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inkykeiji · 1 year

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i love it when i hear you breathing, i hope to god you’re never leaving

characters: dabi | todoroki touya, takami keigo | hawks

genre: smut and angst

notes: aaaah oh my gosh!!! i can’t believe this series is finally finished! this is the third and final part of my tag you’re it series. thank you so much to everyone who stuck with me and this series throughout these two years; you all mean the world to me and i hope you enjoy this final piece! as always, please heed the warnings below and stay safe!! | title credit: tag you’re it by melanie martinez

part one | part two | part three

warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, toxic relationships, drug use and abuse, overdosing, hospitals, blood, verbal fights, daddy kink, minimal prep, size kink/size difference, degradation/dumbification with a dose of praise, rough sex, biting/marking, dacryphilia, a hint of mindbreak

words: 14.9k

synopsis:

What is real? What is right? Does it exist in concrete terms, or is it some sort of continuum? Is it easily sorted and separated, like pans of paint on a palette, or is it all muddled and bleeding together, like strands of paint in a glass jar, irrevocably intertwined as they dissipate in the water and impossible to separate in any way, colour of the tainted water morphing depending on the angle the light hits it at?

Does it even matter at all, when your brother is in the hospital and your boyfriend, no matter how implicitly or explicitly, had a hand in putting him there?

It’s been three weeks since yours and Keigo’s accidental meeting on the track, three weeks since you’ve been meeting privately, behind Dabi’s back, three weeks that you’ve gotten absolutely nowhere in terms of any sort of ‘plan’.

It isn’t either of your faults, you think. Your time spent together is incredibly limited, which makes it incredibly precious, and neither of you particularly want to spend it discussing the difficult stuff—your brother’s addiction, and how to deal with it.

“I can buy my own food, you know,” Keigo jokes as you sit down across from him, crosslegged, knees bumping against his own.

“I know you can,” you say as you hand him a small bento, stuffed to the brim with rice and yakitori. “But you don’t.”

“Well—”

“And you don’t make your lunches, either,” you continue dryly. “I bet you haven’t made a single lunch for yourself since I moved out.”

“I mean—”

“Buying lunches from the convenience store doesn’t count,” you add, and Keigo has the decency to look sheepish, huffing out a soft chuckle as he regards you wearily through his lashes, a hand scrubbing at the back of his neck.

“You know me too well, songbird.”

“I’d hope so, I’ve only known you my entire life.”

Another laugh tickles his throat, this time sweeter, gentler, and his gaze softens a little, fondness melting his ire, a dirty finger reaching out to caress your cheek. Your head tilts instinctively, nuzzling into his touch, and his smile spreads, eyes crinkling at the corners.

You know you must talk about all of that difficult stuff eventually, can feel it all piling up at the back of your consciousness, growing larger and larger, heavier and heavier, as it slowly encroaches on the future, but it’s been so long since you’ve just been able to sit together.

It’s been so long since you’ve been afforded the luxury of just basking in each other’s presence, of just enjoying each other’s company, of just existing together that it now feels as though you must cherish every single moment, unwilling to waste even a second on something so unpleasant, so complicated and full of pain.

What used to be so regular, so routine for the both of you has now become something to be coveted and protected, each of you reluctant to break the delicate peace thinly glazing something hard.

“Thank you for this,” Keigo says as he looks down at the box in his palms. “It looks delicious.”

“It’s not much,” you shrug as you tug open your own lunch box, eyes focused on your actions and avoiding his own. “But it’s better than nothing.”

“It’s perfect, and I love it,” Keigo says warmly, his hand on your thigh prompting your gaze to his. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” you murmur as you place a hand over his, a small grin tugging at the corners of your mouth. “I’m glad you like it. I mean, it is your favourite, after all.”

“It is,” Keigo nods before craning his neck a little, peering into your lap. “And, uh, what’s in yours?”

You can’t help the fond little snort that barrels up your throat as you look down at your own lunch, a crude version of one of those picturesque bento boxes you’d find on Pinterest, the seaweed faces all muffed up, the heart-shaped rice balls lumpy and uneven, the small medley of vegetables messy and overflowing.

“Dabi made it,” you respond softly, still smiling down at the food, index finger tracing the plastic edge of the container. “They always look ugly, but they taste surprisingly good. He tries his best to make them look cute, but…”

“He’s too rough.”

“He doesn’t know how,” you correct. “But it doesn’t matter, I love them all the same.”

Keigo hums to himself, chopsticks clicking together before they dive into rice. “And he makes those for you every day?”

“Every single day. Even when he’s running late.”

“That’s…Uh, that’s really thoughtful of him,” Keigo chuckles a little, the sound drenched in incredulity, head tilting slightly. “Honestly, I’m surprised.”

“You don’t give him enough credit,” you say lightly, attempting to keep accusation from seeping into your voice.

Keigo scoffs at that, eyes rolling with a shake of his head. Yeah, sure, he doesn’t give the guy who emotionally manipulates his baby sister and dangles drugs in front of his face like he’s some sort of fucking dog ‘enough credit’.

“I’m serious,” you continue, an edge sharpening your voice. “He does a lot for me, Keigo.”

“I’m not saying he doesn’t.”

“Really? Because that look in your eyes is telling me otherwise.”

“Look,” Keigo sighs, eyes closing briefly with the slow exhale of breath. “I don’t want to fight with you. Not here, not now. Let’s just…Can we talk about something else?”

Silence rings in the air, dense as it weights the atmosphere, and Keigo’s tongue sucks on his teeth as he waits, a desperate attempt to keep his criticisms safe in his throat.

It isn’t like he doesn’t recognize all that Dabi does for you; he does. He sees it, even it if makes his chest burn and his eyes sting and his heart ache, even if he wishes he didn’t. He can’t exactly deny that Dabi takes good care of you—in some respects, at least.

But that doesn’t negate all of the bad Dabi commits, too.

That doesn’t negate the fact that he’s a criminal, that doesn’t negate the fact that he’s highly and convincingly conniving, that doesn’t negate the fact that, while Dabi may take good care of you, Keigo takes great care of you.

“Yeah,” you say quietly, after a few moments of tense contemplation, chopsticks poking idly at your meal. “Yeah, sure.”

Reticence saturates your features, eyes forlorn and despondent as they watch your motions with idle disinterest, and guilt unfurls deep in the pit of Keigo’s stomach, thick and sticky like tar as it seeps through his tissues, encasing the surrounding organs in its suffocating embrace.

Swallowing thickly, Keigo pushes forward.

“Uh, so. How are your classes going? Are you sure you can be skipping class like this every week?”

“Oh, sure,” you shrug, eyes still downcast. “I’m ahead in this class. Actually, I’m ahead in all of my classes. Um, I’m doing better than I ever have been before.”

“You are?” Keigo asks, eyes wide, and it’s hard for him to stifle the notes of surprise ringing high in his voice.

“Uh-huh,” you nod. “Dabi really keeps on top of my schoolwork. I study every single night, all of my readings are done on time, I start all of my assignments early…” you trail off, chewing on the end of one of your chopsticks. “There isn’t really much else to do while—”

A frown laced with concern tugs at Keigo’s lips, his forehead wrinkling as he observes you carefully. “While what?”

“I—While Dabi works.”

“Works,” Keigo repeats slowly, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And what exactly does that entail?”

“I thought you didn’t want to talk about him.”

“Well now I do.”

“Keigo, please—”

“Does he take you out with him?”

“No!” you shake your head vehemently, voice glassy and thin. “He leaves me with Jin most of the time,” you say, defensive. “Jin is a friend—he owns the convenience store at the base of Dabi’s building, and, uh…”

“Go on.”

“And he takes me to The League a lot.”

“The diner?”

“Yeah, they…I mean, they have meetings there, and stuff,” you say slowly, unsure of how much you should reveal to Keigo, of how much you’re allowed to reveal to Keigo. “And so I—I just do my work while they do all that.”

“They?”

“His friends.”

“And what about your friends? Do you ever hang out with them anymore?”

“His friends are my friends,” you respond dutifully, though there’s genuine warmth in your tone, a sweet little smile cracking through the hard dejection coating your face.

“Songbird…” he begins slowly, eyebrows pushed together and forehead creased with concern, and you can hear it, can hear him gearing up to deliver one of his signature Big Brother Lectures, one of his I’m-Older-and-I-Know-Better speeches, piercing stare overflowing with worry dipped in disapproval.

“Look, it’s fine,” you say dismissively, a distinct note of protection ringing clear in your voice. “It isn’t like I really had any friends before anyway, not when I was too busy—”

Too busy taking care of you.

You kill the rest of the sentence before it can reach your tongue, but it doesn’t matter. He already knows exactly what you were going to say.

And he already knows you’re exactly right.

✰ ✰ ✰

The time to broach the topic finally comes during the next week, after the two of you have cleaned out your simple bentos for the day, when you can no longer keep it locked up anymore, can no longer continue with this pretty facade no matter how nice it is, the winter wind whistling down the desolate subway tunnel, long forgotten beneath the grounds of the university.

“Let me check you into a program, or something,” you beg, beseeching eyes rapidly scanning his features, little fingers digging into his biceps, flexing in your fervour. “Let me help make you better! I want nothing more, Kei-nii, I swear.”

“I can’t go into treatment, songbird,” he responds, desperately trying to rid his voice of that frustrated tremor, to keep his voice even and calm. “You know I can’t. The moment they catch wind of my addiction, my scholarship is gone—”

“So!”

“—Along with all of the opportunities that had come with it,” he continues, eyes hard.

“Well I mean, can’t they cover it up or something?” You cry, distraught. “Your coaches, or the crooked sponsors who already know, the ones who keep this secret for you?”

Dryly, Keigo shoots you a glare. “It’ll be very difficult to cover up a sudden prolonged absence.”

Begrudgingly, he has a point.

“Well what, then?” you ask, whole body deflating, leaning against him in your defeat. “What’s our plan? You said we’d make one—to beat this, to make it all better, to make it all right again, but—”

“I’ll do it on my own,” he says resolutely, and his voice is so strong, so sure that you can’t help but believe him. “Okay? I’ll take a week—next week—and I’ll throw it all away. Flush it, pour it down the sink, do whatever I can to get rid of it for good, and then I’ll weather the withdrawal.”

“Really?” you gasp out, both hands clutching his arm in their excitement, wide eyes shining with potent hope as they search his face. “You—You’ll be okay doing it alone?”

“Yeah, songbird, really,” a thumb swipes across your cheek, eyes liquid amber as they gaze at you. “I can do it. For you.”

“For you, too,” you remind gently, Dabi’s words ringing out clearly against the walls of your skull. He has to want to get better for himself, baby, or it’ll never work. No one else can do it for him.

“Yeah, for me, too.”

And, for a moment, it appears as though he has done it. Two weeks later, he looks better, sounds better, feels better, curls shimmering bright and gold, cheeks rosy and full of health, muscles beginning to swell as they regain strength, twining themselves protectively around his sharp bones.

You’re so elated by his apparent success, so in awe of it all, that you insist the two of you tell Dabi right away, desperate to share the good news with your boyfriend.

But it isn’t a good idea, Keigo tells you. Not now, not yet.

“Dabi has to see it for himself—Dabi needs proof. Telling him prematurely not only outs our little meetings here, but I can almost guarantee it’ll be met with a hefty dose of doubt.”

Eyes lidded with carelessness, Keigo mimics Dabi, doing a surprisingly good job, his voice flat and apathetic, his stare bored and jaded.

“Yeah, sure, he’s clean for now. But will he be clean in a week from now? A month from now? A year from now?” Keigo shakes his head. “Dabi needs to see that I’m truly doing this, that I’m dedicated to doing this.”

You suppose that makes sense. And you don’t ever want to do anything to put your niisan in danger.

But you, God, you’re so proud of him, so proud of the progress you think he’s made, so proud of the commitment he’s displaying.

Maybe Dabi will finally allow the two of you to start meeting again, as soon as he sees the dedication Keigo has to getting better, you’re chattering on animatedly one afternoon, head resting dreamily on your big brother’s shoulder.

Maybe, Keigo shrugs.

Maybe not.

Because while Keigo is getting better, and slow progress is better than no progress, he isn’t exactly as clean as you think he is, and Dabi knows it all the same.

He masks it well, he thinks. The plan you had concocted together had been to choose a week where Keigo would finally quit, cold turkey, no assistance at all (because he adamantly refused it), and stay home ‘sick’ as the withdrawal took it’s vicious toll on his body.

And he did, for the most part. He did go through withdrawal, he did stay clean for a moment or two, but he didn’t stop shooting, hasn’t stopped shooting; not technically, not entirely.

He’s just shooting way less now, the dosage only a smidge of what his body was accustomed to. It barely gets him high, barely makes him feel anything at all—nothing more than a tingling, wispy warmth reminiscent of that unparalleled bliss he loved so much—but it’s better than nothing at all.

Dabi had been intrigued, impressed, it had seemed, by Keigo’s sudden urge to cut down drastically.

“What’s up with you?” he finally asks, the third time they meet after Keigo’s so-called ‘purge’, the reduced dosage held securely in his rough hand.

“What d’ya mean?” Keigo murmurs distractedly as he cards through the money in his wallet, counting it under his breath.

“You know exactly what I mean,” Dabi snorts, shuffling the small packets in his palm, accentuating his words.

“Oh,” Keigo glances up, fingers stilling. “Uh, just trying to quit, that’s all.”

“Quit?” Dabi blinks in shock or surprise, Keigo can’t be sure which. Sapphire rakes over his body, slow and methodical, a smile slithering across his face as his gaze drifts back to Keigo’s. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Keigo swallows, desperate to keep his voice calm. “I—I’m trying to do it slowly. Lower the dosage until my body doesn’t need it anymore.”

“You know, that’s not really how it works,” Dabi begins, suspicion bleeding into his voice, eyes narrowing as he regards Keigo with a sweeping gaze, fingers curling into a protective fist over the drugs. “Besides, that’s a slippery fucking slope, Keigo. Sure, you’re doing it now, but what happens when something triggers you, huh? What happens when you suddenly need a higher dose, just today, just this once, because you’re stressed, or sad, or whatever the fuck it is. Hmm? You need to have self-restraint made of platinum to quit in this fashion.”

Shrugging, Keigo looks away. “Yeah, well, I’m trying this first. If this doesn’t work, I’ll try something else.”

And he hates the way his words quiver slightly, hates the way his voice rings tinny and high with lies, with terror.

Tilting his head, Dabi hums, eyes performing another full-body scan of Keigo. “And why the sudden change of heart?”

“What?”

“Why now? Why are you unexpectedly deciding to quit now, instead of after all those instances of your sister begging you to quit; after I told you to quit how many times? What changed?”

Keigo’s palms prickle with sweat, and his hands ball into tight fists, a desperate attempt to halt the tingling, fingers flexing as they unfurl again.

“I—I miss her,” he manages to stutter out, blowing the confession from his mouth in a gust of breath. “And I, uh, I want to do this for her. Your combined pleads took a little while to set in, I guess,” he sucks his bottom lip between his teeth, nibbling at the thin skin, feigning contemplation. “But I hear what you’ve both been saying now, loud and clear, and I’ve decided you’re right.”

“Really?” And although the question sounds genuine, something sharp and dangerous glints in Dabi’s gaze; piercing, penetrative. “Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

He can tell Dabi doesn’t buy it for a fucking second, eyes attempting to dissect Keigo’s mind, to pry apart the tangle of tissue and neurons and synapses and peer inside for the truth.

But he can’t.

“Alright,” he says slowly, the word soaked in incredulity, as he exchanges powder for paper. “Good luck, then.

“Thanks,” Keigo says flatly, already beginning to back away, inching towards his car. “And uh, hey, don’t tell my sister.”

Dabi’s eyebrows push together, forehead wrinkled with confusion. “The fuck? Why not?”

“Because I want it to be a surprise, you know, when I’m fully clean. I don’t want her to know anything until I’ve made it.”

Dabi stares at him for a moment, another one of those invasive, assessing looks where he attempts to decipher Keigo through his expressions alone,

It’s only after Dabi’s car is long gone that Keigo can breathe normally again, heart abandoning its venture to shatter his ribs and flatten his lungs. His head drops in relief as the tension in his neck ebbs, his forehead pressed tight to the steering wheel.

He’s safe; for now, at least. He knows Dabi isn’t at risk of discovering yours and Keigo’s secret meetings, because you wouldn’t dare tell him and risk upsetting him—or, worse, getting yourself and your brother into some serious trouble—and he knows Dabi won’t tell you about Keigo continuing to purchase drugs from him, because you don’t ask—won’t ask, have no reason to ask, have no reason not to trust in your big brother’s truths—and Keigo trusts, for some inexplicable reason, that Dabi will not tell you about their questionable conversation today, not until he figures out what’s really going on, anyway.

And, sure, Keigo feels guilty lying to you, misleading you in such a manner, but it isn’t like he plans to keep this up forever. Besides, he’s nearly clean anyway, isn’t he? He may not be there in it’s entirety yet, but he is doing better and progress is progress, even if it isn’t as much progress as you’re giving him credit for. He will quit eventually, he swears it. He will kick the habit, permanently, he knows it.

He just needs a little more time.

✰ ✰ ✰

It’s always the most inconspicuous things that do it, that set something off, that give something away, that indicate that something isn’t quite right.

The question comes late one night, after you’ve both finished cleaning up the small kitchenette, as Dabi’s putting away Tupperware containers.

It’s asked innocuously enough, imbued with a touch of genuine curiosity, voice muffled by the cabinet his head is currently buried in.

“Where the hell are all our bento boxes disappearing off to?”

“Uh,” you blink, mind taking a moment to register the question, the shock—and stupidity—of you’re failing to realize that this might be a red flag numbing your brain. “What?”

“Our bento boxes?” Dabi repeats as he stands, turning to face you, eyes performing a singular sweep across your face. “We’ve gotta be missing like, half of them now.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I’m sure,” Dabi scoffs. “I bought them specially for you. They weren’t fuckin’ cheap, and I know how many I bought.”

“Oh,” you say dumbly, chest beginning to tingle with adrenaline. “I—I don’t know, Daddy, I didn’t even realize we had any missing. Maybe I left some in your car?”

“Pretty sure I would’ve noticed dirty containers in my car if there were any,” he retorts dryly.

“Um,” you hum, desperate to keep your expression from giving you away—to keep your mouth from trembling and eyes from widening—features scrunching in mock thought. “Well, then maybe I left some at school! I’ll check with each of my profs throughout the week and see if they remember finding any.”

Skepticism shines bright and blue in his narrowed eyes, stare steadily holding your own. It feels as though he’s trying to dissect you with his eyes as his sole tool, to tear the skin from your face and split your skull and peer inside, searching for the answer he’s looking for, searching for the truth.

“This isn’t like you, princess,” he says slowly, each word a deliberate thought, handpicked. “You aren’t usually forgetful. What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” you respond instantly, the word barely more than a huff of breath. “Nothing, I just—Maybe I’m just stressed, you know? Midterms are coming up and all that, so…”

“There’s been a lot of maybes peppered throughout your sentences today. Is there anything you know for certain?”

You know he can tell, can see it shimmering in your eyes, gaping and alert; can see it wavering in your smile, artificial and stretched too tight across your cheeks.

A lie.

“Hmm?” he presses.

Shoulders raising in a defeated shrug, you shake your head, sucking on your tongue. He scrutinizes you for another moment more, sapphire performing one final sweep across your features, slow and thorough, before he nods to himself—just once, a sharp and short motion—and turns away.

If there’s anything he knows for certain, it’s that you’re hiding something. The only question is what.

✰ ✰ ✰

“Are you sure this is really necessary?” Tomura’s asking as he exhales steady streams of smoke from his nostrils, regarding Dabi blankly through the haze, crimson eyes watching through lidded lashes while Dabi paces the length of his car—back and forth, back and forth, a restless panther waiting and ready to strike—in the dimly lit diner parking lot.

“Yes,” Dabi snaps. “They’re both acting too weird; it’s too much of a coincidence.”

“It’s missing bento containers and a guy who’s cutting down on his drug use, actually. It’s entirely plausible the two have absolutely no connection to each other whatsoever.”

“You don’t get it,” Dabi nearly snarls, stride halted to whip around and face his friend. “Alright? You didn’t see the two of them, their eyes…There was something odd, wrong, in their eyes. And their voices, too. They sounded, I dunno, fake.” False. Off. Tinny and artificial and quivering ever-so-slightly with the restraint of hiding something.

“Are you…Did you take something?”

“You know I don’t do that anymore,” Dabi seethes.

“Yeah, yeah, right, but I just thought…” Tomura trails off, shrugging, the cashmere of his sweater catching on the brick wall behind him. “Dunno. Thought the stress might be getting to you, or something. Thought a few lines might take the edge off, maybe, but you know how coke can make you paranoid—”

“I’m not high, Tomura. I haven’t been high since—”

“Yeah, I know,” Tomura rolls his eyes. “But you’re acting a little weird, that’s all. Agitated. Jumpy. Could’ve been a possibility, whatever.” Flicking at the cigarette resting on his knuckle, Tomura disregards the idea, tendrils of smoke curling delicately in the air between them. “I still don’t see the correlation between these events, though.”

“You don’t need to see the correlation, for fuck’s sake,” Dabi finally explodes, throwing his arms in the air. “You only need to help me.”

“Don’t tell me what I need to do,” Tomura warns, something sharp slashing through ruby irises. “You may be my best friend and all, but I’m still technically your fucking boss.”

“Your dad is my fucking boss, actually,” Dabi corrects, smugness temporarily melting his frustration, an eyebrow raised in playful challenge. “But details don’t matter, this has nothing to do with work. This is simply one friend asking another friend for a favour.”

Running his tongue along the front of his teeth, Tomura stares at the man in front of him, contemplating. After a moment, he pushes himself up from his slouching position, a resigned sigh heavy on his chest.

“Alright, fine. But when this turns out to be nothing, I get to tease you for being a fucking lunatic.”

It won’t be nothing. Dabi can feel it in his soul.

And, as always, he was right.

“That fucking bitch!” Dabi screams when Tomura delivers the news outside of one of his father’s warehouses, features screwing into a wince as his best friend’s fist collides with the closest car window, glass shattering upon impact. “I knew it! I knew she was hiding something from me!”

Dabi’s had enlisted in Tomura to tail you for roughly five days now, documenting every single thing you do from the moment you arrive on campus to the moment Dabi—or one of Dabi’s friends—picks you up.

And on the following Tuesday, this Tuesday, he hit the fucking jackpot.

“How dare she! After all I’ve done for her, you know? After everything I’ve done for her and that good-for-nothing pathetic brother of hers…” Dabi shakes his head, tufts of ink bouncing violently with the motion before sharp teeth pull a cigarette free from a weathered cardboard carton, the corners worn and fraying. “And this is how they repay me? By sneaking around behind my back and fucking lying to my face about it? By disobeying the most important rule I’ve set?”

Scarlet oozes from his knuckles, gleaming in the late afternoon sun. His skin sparkles as unsteady hands pat his body in search of an opening, microscopic shards of glass still embedded in his skin. Trembling fingers pull a silver Zippo free from his pocket and whip it open, thumb missing the flint wheel twice, a growled curse rumbling in his throat.

“I can’t fucking believe it,” Tomura says as he sits perched on the hood of his parked Maybach, a burger in his lap and grease shining on his fingers. A nod of his head motions for Dabi to come closer, soft palms cupping Dabi’s blood streaked hand and igniting the Zippo with ease, steadying the flame as Dabi leans in to torch his cigarette. “You were right. I can’t fucking believe it.”

“Of course I was fucking right!” Dabi roars through a dense shroud of smoke.

“So, now what?” Tomura asks as he nibbles on his burger bun. “What do we do?”

“Oh, it’s a we now, is it?”

“Would you rather it not be a we?”

“No,” Dabi responds through a begrudging frown. “Your help is valuable.”

“Thank you.”

“Honestly, I should fucking kill him for everything he’s done, for such disrespect,” Dabi seethes, nostrils flaring, that tense fury unable to hide the distinct crack at the end of his words. “I should bash his fucking skull against a brick wall.”

“Sure,” Tomura says easily, examining a piece of wavy lettuce before pulling it free and throwing it to the dirt floor. “He deserves to be dead. But what would she think? How would she react?”

“She’d be better off if he just wasn’t in her life anymore.”

“Maybe,” Tomura agrees. “But that doesn’t change the fact that she’ll never forgive you if you kill her big brother.”

“I could make it look like an accident,” Dabi says.

“You could try,” Tomura corrects. “But you know just as well as I do that staging accidental deaths is no easy feat.”

“He’s a fucking junkie,” Dabi says, as if this is obviously the answer to all of his problems. “Slip some fentanyl in his smack and bam! Dead within minutes.”

“She’d know it was you.”

“How?”

Tomura sighs, index finger rubbing at one of his eyes.

“Dabi, for as well as you know her, she knows you, too. Do you really think you could look her straight in the eye at her brother’s funeral and tell her you didn’t have a hand in it? While she’s sobbing over the man you despise so much, the man who has caused her so much suffering—who still causes her so much suffering—do you honestly believe your eyes or your voice won’t betray you?”

A growl rattles his ribs, facial features crunched together in a tight glower. Holding his blazing stare with ease, Tomura raises an eyebrow in question, smugness tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“Fine, fuck,” Dabi finally erupts with an exasperated gasp, viciously turning away from his best friend and raking both hands through his hair, nails audibly scraping against his scalp as his fingers curl, tugging at the roots.

“Well then, what, huh?” he’s asking as he spins back around, voice straining under desperation, sapphire frantic as it searches Tomura’s face for an answer. “What? Because I’m all out of fucking ideas.”

“Threatening him might work.”

Dabi shakes his head. “I’ve tried that. I even took away his most precious possession. Nothing seems to get through this motherfucker’s head.”

“Well, not quite.”

“What?”

“Not quite. You haven’t truly taken away his most precious possession, have you?”

“Heroin?”

“Yeah, cut him off or something. He told you he was trying to quit, didn’t he? That he was on the way, or whatever. Why don’t you help give him an extra push?”

“And if he goes to find it somewhere else?” Dabi questions.

“My father will know,” Tomura’s lips curl up into a sinister smile, crimson eyes practically glowing. “And so will we.”

✰ ✰ ✰

Dabi doesn’t go home. Dabi can’t go home; not like this, not with the way his heart rages against his ribs and singes his chest, not without losing his entire fucking mind on you and spoiling his whole plan.

Instead, he pays Keigo a much-needed visit.

The terror-tinged surprise that saturates Keigo’s features when Dabi turns up on the other side of his front door is almost laughable—in fact, Dabi’s sure he would laugh if his insides weren’t boiling in his own rage—Keigo’s body gone loose and pliant in its shock, making it exceptionally easy for Dabi to wrap a hand around his bicep and yank him through the doorway of that godforsaken house.

“Get in the car,” he’s saying as he shoves Keigo towards the Eldorado, buckles of his boots jingling daintily as his heels collide with concrete.

“What?” Keigo asks as he stumbles to a stop, the question nothing more than an incredulous huff of breath.

“Get in the car,” Dabi repeats, slow, calm, cold, stare holding Keigo’s over the roof of the car. “Or I will put you in the fucking car.”

The drive isn’t long—maybe a mere twenty minutes or so—but it’s to an area of the city that Keigo has never visited before; an area with cracked asphalt and orange caps littering the dead grass, an areas with sun-washed plastic slides and rusted swing chains; untended, uncared for, and forgotten.

Rocks pop beneath the tires of the Eldorado as Dabi pulls into what might have been, once upon a time, a park, the lot full of faded concrete with peeling white paint and thorny weeds sprouting up through the fragmented cement, the field an unruly tangle of jade with a chain link fence that leads to nowhere.

“Get out,” Dabi instructs. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Using his teeth to pull a cigarette free from a veiny cardboard box, Dabi begins to stroll along the warped fence, Keigo starting a little in his haste to catch up to him. The sharp twinge of metal slicing against metal as Dabi whips his Zippo open makes Keigo cringe, the harsh sound piercing the thick atmosphere.

“So,” Dabi finally says, puffing the word out with a heavy cloud of smoke. “I know what you’ve been doing.”

Frowning, Keigo blinks at him, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion. “What are you—”

“Don’t play fucking dumb with me, Keigo. Not today. I don’t have the patience.”

The sentence, while flat, has an edge of warning to it, complemented by Dabi’s look of caution, thrown at Keigo through the side of his eye.

Chest deflating, Keigo slumps forward, head hung shamefully between his shoulders. “How’d you find out?”

“Does it matter?” Dabi stops suddenly, turning to face him. His tone is bored, almost indifferent in a way, but Keigo can see it: that restrained anger, wavering sapphire flames burning bright in his eyes.

Lips pressed together, Keigo holds his blazing stare, waiting for him to continue.

“Surely you must’ve known I’d find out eventually,” Dabi laughs a little, and it’s cruel, mean, mocking. “Surely you knew you wouldn’t be able to keep such a secret from me for very long.”

Maybe Keigo did. Maybe, on some deeply subconscious level, Keigo knew this would happen, knew this would be the end result no matter which way they tried to spin it, because it’s the only result it could’ve ever ended with.

Maybe not. Maybe Keigo was foolish—he has always had a streak of dreamer in him, after all—maybe Keigo was hopeful, desperate, that this would all somehow work out in the end, that the power of your love and your hope and your sheer, steadfast belief in him would enable him to magically quit, to kick the habit forever without any assistance or hard work at all—and everything would go back to normal.

He answers with a shrug, expression saturated in a sort of ambivalent confusion, and Dabi’s nostrils twitch.

“Fucking look at me.”

With a flexing jaw, Keigo’s head lifts slowly, his stare nearly dead, exhausted, but there are cinders of anger, frustration, maybe even hatred smoldering in those golden eyes, flaring as they meet the flames licking along Dabi’s pupils.

They’re extinguished almost as quickly as they’re ignited, though, weak flickers snuffed out by the smug smirk on Dabi’s face, and his features sag under the weight of dismal weariness.

“Just...Whatever you do, don’t hurt her, alright? It wasn’t her fault.”

His voice is quiet, resigned, though it isn’t enough to mask the delicate tremor sewn into his words—something full of defeated fury, of disquieted frustration as Dabi comes stomping through his life with his big black boots and crushes it all to dust, burns it all to ash, breaks it all again, because that’s what he’s best at.

“Hurt her?” Dabi’s voice raises in sincere surprise. “You know I’d never.”

“I don’t mean physically,” Keigo clarifies, topaz solidifying in his eyes; hard, gleaming.

“You don’t need to worry about that,” Dabi dismisses with a nonchalant wave of his hand. “Because she isn’t going to know about this at all.”

“What?” Keigo spits, eyes narrowing with sharp suspicion. “What are you—”

“Because you and I,” Dabi continues, speaking over Keigo, voice clear and strong. “Are going to make a deal.”

Blood turns to ice in his veins, frost lacquering his bones, and Keigo’s body freezes, the hinges of his jaw creaking as he forces the word from his tongue.

“A-A deal?” Keigo pants out, breath trembling slightly.

“That’s right.”

Something vicious glints in Dabi’s eye—something sharp and dangerous, half-submerged in sapphire—and his mouth stretches into an abnormally large smile, spread so deep and tight across his face it looks as though it’s been carved into his cheeks.

A gust of wind tangles in the bare branches of a nearby tree, bark knocking together, and Keigo shudders, the breeze like a million little pinpricks piercing his clammy skin.

“You want to get clean, right? I mean, you’re trying to get clean, aren’t you? On the way to being completely sober and all that; that’s what you told me, is it not?”

“Yes,” Keigo says slowly, cautiously, as if the letters are navigating a field of landmines, one wrong intonation and he could trigger a fucking explosion.

“I’m going to help you.”

Dabi’s voice has suddenly turned amicable, as if it’s been shocked back to life from the indifferent, bland anger it contained only moments ago, now vibrant with this control, gleeful with this power.

“Help me?”

“I’ll allow you to keep seeing your sister on one condition,” Dabi pauses, and Keigo’s too petrified to ask, rooted in place, breath held stagnant in his lungs. “From this day forward, you will never take another drug for as long as you live.”

And, just like that, Keigo’s whole world, teetering precariously on the point of a needle, comes toppling down.

“One single slip-up, one teeny, tiny mistake—one shot, one snort, one swallow and I can promise you, you will never see your baby sister again.”

Frantic topaz flies across Dabi’s face, rapid as it searches his expression for any indication that this isn’t real, isn’t true, isn’t happening. His thoughts flow in hasty conjunction with his gaze, frenzied brain working desperately to figure out an immediate loophole.

His breath is coming faster now, short, sharp, uneven huffs shoved from his mouth as panic claws up his throat. No. No. This can’t be happening right now—there’s no way this is happening right now, because he’s not ready yet. He’s not ready to give it up yet, not ready to face reality without it yet, the thought of his addiction being prematurely ripped from his palms inspiring another bout of thick dread to course through his veins, drenching any remaining flickers of anger.

Keigo tries to tell Dabi this, to explain that this is all happening too quickly, too suddenly, that he needs more time, just a little more time, he swears—but his voice whimpers in his throat, sentiments rendered nothing more than pathetic squeaks of breath.

“If I find out you’ve purchased even one tenth of a fucking milligram of any narcotic I swear to the good Lord himself, I will take your sister so fucking far from this country that she won’t even know where the fuck she is. Do I make myself clear?” Dabi pauses, allowing Keigo a moment to respond with a mechanical nod.

“And I will find out, Keigo,” blue eyes shimmer with mirth, that sharp glint practically glowing now, so strikingly brilliant Keigo has to look away, a malicious laugh rattling around in Dabi’s mouth. “I own this fucking city now.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The front door swings open with a vigorous flourish, the fork between your fingers slipping from your grasp and clattering against the warped hardwood floor.

“Gosh, Daddy,” you breathe, a palm pressed to your racing heart, a hesitant smile tugging at your lips. “You scared me!”

He says nothing as he stalks towards you, a large grin stretched tightly across his face, sapphire eyes shimmering in the low light, irises seeming to swirl with something akin to delight, darkened with delirium.

“What’re you—”

Calloused hands seize your face the moment they’re close enough, slim fingers hooked behind the hinges of your jaw as they drag you toward their owner. Sharp teeth suck your bottom lip between their edges, sinking into your soft flesh and keeping it captive as Dabi’s tongue caresses it in slow, fat strokes.

Copper floods your mouth, the strength of the bite forcing a squeal from your throat into his, Dabi’s tongue dipping into the warm heat to soak up your blood—to stain his own flesh with it, to suck it in and swallow it down, to keep it inside of him; a small piece of you, infused in thick sticky crimson that seeps through his tissues and into his soul.

“Hi, princess,” he breathes as his forehead presses tightly to your own, eyes so brilliant and bright with exhilaration it’s almost as if they’re glowing.

“Hi,” you can’t help but laugh a little around the greeting, your gaze searching his face in happy confusion as your arms twine around his neck, pulling your body closer to his.

Breathy little giggles laced with mania waft across your face as his palms find your ass, fingers flexing against the supple flesh before he’s hefting you up, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist, ankles hooked and heels digging into the dips at the base of his spine.

And then, he begins.

It’s almost elegant, the way he twirls your clinging bodies around the tiny kitchen to whatever invisible, silent tune is playing within the walls of his skull—something that you are not privy to, something that has him feeling elated—narrowly missing the corners of cabinets and the edges of counters as he goes, movements fluid and effortless.

But it doesn’t matter that you can’t hear the melody, the song in his head supplemented by your intertwined laughter, the sweetest music either of you could ever ask for, notes full of amusement and affection as it encases your conjoined forms, blanketing the atmosphere and filling it with the warmth of love.

The front door is still hanging open, dull yellow light from the hallway spilling into Dabi’s small apartment and alighting it with a hazy glow.

“Dabi, Dabi, the door!” you’re laughing out as he whirls toward it, skillfully using the ball of his foot to kick it shut as he ends his performance with a graceful spin and slots you up against the surface, trapping you between the cool metal and his body.

“What has gotten into you?” you’re asking as your chests heave together, eyes searching his face for any indication of an answer, residual amusement still tinging your words.

“I love you, that’s all,” he responds simply, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. “I love you, and I’m happy you’re mine.”

“I am happy to be yours,” you say softly, a hand moving to brush a strand of ink out of his eye.

“Good,” he whispers, nose nudging yours slightly. “That’s exactly how it should be.”

The claim is sealed with his lips, over and over as they stamp their claim across your flesh using broken blood vessels and thick saliva.

His teeth are ruthless as they mar your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, leaving superficial splices across your soft skin, little slashes that weep blood. His lips are gentle as they kiss the blood away, murmuring affirmations of love into the wounds, strokes of scarlet staining his flesh.

Calloused hands explore the curves and contours of your body—the notches of your spine and the ridges of your shoulders, the swell of your breasts and the bends of your tummy, rough fingers dipping between your dress and your skin to tug at the material.

Daddy can’t wait but it seems, neither can you.

“I need you, baby,” he nearly whines, pet name cracking in desperation. “I need you, I need you right now.”

“Take me,” you’re gasping, little hands pawing at his clothing, trying to pull him closer. “Take me, take me, I’m yours!”

“Get my cock out,” he’s demanding, your hands moving to obey before the order has fully left his lips.

It’s difficult, in the position that you’re in, to wiggle your hands down to his belt and pick away at the buckle, flakes of cracked white leather collecting under your nails as you claw at it.

But you succeed, of course, because you will always succeed when it’s him who’s asking, silver buckle clanking heavily as it hangs open and limp. A hiss of air rushes down your throat as one of your nails chips on the brass button of his jeans, but the injury doesn’t hinder you in the slightest, avid to please.

“Good girl,” Dabi’s purring as your dainty hand wraps around the base of his cock and finally pulls it free from the confines of his clothing. The simple praise inspires a dreamy little giggle, and you gaze at him, eyes lidded with lust and love, giving his cock a gentle squeeze before pumping it twice.

“Ah, fuck,” he hisses, cobalt fading to navy as he crushes his lips to yours again.

It’s like he can’t get enough of you, like he’s been starved for you—your tongue and your attention and your cunt—for an eternity, calloused hands graceless as they ruck up your dress, fabric bunching around your hips. Removing your panties is deemed too time consuming, as is his usual method of tearing them to pieces, deft fingers shoving their way between your tightly pressed bodies to push the soaked lace aside, revealing your cute little hole.

It’s all so much, his tongue on your neck and his teeth in your flesh and his cock bumping against your ill-prepared hole, the whimpers spilling from his lips as his hips nudge forward with pathetic precursory mini-thrusts, the smoky sweet scent of smoldering hickory and spicy nicotine that’s invading your nose and mouth and lungs and brain like some sort of parasitic addiction: a haze that consumes your mind and body and soul, a haze you endlessly crave more of.

Everything aches as his cock splits you open, sensitive skin ripping while his cock carves itself into you.

“Da-Daddy,” you wail, head falling forward to bury your face in his shoulder, little fingers twisting in the tufts of hair at the base of his skull. “It’s—It’s so big!”

“Shh, shh,” he hushes you, but you can hear it, the sadistic smile in his voice, laced with a sick kind of pride. “Daddy’s almost in, you can take it for him, can’t you?”

You can, of course you can, he knows you can.

Usually, he shoves the whole thing in with one single thrust, hard and fast. But today he chooses to take his time, all of his previous urgency seemingly pacified the moment the head of his cock is inside of you, Dabi opting to savour every fucking inch as he pushes into your cunt, slow and steady.

It only prolongs the pain, fissured flesh tearing itself open more and more with each leisurely second that passes, and your head falls forward, face smushed tightly into his neck, the sweetest little whimpers spilling from your throat.

Tears burn your eyes as he finally bottoms out, heavy balls pressed flush to your bottom, your raw hole fluttering a little in pain, sending tiny stinging spears shooting through your gut.

“Look at that, huh? Such a good little whore for her Daddy, aren’t you?” he practically purrs, breath sweltering against your damp skin. “Crying like a little baby and acting like she can’t take it, when she fucking loves to take it,” he tsks, almost as if he’s admonishing you for such behaviour.

“Daddy,” you whine, the world garbled with spit, tears clinging to your lashes. A dull throb roots itself deep at the core of your body, beating in erratic rhythm with your heart.

“Go on,” he breathes as his hips begin to draw back torturously slow, tender cunt aching with the motion as his shaft grinds against the micro-cuts, velvet feeling as rough as sandpaper. “Tell me. Be honest, and tell me how much you love to take my cock.”

And despite how much it fucking hurts, his words inspire a small, dim spark in the pit of your stomach, veins beginning to tingle gently.

“I—I love to take your cock,”

“How much?”

The question is growled out through clenched teeth as he rams back into you with such force that it sends your body skidding up the door, head bouncing against the surface with the motion.

“So much!” you cry out instantly, eyes shut tight and face screwed up in pain. “So much, so so so much, Da-Daddy, I—”

“Open your eyes, princess,” he orders softly, your lids lifting to reveal brilliant sapphire gazing back at you, tremoring with excitement, with the power coursing through his veins, your Daddy already high and heady on the control he holds over you as you instantly obey. “Daddy wants you to look at him when you tell him how much you love taking his cock.”

Crystal teardrops roll down your cheeks, thick trails of salt water sparkling in their wake. Your nose twitches in your effort to calm down, to stop crying, a hitched affirmative stuttering in your throat.

His hips are pulling back again, unhurried in their movement as his bright gaze sears into your face, eyes unblinking and alight with twisted excitement.

“I love—I love taking your cock so much, Daddy, it—Ah!” you manage to hiccup out just as his hips slam forward again. With gritted teeth, your eyes close briefly and breathe out, slow and controlled, your throat stinging as you stubbornly swallow the tremble in your voice, a steely breathiness replacing it. “It’s my favourite thing to do, Daddy, wanna take your cock every day for the rest of my life, Daddy.”

“Christ,” he exhales, the curse infused with an airy chuckle, lips spreading into a grin, and you feel his cock twitch inside of you. “You’re so perfect, baby,”

Something warm and bright blossoms in your chest, ribs swelling with it.

“Jus’ wanna be good for you, Daddy,”

He laughs again, eyes darkening, something sinister glinting in his smile. “We both know that’s a lie,” he grunts as his hips rock again. “But that’s okay, because Daddy loves his perfect little brat so much. Besides,” he whispers, voice dropped to a smooth murmur as his lips caress your ear. “Brats are a helluva lot more fun than good girls, anyway.”

You aren’t given a moment to respond as his hips begin to piston, hard and fast and sudden, any answer to his remark morphing into a loud whine in your chest.

The pain has mostly faded now, any residual shocks promptly chased by flares of pleasure, cunt growing wetter and wetter with each drag of his cock.

Your chins slide against one another, slicked with thick saliva, and his front tooth catches on your bottom lip, hard enough to nick the flesh. Blood oozes from the wound instantly, but Dabi is sure not to waste a single drop, the tip of his tongue running along the fine line of scarlet and lapping it up.

Your mouth, licked raw and sliced up, doesn’t even hurt anymore, small cuts and bruised flesh buzzing as Dabi crushes his mouth to yours again, exhaling copper-tinged breath onto your tongue.

It’s all so potent, so intoxicating, so desperate as you gasp, viciously sucking air from his lungs into your own, gulping down his essence and holding it against your heart—bright and burning and blue, full of him—protected by a cage of ivory.

Your nails rip into his flesh through the thin cotton of his shirt, starved for him as they gorge on his shoulders, fingers digging deeper and deeper into the muscles with each ruthless piston of his hips.

He loves it, too, that thin, almost delicate streak of masochism that runs through his soul shimmering in the dim light as your vying hands force a deep groan from his chest, the sound vibrating in your mouth, rattling your teeth.

It’s so good, he’s so good, and you want more, because too much is never, and will never, be enough.

“More, Daddy, more, more!”

“My greedy fucking girl,” he pants, pupils cavernous and carnivorous as they devour your precious little expressions; the way your nose scrunches and eyes roll white and mouth hangs open, emitting sugary sweet sounds in hot little huffs of air. “So needy, huh? So fucking desperate for Daddy’s cock and Daddy’s cum, aren’t you?”

“S’all I want, Daddy,” you nearly sob, head nodding stupidly to accentuate your point. “S’all I ever want,”

“That’s all, yeah? That’s all that’s going on in that pretty little head of yours, isn’t it?”

“Jus’ wanna be your perfect lil slut, Da-Daddy!”

“Cum on my cock, then,” he demands, pace never slowing. “Show Daddy how good you are and cum on his cock.”

Each pump of his hips, each brush of his cockhead against that spot sends more sparks coursing through your body, little flares of ecstasy collecting in the crevices of your body and igniting a satisfying inferno that spreads through your veins, blood fizzing as it rushes through your body, alighting every nerve until it reaches the apex of your thighs, and then you’re obeying his order, cunt convulsing as you gush heat all over his thick cock, his title shattering on your tongue, shards melting into gasps of air.

The blaze has spread to your brain now, tissues melting to goo as the flames lick the walls of your skull, extreme pleasure the most potent shot of novocaine to your brain, everything gone numb, dumb, under its influence.

“Tell me,” he nearly whimpers, breathy voice fading into growl as it cuts through the thick haze. “Tell me who you belong to.”

“You!” you cry instantly, the word fragmenting as he pounds into you. “You, you, Daddy, I belong to you, wouldn’t want to be anyone else’s, ever.”

“Mine,” he snarls, the word imbued with such brutal possessiveness it stings your skin, his eyes shining bright with the elation of owning something so special, with the comforting knowledge that it is yours and yours only. “Forever.”

“For eternity,” you mewl out, head nodding in quick little motions.

“You’re goddamn right,“ he rasps, hips starting to stutter. “Your cunt, your tits, your entire fucking body, it’s all—ah, Christ—it’s all mine. You belong to me.”

The proclamation is spit into your mouth just as his cock throbs, pumping you full of thick cum. Your thighs tighten around his waist, squeezing him closer, as if you’re trying to wring every last drop from his body, and he chuckles, pressing a kiss to your forehead.

A soft whimper vibrates in your throat the moment he begins to pull out of you, and Dabi laughs again, murmuring out pacifying remarks doused with condescension as he pushes back into your sopping cunt, carrying you toward the bed.

With grace and fluidity, he manages to maneuver your knotted bodies under the fluffy comforter, keeping his cock from slipping out of you even an inch. A sweet little hum of contentment spills from your lips as you snuggle into his neck, riding on the tails of a giggle, the precious sound seeping into his skin.

It sends a shock of warmth through his system, your intoxicating happiness like bubbles of sunshine in his blood, and he emits his own hum, deep and vibrating against your temple as he allows the clutches of unconsciousness close in around him, because you’re his, you’re his, you’re his.

Forever.

✰ ✰ ✰

The early evening wind is cold but gentle as it plays with the hem of his shirt and the ends of his hair, softly caressing his bare skin as it passes. A shiver slithers up his spine, chills erupting across his flesh, and Keigo hugs his arms tighter, desperate to retain as much body heat as physically possible.

I’ll be surprised if you can keep up with this for more than a week or so, Dabi had hollered out the open window of his car as he backed out of the parking lot, voice overlaying the growling of the Eldorado. Go ahead, prove me wrong! Show me your pathetically weak self-restraint isn’t as pathetic as I think it is.

And then he was gone, leaving Keigo standing alone in the steadily setting sun, strokes of fuchsia tingeing his gold curls.

The walk home should’ve been sobering, Dabi’s threats and promises bouncing off the walls of his skull, their direness reverberating in Keigo’s very bones. The walk home should’ve scared him enough to quit for good, forever, used needles bestrewn across the dry, sickly yellow grass like some sort of cliché omen, men with bruised eyes and scabbed skin staring as he passed them, unbeknownst to the fact that he’s exactly like them, that he could be them, one day.

And it did. It did scare him.

But not enough. Not in the right way.

It starts with a small, almost tender tingle beneath his skin, something birthed in his chest, in his soul, maybe, complemented by the anxious fluttering of his heart and the haphazard racing of his thoughts.

It grows as they do, becomes bigger, stronger, fiercer, almost voracious in it’s need to be sated as it eats through the blood in his veins, as the tingles turn to itches turn to pricks—sharp, desperate, painful.

By the time he arrives home it’s bigger than he is; a dark, suffocating cloud that enshrouds his form, zaps of lightning striking his skin, urging him to act, to soothe the sting they leave behind.

He knows it’s dumb, even as he’s doing it. He knows Dabi will find out, knows Dabi’s words were not merely empty threats, knows Dabi can and will follow through on his promises.

He knows this threatens everything. He knows.

And there’s not a damn thing he can do about it.

Because this has grown out of control. This has engulfed him in its sickly sweet embrace, has invaded every single nook and dip and crevice in his body and filled it with an insatiable longing for poison, has overridden all of his thoughts and all of his feelings, all of his judgements and all of his impulses and corrupted his very sense of right and wrong, of permanent consequence; eaten through it like some sort of toxic acid and left emptiness in it’s place.

Emptiness that needs to be filled.

Just once more.

Just once more, he promises himself, fingers trembling as they scroll through his contacts, looking fruitlessly for someone Dabi might not know. Just once more, and then that’s it, he swears to it. Just once more, and then he’ll kick the habit for good, he promises.

He just needs it just once more; needs to feel that comforting rush of warmth embrace his veins and twine through his blood, his nerves, his tissues and bones and organs until he’s drowning in it, a sick, sweet paradise that’s all for him, that’s all his.

Just once more he needs to feel the safety of his lover as it bursts through his system, a feeling of euphoria, of pure bliss that saturates every bit of him until it’s all he is, until it’s all that matters.

It takes too long, whole body quivering with desire by the time Keigo secures a reliable supplier after fishing through a chain of people, the sun long gone below the horizon, his only source of light leaking from one sad lamp in the corner of his living room, pooling around the base in a greyish-yellow puddle.

Chisaki is the guy’s name, a friend had informed Keigo. He’s got good shit, but it’s gonna cost you.

Keigo’s never heard of him before, and in his hunger fuelled haze of addiction he can only hope this means Dabi hasn’t heard of him either. He knows he’s wrong, knows Dabi knows everyone in this fucking city by now, but he continues to hope anyway, as if the very act itself will somehow change the outcome.

In the moment, though, it doesn’t really matter. It doesn’t matter that Dabi will inevitably find out, probably sooner rather than later. It doesn’t matter that this next fix may cost him you, permanently snatched form his grasp and whisked away to a secret land. It doesn’t matter that this could be the singular most fucked up mistake he’ll ever make in his life.

It doesn’t matter, because his true love is on it’s way, and it’s going to make everything alright again, even if only for a few hours.

✰ ✰ ✰

Tomura would be lying if he said the call that comes a mere few hours after Dabi’s supposed meeting with Keigo is surprising.

In a way, Tomura wishes it was.

It isn’t from him directly, and Tomura’s sure Keigo truly has no idea just how far reaching his—and now Dabi’s—drug empire reaches.

Tomura’s also sure Dabi warned Keigo of doing this exact thing and, just as they had predicted, Keigo hadn’t heeded that warning nearly as seriously as he should have.

It’s a request from one of their men stationed all the way on the other side of the city, a man Keigo must’ve played a torturous game of broken telephone to contact, a man reporting an order of two grams of China white to the good part of the city, the safe part of the city, the rich part of the city.

“This isn’t within my jurisdiction; I don’t even know how this guy got my number,” he says nervously, and Tomura can almost hear him fidgeting. “So I was wondering—I mean, should I do the delivery myself? Or do you have some other guy who’s a little closer? Not that I mind,” the man rushes to assure, and Tomura chuckles.

“Don’t worry about delivery. I’ve got just the person in mind,” he promises the man before hanging up.

Normally, Tomura would never handle a delivery himself, but this is a special case.

“Dabi, he broke,” Tomura’s saying as he climbs into his Maybach, phone held tightly between his ear and his shoulder, keys jingling in his palm. “Two grams of China white.”

“Fucking pathetic,” Dabi spits, though Tomura can hear the faint notes of disappointment cracking in his voice.

“We knew it would happen,” Tomura shrugs. “We knew he wasn’t strong enough.”

“You’re doing the delivery yourself?” Dabi asks, voice high with surprise.

“Yeah, I…” Tomura trails off, chewing on his cheek. “I have a bad feeling.”

Dabi snorts. “A bad feeling? Since when are you superstitious? Since when do you give a fuck about any of our junkies—no, sorry, clients—at all?”

“Shut up,” Tomura snaps, and Dabi snickers. “Just have the shit ready, and don’t let her see.”

“Hit a nerve, did I? You goin’ soft for my girl?”

Tomura hangs up in response.

He can’t exactly explain it—or maybe he just doesn’t want to admit it—but something thick and ominous has been sinking in his stomach since he first received that call; something heavy and toxic and full of sticky ink, something that feels very, very wrong.

Tomura isn’t stupid, and Dabi isn’t, either. Two grams is way too much smack for an addict that’s been cutting back as drastically as Keigo has been.

He hopes Keigo isn’t dumb enough to shoot it all at once, but he knows the way addiction roots itself in the mind, warping the brain into something illogical, something incomprehensible, something that craves only one thing and nothing else, no matter the cost.

He knows the way addicts work, the way addicts think, and the way these thought patterns are amplified by emotional triggers.

And as much as he’d never admit it, there is a tiny part of him buried deep within his soul that wished Dabi had refused the offer; that hoped that Dabi would go back on his word, decide this wasn’t worth it, that they’d get through to Keigo in a different, less dangerous way.

But he couldn’t have been more wrong.

✰ ✰ ✰

Despite the fact that it’s where every ounce of his smack has come from, Keigo Takami doesn’t know the name Shigaraki.

He’s heard you mention a man named Tomura in passing every once in a while—nothing more than a sentence or two, about how he picks you up on the days Dabi can’t, about how he shares your penchant for sugar—but he has no idea what the man looks like, or what his last name is, or the legacy said last name carries.

So when Tomura Shigaraki shows up on his front doorstep with a palm full of pure China white, Keigo is none the wiser.

It doesn’t seem to matter that this man is very clearly not the man he spoke to on the phone, not the man he nearly lost his mind attempting to chase down.

All that matters is that he’s got drugs, and he’s here.

Finally.

A smooth palm trembles as it shoves money into Tomura’s waiting hands, fingers eager and vying to have that powdery ecstasy between them.

Keigo doesn’t even care that Tomura doesn’t leave immediately after receiving payment—barely notices the man standing near his front door, watching with soured disgust as Keigo frantically readies his paraphernalia.

And that sinking feeling, full of heavy ink and acid, finally takes root in Tomura’s stomach as he watches Keigo pile a tiny mountain of heroin on his blackened, warped spoon, trembling hands careful not to spill even a single granule on his denim-clad thigh.

“Uh,” Tomura begins, unsure how to proceed, voice painfully flat. “Don’t you think that’s a bit much?”

“Nah,” Keigo mumbles past the rubber held between his tightly clenched teeth, not even bothering to spare Tomura a glance, hyper-focused on his actions. “This is what I always shoot.”

Tomura’s tongue is too slow, words fading to ghosts on his tongue, unable to trigger Keigo’s rational memory at all. Because then that brownish liquid is sinking into his veins, and his head is falling backwards, mouth hung open in pure bliss, and he’s gone.

✰ ✰ ✰

It would be a lie if Dabi said that he didn’t expect some sort of update call within the next few hours.

It would also be a lie if Dabi said he expected it to be from the Goddamn hospital.

It isn’t exactly surprising that Keigo had chosen to put you down as his next of kin instead of your adoptive parents—his own flesh and blood, his only flesh and blood, his precious baby sister.

Vibrations quiver gently though the mattress, a low whine of protest slipping from your lips as you grope around with halfhearted interest for your phone, buried within the ridges of Dabi’s comforter.

The bright light of the screen outshines the small flickering television a few feet away and your lids squint in retaliation, vision temporarily blurred and face scrunched with concentration as you attempt to make out the bleary letters written across the top.

The hospital.

The words give you a jolt of pure adrenaline, whole body shooting up suddenly despite your sore muscles aching in protest, tingling adrenaline eating through the fatigue like an urgent corrosive, alighting your limbs, alerting your mind.

“Who is it?” Dabi asks with sleepy disinterest, gaze never leaving the television, slim fingers still tracing mindless patterns on your bare skin.

“The hospital,” you breathe, voice sounding faint and far away even though you can feel it distinctly vibrating within your chest.

Your mouth has gone dry, like your tongue is a thick swab of cotton, soaking up all the saliva from the corners and crevices of your mouth.

“What?” Dabi says, but you don’t respond, everything feeling numb, muted, muffled as your thumb taps the ANSWER button.

And then, everything goes blank.

You barely remember saying hello. You barely remember responding to any of the nurses questions—about your brother, your relation to him, your identity. You only remember a single sentence with startling clarity, something that rings loud and lucid throughout your skull, bouncing off the thick walls of bone and reverberating endlessly.

“Your brother has overdosed on heroin.”

It’s so simple, so straightforward, and yet your mind can’t seem to comprehend it, can’t seem to deconstruct and absorb those six simple words.

And then, everything goes blank again, brainwaves flatlining, rushing blood a strong, steady ringing in your ears. You can feel your body going through the appropriate motions, can feel the expected questions bubbling up your throat and past your lips, frantic, urgent, leaving an unpleasant buzz on your tongue—Is he alive? Is he stable? Can you come see him?—but you have no control over them, consciousness curling in on itself as it attempts to create sense from the situation.

How could this be possible? Keigo had stopped, hadn’t he? At least, that’s what he had told you, what he had promised you…And you had been stupid enough to believe him.

Because you had wanted to believe him.

You had wanted it to be easy and effortless, clean and concise, void of all the pain and intricacies and work that usually comes with achieving such a feat.

You had wanted, so desperately, for it to be the truth, for everything to go back to normal, just like that, in a mere instant.

A block of disappointment, filled with shame and glazed with guilt, sinks heavy and sharp in your stomach. It cracks as it hits the pit, contents leaking into the bubbly acid and causing it to roil.

He lied to you.

But he isn’t fully to blame, either. You should’ve known better, a tickle at the back of your mind chides gently. You shouldn’t have taken it at face value. You should’ve pushed harder, done a shred of investigation yourself to verify his claims, asked for more concrete proof than the sheen in his hair and the glow in his cheeks.

But you hadn’t wanted to.

Because you had wanted it to all be better instantaneously. You had wanted Keigo to prove all of Dabi’s words wrong, had wanted Keigo to show Dabi how incredible your big brother is, how vivacious your big brother is, how he can always do what he sets his mind to, no matter what.

How utterly, devastatingly stupid you were.

“Hey!” Dabi’s voice, full of concern and garnished with a touch of fear, finally slices through the thick mist that has encrusted your brain. “What’s going on? Baby, please, talk to me, tell Daddy what’s wrong.”

“Did you know?”

The question is small, frail, nothing more than a wisp of breath, so fragile it’s as if a tone any louder would simply smash it to bits.

“What?” Dabi frowns, eyebrows drawn in confusion, sapphire rapidly searching your face as you stare dead over his shoulder, unblinking eyes focused on the drywall, those lithe fingers wrapped around your biceps flexing, blunt nails biting your flesh nothing more than a faint pressure, flesh gone numb.

“Did you know?”

The question is stronger now, harder now, firm with resolution and conviction. Finally, your gaze meet his, eyes blazing with a shield of watery glass, so fierce that he flinches a little, features crunching in irritation at his own surprised reaction a second later.

“Did I know what?”

“Did you know Keigo was still using?”

For a moment, it falls silent, the gears in Dabi’s head turning, whirring, clicking into place, his gaze methodically scanning your face, blazing in his scrutiny as his mind cards through all of his options, potential scenarios and possible outcomes, categorizing them in terms of likeliness.

Then he’s cold, hands dropping from your body, features hardened into that carefully crafted mask of incomprehensible passivity.

“Since when? Since you began meeting with him secretly, behind my back?” Dabi pauses, but your expression does not falter, stare solid as stone. “Yeah, I knew. Of course I fucking knew.”

Sapphire burns into your face and your molars grind together, glaring back at him just as fiercely. Viciousness brews in your chest, boiling as it singes your ribs.

“You know, I could’ve helped you,” Dabi continues, notes of accusation in his voice, “had you just told me what was going on instead of sneaking around like that.”

“Oh, don’t start. Don’t try to make this about you and how you feel left out. Don’t try to make me the bad guy.”

“And, so, what?” he shrugs, raising an eyebrow in mock question. “I’m the bad guy because I continued to supply your brother with exactly what he asked for without having even an inkling of the lies he had been feeding you? If you had just told me, we could’ve tag-teamed him. We could’ve beat him at his own game. We could’ve won! And then, maybe, none of this would’ve ever happened!”

“I couldn’t have told you, and you know it!” you cry, voice burning veraciously in your chest, words blistering your tongue. “You—You wouldn’t have helped, you would’ve put an end to everything straight away and locked me up like some sort of—some sort of prize, never letting me out of your sight for a fucking second ever again!”

“No, you are just assuming that,” he seethes, eyes narrowed sharply. “All I’ve ever wanted to do is help you—help you both. Do you—Do you really think I’d have reacted that way instead of offering to help?”

“Yeah! I do! I’m not the villain here!”

“Neither am I!” he roars, eyes alight with blue fire, surging forward to grasp your shoulders.

A surprised yelp hiccups past your lips and Dabi tugs you toward him roughly, your chest pressed to his as he leans over your face, so close your noses nearly bump together.

“Y’know, it isn’t my fault your brother’s a fucking junkie, alright?” His grip tightens, painting his fingertips into your flesh in splashes of blue and violet. “It isn’t my fault he lied to you, just like they always do, because it’s more important to him to keep heroin in his life than it is to keep you in his life. It isn’t my fault you just assumed the worst of me instead of being honest with me, coming to me, asking for help!”

“What else was I supposed to assume, Dabi?” your nose twitches with the threat of a sniffle, the ghost of a sob, and you exhale harshly, a feeble attempt to halt it. “How was I supposed to know any different, when this is the way you’ve been treating me?”

“Everything I’ve done—every single fucking thing—was done to protect you, I can promise you that. I love you more than anything in this world, can’t you see that?”

His voice fissures on the last word, breaking under the weight of authenticity, but you do not yield, holding steadfast as you force your next question from your mouth, slight tremors running through your words as your body trembles in his hands.

“If you love me more than anything then answer me honestly. Did you supply him with drugs tonight?” The sentence tapers off into a whisper, those tears that you had held so stubbornly behind your lashes finally spilling over, strolling down your cheeks in pairs.

The silence is stifling, your breath held stagnant in your lungs as you wait, vying eyes searching his face for any shreds of clues and finding nothing but truth.

“No,” he finally responds, but his voice is kinder, softer. “How could I, when I’ve been with you all night?”

“But they were your drugs, yes?”

“Sweetheart, every drug in this city is my drug,” he chuckles a little at your naivety. “All I can tell you is that I didn’t give them to him tonight. Besides, the amount he’d need to OD is more than what I’ve been selling him.”

“But…But you…”

Agony cracks your words into sharp shards that pierce your organs, and you cough around the pain, both palms pressed flat to your chest as you try and hold your body together.

What is the truth? Is there even a truth? One correct, indisputable answer?

“I don’t—I’m—I can’t—”

A dense blend of anguish and confusion drapes across your brain, burning holes through your thoughts and rendering them incomplete, incomprehensible, a tangle of half finished sentences.

Because none of this makes any sense anymore, trust and truth shattered to pieces, scattered among skepticism and deceit.

Does it even matter at all, when your brother is in the hospital and your boyfriend, no matter how implicitly or explicitly, had a hand in putting him there?

It seems as though you can’t inhale enough air into your lungs, organs shrivelling up and rejecting the oxygen your broken, uneven gasps send rushing down your throat. Your body crumples in a heap on Dabi’s lap, and the air around him changes instantly, its suffocating heaviness eradicated as love dipped in guilt devours it.

Ferocious sobs slash through your chest, ribs creaking beneath their force as your whole form stutters, heavy sorrow weighting your heart. It aches, each dull pulse procuring another wave of spiked anguish, and you suck a hiss through your teeth, furling in further on yourself in a desperate attempt to quell the pain.

Gathering your limp body in his arms, Dabi hushes you gently, your tears seeming to have melted his hard exterior, dousing the flames raging in his eyes.

“Shh,” he murmurs, a palm rhythmically smoothing over your hair as you weep into his chest, little fingers scrabbling against his bare skin. “Shh, it’s alright, I’m here.”

His soothing voice calms the turmoil in your chest, his tender touches dimming the chaos in your skull, and you snuggle into him, seeking more of his solace.

“Listen to me,” he pulls back, taking your salt-sticky face between his palms. “I love you, you hear me? I love you, and all I want to do is protect you. From everything. I’m sorry that this has happened. Everything I’ve done, I’ve done to keep you safe, I promise.”

A pause, a moment for his words to brand themselves into the tissues of your brain, steady sapphire boring into your face, bright with sincerity.

“Maybe I didn’t do the best job, or make the best choices, but they were all with your—with our—best intentions and interests in mind,” he continues, the edges of his voice rough, eroded by emotion. “I’m trying with all my might. I love you more than anything. We’re a team, right? Let’s solve this together. No more secrets, no more lies, from either of us. You don’t have to do this alone, not anymore.”

“Neither do you,” you mumble, words knotted in strings of spit.

He laughs, and it sounds wet, large hands cradling your head to his body again. “You’re right. Neither do I. So let’s make it better, together, okay? You and me, always.”

“You and me, always,” you repeat.

“Always, baby,” calloused fingers brush back strands of sweat-soaked hair from your forehead, lidded eyes watching his actions with fondness. “Now,” he whispers, a sad little smile on his face. “I think we have a hospital to visit.”

✰ ✰ ✰

The scent of Clorox burns your nose as you hurry down the dull white corridors, frantic eyes flying across each of the silver nameplates bolted to the wall outside each door until finally, you find the corresponding number the nurse had given you.

And although you knew the sight you were to be greeted with would hurt, you didn’t expect it to be quite so heart-wrenchingly gruesome.

Lilac encompasses his closed eyes, the tiny spider veins knotted across his eyelids a deep, sickening purple. Dried blood, well on it’s way to forming thick scabs, has pooled and oxidized in the lines of his lips, cracked open from dehydration.

Dim curls, matted with sweat and salt, stick to his forehead and his temples, their usual lively gold now dulled and void of their sheen. Sallow skin stretches across all his sharp edges—his knuckles and his wrists and his elbows and his collarbones—lacking that healthy, radiant glow Keigo had always seemed to emit before.

It’s hard to look at him like this, veins and nostrils hooked up to a tangle of clear tubes and whirring machines, the steady beep of his heart in direct juxtaposition to the erratic thumping of your own.

Nausea swells in your stomach, acidic bile burning up, up, up your esophagus, but you swallow against it, teeth clenched as your force a deep, calm breath out your nose.

“Is this the all-time-low you kept talking about?”

You don’t look at him as you speak, gaze still captivated by your feeble big brother, the question trembling with muted anger.

“Yeah,” Dabi says quietly. “This is it.“

This is it. This has to be it; there’s no where else for him to go from here, except into the ground—and that’s forever.

Your voice rouses Keigo, golden eyelashes fluttering open to reveal bloodshot topaz, filmy gaze taking a moment to clear before it focuses on you, recognition shocking clarity into his brain.

He exhales your name in a small, weak huff, fingers twitching against the threadbare bedspread, as if he yearns to reach out for you, to grab you and pull you towards him and never let go.

For a moment, you’re frozen in place, feet bolted to the floor, veins filled with something colder, sharper, than ice.

It’s Dabi who gives you the nudge you need, his gentle touch torching the frost coating your body and jumpstarting your limbs, finally allowing that familiar presence of your big brother draw you in, as it’s done so many times before.

And then you’re running to him, crossing the sterile room in a mere few strides and flinging yourself down on his hospital bed, arms latched tightly around his neck, face buried against his chest.

He’s saying something, you can feel his words vibrating against your cheek as his frail arms wrap around your waist, but it all sounds muffled to you, nothing more than a steady, hazy stream of his voice, sentiments drowning in your own ragged breaths and vicious sobs.

Those large hands skim across your form, patting and grabbing and kneading as if they can’t believe you’re here, as if they can’t believe you’re real, as if you’ll disappear from their grasp the moment they aren’t on you anymore.

His touch causes something to break, cracking wide open at the core of your soul, so deep, so dark you’re terrified it might swallow you whole. Your body crumples under the strain, curling into the warmth and comfort your big brother provides—that only your big brother can provide, that your big brother will always provide, no matter the circumstances.

Everything hurts, and you cling tighter to him, fingers twisting in his thin hospital gown as claws of despair shred your lungs and tear at your stomach, desperate to be felt, acknowledged, known.

“Shh, it’s okay,” Keigo croaks, his voice dense with spit. “It’s okay, it’s okay, niisan’s here, it’s okay.”

Those roaming hands clutch you tighter, pressing you close to his heart and promising to keep you together, to keep you whole as those talons threaten to rip you apart. Nothing can hurt you anymore—not here, not now, not with Keigo wrapped around you.

You aren’t sure how long you stay like this, cuddled up in your big brother’s arms as silent tears leak from your eyes, his lips pressing routine kisses to the crown of your head as you cry, but it’s long enough for Dabi to leave, smoke, and then return, the scent of nicotine twined around his body, his reentrance bringing a whiff of it with him.

Finally, you lift your head, swollen eyes blinking slow and sticky, Keigo rendered as nothing more than a wavering blur through through the thick tears coating your vision.

“You can’t...” you begin, words fading to ghosts in your throat, weighing heavy and bitter on your tongue. “This has to stop, Keigo. We can’t just...We can’t just sit around waiting and hope it gets better on it’s own. We need help. You need help.”

“I know. I’m sorry,” he whispers, voice grating on his throat. “I’m so sorry.”

“It’s okay, it’s okay,” you’re murmuring out, pacifying palms rhythmically running over his matted curls, a fresh bout of tears shining in your eyes. “I’m just happy you’re alive, Keigo.”

“I should’ve never lied to you,” he whimpers, face screwed up as if the words are painful, barbed on his tongue. “I just—I wanted you—”

And, really, that’s it. He wanted you. He didn’t just want you to be proud of him, nor did he just want you to stop worrying so much. He wanted you, all of you, to himself again. He wanted you, safe and sound and at home, where you should’ve been all along, where you’ll always belong.

As it turns out, he’s just as selfish as Dabi.

“I know,” you whisper. “And I want you; I want you to get better, I want my big brother back.”

And it hurts to hear that, your voice so raw, so honest, cut open with a sharp razor as emotion spills out and washes over him in burning waves, his eyes glazing over as his bottom lip twitches.

“I miss you, Keigo. I miss all the things we used to do together, before this—this monster that you’re grappling with took root. I miss getting ice cream from that mom and pop shop a few streets over; I miss going for bike rides as the sun set, and I miss stargazing at the park after it sunk; I miss it all. Don’t you?”

The question cracks on your tongue, more tears dripping down your cheeks as your eyes search his face, begging him to see your sincerity, begging him to say yes, genuity written into the creases of your forehead.

His own tears, caught so artfully by his long lashes, finally break free from their confines, streaming in pairs across his hollowed face. Because, yeah, he does, he misses those moments more than anything in the world—because, really, nothing else matters more than those sweet little memories made with the one person he loves most, the one person he loves more than anything or anyone else.

Not even heroin.

“You can do it, Keigo. I know you can. You’re so—” A hiccup cuts you off but you swallow past it, powering on, voice thick with love, care, belief. “You’re so strong, niisan; you’re the strongest person I know, and you’re a hell of a long stronger than this addition, I’m absolutely sure of it.”

Both of his hands grip one of yours with such force it’s a marvel his sharp knuckles don’t slice right through the thin skin stretched tight and taut across them. You place your other hand atop his, dainty and gentle, thumb running across his flesh in soothing motions.

“I don’t want to watch you kill yourself slowly,” you tell him, resolution firm in your voice. “And I won’t. I won’t do it, niisan. Not anymore.”

Blood drains from his face at your statement, skin gone from sickly to ashen, and his body goes rigid, hands still as stone in your palms.

“Is this goodbye?”

“No,” Dabi cuts in before you can question him about what the heck that’s supposed to mean, coming to perch on the parallel edge of Keigo’s bed. “This is we’re here to help.”

That sentence should bring a rush of much-needed relief gushing through Keigo’s veins, loosening his tight muscles and unclenching his jaw and relieving the stress that has snuggled into his very soul. It should make him feel revitalized. It should make him feel elated.

But it doesn’t.

Because Dabi’s eyes are hard, and while his gaze is fiery, it holds no warmth, the flames of contempt blazing in his irises contradicting his flat words. A rough palm clamps itself over Keigo’s collarbone, a poor imitation of friendly, and Dabi leans forward.

“Make no mistake,” he murmurs in Keigo’s ear, just loud enough for him to hear, the force of his grip tightening to bone crushing. “I’m not doing this for you, I’m doing this for her. Don’t you ever fucking forget that.”

Keigo’s shock must be evident on his face, shining in his eyes and trembling on his lips, because Dabi smirks—a small quirk up of his lips, arrogant and self-satisfied—before he pulls back completely.

This is the second time Dabi has surprised him, in all of Keigo’s years of knowing him. This is the second time Dabi has proven to him that he is, in come capacity, capable of thinking about people other than himself—even if Keigo’s sure this decision isn’t entirely separate from Dabi’s own agenda.

And while Keigo still can’t convince himself that Dabi has your best interests in mind, it’s abundantly clear that he has some of your interests in mind, this singular action speaking volumes.

Because Dabi rarely, if ever, goes back on his word; it’s a well known fact at this point that his threats are never empty threats, always containing some sort of meaning, some sort of promise, and that thought sends spikes of ice shooting up Keigo’s spine.

If you notice the odd interaction between the two of them, you don’t say anything, a gentle squeeze bringing Keigo’s dumbfounded attention back to you.

“I have some news,” you begin softly, a small, sad smile on your lips. “I’m coming back home.”

That belated elation finally floods his veins, warm and tingling as it rushes through his body and eradicates all of the desolation Dabi had just instilled in him, a genuine smile breaking through the hard trepidation coating his face.

“And Dabi’s coming with me.”

The bright happiness that had blossomed in his blood dries up instantly, veins shrivelled and parched, panic and despair bolting through his body like sharp spears of lightning, and Keigo’s expression withers, face screwed up with a certain sourness before it droops, giving in, giving up, features weighted and grim as he nods his understanding.

“Compromise,” Dabi says, and while his voice is amicable enough, something sharp glints in his eyes, something sinister tugging at his lips.

Still, it’s something. It’s a start. And Keigo will take anything he can get.

Compromise. Compromise.

Keigo supposes he can live with that.

#dabi x reader #dabi smut #bnha smut #mha smut #todoroki touya x reader #todoroki touya smut #takami keigo x reader #tw:toxic relationship #tw:minimal prep #tw:drugs

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Text

Matt & Me🎀

1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10 11 12 13 14 15 16 17 18 19 20 21 22 23 24

a story heavily based on Priscilla Presley’s Book “Elvis & Me” based in the 1950’s - 1970’s.

fem! reader x singer! matt

disclaimer!! - in no way am i saying matt would ever support or do these kind of things, for the sake of the book certain unethical things do happen at times.

warnings - none i dont think

y/nn = your nickname for anyone confused🩷

Chapter 4

It was already Christmas 1959, and I had no idea what to get Matt. I walked through the crowded streets of Wiesbaden, windowshopping, trying to get ideas. Picking out gifts for the family had always been easy, since we always knew exactly what was wanted or needed; in fact, we often made our gifts for one another. On this occasion my father gave me thirty-five dollars to spend on Matt, and it seemed a vast amount to me when I set out on this freezing cold day. I was slapped with the reality when I noticed a beautiful hand-made cigar box with porcelain outlining and a decorative design. Matt, a cigar smoker, would have loved it. But after the shopkeeper told me the price, 650 Deutsche marks or $155, all I walked out with was my expensive taste.

It was snowing heavily and I hurried into another shop, this one full of bright toys, including a solidly built toy German train that I could imagine Matt instantly setting up in his living room. But the train cost 2,000 Deutsche marks.

Heading home in the dark, on the verge of tears, I spotted a music store, where a pair of bongo drums inlaid with gleaming brass were displayed in the window. They were forty dollars, but the clerk took mercy on me and sold them for thirty-five. As I headed home I was beset by a thousand doubts, convinced that the drums were the least romantic of gifts.

I must have asked Nate Doe and David Jones twenty times if they thought the drums were appropriate. “Oh sure,” Nate said. “Anything you give him, he’ll like.” I still wasn’t convinced.

On the night we exchanged gifts, Matt emerged from his dad’s room and drew me to one corner of the living room, where he handed me a small wrapped box, in it, a delicate gold watch with a diamond set on the lid and a ring with a pearl bracketed by two diamonds.

I had never owned anything so beautiful, nor had any smile ever warmed me as Matt’s did then. “I’ll cherish these forever,” I told him, and he made me put them on right away and took me around to show everyone.

I waited as long as possible to give Matt my present. Laughing, he said, “Bongos! Just what I always wanted!” Matt could see that I didn’t believe him; he was better at giving than receiving. “Charlie,” he persisted, “didn’t I need some bongos?”

Motioning for me to sit next to him at the piano, he started playing “I’ll Be Home for Christmas” with such emotion that I couldn’t look up for fear he’d see I was crying. When at last I couldn’t resist meeting his eyes, I saw that he too was holding back tears.

It was not until many days later that I discovered a whole closet full of bongo drums, mine not included, in the basement. The fact that my white elephants had not been throw into the closet but instead were prominently displayed beside his guitar made me love him all the more.

As the days passed I began to dread the day of Matt’s departure. By January he was already packing, and each night I spent with him became more precious than the one before.

Then, just as the weather turned freezing cold, Matt was sent out on field maneuvers for ten days, and if there was anything Matt hated, it was having to sleep outside on the frozen ground.

The morning after he left, it began to snow and by afternoon it was a blizzard. As Michelle and I were driving home from school with my mother, I turned on the radio, just in time to hear a late-breaking news bulletin.

“Sorry to interrupt, folks, but it was just reported that Corporal Matt Sturniolo has been rushed from field maneuvers to a hospital in Frankfurt, suffering from an acute attack of tonsillitis. Matt, if you’re listening, we all hope you get well real soon.”

Frantic with worry, I called the hospital, hoping to learn more about his condition. To my surprise, when the operator heard my name she put me right through, saying Corporal Sturniolo had left word to do so if I called.

“I’m a sick man, Little One,” Matt rasped. “I need you by my side. If it’s okay with your folks, I’ll send David for you right now.”

Of course my parents gave me permission to go to the hospital, and an hour later I entered his room, just as the nurse was leaving. Matt was propped up in bed with a thermometer in his mouth, surrounded by dozens of floral arrangements.

The moment the nurse was gone, Matt took the thermometer out of his mouth, lit a match, and carefully held it under the thermometer. Then he stuck the thermometer back in his mouth and slumped down on the bed just as the door opened and the nurse returned, carrying in even more flowers.

Smiling warmly to her famous patient, she took the thermometer out of Matt’s mouth, looked at it, and gasped, “A hundred and three. Why, Matt, you’re really sick. I’m afraid you’ll have to stay here at least a week.”

Matt nodded mutely as the nurse fluffed up his pillows, filled his water glass, and left the room. Then he burst out laughing, jumped out of bed, and took me in his arms.

He despised maneuvers, and since the weather was so bad and everyone was so worried about his voice, his answer was tonsillitis. Already susceptible to catching colds, Matt learned to dramatize his sickness with a little flick of a match.

It was March 1, 1960, the night before Matt was to leave Germany to return to the States.

We were lying on his bed, our arms around each other. I was in a state of complete despair.

“Oh, Matt,” I said, “I just wish there were some way you could take me with you. I can’t stand the thought of life without you. I love you so much.”

I began sobbing, my anguish overcoming my control.

“Shhh, Baby,” Matt whispered. “Try to calm down. There’s nothing we can do.”

“I’m just afraid you’ll forget me the moment you land,” I cried.

He smiled and kissed me gently. “I’m not going to forget you, y/nn. I’ve never felt this way about another girl. I love you.”

“You do?” I was stunned. Matt had said that I was special before, but he’d never said that he loved me. I wanted so badly to believe him, but I was frightened of getting hurt. I’d read some of Nicole’s letters, and I was sure Matt was on his way back to her open arms.

Holding me close, he said, “I’m torn with the feelings I have for you. I don’t know what to do. Maybe being away will help me understand what I really feel.”

That night our lovemaking took on a new urgency. Would I ever see him again, be in his arms the way I had been nearly every night for the past six months? I missed him already. I could not bear the thought of the night ending and our saying goodbye for what I thought would be the last time. I wept and wept until my body ached with pain.

For the last time I begged him to finally have sex with me. It would have been so easy for him. I was young, vulnerable, desperately in love, and he could have taken complete advantage of me. But he quietly said, “No. Someday we will, y/n, but not now. You’re just too young.”

I lay awake all that night and early the next morning I was back at 18 Hauptstrasse, lost in the midst of a large group of people milling about the living room. They were waiting to say goodbye to Matt, who was upstairs finishing his last-minute packing. Knowing that I alone would be accompanying him to the airport gave me little comfort.

When Matt came downstairs, he laughed and joked with everyone there. Finally, after saying his last goodbye, Matt turned to me. “Okay, Little One, it’s time to go.”

I nodded glumly and followed him out the door. Oblivious to the drizzling rain, hundreds of fans were waiting outside. When they saw Matt they went crazy, begging him to sign autographs. When he finished he jumped into the waiting car and pulled me in behind him. As the door slammed, the driver accelerated and we sped toward the airport.

We rode for a long while in silence, both of us lost in thought. Matt was gazing out the window, frowning over the falling rain. “I know it’s not going to be easy for you to go back to being a schoolgirl again after being with me, y/nn, but you’ve got to. I don’t want you to be sitting around moping after I leave, Little One.”

I started to protest, but he silenced me. “Try to have a good time, write to me every chance you get. I’ll look forward to your letters. Get pink stationery. Address them to Nate. That way I’ll know they’re from you. I want you to promise me you’ll stay the way you are. Untouched, as I left you.”

“I will,” I promised.

“I’ll look for you from the top of the ramp. I don’t want to see a sad face. Give me a little smile. I’ll take that with me.”

Then, handing me his combat jacket and the sergeant’s stripes he’d recently been

awarded, he said, “I want you to have these. It shows you belong to me.” After that, he held me tight.

As we approached the airport, the cheers of the waiting crowds grew louder. We drove as close to the runway as possible, then Matt turned to me and said, “This is it, Baby.”

We got out as cameras flashed, reporters shouted, and screaming fans pressed toward us. Matt held my hand and walked across the runway apron until the guard, who was there to escort Matt to the plane, stopped me from going further.

Matt gave me a brief hug and whispered, “Don’t worry, I’ll call you when I get home, Baby, promise.”

I nodded, but before I could answer, we were pulled apart as the crowd rushed in. I was swept away by hundreds of fans, pushing and pulling, trying to get to him. I cried, “Matt!” but he never heard me.

He ran up the boarding steps. Then he turned and waved to the crowd, his eyes searching for me. I waved frantically, as did hundreds of other fans, yet he found me, and for one more brief moment, our eyes locked. Then he disappeared. Just like that.

My parents came to the airport to drive me back to Wiesbaden. During the long ride I was silent.

Excerpt from: "Elvis and Me" by Priscilla Beaulieu Presley. Scribd.

This material may be protected by copyright.

a/n - sad chapter 😪 (sorry its shorter than ones before)🎀

#chris sturniolo #christopher sturniolo #matt sturniolo #sturniolo edit #sturniolo fanfic #sturniolo imagine #sturniolo smut #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo x reader #nick sturniolo #matt stuniolo fanfic #matthew sturn #matthew sturniolo #Spotify

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mooonpiess · 7 days

Text

Sweetheart - EraserMic

Mic is injured, Shouta calls him a certain nickname and now thats all he focuses on.

962 words

(requests erasermic prompts and i will attempt to do them! its so fun!)

The pain was sharp and sudden.

Hizashi doubled over and heard a shout from a distance. The villain in front of him retacted his arm from Hizashi but was soon captured by Shouta’s scarf.

Hizashi couldn’t help but smirk to himself as his husband quickly took care of the villian. He groaned softly as he watched Shouta huff tiredly. He felt the world spin around him before he collapsed.

While on the floor, he was irritated more than anything that this was supposed to just simply be a shopping trip with Shouta and Hitoshi. They were just trying to get new shoes. Was that too much to ask for on their day off?

“Mic!” Shouta jogged the short distance to him. He got to his knees checking the wound on Hizashi’s abdomen. The store was cleared by mall security and he heard shouts from police for a medic.

Hizashi looked up to his husband, his eyes glossy. He simply just stared at the man, taking in his sweaty features. Shouta’s hair was still lifted off his shoulders and his quirk fizzed out, his pupils still a little red.

“Dad?” Hitoshi asked, trying to shove past the officers.

Shouta’s head snapped up as he heard his child’s voice, “Stay over there, Toshi!” He shouted. He noticed that he clearly didn't want to stay back, but evidently listened to his father.

Hizashi’s eyebrows furrowed as Shouta pressed a firm hand into the wound, “Stay with me sweetheart,”

Hizashi let out a soft laugh, “I like when you call me that,” There was a beat of silence and Shouta just pressed even firmer on the wound, before everything went black.

——————

Hizashi woke up with a start. He squinted as bright lights of an all too familiar hospital room hurt his eyes. The beeping by his bed sounded fuzzy and he couldn’t hear the buzz from the lights, so he knew his hearing aids were out.

He glanced to his right side and saw Shouta slouched in a wooden chair, his arms folded over his chest, sleeping. He noticed that his wedding ring was now on his finger and his eyebrows shot up, surprised .

He reached an arm out to gently touch Shouta, causing him to wake up startled, “Hizashi,” Shouta sighed, relief clear in his voice. Hizashi couldn’t hear him, but read his lips. Aizawa grabbed a box from the bedside table and slipped both aids in Hizashi’s ears, “Better?”

“Yeah,” Hizashi’s voice popped from the lack of use, “Shit. Water,”

Shouta stood too quickly and fumbled to get the water on the other side of the room. He brought Hizashi a glass, refilling it once the first was gone.

“Jeez…” He mumbled, “How long was I out?”

“Two days,” Shouta answered, “That blade went all the way through you. You’re lucky it missed anything important. Zashi I should’ve-“

“If you say you’re at fault I will divorce you, Shou. You were doing what you needed to do, and so was I. We’re pro-heros, love, we know what we were signing ourselves up for,” Hizashi cut him off.

Shouta looked to be deep in thought, fiddling with his wedding ring.

“I like that ring,” Hizashi changed the conversation, “Who got it for you?”

Shouta rolled his eyes and glanced down to the black band. He clearly was lost in thought again.

“Shou. Darling, I’m okay. I promise,” He said, “Now you know how I feel, you get injured every other week,”

“Not every other week,” Shouta slumped in his chair again.

“Shou. I’m fine,” Hizashi said once more for emphasis, “Plus, you called me sweetheart. That itself would’ve brought me back from the dead,”

Shouta couldn’t help but chuckle. He looked away from his husband, clearly embarrassed.

“Say it again, please? It’ll make me feel good as new,” Hizashi said, reaching for Shouta’s hand.

Shouta rolled his eyes yet again, “No, it’s only for near death experiences now,” The couple eyed each other wordlessly and then Shouta leaned down to kiss Hizashi squarely, “I’m glad you’re alright,”

Hizashi kissed Shouta again, “That’s my line,”

The silence returned as they soaked in each other’s love. both of their hands in contact with parts of their bodies, both of them occasionally lazily leaning in to kiss each other. Shouta trailed a hand through Hizashi’s long hair, “We should call Hitoshi. He was there… he saw you…”

Hizashi caressed Shouta’s cheek, “I’m okay, remember?” He noticed his phone sitting beside the bed, he picked it up and dialed his son’s number.

Hitoshi answered after a few rings, “Dad? Are you okay?”

“You sound just like your father, kid,” Hizashi laughed softly, “I'm peachy. A little sore but okay,”

“It looked scary,” Hitoshi’s voice was small. Hizashi could picture him fiddling with his hair as he talked, “Pa wouldn’t let me see you,”

“I wouldn’t want you to see me like this anyway, darling. I’m sorry you had to see what you already did. But I’m okay. We’ll be home soon, okay?”

Hitoshi hummed, “Auntie Numuri says hi and feel better,”

“Tell her hi for us okay,” Hizashi laughed softly, “I love you, ‘Toshi, see you soon,”

“Bye dad. Love you,”

Hizashi waited on the line for Hitoshi to hang up and sighed, “I hate getting injured,”

“I hate seeing you injured,” Shouta leaned towards him again, “You’re okay now, and that guy is already locked up. Focus on healing so we can go home to Hitoshi and Nugget. We all know she loves you the most, somehow,”

Hizashi laughed again, “Somehow,” He repeated. He reached for Shouta’s hand again, squeezing it, “Call me sweetheart again,”

“Just this once, sweetheart,” Shouta teased, watching as Hizashi’s eyes fluttered shut again.

“Thanks, kitten,”

Now it was Shouta’s turn to be flustered.

#erasermic #aizawa shouta #yamada hizashi #mha #bnha #hitoshi shinsou

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astrobei · 1 year

Note

hello beloved suni. for valentine's day ficlet prompt... a lumax valentine's day perhaps?

(ft. lucas going Overboard and max secretly loving it?)

abby i would literally give you the world if you asked me to <3 happy early valentine's day and i hope you like this one !!

“I don’t understand this holiday,” El frowns, peering over the displays of red cardboard boxes and bulk-order roses. This corner of Melvald’s is completely decked out, with glitter and flowers and plush teddy bears as far as the eye can see– or at least until aisle three, where the store returns to its regularly scheduled programming of household cleaning supplies.

The floral scent is almost nauseatingly strong, and Max is suddenly extremely thankful she’s nowhere near as allergic to them as she used to be, or Mrs. Byers would have had to drive her to the hospital as she broke out in hives. “Me neither,” Max says, squinting at a teddy bear with particularly beady eyes. “Consumerist nonsense.”

El gives her a bit of a weird look. “Um–”

“It means they just overdo the lovey-dovey thing to get people to buy stuff,” Max adds, and El’s frown smooths itself out.

“Oh, okay. I was just going to say that I don’t know why there’s only one day out of the whole year to buy someone flowers.” She reaches out, touches a tentative finger to one of the petals on the nearest rose, and then immediately retracts her hand as the petal falls off and flutters slowly to the checkered tiles of the floor. “Oh no.”

Max bites back a laugh. “I bet those flowers have been sitting in storage since the beginning of the month.”

“I don’t get this holiday,” El says again, and shakes her head. “Why buy someone flowers that have been sitting outside for two weeks?”

“Again,” Max says, rolling her eyes at the 20% off! sign, “they just want to make money off this stuff. They don’t care about love.”

“Bullshit,” El says, so suddenly that Max can’t bite back a laugh in time to keep herself from giggling loudly, the sound ringing through the quiet of the store. Half an aisle over, a guy in a suit shoots her a glare. She pulls a face at him.

“Bull– yeah, I guess so,” she says, as El turns to study the display of chocolates on their other side. “So jaded already?”

“I don’t know what jaded means,” El muses, “but I think this holiday is bullshit.”

“Yeah, that’s– yeah,” Max nods. “You got it. Hey, if these chocolates are on sale, then maybe we should get some anyway.” She picks up a heart-shaped box and flips it over. “You’re not allergic to nuts, are you, El?”

“I don’t think so. Won’t Lucas buy you chocolates?” El asks, turning back around to give Max a curious look. “He’s your boyfriend.”

“Yeah, well,” Max sighs. “This whole thing is so cheesy. I don’t need him to buy me chocolates, I just need him to put up more of a fight before I beat him at Super Mario Bros. I swear it’s not even fun anymore.”

El wrinkles her nose. “At least it would be better than what Mike did.”

“Oh yeah?” Max raises her eyebrows, then puts the box of chocolates down. The handful of change in her pocket can be spent on better things than overpriced and over-marketed chocolate anyway. “What did Mike do?”

“He got me a card that said I like you.”

Max stares. “I like– you’re joking. Please tell me you’re joking.”

“Nope.” El pops the p, and gives Max a look like yeah, I know.

“Okay, well, good riddance,” Max snorts. “I’ll be praying for Will. Poor guy.”

“I think it probably helps to actually love the person you give the card to,” El says thoughtfully, which is a pretty good point, and Max honestly doesn’t have much to add to that. She gives another cursory glance over the piles of sickeningly-sweet flower displays, the rows upon rows of stuffed bears that all look exactly alike, and then her eyes land on a discount bag of M&Ms.

“Okay, well, I still want these,” she says as she grabs them. “M&Ms are good no matter the day. You want anything, El?”

El peers around the corner of the aisle, and her face lights up. “Reese’s!” she cheers, then disappears from view. “One second!”

Max sighs, tossing the bag of chocolate up and down in one hand as she waits. She can imagine it now, being one of those poor schmucks at school who get bombarded with tacky cards and flowers that are on the brink of collapse. Just another way to flaunt relationships that are equally on the brink of collapse, probably. No one goes through the motions of over-the-top, elaborate stuff like this unless they’re trying to compensate for something.

She thinks about it, for a fleeting second– being given roses at school. The secondhand embarrassment of it all. A teddy bear that’ll no doubt collect dust on her bookshelf for the next ten years. Cheesy greeting cards– be mine and hugs and kisses and–

“Ready to go?” El pops back into her field of vision, a bright orange package clutched in one hand.

Max blinks. “Yeah,” she says, then firmly banishes any thoughts of cheesy greeting cards from her mind. No, thank you. She’s fine with her discount chocolate– that she got herself, mind you. No consumerist bullshit for her this time. “Yeah, let’s head out. Maybe Mrs. Byers will let us use her employee discount again.”

—-

Max knows something is off the next morning before she even gets in the car.

“You look weird,” she frowns, in lieu of a greeting. “What’s with you?”

Lucas ignores her. “Good mooorning,” he says, long and drawn-out and not nearly as obnoxious as it should be. “Are you ready for today?”

Max slams the passenger door shut behind her and says, “Well, my history presentation is today. So, no.”

“You’re going to crush it,” Lucas says, even though they have different history teachers this year and of course Max got stuck with the nitpicky one. “World War II isn’t going to know what hit it.” He takes the car out of park, backs slowly away from the lot in front of the trailer, and onto the main road. “But come on, that’s not what I mean.”

Max raises her eyebrows. Look, she’s not dumb, okay. It’s February 14th and she’s dating Lucas Sinclair. She knows there’s only one place this conversation is leading to. “Oh yeah? Well, I heard they’re serving chicken nuggets in the cafeteria today,” she says anyway, just to be difficult.

Lucas indulges her. He always indulges her. “Well I’m ready for chicken nugget day,” he says, even though he shouldn’t be, because Max is certain they haven’t used chicken to make them since before Indiana was even a state. He reaches for her hand over the console and says, “You might have to drive me to the hospital after but it’ll be worth it.”

Max bites back a smile and looks out of the window before he can see. “Loser,” she says. It comes out too fond for her to have any hopes about hiding it, and even though the radio is blasting Madonna, she hears him laugh as he squeezes her hand.

She thinks he’s dropped it, or maybe he’s picked up on the hint and hastily canceled whatever it was he’d been planning, but of course, no such luck. “Okay, well,” he says, as they get out of the car and make their way up to the school. “Can I walk you to your locker at least?”

She stops in her tracks. It wouldn’t have been suspicious if he didn’t ask, because he always walks her to her locker before class starts, but now–

“No,” she decides, walking away as fast as her legs will allow. “Don’t you have Calculus to get to?”

He catches up to her easily. “Come on,” he grins, matching her pace effortlessly. “It’s–”

She holds a finger up to his face. “Don’t say it.”

Lucas holds both hands up in surrender. “I didn’t say anything!”

“You’re thinking something! I know it! You’re– you’re scheming and you’re– up to something, I don’t know. Up to no good.”

“Up to no good?” Lucas laughs. “What are you, fifty?”

“Shut up,” she says, and then they’re basically at her locker already, and his grin grows exponentially which leads her to believe that maybe this was the plan all along.

“You should open your locker,” Lucas says, leaning against the adjacent one and clearly trying his hardest to look blasé about the whole thing. “Just saying. Because your books are in there and stuff.”

“If I open this and something jumps out at me,” Max grumbles, spinning the combination lock. “I’m going to–”

She trails off. Stares.

“Um,” Lucas is saying, peering around the open locker door. “You’re going to– what?”

“Kill you,” she whispers, before reaching into her locker and pulling out the biggest fucking bouquet of roses she’s ever seen. “What the hell?”

“Happy Valentine’s Day!” Lucas smiles. There’s something a little nervous about it, like maybe he was worried that she had some deep, lifelong trauma rooted in the holiday and maybe she was about to start crying in the middle of the hallway. “Do you like them?”

She could lie and say no, just to keep up appearances, but that would be mean, probably. “Yeah,” Max says, feeling herself smile before she can help it. “What– how did you get my locker combination?”

Lucas waves a hand dismissively. “Dustin,” he says, like this explains everything. Maybe it does– she doesn’t know. She tries not to keep up with whatever they have going on, because the less she knows the better. “But seriously– do you like?”

“Of course,” Max says softly. They’re pink roses, the real kind, fragrant and fresh and not falling apart at the seams like the flowers that had been shedding all over the Melvald’s floor yesterday. She wonders where he got them. She wonders how much he paid for them. “They’re– how?”

“I have my ways,” and okay, apparently Lucas is a total man of mystery now, and Max does not care enough to find out what his ways are, because–

Oh, these flowers are gorgeous. Like actually, genuinely, mind-blowingly gorgeous.

“You got me flowers,” she says, more to herself than Lucas, like maybe stating this fact as just that– a fact– will make it easier to comprehend.

He got her flowers. A lot of flowers.

Apparently Max Mayfield is, after all, one of the poor schmucks being given flowers at school.

“Well, I figured you’d think the red ones are dumb,” Lucas goes on, blissfully ignorant of the way Max can literally feel her entire face turning hotter than the inside of an oven. “And I know you like red, but they're red roses, which I know you’d think are tacky, so I figured these would be more your speed. More subtle. More– uh. Max?”

She blinks. “Huh?”

“Are you okay?” Lucas frowns, waving a hand in front of her face. “You haven’t blinked in, like, a minute.”

Max is definitely very, very red now. “I’m fine,” she gets out, “it’s just– thank you. These are nice.”

“Oh.” The tension slips away from Lucas’ shoulders, and he stands up a little straighter. Puffs his chest out just a bit, which makes her laugh. “Good. I’m glad.”

“I might just– leave them here for now, though.” She motions to the locker and tucks the flowers back inside. “If that’s okay.”

“Fine by me,” Lucas grins, then slings an easy arm over her shoulder. “Now about your history presentation–”

—-

And Max isn’t stupid, per se, but maybe it wasn’t the smartest of her to assume that it would end there. At lunch, Max is about to resign herself to her fate of a pathetically soggy peanut butter and jelly sandwich, when Lucas’ grinning face pops up in front of her.

“Hey!”

“Jesus Christ,” she gasps, and Mike snickers softly as she jumps.

“No,” Lucas says, pointing at himself. “Lucas.”

Max peels back the cling film around her sandwich with a growing sense of trepidation. “Why are you smiling like that?”

“Oh, no reason,” Lucas says, and so obviously Max does not believe him in the slightest. He’s got both hands behind his back, and Will is next to him stifling a laugh into his hand, and Max doesn’t trust Lucas as is but she especially doesn’t trust him if Will is involved.

“Could someone just tell me–”

Lucas sets a plastic tupperware container in front of her. “Ta-da!”

Max frowns. “What’s this?”

“Well maybe if you opened it,” Mike starts, and then she elbows him and he lets out a sharp, offended gasp. “Ow!”

“Shut up,” she says, peeling off the lid of the box. And then, “Lucas.”

He grins. “Yes?”

What the fuck. Max reaches into the box and pulls out the most perfect cupcake she’s seen in all seventeen years of her existence. “Did you– did you bake me a cupcake?”

Lucas scratches the back of his neck with one hand and says, “It’s from a box mix but. Technically, yes.”

“And it’s–”

“Red velvet!” Lucas announces, and he’s definitely being a little smug about it now, but Max supposes it’s probably deserved, with the way she’s been staring at this thing for the past forty seconds. “Um. Your favorite.”

“I–”

No one’s ever baked her anything before. She figures that no one’s really had any reason to, before Lucas, but that means it’s something that hadn’t even been on her radar of things that you can do for other people until now, which also means that she’s been staring at this damn thing long enough for Mike Wheeler to reach across her and try to scrape some of the frosting off the top.

That spurs her into action. She swats his wrist away. “Hey! Get your own!”

“I don’t have my own,” Mike pouts dejectedly. He looks over at Will. “Can you make me a cupcake?”

Will sets a second tupperware down in front of Mike. “One step ahead of you,” he laughs, “but you ruined the surprise.”

Mike’s mouth drops open, then closes, then opens again, in an excellent impression of a goldfish. “What–”

“Will came over last night,” Lucas announces, and they both have identical grins on their faces now. “While El and Max were off wreaking havoc on the poor city of Hawkins.”

“We went to catch a movie,” El chimes in, shoveling baby carrots into her mouth. “Hawkins is fine.”

“I can’t believe you,” Max hisses, because this is the second time Lucas has made her turn redder than a beetroot today.

Lucas just grins wider. “You love me,” he says, linking their fingers together across the cafeteria table.

“Gross,” Mike gags next to her, and then Will touches a hand to his wrist and he falls blessedly silent.

“You were saying, Wheeler?”

“Oh, shut up.”

—-

Max thought that maybe going home would mean an end to her suffering, but apparently not.

She frowns. Okay, maybe that’s a little dramatic. It’s not like the roses and the desserts and the cheesy greeting card Lucas had pressed into her hands before dropping her off are hurting anybody. She rolls over onto her side in bed, hours later after dinner and homework and when she’s done boiling herself alive in the shower, and stares at the card where she’s propped it up on her desk.

I love you bear-y much, it reads, with the most ridiculous cartoon illustration of a bear behind it. So ridiculous, in fact, that she knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’d totally just picked it out to see the look on her face when he gave it to her. And it must have worked, and she totally gave him exactly the reaction he’d been looking for, because he’d laughed for, like, a solid three minutes after pulling up in front of her place.

“This is so stupid,” she’d said in the car, fighting back a laugh with every molecule in her body, and it’s true– it is stupid, maybe one of the most stupid things she’s ever seen– but suddenly her cheeks hurt and there’s something warm and fuzzy and gross bubbling up inside her chest, and she’s smiling.

“What the hell,” she whispers aloud, horrified, hiding her face in her pillow like there’s anyone around to witness her throwing all sense of morality to the wind and partaking in stupid greeting card traditions.

Clink.

Max sits straight up in bed. There’s a noise from the window, like someone’s tapping on it, but there’s no one there.

She frowns. What? Maybe it was a stray gust of wind, or a tree branch, or–

Clink.

A pebble comes flying at her windowpane, so small that she barely even sees it, then bounces off harmlessly.

“What–”

Lucas Sinclair is standing outside her bedroom window, waving like a maniac. “Hi,” he says, as soon as she gets the window open. “Are you busy?”

“Lucas?” Max looks down at her pajama pants and t-shirt, one she’s had for so long that she’s started to wear holes in it. “No, I was just– what the hell are you doing?”

“Being romantic,” Lucas says simply. “I was going to bring a boombox and blast something cheesy but I figured maybe waking up your mom and the entire community was less romantic and more asshole-y.”

“Asshole-y is not a word,” she says, in a meager attempt at a distraction from the smile breaking across her face. “You could have just knocked. At the front door.”

Lucas makes a face. “But that’s boring. Now are you going to come outside or do I need to climb through your window again?”

“You’re ridiculous,” Max decides, even as she swings one leg through the open window, shaking her head. “You are so ridiculous.”

“You’re laughing,” Lucas says gleefully. Her feet hit the grass and she shivers slightly, the ground gone icy with the February chill.

“Yeah, so?”

“And you’re also cold,” he says, and then he’s shrugging his jacket off and holding it out. It’s his varsity jacket, the one he has on almost every day. She’d never tell him, but she loves wearing it because it’s already a little big on him which means it’s huge on her and maybe the most comfortable thing she’s ever put on.

She accepts the proffered jacket without a fuss, which is maybe out of the ordinary for today, but whatever. “Someone’s being real gentlemanly today.”

“Please. I’m always a gentleman,” and he says it kind of laughingly, but it’s not a joke. Not really. Lucas is the most gentle person she knows, and he brought her flowers and baked her cupcakes and gave her the most stupid card ever, and–

“Thank you,” she says earnestly, tucking the jacket in around herself.

Lucas shuffles his feet on the grass. “I know you’re cold,” he starts, “so I won’t stay too long. I just wanted to see you.”

“You wanted to see me?” Max stares. “You saw me all day at school. And you picked me up and dropped me off and–”

“I meant just you,” Lucas corrects, tugging her arms down from where she’s got them wrapped around herself, twisting their fingers together. “No rush. No first period bell. No basketball practice in the way.”

“I,” Max starts, throat gone completely, embarrassingly dry. God, she’s dating this guy, and she has been for forever, so why the hell is she still getting so flustered? “Really?”

“Uh, yeah?” Lucas says it like a question, like it’s obvious. “And I know Valentine’s Day isn’t your thing because you think it’s totally stupid, which is fine, because you’re kind of right, but– I don’t know. All I could think about all day was how lucky I am to be dating you.”

Jesus Christ. This is not a good look for her. If Mike ever asks, Max kept her composure, and was calm and collected and as totally cool as a cucumber.

“Really?” she squeaks, just a little bit, because the unfortunate reality of the situation is that she is not as cool as a cucumber and is, instead, as warm as– something that’s very warm. “You– really?”

Lucas laughs lightly. “Yes, really,” he says, thankfully ignoring her sudden combustion into a thousand little Max-shaped pieces. “And I’m sorry if the flowers and everything was over the top and they were so cheesy, but I literally just could not help myself.”

Max shakes her head. “No,” she says, warm and fuzzy and so happy that it’s threatening to spill over and out of her entirely. “No, it’s– I loved them,” she admits softly. “I did. They were lame and corny but I loved them. Even the bear card,” she adds, and he laughs again. “But holy shit, Lucas, you gave me so many things.”

“You deserve lots of things,” Lucas says. “Lots of good, corny, cheesy things.”

“I’m going to need you to shut up now,” Max says, then promptly buries her face in his chest. He doesn’t even seem fazed by the impact, solid and steady and unmoving as she wraps her arms around him. “But happy Valentine’s Day, stalker.”

She hears him laugh, somewhere above her. “Happy Valentine’s Day,” he says, and kisses her on top of her head. “I love you.”

#posting this now for the five people that are online #oh i love lumax so much #so disappointed in myself for not writing them before #anyways #lucas sinclair the boyfriend of all time so true #max mayfield the astrobei self insert of all time she's just like me fr #ugh #just let her be spoiled and given good things n made flustered and and and #<333333 #lumax #max mayfield #lucas sinclair #+ a little bit of #el hopper #fic #fun sized fics

122 notes · View notes

narrans · 7 months

Text

A Tall and Small Collection | S2.46 | & Everyone Needs A Little Hero :: Crossover :: True Colors Revealed pt. 5 (Finale)

The next morning was a rough one. The swelling and darkening of Ashlynn’s bruises made all of the boys anxious. She put on a brave face, but she was still very sore and was moving a little slower than she was the day before. After a long shower, she came out to find that Soren and his brothers had prepared some hot tea for her.

It was quite the acrobatic feat, but Soren, Dorian, and Rey had climbed up to the kitchen sink, pulled the rinse hose over to the electric tea kettle, and filled it. Dorian understood how to work the machine and was able to set it to the perfect temperature while Rey flipped up to the cabinet and got her a tea bag.

While they weren’t able to pour the hot water into the mug, they had everything prepped and ready for her.

“You guys,” mumbled Ashlynn, her lip slightly swollen as she looked at the work they had done.

“Next time, I’ll have an invention to do it all for you,” said Rey, who had already pulled out his sketchpad as they all settled in on the couch and was drawing out blueprints for a machine that would actually pour or syphon the hot water into a mug directly from the kettle.

“How are you feeling?” asked Dorian.

“That’s what we’d all like to know.” The family of five glanced over toward the edge of the couch to see Casper and Hero pulling themselves up onto the edge of the couch. Hero’s eyes widened as he was unable to disguise his surprise at seeing Ashlynn’s injuries. Casper maintained his composure, but he also seemed a little unnerved at Ashlynn’s injuries. The look in his eyes held the look of someone who didn’t believe something was possible. Undoubtedly, it hadn’t occurred to him that certain humans could be dangerous to others.

“We?” asked Ashlynn, lowering her voice a bit more than normal to make sure Casper was comfortable.

“The… community. A lot of us heard what happened last night, and the rest of us heard about the aftermath this morning,” stated Casper. “We wanted to make sure you were alright and… to thank you. You didn’t have to defend us the way you did, and if it wasn’t obvious before, it is apparent now that you are an ally.”

Ashlynn smiled as much as she could manage as she nodded. Words escaped her, not that they were needed to understand what she was feeling. Friendship and trust is hard won, and now she had it.

“At any rate, we came to ask if you needed anything from us and if there is anything we can do to help prepare for the move,” offered Casper.

“Yeah! We thought we could help with the boxes and if there are little things we can stitch or rearrange,” chimed in Hero as he glanced at his father and then back to Soren and his family.

“That’s certainly a relief that everyone’s willing to help,” said Soren. “Actually, today was the day Ashlynn was going to get the totes we need to move everyone. She has to go to the hospital first, right? But then she’ll be back with what we need.”

“Yeah, I need to make sure I get the pictures I need to file a proper civil suit against Austin,” said Ashlynn. “But I can get the totes first. There’s a place just down the road. That’ll give you all space to come out of the bedroom and work. Get some supply lists together and I’ll set everything out before I go to the hospital.”

Casper nodded and turned to leave, giving Hero a little pat on his shoulder, before leaving to go back to the bedroom.

Hero looked up at Ashlynn, bright green eyes latching onto the bruises and emotion filling his eyes.

“Are you feeling okay?” asked the teenage Borrower.

“I’ve been better, but thanks for asking,” smiled Ashlynn. “Anyway, I need to get moving if I am getting anything done today. The store shouldn’t be busy now too, so less people staring at my bruises.”

Soren looked up at Ashlynn, eyes beaming. He admired her resilience and her spirit. Even though last night was filled with terror, she was still able to smile. Even if the smile was forced, she was always trying to find a way to help them feel comfortable.

Before he could get her attention, Ashlynn excused herself to go and get changed. Within minutes, she had her purse over her shoulder and was waving good-bye to them, vanishing behind the front door as she headed toward the elevator. Soren thought about calling after her or getting her to wait so they could talk, but Rey stepped forward and tapped Soren on the shoulder to get his attention.

“Soren? I… well… I was wondering if I could go… with Ashlynn I mean. When she goes to the hospital,” said Rey. Soren’s eyes widened as he stared disbelievingly at his younger brother.

“Why on earth do you want to go to the hospital? Your inventive skills would be better served here with the toes,” said Soren. “Plus, it’s dangerous. We don’t know what they’ll need to do at the hospital. What if someone sees you?”

“I know it’s dangerous, but… I think Theo is still at the hospital, and I want to go see him. If Ashlynn is going, I want to make sure I say good-bye to Theo if I’m not going to see him again,” explained Rey, his pale blue eyes shining in the morning light. “I promise I’ll be safe and I’ll be with Ashlynn the whole time. Please, Soren.”

Soren paused and thought about it. He knew being with Ashlynn would keep him safe, but he still felt unnerved. Last night’s events rattled him, and he wanted nothing more than to refuse his brother in the name of keeping him safe.

At the same time, Rey was brave and had proven himself time and again. If there were trials to becoming a man, Rey would have surpassed any expectations with flying colors time and time again. The teen had a determined look in his eyes, and Soren knew that it was time for him to ease up and let his brother make his own decisions.

It made a lump form in Soren’s throat. He imagined what his own father would have said if he saw the man he became, and now he was able to voice that to his brothers.

“If you feel like you need to, then I don’t think I have the right to stop you,” said Soren. “As always, be safe and keep your wits about you. I’ll be here when you get back.”

There was something in Rey and Dorian’s eyes as they looked at their older brother, like an insightful confusion. Did they realize what he was saying? Or were they trying to figure it out.

Whatever the case, the decision was made.

“Well, I’ll get going. I’m going to go get the list from my dad,” chimed in Hero. “I… well… wish Theo the best from me, okay?”

“Wait,” called Rey as Hero made his way to the secure line on the sofa. “You can come with me, if you want. You can ask your dad, but… you can also meet Theo. Last time… didn’t go quite as planned.”

Hero smiled and rolled his shoulders, a thoughtful, toothless grin on his face.

“True, but there are a lot of Borrowers in need of help. I need to do my runs and help them first,” replied Hero. “Maybe I’ll get a chance to meet him one of these days. Until then, I’ll be here to help.”

The boys exchanged nods before Hero slipped off of the edge of the sofa.

For the next twenty or so minutes, Rey fixed up his gear while Soren helped Mayzie get ready for the day and Dorian sat and contemplated some lyrics. He had an idea inspired by the night before, and he wanted to make sure he had everything written down as accurately as possible.

When Ashlynn returned with all of the totes, she set them all out and gathered the supplies everyone would need to make the interior comfortable before turning to leave. Rey’s request to tag along was a bit of a surprise, but his persuasion to say good-bye was something Ashlynn felt like she couldn’t deny.

Promising she would take care of the teenage Borrower boy, the two of them left.

Ashlynn felt a little odd bringing Rey, not Soren, along with her. She knew the teenage boy would listen and pay attention to his surroundings so he wouldn’t be seen, but it didn’t stop her little touch of anxiety as she walked to her car and drove down to the hospital.

Just as the officer told her, she was able to get the necessary pictures and a quick check-up to make sure nothing else was damaged because of her confrontation with Austin the night before.

“You’ll experience some swelling, and it will take some time for the bruises to go away, but that’s only natural. Here’s some topical medication to help with the bruises, and here’s some ointment to help with the swelling. If you need anything else, don’t hesitate to let us know. We’ll make sure your photos get to the police department as soon as possible as well as your attorney when you provide that information,” said the doctor.

“Actually,” said Ashlynn as she glanced over at her purse. When she was waiting, Rey took a second to slip out of her purse and glanced around at all of the machines and cabinets. Now that she was with the doctor, she could barely see the teenage Borrower peering out from behind her wallet as he watched them. “I have a friend who is actually staying here in the hospital. Would it be possible to see if he’s still here or if he was discharged?”

“Sure. What’s his name?” asked the doctor.

“Theodore Wilkins,” said Ashlynn. “I’ve been meaning to come and visit him.”

“Ah, yes,” acknowledged the doctor. “His sister was brought here earlier for a visit. He’s up in room five seventy-two. Make sure to get a visitor’s badge and you’ll be able to see him for a little while. He’s got physical therapy in about thirty minutes.”

“Great, thank you,” Ashlynn said as she snagged her purse and headed to the front desk. She knew Rey must have questions, and Theo would have even more of them, but she had to be quick. They needed to get back.

She filled out the proper paperwork, saying she was a family friend, before she was given a pass and allowed up the elevator to the right floor.

In no time, they were there.

“Let’s go,” Ashlynn breathed before knocking lightly on the slightly ajar door. “Hello? Anyone home?”

“Hello?” replied a voice. Rey was absolutely certain that it was Theo’s voice. Excitement filled him as he felt the bag shift and heard the door click. “Oh… um… sorry, but I think you might have the wrong room.”

“You’re Theo, right?” asked Ashlynn. Rey felt himself getting jittery. How was Theo doing? He hadn’t been able to talk to him after he arrived here at the hospital.

“Um… yeah, but…”

“Then I’m in the right room,” said Ashlynn. “We have a friend in common, I think. You know Rey, right?” Rey heard the door shut behind them and saw Ashlynn’s hand rest parallel to the top of her purse.

It was his cue.

Rey pushed himself up using Ashlynn’s wallet and snagged the top of the purse. He lifted himself out onto Ashlynn’s hand. Sure enough, there was Theo. He was sitting up in bed and his eyes were wide with surprise. He had his blanket over his legs and thankfully was only hooked up to a heart monitoring machine.

“Rey?!” said Theo in absolute disbelief. He pushed himself up further in the bed and glanced from between Ashlynn to Rey. “Wait, you’re Ashlynn, right? The woman who helped get in contact with the family friends who are looking after Bells.”

“Yeah, that’s me,” smiled Ashlynn. “I happened to be in the area and Rey here said he wanted to see you. I can’t necessarily leave, but I’m just going to be over here looking out the window while you two have a little chat. Okay?”

With that, Ashlynn stepped closer to the bed and gently set the back of her hand against the sheets. Rey noticed the closer they got that something looked a bit off in the way Theo looked. He was a little bit paler, sure, but something just didn’t seem right. Rey looked across the sheets and saw how the blankets were arranged.

“Rey! It’s so good to see you, man,” said Theo as he readjusted again and stared down at Rey. The Borrower teen decided he would just ask Theo about it later. It was probably a trick of the eyes anyway.

“Same to you. How are you feeling? What actually happened after they took you? What were you sick with?” asked Rey.

“Oh, that.” Something in Theo’s tone changed subtly as he looked between Rey and where his blankets were bundled up. “Well, the doctors told me it was sepsis. Apparently when dad got angry and started throwing those nasty bottles at my wheelchair, I got cut pretty badly by the broken glass. Since I don’t really have feeling in my legs, I didn’t really notice anything except for the cuts.

“I got that all cleaned up, but it was more serious than I thought. The infection spread into a whole blood thing and… well… they ended up having to… well….” Theo pulled down the blankets to reveal the bandages on his legs and how they abruptly ended at his knees. Rey looked in shock at the sight.

“What… what happened?” he asked as he looked up at his friend.

“Amputated. It makes sense since I can’t use them, but it’s still a shock,” muttered Theo. “I have physical therapy which actually seems to be helping. Whatever they did during the operation apparently stimulated something in my spine and now… well… watch this.”

Theo concentrated and his leg lifted ever so slightly. He breathed deeply and did it once again, and this time it was a little higher.

“Woah, that’s great!” breathed Rey. “So, you might actually be able to walk again?”

“Maybe,” smiled Theo. “It’s a huge motivator at least. Also, making sure Bells is taken care of. Now that I’m eighteen, I have full custody over her. Dad’s furious, but thankfully my friends were able to go and snag my stuff from the apartment before he had the chance to throw it all away.”

“That’s a relief, especially for your business and stuff. Your inventions were in there,” Rey stated.

“Yeah, you’re telling me,” sighed Theo. “The only thing now is finding a place to live with decent rent and easy access for my wheelchair while I do this whole physical therapy thing.”

Rey couldn’t believe it. Theo was finally out of that house, but now he had nowhere to go.

“Anyway, what’s new with you?” asked Theo. “How have you all been? Any new inventions you need to bounce around?”

“Well, you’re not going to believe this,” said Rey. He then told Theo about the events of last night. He told him about how the community was found and how Austin had found them. He told him about how Ashlynn managed to fight off Austin and how they were all currently in the process of moving out of the apartment complex and into a home – a real home.

“You’ve got to be excited!” grinned Theo. “Seriously, that’s exciting for you. Hey, maybe, if Ashlynn says it’s okay, we could come and visit you. I mean, Bells wouldn’t need to see you, but I could… maybe.”

Then, right then, Rey had an idea. He had kept his apprehensions and desires to stay for the sake of his friends a secret up until that point, telling only Hero that he felt like staying. Now that the community was moving and Hero was coming with them, why couldn’t Theo do the same thing?

Spinning on his heel, he whipped around to see Ashlynn looking out the window.

“Ashlynn! Can I ask you something really quick?” shouted Rey. “I just had an idea. Please?”

Ashlynn, who was enjoying the sunshine and the view, looked at the Borrower teen curiously and approached, kneeling to better see Rey.

“What is it?” she asked. Then, in a lower voice, Rey brought his sudden idea.

“Ashlynn, I just had a thought. Do… well… do you think Theo could come and live with us?” asked Rey quietly so that Theo, who was sitting nearby, couldn’t really hear. Ashlynn’s brows furrowed in concern as she glanced at the young adult boy and then back to her small companion.

“Rey…”

“Ashlynn, he needs a place to live. He knows the secret and can just live downstairs in the basement. It has that wheelchair ramp, and no one would have to know about us Borrowers. We can live in the attic and on the main floor,” argued Rey. “Just, think about it? Theo is my friend, and he is a good guy. Plus, he’s an inventor. He’s going to start up his business and it would be a great place for us to work together. We could be partners making things for Borrowers.”

Ashlynn glanced at Theo and then back to Rey. Theo stared at them curiously, but didn’t dare interrupt. Something about Rey’s plea seemed to resonate with Ashlynn. Memories of needing a home flashed through her mind before she was back looking at Rey.

“Theo? You told Rey you needed a place to live. How about you and I exchange numbers and talk about some options, yeah?” asked Ashlynn. The boys exchanged excited glances and Theo nodded.

“Y-yeah, absolutely. Do you know of a place? Are you subletting your apartment? I promise I can pay my own way,” said Theo.

“Like I said, let’s talk about options,” restated Ashlynn as she gave Rey a subtle bump on his shoulder with her index finger. As Ashlynn scribbled down her number and Theo wrote down his, they all nearly jumped out of their skin as there was a knock at the door before it swung open.

Rey, thinking fast, leapt into Ashlynn’s purse which was on her hip as the nurse came in.

“Sorry, but we have to take Mr. Wilkins. Visiting hours resume first thing tomorrow morning,” said the nurse.

“Sure thing. Well, Theo, we’ll be in touch,” said Ashlynn as she glanced down at Rey, who gave her a thumbs-up, before the two of them headed out of the room.

“Talk to you soon!” Theo called as Ashlynn and Rey departed.

The drive back was filled with discussion about whether or not Theo should be invited to live with Ashlynn and the whole Borrower community. Rey put up a fair argument that the basement could be segmented off and that Theo and Bella, his little sister, wouldn’t need to be in contact with the rest of the family. It would give them a variety of borrowings and it would let Rey have an inventive friend nearby.

Ashlynn wanted to help Rey’s friend, but she ultimately ended up compromising in that the community would also have to agree or, at the very least, be informed before they let someone new into their inner circle.

It was the least that could be done.

With that agreement, Rey decided he would be the one to take it to the others in the community, letting them know another human who knew about Borrower existence would be staying with them.

At least, he would let them know after the move. There was a lot to consider, and now was not the time for this discussion.

When they arrived home, Ashlynn knocked and gave the Borrowers inside plenty of time to hide or get back under cover. When she and Rey entered, however, she found that wasn’t the case. Many of them did hide, but some stayed and were still working as they fixed the boxes in preparation for their move.

It was an odd sensation, seeing other Borrowers out and about in her apartment, but it felt like a step in the right direction.

It was a demonstration of trust and the beginning of a new union between the Borrower community and humans.

~~~^*^*^~~~

When evening came, many of the Borrowers were already settled inside Ashlynn’s room. Ashlynn once again was resigned to the couch, but that was going to be alright. The next day, moving began.

Hero and the other Rafters spread the word that the Borrowers were going to move into the home first. It would give them time to settle in and claim different areas of the house. Based on their discussions, the Borrowers would most likely take the attic so they would have easy access to the roof and the doors and panels that were loose that Soren and his brothers found when they were visiting the house.

All in the home slipped into a deep, uninterrupted sleep; everyone, that is, except for Soren.

After the recent events, he knew he needed to do it. It was nerve wracking, but he knew what Ashlynn would say.

The original plan was far more elegant, but this new plan hatched in the darkness of twilight was more him – more them.

The next morning was the big day. Borrower families carefully and quietly filed into the boxes which were disguised from the outside with clothes Ashlynn wasn’t wearing or bits of paper and books that wouldn’t shift around.

“I’ll make sure to move slowly and give a warning before I lift the boxes or anything. It’s not that far, okay?” said Ashlynn as she looked at the totes in front of her door. She knew she was talking to the Borrowers inside, but it still felt odd talking out loud to what looked like five long boxes of clothes and supplies.

Ashlynn went over the checklist in her head once again. Keys. Wallet. Phone. New house keys. Bag of supplies to help everyone get started. Food. Building materials. Last thing was to check and make sure the boys and Mayzie were tucked away in the crates or her bag and they would be ready to go.

Ashlynn looked over and saw both Dorian and Rey resting on the edge of her purse which was on the table. The only two faces she didn’t see were Soren and Mayzie, but it wasn’t hard to figure out where they were.

Soren was standing on the coffee table next to the couch with Mayzie, a thoughtful smile on his face as he held his daughter.

“Hey, ready to go?” asked Ashlynn as she walked over and knelt, offering her hand for Soren to step on.

“Actually, Mayzie is about ready for her nap. If she doesn’t sleep, she’s going to get cranky. I might just hang back and let you all go,” said Soren. Ashlynn glanced over at Mayzie, who was indeed drooping over his shoulder. Still, Ashlynn was a little confused. Mayzie wasn’t usually cranky and was very good at sleeping anywhere at any time. Moving into this apartment last time wasn’t an ordeal, so why would now be?

Ashlynn sighed, knowing Soren probably had his reasons and just wanted some alone time, and gave him a thoughtful tap on his shoulder.

“Well, get some rest in yourself. You look a bit tired,” said Ashlynn.

“Speak for yourself,” Soren teased right back. Ashlynn knew she had to look like a wreck with her bruises.

“Ha ha Mr. Beauty Sleeper. We’ll see you when we get back then,” said Ashlynn. She leaned down and gave Soren a kiss before snagging her purse, Rey and Dorian slipping into position, before Ashlynn carefully moved the long, thin boxes out of her apartment.

The moment the door locked and Soren heard Ashlynn walking away, he moved quickly. He knew everything always took more time than what was anticipated, and he needed to make this as perfect as he could.

~~~^*^*^~~~

Ashlynn’s delivery went off without a hitch. Sure, there was a bit of unnerved silence from the back seat as she drove and made conversation with Dorian and Rey, but it dissipated once they were inside Ashlynn’s new home.

She set out all of the boxes and made sure the curtains were up before giving the knock signal to show the Borrowers they were alright.

“Okay, I plan on being back tomorrow afternoon for lunch and to bring over some more things. Take a look around and enjoy the place. I will ask that you don’t use any open flames. I have hand warmers, bread, cheese, and other sandwich making material. There are other materials like fabric for blankets, blades, and pins as well as flashlights and batteries. Enjoy your evening and I’ll be back tomorrow. Thanks,” said Ashlynn as she departed.

When she made it back in her car, she glanced down at Dorian and Rey who had poked their heads out of her purse. The two of them had been instrumental in getting everyone settled, and they looked reassuringly at Ashlynn.

“Don’t worry, they’ll be alright. We Borrowers aren’t prone to setting fires without the utmost caution. If anyone does start a fire, they won’t set your place on fire,” said Dorian. Ashlynn sighed and looked up at the ceiling of her car.

“Easy for you to say. At the very least, I hope insurance will cover anything if it happens,” muttered Ashlynn, who knew she would be on the hook if anything were to go awry with the place they were about to call home.

On the drive back, Rey asked about insurance and what it actually was. Ashlynn had a bit of a trick trying to explain what it was and what it was supposed to do, but she thought she did a good enough job in the end.

They pulled into the parking garage and, with the boys secure, pulled her purse over her shoulder and headed back into the building. The apartment complex was aglow with the light of the setting sun. It was promising to be a beautiful sunset, and it was almost a shame to go inside instead of stopping and watching the sunset.

Ashlynn decided she’d watch it once she brought the boys inside so they could fill in Soren. Next task was making her bed back and then getting dinner started before packing.

The list of things to do was running rampant in Ashlynn’s head, and it continued to do so all the way up the elevator and into her apartment.

Ashlynn walked two steps into her home, carefully setting her purse down so Rey and Dorian could climb out, when she noticed something on the main table.

It was a lit candle, and next to the candle was Soren. He was wearing something different than before. It wasn’t his usual brown pants and green shirt outfit. Instead, it was a white shirt and what looked like dark navy pants.

How long had Soren been working on this?

Ashlynn glanced around and noticed Mayzie was asleep on the nearby couch, but Soren looked presentable. Even his hair was slicked back.

“Soren? What’s up? Decide to get spiffy tonight?” asked Ashlynn. From her purse, she heard two faint giggles, and that’s when she knew the two Borrower teens had an idea of what was going on.

“Ashlynn, I… you look lovely tonight,” he said. His eyes were shining with adoration.

Curiously and cautiously, Ashlynn approached the table and knelt.

“Soren, what is all of this about?” Ashlynn asked as she placed her hand on the table. Soren, obviously nervous, stepped forward. His heart was pounding a million miles a minute, but something was keeping him motivated. He wasn’t shying away from whatever it was that he was nervous about.

“Ashlynn, I… I don’t think I ever told you how much you mean to me. From the moment we met to now, I don’t think I ever say enough how wonderful you really are,” said Soren. He looked down and then looked back up into Ashlynn’s blue-gray eyes. “I know we had a rough start, and everything after that has been a whirlwind adventure, but I wouldn’t change it for the world.

“When you told me how you felt, when you thought I was asleep or that I couldn’t hear you, I didn’t think I could be that happy again. I thought my heart was full once, and that the damage it endured would leave me part of what I was; but, when you came back, that all changed,” said Soren. Ashlynn’s eyes widened as she watched Soren step away back behind the candle and bring out something wrapped in tissue paper.

“Soren,” Ashlynn breathed.

“It’s different, but so are we and everything else we’ve done together – and I wouldn’t have it any other way. Taking the next steps forward, I… I want to do that with you…”

Soren kneeled and held out the circular tissue wrapped object. Absolutely choked on emotion, Ashlynn dared to reach forward to pinch the object and lift it from Soren’s hands. He kept his eyes averted and, to her, looked like a kneeling knight.

That’s what he was to her. A knight in shining armor who saved her in more ways than one.

Fingers trembling, Ashlynn unwrapped the object and gasped softly as a beautiful ring was revealed.

“Soren.” Ashlynn was at a complete loss of words. Everything in her was buzzing, electrified with the energy of the moment.

“Ashlynn, would you marry me?”

Speed couldn’t comprehend how quickly Ashlynn moved as she leaned forward and tackled Soren, kissing him as she pressed him into her cupped palm which was instantaneously right behind him. They remained unparted for countless moments before Ashlynn pulled away, tears of joy streaming down her face.

“Yes! Absolutely, yes,” she said over and over as she carefully maneuvered the ring onto her finger while keeping Soren cupped in her hand. She lifted Soren up and the two of them touched foreheads, Soren tilting his head back ever so slightly to kiss her, before letting it all sink in.

It was official – they chose to be bound forever.

The evening was blissful and filled with discussions and dreams of the future. Rey and Dorian, grinning from ear to ear, gave Soren and Ashlynn the night off from watching Mayzie as they decided to watch movies after dinner. Whatever the future was going to bring, they knew they could do it together. The sun would rise on them tomorrow, and with it a new future.

~~~~~^*^*^*^*^~~~~~

::_____::

A Tall and Small Collection

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A Tall and Small Collection | Soren

ASK ME ANYTHING

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Everyone Needs a Little Hero

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ASK ME ANYTHING

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lexosaurus · 2 years

Text

Emergency Contact: Part 4

read on: [ao3] [ffn]

Also check out the incredible art for this chapter by @ravenatural-art

Characters: Lancer & Phantom Tags: Hurt/Comfort, found family WC: 5219 Summary: When William Lancer answered the phone that day, little did he know that he would go from an average literature teacher and cat-dad to now the emergency foster parent of a very injured teenage ghost.

Part: [1] [2] [3]

— — —

“Really? Again?” Phantom said.

“Yes, we need to make sure the dough won’t crack.”

Phantom held up his sheet of misshapen pasta dough. “Why? Isn’t this soft enough? Look, no cracks!”

William raised an eyebrow, putting down the fork he had been using to stir the spinach into his ricotta cheese and egg mixture. He leaned over and pinched the dough with his fingers. “Fold it in one more time and then you can adjust the setting on the pasta machine.”

“Yes, Chef Lancer!” Phantom rolled his eyes but nonetheless complied with William’s harsh demands.

“What’s wrong?” William teased. “I thought you said you knew how to cook.”

“Yeah, like, regular pasta! You know, the kind that comes in a box!”

“Fresh pasta is always better.”

“And more annoying.”

“Oh, come now, it’s not that hard.”

“I still don’t see why we couldn’t have just used the box stuff.”

William would never admit that he had spent the morning scrolling through adoptive and foster parent forums looking for bonding activities he could do with Phantom now that the child had healed enough to walk around freely.

“I’ve found success in cooking with new foster kids. Especially more hands-on dishes like homemade pasta. It allows us some time to get comfortable with each other, it’s fun, and it gives us a tasty reward!”

Well, if VioletsRed432 said it worked for her, then of course William immediately went to the grocery store for the necessary ingredients.

“It builds character. And it tastes good. You’ll see.”

Phantom turned the dial on the pasta machine, narrowing the opening for the dough to travel through.

“So, other than boxed pasta, what sorts of things do you like to cook?” William asked.

“I don’t know. It was always sort of a necessity for us. My um—my parents weren’t very good cooks. My…sister was the one who cooked for us most of the time.”

William kept his gaze fixed on the mixture in his bowl. It was the first time Phantom had offered any sort of information about his past, and like Dante’s Inferno was he going to ruin it.

“Well, in that case, what sorts of things did she make you?”

“Um…easy stuff. You know, like pasta, chicken, rice. That sort of thing. She…she was always really into ‘healthy adolescent development,’ or whatever you call it. She wanted to make sure I got all my nutrients.” The corner of Phantom’s lip quirked up. “Not that it really mattered. But she was nice like that.”

William wondered if she had also died along with his parents. Maybe their family had been in an accident of some nature?

Why else would Phantom avoid them? Why have William come to the hospital instead of his sister?

Although…now that he thought of it, it wasn’t like there were many people who reported corporal, deceased relatives visiting after the funeral. Maybe it was somewhat of a taboo for ghosts higher on the ectoplasmic scale to go back to living relatives, then?

Not for the first time, William wished there were some more prominent ghost experts on the field who had more amicable one-on-one interaction with the ghosts outside of their captivity. Though he had been digging through papers since the beginning of Phantom’s tenure at his residence, he had hardly gathered any useful information. Maybe he would just have to begrudgingly accept his role as the new pioneer in ectoplasmic adolescent psychology.

Him, Mr. Lancer. A high school literature teacher.

Wasn’t that a depressing thought?

“Your sister sounded like a very kind person,” he said, attempting his venture into uncharted waters.

Fortunately, unlike what the “expert” papers suggested, Phantom didn’t explode into a violent light-show at the mere prod into his past.

“She was…is, I don’t know.”

William knew he failed to hide his reaction at that. But just as he had opened his mouth to say more, Phantom’s head jerked up.

“Car.” Phantom pointed to the window where a black Chevy had pulled into the driveway. “You sure it’s ok that I’m out here?”

“Absolutely. As I’ve said before, Laura already knows that you’re staying here with me. If she wanted to turn you over to the government, she would have done it two weeks ago.”

“Okay.” Phantom exhaled a long breath. “Okay, got it.”

William set his fork down and made for the door. As always, he could hear Laura before he could see her.

“Jesus, Will, you feeding your chrysanthemums steroids or something?” Laura yelled from his walkway.

William opened the door, a smile involuntarily adorning his lips. “Laura, always a pleasure.”

She stepped through the threshold and peeled off her jean jacket to reveal a plaid shirt underneath. “Seriously though, how the hell are you getting your flowers to look like that? Mine keep dying on me.”

“Irrigation is a marvelous work of science.”

“Maybe I’ll try that next year.” She set her jacket on a coat hanger in the closet and kicked off her shoes as if she were in her own home. And well, she may as well have been. For the past twenty years, she had been a constant in William’s life. Their friendship may have begun with fast food and movie nights in William’s first dingy apartment, but through the years they had grown thicker than thieves, as Laura’s wife Cassandra put it.

“So…” She started in an attempt to lower her voice. Although, even she had once admitted that the skill of an ‘indoor voice’ was something she may never master.

“He’s in the kitchen,” William finished quickly.

“Got it!” Laura welcomed herself into the house. “Something smells good in here!”

There was a clatter from the kitchen, and William hurried over to see a flustered Danny Phantom hurriedly picking up a few utensils from the floor.

“Sorry! Sorry,” he said. “I—uh—my bad.”

Laura, who was no stranger to nervous teens, didn’t hesitate to move over to the mixing bowl. “Wow, you're making fresh ravioli? Gourmet cooking!”

Phantom stood back up, awkwardly straightening out his oversized hoodie. He glanced between William and Laura as if they’d each grown a second head. “Yeah. Uh, glad to impress?”

“I hope Will isn’t giving you too hard of a time in the kitchen. He can be such a tyrant!”

“Oh please.” William plucked the now-dirty utensils out of Phantom’s hand and plopped them in the sink. “You can hardly say that with a straight face.”

“Ha! You know I love to tease.”

“Well, I believe introductions are in order. Laura, this is Phantom. Phantom, Laura. Although, you may know her better as Ms. Tetslaff.”

“Oh, he needs no introduction.” Turning to Phantom, she said, “I see you enough meandering in our halls!”

If it was even possible, Phantom’s cheeks burned an even brighter shade of green. “Oh—uh—” he spluttered.

Laura tilted her head back and laughed, her voice booming in William’s quiet home. “Will, I like this one!”

“Glad to hear as much. As you can see, we’re not quite done here. Would you like to help us fill the pasta?”

“Happily!” Laura grabbed the sheet of dough from the table. “Nice and soft! Perfectly done.”

Like a spell, the awkwardness snapped from Phantom’s face, replaced with his teenage indignation. “That’s what I’ve been saying! But no, Lancer said it needed to be worked more!”

“Did I not give you the okay to roll it thin?”

“Yeah but that was after like twenty thousand other times folding and cranking it through your rusted machine!”

“Oh, and which one of us has cooked pasta before?” William asked. “You? No? That’s what I thought.”

Phantom rolled his eyes so hard, William thought they would disappear straight into his skull.

Laura barked another laugh. “Teenagers! Always in a hurry, huh?”

“You’re telling me.”

As if to prove William’s point, Phantom threw his hands in the air and huffed, “Whatever!”

Even with Phantom’s outward indifference, when it came time to fill and seal the raviolis, William couldn’t help but notice Phantom’s eyebrows knitting in concentration as he perfectly spaced out his fork imprints around the edges. When he and Laura held a competition to see who could make the most immaculate ravioli, William noted the way Phantom’s eyes lit up with pride as he presented his pasta, the way he flashed his teeth in a wide smile when he won, the way his aura brightened and his feet left the ground.

Phantom was finally setting in. And all it took was a dinner night with his old gym teacher.

“Alright now cooking them is actually quite fast. The tricky part is being gentle with them so they don’t burst. Would you like to try it for me?” William hovered in front of the pot of boiling water, offering Phantom the ladle.

It was fascinating how the same teenager who jumped straight into battle against ghosts twice his stature was so quick to cower away from a mere ladle.

“No, it’s fine. You can do it.”

“Suit yourself.”

“So Phantom, or should I call you by your first name?” Laura asked, leaning against the counter.

Phantom rubbed the back of his neck. “Oh—um, you can call me Danny.”

“Alright, Danny. So what do you do for fun around here? You know, when you’re not out catching ghosts?”

“Um…” Phantom’s eyes flickered over to Lancer. “I don’t know. Normal things I think. Like watching movies and playing video games.”

“Another gamer? You know, Will here is a bit of a gamer too!”

William’s cheeks heated up. “Laura, I’m hardly—”

“He’s lying. He plays Doomed like every weekend.”

Phantom’s eyes bugged out. “Seriously?”

William sighed. “Yes, although I know it is hard to believe, teachers do in fact have hobbies too.”

Laura failed to stifle her chuckle. That conniving little…

“I love that game.”

William nearly dropped his ladle into the pot of boiling pasta.

“My friends and I play it all the time. I’ve been stuck on level nine forever. One of my friends is really good at the game. She apparently joined just to troll me and this other guy—she’s crazy good at video games—and then ended up getting hooked on it.”

“Great, now I’ve got two nerds in my vicinity!”

But William could hardly pay attention to Laura’s friendly moaning because something tight in his gut had begun to unravel. And then he realized what it was.

It was that little barrier separating William from Phantom. That thick wall Phantom had constructed so perfectly to give others the semblance of his personality without actually revealing anything.

But here it was: another facet of Phantom’s true interests outside of ghost hunting. A taste as to what was behind that glowing aura.

And William was ecstatic.

Phantom had mentioned enjoying space and astronomy. And while William had secretly checked out a book on his Libby app regarding the history of NASA and was planning on getting to it this weekend when he had downtime, this was perfect. This was an interest he knew about, something he could hold a conversation in.

And so he couldn’t help himself. “I have six of the seven keys.”

He couldn’t help but laugh at the way Phantom’s jaw dropped.

“I’m sorry, you what?” Phantom exclaimed.

“It’s true,” William said, spooning the ravioli out of the water. “I’m on level thirteen. Just need to beat this to get the seventh key and then I can beat the game.”

“You what?!”

“Oh no, Will, you’ve broken the kid!”

And William stood there, his facial skills acquired from years of working in education fully invoked as he gazed innocently over to the boy who’s shock was still mounting. His eyes sparkled as he stared at William with awe and wonder. And maybe this was a trick of the light, but William could have sworn his aura was glowing just a little bit brighter.

Phantom’s mouth moved soundlessly before finally letting out a, “But how?”

“As I said., teachers have hobbies outside of school.”

“Yeah but Doomed?” Phantom’s legs formed a tail as he snapped over to William, hovering behind as he finished putting the cooked pasta in a bowl. “I figured you’d be into something like knitting or whatever English teachers do when they’re not reading.”

“Kid, you are too funny!” Laura said.

“I don’t know!” Phantom’s face flushed green. “I just never figured you’d play video games!”

“Phantom, I assure you that I’ve been playing video games since before you were born.”

“Clearly! Freaking level thirteen—dude!”

William didn’t think he’d ever get tired of seeing that boyish wonder in the child’s face. “We can play together sometime. I’ll show you all my tricks.”

If possible, Phantom’s eyes grew even wider at that.

“I don’t think he wants to,” Laura quipped. “Sounds like he’d rather spend the day with my class reliving his teenage memories of running the mile—”

“Gross, don’t even joke about that!” Phantom said, although his words had little bite to them. He grabbed an empty plate and began serving himself.

It was nice to see, for once, the boy acting comfortable enough to get food in William’s home without a second thought.

“Coming from a dead person, those tests are torture.”

Laura followed Phantom’s lead, taking her own plate and scooping pasta and salad onto it. “Not much of a runner, are you?”

“Flying’s a lot more fun.”

“How does that all work?” Laura asked.

William hadn’t breached into too much of the ghost-biology territory so as not to scare Phantom off, but he had to admit he was curious as well.

Phantom’s tail morphed back into legs and he settled down in his seat. “What do you mean?”

“Well, that, for one. Flying and everything. How does that work?” Laura asked.

“Oh…” Phantom tilted his head. “Flying? I don’t really know. I just sort of do it. I think it’s an ectoplasm thing. I don’t know enough about science or ectobiology to know for sure. But I’m sure there’s some paper or something out there that explains it.”

“I wonder if the Fentons have something,” Laura mused.

William couldn’t help but notice the way Phantom stiffened at the mention of their name.

“Probably,” he said, forcing his eyes away from Phantom as he sat down in his own chair. “But there must also be scientists in the Ghost Zone, right?”

Phantom relaxed once again. “Yeah! Actually, I’m friends with one. This guy Frostbite? You wouldn’t have heard of him. He stays in the Zone.”

The name Frostbite rang a bell, but William couldn’t place where he’d heard it from.

“He’s a scientist ghost?” Laura asked.

Phantom took a bite out of his pasta, and his eyes immediately lit up. He took his time swallowing before he answered, “Sort of. He’s the leader of one of the Zone’s ghost civilization islands—I don’t really know what to call them. It’s a bunch of yetis, basically. Their whole thing is science, though. They’re really cool. I stay with them a lot when I’m in the Zone.”

Now that was curious wording. Based on how happily Phantom spoke of this ghost, it didn’t seem like he was the source of Phantom’s lacerations.

So then why hadn’t Phantom gone to him? If he wasn’t home—a place where Phantom could no longer go—then why had Phantom stayed with William instead?

Unless…

Unless this Frostbite character was too far. Unless Phantom’s home was on Earth. Unless Phantom didn’t have a home in the Ghost Zone.

And the realization hit William like a train because now it seemed only too obvious how often Phantom was spotted in the human world, why he was so protective over Amity Park, how he ended up in Amity General Hospital at all.

It was because Phantom lived here. In Amity Park.

His home was in Amity.

So then where the hell was Phantom living? Who was he with? Were they humans? Were they other ghosts?

How did he get so hurt?

Thankfully, it didn’t seem that Phantom nor Laura had picked up on the whirlwind of thoughts running through Wiliam’s brain. They both sat at the table now talking animatedly about other facets of the Ghost Zone, seemingly oblivious to William’s existence. And this was perfect because William suddenly felt faint.

He tried to think back to the few articles about ghost sociology and psychology he’d stumbled across over the years, but he couldn’t remember anything about powerful ghosts habiting the Earth. He remembered reading about weaker ones—usually, they were so weak that they could only be detected via ectoplasmic scanners.

So to hear Phantom imply that he, a stronger ghost who could easily have his own nook in the Ghost Zone, actually resided in Amity Park? Well, that was unprecedented.

He wondered if that was part of the reason why Phantom seemed to tense whenever the Fentons were mentioned. Maybe they suspected so much and had been trying to track down Phantom’s home? Maybe they had already found it?

William wished he had a way of asking. Although with the current state of that family and the CPS calls that he was going to place if he didn’t get a response to his latest email, he didn’t think he would be in their good graces for too much longer.

Well, maybe at the rate he and Phantom’s friendship had been blooming, he might get an answer from the source himself.

But not today. Not right now.

“...so that’s why Amity’s such a hotspot for ecto-activity?” Laura was asking, a piece of ravioli dangling off her fork.

Phantom nodded, his face sunnier than William had seen him in a long time. His freckles glowed, dotting his skin like constellations, and a small fang poked out of his grin.

“Will it move? The point where the two dimensions touch?”

“I don’t know,” Phantom said. “I don’t think it’s always entirely linear, either. The GZ’s made of ectoplasm, and I don’t understand the physics behind it at all. I grew up on human physics, not ghost physics. Like, Frostbite’s people are also time travelers. They usually don’t take other ghosts along with them, but I went with them once and learned that Ancient Greece used to be a hotspot for ecto-activity.”

“Maybe the humans need to start teaching about ecto-physics,” William mused, rejoining the conversation.

“Well, you should tell some of your academic people to get on that!” Phantom said.

“Maybe the Fentons should do that lecture on ectology,” Laura said. “I know the administration’s been talking about it for a while.”

William tried to make his glance over to Phantom not seem too obvious. “Considering their assembly on ghost safety ended up with a student drenched in ectoplasm and the fire alarm pulled, I don’t think the PTA will approve of that so soon. But others in the field are experts too. We might be able to pull one of them in.”

“I can vet them!” Phantom cut in. Then sheepishly, he rubbed his neck and added, “You know, if you want.”

William could have sworn he recognized that little shy quirk from somewhere. But whatever was on the tip of his tongue refused to come out.

“There’s no better vet for a qualified ectologist than a ghost.” William offered him a thumbs up.

Phantom beamed then turned his attention back to his nearly finished plate of food, eating with more gusto than William had seen from him.

And thank goodness for that. He may not have been an expert on ghost biology, but it was plainly obvious that Phantom needed the calories.

“There’s plenty more if you’d like. Help yourself.”

“Don’t mind if I do.” Laura grabbed her now-empty plate and stood. “This meal is delicious! Who knew you would make such a good sous-chef, Phantom?”

Phantom blushed that adorable bright green. He ducked his head before peering up at William, a soft smile on his lips. “Thanks. You know…for everything.”

“Of course.” William wasn’t sure if he failed to hide the warmth that overtook him to his core. “My home is yours, okay?”

“Yeah.” Phantom’s eyes turned glassy, and he hid under his bangs. “Still, thanks.”

— — —

The telltale sound of crackling ectoplasm came first. Danny sprang up, hairs on his neck commanding attention before the shuddering breath of his ghost sense left his lungs.

“Hiding, are we?” a sultry sweet voice said, stepping out from the portal.

Despite the burning in his chest, Danny whipped into a snarling defensive stance without a flinch.

Plasmius’ eyes swept over him, his lips curling into a signature smirk. “Or are you ever planning on leaving this dreadful place?”

Danny wanted to snap at Vlad, tell him to shut the hell up and get out. But his mind was moving a hundred miles a minute and all he could blurt out was, “How did you know?”

“You’re going to have to be slightly more specific, Little Badger,” Plasmius purred.

“How did you know I was here? Do—do my parents know?”

“Your parents seem to be rather…occupied at the moment, dear.” Plasmius tutted, then made a grandiose show of floating over to one of Lancer’s many bookcases and leafing through the titles.

Danny's hands dropped to his side and curled into a fist. He so badly yearned to punch Vlad in his stupid, ugly face, but he resisted.

“Their poor son was so viciously killed by a ghost who then took his place, you see. How dreadful! What a horrible, horrible creature that ghost must be, hmm?”

His fists tightened. “Shut up, Vlad. I don’t want to hear it.”

“Oh, you don’t?” Vlad turned back to face Danny, his expression morphing into faux sympathy that melted back into amusement a second later. “But I haven’t even gotten to the good part, where they strapped that horrible ghost down to a table and—”

The blast left Danny’s hand before he could stop himself.

Fortunately, Vlad had the reaction time to absorb it with a shield before it could scorch any of Lancer’s books.

“Careful! We wouldn’t want to hurt this gracious teacher’s home, not after he’s been so kind to nurse you back to health! After all, what do you think the man would do if you dared hurt his…” Vlad plucked a book out of the shelf. “His signed copy of The Kite Runner! Daniel, you savage creature!”

“Shut UP!” Ice crawled up his sleeve. “If you just came here to be a dick, then you can fucking leave already. You have no idea what happened, so just fuck off, Plamius.”

“Oh Daniel, I may not have been there, but it doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to know how dear Maddie and that bumbling idiot ended up in the emergency room. Nor you, actually. How’s the chest?”

Rage shook through his body, and on instinct, he hugged his arms into his torso. “I’m not telling you anything.”

“Oh trust me, my dear boy, I know everything.” Vlad gave him a scalding grin before turning back to the bookshelf. “My, my! This is certainly an impressive collection. An original printing of Crime and Punishment? That’s quite impressive indeed.”

“Did you really just come here to make fun of me?”

“No, though that’s always such a delectable treat. No wonder Miss Spectra loves you so much.”

A wave of nausea rolled over Danny, and he shrunk in on himself. “Stop feeding off me, you creep.”

Vlad snapped the book shut. “Then stop being such a blaring beacon of a restless spirit, child. Do you even understand how easy it was to find you? I’ve known you’ve been here for days now.”

“Because you’re a fucking creep who tracks me!”

“I was hardly trying! You, on the other hand, obviously have no regard for your own personal safety, even after that little stunt you pulled in your parents’ lab. Sending them both to the hospital with third-degree burns might have been a bit excessive if I do say so myself. Well, for Maddie, anyway. The oaf can burn in hell for all I care.”

“Shut up, they’re my parents!”

“Were your parents. They stopped being your parents the moment you stupidly revealed yourself to them.”

“You have to be a total moron if you think even for a second that I was trying to reveal myself to them on purpose!” Danny bit back. He raised a glowing fist, and a part of him deep inside that he loathed cheered at how much light was emitting from the concentrated ball of ectoplasm. “Besides, what I do is none of your fucking business.”

Vlad responded in kind, leaving the bookshelf to float high above Danny’s head. He flashed his fangs and heightened his own aura. “On the contrary, my dear boy, the reveal was as much of a threat to your own safety as it was to mine. Even if they don’t know that half ghosts exist, they’ve connected the dots between your portal accident and the disgusting creature that you’ve become. Now they know that ghosts can fully disguise themselves as regular humans. It’s only a matter of time before they start snooping around me.”

“Then that sounds like your fucking problem.”

“And what of you, then? Your core acted in self-defense, decimating your lab and turning the rest of your home to rubble. Have you even seen what’s left of your parents’ greatest creations?”

The light in his fist sputtered out.

Vlad hovered closer to Danny, and his smile widened. “It’s all gone, thanks to you.”

Guilt clawed through his stomach. “I didn’t mean to hurt them.”

“Too little too late, I’m afraid. Though thankfully, Maddie looks just as radiant as always, even with the scarring on her forehead.”

“I fucked up.” Danny lowered his feet to the ground and pulled at his hair with his gloves. At once, everything he’d been holding in for the past two weeks came splitting to the surface. “I can’t—I fucked up, Vlad. I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Please, you have to understand, they caught me by surprise. I didn’t see them waiting in my room when I detransformed after patrol. I had—I had no idea.”

Danny remembered the sickening inhale of breath from his mother. He remembered turning around, he remembered seeing their horrified faces.

He remembered his mother whispering, “Danny?”

He remembered the flash of light that followed.

Danny squeezed his eyes shut. “I never wanted this to happen.”

“Well, it did.” Vlad’s tone shifted to one uncharacteristically soft. “Jasmine is worried about you.”

“Jazz?” Danny croaked.

“She was staying with me in my mansion. Her parents and I felt it was the best arrangement until she was able to return to them.”

Her parents, echoed in Danny’s mind. Her parents, not your parents. Her parents.

“Is she okay?”

“She’s unharmed if that’s what you mean. But she’s worried. About you, Little Badger.”

Danny jerked his head away. “Well, tell her I’m fine.”

“Ah yes, because I’m sure a simple ‘Danny says he’s fine’ from me will really do so much to ease her worries.”

“Shut up,” Danny said, but the fight had already left his voice. Though he refused to look, Danny could feel Plasmius slowly creeping toward him. His aura crackled in warning, but he knew his efforts were futile.

“Daniel, come home with me.”

It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an order. It was a simple statement of fact.

Still, old habits died hard. Danny couldn’t help the reflexive growl and the “no” that escaped his lips.

A hand fell heavily onto his shoulder.

Plasmius’ hand. But for once, it didn’t claw into him.

“Come with me.”

“I’ll never do that. You know I’ll never do that.”

“Please, child. You’re not safe here.”

“I can protect myself just fine.”

Vlad scoffed, and Danny couldn’t blame him. The bandages on his chest suddenly felt tight, and he was all too aware of how feeble his stance was, how his shoulders curled in to offset the pain of the wound on his chest.

“You know that’s not true. Especially now that dear Maddie knows who you are. You think you’re safe here? With a high school literature teacher?” A stream of snark began returning in Vlad’s tone, and he pulled his hand off Danny’s shoulder, brandishing it high like an overzealous quill ready to strike the paper with all its theatrical might. “Because when Maddie returns with her bazooka, I’m sure all these books will provide such an excellent shield!

“I don’t care, I’m not going with you.”

“Yes, you are, Daniel, because you never think. And that’s your greatest downfall.”

Danny whipped around. “I am thinking! I—I’m finally happy. I’m with someone who likes Phantom. I can protect us from my parents. They got me because I was surprised, but they won’t get me again.”

Vlad simply tilted back his head and laughed. “Oh, that’s rich. And let’s actually think this through for once, hmm? Because I doubt dear Lancer truly wants a ghost permanently haunting his guest bedroom.”

“You don’t know anything.”

“Oh, I think I know more than most. Tell me, child, do you truly think that your high school teacher wants you here? Last I checked, you were failing his class. What is your plan, just hide out as Phantom forever? What do you think will happen if you accidentally slip back into human form in front of him? Your own parents didn’t accept you, what makes you think he will?”

“Because…because…” Danny tried, but he could feel his own voice failing.

Because Vlad was right. His parents didn’t accept him, they tried to kill him in the most brutal way possible. There was no way a virtual stranger by comparison would accept him when his own flesh and blood hadn’t.

“That’s right, child. He won’t. Being both dead and alive is an abomination, a taboo of science. Normal humans can’t wrap their heads around it. So of course, he won’t be able to accept you; he won’t be able to truly care about you.”

Tears pricked behind his eyes.

“Just come with me. You can’t stay here, you know this. I’m the only one who truly understands, child.”

Danny hung his head, whispering, “Okay.”

Because what other choice did he have?

A heavy hand fell onto his shoulder, and he looked up to see the faux compassion in Vlad’s face overshadowed by his smug grin. But he didn’t have it in him to be angry at seeing Vlad so triumphant. He didn’t care anymore.

He had no one left. His parents wanted him dead, his sister was too young to do anything about it, and he couldn’t hide forever with his English teacher who definitely hated his human half’s guts.

“Good boy,” Vlad said. He raised a hand, and another portal was created. “After you, my child.”

Danny took a shuddering breath and looked around the cozy room with its high bookshelves one last time. He tried to find Poe—just to say goodbye—but the cat was nowhere to be seen.

Not that Danny blamed him for hiding.

His bottom lip trembled and his hands shook, but still, he stepped forward.

The swirling mass of green accepted him, and then he was gone.

— — —

#danny phantom #emergency contact #phicc #my writing

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robinbuckleyluvr · 2 years

Text

⊹˚˖⁺ Whoops! - Robin Buckley

masterlist | requests

Pairing: Robin Buckley x Fem!Reader

Summary: Y/N accidentally comes out to Steve while they’re working a shift at Family Video - the only issue is that as Robin arrives to begin her shift, she sees them hugging from outside and thinks they’ve started dating.

Warnings: A bit of internalized homophobia.

Notes: Hello! First post... kind of scared. Lmk what you think about all of this LOL might do a part 2

Word Count: 2.3k.

“Hello, Steve,” Y/n spoke, happily waving at Steve, as she walked into the Family Video store to start her shift.

“Hey,” Steve replied absent-mindedly, who was behind the counter in Family Video stacking some videotapes.

“Where’s Robin?”

“Uh, she asked to switch our shifts for today, I think she mentioned something about a school thing, I honestly don’t remember,” Steve said quietly, “She’ll just be here later,”

“Got it,” Y/n replied and proceeded to walk to the back of the store to leave her things in their respective spot and get her work vest on.

About thirty minutes passed and no customer came by. It was just Steve doodling on some paper on the counter, and y/n looking around the store.

“I am so bored,” Y/n exclaimed dramatically as she let her head fall down on the counter.

“Jesus, are you okay?” Steve chuckled.

“I am,” Y/n laughed as she lifted her head, “I just wish there was something for us to do other than just sit here in silence,”

“There’s not much we can do in here,” Steve mumbled.

“Oh my god, we should play mini-golf!”

“And how exactly are we supposed to play mini-golf if we’re at work, genius?”

“Come on, quit it with the attitude, Harrington,” Y/n responded cockily, making Steve jokily roll his eyes at her, “I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve.”

“All right, all right!” Steve sighed as he put up his hands in defeat.

“I got this small mini-golf set at the mall a while ago,” Y/n explained as she walked to the back of the store. “One time Robin and I were like super bored so the next day I brought it, so now every time we’re bored, we play mini-golf,”

“This better be worth it,” Steve said loudly.

“Better than doing absolutely nothing, Harrington!” Y/n replied as she walked back with a box in her hands, ready to beat Steve at mini-golf.

“Jesus, Steve, you really suck at golf,”

“I’m just not in my moment,” Steve sighed.

“We’ve been playing this for over an hour, yet your skills don’t improve,”

“Maybe I just hate Tuesdays,”

“Well, at least we get to have some fun at work! Although it is way funnier watching you flirt with every girl that comes in,” Y/n joked.

“Do you actually have fun working here?” Steve chuckled.

“I mean, it gets me out of family dinners and being forced to attend stupid parties,”

“Parties?”

“Yeah, like family parties, you know?” Y/n spoke as she leaned against the counter, “The ones where you’re constantly being asked about every possible detail about your life, and you can’t even be alone for more than a minute because yet another family member that you haven’t seen since you were fresh out of the hospital is already approaching you!”

“Next time you’re forced to go to one of those gatherings, please take me with you because that sounds really interesting,” Steve joked.

“I hate you,” Y/n chuckled.

“Not more than those family gatherings!”

“You’re insufferable,”

“Is it really that annoying to get asked questions about yourself?”

“Probably not annoying to you, you’re Steve Harrington!” Y/n said dramatically and kept rambling, “And it’s not like I completely hate talking about myself like I get it, you are all nosy and want to know how my life’s going and all. I don’t mind a question or two, I’ll tell you how school’s going for me, or tell you about work, but it is so annoying when it gets personal! ‘Do you like any guys at school, y/n?’ ‘How’s the boyfriend doing y/n?’ Like, I don’t know, ever considered that I may not even be into guys?”

Y/n immediately stopped talking. Her eyes widened as she realized what she had said, and her free hand flew to cover her mouth. Her eyes met Steve’s, who were also wide open as hers.

“Th-That is not what I meant!” Y/n nervously laughed, “I meant that I’m not really into guys here in Hawkins! I’m sure out there are some really cool guys-”

“Y/n!” Steve said loudly, as he took her by the shoulders and shook her lightly, making her shut up instantly, “I know what you meant,”

“No! Forget I said that! Literally, no one can know! My parents could literally kill me! Or send me to like a church camp to fix me!”

“Look, I don’t have much expertise in this area, but I can assure you there’s nothing wrong with you, so what if you like girls?” Steve said as he gave y/n an empathetic smile and took his hands off her shoulders, “I won’t tell anyone,”

“Thank you, Steve,” y/n replied, and neither of them spoke a word for a few seconds. The store was filled with an odd silence, the only noise coming from the movie that was playing on one of the TVs.

“What do you wanna do now? Golf is getting kind of boring,” Steve spoke, trying to lighten the mood.

“I wanna crawl in a hole and die,” y/n joked.

“Would a hug make you feel better?”

Y/n laughed at his comment, yet opened up her arms and agreed to hug him. “Keep it short Harrington!” She joked, “A hug from the Steve Harrington? A once-in-a-lifetime experience!”

However, at that moment, Robin had just arrived at Family Video to start her shift, and when she looked inside the store her stomach dropped and she was sure her heart had just been crushed into pieces. Steve had known about her crush on y/n for ages, yet now they both appeared to be hugging like a cheesy couple in high school.

“Robin, just tell her that you like her! It’s that simple! If she doesn’t like you I’m sure she won’t tell anyone, she isn’t like that,” Steve explained as they both placed back videotapes on their respective shelves at the end of their work-day.

“It is not simple Steve! It’s quite literally, a shot in the dark! She could laugh at me, or worse, she could hate me and never talk to me again,”

“She won’t do that!”

“How do you know, Harrington?”

“She won’t hate you, Robin. Besides, if you never tell her, you’ll never know if she likes you back or not!”

“Well, I simply do not wish to know!” Robin exclaimed.

By the time Robin had walked into the store, y/n and Steve weren’t hugging anymore, so to Robin, it was pointless to confront Steve about it at that very moment.

Robin’s head was spinning. She wasn’t sure of what to feel, or even who to be angry at. While y/n probably had no idea Robin liked her, Steve did know.

“Hey, Robin!” Y/n happily said as she saw her friend come in.

“Hey,” Robin replied, though not even bothering to glance at her friends. She just quickly walked to the back of the store.

Y/n and Steve exchanged looks, as they were both equally confused. “I’ll go ask her if she wants to play golf with us, or something,” Y/n said quietly.

Robin had agreed to play golf with Steve and y/n, although she was close to refusing the offer and making up a dumb excuse to avoid being with them. She really did not fancy being the third wheel.

Y/n and Steve could sense something was up with Robin, yet whenever they tried to talk to her, she would quickly change the subject. And this had been going on for three weeks already. Neither y/n nor Steve knew what to do.

Whenever y/n and Robin were alone, a few words were exchanged. Y/n had tried to at least make small talk, yet it seemed as if Robin had made it her life mission to keep their conversations, well, small.

Saying that Robin had been distant would be an understatement.

“We need to talk to her,” y/n told Steve as they were placing videotapes on their respective shelves, for the third time of the day.

“Y/n we’ve tried already,” Steve sighed, “There’s nothing we can do other than wait for her to talk to us.”

“It’s just so odd Steve, from one day to another she just stopped talking to us - it’s gone from us having full-on conversations to her just saying ‘Hi’ and ‘Goodbye’. Whenever I ask her if something’s wrong she either brushes it off or makes up an excuse to walk away,”

“She’ll come around soon,”

“Do you think it was something I said? Or something I did? Like I’ve been replaying every single conversation we’ve had in my head, and-”

“Stop worrying, honestly,” Steve said cutting her off, “As I said literally less than thirty seconds ago, she’ll come around.”

Y/n simply sighed and lightly nodded. “I’m just worried, what if something really bad happened to her at home? Or at school?”

“Did you not hear what I just said y/l/n?”

“I did, I just simply chose to ignore it,” Y/n replied and smiled at Steve.

“If you’re so worried, talk to her tomorrow,”

“And why not today?”

“Because her shift’s about to end? She’s about to be on her way out,”

Y/n thought about it for a second, before putting down the videotapes she had in hand, and sighing heavily. “It’s just five minutes of her time, she can make up as many excuses as she wants,” Y/n spoke, and then turned around and walked to the back. Steve simply shook his head and continued with his job.

Robin was already packing her stuff when she heard someone come in quietly. She did not need to turn around to know it was y/n.

“Hi, Robin,” Y/n said quietly.

“Hello,”

“How have you been?”

“I’m fine,” Robin replied bluntly.

“Look, Robin, I’ll just be honest with you, I’m worried about you, you’ve been like - distant lately and-”

“I’m okay,” Robin said, cutting her off and turning around to face her. “I really do not need you and your boyfriend talking about me and how weird I’ve been behind my back, it’s pretty obvious, plus, you two are really loud,”

“Me and my what?” Y/n chuckled lightly.

“Don’t act all innocent, I know you and Steve are dating,” Robin spoke quietly.

“Robin, believe me, Steve and I are not dating!”

Robin simply raised her eyebrows at y/n’s response.

“Is this what this is all about, Robin?”

“I saw you two hugging the other day, and since that day you two are always together like middle schoolers,” Robin spoke as her eyes looked all around the room, yet never meeting y/n’s, “You two gossip like your life is on the line,”

“Robin, we are not dating,”

“Y/n you do not need to lie to me, I’m your friend! It’s okay if you two are dating, I get it! I’m just mad at you and Steve - but mainly Steve - because he knew I liked you, and I just cannot believe he would do this! Like okay, date whomever you want, but at least tell me after I spend almost every minute of my day rambling about how I don’t know how to tell you I like you, and I just told you and now you probably think I’m a freak! And to top it all off I’ve ruined about three friendships in less than five minutes!”

Robin instantly covered her face with her hands, sighing. Y/n was left speechless, she did not know what to say, so she simply hugged Robin.

Robin hugged her back, even though part of her really didn’t want to.

“I don’t like Steve that way, Robin, believe me,” Y/n said against Robin’s shoulder, to which Robin simply just nodded. She could feel her heart about to give out, she had never been that nervous. A few seconds went by, and neither of them pulled away from the hug. Y/n took a deep breath before she spoke up again:

“Robin? Are you still there?”

“I think so?” Robin breathed out.

“Can I tell you something?”

“Yeah,”

“I like you too,” Y/n said quietly - almost in a whisper.

Robin’s eyes widened and she pulled away from the hug in shock. Robin's heart skipped a beat, (maybe several). If someone asked her how she was feeling at that exact moment she would not be able to utter a single word.

“What?”

“I said I like you, too,”

“Is this like, a joke? Because if it is a joke, it’s not funny, besides-” Robin spoke, but y/n covered her mouth before she could keep rambling.

“I promise you, it is not a joke, my feelings for you are very real, Robin,”

“Oh my God,” Robin slowly said as y/n lowered her hand, “Do you really like me?”

“Yes Robin, I really do like you,” Y/n smiled, “And I do not think you’re a freak,”

“I feel terrible now! I’ve treated you horribly for the past few weeks!” Robin exclaimed as she covered her face with her hands once again, “I’m the dumbest person on the planet and I did not even bother to ask you if you were okay! What if you and Steve were hugging because someone died!”

“Robin I can assure you, no one’s died,” Y/n said, carefully taking Robin’s hand’s in hers and drawing them out of her face.

“I feel terrible,” Robin said quietly.

“Well don’t, everything’s settled now,” Y/n spoke giving her a kind smile - then cupping Robin’s cheek with one of her hands, to which Robin nervously smiled. She thought her heart was about to give out (again).

“Can I hug you again?” Robin nervously asked.

#robin buckley x you #robin buckley x reader #robin buckley #robin buckley imagine #stranger things #robin buckley x y/n #pride #fluff #robin buckley fluff #reader insert #stranger things reader insert #stranger things imagine #maya hawke #fiction #scoops ahoy #steve harrington #first post #wlw pride

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captainsjack · 10 months

Note

📓 describe a fic any fic. mayhaps something mi??

hngngg ok ok this is so hard to just pick one, but the one i'm currently most thinking about (and have written a total of 0%) is my fake death au!

so basically, it takes place around the same time as fallout, sort of in place of it. and benji and ethan have been dating for a while (idk how long maybe a year or two). it's all ethan pov btw. and one day benji goes to the grocery store and ethan's at home cooking dinner and he's waiting for benji to come back. but then he gets a call from the hospital saying benji's been in a crash and he needs to come down there. except when ethan gets there they tell him benji was pronounced dead on the scene and there wasn't anything they could do.

so like ethan goes back home to this cold, half-cooked dinner and is completely numb. he isolates himself and lays in bed and just. barely exists for a few days before luther & brandt come over looking for him and benji bc they haven't been at work for a while. and they find ethan in bed, barely moving, and eventually he tells them that benji died. ("where's benji?" "the crematorium. i'm supposed to pick him up on tuesday.")

(i forgot to mention that after these first few days, ethan takes a ring from benji's laptop case and puts it on. benji was going to propose to him. he hadn't yet, and he didn't know ethan knew he was going to, but ethan had figured it out weeks ago and was forcing himself to wait for benji to actually propose and not just say yes the moment he figured it out. only now, benji will never get the chance. and so ethan puts on the ring in an attempt to tell benji yes, yes of course he wants to marry him, it's the only thing he's ever wanted, even though benji isn't there to hear him say yes).

then basically like yeah. it's just about ethan going through the stages of grief (i was thinking maybe a chapter per stage??). luther, brandt, & ilsa plan the funeral and take care of ethan because he's not himself. ethan refuses to write the eulogy and luther has to beg him to because this is benji, and it shouldn't come from anyone else. eventually ethan agrees, but he isn't actually able to write anything other than 'benji' at the top of the paper and nothing else. there's the funeral. ethan speaks last. he gets up to the podium and stares at the almost blank sheet of paper. he looks out at the crowd for a few moments, and then just walks away. he leaves. drives for days, weeks, out to california. stops in random safe houses and lives there sometimes. he ditches his phone and all communication. goes through the anger and bargaining stages until he gets to california. gets an apartment there. sends all his stuff over from dc but can't unpack any of it because it's all benji's too. so he lives in this empty apartment full of boxes and can't even sleep in the bed because it's the bed he shared with benji. he slips into this deep deep depression, and it's not until like 6 months later that he actually speaks to another human being because luther shows up at his door one night. ("i've already lost one friend. i didn't think i was going to lose two.")

and so luther stays. for months. ethan's not receptive at first, but luther takes care of him and gets him into therapy, and, slowly, ethan gets better. he feels sort of alive again. luther eventually moves out and into his own apartment a few blocks away from ethan. on the one year anniversary of benji's death, ethan visits his grave for the first time. (he and luther fly back to dc for a visit. ethan sees ilsa and brandt for the first time in a year too).

then ethan finally reaches acceptance and has to learn how to live his life without benji. about two years in, ethan goes back to the imf, but stays located in california. he still can't go back to dc for more than a few days because each place there holds too many memories of benji. luther retired when benji died, and he still lives in california with ethan. ilsa and brandt visit them frequently. ethan visits benji each anniversary of his passing. he still wears the ring.

then it's almost four years since benji died. ethan's called on a mission. they're tracking down the last group of the apostles. when ethan infiltrates their base, he comes face to face with none other than benji. (i have this really cool scene in my head where the apostles attack ethan and hold him captive for a hot sec and tell benji to kill him and get rid of him. and ethan thinks he's gonna do it but then six shots fire and all the apostles drop dead and it's just him and benji left standing there. benji had saved him and ethan doesn't know why. then ethan comes at him and attacks him and yells at him to take of the mask ("take it off." "take what off?" "your mask. take it off right now. and if you ever use that face again, i swear i will kill you."). and benji has to convince ethan that it's really him, he's here, alive, and not someone else wearing benji as a mask. ethan only believes him when he slices benji's cheek with a knife and he bleeds, pure and true, with no layer of mask against his skin.)

then ethan's so overwhelmed that benji's here and alive and there's still a mission to focus on and he doesn't even know how to process this. benji tells him they need to go, because there's more of them downstairs, and so ethan and benji take care of the rest of the apostles and then the mission's over and benji comes back with ethan and his team.

and this is already so long djfkjjd i didn't mean to go into so much detail, but basically then ethan has to reach acceptance all over again, has to accept the fact that the past four years of his life weren't even real and he had to go through all of that for nothing. (benji tells him it wasn't for nothing, because it kept ethan alive. the apostles had kidnapped him and told him that if he didn't come work with them, that ethan would die, and benji tried to think of any way to get out of it but couldn't. so he had followed their instructions and faked his death and become a part of their group. ethan was safe and that's all that had mattered) (“leaving you was the hardest thing i have ever had to do. but i would do it again in a heartbeat, knowing it saved your life.” “it didn’t.”)

so then benji moves to california with ethan and they relearn how to be a part of each other's lives and work though everything that went down the past four years, and it takes a lot of work, but eventually, they're happy and together (and finally get married) (and also they retire).

ask me about my wips!

#jsdkfdfjskjbk im obsessed with this anon #u don't know how hard it was to resist writing some of the scenes flat out here in this ask #thank u for letting me talk about it!!!#bc i love this one so much and have like 90% of it written word for word in my head #but am putting off writing it until i feel confident i can pull it off #bc it is. deep. to say the least. and i want to be able to do it justice u know?#anyways yeah i hope u think it sounds cool!#mission impossible #benthan #my writing #sort of #anon #answered

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eddiescorrodedcoffin86 · 2 years

Text

In a Heartbeat

Part 1: Ballistic

Masterlist

Final installment to the Ballistic Series. I’ve enjoyed this journey and I hope you guys have too

Cheerleader!Harrington!Reader

Fluff. Smut. Pregnancy. Everything is okay now. You and Eddie have graduated. You still live in Hawkins. Breeding Kink. Mentions of Eddie having a very slight pregnancy kink but its mostly only pregnant you. Unprotected p in v sex (be safe, babes). Mentions of labor.

After getting back from the beach, things were difficult for a little longer, but thankfully, by the time graduation came around, you were feeling better, thanks to your friends, you’d tried to go to a therapist but they weren’t understanding enough, so you talked to your friends and Eddie whenever you were struggling, and it helped a lot since they understood where you were coming from, even if they didn’t always understand how you felt.

You and Eddie got a place together after graduation, a simple trailer on the nicer side of town, which Eddie was happy to do, excited to live somewhere where all the outlets work. As some who lives in a trailer this is a genuine and common problem. With your trust fund you and Eddie wouldn’t have to work, so you decided for a while you wouldn’t. Everyone spent a lot of time either at Family Video bothering Robin and Steve, who surprisingly wanted to keep working rather than split your trust fund, no matter how often you prodded he just wouldn’t give. When Robin and Steve were off of work, they piled into yours and Eddie’s trailer, interrupting some very personal moments more than once.

“Oh my god! In the kitchen?! Really?!” “This is our home! Who bursts in with knocking?!” “Who screws with the door unlocked?!” “We just got home! It just happened!” “OH MY GOD!”

Despite their… heavy lack of respect for privacy, you loved them all very much.. but right now… Eddie really wished they would all just go the fuck away.

You were at Skull Rock, you cuddled up underneath it with Eddie, Dustin off to the side. You weren't really listening what they were talking about, too focused on playing the edge of Eddie's Hellfire shirt, which the group had remade for him after he was out of the hospital, since his other one had been ruined.

Eddie was thumbing the ring box in his pocket nervously, unbeknownst to you he'd been saving up from his drug deals to get you a ring, and had even applied to the record store when he'd been walking back with it.

He'd had a whole elaborate speech planned out, of course he did, he was Eddie fucking Munson, the most theatrical person in Hawkins, and you absolutely loved him for it.

Deciding he couldn't wait any longer, he gently pulled away from you, winking at you when you frowned. "Where ya going?" You asked softly. "Nowhere." Eddie pulled you to stand, and when he started to get on his knee your eyes widened. "Eds-"

"OH MY GOD!" Dustin stood up quickly. "is he?" "Oh my god he is." "Wow." "Aww." rreactions echoed from your friends before Eddie even pulled the box out of his pocket, when he finally did pull it out, Dustin scared the birds.

Inside the box was a simple, skinny gold band, and rather than having one big diamond, the top of it had three small ones, if you looked close you could see a design engaved along the band. "Eddie..." You whispered softly.

"Sh. You're gonna make my brain short circuit." Eddie chuckled, clearing his throat. "i uh... I know it hasn't been long, like a year and a half.. but I've been through enough shit to know that uh.. I'm like positive I wanna spend the rest of my life with you. So... what do you say? Y/N Harrington, will you marry me?" He had the widest nervous grin on his face, and you couldn't help but laugh softly, nodding quickly. "Yes. Obviously, silly boy." You hld your hand out to him, watching as he slid the ring on your finger before he stood up and wrapped you in his arms, kissing you deeply.

Dustin was jumping around and screaming, celebrating with Max and Robin. Everyone else congratulated you, Steve giving you both a big hug and proceeding to tell Eddie not to fuck it up. Max was blind now, though you all expected that, she was only alive because of El, and surprisingly made a fast physical recovery, but she was still having trouble adjusting to being blind.

<><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><><>

You and Eddie left skull rock immediately, on the drive back to your trailer you could barely keep your hands off of eachother, when you were inside he had you against the door the second it was closed, tearing your clothes off as the two of you stumbled to your bedroom, giggling when he got frustrated with your bra, reaching back to undo it for him before sliding it off your shoulders and dropping it to the side.

“God… you are gorgeous.” Eddie mumbled before he was basically tackling you to the bed, covering you in kisses as you squealed. “Eddie!” You laughed, feeling his fingers start to tickle lightly at your sides.

Eddie grinned into your neck, letting his fingers stop before they slid over you, ghosting up your sides before sliding down to grip your thighs as he kissed you, his hands kneeding the soft flesh.

"Eddie.." you moaned, your thighs were always a weak spot for you, Eddie knew and used it to his advantage whenever he could, which was basically any time you were in the same room together.

It felt like a million years before Eddie finally started to drift lower, you were completely naked by now, anything that wasn't your bra strewn like a path to your bedroom, Eddie now only wearing his boxers, which you desperately wanted needed him out of.

Before you could say anything, though, Eddie was diving in between your legs like he was starving, starting with eager but perfect, precise licks through your folds before he'd set the tip of his tongue against your clit, circling the sensitive bud. "Fuck.. always taste so good." Eddie mumbled before he was diving back in again, his hands gripping your thighs as his eyes closed.

"Jesus Christ.." you moaned happily and rocked up against his mouth as you whined, tangling your fingers in his hair and tugging gently, a grin spreading across your face when you felt more than heard him moan against you before he brought one hand off your thigh to ease two fingers into you, still focused on suck and licking your clit, mumbling out different praises that were muffled against you and sent vibrations through almost your entire body. "Eddie~" you whimpered happily, back arching as you shuddered, breathing heavily and chewing on your lip.

"Always so responsive, Bunny." Eddie pulled back for a moment to speak before he was diving back in, eyes closing once more. He could stay like this for hours, you're sure, if you ever let him, of course you were always more eager to have him inside you, so you'd always pul him away from his agenda. Tonight, though, when you gripped his hair and tried to tug him up to kiss you, he whined and stayed planted where he was, gripping your thighs tighter, pulling them closer to keep himself caged in, gazing at you over your mons.

You gazed down at him, of course you did, how could you not? "Look so pretty, Eds." You whined happily, reaching down to grab the wrist that was holding your thigh as his other hand slid down and two fingers circled your hole slowly before easing in, your slick combined with his spit providing more than enough lubrication.

You sucked in a breath and moaned as your back arched a little bit. "Eds~ please~" you moaned, your head falling back and your eyes closing as he slowly thrusted his fingers into you, lapping and sucking lightly on your clit. "We've been interrupted nonstop for the past month." Eddie mumbled, pulling away from your clit with a soft pop. "I'm making you cum at least once before I fuck you. So you're gonna have to be patient up there, Bunny." He shook his head and went back to sucking and licking your clit, fucking you harder with his fingers, pushing his fingers as deep into you as he could, crooking his fingers to massage that little spongey spot inside you, just enough for the knot to start building and keep you just on the edge of it.

Your legs started trembling, he had you right on the edge, the sounds of your moans mixing with Eddie's muffled ones, and the obscene squelching as he pushed a third finger into you and going back to thrusting his fingers inside you. When he added the third finger he finally started to put more pressure against your gspot, massaging it in a come-hither motion. "E-Eddie~" you moaned louder, your back arching as you dug your heel into his back gently, your other leg stretching out. "Go ahead, Bunny." Eddie purred against you, sucking harder on your clit as he added more pressure to your gspot. "Cum for me and I'll give you what you really want." "Y-You promise?" You whined, dropping your head back as you shuddered. Eddie had gotten into the habit of teasing you once you'd gotten back into the groove again, stretching out his foreplay and even lying about how many orgasms he'd give you before fucking you.

Eddie cooed lightly against you before pulling off with a pop, replacing his mouth with his thumb, rubbing your clit good enough that it made up for the lack of his tongue. "I promise." He purred, bringing his free hand up to brush some flyaways off your forehead. "Cum for me, pretty girl." He purred, pressing kisses along your neck and collarbone. You whimpered happily and turned your face to bury in his hair, gasping and moaning loudly as you started to cum, grabbing Eddie's arm as your legs started to tremble again. "Fuuuuuuck." you whimpered.

"Ohh, good girl." Eddie purred as you creamed around his fingers, chuckling fondly. "so easy to get you to do it." He teased as you hit his shoulder weakly. When he didn't stop the movment of his hand, or make any move to pull himself out of his boxers, you whimpered. "No- no, Eds, you promised." You whined, shifting needily as you looked up at him.

Eddie chuckled softly. "Oh, calm down." Eddie purred, reaching and pushing his boxers down. "I got you." He cooed, sliding his fingers out of you and grasping his cock, sliding your cum over the length of his cock before sliding his tip through your folds slowly. "You're just so pretty when I tease you a little." He whispered, running his thumb over your cheek before kissing you as he eased into you, the two of you moaning happily as your eyes fluttered "Fuck.. you always feel so good, baby." He sucked on your neck lightly as he pulled all the way to the hilt, nuzzled deep inside you as he took a deep breath.

"You do too, Eds. Always." You whimpered happily, looking up at Eddie, his hips grinding into you, but not quite pulling out yet. The movement was pulling the sweetest sounds your mouth, Eddie was practically melting against you, his face was nuzzled in your neck, one hand holding the other side of your neck as the other slid up your arm and into your hand, you didn't know when he wiped his hand off, but you were glad he did as your fingers laced together.

When he finally started to actually thrust, it was long, slow drags of his hips, pushed as deep inside you as he could. "What... are you trying to do... Eds?" You moaned and arched your back against him. "G-get me pregnant or something?" You teased, wrapping your legs around him, though as soon as the thought popped into your head, you wanted nothing more, and judging by the whimpering sound Eddie made in response, he felt the same way.

"What if I said yes?" He whispered, leaning back a bit, pushing deeper into you and staying still. "What if I wanna keep you full of little Eddies?" He hummed, nudging his nose against yours. You shuddered at the idea. "I'd say you better get started." You moaned, grinding your hips as your eyelids fluttered closed.

Eddie practically mewled like a kitten when you said, immediately starting to rock back into you, nuzzling his face into your neck and whining happily. "Can't wait to have you full." He purred softly. "You're gonna be so pretty, Bunny. Round and glowing." He pressed his forehead against yours gently, your breath mixing together as you both panted softly. "Y-you really think?" You whispered softly, sentence ending with a soft moan when he grazed you gspot. "Oh yeah." Eddie cooed, gazing down at you with so much love in his eyes you thought you were gonna explode. "Gonna look so pretty." He whined happily.

You loved when Eddie got whiney, it always made you feel extremely confident. You could take this extravagant, out-of-the-box, eccentric man and turn him into a whiney mess with just a few words.

"D-do it, Eds." You moaned happily. "Fill me up. As many times as you want. Only wanna have your babies." You whimpered, wrapping your arms around him tighter. He groaned happily and started snapping his hips into yours, reaching down to rub your clit in slow circles. "You first, baby. Cum for me and I'll fill you up good." He purred, nudging his nose against yours as he rubbed your clit. With you already being sensitive from cumming once it didnt take much longer for you to cum again, moaning loudly as your back arched and your nails dug into his back.

Eddie moaned happily into your neck and thrusted harder into you, losing his rhythm a bit before he was cumming hard, groaning loudly into your neck as his muscles trembled under your fingertips, his hips pushed deeply inside you, cumming deep inside you. "Fuck... you're gonna be so pretty and full." He purred, covering you in kisses as you blushed deeply, hugging him tightly and giggling softly.

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You and Eddie decided that although you didn't want a big wedding, you still wanted a ceremony, as soon as possible, which made it difficult to find an officiant for the wedding. Eddie's remaining reputation didn't help, of course, and you didn't want to get married in a courthouse.

You'd been freaking out about this when Steve surprised you, laying a certain in front of you in the living room of yours and Eddie's trailer, stating that Steve had become an officiant. Your tears, rather than subsided, had gotten worse, now turning from sad cries to happy ones, you threw your arms around him.

And now, here you were, walking down the small aisle, wlaking towards a tearing up Eddie, a barely visible bump trying to show in the white dress Joyce had given you, having bought it as soon as Dustin called Will to tell him that the two of you were getting married. It fit you perfectly both style and size wise. You don't think Eddie'd noticed yet, Hell, you had just noticed yourself, you'd just thought your late period was just that- a late period. You figured the morning sickness was just some kind of funky flu or something, the test you'd sent Joyce out to get earlier said otherwise, and so did the other one in the box.

Ever since you and Eddie had talked about it while having sex, Eddie could barely shut up about it, telling you that as long as you were okay with it he was gonna try and get you pregnant until you got pregnant, and how could you say no when he was giving you the sweetest, most vulnerable look you'd ever seen? You were more than happy to have Eddie's babies, you were just glad you'd gotten a trailer with a spare bedroom, which you were using for when the gang would sleep over, but now, it was going to be a nursery.

Eddie, of course, had noticed a few things different about you, your skin was softer, and brighter, your eyes were brighter as well, your lips were pinker and your cheeks always had this rosey tint that he knew didn't come from any kind of make up you wore. He couldn't quite place what it was, but he was falling in love with you even more. As he watched you walk down the aisle, his eyes welled with tears as Steve set a hand on his shoulder and gave it a light squeeze, Dustin, who was his best man, doing the same on his other side.

"You look... amazing." Eddie whispered once you made it in front of him, your lips spreading into a sheepish smile. "You don't look so bad, yourself." You teased. He'd ditched his ripped jeans for a pair of new black jeans, paired with a black button up, a white bowtie, and a black suede blazer, the bushiness in his hair tamed for the occasion. He grinned and looked at himself, and then back at you. "Well, thank you." He hummed happily.

The set up was simple, an arch Hopper had built, decorated with flowers that the younger ones of the group collected, that honestly surprised you a bit, especially considering it was Eddie's idea, exclaiming his girl would only have the freshest, most clean flowers for her only wedding, a statement to which you giggled at but agreed with.

"Alright, Harrington. Let's get this show on the road." Eddie smirked at Steve before taking your hands, everyone else laughing. Your parents weren't there, but you didn't care much, everyone that meant something to you was there, and that was all you needed.

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Eddie had the exact reaction that you thought he'd have, he'd immediately hopped onto his feet and starting hopping around the tiny reception giggling like crazy. He'd immediately ran to the mike, interrupting the band as he pointed at you.

"I'm gonna be a daddy!!!!" He shouted into the microphone. Dustin screamed, Steve looked.. slightly protified at the prospect of you having sex, even though he'd caught you multple times because he couldn't knock without immediately opening the door.

Jeff, and Gareth shouted. "Munson! Munson! Munson!" over and over, Eddie nodding along with them excitedly as he made his way over to you, wrapping his arms around you and kissing you deeply. "One Hell of a wedding present." He cooed.

"Just wait until we get home." You smirked, winking at him as his eyes wideed and his pupils expanded. "Yeah?" "Oh yeah." "Well, now I'm excited." You laughed and shook your head fondly before nuzzling his neck.

Throughout the whole pregnancy Eddie could barely keep his hands to himself, he was always touching you, appropriately if you were around people, inappropriately if you weren't, he made you cum at the very least twice a day, even if it was just with his fingers or his tongue to help reliev some tension. It was always followed by an amazing shoulder and foot rub before he would send you off to sleep talking to your ever-growing stomach.

When you went into labor, Eddie had been prepared, for the whole nine months... and then the baby decided to come, and all his preparedness flew out the window and he was calling Steve. "SHE'S COMING, MAN!!" "Eddie? it's like three am. What are you- Who's- SO WHAT ARE YOU DOING ON THE PHONE WITH ME?!" It took Steve's brain a second to catch up "I CAN'T FIND THE KEYS, MAN! I CAN'T FIND THE KEYS!" "Oh for fuck- I'M COMING! BE OUTSIDE!"

Steve pulled up in record time, opening the door and putting your and Eddie's bags in the trunk as Eddie helped you get in the back, climbing in directly beside you and closing the door. Steve got in and sped to the hospital.

When the doctor asked how far apart your contractions were and you said that they weren't, like at all, they rushed to get you ready for delivery, letting Steve and Eddie stay when you asked, Eddie had been by your side, Steve a little more hesitant, but when you reached for him, he was practically tripping to comfort his sister, not looking anywhere other than your eyes, pulling your hand up for you while Eddie fanned you.

It didn't take long for little Vera Munson to come out, coming out with already thick curly hair, and blue eyes that turned brown when she turned six months old, a perfect copy of Eddie but with your nose.

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Eddie and Vera were practically inseparable, and as she grew up you moved out of your trailer into a bigger, nicer home that you continued to fill with little babies that absolutely adored their metalhead father, Vera effectively breaking a kids nose in first grade when he told her that his dad said her dad was a freak, eventually no one said anything about Eddie anymore, knowing one of his many, many children could be hiding around the corner, ready to punch first and ask questions later, you and Eddie couldn't be more proud of them.

You didn't expect Eddie Munson to be the love of your life, you definitely didn't expect to have eight kids for him, the youngest four being sets of twins, the man was relentless, getting you pregnant every time you turned a corner, but you didn't mind, each and everyone one of your little spawn was absolutely wonderful. You were completely cotent with where you were, and you had to do it all over again to get here, you absolutely would, in a heartbeat.

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