’t need to be caught by anyone else but him! You didn’t actually need to land in jail – you would prefer to not be handled by anyone but Deku, actually.

Then of course the stupid superstrength and superspeed, both of which you knew you could handle with your quirk. You’ve been head to head with people with quirks similar to that before, and you knew your quirk was tricky enough that you’d manage to slip right past his fingers just fine. After all, you knew full and well that the Deku who took down S class villains was worlds quicker than F class villains – aka you.

You would be fine.

But today was day one, first of how many days it would take to get Pro Hero Deku, aka Midoriya Izuku to fall in love with you. 

You were dressed in a black and purple bodysuit that was definitely not inspired by Shego from Kim Possible’s costume. Your hair was dyed purple by a special spray Mei created that would be washed out by the end of the day, but wouldn’t ever give away that it was fake. You wore a mask over your eyes, and grinned seeing that you couldn’t see a fleck of color on your irises. 

Perfect.

And with far too much confidence, nauseating excitement, and unjustified attitude, you marched down towards your first spot, ready and adopting the identity of who you were about to become.

Mirage.

It was time to act. Deku and Dynamight were on different patrol routes right now, and you sent your threat, readying for the moment for the man in green to come in with the desire to stop you. With the very real threat of stealing every puppy within the tristate area being broadcasted within the area unless and hero bests you, you waited for your savior to come and stop you.

“I am here to stop your villainous acts, you villain!” a voice shattered the silence just as it shattered your heart. You looked over your shoulder to see some hero you couldn’t name standing at the other stairwell entrance with his fists clenched and ready to fight. 

You groaned, shoulders crumbling with your well hidden disappointment.

“I wasn’t looking for you!” you exclaimed, pointing an accusatory finger at the flabbergasted hero who was just trying to figure out what was happening. “Where’s Deku?!”

“He’s – he’s not here yet,” he stammers, eyes wide. “It’s not his day anymore to patrol this area?”

“Aw fuck!” you complain, pouting at the realization that you had messed up. “Okay, I’ll be back later, please don’t come back. Bye!”

With a small wave, you easily stepped through the door to the stairwell next to you and left, your threat empty and the hero victorious despite not actually stopping you. And unfortunately, although you had wished and prayed even, this was not the last time a screw up like this would happen.

At the threat of destroying all the cats in the area, you had another hero show up, not Deku, and you groaned and left before they could even finish their call of stopping you.

You then threatened to poison the watering system, to which you found out that Deku was held up at another major villain threat in a different city. You groaned and stomped off after that. 

Then there was the time you swore you would increase the overall temperature of the city per one degree celsius should your demands not be made. Shouto answered that one and you immediately walked away the moment you saw the familiar head of red and white coming your way.

Time and time again you kept being caught by heroes you could not care about, being confronted by no names and nobodies. It was tiring, and Mei was beginning to sigh just the smallest bit whenever you showed up to try yet again.

But you weren’t a quitter!

You would win!

This was your last attempt at getting Deku to notice you.

After threatening to wrap all the citizens in the area with a giant froot by the foot, you were almost sad to say that the heroes ignored your cry for chaos and no one had come to check on you.

You sat outside the building you used as your trap for Deku, pouting into a hot dog that the neighborhood's grandma gave you because you looked like you needed something to eat. It’s a good thing you weren’t actually a villain or else they’d be fucked, you bitterly thought as you took another bite of your food. 

It had been a month of empty, no Deku appearances, and you were going to bite the bullet and pretend to be not stubborn just so stupid Bakugou of all people could introduce you.

You kicked your feet as you sat on the staircase, humming as you watched the empty streets bend with the wind. It was quiet, beautiful, peaceful.

“YOU!” a voice shrieked to your left, and you watched a pudgy, red nosed man racing over towards you, a flash drive clenched in his hands. “TAKE THIS! RUN! DON’T LET THE HEROES TAKE IT!”

You gawked at him, feeling the small plastic device being shoved into your hands as the man collapsed at your feet. You squeaked when you heard a voice yelling stop and you bounced to your feet, turned into the building and raced in.

Your breathing was erratic, heart in your throat as you raced up the stairwell, unable to begin to imagine what the hell the information on the flash drive held. You were practically hyperventilating as you reached the floor you had come to know extremely well, and you stood near the window with shaky hands and legs.

What did you take?!

“I’m going to need that back, I’m afraid,” a low smooth voice said from behind you, and you froze immediately. Old anxiety overcome by a new anxiety, one that made your stomach flip and blood burn. 

Turning around, you felt awestruck to see the one man you’ve been waiting for… for fucking years now, really, to appear before you, finally be there. In the flesh, completely, entirely. Your jaw dropped, your gaze looking down from your clenched hand that held the USB to the way that Deku looked at you with warm eyes that were underlined with steel that made you want to drop to your knees, confess everything, and beg to be his. God, he was so fucking tall. He had only been about five foot eight the last time you had actually talked, and now he was at least a foot taller. His teenager haircut was long gone, now replaced with his curls trimmed at the nape of his neck before filling out on top – not quite an undercut. He had more freckles now, surely. His skin just a bit tanner, a scar trailing from his cheek to his jaw. You knew there were more scars, just as you knew that there were dimples when he smiled.

You wanted to have him between your legs while you begged for mercy, holy shit.

Tucking the USB into your pocket, you tilted your head as you will yourself to relax.

“I went through all the trouble of getting it... I think if I’m going to hand it over quickly, I deserve to know what’s on it, no?” you tease, your confidence coming out of nowhere while a smile spreads ever so largely over your features. Deku’s eyes widened just a bit, shock overcoming his green eyes.

“I’m sorry, but that’s confidential,” Deku stresses, taking a step forward toward you. You click your tongue, taking a step backward while grinning.

“I don’t think that’s what I asked for,” you giggle as you watch Deku’s face go through an array of emotions before settling onto one – curiosity.

“What do you want?” he asked, apparently entirely ready to discuss any and all terms and conditions with you.

“Honestly?” you reply, tapping a gloved finger to your chin as you ‘think.’ Deku, however, nods. His stance relaxing, becoming one of preparedness but not the takedown he had previously entered with.

“A date with you.”

You watch as Deku’s eyes slam wide open, his jaw dropping immediately and he stammered. Oh, how your heart soared and how you felt giddy and wonderful as he seemed to slip and slide on his own tongue!

“A-A date?!” he ends up almost shrieking, his head shaking left and right. “T-That’s a total lie! You can’t possibly – well, no! Please tell me the truth!”

But you were giddy, practically drunk off the fact that you were making the most powerful hero in the world blush like a little schoolboy. You suddenly were on the offensive, stepping towards your hero who was much larger than you with power and drive behind each step. And it must have been the way you stared him down, the way you walked towards him at blank range with such brimming confidence that Deku takes a step back. But it’s something that makes you want to laugh as the heel of his foot gets caught on a raised tile, and you watch the mountain of a man tumble to the floor.

You’re on top of him immediately, hands pressed to his shoulders, knee settling near his crotch with most of your weight so he got the idea to not do anything funny. The USB sits between your fingers, and you lean over his flushed face that looks up at you with wide eyes.

“Actually, I changed my mind, I know what I want,” you say instead, nose ghosting over his. “Everytime I decide to do something… naughty… I want you to be the hero on the case to stop me. You and just you.”

You lean in closer, so close that you could see the specks of gold in his green, green eyes.

Deku hasn’t spoken, and you’re pretty sure his chest isn’t moving as you press your breasts against his.

“Understood, De-ku?”

Your teeth tug at his bottom lip and let go as he nods.

“Good, good,” you grin, sitting up on his chest and taking the USB in your fingers and slipping it into his utility belt. “Take good care of that for me, I’ll see you next time, hero…”

You had only managed to flash a quick wave before disappearing through your usual door, hoping and praying to god that whatever the hell possessed you would continue until you reached Mei’s. It wouldn’t hit you until much, much later than you had stunned Pro Hero Deku speechless within the first meeting.

Hell, you thought giddily as you answered Bakugou’s call about how he probably just got into a bit of a messy situation, maybe you do have the potential to woo him like this. 

.

Thus truly began your descent as the villain Mirage.

.

It was quickly accepted and discovered that the moment you stepped into that costume and colored hair that you were the prey for Deku and Deku only. Most of your interactions with Deku occurred within buildings, and you used Mei’s gear to gain the final laugh each and every time to allow for you to escape. There were times, however, where you could be seen racing through the sky. Jumping from rooftop to rooftop as Deku followed after you, leaping, tumbling, and even catching you at times. 

You flirted with him heavily, allowing yourself to be caught so that you could bat your pretty lashes and press your chest against his. It didn’t matter how professional he was, how good at his job he was, Deku was a pervert – so obviously a pervert it made slipping away almost too easy.

But because you had the world-renowned, world known Pro Hero Deku as the only hero on your case, soon the small block who had to play victims to your horrendous crimes became only a small percentage of people who were watching your crimes. These near daily crimes (or inconveniences/botherings as the people on the internet say to defend you and your actions) are becoming both a worldwide sensation, and so, it took nothing for you to continue having Deku at your feet and the world chipped in. So you agreed to do interviews, forcing uneager reporters to do segments on you so that the hype behind you and Deku’s relationship grew.

You didn’t want him to leave you, not until you got what you wanted, and unless you were an idiot, you were nearly positive you were almost there.

Why would you say that?

Well, a few reasons.

The first came about a week after you had first met Deku again.

You had joyously gathered the means to create a machine to shave down an eighth of an inch of everyone's shoes in the entire country of Japan without their knowledge. You had ever so evilly explained that the point of this was to ensure that for a full day, everyone would feel off and unbalanced but would not know why.

You had said this, grinning widely as you turned around to see Deku standing there attempting to fight off a very amused smile. 

“I don’t think that would be all too evil, Mirage,” he called out to you, arms folding across his chest as he watched you set up the machine to do exactly what you said you would do.

“Mm, that’s what you say now, but just wait until you’re one of the losers stumbling around,” you say back, grinning as you turn around for just a second, wagging the knife at Deku from the distance. 

“Well, regardless, you know I can’t let you do that,” Deku laughs just slightly, and you grin, standing up.

“Oh, yeah?”

“Yes, so I’m going to have to ask you to stop right there.”

You giggle.

“Make me.”

You’re not sure what happens, but there’s dodging and weaving, spinning and sliding. You’re practically wheezing from how hard you’re laughing as Deku can not manage to land a finger on you with the help of Mei’s items and your quirk. It all comes to an end when instead of dodging, you throw yourself right at him, and Deku has not anticipated that. 

His eyes are wide open and you fiercely grin as he falls back onto the floor, unbalanced and only slightly frantic. You have the knife pointed at his neck, the dull blade sitting gently on his skin.

“So, Deku,” you taunt teasingly, your teeth burying into your bottom lip for just a moment at the sight of the dark flash in his green, beautiful eyes. “Tell me one thing, or I’ll continue on with my vile plans.”

“O-Okay?”

“Are you single?”

The second attempt came a few many weeks later. 

You had gathered about 75 tons of glitter bombs and were in the current process of making them one. You had plans of setting it off over Tokyo so that for practically the rest of eternity, the entire city would have glitter everywhere. The only thing is that you did have to glue the glitter bombs together because, well, no one made super giant ones.

“This is so annoying, there’s glitter everywhere, and I’m only ten glitter bombs in!” you complain to the ‘empty’ room but knowing full and well that Deku had appeared through the broken window at least five minutes ago.

“If it’s annoying to you, then shouldn’t you stop?” Deku replied and you grinned. 

He really couldn’t stay quiet, huh?

“Well, if it’s annoying to me, then that means every one of my victims will also find it annoying. Win-win situation.” you say, turning around towards him and winking. Facing back towards the glitter bombs you scowl, “stupid fucking glue gets everywhere, too!”

“Regardless, you know I can’t let you do that,” Deku said as leveled as he could although you swore you heard a laugh in his voice.

“Just try and stop me,” you reply back stone cold.

You stand up and watch as Deku stands up from the windowsill and sighs just a bit too heavily.

“Guess I have to,” he says and shoots out before you’re well prepared.

Typically, and probably in any other situation, this would have been the end. Pro Hero Deku had come at you with the speed and power as he took out any other Class F criminals, but unfortunately for him, and definitely fortunately for you that glue was EVERYWHERE.

Deku’s hand was stuck onto your arm, and your chest was glued to his stomach, and you swear you never quite got the strawberry Deku references until right now.

The perverted hero burned scarlet, his face practically simmering with heat as your body became undeniably stuck to his. You had to fight off the vindictive smirk, the practically snarling grin as you could feel something hot and heavy twitch at your hip.

“Fuck,” Deku wheezed.

“Fuck, yeah,” you grinned.

.

.

“WHAT?!”

.

.

Deku could not look you in the eyes for about 10 more interactions following that, but you counted that as a win. But undoubtedly, your starred and favorite memory of it all was something that occurred just last week of the current present events.

You had stood on top of a building, threatening the entire government of stealing (i.e., cutting off) the aglet of their shoes and sweaters and then removing all the laces so that it would result in their wasted time and entire humiliation!

“I don’t think most people even know what aglets are, to be honest,” Deku said from behind you. You turned around to see that he was standing there with an unsuppressed grin. “It’s not a good enough threat.”

You go unfazed by his judgement, choosing to instead bat your eyelashes and push your hair behind your ear.

“Not a good enough threat, and yet, you’re still here?” you tease, enjoying the way pink flushes to his cheeks.

“Where else would I be?” he says, and you have to ignore the way your stomach fills with butterflies. 

“You’re not cute when you flirt back,” you deadpan, biting your tongue harshly when he says ‘hey!’ “Enough chit chat, let me kick your ass now and then do what I need to do.”

Unlike probably what is 95% of the time, you made the first move today. 

You were on the offensive, jabbing and weaving, sweeping and punching. Deku’s green eyes were nearly black as he watched you, analyzing and taking in your movements, countering them all without so much of an issue.

“I still don’t get your quirk,” Deku grunted as his hand swiped at the empty air. “Why won’t you tell me?”

“So then you can turn me in to the government who are still salty about their aglets? I don’t think so!” you say with a laugh, rolling out of the way as Deku lunges forward. “Try again, baby, I have full faith that you’ll get it.”

Deku puffed out a chuckle and lunged again, his huge gloved hand swiping at you, with nearly accuracy despite your quirk being on. But… he wasn’t exactly perfect.

RIIIIIIIIIP!

Cold air hit your breast and your jaw dropped as your very exposed breast appeared before you and Deku. Pro Hero Deku had torn the breast of your costume, the costume that you purposefully did not wear a bra for because you had wanted this exact scenario to play out.

“DEKU!” you screech, pretending to be modest and covering your tit as Deku finally yanked himself out of staring at your breast and whipped around. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry! I didn’t think that was going to happen! I didn’t even mean to look at your boob! It just sort of all happened too fast and it was very shocking! N-Not that you have an ugly boob or anything because actually I think you have a very great boob! But oh my god, I need to shut up please ignore me!” Deku spoke so fast in a matter of five seconds, and you couldn’t even tell him to come back as he sprinted away.

His ears burned red and you swore even as he was gone, you could still see the red of his ears illuminating the sky.

You laugh.

“What a perv.”

And so, we are back to the beginning.

Back to how you forced a local news channel to read your demands so that you could hopefully take your final bow as Mirage forever.

With the threat of having a machine that would make dogs bark at a frequency for hours on end until humans eardrums broke then bleed. You made your way to your typical building and hummed as you waited. 

The world outside was the same as always.

There were a few people out, a few cars driving through the street, and a few birds chirping here and there.

It was peaceful.

“Don’t you think the new reporter thing was a bit dramatic?” Deku chuckled from behind you.

You were used to him approaching like that, used to him trying to portray being elusive and cool. In your opinion, it just made him dorky.

“No such thing as being dramatic when I’m trying to go head to head with the greatest hero ever,” you respond back effortlessly. You spin on your heel and look back at Deku, who is leaning against a doorframe that he most definitely is slouching on so that the top of his head doesn’t hit the frame. “Hi, Deku.”

“Hi, y/l/n,” he says with a soft smile, one that's slightly victorious, one that makes your stomach knot in a pleasant way.

“Ah, you discovered my secret identity,” you observe, grinning as you begin approaching Deku. “Should I be scared?”

“Probably not, I don’t think I could do anything to you,” Deku sighs, pushing off the door frame and walking towards you too. “You’re pretty amazing, y/l/n.���

“Let’s prove that then,” you grin while zipping forward.

As if the both of you knew that this was the end of the line, the final confrontation, the battle this time was different. It was showy, flirty, full of spins and side steps, playing a game of cat and mouse while dodging and weaving. You laughed as blackwhip dissolved around your costume, and you frowned as he began using more of his power to get from point A to point B much quicker.

You’re not quite sure how it happened, what exactly you did wrong, or maybe Deku just finally figured out the pattern you used for your quirk because suddenly you were being tackled from behind. You shrieked as the two of you went down, his body flushed on top of you, his chest pressing to your shoulders. 

The both of you were heaving, panting, completely out of breath from the five minutes you took playing around. He holds your wrists in one hand, pinned above your head, and the other one is on your waist. You were trapped beneath him, unable to move the absolute unit of a man above you, arms and hips weak to his weight. You shoved your hips up, attempting to shift some of his weight off you, but you froze as he choked on a breath by your ear.

Your ass was pressed against something hard, thick, and hot.

Oh.

Ohhh fuck.

It was happening.

Holy fucking shit.

Your breathing hitches as you thrusted your ass up again, confirming you were grinding on what was definitely Deku’s hardening cock. And once again, Deku makes the prettiest, most embarrassed gravelly grunt at the back of his throat and you feel like every strand of resistance and strength snaps.

The hand on your waist pulls you even closer against his crotch, and there's lips pressing against your neck, and you absolutely lose it. 

He kisses your neck sloppily, teeth nipping at your exposed flesh, and you grind against him, moaning and thrusting back as your body feels like it's on fire. He wanted you! He wanted you and your plan to woo him worked!

“I’ve wanted this for so long,” you keen breathlessly. “Wanted you so badly, Deku.”

“Fuck,” Deku curses, his hips thrusting back against your clothed ass with power you couldn’t fucking wait to feel. “I wanted you too. Wanted you so badly, but didn’t think – holy shit.”

His hand that pins your wrists lets go of you, and moves to grab your jaw. You nearly fucking melt as his full lips slam against yours, and you moan as his lips move against yours. There’s something indescribable about how he’s kissing you, the want, the need, the months of suppressed tension bursting through every move and curve of his mouth. It doesn’t matter to you that you’re pressed up against the concrete floor, you feel like you’ve been placed into another world, an area where you can never come back.

Your arm reaches behind you and buries into his soft curls, you tug at them as your ass circles against his thrusting hips. His tongue slips into your mouth, and you whine at the hot, wet muscle in your mouth, and it sends your head spinning. You can’t take it anymore, you need him, want him flushed against your front.

“Can I fuck you?” Deku asks swollen lips pulling away from yours, his mouth frantic and trailing kisses up your cheeks and down your jaw. “Please, I wanna fuck you so bad. Wanna fuck you on the floor and against the wall. Can I make you mine?”

You nod your head frantically, unable to come up with the words to say in order to tell him yes.  

Deku laughs breathlessly and flips you over so that it’s your back against the floor now. 

And just like you want him to, Deku comes down to reclaim your mouth. Hot, open mouthed kisses, teeth tugging at your lips and hands grabbing your waist. His hands are huge against you filling up the space between your hip and your waist without an issue. Your legs wrap around his waist, feeling entirely small underneath him, but entirely ready to be fucked by him.

His lips move expertly against yours, teeth nibbling at your lips, mouth then sucking on your tongue. You can’t keep the continuous moans from leaking out, can’t keep yourself from staying quiet as your eyes flutter open and see green eyes so dark they look black, staring down at you with the intensity of a predator. 

You were his prey, and you would present to him at the drop of a hat.

His body is hot, heat rolling off of his hero costume in waves, making you feel like you were near burning against him. And the heat between his thighs sits at the bottom of your ass, thrusting up and grinding against you so that you don’t forget even for a moment that you are making him this way. 

“I always knew you’d have such a pretty moan,” Deku mumbles as his fingers find the zipper to your costume and begin to tug it down. His lips trail down your neck, biting and nipping at the newly exposed flesh. “Knew you’d look so pretty under me, waiting to be fucked into submission.”

The words spark something within you, your eyes fluttering as your hips grind just a tad bit faster and you whine. 

“Aw, is that what you wanted this entire time, y/l/n?” Deku asks, his grin pressed against your collarbone. “Wanted to be stretched out and fucked until you can’t anymore?”

“I want it,” you gasp, your fingers burying deep into his curls. “I want you, I want it, I want your dick in me already!”

“Not into foreplay?” Deku chuckles just a bit, tongue then tracing up your neck. 

“Oh I am,” you snap, fingers finding the zipper of his own costume. “You can find out later how much I’m into it, but right now, I have been wanting you for years, and you will not make me wait any longer!”

Deku only nods frantically, and it's a mess of limbs, sloppy kisses, and clothes as the both of you strip to nothing. 

Deku’s in between your legs, one hand pressed to the back of your knee, the other gripping what you believe is his dick because it makes everything in the world freeze as you see it. It’s huge, so thick that his hand wraps around it in a nice grip, and it long, curling up to his abs, curved and veiny. 

“Holy shit,” you squeak, your cunt already clenching at the thought of taking that in. 

“Are you ready?” Deku asks, the hand on your leg moving away for a moment as he cards his fingers back through his hair. “I don’t have a condom, though.”

“That’s fine, I don't care,” you dismiss his words, eyes too focused on the flush cock in his hand. “I don’t think I’ll live after you kill me with that anyways.”

Deku laughs just a bit, his dimples flashing as he leans in and kisses you deeply. You tremble underneath him, feeling so small pressed up against him, and you mewl when you feel the head of his cock pressing between your folds.

“Put it in,” you gasp, leg lifting and wrapping around his waist, “put it in! I want you to fuck me until I can’t walk, do you understand?!”

Deku nods, and with a sense of frantic need, his hand guides his cock into you.

It feels like you’re splitting in half. The girth of his cock stretching your walls out to the max, and he’s only going in. You scream loudly, both in pain and pleasure because it hurts so good.

“Take it, baby, take me all in,” Deku pants, his hips pushing out small, tiny thrusts to ram his cock further and further into your twitching cunt. “That’s i-it, holy fuck, that’s it! You’re taking me all the way in. F-Fuck… you’re so amazing! So fucking perfect!”

Tears are pouring out of your eyes, and your nails are tearing into his back, you sob slightly overwhelmed with his cock and the absolute pleasure of finally getting what you want and it being so much better than you thought. Your cunt throbs almost violently as Deku’s cock finally hits your cervix and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he thrusts in further, lips attempting to claim yours. 

“Fuck me, Deku,” you beg, hips beginning to slam and fuck up onto his cock. “Please! I need you!”

“Such a desperate little villain though,” Deku sighs, teasingly, giving you one strong thrust for good measure. It goes a long way though, the power behind his thrust and thighs promising you a bruised ass, thighs, and cunt makes your mouth water for more. “I need you to promise to never do anything like that again and be a good little manager for Kacchan.”

“W-Wha–”

“Be good and stop being Mirage, or else you won’t be fucked.”

There was no hesitation.

“Okay.”

And just like that, Deku’s soft smile curves into a knowing, fierce smirk, and you can do nothing as his hands press to the back of your knees and he begins thrusting his hips into you. And it takes you completely out of control. 

It’s a messy, frantic dance, your body holding onto his, your lips pressing against his, desperate and needy for his, and he is basically trying to imprint his body onto yours, the concrete, and the walls. Your bodies are so foreign to each other, and yet, when he fucks into you just a bit hard, just a bit faster, you come undone, back arching and toes curling as you sob his name.

It’s overwhelming to know that he can read you this well and for you to have never fucked him before. It’s empowering to see that he likes every forced and involuntary squeeze and clench of your cunt. He loved when your nails dug into his skin, raking their existence against the plane of broad muscles and scars. 

Deku curses your name as you clench around him, his hands moving to your jaw so that he can lift your face to kiss him just so. He kisses you with a heated passion, a need that strips your entire being bare, and his hips slam so loudly against you, the slicked wetness is squelching and slapping with every grunt and moan.

In and out his cock goes, and you praise him and his cock.

You praise him for making you feel so good, for stretching out your pussy with that fat cock of his. You beg for more, and more, and more. You want every snap of his hips to send new colors to your vision, and every echoing squelch of your meeting, sloppy sexes only adds to the blabbering, unmanaged sentences from your lips. 

“Harder, faster, more!” you beg, practically wailing against his shoulders, needing him more and more. The concrete hurts against your back, but you don’t care. You don’t care if he breaks your back, it’s a fall you’ll take. “Don’t hold back! Don’t you dare hold back!”

“Fuck, you’re crazy,” Deku gasps, his sweaty brow burying into your cheek. “I won’t though, I won't. Be ready, I’m not sure if you can take it.”

Before you can snap back that you can in fact take it, Deku’s weight falls heavier onto you and the angle shifts just slightly, and your words are ripped right out of your throat for a pitched, window shattering screech. Deku fucks into you with a new power, some untapped strength as greenspark falls from his skin as he ruins you for anyone ever again.

Your voice begins to scream out, the feeling of his vicious, thick cock snapping into you, shoving your shoulders further and further into the concrete was sending your head spinning. Your body is convulsing as he fucks you with new vulgar need and strength. But before you could scream your praises, Deku’s fingers shove into your mouth, and his other hand wraps around your neck, silencing your words and noises as he fucks up into you again and again and again.

“So loud, angel,” Deku smirks, fingers stroking and pinching your tongue as saliva pours endlessly from your mouth. His voice isn’t strained however, doesn’t have any indication that he’s out of breath or ready to tap out and that nearly makes you go insane. “I can’t wait to see everything that makes you look like this… you’re so pretty when you’re getting fucked.”

Your head is spinning, the heated tightness in your core clenching and throbbing as his conquesting cock never once stops or lessens. It just grows and grows and grows. His cock twitches in you, and your eyes roll to the back of your head as he lets out a deep moan. 

“Such a good and wet cunt you are,” Deku gasps as you gag against his fingers that press roughly against the back of your tongue. Your vision feels hazy, but you feel like you’re on cloud nine as his hand on your throat opens and closes, demonstrating his power over you. “I’m so glad you went through all this hard work to get me to fuck you.”

You can’t speak, so you nod desperately, you were so happy you did this too. 

Your hips buck up into him with sheer stubborn drive to get him to toss his head back and moan, you wanted to see him unhinged too. Your eyelashes flutter, as his hands remove themselves from your face, and they move to your hips to help you out. But the building tightness and demanding need in your cunt was growing louder, hotter, completely undeniable. Your teeth sinking against his skin as you whimpered loudly, absolutely pathetically as you shifted faster, fucking against him harder.

“I-I’m so close,” you manage to moan out, and a sharp escape of air comes from his nose at that revelation.

Deku nods, his head moving so that his forehead rests against yours as he looks deep into your eyes. “I need you to look at the way your belly bulges while I fuck you before you cum, I want you to watch it bulge as you cum.”

You whimper, the strain in your neck almost insufferable as you peer down at your hastily exposed stomach, and you nearly faint at the pornographic, near-insane image of your stomach bulging with his hammering monster of a cock. And just like that, the tight heat in you snaps without a hitch, and you come tumbling down from the heights of your building orgasm. White heat and light spread through your body, your jaw slacking as you moan loudly, screaming his name as you convulse against him, body entirely limp. Deku, who was barely hanging by a strand, completely loses it when your core clenches like a vice against him. 

Hot, thick ropes of cum spurt from his cock, his heavy, shaking gasps the only thing you can hear as he fucks into you once, twice more for good measure he collapses onto his forearms above you. It’s hot, almost too hot as he lays on top of you, the sticky fluid of his cum radiating against your already blazing walls, and for a bit, there’s silence.

Deku is the first to move afterward, and you whine as he pulls his cock out of your sore, abused pussy. You make a noise of curiosity then fear as Deku spreads your legs even more open and moves so that his head is face to face with your cum filled pussy.

“What are you–?!” you screech as Deku takes a lick out of your dripping cunt.

“Fuck, this does taste good,” Deku smirks as he once again licks your overstimulated pussy and you sob. “Besides, who said we were done?”

.

.

.

.

.

bonus! 

“Everyone, this is my girlfriend y/l/n y/n!” Izuku happily introduced you to his group of friends.

“What the hell?!” Bakugou screamed, thrusting a finger at you and all you did was laugh.

So much for not being stubborn, huh.

[rubysunnday]

crashing down

Summary: When a heist goes horribly wrong, Jesper and Y/N are trapped underneath the rubble.

`A/N: looks like i’m writing for my murder children now. I have zero regrets

Jesper Fahey x platonic!reader

In hindsight, they probably shouldn’t have hung around to steal the brooch. And they probably shouldn’t have even decided to rob the place in the first instance but, hey, when someone brags about the treasures they own and tell you exactly where in their tiny, second house they were hidden, they were practically asking you to steal them.

And besides, Jesper loved a good old fashioned shoot out too much to simply run away from one. And Y/N loved her friend too much to leave him to fight on his own.

Jesper ducked behind the pillar as another bullet whizzed past his head, imbedding itself in the wall behind Y/N.

“I’m blaming you entirely, Jesper,” Y/N muttered, handing him a load pistol in exchange for his empty one. “It was your idea.”

“You’re the one who spotted the damn thing,” Jesper replied, leaning around the pillar and firing three shots, all hitting their targets. “You’re like a bloody magpie.”

“Just because I went ‘ooo, shiny item,’ doesn’t mean you have to steal it!” Y/N hissed. “Now, because of you, Kaz is probably wondering where we are and will likely murder both of us for ruining the plan.”

Something exploded from outside, the orange flames lighting up the corridor as they billowed into the sky. The men attacking them all yelled as they realised that Y/N and Jesper weren’t alone in the building. More footsteps echoed on the stairs in front of them as the rest of the guards ran outside to see what was happening. 

Jesper and Y/N shared a look. “Wylan.”

“Well, good to know that part of the plan is going to... well, plan,” Y/N replied. She looked down at the pouch of bullets she had and swore. It was empty. “Jesper,” Y/N said, hitting his leg to attract his attention, “Jesper, we’re out.”

“Ah.”

“Yes, ah.” Y/N threw the pouch and looked at him. “What do we do? There’s no way we’re getting out of here with them blocking the door.”

As if proving her point, the guards began shooting again. The hail of bullets pinged around them and Y/N dove into Jesper, both of them ducking down and shielding the other. The bullets stopped for a second and Jesper moved quickly, grabbing his pistols and putting them back in their holster and yanking Y/N to her feet, pulling her around the corner and towards the back of the building.

Y/N gripped Jesper’s hand tightly as they ran down the corridor and into a side room full of crates. Jesper slammed the door shut behind them and shoved a crate up against it to block anyone trying to break in.

There was a small window high up on the wall with metal bars running across it, far too small for either one of them to be able to squeeze through.

“What plan is this? Run and hide?” Y/N exclaimed as Jesper began ripping open crates.

“Yes but hiding in the room that, hopefully, has bullets,” He muttered, tossing the paper that was protecting the contents out the crate dramatically. “HA!”

Y/N turned around and saw Jesper brandishing an open box of bullets with a huge grin on his face. She felt herself smiling too, despite the life threatening situation they were currently in.

Jesper gently handed one of his treasured pistols to Y/N, his eyes staring at her intently. She gently took the handle of it and looked up at Jesper, looking into his eyes.

“I know,” she said, nodding as she moved the pistol to her other hand and grabbed his hand, squeezing it. “I know.”

It was likely the next few minutes would be their last. They were outnumbered and on their own with limited gunfire. Even if by some saintforsaken chance Inej or Nina or even Matthias turned up to rescue them, they’d probably both be riddled with bullet holes before they got to them.

“No mourners,” Jesper said softly as he let go of Y/N’s hand and spun his pistol around his finger.

“No funerals,” she replied, gripping the handle of her pistol tightly.

Jesper pushed the crate blocking the door out of the way and swung open the door, pistol drawn. 

No one was waiting for them.

Y/N matched Jesper’s frown and slowly stepped out into the corridor behind him suspicious. There was a good quiet and then there was a bad quiet.

And this was a bad quiet.

“Where -”

Y/N’s question was cut off as a large explosion rocked the entire building. She reached out and grabbed Jesper’s arm as she lost her balance and Jesper steadied her as best he could. Dust and chunks of plaster rained down around them and several paintings and expensive vases smashed onto the floor.

“That wasn’t Wylan!” Y/N exclaimed as the building stopped shaking for a moment.

“Come on!” Jesper yelled, grabbing Y/N’s hand and pulling her down the corridor towards their exit. 

Something was wrong, the entire building was empty and there was no one around. Jesper and Y/N skidded around the corner and spied the door that was their exit and put on a sudden burst of speed.

The door suddenly blew in, a cloud of dust following after it. The explosion threw Jesper and Y/N back into a wall. Y/N felt her head smack the wall and suddenly everything felt odd.

She opened her eyes and saw Jesper yelling at her but couldn’t hear him. Her eyes were ringing and everything felt distorted - like she’d had too many Kerch whiskeys. Jesper pulled her to her feet and she stumbled into him, her legs wobbling and shaking and unable to support her weight. Before either one of them could hobble out the door, another explosion occurred and the entire building began to crumble down around them.

Windows smashed, beams came crashing down and pipes burst as the building collapsed in on itself.

Y/N vaguely registered Jesper wrap his arms around her and pull her down to the ground as the building buried them alive.

Kaz checked his pocket watch again. “They’re late.”

“Yes, but Jesper’s always late,” Nina replied, trying to hide her nerves. She’d been frantically looking to the street near the house every second, waiting and hoping for Y/N’s figure to come running up to them, a flustered and excited Jesper chasing after her.

“Not when he’s with Y/N,” Inej muttered, looking behind her at the building they’d escaped from.

Kaz looked down at his watch and then up at the house again. He wasn’t about to betray just how nervous and concerned he was. But it wasn’t usual for Y/N to be running late - even if Jesper did his usual thing of causing complete and utter chaos. 

Wylan was sitting on the edge of a wall, fidgeting with a dummy bomb, his leg bouncing up and down nervously.

“They’ll be fine,” Nina said, looking at Matthias. “They’ll be fine.”

As she uttered the words, an almighty explosion rocked the alleyway they had convened in. Smoke billowed up from the building Jesper and Y/N were inside as bricks, beams and glass all crashed down on top of another in a messy symphony. The walls collapsed down like a house of cards and a nearby flock of pigeons flapped away from the chaos.

The five remaining Crows stared in silence.

Kaz felt as if he might keel over. He stared at the pile of rubble, gripping his cane tightly, the beak of the crow’s head digging into his hand through his gloves. Jesper. Y/N. Both of them were under the rubble that had once been a merchant’s second home. Someone had blown them up. 

Somehow, Matthias snapped into action first, grabbing Nina’s arm and pulling her with him, towards the pile of rubble. Wylan scrambled after them, determined to find his friends.

“Kaz, come on,” Inej said softly, hovering beside him. “We need to go look for them.”

Kaz nodded once, a muscle in his jaw jumping as he clenched it, swallowing his emotions down. He limped after the rest of his gang, his cane clicking loudly on the cobblestones, breaking the eerie, deathly silence that had descended upon the street.

Matthias and Wylan had begun removing beams and chunks of brick from the pile, trying to find a way to get inside. Kaz wanted to help, but couldn’t bring himself to be so close to anyone, so he resorted to stay out the way, watching out for any of the Stadwatch.

Nina was trying her best to locate Jesper and Y/N but the pile of rubble was muffling any sound of their heartbeats. Well, that’s what she was telling herself. She didn’t want to even think about the other reality.

Jesper groaned loudly as he suddenly awoke. His head was pounding and he was being crushed by something heavy and wide. He blinked and the world came into view again and he realised what had happened.

A large, wooden beam was lying across his chest and he was sprawled awkwardly across piles of bricks. He could move, however. The rubble had formed a small pocket around them, the beams that had supported the roof supporting a ton of rubble above them.

Jesper carefully slid out from underneath the beam, trying not to nudge it or move it incase he took the entire thing out and crushed himself to death. He somehow slid down the rubble and further into the pocket and let out a heavy exhale as he caught his breath.

He looked around and froze as he spotted the familiar sight of Y/N’s hair and jacket from underneath what was once a door.

“Y/N!” Jesper exclaimed, clambering over bricks, keeping his head down and folding in on himself as he squeezed through a gap to get to her. “Y/N?”

Y/N lay scarily still, blood trickling down the side of her head, a splintered, heavy oak door lying across her bottom half. Her arm was flung across the bricks and her skin was littered with cuts.

Jesper shoved the door off her with a grunt, his eyes running up and down her body to see if anything was broken. He couldn’t tell if she was breathing or not. He crawled closer and grabbed her hand, wrapping his fingers around her wrist and waiting.

For a moment, a long, painful moment, he felt nothing. His heart dropped and he genuinely felt as if he might be sick. She couldn’t be dead. She wasn’t allowed to die. She couldn’t die.

But then he felt a slight beat, followed by another and then another. It was slow, slower than it should be, but it was still going which meant Y/N was still alive.

Jesper forced himself to pause and breathe. They were trapped under a pile of rubble which could collapse at any moment. Y/N was unconscious and potentially dying which meant Jesper had to find a way out to safety and to the rest of the Crows. He glanced down at Y/N again, his fingers were still wrapped around her wrist, the feeling of her slow, sluggish pulse helping calm him down. She was still alive. 

Dust rained down on Jesper as he nudged a pile of bricks, seeking out the gap in the rubble that was letting the light in. There was a single ray of light shining through from somewhere - it was orange like the street lamps that dotted the streets of Ketterdam and its mere colour filled Jesper with a bizarre sense of hope. 

If the light could get in, then they could get out. 

He began by carefully moving bricks, stopping each time to make sure the beams keeping the worst of the rubble above them weren’t about to collapse. The broken glass cut into his hands and every movement sent sharp, searing pain through his head. 

But he kept going.

Jesper took a risk and moved a large piece of a door. Above him the beams groaned and buckled and a shower of dust rained down as bricks and rubble fell down. Jesper dove across Y/N, shielding her from the falling debris. 

Bricks and stones fell down but the beams stayed up, supporting the majority of the rubble and keeping their little pocket safe.

Jesper lifted himself of Y/N and grabbed her wrist, checking her pulse again and making sure her chest was still rising and falling. He reached out a hand and gently brushed off the dust and tiny pieces of debris on her face and sighed.

“Well, at least we’re both still alive,” Jesper muttered, trying to think of something positive. It’s what Y/N would do, she was always positive even if the situation was anything but positive. It drove Kaz insane.

“You could sound a little happier about that, Jes.”

Jesper jumped as Y/N’s voice, croaky and barely more than a whisper, broke his internal monologue of doom. She was looking up at him with the faintest hint of a smile on her pale, dust streaked face. 

“Thank the Saints,” Jesper muttered, dropping his head on to the top of Y/N’s head, his shoulders slumping. “I thought you were...”

Jesper trailed off, not wanting to finish his sentence. Y/N, who seemed capable of reading the minds of everyone, even Kaz, grabbed his hand and squeezed it weakly.

“I feel like shit but I’m alive, Jesper,” Y/N said quietly, coughing slightly. “Now, how do we get out of here?”

Jesper looked around again, hoping the new found relief he felt at Y/N having woken up would clear his head. All he could see were wooden beams, pipes, bricks and smashed glass and no exit.

“We’re stuck, then,�� Y/N said softly, noticing her friends silence. She winced as she shifted on the floor, trying to move so that she could lean against the large piece of wall behind her. Jesper noticed and came back to her side, grabbing her hand and guiding her up until she felt the wall against her back. 

“You good?” Jesper asked, his eyes full of concern, his hands clinging on to Y/N.

She nodded, her eyes shut as she felt the overwhelming wave of pain. She opened her eyes again and looked up. “If the street light is getting in,” she began turning her head with a grunt, “then there has to be a way out.”

“That’s what I thought but I can’t find a way to shift anything without risking bringing the entire building down on us.”

Y/N exhaled softly, slowly turning her head to look at the other end of the pocket they were in. They were well and truly trapped.

“I’m sorry.”

Y/N frowned and turned back to face Jesper. “Why?”

“If we hadn’t gone back for that brooch and if I hadn’t -”

“Jesper.”

“ - been so determined to show off and -”

“Jesper.”

“ - we would have been at the rendezvous point in time and we wouldn’t -”

Y/N frowned as she heard the rubble shift above them. She tried to focus on the noise and her frown deepened as she realised that there were voices above them.

“Jesper, shut up a minute,” Y/N snapped, hitting him on the arm to cut off his rambling. “Listen.”

Jesper’s hurt expression at being told to be quiet quickly changed into a defensive one as he heard the rubble shifting and the indistinct sound of voices. He picked up his pistols from the ground and slowly clicked the safety off.

“Good or bad?” Y/N asked, wincing as she shifted herself onto her knees and moved behind Jesper.

“Either,” Jesper replied, his face hardening as the voices got closer. He aimed one pistol at the gap in the rubble where the sound was coming from, his other hand moving to rest on Y/N’s arm, reminding himself that she wasn’t dead, but alive.

Neither one spoke as they watched the rubble intently, bracing themselves for whoever appeared.

A head appeared in the gap and the person elegantly slid into their pocket, feet landing so silently that it could only be one person.

“Oh, Saints, Inej,” Jesper muttered, holstering his pistols and instantly relaxing. 

Y/N felt her energy and resolve disappear at the reassuring sight of Inej, all the pain and exhaustion she was feeling return. She fell to the side, barely catching herself before she smacked her head on the floor.

“Saints, Y/N,” Inej said, climbing over to her as Jesper sat Y/N up against a broken piece of concrete.

“I’m good,” she said softly, wincing. 

“And I’m a sun summoner,” Jesper replied sarcastically, disbelief written on his face at how much Y/N was playing off her injuries. 

“Can you move?” Inej asked. “It’s not far to go until you’re outside.”

Y/N nodded. “Yeah.”

She pushed herself up to her knees, gripping a wooden beam for support. The wooden beam held her weight for a moment before it collapsed to the side.

“Shit,” Jesper muttered as the entire building above them groaned loudly. 

“Go,” Inej exclaimed, guiding Y/N up and inside the gap and then shoving Jesper after her as the building came crashing down into what had been their pocket. 

Y/N kept crawling and began to panic as the darkness began to feel claustrophobic and tight and she was scared she was going to collapse in the tunnel, her vision coming and going in waves, her heart pounding.

But then someone grabbed her hand and gently pulled her out the rubble and into the open, catching her as her limbs decided to stop working, sending her crashing to the ground

“Hey, hey, you’re alright,” Matthias said, holding her up against him as she clung to his jacket, her entire body shaking.

“Thank Saints,” Y/N whispered, dropping her head onto Matthias shoulder, ignoring the way he stiffened at the sudden, unexpected close contact. He’d never admit it but he had a soft spot for the girl and, after a moment of surprise, gently wrapped an arm around her shoulders.

“Y/N!” Nina exclaimed, rushing over to her as Inej and Jesper emerged from within the tunnel. “Jesper, are you two alright?”

“Well, we’re alive,” Y/N replied, smiling tiredly. “Much to Jesper’s disappointment.”

“I’m not disappointed that we’re alive,” Jesper retorted.

“You sounded disappointed,” Y/N countered back. “We survive being crushed to death by an entire building and he’s disappointed.”

“Again, I wasn’t disappointed,” Jesper grumbled.

Wylan looked between Jesper and Y/N. “Are they concussed?” He asked, genuine concern for them clear on his face.

“No. Unfortunately, that’s normal Y/N and Jesper behaviour,” Kaz replied, his cane clicking on the cobbles as he walked up to them. He looked Jesper up and down and then Y/N, his eyes running over them both. 

“We’re fine, boss,” Jesper replied, sensing Kaz’s unspoken question.

“Good,” Kaz said, nodding. “Come on, we need to move we’re behind schedule.”

And with that he limped off down the street.

Y/N let out a scoff of laughter. She was still holding onto Matthias as Nina grabbed her hand softly and began healing her. “Jesper’s the reason we’re behind.”

Jesper gasped loudly, hand flying to his chest as his mouth opened in mock horror. “How dare you! I found that brooch for you!”

“Just because I see something sparkly and go ‘ooo’ doesn’t mean you have to pick it up!” Y/N exclaimed. “You’re not a magpie!”

“The gratitude I get, I swear,” Jesper muttered, stomping off purposefully after Kaz.

Y/N closed her eyes for a moment and sighed softly, Nina’s magic working its way through her system. They were a band of misfits and criminals, the dregs of society, but to her they were family.

[egcdeath]

finders keepers

summary: did captain america just steal your cat?

pairing: steve rogers x reader

word count: 2.5k

warnings: tooth rotting fluff, strangers to lovers

author’s note: it’s been way too long since i wrote some pure, self indulgent fluff. this has been quite the refreshing experience for me but i think it’s back to our regularly scheduled program after this ;)

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

Miso had an air of arrogance that you admired. She took the world by its kitty balls, doing whatever she pleased whenever she pleased. Your cat left the apartment for sometimes days at a time, and frequently led male cats to your door. To you, your cat was more like a roommate than a pet, hogging up most of your bed, standing on the counter while you attempted to make food for yourself, and leaving most areas dirtier than she originally found it. 

Okay, maybe you were personifying your cat a little too much. But after moving out to D.C., you were unspeakably lonely. Most days, it felt like Miso was all you had, and that you were all Miso had (save for her army of cat boyfriends). 

This made things all the more concerning for you when you’d realized that you hadn’t seen your cat companion in five days. Five whole days without the comforting vibration of her purr, her ungodly hours of wakeup calls demanding to be played with, or pet. The cherry on top was that the cat food outside your door appeared to be completely untouched.

In your frenzied realization of your missing cat, your mind raced with a thousand different terrible situations your dear Miso could’ve found herself in. You frantically clicked through pictures of her on an online album and attempted to find a photo that would capture her white fur with large blobs of auburn, and her vibrant blue eyes to put on your ‘MISSING’ sign. The longer you clicked, the more that you began to worry that she had been caught and kidnapped by some terrible person with bad intentions. 

You finally threw together the poster, sending it to your phone so that you could print it off at the OfficeMax down the street. Luckily for you, you didn’t make it that far, as the moment you began to lock the closed door of your apartment, you saw the unmistakable figure of your cat. 

In the arms of your neighbor.

Now, you’d never met Steve. He was an Avenger, Captain America to be exact, and you were just… you. You’d convinced yourself that attempting to introduce yourself to him would ultimately end in failure, and an embarrassing one at that. Maybe he’d scoff and walk away, or call Tony Stark in front of you and tell him about the crazy woman he just encountered. 

But none of that mattered. Captain America was stealing your fucking cat. 

“Excuse me, sir?” You asked, stepping away from your door and approaching the Greek God of a man to the right of you. 

“Oh, hey! We must be n-“

“You have my cat,” you said bluntly.

“I’m sorry, what?” Steve seemed to do a double take

“My cat, y’know, the feline in your arms.”

“Well, maybe we just have similar looking cats. This is Arabella.”

You nearly scoffed at this, shaking your head. First, Captain America kidnapped your cat, and now he’s trying to convince you that it’s not your cat? Yeah, you’d know Miso from a mile away. And what kind of name is Arabella?

“Arabella is a great name for her,” Steve retorted, pulling the cat closer to his chest. Shit, did you say that out loud?

“Well I think it’s time for Miso to come back home,” the cat’s ears perked at this, and she glanced over at you. The sight of you made her wiggle and hop out of Steve’s tight embrace, landing on her feet and trotting over to you. The damn cat rubbed her face against your calf and purred as if she hadn’t been cheating on you for long enough to have gained a new name.

You squatted down and rubbed the back of your hand against her cheek, and shook your head at your pet, “you’re getting put on probation, young lady.” 

She didn’t seem to mind, pacing back and forth around you. You glanced up and saw Steve with a rather neutral expression on his face, as if he was masking whatever it was that he was feeling.

“I’m sorry about that, ma’am. Uh, maybe I’ll see you both around sometime,” disappointment coated his every word before he opened up his apartment door and promptly closed it behind him. 

You were surprised at how quickly he conceded, but you weren’t particularly mad about it either. You weren’t sure what you’d do if you never got your Miso back.

——

A whole day later, you’d been in your apartment typing up an email when a soft rapping at your door got your attention.

“Just a second!” you called, hopping up and hurrying to the door. When you opened it, Steve was standing in front of you, waiting with an oversized box in his hands.

“These are some of Ar- Miso?” he trailed off, waiting for you to confirm the name, and you gave him a tiny nod. “These are some of Miso’s toys. I just figured if she’s not staying at my place anymore…”

As if on cue, Miso strolled up to the door, and stretched her arms up on Steve’s leg, begging to be picked up. The man glanced at you for approval, and you gave a dismissive shrug before he set down the box, and held up the cat.

Steve frowned as he held her, and frankly, it pulled on your heart strings. You had to remind yourself that this man had been holding your cat captive for at least a week, and at most… who knows. 

She clearly had a connection with him, and that was what intrigued you most. Miso was a very picky cat, and it was only occasionally that she found someone that she genuinely liked, let alone wanted to be picked up by. If you continued to watch the display of affection in front of you, you might just cave.

“Uh, I left something in the oven for a little too long, so I should probably go get that. Thanks for stopping by.”

Steve nodded, understanding that it was time for him to exit.

——

You should’ve seen this coming the minute Miso was back in your home. You stepped out of the shower one morning to find your front door slightly ajar, and your animal nowhere to be found. 

You huffed, frustrated that just three days after you told yourself that your cat was completely indoor from that point on, she had escaped. She could literally be anywhere at this point.

In a whirlwind, you threw on a sweatshirt and pants, ready to go print out the missing posters that you had designed just a few days ago. As you slipped on sneakers, you realized something very crucial. She might just be at Steve’s place.

You groaned aloud, rubbing your temple as you thought of how difficult your cat was being. You were becoming a bit nervous to approach Steve, you hadn’t gotten off to the greatest start, and if your cat wasn’t there, things might just be awkward.

Regardless, you knew you needed to try, so you exited your own home, and knocked on the door of Steve’s.

A few moments later, he appeared with your cat in tow. 

“Hey!” he paused and trailed off, “I never got your name before.”

“That’s what you care about right now?” you glanced down at your animal. “It’s Y/N, by the way.”

“Hi, Y/N. Miso and I were just enjoying breakfast, if you’d like to join us?”

Was Steve shooting his shot? 

“I appreciate your offer, but I think I’m alright. I have to get back to work, and my cat is still in your custody,” your eyes flickered down to the animal who stood proudly by his side. 

“Maybe some other time,” he shrugged. “You work from home?”

You nodded, then squatted down to get eye level with your cat. 

“I’m jealous,” he chuckled. “Alright, I’ll stop bothering you now. Bye Miso, see you around, Y/N.”

You picked up your cat, who briefly dug her nails into the ground in resistance before submitting to her capture. As you brought her back home, you couldn’t help but wonder if you’d made the right choice.

——

Ever since you’d discovered Miso, or Arabella’s secret life, it’s like you couldn’t stop noticing her connection to Steve. 

Some days, she’d be gone until the dead of night, when she’d meow and paw at your front door until you woke up. Other times she’d be laying in bed with you, and she smelled distinctly of your neighbor. Your cat had single handedly turned a stranger into a thoroughly integrated part of your life.

It was as if Miso was now your child, and Steve your ex-husband in a Cold War style custody battle, where Miso seemed to prefer her father. It was slightly disheartening. At the very least, you knew she was in good hands. 

You held a throw pillow to your chest while you watched a rerun of a sitcom on your television, procrastinating in your work for as long as you possibly could. The sound of a knock on your door pulled you from your trance, and as you peeked through the peephole of your door, you saw a slightly distorted Steve.

Opening up the door, you gave him just the faintest hint of a smile, “what’s up, neighbor? Need me to grab you some treats for Arabella, or something?”

“Kinda the opposite,” he gestured with his head down to the cat squirming in his hands. “I’m gonna be gone on a mission for the next week or so. I just wanted to let you know that if Miso gets out, she’s not with me.” 

Steve set her down on your carpet, and she happily collapsed at your feet, “keep her safe for me, alright?” 

——

You took a deep breath as you approached his door, hoping he hadn’t left just yet. You fiddled with the sticky note containing your number, and polaroid photo of your cat in your hand, considering turning around and scrapping the idea all together. 

It was silly to think that an Avenger would ever bother reaching out to you. You were probably overstepping anyway. Steve would think you were a freak and take full custody of your beloved Miso once and for all. 

Going against your better judgment, you set down the polaroid-note combo and quickly slid it under Steve’s door. Whatever happened happened.

The next morning, you were pleased to receive a notification from an unknown number. 

Send Miso pics?

You were more than happy to oblige. 

——

Over the course of Steve’s week-long mission, you’d sent several pictures and videos of your cat doing random things. Trying to get on the table, sleeping on top of your dryer, and even playing with one of the toys Steve provided.

Surprisingly, Steve wasn’t as dry of a texter as you thought he’d be. He was eating up all of the Miso content, and would occasionally even ask for you to send more photos. 

The final night of his mission, you were surprised when you received a FaceTime request, at first writing it off as a technical error (he was from a different time period, after all), but the follow up call demonstrated his intentions.

You cautiously picked up, the knot in your stomach growing as you did so, “hello?”

“Hi!” Steve greeted optimistically, the phone just a bit too close to his face. “Any Miso sightings?”

“Yeah, she’s actually sleeping on my foot right now,” you chuckled, flipping the camera so you could show her off in your dim, lamp-lit bedroom. 

“So cute,” he hummed, “how have you been?”

“Me?” you laughed quietly, “I’m not the one on a top secret mission in god-knows-where. But I’ve been fine. How are you?”

“Honestly? I’m pretty tired. Kinda can’t wait to get home and see you and Miso,” he said in a quieter voice. 

Your brain stalled out for a second. Steve was excited to see you? You hoped that you were reading this the right way, as you were more than willing to go with whatever it was that Steve was putting down.

“We’ll be expecting an immediate visit from you, then. I’ll let Miso know that she needs to start kneading a bread loaf for you as soon as possible. Any idea of what time you’re getting into D.C.?” 

“Probably late morning, but it really depends on when Natasha gets up.”

You had a moment where you realized that you were talking to a real life superhero, and he had just referenced his friend… who was also a superhero. You paused for a second. 

“Y/N? Hey, you still here?”

“Yeah! Yeah. I just zoned out for a sec. Well, you better get here safe or else someone is going to be very annoyed with you.”

Steve laughed softly across the line, and you adjusted yourself in bed, yawning softly.

“I’m sorry, I forgot how late it is over there,” Steve apologized.

“Don’t worry, I was up anyway. One of Miso’s boyfriends is pretty upset that he can’t come in here and spend the night with her.”

“Which one?”

“I think that grey one. I don’t really know what his voice sounds like, but she’s been leading him on lately,” you responded, eliciting a laugh from both you and Steve. 

“Try to get some sleep, okay? I don’t need you snoozing while I come to visit our girl.”

“You are something else, Steve Rogers,” you said fondly, adjusting your phone one last time as you hugged a pillow. “I’ll get to sleep. See you tomorrow.”

“See you tomorrow. Sweet dreams, Y/N.”

You hung up, and cuddled into your pillow with a sigh. Calling your dreams that night sweet was an understatement. 

——

You seemed to be Steve’s first stop after his mission, stopping at your door with his duffel bag still attached to his arm, and wearing a slightly dirty and much too small white t-shirt.

Expecting his presence, you quickly got the door and gave him a toothy grin. 

“It’s so good to see your face without a screen,” Steve commented. Internally, you swooned. 

“I could say the same for you, Steve.”

Miso had been summoned by the sound of Steve’s voice, practically sprinting to the door and meowing at him on the top of her lungs. 

“Miso really appreciates you coming here to see her first,” you added as he lifted her up and quietly cooed into her wrinkly head. “Feel free to take her for the next few days. I’m sure she’s getting tired of me.”

Steve shook his head at you, and grinned, “that’s so sweet of you,” he briefly looked down at his wristwatch, and his brows raised.

“Shit. I have to go, but I promise to see you soon. I’m glad to see that everything is well. Take care, Y/N,” Steve began making his way back to his own apartment, and you watched him with the semblance of a frown. 

You really needed to stop longing for the unobtainable. 

——

You hadn’t heard from Steve in a few days following his return, and your brief interaction with him. Part of you wondered if he was avoiding you for some  reason. 

Your phone lit up the room as it went off, and you grabbed it to look at the notification you received.

A picture of Steve grinning with Miso sitting on his chest looked back at you with a simple message connected to it.

Wanna come over? :D

[dancingamongstdust]

Creepypasta Scenarios - First Meeting (Part 1)

Ben Drowned

You had promised, sworn on your very life, that you wouldn’t laugh. It was an oath. One to be taken very seriously.

“Using your hand to muffle the sound still counts as laughing.”

Part of you felt really bad but that made you snicker even harder. Your best friend, at the very least, did appear extremely shaken about the entire thing. She sat on the edge of the couch with her arms crossed. Dark bags had formed beneath her eyes and her attention seemed unable to stray from the Nintendo 64 that sat between you.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “But you have to understand how this sounds. You’re telling me that you’re being haunted by a literal video game.”

She pulled her legs to her chest. The amount of weight that she had lost recently couldn’t possibly be healthy. “I knew you wouldn’t believe me.”

“Have you considered talking to a psychiatrist?” you offered. “Or perhaps selling this game?”

“He would kill me.”

You picked up the Nintendo 64 and stared at the main menu of the game. It looked pretty normal to you. You fiddled around with the settings to turn the music down. “I really think that talking to somebody about this would help.”

“That’s what you don’t understand,” she said. “I want to stop playing. I want to speak to people but all that he wants is for me to continue trying to beat the game. There’s no way to win! The entire thing is rigged!”

“Have you looked up a guide?”

She groaned. “Nobody’s going to listen to me.”

An awkward silence fell over the room and you shifted around in your seat before offering some coffee. She accepted but the kettle had barely been boiling for a few seconds when her phone chimed happily.

“Oh look, he wants to play now,” she muttered. She thrust the device to you. “Take a look for yourself.”

The notification had come through an app called CleverBot. It was a very simple ‘hi’ message that didn’t really seem all too haunting. You opened it up and clicked around the app for a little. “Looks like just a chatroom,” you said. “Why’d you download this?”

“I didn’t. I just woke up the one day and it was on my phone.”

You closed the app and returned to the home screen. It immediately reopened and the same message popped up again. An identical thing happened the second time. And then again.

“This looks like a virus,” you said. “It’s probably best to uninstall.”

Clicking on the button made the icon disappear for a short while but it was quick to reappear. This time, when the chatroom opened itself, the message had changed to simply say ‘rude’.

You pursed your lips. That was suspicious enough for you to understand her potential worries. “I don’t think that it’s haunted but you should probably take it to a professional to have it wiped or something. And maybe consider less porn in the future?”

Your joke fell flat but it died when the chatbot began typing. Not too long after, another message had come through.

‘I don’t hang out in such places.’

“Can…” you trailed off. “No, there’s no way that they’ve hacked the microphone, right?”

‘Don’t need to hack in to hear what you’re saying.’

The colour drained from your face and you quickly glanced towards your friend. She didn’t seem panicked, even when you showed her the message. If anything, her expression was resigned as though this was a regular occurrence.

You didn’t get too much time to respond when a horrible static sound came through her phone. The screen began flashing and blurry images raced across it. A distorted version of the Majora’s Mask theme song started playing. It felt like your ears were bleeding. Scared, you threw the phone to the floor and, with a shattering crack, everything stopped.

For a while, you stared at it but then she said, “He’s going to be pissed with that.”

There was a chime from somewhere on your right. Your own phone’s screen lit up. Nervously, you reached over to check on it.

A single notification stood there, from an app called CleverBot.

‘You Shouldn’t Have Done That.”

Bloody Painter

The park was busy this time of day and filled with an awaiting audience – whether they were interested in watching the performance or not. Many seemed to appreciate it though, taking the flyers handed out by your group.

It was nearing midday when you ran out of pamphlets. You stretched and pushed your hair away from your face, relishing in the feeling of sun against skin.

Your gaze drifted across the park’s patrons before settling on one that you had been watching since the beginning of your performance. He didn’t look up much. A sketchpad sat on his lap and tousled brown hair hung over his face. You hadn’t caught his attention once but he had certainly kept yours.

“Can you hand me another lot of flyers?” you asked one of the other girls with her.

She handed them over and you put on your best grin before making your way to the tree he was sitting under.

He looked up when your shadow fell over his sketchbook. His work was considerably abstract and nothing that you could identify with ease. There weren’t too many colors though.

“Hello!” you greeted cheerily. “I don’t mean to bother but what did you think of the show?”

He blinked up at you. “I didn’t see it.”

The man was a master of deadpan but you didn’t allow your smile to drop. You lowered the flyer and sighed, “That’s a shame. It’s so rare that we have attractive people at our shows… you should consider coming to our actual performances sometime. Everybody loves musicals.”

He didn’t even react to the compliment. No smirk or even a blush. It was as though you hadn’t spoken one word.

“I’ve seen your face before,” he said. “You do this kind of thing quite often. Don’t you get tired of people staring at you?”

You chuckled. “I wouldn’t be in this line of business if I was too self-conscious. When they stare for too long, I like to imagine that it’s because I’m the most beautiful person they’ve ever seen.” Running your fingers through your hair, you offered him your most dazzling smile. “And if you remember me, that’s a certain compliment.”

“You can take it whatever way you want but it doesn’t mean anything.”

It was tempting to give up. Flirting with cute boys was only entertaining when they responded with… something. This boy just stared.

“So you’re an artist, right? You’d have a good point of view on whether or not I’m actually pretty.”

“My opinions on people are rarely accurate.”

His response made you uncomfortable, though you couldn’t quite put your finger on why. Something of a warning twisted in your stomach. A light had lit behind his eyes but it didn’t seem like something you wanted to tie yourself to.

It appeared it was time to give up your pursuit. “Well, I really should get going. Perhaps I’ll see you at the next performance.”

His eyes drifted to the pamphlet that you held. “Were you planning on giving me that?”

“Offering it but you don’t have to –“

“I’ll take it,” he said, putting down his pencil and holding out his hand. “Your show wasn’t too entertaining but I enjoyed watching the performance you just put on. Rather like a peacock strutting its feathers.”

So he wasn’t oblivious then… just teasing. You had no idea if it showed his genuine interest or if he was merely taunting now.

With a slight scowl, you passed it over. He tucked it into his sketchbook and then closed it, standing up. He was scrawnier than you had anticipated but he still had a considerable height – holding at least a few inches over you.

“Thank you,” you said.

He left without another word. You rolled your eyes and made a point to ignore any thoughts about him for the rest of the day. Perhaps you shouldn’t have given him your information… after all, that flyer had your full name and everything.

And you knew absolutely nothing about him.

Candy Pop

Hospitals were the worst places in the world.

They smelled too clean and looked too false. You generally avoided them as much as possible unless it was absolutely necessary. When a close family member found themselves locked within the walls, unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to stay away.

You wrinkled your nose as you walked into the room. The sterilized smell burnt you.

Most of it was what you had expected but the young, child-like scream made you jump and nearly drop every gift you were holding.

Your aunt jumped up from her chair beside the hospital bed. “What’s wrong?!” she asked, fussing over your cousin.

She was barely over eleven and had badly injured her leg during a biking competition. Your mom had told you that everybody in the family was going to visit her, encouraging you to go together in order to drop off some gifts.

“I’m sorry,” the little girl said quickly. “I don’t like balloons and I thought… it doesn’t matter. Sorry.”

You moved them behind you a little, trying to block her line of sight. “No, no, I should have asked first. You could have been allergic to latex or something and then I’d be feeling really bad about it.”

“She’s been particularly on edge thanks to these awful nightmares,” your aunt explained.

“Nightmares?” you asked.

The little girl seemed pale at its mention, pulling her blanket up to her nose and watching everybody wearily. “They’re just bad dreams,” she said. “You said that they couldn’t hurt me.”

Her mother hurriedly rubbed her shoulder and offered a warm smile. “They definitely can’t,” she reassured.

“Are they about the fall?” you asked.

“Sometimes.”

You settled down in one of the chairs as your own mother began speaking to her sister. They were able to discuss everything from the colour of grass to what they thought would be the best country to live in. You weren’t particularly interested in what they were saying and, after a while of trying to chirp in, you just let the lack of sleep catch up to you.

Your dreams came to you quickly, faster than usual and sharp in an uncomfortable sort of way.

You found yourself standing in a large field. The sky was grey and the grass tall enough to reach your knees. Everything felt bright. It hurt your eyes to stare at anything for too long.

Normally, dreams didn’t feel as such, but you were certain that this was one. There was no purpose to where you were. No inclination to walk in a specific direction or try to understand what was happening.

Just confusion.

You took a step forward and a soft wind wrapped around you. It brushed through the grass, dancing around the trees. Something was watching.

You turned and two, glowing lights floated above the ground.

Slowly, mist gathered around the two spots. As you stepped back, it began to solidify – quickly forming a more recognisable shape. The figure tilted its head to the side and a slight jingling sound filled the air. It stepped forward then and the glow faded from its eyes, revealing just what stood before you.

He was a jester, though certainly more modern than the old king’s versions. Blue hair hung around his shoulders and his entire outfit jingled with hundreds of bells. A smile graced his face and he stepped forward.

You moved away.

His smile disappeared and his eyes narrowed. The mist appeared again and he vanished into it.

You looked around frantically. He was gone. The wind picked up unexpectedly, howling in your ears. You raised your hands to shield your face and something grabbed your wrist. Before you could turn to see, you hurdled away from the meadow and awoke spluttering for air.

“Are you alright?” your aunt asked.

In the corner of your eye, you swore you saw a blue jester but, when you turned to look, he was gone. “Yeah,” you said, rubbing your chest. “Yeah, I’m good.”

Your made eye contact with your cousin and swallowed thickly. The look on her face said it all.

Clockwork

Every night, without fail, you saw her sitting there when you arrived home from work.

She always wore the same thing and, initially, you had thought that she would play on her phone for hours at a time. It didn’t appear that she had a phone, however, as you came to realise. Whatever she was holding was circular and fit perfectly within the palm of her hand.

You mentioned it to the building manager the second time she was there until like two in the morning. He had said that they thought she was homeless but, as far as they could tell, she wasn’t dangerous. You reassured him that your worries weren’t about her presence due to any perceived problem but he had just nodded.

She never moved while she was waiting. Not even to adjust her weight or brush the hair from her face.

A few of your neighbours used the very eloquent reasoning that she was merely crazy.

Occasionally, you heard children from the area parroting their parents. Rumours abound that she was a ghost who would attack anybody if they spoke to her. You scoffed each time it was said but many believed the stories.

You were arriving home late one night when you spotted her sitting in the usual spot. It was strange for you to feel anything beyond exhaustion on the nights when hospital jobs ran too long but this time, a strange anticipation settled itself in your stomach.

“I’m sorry,” you said. “Are you okay?”

Her hair was dirty and her coat looked as though it hadn’t been washed for years. Now that you were close, you could make out what appeared to be dried blood on her shirt.

“Go away,” she said, shaking her head from side to side.

“I have medical experience,” you responded. “And I know some good places to stay in the area. I can –“

“Good for you,” she sneered. “Leave me alone. You’re going to make me miss it.”

The object she was holding was an old pocket watch. It looked like something you would find in an antique store and pay insane amounts of money for. Though, it didn’t appear to be working. The clock hands sat at a set time and didn’t move in the slightest.

“I want to help you if that’s okay,” you said.

She forced out a laugh that sounded as though it physically pained her. “You want to help me?!” she cackled, throwing her hair over her shoulder. “Isn’t that sweet.”

You stumbled away from her and clasped a hand over your mouth. Her face…

Her mouth was torn to pieces, jagged cuts that ripped through the skin there and had been crudely stitched back together. But that wasn’t the worst. No, the worst part of it was her left eye that had a pocket watch shoved into the socket and forcefully stitched there. The injury flared red with infection and pain.

“What’s wrong little doctor?!” she cawed. “No longer feeling like saving the poor girl you found on the side of the road?”

You steeled your resolve and straightened. “I’m still willing to offer help if you need it,” you said in your strongest voice. “That injury is severe and needs attending to if you want to save the eye.”

The eye was definitely gone and she knew it as well, scoffing at your offer. “No chance of that. Why do you people like pretending that you care?”

“I do care.”

She responded with a mocking expression and stood unexpectedly. “Sure you do.” She tapped the front of the pocket watch with her nail. “Now, if you don’t mind, I’m going to get to work. I nearly missed it thanks to your nagging. I’ll see you tomorrow, doctor.”

And she marched off into the night.

Dark Link

The vase that you were holding was beautifully polished and almost brand new. As you lifted it, something rattled around within.

“Why are you selling this for such a low price?” you asked.

The woman was middle-aged with a falsely high voice and bright, darting eyes. “It was a gift,” she said. “But I decided against keeping it. I wasn’t sure how low the price should be but it’s not like I’m losing any money.”

You decided against buying it, thanking her and walking away quickly. While you were looking through a few pieces of jewelry, your arm was grabbed and a small object pushed into your chest.

“Here you go!” you friend chimed. “Consider it to be a late birthday present!”

You took the game cartridge and examined it closely. “Zelda, again?” you asked. “I’ve already tell you that –“

“Yes, yes, I know that they’re not your thing but if you haven’t tried all the games then how are you meant to know there isn’t just one that you like?”

Sighing, you took the game and dropped it into your purse. It was dirty and definitely well used. A bit of black paint flaked off on your fingers.

Another game for you to keep in your cupboard and not look at again until months later when you were asked about your opinion on it. It wasn’t your fault that you didn’t have the console you needed and the simple answer of ‘just buy one for cheap’ wasn’t always available.

But in the coming weeks, you quickly realised that this wasn’t just another game.

At first, the things that went wrong were too minor to even pay attention to. Electronics started breaking frequently until the point where you had replaced your stereo twice in a week and no longer had a television. After that, you started feeling sickly and uncomfortable whenever you were in the house. A feeling of imposing nature settled upon your shoulders.

You spent more time away from home, staying away for as long as you could. When you tried to dogsit for your brother, the pup wouldn’t even enter the house.

It was late at night when you woke up in a cold sweat. Nausea coiled in your stomach and your heart was beating at the speed of light.

At first, you had no idea what had woken you.

And then you heard the rattling.

It was coming from the next room over. As though somebody had taken hold of your desk and was shaking it as roughly as they could.

You scrambled for your phone but it wasn’t there. It was sitting in your office.

You took a deep breath and slowly stepped from your bed. Your head felt fuzzy, as though you weren’t able to wake up properly. Every step was slow and lethargic.

Stumbling toward the door, you gingerly grabbed the handle. As you opened it, your mind caught up with your body and you remembered that you shouldn’t just burst in on a potential invader.

But it was too late.

The person, for it had to be a person, stood in the middle of the room. Its body was so dark that it blended in with the shadows surrounding it. Two bright red eyes shone, illuminating enough that it showed some of the creatures ashen features. It had sharp features that were definitely human. Though as you stared at it, you knew that it was anything but.

It smiled and began turning into small squares, pixelating into the air and disappearing into something behind it.

You flicked on the light as fast as you could but it was gone. Sitting in the middle of the desk, the black cartridge seemed to emit its own darkness.

Dr. Smiley

The building was beyond restoration, crumbling and derelict. You were sure that it hadn’t been occupied for at least a decade. Perhaps even longer.

For months now, you had been going through the motions to have everything approved and organised. You had gotten clearance, hired the workers, discussed things with any neighbours, and even paid extra for the best machinery to get everything done quicker.

And now they were refusing to do anything.

“I’m sorry, and I will compensate for the time wasted, but my men are saying no,” the on-site manager said. “I know you’re not from these parts but we’ve always known there’s something wrong with this building. Rumours and superstitions abound and I wouldn’t blame my men for not wanting to anger a ghost.”

“They’ll be pissing off something far worse than a ‘ghost’ if they continue refusing to even go in there,” you snapped.

He glanced towards his workers and rubbed the back of his neck. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Once he left, you turned your attention to the house. Why anybody would have wanted a house in this location was beyond you but now that you had inherited it, you could see potential.

Although the entire place was probably crawling with all manners of disgusting flora.

Perhaps you could use that to get the health counsel to do the job for you.

They will still talking and you could see the weariness on their faces. Sighing, you stalked your way to the front door and pushed it open with one hand. It creaked with the effort.

You stood with your hands out towards the men. “I’m going to walk this entire house!” you called. “And if your ghost doesn’t accost me while I’m there, then I’m going to be expecting you to all get on with it, alright?”

Nothing immediately jumped at you when you entered. The door struggled to open and it swung shut on its own accord. If that was the haunting that they were talking about…

A roach skittered along the floor in front of you, darting under a derelict sofa stained with an unknown substance. Several of the windows had been broken so it wasn’t surprising to find that graffiti and markers had been used to etch various names into the walls.

You walked through a destroyed kitchen, passed a bedroom with a smashed crib, and even kicked open a door that led to a filthy storage room.

No ghost jumped out at you.

Problems started presenting themselves when you walked down one of the hallways and pushed open a bedroom door. The entire room felt set apart from the rest of the place with almost-new curtains that had been drawn shut. Blankets covered the bed, dirty but still there. You immediately thought somebody may be squatting there but your concerns changed when you noticed the wall.

Black mold. It crawled its way up the side, covering most of what had once been white wallpaper. You brought one hand up to shield your mouth and stepped out, slamming the door closed.

If there was an infestation then you had to get the health department immediately. This was –

Your thoughts were interrupted by something grabbing you. Panic filled your mind as a sharp weapon was pressed against your throat.

“Well now, I just know that you don’t have an appointment,” a voice said close to your ear. “I don’t like trespassers.”

Thinking on instinct, you threw your head backwards as hard as you could. There was a satisfying impact followed by a loud yelp of pain. The weapon around your throat moved away so you kicked the guy in the shin and bolted for it.

The house felt bigger while you were running but nobody came after you. You didn’t hear any footsteps or other sounds of a chase.

Bursting through the front door, you winced at the bright light. The house hadn’t seemed nearly that dark until compared to the outside.

You collided with one of the workers in your rush and nearly knocked everybody to the ground.

“What’s happened?”

“It was that ghost, I’m telling you.”

“We warned her, boss.”

You cleared your throat and straightened up, making eye contact with each man individually. “There is no ghost,” you said. “Only a squatter who I shall deal with using police force if needed. However, I do believe any construction will have to wait because I saw an excessive spread of black mold within the house.”

They all spoke amongst themselves, discussing options. You glanced back to the house and allowed your attention to find its way to the bedroom window. Though fleeting, a masked face peered out at you from within.

Eyeless Jack

In many ways, what happened that night was your boss’ fault.

Having just finished working a double shift that ended at almost 1 in the morning, you were exhausted upon returning home. You walked past the neighbouring apartment with only one thought on your mind – sleep.

It was then that you heard a thump coming from within the house, followed shortly by a muffled scream.

Tired, you had to pause to register what was happening and, by the time your brain caught up, your heart was in full-on panic mode. You slowly reached into your pocket and dialed the emergency number as slowly as you dared, whispering into the phone and being reassured that a police presence would be arriving shortly.

Your neighbour was a young man though, just out of rehab and beginning to make his way through life. The longer you stood and waited for the police, the guiltier you felt.

So you reached into the pot plant and pulled out his spare key. After a short while of building yourself up, you unlocked the door and crept inside.

It was dark with the outside world shrouded via heavy curtains. You could barely make your way through the unfamiliar apartment and you didn’t dare turn on the light. Damn, you were extremely tired.

Part of your brain suggested that you had imagined the whole thing. It was a byproduct of a sleep-addled mind or something. That would be embarrassing to explain to the police and to your neighbour. Would you get charged for breaking and entering or could you blame it on your tiredness?

Your doubts didn’t get much further than that because somebody grabbed you from within the room.

A horrible iron-filled scent attacked your senses as you took in the bedroom. It looked like your neighbour was tied to the bed though he wasn’t moving. Somebody stood behind you, their breathing heavy and their grip strong.

They pushed your wrist closer to your back, preventing you from wriggling free of their grip. A blade, small and yet sharp, pressed against the side of your throat.

“Trying to play the hero, are we?” snarled a voice. “Have you called the cops?”

The blade pressed against your skin and you quickly spat out a yes.

“Probably right before you came in, if not earlier… I’d have enough time to kill you but then you’d be an absolute waste. Nowhere to stash a body around here and they’d comb the entire area if you were missing…”

“I didn’t mean –“

You were shoved forward before you had a chance to react. In the dark, you couldn’t make anything out and you hit the wall unexpectedly. Now, far enough away, you turned and tried to make out the face of your assailant. He melded in with the shadows and you ran your fingers along the wall until you found a light switch.

The lights flickered on and you gasped.

He wore a dark blue mask, a black ooze dripping from the eye sockets and onto his hoodie. There was no reaction to the lights. Not even a blink.

“Don’t you want to beg for your life?” he asked. “The other one pleaded nearly constantly until I shut him up.”

“You killed him…”

“He isn’t dead, just unconscious,” the man scoffed. “I try to avoid killing them, if I’m able to.”

“The police will be here soon,” you warned.

“Oh I know. That’s the only reason that I’m leaving this very minute.” He made his way over to the window, never turning to stop facing you. The bedroom window slipped open without a sound and he began climbing out. “I’d keep my doors locked if I was you. Plenty of unsavory characters live in these parts.”

And just like that, he was gone.

Glitchy Red

Your younger cousin squealed excitedly, holding the game to her chest in joy. “I love it so much!” she said. “I can’t believe I used to think Pokémon was for babies. At first when the music randomly cut out, I did think it was super weird but I’ve gotten used to it now.”

“I don’t think it’s meant to do that,” you chuckled. “But cheap versions, you know?”

It was good to see that your last-minute gift hadn’t gone to waste. You had been worried that the present’s fun would be lost on your video game-hating cousin but she had actually decided to give the game a shot. Now you had somebody in the family to speak to which was extraordinarily exciting.

“What are you meant to say to Red when he asks you whether or not he’s a joke?” she aske unexpectedly. “I know that if you say no, he goes away, and I’ve been too scared to try the other option.”

You frowned. “I don’t actually remember that part of the game.”

“Really? But it happens so often.”

When she realised that you really hadn’t encountered anything like that in the game before, she told you to wait a minute and came back with her game.

“There was one around here,” she said, loading in. “Just give me a second and I’ll find it.”

You stayed much later than you had originally intended to that night. The two of you played through a lot of the game, waiting for the moment when Red would break the fourth wall and demand to know about your opinions on him.

It never came.

The game ran incredibly smoothly. It was quite odd. There weren’t any hiccups along the way nor horror-style glitches. The music didn’t even cut off which was apparently rare accourding to your cousin.

After a while, she sighed and handed it to you. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why it’s not breaking. I’ll go make us some food.”

You continued playing while she was gone, enjoying the memories that came with the game. It was as fun as you remembered until about five minutes after she left. The music just shut off unexpectedly and, no matter what you did, it refused to come back at all. Any other sound effects worked fine though.

“So you’re just programed to break when only one person’s in the room?” you joked.

Perhaps that was a bad choice.

Unexpectedly, a loud static erupted from the console, so ear-aching that it felt like your ears began to bleed. The game took on a horrible red tint and Red appeared on the screen, a dialogue box appearing beneath his blackened form.

AM I A JOKE TO YOU?

Horrified, you immediately shut down the game and threw the cartridge as far away from you as possible. You raced at full speed into the kitchen, nearly knocking several things over along the way.

“You have got to throw that game,” you wheezed.

“What? Why?” she asked.

“There is something really fucked up with that game…” you said. “That thing with Red is absolutely not meant to happen. It felt like he was staring into my soul. You have to throw it out the moment you can. I will buy you another one but do not keep that.”

“Oh, alright,” she said, seemingly confused but nowhere as shaken as you were.

A faint static came from the living room, sending shivers down your spine.

Hobo Heart

Tears flowed down your face despite your best attempts to remain composed. “I’ve known for a while now,” you managed to say.

Your ex-boyfriend seemed shocked, though not entirely upset about your admission. “How long –“

“Since last week,” you said. “Though I’ve heard it’s been going on for considerably longer.”

He shifted his weight and took a deep breath. You recognised this behavior from the past, already hearing the words you knew were coming. The apologies and the false regret, the promises about not doing it again, and then the eventual guilt-tripping. If you heard the latter, you weren’t sure your resolve would hold.

“Goodbye,” you said firmly.

“Wait!”

You ignored the calls, making your way home at a steady place. A few people offered you concerned looks so you rubbed away the tears and took a few deep breaths.

Several months of your life had been completely wasted. You had put so much time and energy into a person who didn’t care one ounce about you.

Just great.

You turned onto your street and made your way to the house across from your own. The woman who lived there was always busy and she only came home to feed her dog before disappearing again. Thankfully, she trusted you to spend time with Bruno.

Bruno came racing over to the gate and jumped up for head scratches. He was a beautiful Afghan Hound with a dark coat and bright eyes.

“At least I know that you’ll always be by my side,” you said, running his fingers through the dog’s fur.

A tear slipped out and you quickly rubbed it away. You dug around in your bag and took out a couple treats, offering him.

A second bark brought your attention to the street.

Standing there, a small white dog with a scruffy coat stared up at you. It looked friendly enough and, after cautiously checking it out, you crouched down and gave it a treat.

“Hello,” you cooed. You gave the pup a few scratches and smiled. “How are you doing, hm? No collar? But you must have an owner because your coat is all groomed and soft. Did you get out or slip your leash?”

You looked around the streets to see if anybody. Nobody jumped out so you gave the dog another treat and brought it into the garden with Bruno to protect it from cars.

The two barked and played with little issue and you messages friends and family about the events of the day.

It was about half an hour later when the air was starting to get chilly. You stood and the small scruffy dog began barking excitedly. Its tail whipped through the air and it jumped up against the fence. A man wearing a white hoodie was standing down the street. You glanced at the dog, scooped it up and made your way to where he was.

“Excuse me,” you said. “I think that I found your dog.”

He turned to look at you and you startled slightly at his rather unusual face paint. A white skull was painted onto his face, similar to something you would see at a college convention.

He glanced down at the happy dog and sighed. “So that’s where he got to.”

“I’m sorry if you were looking for him. I took him off the street to protect him from any cars or anything.”

“It’s fine. He always shows up eventually,” the guy said. “You can just put him down. He’ll follow me.”

“Are you sure?”

“Positive.”

Then he turned and started walking away. You hurriedly put the dog down and it immediately bounded after him, falling into step directly beside him. They disappeared around a corner and you returned to your own house.

The day had gotten much warmer suddenly.