#it's not the worst one of the bunch but it looms over my shoulder and the subject matter is miserable

[fridayyy-13th]

siiiiiigh.

[starstruckunknown-princess]

Snowdrop - Bruce Wayne x Reader (Aka Snapdragon Pt 2)

Snowdrop (Galanthus) - Meaning: Consolation, Hope

Summary: Following your accusation of cheating, Bruce shares his biggest secret with you. Read Part 1 Here (but can be read on its own)

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x F!Reader

Word Count: 2450

Warnings: Angsty, mix of Nolan/2022 The Batman universes, kisses, lots of lingering touches but Bruce is nervous as hell, Alfred being a bit of a mother hen, mentions of Bruce's parents' death, mentions of danger

So this is my apology for cutting my 30 days down to 25 and leaving y'all hanging. I got sick and started a new job at the end of April so I've been busy! I'm thinking this might turn into a mini series or a bunch of headcanons because I just watched The Batman again and I want to love all over this sad, wet cat.

In Bloom Masterlist

Likes, Comments, and Reblogs are SUPER appreciated! <3

The private car pulled up outside Wayne Manor, Bruce having sent it to your office. You thanked the driver — noticeably not Alfred, much to your dismay — when he opened your door and helped you out. 

You looked up at the Gothic mansion. The weather perfectly complimented the sharp finials and fanciful turrets, dark clouds threatening rain looming behind it.

You couldn’t help but feel it was an omen of some kind. 

‘We need to talk.’

Bruce’s text from that morning (five thirty to be precise, who even gets up that early?) had your stomach in knots all day while you obsessed over the meaning behind his vagueness. Would it be a Good Talk? The kind that meant he was surprising you with a two-week-no-phones trip to a private tropical island so you could reconnect with each other? Part apology trip, part reassurance. 

Or was this a Bad Talk? He was stunned last night when you’d asked if he was cheating but he never actually answered the question. Maybe tonight he would explain that yes, he was cheating but not because he didn’t love you — he was just not cut out for monogamy. In which case you would be okay, but you’d definitely need to talk about boundaries and expectations. Or maybe he was so rankled by your accusation he would sulk all through dinner, then hand you a bag of all the things you’d left at his place and send you on your way. 

Due to the earliness of the text, you’d had all day to prepare for the worst case scenario. Squaring your shoulders, you walked up the stone steps to the front door. Before you could knock, Alfred had whipped the tall wooden doors open and ushered you inside. 

“Come in, come in, Miss! Don’t want to get caught in the rain, do we?” He took your coat and work bag, tucking them over his arm. “Master Wayne is waiting for you in the study while I finish up dinner. You can go on up, third door on the left, remember?” 

“Thanks, Alfred,” you replied, the butler disappearing as you mounted the massive main staircase. In no particular rush, you sauntered down the long spacious corridor, lined on both sides by paintings that cost more than you made in five years. The value of this hallway alone was more money than you’d probably ever see in your lifetime. Just outside the study, you paused in front of one of your favorites. 

A 19th-century piece by Turner, it depicted a ship lost in a storm. Thick swaths of violent black and blue, a shocking splash of amber in the center around the only recognizable part of the ship — the mast — which dipped at a dangerous angle. You felt like that boat right now. Tossed and turned about, a helpless casualty to an apathetic universe.

But calm seas never did make skilled sailors, and a skilled sailor knew that the only way out was through. With a steadying breath, you continued your way toward the study and entered. 

An Ella Fitzgerald song played lowly on the speakers, the fire was lit and cast a warm, comforting glow on the dark furniture. Across from you, silhouetted in the giant picture window, Bruce stood with his back to you. The urge to go over and wrap your arms around his waist, hug him from behind and bury your face between his shoulders was almost overwhelming until you remembered why you were there. 

“Bruce,” you said by way of announcing yourself. He turned then, blue eyes finding you instantaneously and he set down the whiskey glass he’d been holding. He looked tense, broad shoulders rigid atop a ramrod-straight spine, his gaze unwavering and unreadable. 

“I haven’t been cheating on you,” he said, glancing away before continuing, “but I haven’t been honest with you either. 

“Oh,” you breathed, unsure of what to do. This was strange — he was acting strange. He hadn’t offered you a drink, hadn’t greeted you, hadn’t even said your name. Your hands fidgeted restlessly — should you demand an explanation or keep your cool, wait for him to tell you? 

Bruce answered your unasked question for you. 

“Before I tell you I need you to know some things. First and foremost, I love you. I know my reputation as a playboy, but that’s…never really been me. And I know the press thinks we’re mismatched but they couldn’t be more wrong, okay? You are incredible and I wake up more and more in love with you. Even if —” he paused, gathered himself, “even if after I tell you, you never want to see me again. I will always love you.” 

Your knees shook — your entire body felt like jello. What he was going to tell you must be really, really bad. “I-I love you too, Bruce.”

He approached you then, apparently noticing the tremor in your voice. You let him take your trembling hand and lead you to the long leather couch by the fireplace. He looked so unlike himself — humbled and insecure where he was always calm and confident. Whatever he had to tell you, it was life-changing big.

The silver lining was that he wasn’t cheating on you. 

“Secondly,” he said, his tone quieter now that you sat side-by-side, him angling to face you, “is that this secret is…it’s dangerous. It could potentially put a target on your back if it ever came to light, so I’m giving you a choice. I will tell you if you want to know, or we can forget about it and move on. Pretend this never happened.” 

What could be so dangerous? You wracked your brain for an answer. Was he a drug kingpin? A mob boss? Mercenary? You doubted all those options given how much money he donated to GCPD and legal advocacy groups — but what if that was just a smoke screen to cover his heinous crimes? 

On the other hand, this was Bruce. Thoughtful, kind, generous Bruce who held you so gently when you lay in bed at night, who pulled out chairs and opened doors and walked on the street side of you wherever you went. The man who loved you so fiercely he’d made you believe in the concept again. 

You couldn’t languish in the storm any longer. You had to know. 

“Tell me, Bruce,” you said, trying to keep your voice from shaking. “I want to know.” 

He nodded solemnly, some of his hair falling into his face. He led you off the couch and toward a corner of the library where he gently tilted a nondescript leatherbound book off the shelf, which opened a hidden door. “It’s easier if I show you first.” 

When he’d first brought you to the Manor, you’d asked if he had any secret doors or hidden passages, to which he said no. You’d then teased him about it, expressing your disappointment. “How do you not? Isn’t that the point of a house like this? Damn, rich people are so bad at being rich!” 

If you weren’t currently trying to keep your insides from completely liquefying, you would’ve rubbed his face in the fact that you’d been right after all. 

An old-fashioned cage elevator opened, and Bruce gestured you inside. He followed and pushed a lever down. The door creaked shut and you began your descent. Into what or where, you had no idea. 

Sensing your trepidation, Bruce rested a hand on your lower back.

You relaxed a little at his touch, leaning back into it but still needing to break the taut line of tension between you. “Oh god, this isn’t the secret entrance to your illegal blood diamond mine, is it?” 

Bruce chuckled mirthlessly, “No, it’s not an illegal blood diamond mine.” 

“Hm,” you replied, “Would’ve explained the boatloads of cash.” 

By the time you finished your comment, you’d arrived at the bottom of the elevator shaft. The door opened with a whine, and you stepped into a place you never thought you’d see. A place you hadn’t really thought about existing but made sense. 

The space around you was cavernous — literally. Craggy walls with stalactites hanging down forty feet above your heads. The fluttering of some sort of winged creature echoed off of every surface. The setting was completely incongruous to all the high tech monitors, gadgets, and surveillance gear strewn about the numerous surfaces. 

Directly in front of you, a mannequin wearing a black suit of armor that any Gothamite would recognize stared at you. 

Batman. 

You wandered closer to the suit, seeing it up close for the first time, utterly gobsmacked. You couldn’t ignore the numerous scars that littered Bruce’s torso, a few of the larger ones lined up with areas in the suit that had been repaired. Moving further into the room, you let your eyes travel over the various in-progress projects, folders with papers and news articles spilling out of them, a stack of journals. The top of which was labeled with the current month and year on the front. Organized chaos — you were surprised Alfred let this mess stand. 

You looked back over your shoulder, searching for confirmation from Bruce who hadn’t moved out of the elevator. Giving you time to roam, explore, take it all in. 

“You’re Batman,” you said. The look on Bruce’s face said it all and slowly, certain things began to make sense. Late night texts, oddly placed scars and bruises with vague or strange explanations, how good he was at not waking you when he left your apartment. How Batman had all the cool criminal-catching tech and gadgets that the Gotham police couldn’t afford. The nigh-on-impossible-to-scale walls Bruce had built around himself, his playboy persona, all of it. 

He wasn’t kidding when he’d told you this secret was dangerous. How easily all of this could unravel.

You didn’t know what to say. So many questions buzzed through your mind it made you dizzy. 

“Are you…okay? What do you think?” he asked, taking a few cautious steps out of the elevator toward you.

“I’m okay,” you said, fixing your eyes on a batarang on the table beside you, absentmindedly tracing the sharp edge with one finger. “It’s a lot to take in. I mean, I almost wish you had been cheating. At least that way I could be mad, but this?” You gestured around the cave. “I don’t know how to react. I’m…shocked, obviously, but it makes so much sense and explains so much more that I’m overwhelmed by it.” 

You didn’t know when the tears started, but Bruce was in front of you, wiping them away with his thumbs before gently tilting your face up to his. 

“Do you want to go back upstairs? Alfred’s probably got dinner all set, you can have some time to process, ask questions…” he trailed off. 

You nodded, “Yeah, upstairs sounds good.” 

The ride back up to the manor was silent except for the creaking and groaning of the elevator. Bruce’s arm was around your shoulder, providing warmth and comfort to your increasingly numb body and mind. 

You had no idea what to feel. What to think. What to say. Maybe Bruce was right and you needed to process — yeah, that felt right, process. 

Process the fact that the man you love went around Gotham at night beating the snot out of evildoers. Spent the nights he wasn’t with you hunting down corrupt cops and serial killers and masked madmen who only wanted to watch the city — your city — burn itself to ashes. 

The lengths men will go to to avoid therapy.

Bruce led you through the study and down the hall to the dining room, where Alfred had set up a romantic candlelight dinner for two at the far end of the extravagantly long table. 

Like the gentleman he was raised to be, Bruce pulled out your chair and pushed it in as you sat, leaning forward to place a tender kiss at the crown of your head before taking his seat. 

Hope flickered in his eyes as he looked at you, and you looked away. 

Alfred entered the room pushing a cart of silver-domed trays. One by one he pulled the domes off to reveal all of your favorite comfort foods. No doubt this was Bruce’s idea. He was thoughtful like that; figuring that you would want comfort food after learning his secret. 

That hopeful flicker lingered over every bite you took as you dug in. You hadn’t realized how famished you were, having skipped lunch due to the unease caused by his cryptic text.

While you ate, your mind kept mulling over the information you’d learned. With how intelligent and thoughtful he was, you knew Bruce had gone over every possible outcome of tonight, which is why you suspected he left the choice up to you on whether you wanted to know or not. He had laid his cards on the table, trusted you with his most life-shattering secret, and the next move was up to you. He wouldn’t force a reaction or response and would respect and accept whatever you decided to do.

But really, what was there to do? You loved him, possibly more so after this incredible display of trust. Vulnerability like this wasn’t easy for either of you, so really your reaction was already determined. 

When you finished eating, you put your napkin on your plate and stood up. You crossed to Bruce’s seat and curled yourself on his lap. Automatically, his arms encircled you and you rested your head on his chest, noting how quickly his heart beat. 

“Thank you for telling me,” you said, burrowing a little further into his well-worn t-shirt. “I’m not going anywhere, though. I love you too much to let you keep doing this alone.” 

You could feel the tension you’d noticed earlier leave his body even as his arms tightened around you, pulling you somehow closer. 

“You realize the risk you’re putting yourself in, right? I…if anything happened to you because of—”

You pulled your head up and looked him square in the eye. “I know the risk. You’re worth the risk. And if anything happens to me, I’ll just haunt the batcave and the manor so it’ll be like I never left.” You were half-joking, smiling at him as you ran a hand through his long raven locks. He leaned into your touch, eyes closed. 

“I just can’t lose you like I lost…” My parents. 

It was unsaid, but the meaning was there. In that moment it was impossible not to see him as a young boy, newly orphaned, wandering this enormous house alone, looking for his mother and father. 

You pulled his head toward yours and rested your forehead on his temple while you continued to stroke his hair. 

“You’ll never lose me, Bruce,” you vowed.

[lullabyes22-blog]

Snippet - Tipping Point - Forward, but Never Forget/XOXO

Silco forces Vander's hand beyond all recourse.

Forward but Never Forget/XOXO

Snippet:

"They're like a cult," Vander said, their last night together.

Silco didn't glance up. He'd been sitting at the Drop's table, hands laced under his chin, poring over a map. Black ink, red ink. Blue strings running in between, like the veins in a corpse. He'd been at it all evening, and his eyeballs vibrated. So did the rest of him.

Usually, he'd take the percolating mania and channel it into Sevika. She was a solid presence: always available, always hungry. By now, he'd all but moved into hers and Nandi's flat. There was gossip, as there was bound to be. Neither he nor Sevika gave a toss.

Nandi was gone, and he couldn't shake her loss.

But at least he could fuck his way out of the grief.

That's what he and Sevika did, most nights: fucked, then slept, then fucked again. Mornings, they'd wake with sour mouths, and sour moods. He'd brew her tea, and she'd suck his cock under the table. Afterward, they'd share a plateful of sump-vole fritters, and plot the day's course. Then she'd leave for her patrol, and he'd go to work at the Drop. Evenings, they'd rendezvous at Jericho's. A little more planning, a little more fucking. She'd rub his shoulders, or he'd knead her calf-muscles. She'd feed him bits of smoked sardines, and he'd eat her out until her toes curled. Then, after the drinks were drunk and the dishes were washed, they'd fall into bed again.

Rinse, lather, repeat.

It wasn't love—neither of them was ready for that. But it was easy. It was enough. A rhythm he could fall into; a routine she could count on. Sevika wasn't Nandi. Everything about her was a fraction heavier, harder, coarser. She wasn't soft; she wasn't sweet. But her body was a good one, and her mind a keen one. Her temper could flare; but her humor could cut.

And her laugh, though rare, chased all the shadows out of the gloom.

He could live with that. Hell, he could live for it. Even—love it? In time. When Zaun was theirs, and the dead laid to rest.

Not that night.

That night, the maps wouldn't stop jittering. His mind kept running in circles. Sevika wasn't due till late. There was only Vander.

Only Vander, and his looming shadow.

And Silco's own: darkening the map. 

"A cult, you say?" he said. A fortnight, he thought. The time's nearly up. "That's high praise."

"Is it?" Vander's chin jerked towards the flapping door, where a pair of scrappers had just slunk out. "That lot were practically beggin' for commands. Looked at you like you were a bloody god." He grimaced. "Makes my skin crawl."

"They're useful." Silco stirred the page with a fingertip. "Steady hands."

"An' sharp knives." Vander's brows bristled. "I ain't seen a lick of their faces, but I bet they're young. Too young for this kind of job."

"We were all too young."

"And look what happened." Vander crossed his arms over his chest, his face granite except for the vein throbbing in his temple. His jowls were furred with stubble; all attempts at grooming had ceased the past few weeks.  "The Lanes are crawlin' with their sort lately. They'd kill their own mothers for coin. An' you've got a talent for pickin' the worst."

"Perhaps," Silco rejoined, "I prefer company with an ounce of ambition."

"Ambition's the least of their bloody traits!"

"Vander, use your thick head. We're at war." Silco tapped the maps with an idleness that belied his irritation. "And war needs more than soldiers and stalwart hearts. It needs spies and saboteurs. People who'll do the dirty work without compromising the cause. I have my contacts, and they have theirs. If it weren't for them, we'd have no way to ship our goods."

"We wouldn't have a bunch of cutthroats loose in the Lanes, neither."

"We've always had cutthroats."

"Not this many!" Vander's fist slammed against the table, rattling the glassware. Once, Silco would've jerked. Now, his body-language betrayed nothing. Passions were a volatile commodity; a good leader could ill-afford to succumb to his own. He'd learnt the hard way and meant to profit from the lesson. "They're a fuckin' infestation! Eyes like dead things an' smiles like wolves. They've got no limits. All they want is blood."

"The world's made them that way."

"An' you're the one exploiting 'em."

"I'm offering them a choice."

"Are you?" Vander glowered, looming into his space.  "What are their options, huh? Down the gutter, or up the river? They're not loyal, Silco. They're fanatical. To you."   

"To us," Silco corrected.

"I didn't ask for a cult!"

"Then maybe you should!"

Their eyes locked from across a flashpoint of inches. In their debates, as a rule, Silco weighed Vander's words before his own. It was a practice borne of equity: no partnership comes without compromise. Lately, though, they never debated. He'd get an earful of strident moralism.

Tonight he'd had enough.

"Right now, our plans are only partially done,” he said. “But unless we get every cutthroat, snitch and sneak-thief on our side, they'll be undone. The Wardens will kill us all. You. Me. Sevika. Benzo. They'll raze the Lanes to the ground, and salt the ashes. And when the smoke clears, the soft ones—the ones like Nandi, like Lika and her girls, like your two boys—will be put to work. All our children will die before they've a chance to live. Is that what you want?"

"Don't make this somethin' it's not." Vander's jaw jutted. "You think I don't want Topside's boot off our necks? You think I wouldn't give anything to make sure our kids breathe easy? You think I don't think back on Bloody Sunday every single damn day? What was lost? What you—" Silco's head tilted, a basilisk lifting, and Vander backed off just enough to avoid his stare. "...what we could've done."

"Could've. Would've. Should've." Silco's eyes descended to subzero. "All excuses for a failure to act now. Or maybe the Hound's losing his teeth?"

Vander's nostrils flared. He unbent to his full height stepped around the counter, a slow, lumbering turn. His shadow engulfed Silco like a fist.

"If you had any idea," he said, a whiskey-waft of heat. "Any. How much I'd like to—"

"To what?" Silco challenged. "Discipline? Force me to obey? Do try. I could use a spot of fun." 

Vander seized a fistful of his shirtfront. The next moment, Silco found himself being dragged across the countertop. The whiskey glasses toppled to the floorboards. The ledgers and maps scattered. He was half-slung through the air, the room upside-down before the breath was knocked out of him.

His spine hit the wall, legs dangling. A fist pinned him in place.

Vander's features were contorted, a red-hot fury at once leashed and explosive. His fingers closed around Silco's throat. He didn't squeeze. Not yet. But the threat was there.

"D'you even listen to yourself?" he gritted. "D'you have a shred of decency left? Or did Nandi's death knock it all outta you? She'd be ashamed. To see you. To see what you're doin'!"

Silco let one corner of his mouth curl. "What am I doing?"

"You know damnwell what!"

The nights, he meant.

The plainclothesmen gutted in the shadows. Their bodies left in the open where everyone could see. The edge of Silco's knife never clean when he came home.

"It's not the way," Vander said, a hairline crack in his voice. "You know it isn't."

"You haven't stopped me."

"Stopped you?" Vander's knuckles flexed. "I've tried. Every day since you started. I thought...you'd get it out of your system. You'd snap out of it. But you haven't. You won't. You've gotten a taste for it."

"I have a taste for keeping us alive."

"You have a taste for murder!" Vander shook him. "An' I can't keep turnin' a blind eye. You're the best thing that's happened to the Lanes, Blut. If the Undercity had to choose, they'd have my back. But we'd all be six feet under without you! That's why you need to get your shit together. Because when this is over, I won't let you walk away."

"Threats, Vander?"

"This has gone far enough." Vander's pitch dropped. The Hound's warning rumble. "If you cross the line again, I won't hesitate."

"You won't have to."

"What?"

"The Sheriff has issued a search warrant. In a fortnight, the Enforcers will crack down." Silco's eyes went past Vander's shoulder, where the maps had fallen. "A citywide sweep. We'll lose the advantage. Our networks, our stockpiles. Everything. Unless—"

Vander's hold on his neck tightened. "Unless what?"

"We strike first."

"First." Vander's grip stayed immobile. But his stare was no longer a blister. It was a burn: eating Silco alive. "Fuck. This is what you've been planning."

"A smokescreen."

Silco's fingers folded around Vander's wrist. It didn't budge. Vander was strong; the strongest he'd ever known. Struggling was besides the point. Part of him was already prepared to go all the way. To let go and take Vander with him into the freefall of blackness.

"The Enforcers bodies will divert Topside's attention," Silco went on. "Their patrols will be spread thin. The bodies were all near the Canal Zone. They'll believe our operation was concentrated there. Meanwhile, the guardposts at Bridgeside will be understaffed. We'll deploy the squads to transport the ammo. If everything goes as planned, the Lanes will have the full arsenal by tomorrow night. Then, the real war will begin."

"Blut..."

"Think. You'll have everything. A force. Firepower. Enough to drive Topside out of our streets for good."

Vander's fist clenched and unclenched. His eyes roved the room, the empty stools, the felled glasses, the scattered plans. His shoulders caved inward.

It wasn't surrender. It was a man, bracing himself against a massing storm.

"How could you?" he rasped. "Silco, how could you?"

"There is no other way."

"Sevika... she knows about this?"

"We had a talk."

"A talk," Vander repeated flatly. "Of course. You're her damned messiah now. That girl was always prowlin' for someone to take her old man's place. Someone who'd give her orders. Who'd make her feel strong. I told you not to play games with her. To not lead her on. To not—do this!"

With renewed disgust, Vander shoved him away. Silco swayed but kept his balance. Vander's fingerprints burned around his throat.

"That's why you chose her, isn't it?” Vander went on. “Her gang's the most coordinated in the Lanes. The most ruthless. Our folks respect 'em, but they fear 'em, too. They're perfect for what you've got planned." When Silco stayed silent, he shook his head. "For Janna's sake, Blut. She's barely twenty-two. You were supposed to be her family. Her mentor. Not the person who puts the goddamn matches in her hand!"

Silco snapped. Low-blows made for the deepest cuts.

"You used me first, remember? When I was sixteen and you were twenty-one. You knew I'd do anything for you. You knew I'd follow you to the ends of the earth. You've always known, and still you've never had the guts to do what should be done. So I have. Because someone has to. Someone with a spine, and the balls to take what's theirs."

"Fuckin' hell." Vander's face had changed. The lines carved deep, shadows in the hollows of his cheekbones. He looked both worn to the bone, and blasted open. "All these years. All these years... an' you never let it go. Why couldn't you let it go? Why couldn't you forgive me?"

"Why couldn't you?!"

The air was charged with currents. Silco's body sang. Like a sea-change: skin sloughing off, and something raw and primal birthing itself. Something he'd known was always inside him, and was now in its last throes of transformation. He had no name for it but he knew its shape.

It was a part of him. A monster. Same as Vander's.

"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Silco said softly. "Nor am I giving it. But I am asking you to do what's necessary. For us."

"Us," Vander repeated, the word scraped raw.

"Our city. Because Zaun will die if we don't do this, Vander. So will everyone we love." Silco took a step towards him. Vander shuddered. He felt the tremor. Felt the monster behind it. The two of them: feeding off each other. A decades-long twining of call-and-response. "We can't keep on like this. You. Me. Sevika. Benzo. Lika. We've been fighting our fates since we were children. Now it's time to take the fight to Topside."

"Blut..."

"We can win this. We have the weapons. We have the people. We have the resolve. We just need you." 

“Me?”

"You're the Hound of the Underground. Our champion. Because that's not me, Vander. It will never be me. No matter what those scrappers, or Sevika, or you, or anyone says. That's not who I am."

[instarsandcrime]

A Divine Comedy of Errors

Hey @zensations35, guess who? Your Ra//dio//App//le request is all done! We've got Sick!Seraphim!Lu/ci/fer and Worried!A/la/stor. I did my best to balance the silly, the hurt, the comfort, the snz, and the feels! And I chose the macro and monsterfucker parts because it is my personal responsibility to experiment with my writing and, in the process, make myself suffer at all times. 👍

This is a sequel to my previous fic Overworked and Under-Managed, but honestly it can also be a standalone thing too! Though I did sprinkle in a few romantic gestures this time for good luck! And like before, I'm working off another Sick//tember//2024 prompt. This time it's "taking a sick day".

Quick cw! There's also a little bit of mess and, although it's not much, I still wanted to give a heads up just in case!

Alright, that's all from me. Enjoy!

---

“This is stupid.”

“Now now, there’s no need to be so touchy, Your Majesty.” Alastor cautioned, peering over a shoulder at his pathetic patient. Pouting, fluffy nightrobe wrapped snugly around his shivering frame. One arm bunching up the warm collar around his neck, a tissue box tucked under another.

“Hey! You dragged me out of bed at three in the morning without explaining anything and now I’m- ugh!” Disgust twisted the demon king’s face as he kicked swamp sludge from a poor, unsuspecting duck slipper, “—wading through whatever this shit is in the middle of a bayou! I can be as– uff! touchy as I want to be!”

“Hah! If you actually chose to sleep rather than push yourself to the breaking point, maybe then you wouldn't be here spouting your grand excuses.”

”Well maybe it's because I suck at bed rest, okay?! Sure I've got the bed part down. That's simple! Easy! One quick hop and you're done! But the rest part? Nope. Nuh-uh. The second I close my eyes I feel a tickle. And when I feel a tickle I just know I'll cause some kind of chaos around the hotel. So it's my responsibility to keep myself under control in case I– ...in ca-case I...hih!" A pause. His nose twitched, breaths turning shallow. He couldn't help but groan in frustration as he ripped a cluster of tissues from his box to stifle painfully for the billionth time.

"Ht’chnx! Hn’chxt! H-hehhh–” Sneeze. In case he sneezed. Saints above was he sick of doing that. “Heh’TCHNX’hewww…ow."

“And what well-timed proof of your incompetence. I should be grateful, really.” Alastor grumbled, dusting the newly created pink glitter from his suit. 

“Oh shut…up…hhh–!” Before Lucifer could even lift a finger to suppress another possible fit, the other slid to his back. Squeaking in alarm when his arms were restrained by the crook of an elbow, spraying a fine mist straight into a gloved palm.

“Het’CHMPH! Guhhh…” Lucifer glared up at the looming demon, “Hey, what’s the big idea?!”

Alastor released his hold with a grimace, quickly disposing the near-soaked fabric into his shadow– followed by a spoonful of hand sanitizer. “Admittedly not very big, but certainly necessary.” 

“What do you mean by–”

“Ah, here we are.”

The Radio Demon surged forward, hooking a large fan of willow leaves with his cane to reveal a sudden clearing. Moss spread thickly across the plush, overgrown field, ripples peacefully lapping at the water’s edge. Fireflies hovered just above, hemming the murky surface with a soft, warm light. It was a breathtaking sight, and it made Lucifer pale entirely. Because now he knew what was happening.

And he hated it.

“Look, Alastor, I’m not going to lie. You're the worst. Your breath stinks like a rotting carcass. Every time you open your mouth all I hear is claws on a chalkboard. And Father forbid you get a few centuries of beauty sleep because wow you need a serious makeover.”

“Is there a point to all this, or are you asking me to push you into the swamp water? At this rate I’m inclined to choose the latter.”

“The point is! The point. Is. I can't ruin something like this. This bayou is precious to you. Louisiana is precious to you.”

“Oh, please. Have you forgotten who I am? I made this place, I could easily undo whatever meager scratches you cause.“

“But that’s—”

"Regardless, your creative powers leak through whether you like it or not. You might as well release it in a space that won't harm the hotel."

“I don’t– hehhh!”

“And no, you will not get stuck in your condition by 'letting yourself go.'” Alastor stressed, pinching the space between his eyes. “If I may speak freely Sire– this is ridiculous. You’re exhausted and ill beyond belief, and if you suppress one more magic-infested sneeze I will tie your hands to the ground myself. For God’s sake, the cure to your condition eluded me until you accidentally let the damn thing slip at dinner! So what, pray tell, is so beneath the King of Hell?"

”H-heh-aht’chhhh! I'm—ht’chnx!“

“Is the transformation painful?”

“N-nuhh– no– Aht’CHSHH!”

”Does it drive you mad beyond all belief?”

“No!” Lucifer wheezed out, “Focus! I’m trying to tell you thahhh…that…sonofahhhHATSCHH-‘TCH–’TSCHH’hhiew!”

But Alastor was not focused on his disjointed, half-assed reasoning. Nor the painful failures to bury his fit through the whistle of little fireworks that followed. No, Alastor was focused on the sight that briefly flickered behind his patient. It was for only a second-- a blink and anyone would miss it-- but it was there. There, and massive. And judging by the way Lucifer suddenly froze, he'd known the same. His stare fell to his feet, pulling back his collar to reveal a fracture in his porcelain skin. Holy light pierced through the growing cracks, and Alastor found himself squinting curiously at the sight– as if the true puppeteer of such a tiny doll didn’t satisfy the hunger enough.

“Ugh, forget it! You wihh…win…‘Etchhh!”

“Good.”

“Grea– snff!-- great!”

“A pleasure doing business with you.”

A pause.

“Well?”

“I, uh. I can't do it if you're watching.”

“Oh for God’s sake.”

“Look, do you want me to take this shit off or not?!” Lucifer spat, flames spouting from his lips.

"Phrasing, Your Majesty." Alastor sighed, begrudgingly turning his back. “Better?”

乃𝒆ţt𝐄𝓇.

The sinner nearly jumped in place. It was certainly a voice that rang out— or something along those lines. More of a chorus of pitches and concepts of tone. And yet they harmonized as one.

Ť𝑒𝔰丅ιℕ𝔾, Ｔεsting!  Well. At least the idiot’s mind remains intact. It would cause quite a scene if he had to drag the drama king kicking and screaming from another plane of existence. Whew! Okay, you can look now. But take it slow because hoo boy it is a  l o t. 

The Radio Demon decided to go as slowly as he pleased– with all the caution of a bull in a china shop. And all too quickly he chastised himself, holding a hand to his temple. Maybe, just maybe, the seraphim’s warning was not unfounded.

Though the pocket of home was designed to be near endless, his mind couldn't conceive the number of wings that crossed the metaphysical. They were still somehow boxed into such a wide universe, glancing around with eyes that decorated each feather like adorned jewels. Or so the sinner presumed before the memory continued to fade for another. In fact, the only tangible features he could possibly grasp at the moment were flowing robes and two small wings that wrapped around a near-featureless head like a blindfold. 

And yet the being could see perfectly, thin lips pulled into a frown, staring with-- ah. Alastor was just adjusting, but he could certainly recognize the overwhelming anxiety. The least surprising part that he did expect, of course, was his size. He didn't just crane over Alastor. He towered over him-- a far cry from the false shell he wore. Somehow, Alastor stuffed down a pang of petty anger that threatened to overtake him.

He'll lecture the idiot on giving him a proper fight later. 

Alastor? Are you alright? The ground trembled ever-so-slightly as the Saint slowly, carefully lowered himself. 

"I'm offended that you’d even ask." The caretaker took a small step back before hopping up on a folded knee, giving it a sympathetic pat-- earning an embarrassed flush that overtook fever.

Oh, thank goodness. I almost-- I... The wings around them flared, puffing at each desperate buildup. Quickly Lucifer drew a wavering finger in a circle to create a portal, grabbing a familiar crimson fabric before pitching into it. "ATSHHHHEWW! AHDT’SCHHHHEEWW! HATSCHHHHHIIEEEWW!"

Each shiver of ivory skin sent shockwaves through the flora below– and from above sent Alastor hurtling towards the reeds.

Shit, I-I can’t see you! Did you fall? Are you okay? Lucifer squeaked, infinite irises darting.

"Okay is certainly an overstatement, Sire. You nearly ruined my coat!" An offended huff brushed the seraphim’s ever-shaping ear and, once again, The Radio Demon was meticulously scanned. Paying no mind to the sudden attention in the shadowy nook of his patient’s shoulder, playing with a tuft of shimmering plumage.

Sorry! Don't know m'own strength. Lucifer’s large body hunched in on itself in shame, quickly pressing the makeshift tissue to the space where his nose should be– now golden-tipped with irritation– desperate not to sniffle too strongly.

"Is that my blanket." Alastor's smile sharpened.

I panicked okay?!

All too suddenly the complaints stopped. Time for the saint came to a standstill, and Alastor was barely able to wonder if that was a very literal metaphor before the cotton-knit carpet beneath him hiked up again. He quickly pinned himself to Lucifer’s neck, bracing for–

“ETCHH’CHHHHHF!” He doubled over again. S-sorry, sorry! I can’t help it! I’m trying to hold back but I cahh– can’t–huh-hgf! “ATSHH’HHHHHF! HUH’ATTKSHHHEWWWW!” Rrrgh, forget it! You should go be-before– hhhHHH!

Panicking, a multitude of palms weaved into being. Desperate to stifle again, quick to suffocate–

“Oh, please.” 

Black tentacles wrapped around countless wrists and yanked, pinning them and the seraphim to the ground. He cracked open a watery eye, strikingly bright with anger as he watched Alastor hop up on his cheek. When I break– “Snff!” –break free I swear I’ll–!

“Do what, might I ask? You’ve threatened my life a million times, what’s one more?” The Radio Demon teased, focusing on keeping his patient's poor, abused nose in his reality. He pointed his cane, lightly scratching along the rims of the nostrils as he spoke. “Poor, poor Lucifer Morningstar. Despite your constant objections, you’ve served Hell for so long. Haven’t you ever wondered what it’s like to bow to someone else’s power? Especially to such a lowly sinner like me?”

Ahhh— Alasto–or!

“So tell me, oh great and benevolent fallen saint, why should I stop now? It seems quite like a fair trade to me! I get to boss around one of the most powerful beings in existence, creator of light and the illumination of free will. And you, my dear, get to take a sick day.” And with that, he poked the very end of the tip. “Effective immediately.”

“GEHH’AHTSHHHH’HUUE! ATSHHHH! HAT’KSHHHHUUE! H-HAH-AHHH–! ETCH’TCHHHH’FFF!” The bayou rocked with thrashing waves and unearthed roots. For a moment the sky flashed to dawn, then dusk, before resuming its starry night. Wind whipped through Alastor’s hair followed by a gust of debris and dirt. A few raspy, heavy breaths and the chaos slowed to a stop. He peeked open one eye, then another. Finding himself safe in the eye of the storm, cradled in a soft flurry of wings pressed to the seraphim’s chest. 

Mnnn…bless m’be. Lucifer bit back a heavy sigh before he could cause anymore damage, shaking aside his chains before scooping Alastor up. Small scarlet eyes met large, weepy ones– blindfolds making way for a sea of silver and gold. And yet Alastor swore he could see constellations underneath their elegant surface.

“Well, that wasn’t so hard now was it?”

Thadd was cruel. The other whined. He flicked a wrist between congested sniffles, lacing a cotton cloth into existence. Obdnogxiously true. But still. Fugk you.

“Have you ever known me to be kind?” The sinner tilted his head curiously, ignoring a noseblow that bent the few trunks that remained, branches laying bare at their feet. “Honestly, it’s like you’re afraid of hurting–”

Every fibre in Lucifer’s existence tensed. In that moment, The Radio Demon was suddenly very aware of what the problem was from the beginning. And it was hilarious.

“Y-you! You–” He wheezed between a laughing fit, leaning on the base of a pointer for support, “You? You’re scared I’ll get hurt by you?! Hah! I’ve always taken you for a king, but a jester? Bravo, Sire! I haven't seen such a marvelous performance since the Iroquois Theatre Fire of 1903!” 

A gleam of moonlight brushed his vision. His giggling died down to find a crystal clear orb floating in the air. Another dancing around them. And another. All mingling with the night sky to reflect an aurora of colors. The eyes that had once remained hidden came into view, leaking droplets that never quite touched the earth.

And oh, Alastor realized. He’s crying. His ears wilted against his will, and adjusted himself accordingly to remedy the error. “I must admit, I never suspected an ancient being such as yourself was capable of fear.”

Of course I’m afraid! Lucifer curled into a tight ball, clouds slicing into ribbons as he brought all wings in on himself. Leaving Alastor stunned and alone, perched outside on a slightly shaky arm. Do you know how hard it was to show you this disgusting side of myself?

“Lucifer.” Alastor scolded back at the self-loathing a little too kindly for his liking.

Oh, don’t you Lucifer me! Sinners don't exactly like being reminded of Heaven. Especially the design of God's right hand. I must be a nightmare to you!

“And?”

A wing cracked open, thousands of surprised gazes peering back. Pardon?

“How does that apply to us?” Alastor arched an eyebrow. The fallen angel blinked, pearly tears unsticking from his crystalline lashes. A flustered heat rose to the wavering spots on his cheeks.

Alastor, I am literally Hell’s version of an atomic bomb.

“Mhm.”

I could kill you if I looked too hard. You could turn to ashes.

“Sounds exciting.”

Alastor!

“What was it you said just a second ago? ‘Don’t you Alastor me’? Honestly! I find it insulting that you would even question my strength, nor allow me the benefit of the doubt. Everything I’ve done up to this point, and further still, is by my design. If you ever hurt me, rest assured that I already knew the risks a thousand times over. Besides, recovering alone is incredibly unproductive. Take it from…my own personal experience.” Sharp claws tapped against the middle of his cane, “And besides, what would dear Charlie say if she saw you in such a state? Alone and helpless, losing control of his body? Poor thing would be worried out of her mind.”

…And you? Lucifer asked hopefully, the barrier between them cracking open a little more. Just a little more.

Alastor rocked on the back of his heels, bracing himself. “I suppose so.”

Finally the curtain parted, and Lucifer raised his hand to greet the other, leaning close with a soft, ethereal smile. Thank you I really–...r-really…

The telltale sign of a twitching nose. A hand rose to his face like clockwork. His caretaker opened his mouth to protest. But before he could, it moved instead to cup Alastor in a tight-knit shelter.

“HEH’ISHHHHUHHH! ISHHH’HUUUE! HH-HGHH-HUT’TTCHUUUE! ”

His wings snapped open at the force of every outburst, tree roots ripped from their homes and marigolds snapped at the stems. A billowing fog that spilled out turned from fire to dust and back, reshaping itself again and again until it settled on a light rain, creating puddles on the ground. And when twilight finally crept back into Alastor’s vision, Lucifer was sniffling thickly– unrestrained. Relaxed. Devoid of any concern or self-pity.

Briefly, Alastor wondered if this is how it felt to fly.

I cadd’t use your bladket, right? Do– “Snrfff!” Ugh, do we have more? He smiled sheepishly, holding up the sad pile of ash that once resembled a tissue.

“Pauvre ti bête! That sounded awful. I’ll see what I can do for your fever and nose.” Alastor hummed, signaling a small lift to press a kiss to his cheek. “And thank you for trusting me.”

[yourtouchismidas]

could you write matth and rg taking the girls trick or treating for the first time please?? 🥺

so i think you take gigi trick or treating every year when she is very little, too little to remember, dressing her up as an avocado when she is a five month old and has only just learned how to hold her own hear up, and then as a spider when she is one, with big stuffed legs that she chewed on while held her in your arms and matty rand doorbells for her and smiled proudly as everyone cooed, then took all the candy round to georges to eat when they got high. when she is three she chooses her own costume, a witch, and asks for the sweets herself. matty still eats most of it, "to save her little teeth" and you share a few chocolate bars with her.

gigi's fourth halloween, you are with matty on tour in america, lounging in the hotel room the morning before his halloween show. you've talked about the fact that it's halloween, obviously, over gigi's head, and the boys have picked out their costumes for the show. gigi hasnt really said anything about it all day, you're not sure she even remembers halloweens past, or if its all just a hazy dribbly chocolate blur. but while you and matty are cuddling in bed watching telly, gigi hitches herself up to look out the hotel window.

"its scary day!" she says.

"yeah, gi," you say, "it's halloween."

she runs back over from the window and jumps on you both "we need to get my costume!"

you peer out the window yourself and see a bunch of school children waiting at their bus stop, all dressed in cute little costumes.

"we can get you a costume" matty says.

"will we have time?" you fret, worried about getting to the venue and sound check and everything.

"yeah, definitely."

"then we can knock on people's doors?" gigi says, "thats what you do on halloween"

you and matty look at each other. there will not be time for trick or treating, you know that. you break this news to gigi, and she starts sobbing into matty's chest, and he strokes her hair but he can't change anything, you simply dont have time. he feels like the worst person in the world.

gigi is still crying when you meet the rest of the band for breakfast, and she holds her hands up to george and he lifts her up and asks whats wrong. she just buries her head in his shoulder.

"we dont have time to go trick or treating," you explain.

"oh dear, gus," george says, as she sobs into his shoulder, "it's a hard life isnt it love?"

you take gigi to walmart while they sort venue stuff out, and she picks a skeleton onesie and you take her back to the hotel room and draw more bones on her face with eyeliner. she giggles with delight.

matty texts, can you bring gi back stage before the show? everythings done, wanna hang.

so you set off. when you get back stage, it's oddly quiet, like no one is there. you cant hear voices. the stage set looms like an empty house, the arena echoey. you take gigi and go and try and find matty's dressing room by yourself, with no one to ask. you find it, in a corridor of dressing rooms, the first one with matty's name taped on the front. you knock.

matty opens the door in his costume. he's dressed as a magician, with a black suit with coat and tails, a top hat, and a wand.

"oh hello there, can i help you?" he asks, looking surprised. you and gigi side eye each other.

"matty," she says, "it's me. your daughter."

"i'm just a person in my house on halloween. ready to give treats to the children who knock" he says, "or tricks," he says, poking gigi with his wand and making her squeal. he disappears behind the door and hands her a plastic basket shaped like a pumpkin, and then tips out a bag of sharing candy into it.

"yay!" gigi says, and you smile knowingly at matty, kissing him on the cheek and wrapping your arms around him.

"no time for this affection young lady," he says, unwrapping your arms from him, but kissing you quickly on the side of the head, "plenty more houses to visit." he gestures down the corridor at the unopened dressing room doors. you grin. matty waves his wand dramatically at the both of you, then closes his door slowly behind him, saying "have a good night," in the most creepy voice he can muster.

you go from door to door, and behind each is another member of the band, or their partner, or a manager, or a security guard. george is dressed as frankensteins monster and chases gigi down the halls with his arms out in the front of him. Ross is wearing red lycra as the devil, a tail pinned to his bum, his long hair all out and down his back, two red horns sticking up out of his head. he's bought way too much candy for gigi and she throws herself at him in gratitude, screaming "i love the devil!" and making you both split with laughter. adam jumps out dressed as a ghost and gigi screams and then pretends not to be frightened at all, and ends up chasing adam round the halls with ross' red plastic pitchfork.

you have gigi say thank to the boys, for making her her own trick or treating street backstage, and she kisses her daddy with her black lipstick before he goes on stage, and he leaves the print there the whole show, while you watch in the audience and your little skeleton falls asleep in your arms, happy as ever on halloween.

[mrmustachious]

Fishtank Week 2024

I've written a lot of fishtank over the years, so for fishtank week here are a bunch of fics I've written for you to peruse and get your fill of the two best bros :D

Shaky Hands - Rescues didn’t always go as planned.

Human Shield - Virgil thinks Gordon is an idiot. Gordon just thinks he's a good brother.

Shackled - Rescues are hard when evil lies around every corner.

Unconscious - Sequel to Shackled. Virgil gets worried when there's no sign of Gordon, so he goes investigating.

Stitches - “I think you’re going to need stitches.”

Secret Injury - Gordon’s hurt, but Virgil needs him. He can set aside his own injuries if that’ll mean his brother is safe, right?

Fever - Gordon and tonsillitis.

Don’t Hold Your Breath - Gordon woke up trapped, underground, and running out of air.

Grow Up Fast - He thought that he was being helpful, that an older brother was supposed to protect a younger one from harm, but maybe doing so just made everything worse. Prompt: “I'm not a kid anymore so stop treating me like I am."

Out of Control - Something was wrong with his brother, Virgil just didn't know what.

All Trussed Up and Still Nowhere to Go - Virgil couldn't remember what had happened, but he knew one thing for sure. He wasn't going to let anyone hurt his brother.

My Spidey-Sense is Tingling - A rescue involving a chemical spill soon leads to some unexpected consequences.

Coughing Up a Lung - Gordon woke up this morning suffering from a cold. At least, he thought it was just a cold...

That’s Where the Blood’s Supposed to Be - A sea quake leads to a concussed brother and Virgil having to pilot a ship that isn't his.

Hide & Seek - After being captured, Virgil and Gordon know that if they have any chance of surviving, they must find their own way to escape.

You Will Go Down With This Ship - Gordon decides to take a walk around the island, but he never intended to end up stuck and injured in a hole with a storm looming overhead.

Six (or more) Feet Under - The ground slipped out from under him, and then a white blanket swallowed him whole.

More Than This - Gordon had dreams and plans for the future, but then one fateful day it all came crashing down. Plans changed, for both him and his family, and now nothing was the way it was meant to be.

Crushed Metal - Hanging your brother above a giant machine that was out of control would have its consequences.

Shrapnel - How did Gordon escape unscathed whilst the Mechanic tried to crush his ship with him inside? Maybe that's because he didn't.

Get Out of My Head - Virgil hurts Gordon in the worst way imaginable.

Disappearance - liesorlife requested: How about disappearance with Gordon

Artist AU - onereyofstarlight requested: Artist AU looks fun and Virgil is the obvious pick - maybe an AU where Kip Harris is an artist instead of a firefighter and Virgil's about to meet his No. 1 Art Hero?

Comforting Hug - Gordon and a therapy dog.

Loss of Sight - It seems like whoever led them into this trap wasn't done with them yet.

Over-the-Shoulder Carry - Gordon's an idiot, but what's new?

Trying to Wake Them Up - Virgil's hurt and won't wake up, so it's up to Gordon to get help.

Hair Matted with Blood - Virgil and Gordon want to spend some quality time together.

Animal Attack - Whilst out chasing rumours of a beast that lives out in the woods, Virgil and Gordon get more than they bargained for. Supernatural AU

Going into Shock - Quite often after a rescue, they were showered with gifts. However, not all gifts were wanted.

[clonerightsagenda]

Since it is self-indulgence Saturday, even though this is not podcast girls related in its entirety, I decided to follow in Kate's footsteps and post the outline for a Wolf 359 PMV I have been thinking about for years but can't make to shake everyone by the shoulders and say "do you understand my vision".

It's set to Marianas Trench's "Masterpiece Theatre III." If you are asking yourself 'Hey Kat was this inspired by that one really big lyricst-" what about it. The first and last lines are perfect fits when taken literally, idk what to tell you.

I got a new disease in me Eiffel coughing, Hilbert offering ‘nicotine’ lozenges I got a friend that's losing sleep Hilbert bent over a microscope, Minkowski’s silhouette peering in through the lab door I take it hard, it's hard to take Minkowski frowning and writing a letter starting with Dear Dominik I'm wide awake Hera surrounded by screens showing all three of those previous scenes I'm wide awake Outside shot of the station framed against the star

One more confession, Eiffel speaking into the recorder discretion's not what I need to sell his words broadcasting into deep space I never needed a reason for keeping secrets from myself Anne’s photo taped under his console And now that's just how I tell Hilbert leaning over Eiffel’s shoulder as music plays. Hilbert’s gaze flicks toward him I'm wide awake Eiffel with the gas mask surrounded by knockout gas

I'll wreck this if I have to Minkowski outside the station pounding on the airlock door Tell me what good would that do Eiffel lighting his last cigarette I'll wreck this if I have to Hilbert ripping out Hera’s personality matrix

(I'd be so good to you) Carter shaking Dmitri Volodin’s hand in his Russian apartment (I'd be so good to you) Rachel introducing Minkowski to Hilbert as her science officer at Canaveral

You get separated, somebody's gone Eiffel playing chess with the auto program And I don't know how this is wrong The crew arguing over Hilbert, Hera with a skull speech bubble and Eiffel with handcuffs And I'm so frustrated, falling behind Disheveled Minkowski hunting the plant monster You were a friend of mine Lovelace pushing Hilbert up against the wall, her hands around his throat

I'd be so good to you Lovelace taking Hilbert to lunch at her insistence 'Cause they don't know you like I do Flashbacks to Lovelace’s mission They don't know you like I do Lovelace horrified seeing Eiffel getting sick, flashback to Lambert sick the same way They don't know you like I do Hera viewing Eiffel in the medbay through her screens, a bunch of metrics on blood ox, heartrate, etc. pulled up They don't know you like I do The whole crew staring at the comms as it speaks with Eiffel’s voice

*** Instrumentals: Star changes color ***

There's a difference from me to them Lovelace shoving Minkowski out of the way and getting impaled And the road home is paved in star fuckers requiem Eiffel desperately piloting the rickety shuttle I can never go, go back home again Lovelace’s monitor flatlining (Acadia is gone) Acadia is gone The shuttle exploding and disappearing into the distance

All my indecision, all of my excess Don't you ever tell me I'm not loving you best Cutter in his swanky office receiving the distress call, juxtaposed with Minkowski, breath puffing out from the cold, placing the call. Cutter is dominant in the visuals, with Minkowski as an afterthought And I just need a minute, I just need a breath It's very hard to drink to my continued success and I, I will Rachel Young handing a mission dossier to a shadowy figure. Again Hera’s schematics showing the percentage of the station systems in crisis are present but pushed to the side, peripheral slow down, slow Eiffel half dead slumped over the shuttle console It's better in the worst way The Urania overshadows Eiffel’s shuttle It's getting better in the worst way SI5 looming over him in the open hatch, smiling unpleasantly

(Look around, round, look around, round, look around) (Look around, round, look around, round, look around) (Look around, round, look around, round, look around) (Look around, round, look around, round, look around) Timelapse showing an external view of the station changing – original layout, stress fractures, Urania parked next to it, wing getting blown off (rip Blessie… or not???), Urania getting integrated into the structure

So here's another day, I'll spend away from you Minkowski floating leaning her head against a window. Maybe holding a wedding ring Another night I'm on another broken avenue Eiffel’s mugshot on the console Trading in who I've been for shiny celebrity skin Hilbert getting his wrist slammed in the drawer, his careful samples going flying I like to push it and push it until my luck is over Lovelace staring down Kepler over the chess board

I wonder what you're doing, I wonder if you doubt it Kepler sipping his scotch and gesturing to it, presumably giving The Whiskey Speech. Maxwell and Jacobi in the background pretending to gag I wonder how we used to ever go so long without it Kepler handing Jacobi his business card at the bar All the work to impress, charming girls out of their dresses Maxwell at Hyperion’s house with Kepler surrounded by fancy readouts Smiling pretty and pretty Maxwell and Hera looking at each other on the mindscape beach

I am right beside you, right (I thought you wanted me) (What you want, what you need) Jacobi outside pounding on the capsule, Jacobi inside horrified, Maxwell indecisive I am right beside you, right (I thought you wanted me) Lovelace and Hilbert vs the dentist chair from hell (What you want, what you need) Minkowski attempting to phone home I'll make this perfect again Minkowski slamming her fist into her palm in the hidden room, decision to mutiny (I thought you wanted me) (What you want, what you need) (Cross my heart, I hope to die, hope to die) If I burn out and slip away Lovelace tied to a chair next to Eiffel in the armory, expression defiant. Countdown ticking over the image: 10, 9, 8, 7, 3, 2, 1. When the countdown gets to 1, Lovelace closes her eyes. (What you want, what you need) (Cross my heart, I hope to die, hope to die) (I thought you wanted me) (What you want, what you need) You're beautiful, you are A bloodspattered Lovelace’s eyes snapping open as she’s wreathed in blue light

I've been here so very long Eiffel facing Bob in the hotel room. Stars popping up in Bob's speech bubble to indicate the many systems they've done this with (I could slip into you, it's so easy to come back into you) Restraining bolted crewmembers smiling at an imprisoned Lovelace I'll hide it, can I hide in you a while? Eiffel screaming at a Pryce-piloted Minkowski through the airlock/ the two of them escaping into the vents (I'm not sick of you yet, is that as good as it gets?) Lovelace and Jacobi firing on the Sol capsule with the launcher I never took you for a trick but Lovelace and Kepler staring each other down over the negotiations table sometimes I don't know what you want Cutter and Minkowski superimposed over them I could take it if you need to take this out on someone Rapidfire: Minkowski sending Eiffel home, Jacobi’s fight with Reimann, Lovelace shooting Minkowski, Kepler in the airlock (And this is just the part I portray) Hera in the mindscape facing off against Pryce with Eiffel behind her (And this is just the part I portray) The picture dissolving into shards strobed with jagged electricity I don't know how it got this way Picture resolving into Doug holding a recorder in his hand

[twdsunshine]

Home: Pt. 2

Summary:  The group are trying to find their place in the Commonwealth, but the reader and Daryl, in particular, are struggling.  The only thing they can do, it seems, is draw strength from each other.

Pairing:  Daryl Dixon x Reader

Warnings:  Mentions of violence, language, mild smut

Word Count: 3,633

Check out my bio for a link to my Masterlist!

Author’s Note: **SPOILER WARNING FOR SEASON 11, EPISODE 14, ‘THE ROTTON CORE’.**  Due to multiple requests for a follow-up to my Home One-Shot, it is now a little two-part mini-series.  This second part is set in the aftermath to the 14th episode of Season 11, so, if you haven’t watched it yet, it does contain spoilers, though I’ve kept them kinda vague.  Consider yourself warned!  I hope you enjoy the way this little love story wraps up!  Happy reading!

*****

The door to the apartment swung open, and your heart jolted at the sudden interruption to the stillness of the room.  You’d been slumped on the sagging beanbag that was the closest thing in Daryl’s home to a chair, thumbing through a book but finding yourself unable to pay much attention to the story when your stomach was churning with worry.  You’d agreed to watch the Grimes kids whilst he did a shift with the Commonwealth Army, but you’d expected him back hours ago, and the delay had you feeling on edge.  Over the past month living in the workers’ block, you’d become accustomed to tuning out the noise that filtered in from the neighbours, allowing your thoughts to run wild with worst case scenarios, and your attempts to distract your busy mind had proved less than effective.

“Daryl!”  The archer’s name left your lips in a soft gasp of relief now as he shut himself inside, sliding the lock into place before leaning back against the warped wood with a groan.  He was, you noticed, absolutely filthy, his skin streaked with gore, the crimson red clinging to the crinkles and crevices of his face.  For a moment, you thought the blood might be his, and your breath caught in your throat, but then the rotten stench of the dead assaulted your nose, and you realised that, wherever he’d been, he’d been forced to gut up to stay alive.  “Are you okay?  What happened?”

His eyes were closed, his shoulders sagging, and it took a beat for him to even register that you’d spoken.  “M’fine.  Where are the kids?”

“I sent them to Nabila and Jerry’s for a sleepover,” you admitted with a shrug, easing yourself upright as gracefully as you could and running a hand through your hair.  “I hope that’s okay.  You were late back, and I have to be at work in…”  Glancing down at your watch, you frowned in frustration as the time crept steadily closer.  “...about forty-five minutes.  I figured you’d gotten caught up.”

“S’fine.”  He stalked past you, moving into the bedroom and tugging off his shirt, chucking it away into the far corner.

“Daryl…”  Your gaze followed him as he paced back and forth in front of his bunk, the muscles in his shoulders bunching with unspent tension.  The sight dragged you back to the last time you’d seen him in a state of undress, when he’d been just as agitated, lost in this community that was too like the old world for comfort, and you found that you had to look away, your cheeks flushing with heat at the memory of him looming over you, crowding you, his hands roaming over your bare skin.  That had been weeks ago now, and he’d promised that you would talk, but there had never been a good time.  Between his shift pattern and yours, and the near-constant presence of Judith and RJ, any communication since then had been laced with anticipation but otherwise disappointing.  Now, you thought, would’ve been a perfect opportunity really, a small window before you had to rush off to clean the kitchens of the Milton residence, but you could tell there were other things on the bowman’s mind.  “Hey, you wanna talk about it?”

“S’nothin’.”

“Daryl, c’mon.”

He eyed you warily, as if he’d forgotten that the two of you used to be able to talk about things, before… Before you’d gotten caught up in a moment, before the something more that had existed between you since you’d met had reached boiling point and you’d collided in an event that you thought had been wonderful and grounding and exactly what you needed, but that you now worried he regretted as he rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, grimacing when his fingers came away sticky with congealed blood.  Then he sighed, long and rough, and ducked his head, his dark waves falling over his face.  “S’that li’l asshole, Sebastian.”

“Pamela’s son?”

“S’right.”  His hands came to rest on his hips, drawing your attention to the slight dip beneath his hip bones, disappearing beneath the soft leather of his belt.  You tore your eyes away, forcing yourself to focus as he went on.  “Dragged us out to some big house out in the middle a’nowhere.  The guy who lived there was a big deal, back before the world went to shit.  Loaded.”

“So, what?  He wanted you to break in and steal his money?”

“Yeah, threatened the kids; Coco, too.  Made us go along with his stupid fuckin’ heist.”

“And it went wrong?”

“Ya think that sorta shit ever goes right?”

You scoffed, but his troubled expression told you that it hadn’t been remotely funny.  You remembered what that was like, had had enough close calls yourself over the years, out on runs or when the group had spent months on end on the road, just existing day to day.  “You made it out though.  Is Rosita okay?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good.”  You sucked in a deep breath as you watched him gnaw on his bottom lip, and you knew it had been even worse than he was admitting to.  You’d seen that haunted look on his face before.  “Hey, I know it was probably awful, and I know it probably seems completely dumb, risking your lives like that for money.”  It was still such a foreign concept to you all, that this place ran on currency.  For so long that had been something that none of you had had to worry about.  “But you’re here.  You’re back now, and you’re safe.  I- I’m just glad you’re okay.”

He was still holding himself rigid, unable to let go of the fight that he’d been caught up in, as if he was still in the middle of it, ready to lash out at any moment, and you stepped towards him, tentatively reaching out and, when he didn’t stop you, wrapping your arms around his waist.  You let your head fall forward onto his chest, seeking the familiar scent of him lurking beneath the stronger aroma of the guts he’d been forced to coat himself in, and you felt your hair catch in his scruff as he dipped his chin towards you.  For long seconds, you just held him, stroking your fingers down the length of his spine when you felt him start to relax in your embrace, and then he was pulling away, suddenly self-conscious.  “I need to shower.  Smell like a corpse.”

“Yeah, I should get to work.”  You were reluctant to leave though, relishing the time spent alone with him, even though you hadn’t spoken about any of the thoughts that were swirling in your mind.

You were halfway towards the door when his voice stopped you in your tracks, a deep rasp that was tinged with tiredness and uncertainty.  “Ya wanna come by after?”

You swallowed hard.  “You sure?  You kinda look like you could use some sleep.”

He shrugged.  “Got a few hours to get my head down ‘fore then, right?  An’ with the kids out…”  He tailed off, clearing his throat, shifting uncomfortably as he avoided your gaze.  “We never talked, after…”

“Okay.”  You nodded, casting another glance at your watch as you worked out just how long it would be until you could make it back and indulge yourself in his company once again.  “Yeah, you’re right.  I should be done just after midnight.”

Your limbs were leaden as you forced yourself to leave.  You couldn’t believe just how hard it was to tear yourself away.

*****

Your feet were aching by the time you made your way back up the steps at the front of the apartment block, though it did nothing to slow your pace as you hurried along the corridor and knocked quietly on Daryl’s door.  As usual, you didn’t wait for him to answer before pushing inside, and a small smile twitched at your lips when you crossed the room and saw him stretched out on his bunk, his chest rising and falling steadily as he slept.  You lingered for a moment, debating what to do, your eyes tracing over the softness of his features, his usual scowl relaxed, the tension you’d seen in his muscles earlier that evening chased away by his slumber.  A small part of you was tempted to crawl onto the bunk with him, tuck yourself into his side and just enjoy being close to him, but you didn’t want to risk disturbing him after his long day, so instead you turned to leave, forcing yourself to walk away.

You’d barely gone two steps when you heard your name, the archer’s voice thick and husky with sleep.  You retraced your footsteps to find him propped on his elbows, his gaze fixed on the doorway, a small smile tugging at his lips when you reappeared.  “Where ya goin’?”

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you admitted, leaning against the doorframe and watching as he sat up and ran his fingers through his hair, his dark waves even more rumpled than usual.  “Guess I failed at that.  I’m sorry.”

“S’alright.  Don’t take much.”  He fidgeted, twisting around so he could rest his back against the wall, long legs hanging over the edge of the bed so he could set his feet on the floor.  “How was work?”

“Fine,” you lied, moving to slump down beside him, groaning at the instant relief of taking the weight off your feet.  “Well, I mean, it sucked, but I’m kinda used to it now.”

“Ya see Pamela?”

“Nah, just Hornsby.  I hate that guy.”

“How come?”

You shrugged.  “He gives me the creeps.  I don’t know…  Just get a bad vibe from him, I guess.”

“Mmm.”  Daryl seemed to be considering that for a moment, and you wondered what was running through his head.  Honestly, a part of you had been surprised that the hunter had even agreed to move to the Commonwealth when it was so far out of his comfort zone, but you knew his main motivation had been the kids in his care.  Still, you assumed he would be distrustful of those that ran the place, and, in truth, you trusted his instincts far more than your own.  “Just keep yer head down.  Still gotta figure this place out, what we gotta do to make it work.”

“I miss Alexandria,” you murmured, your grief for your home tightening in your chest as just the very idea of trying to work out the secrets and discover the dark underbelly of this new community made you feel sick with exhaustion.  

“You an’ me both.”

“Sometimes I even miss the road, y’know?  I feel like… like things were easier back then.  Trust nobody but your people; eat what you can find; home is wherever your family is.  It was hard but it was simple, somehow.”

“Ain’t that much different,” Daryl pointed out, smirking when you arched a brow at him in disbelief.  “Still gotta trust yer people.  Still home if yer family’s there, right?”

“I guess.  Just feels like we’ve all been split up, separated.  I barely see anyone these days.”  At the sympathy that flashed across his face, you forced a laugh, shaking your head at how self-pitying you sounded.  “I’m sorry.  It’s just tiredness talking.  That and worrying about you when you were late back today.  This place would be so much worse without you here, and for a while there I thought...”

“Hey.”  His voice was soft as he reached out to place a hand over yours where it rested in your lap, and he squeezed your fingers, ducking his head to force you to meet his eyes.  “M’here.  I ain’t gonna leave ya here alone, alright?  I promise.”

You smiled sadly.  “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”

“Got a lotta reasons to make it back alive.  Jude, RJ…”  He turned away, fiddling with a loose thread on the knee of his patched-up jeans, and you could see the tip of his ear burning red where it peeked out from his tangle of hair.  “You.”

You felt your own cheeks flush with heat, and you nodded slowly, swallowing hard as you turned your palm up to lace your fingers through his.  “So, I guess we should have that talk, huh?”

“Mmhmm.  Guess we should.”  His thumb rubbed circles over the back of your hand, and he huffed a sigh, letting his head fall back against the wall with a soft thunk.  “Ain’t no good at this stuff.”

“I remember,” you teased, referring to the way he’d blown you off after your first kiss all those years ago at the CDC, too stubborn to let you in, too afraid to let someone get close to him, and you knew he got it when he chuckled, the sound a gruff rumble that emanated from somewhere deep in his chest.  “I kinda feel like we should both be better at this by now.  We’ve been friends a long time.”

He grunted and fell silent, though he was still clutching your hand, and you watched him for a moment, trying to read his face, to figure out what he was thinking.  “What happened,” he said eventually, studiously avoiding your gaze, “I needed it.  Din’t realise how much till after.”

“Me too.”

“I just…  Everythin’s just spinnin’ outta control, an’ I… I was mad at myself, at this place.  Usually when I get like that I just take off for a while, y’know?  Go out huntin’ or somethin’, but I can’t do that here.  Had to get it out somehow, an’ ya were just there, an’...”

Your heartbeat faltered in your chest as pain rushed through you, and you tugged yourself free from his hold, trying to school your expression into one of nonchalance so that he wouldn’t see how much his words hurt you.  “Right.  Yeah, I get it.  Don’t worry about it.”

“S’just…  We’re friends, like ya said-”

“Yeah, I know.  I was just in the right place at the right time.  It’s fine, Daryl, really.”

“Nah, ya don’t get it.”  He was shaking his head in exasperation, and you forced yourself to shut up, to let him speak, even though disappointment was churning in your gut, telling you to get out of there before you broke down and made a fool of yourself.  “Wasn’t about ya bein’ there.  S’about it bein’ you.”

You glanced up to find him staring at you intently, the piercing blue of his eyes so intense that it stole your breath away.  “I- I don’t…”

“I needed ya.  Always have.  Yer the only one that can hold me together when it feels like it’s all fallin’ apart.”

“That’s what that was?  Me holding you together?”

“Mmhmm.”  He nodded, and you reached over to tuck his hair back behind his ear when he ducked his head again, hating that he was trying to hide from you in that moment.  “That an’...  Just felt right, din’t it?  Felt… Just like breathin’ or huntin’ or somethin’.  Easy.”

Your mind was reeling, unable to quite believe what he was saying, despite the fact that there had been something between you for years now, pushed down and ignored.  It still felt surreal that he was laying it all out the way he was, so unlike the Daryl that you knew, and you knew how hard it must be for him to put himself out there like he was.  It made your heart ache with longing.  “What I said before about it being easier out on the road, about home being where your people are…  I was talking about you, y’know?  I realised that before, after we…  I’d been feeling so out of place here, so lost, and then that one moment of connection with you and I felt like I was exactly where I was supposed to be.  And today, when I thought that maybe something had happened, and that maybe you weren’t coming back, it was like…  Like, what was even the point if you weren’t gonna be here anymore?  Like, how was I supposed to make any of this work without you by my side?”

“Y/N…”

“I can’t do this without you.”

“Y’ain’t gotta.”  He twisted towards you, and if you thought his hand might be shaking just a little when he brushed his knuckles over your cheek, then you were sure you must be imagining it because you knew that Daryl Dixon wasn’t scared of anything.  You leaned into his touch, smiling when he straightened his fingers to cup your face, and you tipped your head back so that he could rest his forehead against yours, your breath mingling in the space between you.  

It felt different this time to how it had before, when everything had been charged and urgent and messy in its haste.  Now, every move was measured, the tension between you thickening deliciously until you thought you might suffocate in it if he didn’t kiss you, and then he did, his lips meeting yours in a smokey-sweet kiss that had you clinging to the front of his shirt, the material bunching in your fists as you coaxed him closer.  You weren’t rushing now, the pace unhurried as he dragged you into his lap, your legs settling either side of his, denim sliding against faded denim.  And the fabric under your fingertips that had been such a useful anchor just moments before was now infuriating, in the way, and he obviously felt the same because his callused hands were slipping beneath your vest top and skimming over the dip of your waist, mapping your curves like he was studying every millimetre of your skin and committing it to memory.

You gasped when he broke away to pull the top up and over your head, taking the opportunity to tug his off too, and then you were faced again with the broad expanse of his bare chest, the dark script inked over it and the smattering of scars, and you couldn’t help but stroke over every mark, marvelling at the strength of the muscles as they flexed beneath your fingers.  Every sense felt heightened when he leaned in to kiss you again, and you gave yourself over to the sensation of it, content to let him drive it forward as he laid you down on the thin mattress and lowered himself over you, lips quirking in a smirk when you gasped at the solid weight of him pressing you into the bunk.  The jut of his pelvis bruised your thighs as you wrapped yourself around him, the buckle of his belt cold against the soft flesh of your stomach, and then there were no clothes in the way anymore, and you were exposed before him, wanton and waiting as he drank in the sight of you.

“Ya sure ya want this?” he asked, and the hint of doubt in his tone had you dragging his mouth back to yours, wondering how on earth he couldn’t feel how much you wanted him, needed him, but he was still hesitant, breaking away with a strangled sigh.  “‘Cause I can’t…  I don’t wanna do this if y’ain’t all in.”

“I’m all in, Daryl,” you whispered, and his head fell forward to rest in the crook of your neck, chapped lips mouthing at your pulse point and making you whimper.  “Don’t wanna wait anymore.  I’m yours.  I belong with you.”

That was all he needed to hear.  Just as it had before, the moment that you melded into one forced any conscious thought from your mind - all of the worries of the day, the stress of figuring out your role in this new place, who you could trust, what secrets were hidden behind the fancy events and chilling normality of it all - and there was only Daryl, cocooning you from the rest of the world.  And he was still taking his time, each roll of his hips smooth and languid, building you up so slowly and steadily that it was almost overwhelming, and you were a helpless, writhing mess, clinging to him and whispering his name like a prayer.  

This time, when you reached your peak, you forced yourself to keep your eyes open, drinking in the sight of his bliss, and it only prolonged your ecstasy as his gaze locked on yours, your gasping breaths in sync, your heartbeats pounding in time.  You weren’t sure that you’d ever felt so close to another person, with every inch of him pressed flush against you, the taste of him on your lips, his scent filling your lungs and your heart swelling with everything you felt for him, until you thought that you might just melt away completely and become a part of him.

“Y’alright?”  He rolled off of you, pulling you with him so that he could wrap you up in his arms, and you nodded against his chest as your high ebbed away, unsure how to put into words how light you felt, as if you might just float away without him tethering you.  

“I’m good,” you promised him, and you didn’t know it was possible but he held you even tighter.  “You?”

“M’just glad we ain’t gonna get interrupted this time.”

You smirked at the feel of him nuzzling into your hair and pulled back to look at him, enjoying the relaxation painted over his features.  “Really?  I mean, we’re pretty much done here, right?  No reason the kids couldn’t come back now.  I’ll go get them if you want-”

You were cut short as he flipped you beneath him, pinning your hands above your head as he growled, teasing and playful, a side of him you’d never seen before but knew you would never get enough of.  “Nah, y’ain’t goin’ nowhere.  M’not done with you yet.”

*****

Drop me an ask if you’d like to be added to my Daryl Dixon or TWD tag lists!

Feedback is appreciated and reblogs make me feel at home 🖤 Thank you for reading x

[llamagoddessofficial]

Thank you to @lost-immortality​ for commissioning this Death God Sans x Reader (plus a special guest~) piece! This was a joy to write!

The Mouth of the Underworld was legendary, to say the least.

It made sense that you’d want to see it, even just one time. When you entered and left the Underworld, it was through Sans’ ability to instantly bring himself anywhere he wanted, not via the Gates that separated the mortal world from that of the dead. Sans had been somewhat confused as to why you wanted to visit it (“not much to see, my love, it’s just a cave.”) but he’d been willing to take you. 

He was... concerned, however. If that was the right word for it. Because of what was guarding the Gates.

Cerberus.

Sans had raised the issue that it may not be a good idea to come to the Gates while the legendarily foul-tempered hellhound was present. He mentioned that Cerberus, while at the place he had unfailingly guarded for thousands of years, tended to become aggressive and overzealous; dangerous to be around, even for deities who normally had nothing to fear. Cerberus didn’t quite strike as much fear into the hearts of Gods and mortals as Sans... but that wasn’t a particularly high bar to cross- and it didn’t mean the creature was exactly beloved either. 

He was the reason Souls without Sans’ permission never made it out of the depths.

“Come on, it’ll be fine. I know you’re nervous but there’s no danger. I’m certain I’ll be safe if you’re with me, Sans...”

“you aren’t subtle. i know you’re trying to manipulate me.”

“It’s working.”

“yes, it is.” He stood from his desk, cloak manifesting from the silver brooches at his shoulders and flowing down his back like wine from a goblet. “we should go now, if we want to arrive before mortal sunset.”

...

It was an absolutely beautiful cavern. A cathedral-like white cave, pillars and signs of worship carved into the stone, sun beaming in from the cavern mouth... great ancient boughs of wisteria wound up the walls and ceiling, hanging thick grapelike bunches of violet and lilac flowers that filled the air with a sweet floral scent and carpeted the ground in soft purplish petals.

... And there he was. Cerberus... asleep as far as you could tell (thank the stars). Far, FAR larger than you’d expected- big enough to be mistaken for some kind of titan or hydra, enough to easily swallow unfortunate men whole. A looming skeletal dog; three great crowned heads, skulls bearing terrifying sword-teeth, the length of his body decorated with scars from years of defending the mouth to freedom. He was laying with his body blocking the mouth of the cave... you briefly wondered how many people had this silhouetted image as the last thing they saw before being violently sent back to the depths of the Underworld.

...

One of his heads, the middle one, opened a socket. Not asleep anymore. You flinched back- Sans placed a steadying touch on your shoulder, no doubt used to people fearing the Guardian. Cerberus had lights in his deep void eyesockets, like his master; observant and sharp as they rolled to land on you. How many Souls had he seen come and go? A single breath from one head sent up a cloud of petals.

Something new... 

... As if the central head had whispered to the others, the other two lifted and glared across the cave at you... you were safe with Sans, right? Right. You backed into him even more and he moved his hand to your forearm. Part of you wanted to ask a thousand questions, is this normal, are we fine? but the other parts of you didn’t dare speak in case it agitated the monster.

... Cerberus fully raised all three heads, dragged his clawed feet underneath him, he’s standing? The sound of bone scraping against rock filled the seemingly endless chamber, petals tumbled down from his shoulders and off his back, he must’ve been there for years... he turned...

...

... And leapt toward you. 

You were certain for a moment that he intended to crush you under one humongous paw but, to your shock, as he moved through the air he shrank. When he jumped he was a beast with teeth as big as your head...

... And when he landed in a light shower of petals, just before you, he was merely the height of a lion, his shoulder perhaps at your waist height. The guardian of the gates stood before you...

... Then barked, play bowed, and rolled onto his back.

...

You immediately gasped, dropping onto your knees out of Sans’ hold, rubbing the exposed ribcage like you were ruffling fur. Cerberus’ first head stuck out a glowing blue tongue, and the middle one barked again, skeletal tail thudding against the ground fast enough to resemble a heartbeat.

“Oh my goodness, you’re just... so fearsome, aren’t you?” You cooed, scratching his ribs. “The stories were right, I’m terrified! Are you the scariest beast in all three realms? Yes you are, yes you are...”

Cerberus eventually rolled back over again, jumping up, pushing his middle head against your face- you couldn’t help but laugh, enthusiastically petting him, and the first head insistently pressed against you too to the point where you would’ve gotten bowled over if you hadn’t quickly readjusted your footing to dole out attention to both.

... Sans chuckled. You were hardly paying attention to him. The third head, apparently a little calmer than the other two fussing you, lifted to greet Sans at your side.

“first you steal my heart,” Sans said, giving Cerberus’ greeting head a small, affectionate scratch on the jaw. “then a place in my bed. and now you steal my hellhound... honestly, when are you going to let me rest?”

“Never.” You wrapped your arms around the two close heads. “This is my puppy now, I’ll fight for him.”

“no need. you seem to be his favourite.”

As if to confirm Sans’ observation, you were gifted the blessing of a very gross lick on the side of your face by the head that’d just returned from greeting his master. 

... You soon realised a predicament- something that was, perhaps, the greatest tragedy that could befall you. It made your heart drop. You turned, looking up at your betrothed, rubbing one of the insistent noses that pressed against your cheek. 

“Sans. You can curse people, right?”

... He raised a curious brow. “... yes.”

“Find whichever horrible monster decided I could only have two arms, and give them the worst curse you have.” Two arms, three heads... injustice. “They need to suffer unendingly for their cruelty.”

“i’ll see to getting that done for you, love.” He teased. “until then... cerberus is one being, so i’m sure he won’t mind your predicament. he seems happy to receive the attention, regardless of the head.”

“You’re really going to look at this adorable creature and tell me you don’t want to pet every head at once?”

Sans laughed, seemingly unable to help himself, a beautiful dark sound. You weren’t sure if it was your adamancy to bestow love on Cerberus, or your declaration that he was ‘adorable’ that apparently entertained him so much... but it always felt nice to make Sans laugh.

“... Hey. Now that I think about it... looks big and scary, is feared through both heaven and earth, but is secretly adorable and gentle... you two are more alike than I thought you’d be!”

“come now. you can’t be saying things like that.” He smirked. “i have a reputation to uphold.”

You held Cerberus’ most affectionate head, the first, and pressed a kiss to his skeletal muzzle as revenge for his gross lick.

“... I know you said he comes and goes from the palace as he pleases... but I really hope he follows us. Otherwise I’m going to have to come here every single day.”

... You were half joking, in your dedication to return to see your new dog. But luckily for you, you didn’t need to make the journey- Cerberus, the ‘untamable’ monstrous hound, wouldn’t leave your side for a moment and loyally followed you and Sans all the way back to the palace, barking and wagging his tail the whole time.

...

Well. Now that made two ancient underworld-dwelling skeletal godmonsters that developed an instantaneous affection for you. Maybe you had a knack?

[nincompoopydoo]

Can I request a Fred Weasley oneshot with the promts "you don't love him", and "love is supposed to be good". Thanks 😊

GOOD, PURE, AND BEAUTIFUL

PAIRING: Fred Weasley x reader WORD COUNT: 1.9k (about 1000 words my ass) SUMMARY: The Leaky Cauldron serves as a sanctuary to drink your problems away for the night but a certain ginger always seems to find his way to you. Possible part 2? A/N: Sorry this took so long, I had to rewrite the hold dang thing and I know I said I would write around 1000 words but looks like i can’t help but be long-winded. WARNINGS: Angst. Mentions of getting drunk. support my writing through ko-fi💖 MASTERLIST

You find solace in the pint of butterbeer, sitting at a table for two, tucked by the corner and under the archways of the Leaky Cauldron. The passing wizards in sleek venerable trench coats and witches with an odd taste in hats only act as an activity of sightseeing in keeping yourself awake, hypothesizing strangers’ lives and whether they might have gnomes lurking in their gardens or have gardens in the first place.

You are drawn to the drifting scent of butterscotch—the tankard of butterbeer sits glumly in your grasp as it has lost all its foam. You take a sip, more of a gulp, feeling the gas building up in your abdomen, and the sweetness to it almost feels sickening at this point.

Belly full yet feeling extremely empty.

The days leading up to you, being here at the Leaky Cauldron, and playing the part of the drunken witch very well weren't exactly pleasant. Flourish and Blotts seem to lose its shine in fulfilling your love for books and organization with every passing day and your relationship with the boy you met and fell madly in love with during your sixth year don’t seem to hold the same spark as before. Walter was a Ravenclaw—handsome, diligent, and incredibly smart. You and him dating had been an on-and-off situation because the one thing you two share in common is the lack of decisiveness.

Today, tonight, you and Walter are finally resolute. The true end where second, third, or fourth chances will never cease to exist from now on. With the new offer for a job in America, you and he both know drifting apart seems to be the only reasonable solution to the whole mess of what you assumed was love.

He spoke the words in this very spot, sat in the chair across from you. You had been watching the way his thumb would caress the back of his other hand and you knew, the night was bound to end in a disastrous way. An unfortunate turn of events for the witch who doesn’t truly know if she ever loved another or was ever loved.

Yet, you sit here, eyes completely dry. Far from crestfallen, far from regret. Only filled with the dread of not feeling the sadness you’re supposed to be feeling. You ignore how your shoulders feel lighter and how the tightness in your chest seems to have miraculously disappeared as soon as you watched Walter walk out of the Leaky Cauldron.

Are the butterbeers celebratory or depressing? You’re not sure.

You rest your chin on your palm, feeling like you’re in a daze. Butterbeer isn’t necessarily the type of drink to get you intoxicated but noting the rate you’re consuming each mug, it’s no surprise that you’re just a little tipsy.

Then, you see a certain ginger twin emerge from the entrance of the pub like some divine intervention. He seems to spot you from afar, waving in your direction. You lift your hand weakly in the midst of trying to figure out which of the twins you are particularly waving at. It’s Fred Weasley as it turns out, you recognize the certain strides with every step taken towards you that differs him from George. As he nears you, there’s an assurance that it’s certainly Fred with the sight of a mark on the bridge of his nose—an indicator and a technique to tell the twins apart you used when you were younger.

Fred halts by the empty seat diagonally to your left, hands shoved in the pockets.

“I have never seen you here at this hour—are you okay?” Fred cuts himself short, brows turning into a frown when he notices the unusual mess in your hair. If he knows you any better, well-kept and neat hair was all you cared about after the number of times you have furiously whined about the frizz in your hair during the summertime.

It isn’t summer now, well into the end of November. The days are colder and he remembers how your hair would especially shine in the gloom of Autumn.

“Not really.” is all you manage to say before taking the hundredth swig from your nearly empty butterbeer. You inspect the mug with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes. “I swear this was full the last time I looked...”

Before you know it, he’s snatching the mug away from you, dragging it across the table as he settles into the empty chair. He stares at you with a beckoning brow, expression mixed with disappointment, disapproval, and worry.

“Hey! That’s my butterbeer, Weasley!” you whine, trying to reach for it but Fred pushes it further, hand securing around it. Without hesitation, you smack him in the arm. “Stop being a complete arse, Fred. What are you even doing here and where’s George anyway?”

Fred winces in pretense pain, dramatically rubbing the side of his arm as he tries to suppress his laughter from your sudden burst of violence. “George is back at the shop going over numbers and as far as I’m concerned, I can be anywhere I want to be. You clearly had too much to drink.”

“But it's butterbeer!”

“That is exactly my point.”

You let out a huff, leaning into your seat and running your fingers through your hair. After a moment’s silence with Fred still staring you down in the effort of getting you to talk, you finally give in. He knows you too well for you to hide anything from him.

“Walter and I broke it off.”

Fred blinks, trying to hide his wide-eyed gaze. “For good?”

You finally turn to him, nodding slowly. “For good.”

“I’m sorry.” His voice is soft when in reality he’s trying to hide his relief in hearing that things between you and Walter have finally come to a resolution because falling in and out of a relationship was driving you mad. He cares for you and always has since the very beginning and a part of him wishes for those feelings of infatuation between two melancholic teenagers will emerge back from what he assumed was already dead.

He watches you lean your head back onto your palm, seemingly sinking deeper towards the table as you try to wrap your head around the situation to form proper words with your lips. “You know what’s the worst part of it all?” Fred shakes his head, eyes never breaking contact with your own. “I don’t even feel that sad about it. Like all those years were...nothing.” Your laugh comes out as a puff of air. It’s cynical rather than finding the humor in it. For the first time, he doesn’t laugh when you do.

Another beat of silence and Fred is contemplating whether his next words that beg to be freed from his mind are appropriate in a time like this. Although he knows how he tends to speak his mind without thinking of the consequences, he knows to tread lightly around you from the times when his words nearly tore your friendship apart.

Still, he knows to be honest with you.

Through the chatter of the crowd at the Leaky Cauldron whilst a few men by the other corner of the pub begin to break into singing a drinking song, Fred’s voice comes off as a whisper, barely audible. “You don’t love him, don’t you?”

Your gaze had initially drifted to the bunch of rowdy men, rendering verses about magical whisky and beer. Yet, they now return to hold a certain ginger’s gaze. You want to be offended by his question because of how it supposedly hurts the raw wound of feeling sorry for yourself. Your love life hasn’t been the best and your tendency to jump to your own defense about it is a clear note to everyone that it simply shouldn’t be questioned.

But it’s Fred. The one who has constantly looked out for you when other boys and men seem to take advantage of your hopeless romantic side. The one who would pull a prank on George just to see you smile. The one who ended up taking you to the Yule Ball as his date because Walter, at the time, rejected you like you were nothing. You should have known that it was never meant to be.

You know to be honest with Fred Weasley.

“I don’t think I ever did.”

He doesn’t say anything, wanting to listen as he waits for you to conceive the proper words to finally speak your mind. It is clear you want to let it out and let off of the burden that has trapped you under its knees, constantly looming over your shoulders and causing dread and fear of losing so much in such a short time. The band of merry men as the whole pub begins to join the group in singing about the joys of alcohol, life, and love in the tune of a traditional Scottish muggle song.

You wonder how can these people be so happy in a time of an impending war. Maybe, it's temporary, meant to drown the hurt and sorrows for tonight and when morning comes, they'll return to opening the stitches of their wounds. When morning comes, you will either wake up at this very table or in an empty bed. Either way, you’ll be alone.

Now, all you want to do is get all your worries and troubles off your chest, not wanting to feel so empty and suffocated. “Love,” you pause, inhaling deeply. ”Love is supposed to be good and pure and beautiful. Love was what I thought I had and right now, I don’t know what to make of it, Fred...I thought I was going to marry him someday.” You find yourself sighing once more, already feeling the lightness in your chest. Running your fingers along your cheek, you close your eyes to help yourself focus through your rapid thoughts and your dazed mind. “Everything is going wrong. I hate my job. I hate my bed. I’m drunk on butterbeer for Merlin’s sake. I feel so, so alone—”

“Ah, and that’s where you are wrong.”

Your eyes are open now, narrowed from adjusting to the sudden brightness of the candlelit place. They drift to Fred who seems very content. He then places his hand on yours and you realize you had been fiddling with your fingers for the last minute. His hand is warm on yours and the heat gradually travels to your chest, heartbeat now slightly picking up in speed. If you listen close enough, you would be able to hear it.

“You are never alone. Not when I’m around and you know I will always be around.”

His words tug at the side of your lips, now widening into a faint smile. It’s small but it’s the kind that reaches your eyes and raises your cheeks. “Thank you, Freddie.”

Then, you watch him abruptly come to a stand, chair screeching. He tugs on the lapels of his coat, adjusting it with the roll of his shoulders. He grabs the back of his chair, and leans forward, towards you. “George and I are visiting the Burrow for the weekend. I’m sure mum won’t mind you staying over.”

You blink, mouth slightly agape at his offer. “I don’t want to trouble anybody—”

“Don’t be silly. Mum loves you more than George and I combined. And she loves us a lot!”

You laugh and it’s genuine this time, knowing how Molly will be always whispering to you about what makes Fred a good husband in the kitchen when you’re washing up the plates and how she will never let you go to bed hungry.

The burrow is like your second home and right now, home is all you want and need.

“Alright, then.”

[golbrocklovely]

the chosen daughter // colby brock - chapter twenty

A/N: holy shit it has been five months since i last updated this story. i'm so sorry about that ! it was nice to take a break and start writing a bunch of different, smaller fics, but i never planned to take a break from this for that long. hopefully you enjoy this chapter ! let me know what you think, and i'll see you guys later <3 also if you like this story or chapter, please reblog it ! i'd appreciate that so much :)

story description

taglist: @far-to-many-bands , @idfk-tbh-oops , @muted-mayham , @ughwhyislifesohard , @justtanerd , @ashyoungxblood ,  @cmburgos

trigger warning: cursing, bar setting, threats, angst, max is back lol

word count: 2504

~~~~~~~~~~~~

After the past couple days of bullshit, going to work was not something I wanted to do.

I sat in my car, glaring at Vampiro, knowing I was already late for work. I could feel my anger rising to the surface as I loomed over at the brick building.

I didn't want to deal with customers, or really anyone, for that matter. But I also didn't want to be in the Trapp Haus. The thumping of club music off the walls was slowly driving me insane.

I was just... so done with everything.

I wanted one night of peace, one night of normal. I wanted one night to just lie in bed with my boyfriend and cuddle. I didn't think I was asking for much.

Colby's my boyfriend now.

I smiled at the thought, my body calming down for a second. I guess after all the crazy events that occurred recently, that was the only silver lining.

I groaned, slowly sliding my body out of the car, locking it with a click of my keys. I quickly ran towards Vampiro, shuffling in the back door quietly.

“You're late again.” Roger blinked, staring me down.

I sighed deeply. “Yeah, Roger, I am.”

He crossed his arms tightly, “This is the third time in a row.”

“Do you expect me to be early, like... ever?” I let out a dry laugh.

He shook his head, “No, but I expect you to be on time.”

We both turned to the kitchen door swinging open, Ronnie walking in nonchalantly.

“Do you need something?” Roger queried, glancing behind me.

Ronnie smiled innocently, “Just more shot glasses.”

I turned back to Roger, “Well, Roger, I'm usually on time. I'm just not having a great week.”

That's a fucking understatement.

“This past month alone you've been late almost ten times.” He stated.

“Okay... what are you going to do about it?” I deadpanned, glaring.

I could hear a tiny gasp from Ronnie as Roger stepped back. “Excuse me?”

“What are you going to do about it? You're not gonna fire me.” I dared.

He started, scrunching his face, “How do you know I wo-”

"Because who else is gonna put up with the terrible fucking pay and gross vampires on the daily? It's not like you got other people lining up to work here." I took a deep breath, looking directly into Roger's eyes. "I apologize for being late, it's not my intension. But tonight is not the night to fuck with me. Got it?"

A heavy silence fell over the three of us. Ronnie's mouth was hung wide open, clutching the shot glasses in her hands. Roger sucked his teeth, dropping his arms, and walking towards his office.

He called out. “Just try not to be late again.”

I smiled sarcastically. “Cool. Thanks Roger.”

Ronnie glided in front of me, mouth still hanging open, “Oh my God, who are you and what have you done with Jade?”

I rolled my eyes, “I'm in the worst fucking mood right now. I literally contemplated going home while I was sitting in the parking lot.”

“That bad of a day?” She frowned.

“No, but the week? Even worse.” I groaned, walking into the bar.

She followed right behind me, placing the shot glasses down. “Why? What happened? Oh wait, let me guess…”

I waited for her to guess, making a mixed drink for a customer.

She gasped again, “Oh my God, you and Colby broke up, didn't you?”

I furrowed my eyebrows, “What?”

“I can just tell that that’s what happened. He’s always given you so much stress, it would make sense that you would get tired of that.” Ronnie grinned, patting my shoulder, “Well since you’re single now, you should go out there and get a new vampire boyfriend. Show Colby what he’ll be missing.”

I snorted, “Ronnie, that’s not what happened.”

“What? Yes it is. This anger you have,” Ronnie waved her hand in a circle, “has ‘broken up with my vampire boyfriend’ written all over it.”

I puzzled. “That’s something that’s noticeable?”

“Oh, 100%, especially with you.” She noted.

I sassed. “Well, I hate to break it to you, but me and Colby are still together. Hell, we’re even closer now.”

“You’re lying. You guys broke up.” She rebutted, placing drinks on her tray.

I raised an eyebrow at her tone. “Why are you arguing with me about this? No, we didn’t.”

“Obviously you did.” She expressed, shrugging her shoulders.

I scoffed. “Why would you think that unless I told you so?”

“I just know you guys broke up. You went through something crazy this weekend and now are no longer together.” She declared, looking at me.

My face dropped, my body leaning away from her. “How… would you know that?”

“I can just tell, that’s all.” She walked away quickly, placing drinks down on a table nearby.

Why would she say I went through something crazy this weekend? How would she know that’s true?

I waited until she came back behind the bar to speak. “Colby and I are still together, so you’re wrong.”

“Okay, if you insist on lying to me,” she chuckled, “you should break up with him anyway.”

“What? Why? You were the one that was pushing me to get with him!” I hissed, wiping down the bar.

“I know, but I was wrong. Let’s be honest, he’s terrible.” Ronnie confessed, leaning against the counter.

I rested my hands on my hips, my voice low. “What the hell do you mean by that?”

“Think about it: ever since he came into your life, it’s gotten worse. You constantly come in here in a bad mood, complaining about something bad that happened on your days off,” she nodded. “Colby is to blame for all of that.”

“Stop talking about my boyfriend like that. He’s the only good thing I have in my life right now, actually.” I argued, pulling out a bottle of vodka.

She stepped towards me. “You should be honest with me.”

“I am being honest. Can we just move on?” I turned away from her, grabbing some shot glasses.

“You’re my best friend, Jade. You don’t need to lie. Friends don’t lie to each other.” She droned, monotone.

“I know, but I’m not-” I spun back to her, cutting myself off.

I blinked, my eyes glancing around Ronnie quickly. The flashy lights in the bar made it look like an aura had appeared around her, an almost yellow glow.

“What?” She cocked her head.

I closed my eyes hard, rubbing them softly. “Nothing.”

Fuck, I’m losing it.

“I’m just gonna step outside for a minute.” I responded.

She pursed her lips. “Alright, I’ll cover for you.”

I walked through the back and stepped outside into the cool air. I exhaled, resting my body against the brick wall of the building.

Maybe it was a guess. Maybe Ronnie assumed something happened between me and Colby and that’s why I was upset. But something about the way she was talking made it seem like she knew me and Colby broke up.

We didn’t… but we almost did.

And that’s what concerned me.

How the fuck would she know?

And did I really see an aura around her?

“You should be more aware of your surroundings.” A deep voice spoke.

I jumped back, glancing up at the man in front of me.

Max beamed at me, shuffling back slightly. “…wouldn’t want some random vampire to run up on you, now.”

I gritted my teeth, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I just figured I’d stop by, say hello.” He remarked, his hands behind his back.

I scowled. “You think I want to see you right now?”

He smirked lightly, “You didn’t mind seeing me a day or two ago… on our date.”

I stepped to him, getting in his face. “Don’t act like I went on that date because I wanted to.”

Max shot his hands up defensively. “What’s with the hostility?”

“You know exactly what you did, fucker,” I spat. “How dare you do that to Colby.”

“And what exactly was that?” He asked innocently.

“You made him dream that I was cheating on him. Like I would ever let you kiss me or take my blood.” I jeered.

His face turned serious, dark. “I could do both of those things still, you know.”

“Like hell you will.” I fumed.

His face relaxed, an almost mischievous look coming to his eyes. “How’d you know I made him dream about it?”

Fuck me.

I stammered. “W-We have cameras in our apartment. I saw him walk out into the living room and stand in the same place for three hours. And he stayed asleep for most of the day.”

“Yeah, my powers kind of do that to people.” He laughed.

“The cameras were the only way I was able to convince him it didn’t happen.” I doubled down.

He bit his lip, glancing at my eyes. “I have to ask, how did you know my powers were dream manipulation?”

Fuck. Me. Again.

“I don’t dream that way,” I commented. “And again, I wouldn’t let you drink my blood.”

“I guess that’s valid.” He snickered quietly, “But come on, are you really that upset with me about yesterday?”

“I’m actually holding back the urge to stab you.” I deadpanned.

He whistled. “Harsh.”

“Why did you do it? How did you do it? What was the point?” I questioned, crossing my arms.

“To have fun. Liven up your life a bit.” Max teased.

I exhaled. “Fuck you.”

“What? Life is meant to be a game. Especially if you’re like me and have been alive for 500 years, give or take.” He replied, sliding his hands into his pockets.

“You still didn’t answer how you did it.” I mentioned.

He hummed. “What do you mean?”

“You weren’t in the apartment. How did you get Colby to dream like that?” I inquired.

“My secret?” He got close to me, too close. The back of his hand grazed my skin, his eyes watching me, “Just a light touch does the trick. And then, I’m inside your head forever. Or at least for a couple days.”

“That’s fucked.” I muttered.

“Yeah, but it’s also fun.” He dropped his head, taking a step back as his eyes peered up at me, “I didn’t do it just to piss you off.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?”

“I also did it… because I like you.” He professed.

I huffed, staring up at the sky. “Are you kidding me?”

“No. I think you’re beautiful, and you shouldn’t be with Colby.” Max admitted.

“And be with you instead?” I let out a dry laugh, “I’d rather die.”

He sucked his teeth. “I can still arrange that.”

“Cute choice of words for someone that has a crush on me.” I got back in his face, almost chest-to-chest with him, “All that bullshit you did? Don’t do that ever again. If you come near Colby and hurt him like that I swear to God-”

Ronnie’s voice suddenly rang out. “Hey Jade? Can you come back in? I need help.”

Max and I turned towards Ronnie, her body peaking out the back door.

I cleared my throat, backing away from Max. “Sorry, Ronnie. Lost track of time.”

“I apologize. I didn’t mean to keep your friend for so long.” He smiled charmingly at Ronnie.

Ronnie stared at Max, her eyes narrowing. “I know you from somewhere.”

“Excuse me?” He asked.

“I know you. You look familiar.” She repeated.

“Well, that’s strange, because I don’t know you.” He assured.

“I definitely know you from somewhere…” She grumbled, strolling back inside after a moment.

Silence fell over the both of us. I continued to glare daggers at Max. His eyes met mine and he smiled.

“Well, I guess I’ll get going and let you get back to work.” He added, “I know when I’m not wanted.”

I murmured. “Clearly you don’t.”

His eyes drifted down me for a moment as I turned to head back inside. Then he stopped me, lightly grabbing my arm.

“Your necklace…” His eyes widened.

I jolted his hand off me. “What? What about it?”

“Um…” He shook his head, blinking his eyes, “Where did you get it?”

“I don’t know. My family gave it to me.” I quipped, “Are we done here?”

Max relaxed, his face normal again. Another smirk appeared. “Of course. Have a goodnight.”

I rolled my eyes, closing the door on him.

“He’s kinda cute.” Ronnie giggled, still standing by the door.

I scoffed, “For an asshole, sure.”

I tried to work for an hour, doing my best to keep my mind off of Ronnie and Max. With Ronnie assuming that me and Colby ended things, and Max showing up, I’ve had my fill of vampires and the drama they bring tonight.

All I wanted to do was go home and be with Colby, the only vampire that wasn’t an asshole to me.

I grunted loudly, dropping cups and shot glasses on my tray into the sink and yanking my apron off. “I’m fucking done. I’m going home early.”

“Why, what’s wrong? Is this about Co-” She began.

I interjected immediately. “If you bring up Colby one more time, I’m gonna smack you. Me and Colby are fine. It’s the rest of my life that isn’t. And you’re not helping. Tell Roger I got sick or something. Hell, I’ll text him when I get home.”

Ronnie retorted, rolling her eyes. “Jesus, there’s no need to be a bitch to me.”

“Yes, there is!” I ranted. “You have been up my ass all night about me and Colby breaking up when we haven’t. For whatever reason it’s in your head that we aren’t together.”

“Well, maybe I just think you and Colby shouldn’t be together anymore.” She complained.

I grabbed my bag, scrunching my face, “For what reason?”

“Because he isn’t good enough for you. You should be dating someone that cares about you. Like that guy outside.” She stated happily.

“What guy?” I questioned.

“The man you were talking to.” She disclosed.

“…Max? You want me to date Max?” I gasped, holding back a gag.

She nodded, a light smile on her face. “Yeah, he seems sweet. I saw the way he was looking at you.”

I started walking towards the exit, “Oh my God, we are not having this conversation. I’m leaving.”

Ronnie followed me out the door, stopping at the front of the bar. “I’m not gonna have anyone to help cover your shift.”

“Damn, that sucks to be you then.” I turned, smiling bitterly.

“You’re such a bitch.” Ronnie sneered.

“Like you haven’t been one too. I’m tired of dealing with you, this place, and all these fucking vampires.” I ripped my door open, throwing my stuff into the car. “Maybe I want one night in my life to not be about vampires!”

I jumped into the driver’s seat, revving the engine to life, and raced out of the parking lot.

<< CHAPTER 19 || CHAPTER 21 >>

[falling-pages]

Okay how about first cuddles with Bakugou? Like he is almost feral about being held and having reader snuggle into them. And then....then he realizes the powers of a good cuddle. His body relaxes and accepts the cuddles. You know, just Bakugou leaning how to be a soft boy. 🥰🥰🥰 Hope this helps!! Happy Writing!!

This T_T my heart absolutely melted. This was absolutely self-indulgent on my end and I’m so happy you requested it!!!!

I decided to make it a part 2 of this one shot since so many people asked for a part 2 🥰🥰🥰 Lol also it’s long so I’m sorry

-

-

Friday Night pt. 2:

Third-Year Bakugou Katsuki x Third-Year gender-neutral Reader

-

Genre: Fluff, pining, cuddles, first kiss, just Bakugou going feral when he finally gets cuddles

-

-

Bakugou didn’t sleep like you thought he would.

Even with the fever ripping through his body, he laid there so peacefully. On his back, eyes scrunched shut, mouth in a thin line, the first time you had ever seen him not scowling, actually. It was like sneaking back into school after hours and watching the teachers work silently, in their natural habitats.

You didn’t know what you were expecting him to look like unconscious. Snarling snores, maybe. Resting on his stomach, gripping the sheets in his fists hard enough to rip. Probably thrashing, screaming and cursing at his dreams. Imploding smokey holes into the mattress.

But not...this. Not so peaceful, not the way he turned and slightly smiled at whatever his brain came up with. Not the way he would gently breathe in and out of his nose. Not the way his right hand sat limply at his side, his left crossed protectively over his worst wound near his stomach. Not the way his hair stuck out on the pillow gently cushioning his bruised face.

Neither Bakugou nor Aizawa would tell you how he got hurt, raising your suspicions. With graduation looming and the hero license exam nearing, you had figured your teacher had taken some of the top third-year students out for extra training. Bakugou had garnered more control over his quirk, granted, but he still needed the extra training. He liked to push himself too hard, take too many missions. Your outburst earlier in the evening sunk that into his thick skull. 

Some part of watching him felt wrong, knowing he would blast you into outer space if he caught you looking. But this was your job tonight, to sit by his side and watch over him as he healed. 

He suddenly gasped in his sleep, eyebrows furrowing as he clutched his deepest wound. The air rushed out of his now-open mouth, accompanying the slightest whimper. You lurched forward and activated your quirk, falling to your knees to look within him. 

It staked your heart to see him in so much pain, but nothing was wrong, just some blood rushing to his wound. Not too heavy to come through the bandage, though, so you blinked and let it be. 

And then you took a calculated risk. Maybe it was foolish, maybe it was wrong, maybe you thought “to hell with it” about his malicious tendencies. You knew it wouldn’t cure him, and you knew he would probably disintegrate you into a pile of ash and smoke, but you wanted to try. That tugging feeling in your stomach wouldn’t leave you alone, so...

You kissed him.

Well, his forehead. It was hot and dripping with sweat, and you knew it was dangerous, you knew his power was stored in his sweat, but you did it anyway. You had to. You had to try something to ease his pain. 

He shifted beneath your touch, and you dove back into your chair and tried to act nonchalant. 

Like that would work. Nothing escaped Bakugou, even when he slept.

His eyes peeled open, eyebrows quirked as he took in his surroundings. A brief whiff of smoke aired from his palms until he realized where he was. In “some extra’s dorm.”

“Hey--” his voice crackled like his bombs as his eyes fully adjusted to the dim lamplight. His peaceful facade remained. 

“Hey,” you whispered back. Even injured and half-asleep, he still intimidated you. 

“What happened?”

You breathed, relief flooding your core. He hadn’t noticed. “The pain woke you up. But you’re alright. Go back to sleep.”

His eyes trailed lazily across the room, until they met yours. Those crimson red irises could strike fear into the hearts of friend and foe, but when they looked at you, they were soft, confused, trusting. Sleepy.

“That’s not all.”

You settled back in your chair, fiddling with the wicker arms. “That’s what happened.”

“You kissed me.”

You suddenly prayed to every god that you would die. Shiiiiiiiiit, he felt that? 

Panic covered your hands, making you lose feeling in your fingers. A buzzer sounded in your head, like an evacuation alarm. You cleared your throat. You wracked your brain for an excuse, but came up empty. Lying to him was a surefire way of getting blasted through the nearest wall. And, if the way he looked at you was any indication, you’d better tell the truth. “Only on the forehead.”

Bakugou studied you. Now his eyes were calculating, cunning. Now you couldn’t tell if he were looking at you as friend or foe. “You know my sweat could blast your face off.”

It would be a mercy compared to what you were about to go through. “You...just looked like you were in pain. I wanted to help.”

He stared at you for a few more painful seconds. His gaze pierced your sternum like a knife. Then, as if Heaven itself opened, he smiled.

He smiled. 

“I wouldn’t mind another,” he murmured, turning his head back to the ceiling. Try as he might, you saw that grin, joining the blush running across his cheeks. As much as your crush feelings were hyped, you couldn’t help but feel more relieved at the fact that you were still in one piece. 

You crept forward, hesitant to do as he suggested. He was a bucking horse, a wildfire that changed direction with the wind. It was all you could do to avoid getting burned. 

As you leaned over him again, your size dwarfed by him, that calculating sheen stayed put. Was he going to burn you as you were defenseless? Was he going to blast you? He wouldn’t. He had better instincts than to hurt the very person taking care of his injuries as he laid helpless in bed.

But if he was being vulnerable with you, then maybe you should be vulnerable with him.

When you were just a few inches away, Bakugou’s eyes still open, he suddenly reached up and yanked your head down, interlocking his lips with yours. You sputtered, jerking to pull off, but his hand kept you there, eyes fluttering shut as soon as you made contact. After a moment, when you felt your soul reenter your body, you shifted to support yourself better, kneeling half-way on the bed, crossing your chest just above his.

He was warm. You could feel his warmth even while you sat feet away. Unlike Deku, whose skin was always cool and clammy, he was warm. Either by his quirk or fever or just himself, he was burning up, fiery to touch, like a cast iron brand digging into your side. That’s how he made his way in this world, torching the earth and salting the fields if he didn’t get what he wanted, setting off explosions to mold and shift reality into what he desired. He was molten lava, desperate, eager, wanting, burning and terrifying to touch, a spark set ablaze to decimate anything in its path.

Pulsating, and beating, and alive.

But when you lowered your fingertips to his shoulder, and you flinched--breaking the kiss to softly gasp--he frowned, focusing on your face, the way your eyes looked at your hand and how your sensitive fingers rubbed together.

“You okay?” he whispered, gravel voice hushed in honor of the moment.

You heard the pain laced beneath his voice and turned to look at him. Your hand fell on the mattress beside his chest. As his eyes bore into your head, you watched him, the way his muscles rippled, the way his very soul seemed enchanted by your kiss. If you activated your quirk, you were sure you could see the way his blood danced beneath his skin, the rush of chemicals to his brain, the excitement flaring in his nostrils.

He was an inferno incarnate, breathing and wild and alive, letting you touch him with all the slow calmness of an ocean breeze.

You slowly blinked, losing yourself in the imprint of his lips on yours. You unconsciously reached up to your mouth, tracing the outline of it with your fingertips.

As you make a sound of satisfaction, he smirked, trailing a hand up your calf to rest placidly on your thigh. “I said, extra, you okay?”

“Umm. Yeah.” Your eyes follow his hand, expecting it to burst like his grenades. “You’re just really hot.”

He scoffed, smacking your thigh--but gently, just feeling your skin. “Damn right I am.”

“No, not like that.” You rolled your eyes. “I mean, you are hot--attractive, I mean--but your skin...ummm, it burned me.”

“Oh,” he grunted. His eyebrows furrowed, losing that playful edge. He took away his hand, bunching around the sheets instead. 

You massaged your sore fingers as he contemplated. You nearly missed his hissed out, “Sorry.”

So it was a night of firsts--the first time he heard you curse, the first time you heard him apologize, your first kiss and his, too, as far as you knew.

“It’s okay.”

Bakugou moved, waving your helping hand away in case he burned you again. Once he sat up, he leveled his eyes to yours and very lightly, gingerly, took your hand and raised it to his pouty lips. You waited for the sting, but as he kissed your fingertips, all you felt was warmth, like molten chocolate, like a woolen scarf, like the sleepy feeling of an open oven door. 

He finished by rotating your hand in all angles and degrees, making sure to cover every inch of your palm, knuckles, and wrist in his love. The residual buzz traveled from your hand into your heart. 

“It’s my emotions,” he murmured against your skin. “My quirk acts up when I’m emotional.”

He kept his eyes nearly shut, only focusing on pressing more adoring kisses to your skin. When you returned your other hand to his chest, he shuddered, staring back at you with wide eyes. You saw what he was about to say--“Don’t touch me, I don’t want to hurt you”--and folded your finger against his lips.

“You won’t hurt me,” you whisper. “You’re powerful, but I’m not afraid of you.”

You moved your hand down and leaned forward, returning his kiss. The hand he once possessed smoothed under his jaw, outlining it with a finger to pull him close. You tasted the hesitancy in his lips, no longer masked under the bravado of his previous kiss, and smiled. You searched for his hand and found it, bringing it to your waist, giving permission to the boy who rarely waited for others’ approval. But he waited for you. He respected you.

I know you won’t hurt me. 

And that single move was when he realized he was so, so feral for your touch.

His long, powerful arms wrapped around your middle, hauling you completely onto the bed and scooting you into his lap, hugging you as close as he possibly could. There was no soft bone in his body--he devoured you, desperate for your love, your lips, you, you, you. A boy who had been scared to touch all of his life--knowing what it did to people, what he could do if he tried, the damage he even did on accident--was now clutching someone who wasn’t scared, someone who cared, whose hands knotted in his hair revealed just how desperately you needed him, as well. 

You filled him with your love, and he you, and you felt a tear escape, the kind that you cry when watching a sunset, or eating ice cream, or listening to your favorite song, when you’re so happy that smiling just isn’t enough.

Bakugou felt the wetness on your cheek and paused, cradling and dipping the back of your head so he could kiss it away. “What’s wrong, Firework?”

You veins ran hot at the pet name so naturally falling from his lips. “Nothing.” You smile, biting your lip. “I’m just happy.”

He nuzzled your forehead. “Good. Now, let’s lay down. You need to sleep.” 

You smoothed the bottom of your pajama shirt as he stretched to turn off the lamp. As you began to wriggle out of his grasp, he suddenly grabbed you tighter and held you as he shifted, lifting the blanket and dragging you both below. You began to protest on account of his injuries, but he squeezed you tighter against his chest. 

“I’m not letting you out of my arms again,” he whispered, with a kiss to the head.

Once you both were situated in the dark, you rested your head on his shoulder as he scratched your back. The long, slow strokes nearly lulled you into sleep, but one question filled your mind.

“Baku--”

“Katsuki.”

You couldn’t see him, but he moved his face nearer yours, catching your hand planted on his chest. “Call me Katsuki.”

“Okay.” The draw of his informal name sent a chill down your spine that you’re sure he felt. “Katsuki, why call me Firework?”

He smiled into your hair, shifting your weight onto him. Drowsiness choked his voice. “Because fireworks are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at them.” His knuckles found your cheek, and he brushed them against it. “And you are beautiful, brilliant, and I like to look at you.”

Satisfied, you closed your eyes, drinking in the feeling of his warm skin and arms cradling you, desperate, never willing to let you go, and you never wanting him to.

-

-

[mallowstep]

(nature; nurture)

You know the truth of yourself in pieces.

* * *

You are three, sitting on your mother's lap.

"And you understand this is a life-long commitment?"

"Yes," she says.

"And Mothkit, Frogkit, and Hawkkit, do you want Feathertail to be your mother?"

"She is our mama," Hawkkit says, and the woman laughs.

"That settles it, then."

* * *

Growing up is not a balloon inflating, the way you once pictured it. It is a crab moulting over and over again, exposing its softest parts, in hopes it survives.

* * *

You are the first to go to kindergarten. Only by a few minutes, but still. That feels like it counts for something.

You kiss your mother's cheek, and then drop your bag. A man crouches down beside you. "And what's your name?"

"Mothkit!" you say, and he shows you where to put your bag. You glance back at your mother as you venture deeper into the classroom. She wipes a few tears from her eyes.

* * *

Unlike a crab, you cannot reabsorb what you lose. Your teeth are collected in a box, exchanged for a few quarters, occasionally a dollar. Your hair is swept up and thrown away. You go shopping, and now there are two sections you have to examine. One for you, one for your brothers.

* * *

Stormheart picks you up for school, and no one is waiting in the passenger seat. You all climb in, and you end up stuck in the middle.

"Where's Mama?" you ask.

"She's at home," Stormheart says. He glances back at you for a second, smiling. "She's just having a bad day."

You kick off your shoes at the door when you get home, dropping your bag on the kitchen table. Your brothers are slower, but you peek through the crack in her door before Stormheart catches up with you.

She's asleep, not facing you. Mistyfoot is on the other side of the bed, reading a book.

Stormheart scoops you up. "Come on, bug," he whispers. "Let's go play outside."

* * *

But your soft parts stay the same, just growing between each exchange. You ask her about your father many times, and her answers drift, circling around a truth you want her to finish. You slip into her room after having a nightmare, and find her sobbing. You make a family tree, and stare frustrated at the missing names.

* * *

You follow her out to the garden. Frogpaw spends more time out here than you do, but you're bored, and your mother is here, digging tiny troughs into the earth.

You cross your legs on the grass beside her. She smiles at you. "Are you going to stay out here?"

"Yeah."

"Do you want a hat?"

"No." The sun is warm, and you lean down, your elbows pressing into the dirt. "What are you planting?"

"Poppies," she says. "Do you want to help?"

You shake your head. Feathertail takes a handful of sandy dirt, and pours the bag of seeds onto it.

"Mama?" you ask, and she lifts her brow. "What's assault?"

Feathertail pauses what she's doing, and looks questioningly at you. "Where'd you hear that?"

"It was on a TV show." You fidget with blades of grass. "I wasn't really watching."

Feathertail sighs. "It's -- when you hurt someone," she says. "When you attack them."

* * *

But you are not a crab. You are a girl, and you are changing. Your father sends you a letter and asks you if you're a help to your mother. You grapple with the undeniable proof he's in prison, like she explained a year or two ago. You shoot up past your brothers over the summer, and have to buy new clothes. A new garment comes with it. Feathertail cleans a few things out of a room you can't think of as hers, and it becomes yours. Your soft parts move, find new places in need of protection.

* * *

Sometimes, you want to explain everything to Leafpaw, all in one breath. You want to say, My mother didn't give birth to me, but I know who did, and I was not wanted, except that I was, and my father believes I am capable of nothing, and my period has started, and I don't know what that means, and I think you are beautiful.

You don't say any of that.

* * *

But you are not a crab, so you find traces of your past exoskeletons, the ones that didn't fit. A shirt you wore five years ago. A diary you can barely understand. A folded piece of paper you do not open. They don't make sense with who you are, and yet, they are who you were.

* * *

Shadepelt teaches you how to use make up. Feathertail and Mistyfoot don't wear any, but she does, and she makes it look easy and fun and flawless.

It's much harder when you have to do it.

Hawkpaw and Stonefur arrive home when you are scrubbing it off in the bathroom downstairs. You don't come down here very often, and it is strange to think that this space is a part of your home.

When your face is clean, you trudge upstairs. The air is tense, Hawkpaw and Frogpaw staring across the kitchen table at each other, Feathertail watching them.

"I'm -- allowed to know," Hawkpaw says.

"What do you want to know?" Frogpaw says. "We know everything we need to."

"Maybe you do," Hawkpaw says.

You glance at Feathertail. Her back is to you.

You slide unnoticed into your room, and pull out the stack of letters from your father. You read them all once, exactly, and then add them to the stack you keep in your bottom desk drawer. There's no point in rereading them.

But you run your thumb over them, listening to the way the old, dried paper crinkles.

Frogpaw is asking the wrong question. It's why Hawkpaw wants to know that matters.

* * *

Freshman year draws to a close, and you think you are in your final moult. Leafpaw falls asleep on your shoulder on the way home from a field trip, and you hold hands as you wait to be picked up. You haven't outgrown any clothes in months, and your brothers are now taller than you. You look in the mirror, and realize this will always be the face that looks back at you.

* * *

There is always talk. You try to ignore the worst of it,

("Well, Hawkpaw is a creep," and, "I heard their mother doesn't love them," and, "Bet you can't wait to see your daddy,")

but that's easier said then done.

Leafpaw squeezes your hand. "They don't know what they're talking about," she says.

But they do. That's the problem. They're wrong, but they know what they're talking about.

A junior Mothpaw doesn't know sits beside her at lunch, in Leafpaw's space.

"You should move," Squirrelpaw says.

"No one's sitting here."

"Someone will be."

True to form, as soon as Leafpaw bursts into the cafeteria, she forces herself between Mothpaw and the junior.

The junior rolls her eyes. "I was wondering," she begins, "how you feel about the death penalty."

* * *

There are still old memories you revisit. Feathertail is hospitalized for the third time you can remember, and you log your hours for drivers' ed as you practice making the trip back and forth.

* * *

On Halloween, you take the bucket of candy Feathertail gave the three of you to share and sit on the back porch. Frogpaw and Hawkpaw keep stuffing their faces long after you've finished, and you feel like you're witnessing something obscene.

"I did some math," Frogpaw says. "We were born a month early." He throws a candy bar up, and it lands on his stomach. "Means we were conceived around New Years."

He throws the bar up again, and this time it lands in his hands.

"You ever want to throw a party? Just one. Make a bunch of food for dinner and sit around the table and call all the different dishes courses?"

"What the hell are you saying?" Hawkpaw asks.

"I think i'm just saying something," Frogpaw says. "I think I'm just hoping if I say enough things, I'll find the right thing to say.

* * *

You get your license. It says your name on the card, Mothpaw, daughter of Feathertail, and ask for permission to drive the car.

You don't have a plan for where you're going, and you end up in front of a cathedral.

* * *

The stress of junior year threatens to break you. College applications loom, your classes grow teeth, and you start to bicker with Leafpaw over petty things.

You read over the essay requirement for colleges, and think about what kind of essay you could write. Because there's really only one story worth telling, and it feels wrong, to type out all of your family to a stranger.

It makes you glad you started early. "My mother was fourteen when we were born," you write, and then scratch out. "My father is alive. We know who the other is. I've never met him," you write, and then erase. "I don't know who I am," you write, and then you keep writing.

* * *

At some point, you decide you don't believe. But. You keep coming back. There is something reassuring in routine. Your family doesn't ask where you are going, and you don't volunteer it. Sunday morning. There's some kind of peace, in having the time to sit and think and be.

* * *

"I think I've messed everything up," Leafpaw says. "I've gone about this all the wrong way, and now, everything is terrible, and this is all my fault, Mothpaw, I'm sorry-"

You kiss her, and then lean your forehead against hers. "We're both at fault," you say. "Besides. Maybe the honeymoon is over. We've got lives to attend."

And Leafpaw, inextricably, is part of that life. You can think of the essays you would've written about her. How her hair looks brown until it catches the sun, and then it shines like red glass. How she stomps when she is excited. How she links arms with you and says you're going shopping until you find your family Christmas gifts.

* * *

They invite you to a class, but it feels strange, knowing you don't believe. How do you say, I am here, and I am not, and I don't think you'd really want me.

You don't. You kneel down and offer a prayer to a god you don't believe in. Maybe it will catch.

* * *

Feathertail listens to you practice your speech.

"I'm so proud of you," she says. "You know that, right?"

You nod. She tells you this often, but something about her tone makes your throat catch. You've outgrown the days when Feathertail's arms could surround you, but even so, you start to cry when she hugs you.

"I love you," you say.

"I love you too," she says. She settles back onto the couch, wrapping her hands around a mug of tea.

This is the truth of who you are. This is what you will always fail to capture. How can you describe how the light streams inside at an angle that you've always known, one that makes the dust swirl through it? How can you describe the books on the coffee table, how each book has been read and loved, not merely thrown there for decoration? How can you describe yourself in any way but being there?

* * *

You meet your father's eyes. You know them. You have seen them in the mirror.

* * *

You hold your diploma in one hand, stopping for a photo. You were the first to enter kindergarten, you were the last to leave high school.

The excited chatter in the air is a reminder of what this day is. You have all bought your final yearbooks, signed names and numbers you won't remember in a few months. You're in it a few times -- Feathertail and Leafpaw delighted in hunting for your every appearance -- and you think, maybe it is okay if you are pieces.

There is something whole and solid that is made of them.

[frombeyondtheblackhole]

Hermit DSMP Swap AU: Part 9.1

[TW: Blood, violence, severe injury, bone related gore and zombie/undead related body horror. Please take care of yourself and stay safe. Warnings bracket the worst of the potentially triggering content and a summary is provided if you feel the need to skip that part. Some violence and minor injuries are outside the brackets. If there is a specific TW that you would like me to include in the future feel free to let me know and I will do my best to add it.]

Quackity, Purpled and Charlie, spent over an hour searching through the woods and the land around Las Nevadas, well mostly just Quackity and Purpled while Charlie hovered around asking annoying questions. Neither The Zombie nor Foolish were anywhere to be found. 

Quackity told Purpled and Charlie to Head back to Las Nevadas and look there while he did one more check around the perimeter for any clues as to what happened. Quackity took his time. Now that he was by himself he was able to think more clearly. He shoved his hands in his pockets and frowned.    

Quackity wasn’t exactly sure what he had witnessed. He’d never seen something exactly like it, one minute Foolish was standing in front of him and the next he was gone and this zombie lady was in his place. He might argue with the other Las Navadas recruits, and they might not have the best opinion of him, but one thing was certain, if anyone messed with them, especially on Las Navadas property, They were messing with him and he wasn’t about to let anyone push him around, not anymore, never again. 

Quackity looked up as he rounded a sand dune, the walls of Tubbo’s “cookie” outpost looming up on the edge of Las Nevadas land. Quackity Scowled. One problem after another. The whole conflict about the walls hadn’t really been resolved, Tubbo was being stubborn, unreasonable. But that wasn’t a priority at the moment, he would deal with that latter, right now, he had bigger problems. 

Quackity followed along the wall and stopped short on the road in front of the Las Nevadas toll tunnel. Ranboo and Tubbo stood on the road coming from the other direction.

They stared at each other, neither side moving. Then Quackity broke into a smile “Hey there, Fancy running into you two here. You seem to hang around here a lot, have either of you seen Foolish or a strange looking Zombie by chance?”

Ranboo fidgeted and looked away but he was always fidgeting and he was never one for eye contact so that wasn’t exactly a tell. 

Tubbo on the other hand, Quackity had been in the same cabinet with him during Schlatt’s presidency, and in the cabinet during Tubbo’s presidency, he knew what the kid looked like when he lied. 

“A Zombie you say? What makes you think we would have anything to do with that?” Tubbo shrugged. 

Quackity didn’t drop the smile. “Don’t play dumb with me. You know exactly what I am talking about.”

“Honest big man, there are no Zombies here, that's why we built the walls.” Tubbo insisted.

Ok so the kid was getting better at lying. Quackity frowned but the smile returned a moment later. “That's all good. Just be careful, she did something to Foolish, he’s gone missing, I’m worried that if she is allowed to roam free and do whatever she wants then she might do what she did to Foolish to someone else. You understand. I would hate to hear that one of you two went missing.”   

Tubbo and Ranboo looked at each other.  They definitely knew something they weren’t telling him. 

“Thanks for the warning big man, we’ll let you know if we see anything,” Tubbo smiled tightly before grabbing Ranboo’s arm and pulled him aside to whisper in his ear.

Called it. Quackity smiled, his sharp gold tooth glinting in the sunlight. He turned on his heel and headed back down the tunnel towards Las Nevadas. 

---

Cleo looked down at the dark water lapping against the stone pier where she sat, her legs dangling over the edge. The air smelled of salt, cold stung her lungs. She wasn’t shivering despite the fact that a crop top and shorts was chronically under dressed for the weather. She didn’t really notice. 

Her heel bounced against the wall of the peer as she stared out to sea. Snowchester was secluded, nice and peaceful, but it also felt vacant. There were houses but no one lived in them. Not that that was anything all too strange, Hermits built empty houses all the time, but these felt different. The empty houses the Hermits built were intended just for show, or to conceal functional builds. These houses once housed people, and now were abandoned.  

Cleo looked up at the sound of footsteps crunching through the snow and the clunk of boots against the wood at the beginning of the peer. Tubbo and Ranboo stood looking back at her. Tubbo had his hands in the front pockets of his coat and Ranboo stared at her over Tubboo’s shoulder. He never seemed to blink, it was a bit unnerving. 

Cleo pursed her lips “Um, thanks for letting me stay here kids, but-”

“You can’t stay here anymore,” Tubbo blurted out. 

Cleo blinked.

Ranboo flinched “Sorry about all this, it’s just…”

“Don’t worry about it kid,” Cleo said, getting to her feet, “I was going to leave anyway,” She shrugged.   

“Oh really,” Ranboo sighed.

Tubbo frowned “Why? What changed?” 

Cleo chuckled hollowly, “I could ask you the same thing.” 

Tubbo pursed his lips but didn’t push the issue.

Cleo walked past the two of them and started up the path.

“Wait,” Ranboo called

Cleo stopped.  

“Where are you going to stay now?” Ranboo asked. Tubbo just glared at her.

Cleo shrugged and smiled a bit to cheerily “I’m sure I’ll find a nice cave somewhere, after all I am a Hermit,” 

“Um,” Ranboo looked off to the side, tapping his fingers together. “If you need it there’s a hotel in the Greater Dream SMP. It’s big and red, hard to miss.”  

Cleo chuckled, “I’ll be alright, don’t worry ‘bout it.” 

Tubbo was still glaring at her. She turned to leave again.

“Just know that if you try and mess with us we can and will defend ourselves,” Tubbo said.

Cleo didn’t turn around “Oh, I know,” She smirked as she walked away. This Tubbo kid had guts, she could respect that. 

---    

Quackity taped his fingers against his arm impatiently as he waited in the ditch on the Greater DSMP side of the speed tunnel to Snowchester. After talking to Tubbo and Ranboo he had watched from a distance and followed them here. 

The splash of oars cutting through the water reached Quackity’s ears as a boat made its way towards his hiding spot. Quackity took a steadying breath, stealing himself as he listened carefully. The boat scraped against the shore and there was a crunch of sand as someone got out of the boat. Only one person. 

Quackity stood up and moved into view. The Zombie jumped, summoning her sword as she spun around to face him, teeth bared.

Quackity held up his empty hands and took several steps back. “Woe, woe woe. Hold on. I think we got off on the wrong foot.”

“You think?” She scoffed. She didn’t attack but she still had her guard up. 

“Just tell me what you did to my friend and maybe we can resolve this peacefully,” He smiled tightly. 

“I didn’t do anything! And even if I did, why would I tell you? You already tried to kill me once?” She said. Then her expression changed, as if just remembering something. She lowered her sword and straightened. “What do you know about perma-death?” She asked calmly.

Quackity sucked in his breath and took a step back. Was this a threat or a legitimate question? He looked at the determination in her eyes… It was both. 

He fought the urge to summon his axe. 

“Do you really think you can kill a Zombie? I’m already dead. The rules don’t apply to me!” She strode forward and pointed her sword at him. Quackity staggered back looking up at her standing over him on the edge of the pit framed by the crystal clear sky behind her.   

Was she bluffing? 

Fuck. 

She spun on her heel and ran the other direction, across the field. 

The trance was broken. 

[TW: Blood, violence, body horror. Skip to the next bolded text to avoid the worst of it] 

“Shit, Get back here!” Quackity scrambled up the bank, summoning his crossbow and letting loose the bolt. It struck her in the leg, but she didn’t even seem to slow down. Had she even felt it? An ender pearl replaced the crossbow and a moment later he felt a sudden rush as he flew through the air, switching to his axe mid-flight. He crashed into her back, embedding his axe between her shoulder blades.

Quackity pulled his axe out of her back and staggered backwards. She wasn’t dead. She hadn’t despawned yet. Maybe she had been telling the truth about being unable to die. Oh wait, she was moving.

She pushed herself up onto her hands and knees coughing up dark sickened blood. She staggered to her feet and turned around to face him again, fire and determination in her eyes.

How was she still standing? That last hit had to have broken several ribs. Quackity glanced at the exposed ribs poking out from under her crop top, edged with decayed flesh. Those had been that way before. Maybe broken bones didn’t matter?  

[TW End: Summery: Quackity chases after Cleo, she tanks a bunch of damage but is able to keep fighting despite severe injuries]

Why were his knees shaking? She hadn’t even scratched him this time, and she wasn’t as good at combat as Dream or Techno. Yet she refused to die? 

He clenched his teeth and scowled, “I’ll give you one more chance. Tell me what you did with Foolish?” He demanded. Now he was bluffing. 

“I. Don’t. Know!” She yelled as she lunged at him, summoning her sword mid swing as she brought it down on him. 

He didn’t have time to block. Instead he moved back and swung the axe up. The blunt side of the head struck her in the chin as he felt her sword cut into his shoulder and graze his chest.

She staggered back and switched her sword out for a gapple. 

Oh no you don’t. Quackity raised his axe about to lung when he felt someone jump on him from behind. Arms wrapping around his neck in a choke hold. The axe returned to his inventory as he grabbed at the arms around his neck. They were invisible, his attacker was invisible.  

“Cleo, Run!” the invisible man shouted. 

She froze, the gapple halfway to her mouth “Etho?” 

“I said run!”

She turned on her heel and started running, only pausing for a moment to eat the gapple and keep going. 

Quackity clawed at the arm around his neck. This Etho guy was invisible. That ment he wasn’t wearing armor. Quackity summoned a sword in reverse grip and stabbed behind him. He heard Etho hiss as the sword grazed him. His grip loosened and Quackity was able to wrestle free. Summoning another pearl he threw it, getting away and landing near some trees. He staggered against one of the trees, coughing and rubbing his neck. He gritted his teeth, his face twisting into and ugly snarl. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. She got away. And she had an accomplice.  

They made him look like an idiot. He quickly rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. He had promised never to let himself feel helpless again. Never to let other people control him. Yet he had let himself get pushed around by some random Zombie and one guy with an invis pot. Fuck this. He needed to do something about this. He couldn’t let this stand.

[cheelduh]

How to get your crush to walk you to the nurse’s office (Highschool AU)

This is part 3, but it can be read alone!

Pairing: Childe x fem!reader

Warnings: Swearing, Mentions of a monster schlong, and unedited.

Parts: 1 2

Synopsis: Childe offers Lisa a shady deal to yet again sit next to you. However, all his efforts are in vain after he makes a complete fool out of himself by tripping over literally nothing because of a stupid cold. Maybe getting a cold isn’t so bad if he gets to be escorted to the nurse’s office by none other than yourself.

Note: Pure unedited crack luvs. Can’t wait for Childe rerun tmr I hope I get the ginger and the emo nun! 🥲💖

The eyes on you are suffocating, to say the least, enough for you to consider peeling a layer of your own skin off just to breathe. Every now and then, you get a teasing glance from a classmate, and you're sure you'll be an entire puddle of guts on your desk before home room even gets a chance to begin.

There's no doubt it's Signora that spread the news of your date yesterday as a means to some sick revenge. Knowing this was going to happen, you packed some salt in your backpack to cancel out all her evil. Now all you need is a chance to knuckle ball it in her face.

Fingers crossed, you pray to the archons that Childe didn't slip anything about your...brick slip yesterday. It's a good thing you weren't in a school uniform yesterday because that would've been the end of your high school life right there.

Thinking back to it, you collapse into your open hands. How could you have beaten a bunch up losers up...risking your flawless reputation for a sadistic ginger with an affinity for chaos? And worst of all, why did you care about them shit talking him in the first place?

"You okay dear? Something you want to tell me?" Lisa feigns concern, already knowing why.

With a sigh, you blink an eye open through the gap in your fingers. "Doing just fine."

"Oh it couldn't have been that bad." Her eyes shine in mischief. "I bet Childe was a real gentleman."

"He sure was." Kaeya pipes up from the back, leaning in to show you the image on his phone. It's a picture Childe took of you absolutely oblitering an ice cream cone.

You groan and slump deeper into your chair from embarrassment as Kaeya and Lisa engage in chatter, mostly revolving around your date.

Ignoring them completely, you start to ponder about Childe. Where is he? You were sure he'd be here bright and early to reminisce on your eventful date yesterday, which mostly consisted of a competition of who could win the most stall games at a local festival.

Maybe he'd even tease you about the Monoceros Caeli keychain attached to your phone. The very one he'd won for you, and the reason that started the competition in the first place.

Your cheeks warm when you fidget with said keychain, and you can't tell if the fast pace of your heart is because you're nervous to see him or because of the biology quiz you have second period.

So wrapped up in all these foreign emotions, you fail to notice the shadow that looms over you, a glittery finger guard tapping at your desk.

The student council President, Ningguang, plops down a stack of budget files on your desk during homeroom. She's gives you a light smile, and you know what's coming when you meet her alluring gaze.

"Be a dear Y/N," Ningguang smiles, tight lipped, all pretty with her hair pinned back to crown her face. "Even with all hands on deck, i'm afraid the student council's efforts will not come to ripeness concerning all of this paperwork."

This isn't the first time you've done her a favour by becoming the president's personal accountant, and it definitely isn't going to be the last.

Ningguang is powerful, with wit like no other, and you want to be able to call in a chit when the time comes.

"Of course," You reply with a smile that rivals her own. "I'll have them done by the end of the day."

"Excellent. I knew I could count on you, Y/N." She departs elegantly, probably opting to sit next to Beidou and bicker.

You're halfway on the third sheet for total income, a minute before class starts, when you're interrupted. Childe stumbles through the door quite noisily, a shitstain of a grin plastered on his face that is directed at you.

You sigh and shake your head as he approaches you. Thankfully the seat next to you is occupied by—

Shit! Where's Lisa?

Across the classroom, Lisa gives you a thumbs up with a bar of vending machine chocolate in her hand. You should've known she'd betray you yet again.

Childe slides in smoothly after bumping fists with Kaeya, and he falls short of containing his giddy nature.

"Hi Y/N." There's something weird about him today, because you're sure you haven't seen his cheeks so flushed ever. His eyes land on your phone, which is splayed on the desk, and the keychain widens his grin.

You snatch your phone and hide it in the middles of your thighs, but the damage is already done. The urge to shrink against the wall has never been as strong as it is in this moment.

"Hi." It's a miracle you haven't combusted on the spot. Is it usually this awkward? Everything went so fine yesterday, so why can't you ease into it today?

He takes that as a go ahead and instantly reaches for your hand on the table, but you retract at the speed of light.

"Don't even think about it." You're ready to connect the tip of your trainers to his bleached asshole, nose crinkled at his behaviour.

Kaeya whistles lowly, leaning forward for the HD show that is your life.

Childe's smile is sheepish as he's scratching the back of his head. "So we're not on that stage yet huh? I seriously thought you had a change of heart after you beat up those high schoolers for m—"

You muffle his statement with a hand on his mouth, and send a pointed glare to Kaeya. "You didn't hear shit."

The Captain of the skating team nods innocently, and salutes. "Yes boss."

Returning your gaze to Childe, who looks like he's having the time of his life with your small hand on his mouth, you narrow your eyes. "Stop trying to spread rumours."

He can only hum in reply, but you feel a weird pressure on your palm and—

The smug asshole kisses your palm.

You pull back your hand and wipe at your pants, full of disbelief. "Did you just??? Did you just? Kiss my hand???" Mouth twisted, you have no idea what to think.

Childe's throws his head back, and his laugh rings in your ears. You hate yourself for wavering slightly at the sound before smacking his arm. His laughs turn into coughs, probably because he may have swallowed his saliva down the wrong pipe. Charming.

Where the fuck is Zhongli? It's already been five minutes too long into homeroom.

Rolling your eyes, you opt to continue and scribble down budget numbers and add sums up or whatever you were doing earlier after Childe pipes down, choosing to admire you quietly by leaning his weight on one arm. It's enough to make you squirm, face flushed.

"Can you not?" Clicking your tongue in disapproval, you don't look up as you speak.

"If you give me a kiss, then maybe." Childe's cheeky, ridiculously so, and he points a finger at his cheek.

"I don't negotiate with terrorists." You deadpan, fingers itching to choke something or rather...someone.

Childe pouts, and then his eyes close for a second, almost as if he's exhausted when he gives you a sort of smile. With how he's leaning in so close, you can easily spot the swelling in his eyes and the paleness of his face.

For the first time today, there's no bite in your tone when you ask with a slightly raised brow. "Are you okay Childe?"

"Yeah!" He's quick to answer ecstatically, snapping out of his tired haze by straightening himself up. "Better more than ever now that I've seen you, girlie."

You blush madly, the compliment enough for you to drop your pen on the ground. It rolls over beyond your reach.

"I'll get that." Childe jumps out of his chair and you're unable to stop him as he goes to go fetch your pen like the chivalrous idiot he is. There's a slight pause in his movement, his body taking longer to process the messages his brain is sending.

He recovers from the muddle in his cognition by shaking his head, and casually goes to pick up the pen, then ends the move by falling over backwards in unconsciousness.

"Childe!" You lunge for him, managing to catch him a second prior to his ass hitting the floor with the help of Kaeya, who somehow looks like he's expected this outcome from the very start.

The entire classroom clamps up and turns to look for the root of all the commotion.

"Don't just sit there and watch!" You hiss angrily, waving them off. "Someone get Zhongli!"

Aether doesn't need to be told twice as Venti and him race down the hall together. Venti probably just to use this opportunity of sudden chaos to skip homeroom.

"Looks like a fever." The Captain accesses the situation as a small crowd forms around you two. "There's no way he didn't feel it in the morning."

"The absolute idiot." You groan at his words. "Of course he'd try to have a pissing match with a cold."

"I'm still here you know." Childe slurs, leaning into you for warmth, chest rising and falling softly. "Just a...a little sleepy. Am I dreaming angel?"

You roll your eyes, but don't make any moves to lean away from his touch. "Anyone got a water bottle?" Curling your hands around his shoulder, you shift your gaze towards the crowd.

Somebody passes you an emerald green water bottle with dandelion charms that clink against the hard plastic handle from a nearby desk. It screams stupid, but you don't have time to judge the owner.

Opening it up hastily, you're about to let Childe take a sip until it's snatched away from you at the speed of light.

"Hey what gives!" You call out to Kaeya, who inspects the bottle closely with his one eye. He then nods in affirmation as if his suspicions are confirmed.

"I wouldn't recommend it." Is all he says when he motions for you to take a whiff, which you do so reluctantly, eyes closed.

The scent hits you all it once. It's watered down vodka, except without the watering down. Tears form from the intensity.

"The goddamn bard." You choke out, and it earns you a drained chuckle from the ginger that has his head situated on your forearm.

He has half the mind to nuzzle in further, but the position is convenient enough for you to crush his skull if you wish to do so. So he refrains, albeit reluctantly.

Zhongli manages to make it in less than two minutes, sipping on a cup of steaming tea as he breaks apart the crowd to crouch down. "Is everything alright? I came as soon as I could after I made this tea. I assumed it was just another prank."

Everyone in the room shakes their head incredulously.

"Unfortunately it isn't a prank. Childe fainted briefly." You tell him politely despite the urgency, since you're whipped for all your teachers.

"I didn't faint!" Childe groans, exasperated. "Got a little dizzy s'all."

"Yeah," Kaeya cuts in to summarize the situation. "I'll be happy to take him to the nurses office with Y/N—"

Zhongli clears his throat. "You won't be going anywhere Mr.Alberich. I'm sure you have five overdue assignments in my class. Y/N here can walk him just fine." He then attempts to wink at Childe secretly like the wingman he is, but everyone in the classroom and their grandma notices.

The facepalm you do is not enough to render you brain dead.

Pinching the bridge of your nose, you sigh for the nth time today, and it's only eight thirty in the morning. "No worries, Lisa can help—"

"Sorry cutie. I'm manifesting for the biology quiz." Lisa deflects, lighting three candles on her desk unceremoniously with her eyes closed.

You don't understand why no one has confiscated her box of matches yet. This entire school is a law suit waiting to happen.

You succumb to the team effort everyone is trying so hard to display. "I guess I can go." The hall pass is already written, signed, and neatly folded into the chest pocket of your uniform. "How did you even..."

You don't even get a chance to finish before both you and Childe are whisked away to the outside of the classroom, the door shutting behind you with a slam. Your ears perk up at the sound of a lock clicking in place.

"Looks like you're stuck with me." The smug bastard still has the audacity to beam even when he's pale in the face. "Might have to hold my arm. If I fall and crack my skull—that wouldn't look too good on your record." He makes grabby hands, like a toddler.

The smile you give is unnerving, and with the speed of a snail, you manage to loop in your arm with Childe's. "Another word and let's move on to how your hospital record is going to have more than just a cracked skull."

"If you'd nurse me back to health, it'll all be worth it." The quip he sends without a beat lacks its usual goof, but it does manage to get some sort of reaction out of you.

"Whatever. Let's just get this over with."

—

Childe's busy thumbing at his phone while you pace at the foot of the bed, arms crossed with a frown etched on your features. You hope you don't look too worried, don't want to give him the wrong idea.

"Can we just get this over with?" He wails uncharacteristically from his spot on the white sheeted bed after ruling out everything he wanted to do on his phone. His hair is tousled more than usual, as a by-product of his constant restlessness.

"Shut up." You answer monotonously, arms crossed as you lean against the wall. "Let her finish her tiktok."

Barbara—the daughter of the school nurse, has her phone on the window, lip syncing and dancing to some music on beat as she films a tiktok with the utmost of important.

It's concerning that her father isn't here to tend to your needs, but apparently he's in the middle of a meeting with principle Varka. Said meeting had been going on for the past few months, but this school is devoid of logic anyways so nobody really questions anything.

"I'm literally dying here."

"Archons you're such a baby," Shaking your head, you approach his bed with a newfound annoyance. "Barbara has to create a tiktok at least once every twenty four hours or her fan club goes feral and..."

"Tries to jump off the roof as the ultimate sacrifice to her majesty." Childe sighs, and for the first time you sense his irritation. "Got it."

Just in time, Barbara finishes her cute little dance and comes over to where Childe is laying.

Childe doesn't miss the way your scowl has dissipated, and you give Barbara your undivided attention, hearts in your eyes from all the adoration. He has half the mind to call you out on it, no doubt a little jealous over how the young highschool idol can get you to show more emotion than him.

"I'm so sorry! I started those tiktoks out of mild interest but now I have an obligation to my fans." The younger apologizes profusely, getting to work almost immediately.

"No worries." Childe starts, staying still as the blonde examines him. "I'm sure it's nothing too serious. Y/N here is being dramatic, she probably just wants to spend some alone time with me."

You inhale sharply, turn to Barbara, and ask. "If I jumped out of the window right now from this floor, would it be a quick and easy death?"

The younger girl's eyes widen, and Childe stifles his snort.

"Kidding." You raise your hands up to cease her worries, and then motion towards him. "Common cold?"

"Yes," Barbara moves on and writes down something on a slip. "We'll just keep him here until his parents can pick him up."

"My parents can't pick me up." He asserts in a casual tone. "Don't call them."

"We still have to call them. If they don't come, you're to stay in this bed all day." She hands you the note, which is a viable excuse for all the classes he'll miss today. "Give this to his homeroom teacher. You'd also better get to class, your hall pass is about to expire."

"Hold up." You remark, barely paying attention to the note that you've shoved down your pocket. "I'm not leaving him here alone." There's no room for argument, your decision is firmly stated.

Childe hypes you up in his weakened state, disoriented. "You tell em girlie."

"He won't be alone." Barbara flashes you a reassuring smile. "I'll be monitoring him until his parents get here."

"No, no, you don't understand." You argue, inquiring all the doubts you have. "He's gonna try to pull some shit and I'll have to be here to stop him."

"Ease up babe." Childe tries to calm you down, despite the giddiness in his chest at the realization that you want to take care of him.

His subconscious begs him to let you stay, to let himself be doted and cared for the way he's always wanted you to, but he knows he can't let you skip class. Not when you've worked so hard and come so far. "I'll be okay for a few. You can go back to class and then visit me during break."

You bite your lips, head jumbled with all the different possibilities of how shit can hit the fan. "I can't! What if Signora shows up? She'll poison you in this weakened state to get back at me for trying to exorcise her." The hesitation in your features gives away everything.

Childe's eye twitches at the thought of Signora out of all people getting the best out of him, and also the absolute audacity you have to be calling him weak. Clearly all his efforts towards the little shows of dominance (e.g. Shoving Pallad against a locker, spraying a hefty amount of cologne on, being an asshole in general, etc.) have not bore fruit.

"You tried to exorcise her?" Barbara gasps, momentarily reminding the two of you that she's still present.

"Her evil has no bounds." Your expression is hard to read, dead serious. "I do not regret my attempt at cancelling Satan's hell spawn."

Childe himself has been cancelled hundreds of times over the span of highschool because of all his problematic traits (e.g calling Venti a twink) and it is not a pleasant experience.

Though it does give him a sense of comfort, knowing that arrogant bitch Signora is finally getting what's coming to her, even if she is one of his friends.

Serves her right for trying to Pavlov her stupid Chihuahua into biting the closest human being just by the snap of her manicured finger. As if it's persistent yapping and tendency to run in front of cars isn't enough torture to deal with on a daily basis.

Childe's yanked out of his thoughts rather forcefully at the sound of the door opening abruptly, the handle crashing into the wall, shocking Barbara's attempts to reassure you.

He knows who it is because of his top tier gaydar, dreading what's to come.

Scaramouche is a morose son of a bitch with a mean streak that hasn't been broken since he was an itty bitty shit in the fourth grade.

"I can't believe you let yourself get sick!" The navy haired boy exclaims in disbelief, doubling over with tears, clapping his hands to add on some extra effects. "Natural selection finally decided to stop pussy footing around your primate-looking ass."

You press your lips together. "Isn't he supposed to be your best friend?"

Scaramouche sputters violently, using the wall as leverage to hold himself up. "You told her I'm your best friend? Oh fuck. Oh this is good. What else did you tell her huh? That you have a monster cock?"

"First of all, you make me reconsider my opinion on the death penalty, dickhead."

Barbara is mortified. Childe continues on anyways.

"—and I do have a monster cock. But why are you so interested in my monster cock huh?"

Scaramouche scrunches his face up in disgust, amusement nothing but a distant memory. "You don't have a monster cock you plebe."

Childe has an awfully scandalized expression on his face, but smoothly enough it transitions into an unsettling grin that you're all too familiar with. "You didn't deny not being interested in my monster cock though."

It's your turn to be mortified, shaking your head at the banter that goes on back and forth.

"How did you even know he was in here? We aren't even in the same class."

Scaramouche raises a brow as if you're some sort of toddler that's babbling out a mixture of Cheerios and spit, maybe a few digested strawberries here and there. He waves his phone in front of you, "posted it on his story."

"What the—give me that!" You snatch his phone right up, staring at the screen in bewilderment.

There's a video of you doing trick shots with your tech deck on the ledge of a nearby window with a pressed expression while waiting for Barbara to finish up, captioned with: "In the nurses office rn pray for me 🙏, there's this cute girl in front of me should I ask her out?"

You check the poll and ninety five percent say yes. Scaramouche voted no. You have mixed feelings.

Shaking your head, you give Childe, who's unable to sit still, a look of pure exasperation.

Scaramouche claws his phone back from you rather harshly, the bells on his hat jingling, making it hard for you to take him seriously when he sneers your way.

"You should be thankful you're the lover of my comrade." He shivers slightly at the word comrade. "or I would have obliterated you on the spot for that little stunt."

Childe doesn't even pretend to look fazed at the older's threat when he says  "as if I'd allow a kumquat headass like you to touch my girl."

You and Barbara hastily jump in to stop the bloodbath that is seconds from happening. "No!"

Luckily, no limbs are teared apart.

[sooibian]

Catch These Hands

Pairing: Baekhyun x Fem!Reader

Description: Living with Baekhyun comes with its own challenges

Themes: Fluff (surprise!!!!), established relationship, make up artist and masseur Byun, a little bit of byuntae, and one (1) Eminem reference lol

Prompt: @/notyourenglishprofessor : You SAY you didn’t eat in bed but these crumbs say differently.

A/N: Happy Birthday @is-that-baekhyuns-shirt​ !!!! here’s your biggest pet peeve woven into a bbh fic! Hope you enjoy it XD

Word count: ~ 1.7k

Nights out have never agreed with you. It’s 2 a.m. and your feet hurt from the heels, your head hurts from the drinks, your little black dress (your best friend sure does have a penchant for party clichés) is mocking your food baby, your makeup feels clumpy - maybe you overused the setting powder but you wouldn’t know because the complex art of blending cosmetics has always eluded you. How do they make it look so easy in YouTube tutorials?

As you’re keying in the passcode to your apartment, despite all the malaise, a sudden surge of comfort courses through your veins at the thought of your adorable boyfriend asleep in a clean, cozy bed, engulfed in warm and fresh sheets that exude the fragrance of a spring meadow - courtesy of your brand new laundry detergent. You imagine he is dressed in his snuggly pajamas, with his lips slightly parted, dark hair tousled, and your ostrich plushie clutched to his chest. Ever since you started living with him, you’d never spent a night away from home but the one time you returned after a weekend long Neuroscience conference, you found your plushie resting in the comfort of his arms. The next morning he insisted that he didn’t know where it came from.  

‘Time to catch him red handed’, you smile to yourself.

Kicking off your heels and scraping your hair up in a bun, you tiptoe to your bedroom and the faint melody of Baekhyun singing in a highly expressive croon falls upon your ears.

Tell me you’ll love again, come back to me again..

He should’ve been long asleep and while you can’t wait to crash out either, you allow yourself the pleasure of eavesdropping on his heavenly vocals that always sound especially sweet when he’s wrestling sleep. Until..until you hear it.. the sharp crunch of plastic which sends you barging into the bedroom with exasperation painted across your features. 

Baekhyun clamps his mouth shut. 

Instead of jumping out of bed to wrap you in his arms, he uncharacteristically stays burrito-ed in his duvet, fixing you with an apologetic gaze. Elbow crushing the pillow underneath him, shoulders crouched, lips pursed, hair dishevelled, pajama bottoms scrunched up to his calves, he tries to blink away the very apparent guilt in his eyes. Your ostrich plushie lay on your side of the bed as if its neck had been snapped like a popsicle stick. 

As you loom over him, lower lip wobbling, he pushes his weight further down the pillow but the tail end of the red Orion choco pie wrapper teasingly peeks from underneath it, glimmering in the cozy golden lighting of the bedroom, already chuckling at the drama that is to ensue.

You’re too tired for this.

Without a word to him, you grab a bunch of blankets from the dresser, shut it with a loud bang and stomp out of the room while Baekhyun’s bearing is that of a frozen frame. As you’re questioning your life choices and are about to vent your frustration on the irreproachable couch, your weary gaze finds the bane of your existence again - crumbs. White, inelegant fragments of food conspicuous against your tan sofa.

They say the more you try to avoid something, the more you create it. This was unequivocally the worst quote you’d ever read. You created nothing! You were not the one to leave this slew of crumbs on the sofa neither did you leave a pile of crumbs on the bed! It was all Baekhyun! 

You’re way too tired for this.

Drowsy, you lie down on the floor, curled up in the many blankets, although still cautious as your piercing eyes doggedly probe for more evidence of Baekhyun’s insolence. Surprisingly, the rug was clean-ish. It was almost as if he had planned on you sleeping on the floor tonight. This thought fuels the rage bubbling in the pit of your stomach so you force your eyes shut to avoid a shouting match this late in the night. 

The shuffling sound of footsteps grows closer and you’re determined not to give him the satisfaction of even a glance. The sound comes to a halt and you feel a gentle caress of warm fingers ghosting over your cheeks which is quickly replaced with a smooth and cool touch of a cotton pad against your eyelids, cheekbones, jaw line, with a distinct scent of micellar water wafting in the little to no space between Baekhyun and you.

You continue to play dead as he’s quietly and deftly taking your makeup off while delicately holding you up by the back of your neck and you coyly move your face from side to side to allow him better access to every inch of your skin.

“Too much setting powder”, he whispers.

Darnit!

“Still so pretty”, he remarks in his dulcet voice. Your head now rests in his lap and he’s gently moving his thumbs in tiny circles under your brows, working his way from inside out and continuing the movement all around your eyes and ending back at the bridge of your nose, almost lulling you to sleep.   

At this point every cell in your body is waging a war against your now weakened spirit that’s continuing to disregard him yet you find yourself revelling in his mellow affections.

“It’s a rookie mistake. Not to worry, baby, I’ll help you get it right the next time.” He reassures, planting a soft kiss on your pout.

“Right”, eyes still wilfully shut, you chastise him, “maybe when you find the time from eating in bed.”

“Yah! Don’t be like that.” Baekhyun whines, prying your eyes open with his fingers, not-so-gently.

You smack the back of his hand and sit up cross legged facing him. He stretches his hand out to pat your head and you smack it again invoking a look of pure confusion in Baekhyun’s soft features. His hand is now barely an inch away from your lips and he commands with a raised brow, “Now kiss it better.” 

“Ew!” Your hand strikes the back of his, again. “How many times do I have to tell you not to -”

“Not to eat in bed!” Baekhyun completes your sentence with a deep sigh, “I know and I wasn’t -”

“Do not lie to me Byun Baekhyun!” Warning him, you wag your finger as annoyance betrays your voice, rendering your pitch shrill. Dusting the corners of his mouth with the pads of your fingers, you sneer, “These crumbs say otherwise. You know I hate it when you eat in bed! It’s ...It’s….disgusting! And -”

“And?” 

“You always ignore my post-its!”

Baekhyun huffs and runs a hand through his hair. Letting on a forced smile, he reasons, “We’ve been living together for three years now. I think it’s time you stopped leaving ‘do not eat’ post-it notes on everything you buy!”

Tilting your head to the side, you explain animatedly, “First of all, you won’t let me buy snacks on our grocery runs because they’re unhealthy or whatever and you want to bring about a stupid dietary reform in the household which, by the way, is failing miserably - ”

“Yah!! We’re still in January, don’t be such a pessimist!”

“Do not interrupt me! The few that I do manage to sneak into the cart are mine and mine alone!”

“It’s just that..the ones that you buy taste better”, he mumbles, unveiling the most powerful weapon in his artillery - the pout.

“That is the most ridiculous thing that’s come out of your mouth today aside from the crumbs! I imagined you’d be...”, it’s nearly 3 a.m. and you’re starting to descend into a fugue state, “you’d be...curled up in bed like a...like a... cooked shrimp with a plushie clutched to it’s chest!”

Visibly offended, he flicks your forehead and bellows, “Cooked shrimp!? It’s called the fetal position. Look it up!”

“I know what it’s called!” Your livid expression eases into a rather ill meaning smile, “My apologies, I took you for a grown man.”

“What in the world - I am a grown man!” His lips stretch into a wide grin and the tips of his fingers tease the sensitive spot on your neck, “would you like to see?”

“You’re disgusting, Byun Baekhyun! A grown man does not eat in bed!” You smack the back of his hand. Again.

“Strike four! You’re obligated to kiss it better now!” 

Tears start to well up in your eyes at the sight of his hand dangling so close to your face. “I’m tired”, you cry, burying your face in your hands as exhaustion and exasperation take over, “I really need you to stop eating in bed.” 

“Babe, I -” His eyes grow into large brown circles at the sight of your distressed state and he freezes.

“I feel like the crumbs will, like, turn into ferocious ants and nibble at my skin while I’m asleep”, you break into full blown sobs and Baekhyun takes you in his arms, holding you tight against his warm and comforting frame and patting your head to calm you down.

“Hush, baby”, he sing-songs, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry! You go get changed into something comfortable and I’ll dust the bed, okay?”

“Can you change the sheets instead?” Sniffling, you ask him with wide, pleading eyes, a sly smile playing at your lips.

His eyebrows shoot upwards and he exclaims, “It’s three in the morn-”

“Please?” You sing-song, a little too loudly.

He lets out a deep sigh, “Okay! I’ll change the sheets.”

With his slightly dispirited face sandwiched between your hands, you ask cheerfully, “And you promise to never eat in bed again?” 

“I promise to never eat in bed again.” A dejected Baekhyun says to his knees. 

“And you won’t steal my snacks?”

You had now started to push your luck with him, but it was a risk you were willing to take.

He flicks your forehead a little harshly this time making you squeal. “Can you stop with the stupid post-its, already?”

Rubbing your forehead, you surrender and get up. “Fine! I’ll go shower now.”

Baekhyun wraps his arms around your waist. Nuzzling your neck, he coos seductively, "I’ll join you.” 

“Byun Baekhyun!”