#the flinching though! by far my least favorite.

[artemissoteira]

would love it if, when my body insists on involuntarily flinching for no reason, it could at least be normal about involuntarily flinching! it is too much to preemptively flinch in anticipation of involuntarily flinching in an echo of sneezing too much while being sick!

[antiwhores]

I am screaming crying throwing up at how good your writing is my horny ass self THANKS YOU

if i may please make a request 👉🏼👈🏼 could we have a pussy eater bakugo fic 😮‍💨 lives in my head rent free

Bakugou eating you out

Sorry this took so long, ive been tryna run my W’s up. THANK YOU!! And enjoy

Bakugou loves to eat your pussy, no matter what you have to say about it.

Pussy eating ofc, mentions of all types of freplay and shit, sex, dub-con if you squint, voyeurism, etc.

Bakugou has never been a very shy person. Nothing about the way he carried himself is shy. When you think of antonyms for shy you think of Bakugou Katsuki.

That’s why you found yourself confused the first time he went down on you.

The farthest you had gone prior was dry humping and mutual masturbation. Giving and recieving head was a big deal for the both of you. It was the next step before penetration.

Bakugou was timid and careful when he opened your legs. It was like he thought you’d jump away and never come back if he made too sudden of a move. It was weird yet endearing since Bakugou was so aggressive when chasing pleasure while he dry humped you.

That careful attitude only lasted so long though. After a couple times, especially after you had gone all the way, he had been a lot more… demanding.

Bakugou found pleasure in tasting you on his tongue. From directly, to the aftertaste. Its like he found himself drunk on it. Your pussy made him feel like a fucking alcoholic.

He started to take you whenever and whereever he wanted. From the safe confines of your bedroom to the risky, crowded closet of his job.

He would get on his knees and place you on his mouth, holding you effortlessly.

His mouth needly licking and slurping at your constricting cunt while you covered your mouth to at least try to prevent being caught. Although, you wondered if the sounds of him eating you bare would attract people quicker than your muffled moans.

His tongue stuck deep into your cunt, scrapping itsef against your walls to bring back the slick that coated them. This was his fourth time pulling you away in the past hour. He was particularly horny today and nothing would stand inbetween him and your sloppy ecstasy, not even work.

First he pulled you to the boys bathroom on the almost abandoned rear side of the building. He fucked your mouth hard on his cock while whining praises mixed with degration. Then he fucked you onto his cock like his own personal fleshlight.

Then it was his office on the top floor. He locked his door as a compromise with you (he didnt want to at first but you said you were gonna scream if he didn’t, asshole move but it worked.) and finger fucked you on his desk until you came twice. He was about to whip himself out for a third orgasm but a knock on the door had you accidentally slapping the shit out of him.

The third time it was your office. He stumbled in with a hard cock and started to thigh fuck you until he came all over your desk and stomach. Then he proceeded to sloppily eat your cunt until you came into his mouth all while he jerked himself off.

And that leaves you to now, the fourth time. Where his lazy eyes watched you during the whole meeting you both attended. He eye-fucked you the entire time. Then after he dragged you into the closet far end of the agency building. It was cramped and he barely even squeezed the both of you in there. The only light was the one seeping from under the floor.

“Fuck,” he groaned into your cunt. You were sensitive after all the orgasm’s you had so far. Fat tears began to run down your cheeks.

A particular targeted thrust of him tongue had you flinching away from his touch. You tried to force yourself off of him but the growing pleasure made you weak in the knees. “Katsuki,” you moaned, “T’s too much. Too many times today.”

He always seems to get genuinely upset when your body jerks away from him when he eats you out. Its like taking a plate of his favorite food, made by his favorite chef, and kissed by a fucking god away from him from him, under his nose.

His grip on you tightened and he pulled you lower onto him. So much lower you were afraid he’d suffocate. A deep growl echoed through his chest as he told you to “shut up and sit pretty” through glistening lips.

He didn’t let you leave until after that painfully euphoric orgasm. And the next. By the end of your work shift, you limped to your shared home only to be fucked into complete immobility as soon as you arrived.

[braveclementine]

October 21- Breath Play (Sebastian Michaelis, Claude Faustus) ❤️

Warnings: 18+ readers only, breath play. . . and honestly that's really it. Some mentions of aftercare I suppose

Copyright: I do not own Sebastian Michaelis, Claude Faustus, or any other Black Butler characters. I also do not condone any copying of this.

"We won't hurt you." Claude promised, towering over you as Sebastian lounged on the bed behind you. You glanced over your shoulder to see that the other demon looked rather bored, his amber eyes meeting yours, the corner of his mouth lifting into the slightest of smirks. 

"I know." You murmured softly, unable to look Claude in the eye. "I know I just. . . the idea of not being able to breathe is scary. You guys don't need to breathe so what if you forget?" 

Claude took your chin between his fingers, making you stare into his golden eyes. "Y/N. Do you really think we would forget something as precious as that?" 

"No." You replied honestly. 

"Good." Sebastian purred in your ear, making you jump seven feet in the air, crashing into Claude as you hadn't heard the other demon approach at all. 

Claude shot Sebastian an annoyed look as he helped you steady yourself. "Really Sebastian? It's almost as though you want to prove yourself careless." 

"I'm sorry kitten." Sebastian smirked, lifting your hand to kiss the back of it in apologies. "We truly will keep you safe however." 

You let out a deep, shaky breath. "Okay." 

Sebastians' eyes glimmered, "Excellent." 

-------------------

You were kneeling on the bed, wearing black lingerie. Black had never been your favorite colour- you had thought it made you look rather pale and unflattering- but Sebastian and Claude loved seeing it on you. They made you feel beautiful, not the clothing that you wore for a few minutes before they tore it to shreds. 

You took a deep breath, something you were doing every twenty seconds. Despite their reassurances and despite you knowing that they would never hurt you, especially with something as simple as breath play- you had done far more complex and dangerous kinks- you were still a little nervous. 

Your worry that they would forget you needed to breathe was at the top of your list. An entity that didn't need to breathe, caught up in the moment, might perhaps forget that the one they were with did need air.  

But, Claude was right. They were demons and they were not negligent in anything they did. You were safe. 

Footsteps behind you alerted you that at least Claude was in the room. He had always attempted to act more human with you, or at least not scare you as badly as Sebastian did. Sebastian seemed to live simply to make sure you jumped at his every move. 

Claude had taken his gloves off, showing you the tattoo on the back of his hands as he ran his hands across your body, before ripping the bra away, massaging your breasts immediately. He sucked and bit gently at your neck and you relaxed into him, moaning. 

"Eyes open." Sebastian whispered, breath fanning across your face. Your body tensed, flinching a little into Claude who let out an annoyed noise, pulling away from your neck. 

You opened your eyes to find the slightly younger demon smirking, hovering in front of you. He was completely naked, showing you a lithe, thin, fit figure. His amber eyes hypnotized you and you shook your head at him slightly. 

"One of these days you're really going to give me a heart attack, you know that master?" You asked, sinking back into Claude. 

"And then," Sebastian whispered, starting at your throat with his tongue, before slowly working his way down your body. "I'll consume your soul and make you my slave forever." 

You whimpered as he reached your naval, which was somewhat ticklish. Claude made another annoyed noise. He loved you being human and hated when Sebastian talked about such things as consuming your soul or your death. 

The relationship between the three of you was complicated. You liked both of them- loved them even though you'd never say so to their faces (Demons did not grasp the concept of love). And they were both fond of you. They couldn't stand each other though, only tolerating each others' presence because of you. 

Sebastian ran his tongue back up your stomach, before latching onto your breast. Claude's hands gently caressed your shoulders, his lips against your back. Slowly, he slid one hand up to cup your throat. 

You let out a shaky breath, waiting for him to apply pressure. But Claude simply kept his hand there, teasingly, while Sebastian continued to lick and suck your breasts. It wasn't until Sebastian moved lower, laying his tongue flat against your cunt, that Claude squeezed, not hard yet, but lightly. 

"We're taking this slow." Claude murmured softly as Sebastian sucked your clit into his mouth, teeth scraping over the sensitive nub. "I want you to be comfortable first." 

You didn't know if Sebastian was going to stick with that, but you trusted Claude on his word at the very least. 

Sebastian looked up at you, his hands tight on your thighs. You could see his tongue as it came out, slowly licking you, teasing you. You let out another nervous breath. 

Claude squeezed your throat now, fingers coming up, pinching your nose lightly and just like that, you couldn't breathe. It was a strange, almost panicky feeling. You wanted to immediately react, throw his hand off your nose, tap out and use your safe word. But you kept yourself from doing so and thought of the fuzzy feeling that you were having. 

You suddenly felt as though the feelings of Sebastian licking you up were heightened. Your cunt was immediately flooding with liquids and you came hard on Sebastian's' tongue, though you previously hadn't been as close. 

Claude released your mouth and nose, causing you to gasp dramatically for breath. Claude kept a tight hold on you as you struggled on your knees, still trying to come to terms with it. 

"Do you want to keep going?" Claude demanded fiercely. He was very protective of you and this kink had not been his idea, but Sebastians'. 

"Yes." You breathed out, gaining control of your breathing now. "It. . ." You were trying to figure out how to explain it and you couldn't, so you just said 'yes' again and left it at that. Claude surveyed you for another moment and then nodded. 

Sebastian pulled you away from Claude, sprawling you out on your back on the bed. He lifted your hips, thrusting into you, making you moan. Sebastian's hand covered your nose and mouth, pressing down hard so that you couldn't breathe. Claude hovered nearby so that he could watch you and Sebastian. 

It was such an overwhelming, light-headed feeling. He was fucking you harshly while you couldn't breathe. You couldn't even explain the feeling of your lungs fighting for air that you weren't and couldn't receive, while simultaneously feeling like your body was on fire in pleasure. 

Your body jerked, needing air, but Sebastian only pressed tighter against your mouth and nose. Claude's eyes were flicking between the two of before Sebastian demanded "cum" and you came without even realizing that you were on the brink of release. His hand moved away immediately, air swooping down your lungs in huge gulps. The mixed relief in your lungs with the overwhelming pleasure your body was riding on seemed to lengthen your orgasm. 

Claude had pulled you into his arms once more, this time so you were straddling him, sinking down on his cock. He pinched your nose first as you started to ride him, moving yourself up and down in rhythm to breathing through your mouth. 

This was slightly more uncomfortable, since your breathing sounded heavy in your ears. Claude released your nose, letting you breath fully again, using his demon speed so that you were suddenly under him, legs pushed back so your knees were against your breasts. 

"Oh~" You cried out, moaning a little, before Sebastian pinched your nose and covered your mouth again. Claude's hand tightened around your throat as he pistoned into you. This time, you barely even noticed you were unable to breathe, instead completely pliable between them as the pleasure overwhelmed you. 

It took about twenty-five seconds before your lungs were screaming again, but this time you didn't pay any attention to it, white spots dancing in front of your eyes. Hands were off of you as you careened over the edge, lungs filled with air once more. 

You realized you were fighting to stay conscious and slumped forwards into Claude's arms, finally noticing that he had pulled you into his arms, body still sunk down on his cock. 

"There we go pet." Claude whispered softly, tapping your cheek lightly with a glass of water. The condensation trickling down your cheek to the corner of your lip. He tipped the glass at your mouth, which you sucked up greedily, draining the glass in ten seconds. "Hi." He whispered as you looked at him again. 

You smiled a little and then became a little surprised, noticing the time on the wall. "Wow, I didn't realize so much time passed." You murmured, "It felt like everything happened within five minutes." 

Claude nodded, stroking your cheek. "I'm just glad you didn't black out at all. I'm not sure I can do the play again. It. . ." He hesitated, looking for the right word, but then softly admitted, "scared me I suppose is the best fitting word. If you want to do it with Sebastian, I'll monitor, but I don't think I can cause you harm like that, regardless." 

"That's okay." You said, kissing his cheek, before snuggling into his shoulder. "You don't have to do anything you don't want. But thank you for doing it tonight." 

He gently stood up, letting his cock fall out of you, before dashing to the bathroom where a tub of heated water sat. "Go ahead and fall asleep kitten." Claude whispered softly. "I've got you." 

You rested your head against the cool tiled wall behind you and did just that.

[cha-melodius]

firstprince & 💘

💘 fake relationship / mutual pining / dared to kiss  (I was trying to think up fake relationship scenarios and suddenly remembered my favorite?? anyway here's some undercover as a couple. read all the kiss ficlets)

Alex knows neither of them going to enjoy this. If Henry’s obvious flinch when Raf had told them their assignment hadn’t made that point, he’d overheard them talking later. Heard Henry say he couldn’t do this and that it was implausible. Fucking stuck up snob, thinks he’s too good for Alex. Well, Alex will show him.

The party is at some kind of fancy club, so Alex wears one of his best suits—the one with the trousers that make his ass look amazing—and a satin shirt unbuttoned halfway down his sternum. He puts on his most expensive cologne and spends far too long stying his curls, but it’s all worth it for the way Henry’s jaw drops when he opens the door.

Unfortunately, Henry looks absurdly good too, even in his boring gray suit. It’s also extremely unfortunate how much Alex likes the press of Henry’s big hand against his lower back and the way Henry guides him around the room. Henry’s an annoyingly good actor, giving Alex these looks that make him burn up inside even though he knows there’s nothing real behind them. It’s infuriating that Alex’s body would betray him like this. He doesn’t like Henry. He doesn’t. And he certainly doesn’t want Henry to push him onto a mattress and blanket him with those broad shoulders and—

A loud laugh interrupts Alex’s furious not-fantasy, and he turns back from the bar to see some scantily-clad woman clearly trying to put the moves on his not-boyfriend. Henry certainly doesn’t need his help getting rid of unwanted attention, but something in Alex snaps. Before he knows what he’s doing, he’s crossing the room and dropping down on the couch next to Henry, hooking a knee over one of Henry’s thighs.

“Hey, baby, who’s your friend?” he asks brightly, though he doesn’t wait for an answer. Instead, he slides a hand behind Henry’s neck and drag him into a kiss.

This was, perhaps, a miscalculation. Henry barely tenses in surprise before he’s kissing Alex back, sliding their mouths firmly together and scraping his teeth against Alex’s lower lip, and Alex’s insides go positively molten. It lasts less than a minute before they break apart, the woman and entire fucking club utterly forgotten as they stare at each other. At least Henry looks just as dazed as Alex feels.

“I, uh—” Alex starts, though mercifully Henry holds up a hand to interrupt because he has no idea what he was going to say.

“We’re talking about this later,” Henry says firmly, “but right now I’m going to need you to not do… that again unless you want Raf to fire us both for blowing this assignment because I couldn’t stop myself from dragging you into the loo to blow you. Understood?”

“Ah, yup, got it,” Alex gulps. “So, just to be clear, you want—”

“Alex,” Henry warns, his voice low and dangerous, and oh, Jesus fuck.

Alex is in trouble.

[nburkhardt]

Somebody Loves You, You Got A Friend.

Hello! This is my abo teenage parents steddie fic I talked about a few times. Wrote it a while ago for myself, never felt quite confident for sharing. But after sharing the few snippets, here’s the start! There’s real no end to it, it’s mostly slice of life with nearly no real plot. (Title is from Spaceship by Andy Grammer)

Some info you should know: it takes place in season 2. Originally wasn’t going to include the upside down but switched it to have it. ANYWAY, enjoy the start! It’s mostly Steve angst and only a hint of Eddie lol.

So, here’s the thing… Steve never keep his secondary gender a secret. In fact, he was quite proud of it. Mostly because it pisses his dad off to no end, and well, pissing off his dad is one of his and his mom’s favorite past time.

With that said he was definitely proud to take after his mom and for being a male omega. He knows it probably pisses more people off than they let on and really, that makes his fucking day.

Sometime around the time he entered high school, his status went sky high. He didn’t mind, though finding true friends was rough. Especially when Tommy and Carol glued themselves to him within a few hours of knowing him. Since he didn’t keep his omega status a secret, they thought he was weaker and needed to be protected. With Tommy being an alpha and Carol a beta, they decided to be best friends. It pissed him off, but at the time he didn’t have many friends. But of course, he’s not weak. He knows how to protect himself and even others.

His life gets flipped upside down, shortly after Nancy Wheeler calls him ‘bullshit’ in a bathroom at a dumb Halloween party.

It’s been months since Will Byers disappeared, thought dead and found alive. Also months since Nancy’s best friend fucking died while sitting at his pool. All while he and Nancy were in bed, they only found out in the next morning at school.

Nancy’s words send him spiraling down immediately, because unlike her, he does or did love her. So in a blind panic, he leaves the room and then the house and straight into the forest behind. Freaking out and sobbing as he went.

He didn’t know how long he was there, all he remembers of the night is panicking and then someone that smells of smoke, rain and freshly cut grass, helps him to his car and on his way. With only a matchbook with a number on it sitting on his passenger seat as who helped him.

In the morning, he gets ready for school, kisses his mom on the cheek and goes on his way. Only pocketing the matchbook as he parks in the school parking lot.

The day is simple only because he avoids Nancy as much as he can and then nearly get his ass handed to him by the new big alpha in town, Billy Hargrove.

“Should plant your feet, pretty boy”

He rolls his eyes, “shove the fuck off, Hargrove”

Billy is about to do another shove, he can’t figure out why to be honest. His scent is currently covered by scent blockers, the one thing his mom told him to take. When he notices Nancy waving him down, so he goes willingly to that danger instead.

It’s nothing but anger from her, it’s rolling off her in her scent even with a blocker, “Why didn’t you pick me up?”

He scruffs, “because I’m apparently bullshit?”

She at least flinches at that. But doesn’t apologize, at least, not the way he’d like. She does try to excuse it all by saying she was drunk and if there is one thing he took to heart from his asshole dad; drunk words are sober thoughts.

The final kicker of the whole conversation: her not saying “I love you” after he pleads her to.

He decides after that, Nancy Wheeler is someone he refuses to be with.

—

If you made it this far great!! Because after this the real fun begins 🥳 meaning Eddie is actually there and you get to meet my favorite person, Janet Harrington… Steve’s mom! This was just getting things mostly set up. I hope it doesn’t seem too weird with jumping around or weird phrasing lol.

(Btw, I don’t necessarily keep to everything everyone does in abo fics. I go with whatever I like and easy to work with. So there’s scents, mates, pack easy things. Nothing too explicit either, I’m definitely not confident enough to post smut hahaha.) OH AND IF YOU HAVE QUESTIONS OR WANNA TALK ABOUT THIS AU MY MESSAGES AND ASK BOX IS ALWAYS OPEN!!!!!

Permanent Tag List: @spectrum-spectre @itsfreakingbats @mysticcrownshipper @artiststarme @thereindeerlady @justforthedead89 @ronniescontinuum @freyaforestafay

Also those who liked my snippet: @zerokrox-blog @callme-keys @maya-custodios-dionach @rajumat @yellowdevilkitten @munsonfamilyband @steddierthings

[chaos-in-deepspace]

L&DS Xavier: Lazy Mornings | Drabble

I totally meant for this to be posted yesterday...but then one of my homies got me into FFXV and legit played that all night. So anyway, my third 10-minute drabble. I'm actually going to start working on Rafayel's batch right now and write maybe one or two of them before I gotta get ready for work.

Pairing: Xavier x Reader Warning: None Disclaimer: This is an original fan work for “Love and Deepspace”. Do not repost on other platforms or plagiarize. All characters shown in this fic is 18+.

Blog Information | Masterlist

Xavier

Waking up to something burning normally wasn’t the ideal way of starting your morning. Especially not when you noticed how the man who was normally passed out right next to you until who knows when was currently not in bed. The two things combined had you jumping out of bed in only your underwear, all but sprinting to the kitchen in a panicked haze.

As you suspected, you could see Xavier in the kitchen wearing one of your favorite aprons. He seemed to be trying to cook bacon, but in the frying pan it looked almost charred. He had his eyebrows furrowed in confusion as he slid off the desecrated food onto a plate and looked it over. That’s when he finally noticed you in the doorway, looking at him in horror.

“What’s goin on?” It came out as more of a slur as you let out a loud yawn. You covered your mouth and noticed how your eyes seemed to water. You really were tired and you couldn’t place why. Xavier glanced at you, those cerulean puppy dog eyes were big as he almost seemed to pout at being caught.

“I got hungry so I thought I could make us some breakfast.” He finally said and you looked him over then back to the pan. “I also thought maybe I could bring you breakfast in bed for once since I woke up early…” ah there it was. Now you couldn’t be mad at him.

You shook your head as you walked over to him, your hand reaching up. It looked as though you were about to cup his cheeks, but instead you opted to pinch them, making Xavier flinch back in surprise. Before he could get too far though, you were dragging him down to your level and planting a kiss on his lips.

Your arms snaked their way around his waist as Xavier seemed to melt against your lips. Your fingers delicately played with the strings of the apron and you easily untied it and parted from his lips, using your hands now to take off the next piece. Once the apron was gone you tossed it on yourself, tying the back piece and smirking.

“I’ll get us some breakfast, you just sit there and look pretty.” You said with a laugh and Xavier was now actually pouting after realizing he had gotten played by you.

“Can’t I at least help?” Those giant eyes looked at you as he seemed to almost be begging you with them. It always set your heart beating faster than it should and you had to hold strong so you would have a kitchen by the end of the morning.

“How about you crack and whisk us up some eggs. I want to make a breakfast scramble.” You finally said and Xavier didn’t seem happy with the meager chore. His lip jutted out in a pout and gosh it was so hard to say no to him when he was begging.

You grabbed his cheeks with both hands, squishing them and watched as his cheeks turned red. His own hands went over to grab onto yours, but you didn’t let up, “Behave, Xavier.” You scolded him. He knew just what he was doing when he gave you that look, “I want something edible this morning for breakfast.”

Xavier huffed and rolled his eyes; the hands that were trying to pry yours off now went to your waist, dragging you closer as he pressed another kiss to your lips. He spoke against them in a soft voice, “I truly can’t do anything else?” he was testing you this morning it would seem.

You pushed him back gently and smiled, “You really can’t. Now get the eggs ready, babes.” you pat his chest once before parting, walking over the fridge to grab what you needed.

“Fine…but I’ll make breakfast next time then.” He muttered.

“Like hell you will…”

So anyway...tomorrow Infold has a Livestream for what's essentially Season 2 of LADS. Anyone gonna be watching it? Imma have to literally wake up at 6am to catch it.

[ixiot-ghostrebel]

i love a good old traumatized reader

reader whose favorite acolyte is xiao, even if he killed them once or twice ! at least he had the courtesy to make it quick..

reader who flinches every time someone makes a sudden move near them. we study their every move with an intense gaze, our body rigid and cold.

reader who does their best to disguise their emotions, but really can’t help but look at certain acolytes with apathy. i mean, who would look someone in the eye after they removed your limbs?

reader who wakes up screaming almost every night, still plagued by memories of the things they endured.

we try to act collected, sure, but the facade cracks sometimes around our closest acolytes. the ones we know we can trust- as friends. ((maybe kazuha, xiao, or itto. big guy. himbo. good hugs. also small guys. good for cuddling.

but yippee!! itto or kazuha never even tried to kiII us! that’s a win in my book. xiao on the other hand,, has beheaded us twice! we thank him for making it painless though. i like to think they all get along well

Few Headcanons + Slight Discussion

Sorry, Anon. This is too angsty and beyond my level of bad writing so no oneshot today 💀 Not to mention that this request is giving me heavy "mary sue" or "damsel in distress" vibes. I don't particularly like those if I'm being honest. So, instead, please accept these headcanons!

Although this idea is really good and well thought out, I personally disagree the idea of Reader even trying to be around their acolytes.

Sure, they may still have their favorite character and all that, but let's be honest, anyone who's gained PTSD at this level like Reader would want to stay away from everyone as far as possible.

However, I admit that to the people that were nice and didn't try to kill Reader, they will certainly be talked to. Said-characters will probably have to be prepared to face a lot of unhappy glares and faces.

Though I do doubt Reader will be even willing to go out all that often, so they'll probably invite them to their palace or something. Or maybe, if you wanna make it so that Reader does go out once in a while, Reader sneaks out and does their best to hide and visit said-characters.

Since this request has a slight soft spot for Xiao, despite him being one of the killers, I like to imagine that Reader has a admire-stay-away game with him. They admire them from afar, but won't go close or even start a conversation with him in fear of being killed.

Reader ain't risking being killed again, no matter how fast that man will make it. It's still traumatizing, alright?

Alright, back to the characters that didn't attempt to kill Reader. Itto and Kazuha are so going to get spoiled by Reader with a lot of things—personally made dishes, random gifts, and just simply having a relaxing good time.

Half suspect that Reader will be silent. They are trying to be aware of their surroundings at all times, even during these relaxing moments. Itto and Kazuha have to constantly remind them to have fun and relax because sometimes Reader gets to irked up of being caught.

Let's be honest, these two can protect Reader just fine. They've had their encounters with the Raiden Shogun (sort of, on Itto's behalf), so they aren't exactly scared.

And that's all I got! Sorry if this wasn't what you wanted, Anon, but it's the best I got. See you all around, now! :)

Ghost Rebel Side Notes: I was originally going to reject this request, but I figure it would be better to just make headcanons of these. Do note that i might not be so lenient as I was with this request. I don't really like too angsty reader—sometimes they're just too much. It gives me "damsel in distress" vibes and I don't really like it.

✦ Check out The Ghost Rebel’s Blog Description & Info Page to See if Their Mailbox is Open! ✦

[glassrowboat]

From the Past. Dottore.

Summary: What is the most wretched thing, the one we read about in books as they spell out horror after horror? Well, to Dottore, it's losing you. So even as he curses himself for being selfish, he takes a clawed hand in his own and grips it so tightly it can't even threaten him with the idea of being pulled away.

Word count: 2000+

Warnings: Gore, psychological torture implied, toxic dynamic, and Dottore. Yes, he is a warning.

Authors note: The doctor and reader were not in a romantic relationship previous to the contents of this fic.

The sounds of wailing screams must have stopped hours ago now as Dottore walked back into the lab, the silence he was met with almost startling compared to the banging fists and pleas for help that filled the air as he left. That is if he didn't already expect this outcome. To the doctor this is just another day like any other, even as the screech of metal dragging against the floor hit his ears, a black line worn into the ground from the amount of times he's opened and closed this particular cell. 

Just another thing to fix later.

Dottore didn't even flinch as the smell of blood hits his nose in waves. Far too used to it to be nauseated now he walks through the door, bits and pieces of flesh coating the walls as blood reached high enough to cake the ceiling. The sound of a drip, drip, drip melodic. Though none of that mattered compared to the sight of a messy head of hair, the light slipping through the door way just enough to illuminate the figure that sat there as she turned to look at him.

“It appears you have outdone yourself again, my favorite test experiment. Did you have fun while I was gone?” Judging by the fact there's barely any remains to be had of the live test subject he threw in there with her, the answer had to be yes. 

“I did.” Ahh, simple and to the point as always. Or at least as it always is now. “Welcome back Dottore.”

“Glad to be back.” Smiling down at her he offered what could barely be called a woman anymore a hand. She may have appeared just as she did once upon a time but the blood covering her mouth was a clear indication as to otherwise. Such a sweet little face so clearly hiding a brutal and ravenous creature only he truly knew the extent of. “Now that you are fed-”

Without even bothering to accept his hand she was right in front of him in an instant. Matted hair tickling Dottore's neck as she leaned in. There was no point to be startled, or to even act afraid, not when he knew this one would never hurt him. He was confident in that.

The quick sound of a sniff however still had him looking down at her with a raised eyebrow though. “You smell like the other harbingers. Were you in a meeting again?”

Dottore chuckled softly at her question. After all, a day (y/n) actually chose to converse was a good day in his books. “Yes, I did just attend meeting with the other harbingers,” he replied, his breath brushing over her cheek. “And what is to you if I did?”

“Well,” her eyes fell down to the floor, a sight one could almost miss in the dark room. “You used to tell me when you were busy. Now you just leave without a word.”

We used to be so much closer.

“Right.” Dottore grumbled. “Things have changed. My priorities have changed; I'm sure you understand. I can't be with you all the time anymore.” He has work to do, tests to run, papers to write, just…things that keep him busy over all.

Waiting for a moment Dottore looked down at her, waiting for that sharp tongue he had grown so used to. A comment along the lines of: ‘well maybe if you had told me of this before you wouldn't come across as such a prick.’ Yet the woman leaning into him said nothing of the sort, no sharp bite to share. Not this time.

Of course she wouldn't.

“Let's get you cleaned up, dear.” Placing his hand on the small of her back Dottore led her out the cell. It wasn't meant to keep her captive anyway. She wouldn't go anywhere even without a door that screeched in sheer agony everytime I was forced open locking her in. 

The remains of what was once her meal left behind as he pushed her towards the small wash station right up until she was standing under the shower head. He didn't even bother to warn her as he turned the water on, already knowing she wouldn't mind. The freezing water beat down on her in a way that would have Dottore shivering in her place if their positions were swapped, but she barely showed a sign of recognizing what just happened.

There were no complaints of the cold to be had as she hissed at him about being a bitch. Simply standing there. Watching. 

“Are you really so unbothered by this?” Why did he even ask that, he already knew the answer. Maybe, just maybe the sound of the water would drown out the pointless question, but he knew it wouldn't. 

Dottore already made sure of that long ago. (Y/n), something that was somehow more than and less than human all at once. Needles that once filled her skin now having marked her skin with scars that were slowly being revealed as the blood washed off of her, swirling and pooling on the floor. Seconds passing by as the stark red faded to pink. It'll be clear soon enough.

“I'm fine. Just need a change of clothes.”

“Of course,” he sighed, watching as bits of flesh fell from the folds of her shirt that would have to be fished out of the drain later. “I'll have that settled soon. Just wash off, I don't need you dirtying the lab again.”

A small mutter of a “thank you” could be heard as he turned on his heel, already knowing not to bother to search for any trace of light in her like had used to so many times before. Humanity long since forgotten even before the first time she tore her teeth into a test subjects flesh. At least this time she didn't ask to be allowed to hunt her prey down. 

It was so easy to forget the woman she once was when you look at her now, the name Siearra seemingly almost belonging to an entirely new person. If that is something she call still be called to this day. He certainly wouldn't say it was the best description for her.

These old tile floors his shoes clicked on as he walked to fetch her something to change into had once reflected a woman who would easily poke and prod at him with words alone. How something he once considered so annoying could be endearing now is beyond him.

Nostalgia, such an easily blinding tool.

If she said something like that today…well, she wouldn't even dare. No calling him out for being a jerk, the guts to snap back at him the instant something proved to be displeasing almost vanished into thin air. She truly had changed, just as was intended. These days she is monstrous, can tear through a carcass with ease. She is a pride of his, a true show of just how much his work has come to grow, so there's no point missing her old self. This is simply a change of behavior as any human being would exhibit after being put through-

Dottore stopped for a moment, tongue clicking as he realized just what was going on through his head. Self rationalization? Now? Pointless. There may be memories of (y/n) curled up in a corner of his lab before one of the few heaters, but that is simply the past. It doesn't matter if he and gotten used to her presence there, had begun to expect it. It doesn't matter that if he would comment on her habit of trying to steal the warmth all for himself she would tell him “be a good little scientist and discover this thing called a coat then.”

How he had to bite back a smile, had to bite back from saying “you could have just asked for a blanket you know.”

Enough of this.

Quickly grabbing a change of clothes for her Dottore turned back to the monster that was now before him. This was (y/n) now, no matter how alike they may look. The figure sitting down on the floor with a fluffy towel draped over her shoulders and still wet hair dripping droplets onto her skin was the present.

How she looked so much like a cowering animal as she sat there simply waiting for him to return. Before Dottore could even stop himself playful words tumbled out of his mouth. “You really need to learn how to dry your hair properly, dear. You look like a rat.”

And just how she'd always respond to his snark these days followed suit, a simple “okay.” He shouldn't have expected anything else.

Things truly have changed.

“Put on your clothes already. I don't need you catching a cold,” he snapped.

“Right. Sorry.” Getting up off the floor she slipped the clothes on, so numb seemingly to every little thing. There was no strong sense of dignity from her. (Perhaps stripped the moment he first heard her begging for the pain to stop and Dottore simply told (y/n) to shut up and push through like a good experiment). 

“Don't apologize to me, just do things right the first time.” He could see her slowly mouth opening, most likely to apologize again. “I just ask of you to follow orders.” There wasn't a point to look at her to know she was nodding so instead he sat down, the old chair slotted behind the old workbench working well enough for now as he sighed. No matter how much he tried to calm down she had such an ability to rile him up. Silence or her old snark, it was all the same.

She once looked upon him so sweetly as another one of those novels were in those hands, some flowery title he didn't bother to remember printed over the cover. The anemones that were so intricately drawn however were a different story. How she cooed over the main love interest even as Dottore told her multiple times he wasn't interested in hearing about her love for romance.

(Y/n) ignored him easily, still chatting away to the point he had almost managed to tune her out between the catching of a quil on paper. That is until she playfully remarked “one day I'll find my perfect match just like in this story and then I'll run off and get married.” The rest of what she said didn't matter, not at that moment. To run off with someone and just leave him. That's what she had implied.

“Come here.” He ordered, now addressing the monster that sat a few feet away from him.

And just like he had forced her to, how he might as well have programmed into (y/n)’s once human brain, she obeyed. The skirt of the dress she had only just thrown on a moment prior dragging under her, halting and stalling the woman's movements as she crawled over to him. There was no dignity to be had, no pride, no hint of who she once was. Not even as she hung her head in front of him.

What a good girl.

“Look at me.”

His little monster, his prized experiment, his masterpiece, his dead look in her eyes that slowly settliled on him. Hesitantly so. This was how it was meant to be. It didn't matter of thoughts of doubt were running through her mind, if she was waiting to be thrown either a bone or her death penalty, all because now she can't leave. There's not a choice in the matter.

Perhaps he'd mourn the woman she once was, wish for her attitude to come back and hope to hear a comment or two that would remind him of her. But what would the lack of what once was do besides fill him full of unwelcome memories he doesn't want to recall no matter how much both of them still clung to their past?

“Have you realized your place in life yet? It's quite obvious but I want to hear you say it.” 

Without missing a beat the little creature he made her be whisper out, “by your side.”

Yes, exactly. She's finally learned. And if she dared say anything else? Well, that's just another thing to fix now.

[ryverbind]

Faceless Fixation (Sal Fisher): The Composer [28]

My favorite analogy to use in times of uncertainty comes from my dad. He once told me, "We're just two little frogs on a lone lily pad, floating down some hidden bayou in the swamps of New Orleans, Ducks. And that's okay, because at least we have each other."

It stuck with me throughout most of my life. When the depression was really rough, when the anxiety hit its peak, I'd scribble that line in notebooks. In pencil on my walls, erase the words when I felt whole again. Etch it onto my arm in pen, then scrub away at my skin for hours in the shower that same night.

For that reason, I feel like we can attach ourselves not only to people, but to words too. Which is why I find myself debating going and writing those words again and again and again in the emptiness of my apartment.

The week leading up to Ash's departure to Anaheim flew by. She and I unpacked, organized, and lazed about our home without seeing Sal, Larry, Todd, or Neil all that much.

That was fine, she and I preferred to figure things out on our own anyway.

The issue came with the moment Ash left in the early morning on Friday, after we'd had Sal and Larry over the night before.

I was left to my own devices, which meant all I could do was think about how much I've been drowning in myself. For months.

What's weighed on me most is Sal. I was never supposed to like him— it was never supposed to be more than simple attraction. I feel like I've failed myself and dragged Sal into something he wants nothing to do with. Feeling this way seems so cruel. He's his own person, he has his own shit to deal with. Why did I let it get this far?

For the entire day, I've sat here and told myself— scolded myself— that I need to calm things down and I need to get over this. Not just for me, but for him. Situationships, friends with benefits... those types of things do not end in relationships. They don't turn into happily ever afters. Me and Sal are nothing alike— I wouldn't even dare consider a relationship but if my feelings go far enough, I just might start to.

There needs to be some separation for myself. I need to put some distance, but I just don't want to. I genuinely like being around him.

Oh, this is such a clusterfuck.

I lay on me and Ash's couch, staring out of the huge windows that lead to the balcony as the sun goes down. It's evening. The silence is loud around me, messes with my senses. I keep thinking I see things out of the corner of my eye and every creak or crack of people moving around above or below me sets my heart racing.

Ash informed me that she'd be back by tomorrow morning, which is fine. I streamed for a few hours, ate dinner, then did some shopping to snuff out my Sal-centered thoughts, and then the unsettling quiet. I just didn't realize how anxious I'd get about being here alone once the moon took the sun's place in the sky. 

It's not my first time being alone. When I lived with dad, I was alone most of the time. But this apartment is still unfamiliar to me. Being in a new place that doesn't quite feel like a home yet is perturbing. 

The sky grows a little too dark for my liking, so I grab the remote and turn on the TV, flinching when the volume startles me. Anything to suffocate the silence that lurks around the dark corners of this room though.

I glance over my shoulder, making eye contact with the dark hallway that looks back at me. Shadows dance around the edges of the vignette, mocking my fear. I'm worried that if I watch for too long, I may really see something staring back.

And I thought my tiny, barely there feelings for Sal were scary. All that needs to be done to reset my mind is put me in an empty room, I guess.

Turning my gaze back to the TV, I try to focus on The Crow. All the gothic notes and emotional aspects try to distract me... but I quickly learn that even my favorite movie and Brandon Lee's ethereal beauty can't steal me from reality.

I'm restless. I can't stay here a moment longer.

Sighing, I sit up and gaze at the hardwood floor. Dad's not home-- I could go back to my old apartment, but that's a fifteen minute drive. That's a last resort. I would go to Todd and Neil's, but they're over in San Francisco to watch Todd's favorite musical. 

That leaves me with Larry. 

Can I bear to be in Sal's presence with all the turmoil in my head? I don't know, but I can't figure it out until I try. Not to mention, knowing him, he'll be locked up in his room anyway.

Me and Sal's conversation last week made me feel a bit more secure. I know things can continue the way they have been and I don't have to worry about anything else, I just have to work on getting past exactly how much I feel now. The fact that we had to had to have that conversation at all is embarrassing-- even if he told me that it was okay. It feels so stupid to me now that it's all over. It feels even more ridiculous that I apparently haven't learned a thing and still want to put distance between us.

I stand up and grab my keys from the kitchen counter before shutting off the TV. Then, I'm out the front door like a bat out of hell. The quiet was overpowering me-- having such a big place is so eerie when it's just me.

In my diluted panic, I make it to Sal and Larry's apartment in record time-- hoping and praying that they'll let me stay.

I pick up my pace once I reach their floor, bounding up to the door and knocking. Each corner feels like it's leering, hiding evil that lurks everywhere I go. It's unbearable and I just can't be alone.

That, or maybe some depraved part of me just wants to Sal.

Chewing on my bottom lip, I tap my foot against the carpeted floor and try to pretend that I've got it together. I do anything to get rid of the adrenaline rushing through me. Readjust my mask, pick at invisible lint on my shirt, crack all of my fingers, look up and down both sides of the hallway stretching around me. It feels like I wait for hours even though it's merely seconds until the door opens.

My eyes snap upward, gazing into the eyeholes of Sal's prosthetic. He holds it against his face with a hand, the straps dangling at the sides. It's clear I've caught him off guard.

"Vi?" He asks, tone suggesting he's both confused and alert by my sudden presence. I watch him glance down the hallway the same way I just did. 

When he looks back at me, he has an eyebrow raised inquisitively. 

"Uh," I choke out, remembering that I kind of have to tell him why I'm here. "Is Larry here? I wanted to hang out. The, um, silence is... loud." I rush to explain myself, knowing full well that I don't have to explain myself to anyone.

But Sal looks like he gets it though, his gaze softening in understanding as the words leave me. 

"Larry isn't here," He tells me forthright. My heart drops at the news. "He went to Anaheim with Ash. Didn't she tell you?"

I hum bashfully, embarrassed at myself and the circumstances as I shake my head.

"Sorry for bothering," I say with a sigh, trying to hype myself up to brave the quietude and darkness.

A beat of tense silence passes between us as I build up the mental strength, already feeling like I'm rotting in the lonely apartment back upstairs. 

Then, Sal mutters, "You can stay if you want, so long as you don't mind me practicing. And don't make me regret inviting you in."

I watch him watch me, both of us hesitant and unsure. But what's more unbearable than being around him (which hasn't been all too bad lately) is being alone.

I clear my throat lightly then look down at my feet, nodding. "Okay, thanks."

I may come to regret this.

Sal leads me into the apartment, his slightly taller figure blurring as I take in the living room and kitchen I helped unpack just a week ago now. To replace all the boxes and uncertainty is a kind of clean organization that I just know Larry had nothing to do with.

Sal spruced up. It's orderly, uncluttered, and so him. It works because Larry isn't much different.

The climbing living room walls have various band, tour, and festival posters, records, guitars, a bass, signed drum covers. It's a metal-head's dream. There's just a little touch that screams 'this-is-the-house-of-a-streamer,' which happens to be the multi-colored LED's on the ceiling. But I'll give them a pass for that one.

Regardless, it's nice. And the kitchen, while not completely decked out, is doctor's office-level pristine.

I purse my lips, feeling a little apprehensive. This might be the first time Sal and I have been in each other's presence without a plan for sex or something related to it. We're just... hanging out. It's weird, but I'm desperate enough to put up with it at this point. 

Sal's out of my way already, settled on one of the black sofa's with his flashy red guitar nestled on his lap and a laptop in front of him. Oh, and the prosthetic is gone.

My eyes train onto his pretty face. With all of this moving, I've hardly been able to see it. As crazy as it is, it's kind of been killing me. This recent revelation of mine has led to this insatiable urge to look at him constantly. I thought it was bad before, when this was all just a meaningless crush, but now...

I swallow past my raging thoughts. I've had enough to think about today.

Following Sal's lead, I plop down onto the adjacent, larger sofa-- right in the middle of it. I stare at the dark television and subtly gaze around the room in search of a remote. I'll be damned if I sit here with him in silence like this. Once again, I would much rather hot box in a car full of Larry's tamale farts.

Sal's head tilts upward in my peripheral so I look at him. He looks at me, his azure eyes surveying me before leaning over to a little table between the sofa's. He grabs a remote, then an Xbox controller and tosses them to me.

"You can play something if you want. Just switch to HDMI 2," he offers, turning his attention back to his guitar, strumming a quiet note. His brows furrow and he bites down on his bottom lip, shakes his head lightly. Those hypnotizing cerulean locks fall past his shoulders and shield his handsome face from me. His hair has grown in the past few months, hanging at least an inch past his shoulder by now--

--and that is not the point of why I'm here.

I murmur a quick thanks and lean over to grab the controllers, switching on the TV and finding my way to Sal and Larry's shared console.

There's a selection of games on here, some I've played, others that are on my TBP list (like TBR, but instead of to-be-read, it's to-be-played).

I hover around the Resident Evil 4 remake. For the past few weeks, I've been telling myself I'm saving up for it. I brought it up to Ash a couple days ago and she gave me a funny look then proceeded to remind me that, with my streaming career, I have around $4,000 in my bank account right now. I don't need to save for once, I can just get it.

Except I panicked and said I have to keep all my money in case of an emergency... so having disposable income is still new to me and I have no idea how to handle it.

I click on the game, biting down the excited grin that tries to build on my face.

I start a new game and nearly crap myself, doing my fangirl job by raving over the updated graphics and Leon's lore-accurate hair color.

For about an hour, Sal and I don't even spare glances at each other. It's nice, chill-- just two... acquaintances... in each other's presence without having to talk to enjoy their company. I play RE4 and he strums away on his guitar. A couple times, I become entranced by the melody he plays. Each time he plays longer, it starts to come together. Around the second time he played more than a couple notes, I realized he was composing. Creating a tune. Whatever you want to call it. 

While a musician myself, I've mostly worked on covers of songs. I've only tried to write my own music a couple times and even then, I realized it was tough work. Watching Sal now-- how long it takes him to come up with all the notes and lengths for just one chord-- I do not envy him, but I do admire him. He's putting a lot of work into it, clicking away on his laptop when he finds something he likes.

Each second of him working on his music steals me away from my game though. I start getting antsy, missing infected people even if they're right in front of me in the game. Hell, I walked Leon into a wall two minutes ago.

I grit my teeth as I navigate through the village, heart beating out of my chest with every corner I turn because a horde of zombies is going to be on me any second now.

I need to be prepared, need to get all of these questions out of my head.

"You're making a song?" I ask Sal, staring at the screen in front of me with my knees pulled up to my chest.

Sal hums in acknowledgment, distracted by whatever he's messing with on the computer. "Yea. Has to do with that Twitter leak." His voice is soft, hoarse. I'm shocked he even answered me with how focused he is.

Ah, yea. That leak. Ash and I didn't hear from Sal or Larry for two days after they rushed out of our apartment. When they finally popped up yesterday to help us with some more unpacking, they briefly mentioned something about 'damage control' and 'whistleblowing bastards.' Don't know how that has anything to do with whistleblowing, but those were Larry's words, of course.

I nod lightly, dragging Leon to a ladder. "I take it you don't want to give me the drama on that leak?" I guess, stealing a glance his way. Damn his pretty hair and equally as pretty face.

As I'm glancing, he shrugs, bright eyes darting across his laptop. The color of his irises is enhanced by the blue light of the screen-- I hate him. "There's not much drama to give," he murmurs, clicking on something. Then, he sits back, his eyes snapping to me. "The leak was the bridge to this song. I've been fixing it up and messing around with it. I had a producer with me a couple weeks ago, he took a picture of my screen. The back of my head was in it and it inevitably got out. What are people supposed to think when this is the title?"

He flips the laptop to me and I lean forward, squinting my eyes to look at the screen. There's a lot of graphing and multicolored lines that look overwhelming as hell-- but I focus in on the bold words at the top of all the mess. "DAC COLLAB."

I pinch my lips together in a guilty smile. "Ah, so that's the mess. That fucking sucks," I tell him as he pulls the laptop back to him.

Tongue in cheek, he tilts his head to the side as if to say 'whatever.' He at least seems unbothered by the whole thing now. "It is what it is. It's going to be released at some point anyway. North was going to make an announcement next month when we'd made a little more progress. Damn asshole at that studio just did the job for us, I guess." He seethes a bit on the last sentence, brows pinching together. 

I hum contemplatively, eyes trailing over his hands as they press into his guitar before I look back at my game. "I wouldn't let it bother you too much. You still get to make the song, still profit from it."

A tiny grin pulls at Sal's lips. "True," he says nonchalantly. 

Silence builds around us, our conversation having fallen off rather than ending. We're still learning. Awkward moments have to come along here and there.

Doesn't stop me from getting killed within the following moments though. I'm so stressed about making things work with him and me... I shouldn't have started the damn game. 

"I'll make you a deal," Sal suddenly pipes up when I get mauled a second time.

Growling frustratedly to myself, I pause the game and turn to him, waiting for him to continue.

He shakes his hair out of his face, letting me see all of him. He sets his elbows on his knees, showing off the veins in his forearms and the map of tattoos that trail up his skin just to disappear beneath the sleeves of his shirt. 

I take a fortifying breath.

"Come listen to this and I'll help you past this part." He juts his chin toward the TV before looking back at me.

I shrug. Why not?

"Okay," I accept his proposal, scooting down the sofa toward where he is. His tattooed fingers type away on the keyboard before he turns the laptop so we can both see the screen.

"My taste is a little harder than what Dark Autumn Complex usually puts out, but I think we're getting somewhere," he tells me and for a moment, I wonder why he's trying to explain the music to me before I've even heard it. Is he nervous?

I simply nod my head. If I say something, he may get even more freaked out. I'm fighting for my spot on earth right now, man.

He presses the space bar then leans back, letting me listen.

I flinch when I hear the opening-- he wasn't kidding. It's similar to what the band usually does, but there's something sinister and death-metal-ish about the instrumentals. Sal seems to have a lot of control over the sound here. The double electric guitar, and heavy bass from a literal bass but drums too says enough. It's veering off the path that DAC usually takes.

Just because it's a little different doesn't mean it isn't damn good though. It's really good. Sal's cooking up a five course meal on his laptop here.

"Life slips by In the blink of an eye, Dripping through the gaps In my hand which saps This eternal time lapse Of brutality.

Prophesy each of my regrets; My mistakes chosen by the oracle. A fool making bets With possibilities so rhetorical."

I grin at the lyrics, at the sound, everything. I look over at Sal and he has a little smile on his face too, his expression so heavenly when his eyes meet mine. 

"This is--" I start to say, but Sal cuts me off.

"Shut up. Listen," he whispers. So I do.

"An artist of malice-- My muse of persuasion. Drink from my crimson chalice, Submit to the composer's pervasion.

Aren't we friends? This anguish and me. Gaze through the rose-tinted lens, Ignore the razor blade's sharp plea."

I blink, the smile falling from my lips in record time. Just days ago, Sal asked me that question. 'Aren't we friends?' There have been so many coincidences with this band. So many, in fact, that I genuinely thought Sal and North were the same person at one time.

There's more to this than what I've been told.

"You work close with them, don't you?" I ask, tuning out the rest of the song for now. If he tries to shut me up again, I'll shove a finger down his throat.

Sal doesn't look at me as he chews on the inside of his cheek. And-- wait... is he... blushing?

"Caught that, huh?" He asks, pausing the song but still refusing to look at me.

My eyes widen at his admission. "What exactly do you do with them?" I ask quickly, leaning back a little bit as a thousand and one theories pop into my head. Is he going to tell me that he is North? That he's been hiding behind that name all this time?

And if he is, would I finally tell him that I'm Lexi? 

If North is Sal, a lot of things are going to change.

Sal's tongue swipes along his bottom lip. "I write every single one of their songs," he says, nodding to himself. "They put it together, make music with it."

Oh. I got ahead of myself again.

I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding as my body suddenly grows warm with shame. It's time I put that theory to rest. 

I furrow my brows though, thinking back on the lyrics. "Look," I start warily, "I don't want to seem full of myself or crazy or anything, but I swear--"

Sal shakes his head, his dimple forming on his cheek as a bashful smile grows on his lips. "You're not crazy. I hate that you correlated it, but... there are a few lyrics inspired by some of our interactions. When things make an impact on me, I usually incorporate them into my songs." Now it's my turn to blush. I need a moment to process, but, fuck, Sal keeps going. "For example, 'Wherein Christine Daaè Becomes Her Own Phantom' is about Ash. And then a couple lines in some other songs, like the one you heard in this one and 'Falling through like fingers in fishnets---' those were about you."

I gape at him. This genius made of multitudes and art and misery and physics. I don't know what to say, so I stupidly spit out, "Ash has an entire song about her? You gonna write one about me?"

As soon as the words come out, I narrow my eyes and internally scold myself. Not the time to joke, y/n. Not at all.

Sal strums a note on his guitar, in a completely different world as he mumbles, "Who says I haven't already?"

My head snaps to him and a full on, rainbow infested panic attack starts up. He was so serious, ditched all of his reservations when he said that.

At my silence, Sal glances up inquisitively. He takes one look at my face and his eyes widen a fraction. "I'm joking. You aren't that important for me to write a whole song about. Don't take it so seriously."

Do I snap at him for that or feel relieved?

I choose to glare at him instead and switch the subject. "North has a really nice voice," I say a bit too cheerily. Sal notices and I watch him stifle a petty laugh. "It's very melodic, goes well with the band's sound."

"Don't tell him that," Sal snorts, something a bit bitter taking the place of his previous amusement. "His ego's already huge as is."

Ash had some serious heat on North, and now Sal's looking like he has some not-so-good opinions too. Is North really so shady? What is it that everyone's so on edge about?

I recall the time Ash went on a rampage about North incessantly flirting with me and how she mentioned that he isn't exactly known for being in relationships, that he may not be what he portrays himself as.

Sal seems to be pretty open tonight. Maybe I can finally start to understand what the issue is.

I open my mouth but fail to get a word out. I contemplate saying anything at all, nerves consuming me at the prospect. But North isn't here, it's not like he's going to find out we talked about him.

"Is he really..." I start softly. "Ash hinted that he may not be the best person?" I settle on, peeking at Sal through my lashes.

Sal watches me, eyebrows drawing together and jaw working as he searches for what to say. I wait patiently, happy that he's at least thinking about answering me.

"Are you considering cutting off our arrangement to be with him?" He asks genuinely, nothing but seriousness portrayed in his expression.

All the air leaves my body. I hadn't thought about ending things with Sal for that reason, not even once. Plus, North and I haven't talked in a while. After Ash freaked out, I pretty much put the situation on the back burner. "No," I reply quietly. "It's just curiosity at this point."

Sal's expression softens and he blinks at me, holds me in his gaze before sighing heavily. "Everyone has their own shit to work through. He's no different. He has a lot of baggage though, lot of issues. He's told me a thousand times before that he doesn't think he'd be able to handle a relationship because of his problems." He pauses, grimacing as he fights for the right words, clearly not wanting to disrespect is friend. "North is a bit of a hit or miss. I can't predict how he'd be with you." 

He sends me a devilish look, teeth on display in a stunning smile as he adds, "Definitely can't tell you if the sex is good or not. He wouldn't let me hit."

I shake my head at him and roll my eyes, a blush forming on my cheeks. "I did not ask for that last bit," I tell him pointedly.

Sal chuckles, standing up from his spot on the opposite sofa to sit beside me. I watch him with questioning eyes, my body falling into a frenzy because, oh God, Sal's close. Arms. Tattoos. Fingers. Neck. Face. Teeth. Mouth. Hair. Veins. Ravenous. Gnawing at the bars of my enclosure.

Yikes.

He grabs the controller I'd been playing Resident Evil with and that's when I remember that other half of our last minute agreement.

"Figured I'd give you one last little push to keep fucking me and not him," he says as if that statement holds no weight, gesturing toward me with the controller.

I hate when he says 'fuck' because it's always so unironically seductive. I know he's just playing around, but that glint in his eyes and the smirk-like tilt of his lips tries to tell me otherwise.

I snatch the controller from him and unpause the game, grumbling, "I already said I'm not interested in him."

I walk through all the steps I'd already done, having to restart the entire village scene due to my repeated fuck up from last round.

Sal doesn't reply to me, he watches every move I make on the screen and I focus as best as I can. The last thing I want to do is embarrass myself, but I get wrapped up in the same exact spot again, fighting off more of the infected than I can handle.

Leon's body drops to the ground again and I stomp down the overwhelming urge to walk through the TV screen and beat Leon's dead body myself.

"I see what the problem is," Sal pipes up beside me, his tone screaming 'Physics Graduate' with how... scientific he sounds. I bet he conjured up a fucking hypothesis for this. "Come here," he says, linking a finger through my belt loop and tugging me toward him.

I nearly choke on air when my shoulder squishes against his and he leans closer, grabbing my arm closest to him and pulling it so that I'm holding the controller between us.

He moves his hands so that they wrap around mine and over the controller. He can move my thumbs any way he wants with this position-- but now I'm suffering the consequences. His hands are rough and warm on me, his fingers callused and brushing over mine with a perfect plan set in place. I can hardly breathe because, technically, Sal's holding my hands right now. And my body is pressed to his. If he listens a little too hard, he'll hear my heart slamming in my chest.

My body is completely rigid against his. Sex doesn't even involve closeness like this. My entire brain has been completely detached and rewired in mere seconds. Everything I thought has been reversed and I could... totally bed him right here, maybe?

"Are you going to restart or do I have to do that for you too?" Sal rasps humorously. His voice is so near, so clear. I want to look over at him so bad, see the dimple on his cheek because I can hear his smile, but I keep a level head. My eyes stay trained on the TV as I press start.

After all, when a cool, slow-mo explosion happens in the movies, the protagonist never looks back to watch. 

I am the protagonist. I am the fucking protagonist. Iamthefuckingprotagonist.

"Okay, so this is where you're going wrong," Sal says in my ear, his tone suggesting he's much more focused now. His thumbs press into mine, moving Leon around the village much more easily than I could. Doesn't mean he's better than me, he just isn't running on fumes like I am. Sal fumes. I'm suffocating in him, it's all his fault. I am a good player, I swear I am.

I let him direct me, slowly beginning to relax in this soooo not-embrace. His arm, pressed against mine, acts as leverage for me to rest. He seems to lean against me more at some point too, the both of us more worried about getting Leon through the village than about how we slowly warm up to each other and this proximity.

"I don't know if we can get it with me guiding you like this," Sal says a tad urgently when the chase scene starts up, his thumbs working quickly with mine. At some point, I was able to start predicting what moves he'd make, so we seem to be more in sync now. "But we'll try. We have to get through the first wave, then we're going to shoot that damn church bell."

I furrow my brows. "Like the first game?" I gasp, "We can still do it here?"

Sal snorts, manipulating my fingers to shoot someone heading our way. "Of course we can. Watch and learn."

I do watch, and hell, I learn too. It takes maybe five minutes for Sal to get me through the part I'd been stuck on since I got here. The moment he gets the shot on the bell, it rings through the city and evokes deep satisfaction within me-- especially when all the citizens start piling at the church.

I smile at the screen, Sal's hands still wrapped around mine as the famed cut scene starts up.

"Where's everyone going? Bingo?"

This time I look at Sal because we said that line in unison. We said it together. At the same time. He looks back at me with wide eyes and an astonished grin, like he's barely holding back crazed excitement.

Something catches Sal's eye as we watch each other for a short moment, reveling in our shared interest and achievement. He looks up and past me, smile softening as he lets go of my hands. 

The controller is suddenly so heavy without him holding it up for me. It slowly drops to my lap as he stands, walking back over to his respective couch.

I swallow, biting down my yearning for his missing presence. He was warm, he was stable. And that admission only reinforces that fact that I really need to put some much needed distance between us before things get way too real.

I look down at my lap for a moment, reminding myself that everything's going it work itself out. It'll be okay.

Things go back to the way they were before we started conversing today. Sal plays his guitar and tweaks things on his laptop, I play Resident Evil. Only difference now is that we're both progressing through our tasks.

And you know what, it's really nice. I thought this would be a mistake, I thought this would make things so much worse-- well, things are worse, but not in the way I assumed it would be.

But I'm actually having fun. The best part is neither of us need to talk to enjoy ourselves right now. A dynamic like this one is rare.

"You need to go."

The words are abrupt, make me look up. Sal is placing his phone down beside him and pulling his guitar strap over his head. 

Is this some kind of prank? Is he just trying to get our old bickering going? I was just thinking about how nice things were and he cut it off like he read my mind. He had this icy monotone to his voice that I haven't heard in a long time.

With a wary smile, I try to play along. "You're stuck with me, buddy. You made the mistake of inviting me in."

"I'm serious, y/n. I need you to leave." He nearly cuts me off, the words rushing out in what almost sounds like a panic.

I look at him closer, leaning my head down a bit to peek past his curtain of hair. His face is so stone-like, one would think he had faced off with Medusa. My eyebrows pinch together as I finally click into the veiled tenseness around us, my realization making everything that much thicker. 

"Are-- are you okay?" I ask softly, a trickle of apprehension going down my spine. I don't know how to approach this. Clearly, something's wrong and he's trying to play it off. What do I do here? Things were going fine.

"Get out." The words are like a slap to the face, so aggressive and loud that I flinch, the controller tumbling off my lap and onto the floor.

My racing heart only increases its speed as I freeze up and just stare at him. I'm frightened, something I definitely don't want him to see but I can't help it, especially when he looks up at me with a glare so menacing-- the same glare that was always hidden by his prosthetic months ago. Until now.

I force myself to breathe and think.

Okay, he wants me gone. I can do that. All I have to do is walk out the door and I'll be out of his hair. Hell, he might even apologize about this later. My brain nags at me though, says that behind the anger in his expression is fear and sadness. Says that he doesn't need to be alone right now-- he needs someone.

This switch in him was so random, so fast. It feels wrong to think that I was the cause or that he's suddenly freaking out because I'm here. There's something deeper; the problem now is whether he'll let me find out what's going on or not. Should I even try?

Utterly split on what to do, I slowly stand to my feet, never breaking eye contact with him. His excruciating glower softens a little, showing off a glimmer of relief that further proves my thoughts.

I fight past the fear he suddenly evoked, overwhelmed by how pained he must be to have a sudden reaction like this. He helped me when I had a hard time, so shouldn't I do the same for him?

As if to confirm my thoughts, Gizmo comes veering into the room. He talks and talks, skittering over to Sal and climbing up his chest. That's when Sal finally looks away from me so he can run his tattooed hand over the cat's orange fur.

My heart drops to the pit of my stomach. There is something wrong. Gizmo's presence says it all-- he did the same thing for me when I was anxious.

"Sal..." I say gently, hovering in my stance. I hold my hands to my chest, stuck on what decision to make. I don't know what to do. I'm torn between his wishes and mine. "Do you need to talk about something?"

"No," he bites out. "What I need is for you to get the fuck out." He gently moves Gizmo and stands up. I gulp, watching as that threatening aura of his grows closer and closer with each step he takes. I match his pace, taking steps backward. He herds me to the front door of his apartment, stopping when my back hits the doorknob.

I gasp at the feeling of metal digging into my lower back, using all my might not to back down and cower as Sal towers of me; every inch of his face curled with malice and rage and anguish. His dark brows are furrowed to hold up that glare of his, his light eyes darkened by the negativity roiling around in him. His marred lips set in a frown that just doesn't suit him at all. It's all so unlike him.

This isn't who I've come to know. No matter how scary he is, I just can't, in good conscience, leave him like this.

I take a shaky breath and stay stock still. Stand a bit taller to match his energy. I say a silent prayer that I don't end up on the evening news before I jump into the river crawling with snakes and alligators.

"I don't feel comfortable leaving you like this," I declare, making sure my voice is confident to show that I won't back down despite how unconfident I am.

He looks away, sucking his bottom lip into his mouth as if to bite down his instinctual reaction before he addresses me again. 

He's trying. He's trying so hard not to scare me off for good-- that's why he wants me to leave now. I see it-- I see through him.

The gears work and click together in my mind. He doesn't want to be alone, he doesn't want to suffer with no one to hold him up when he's low. He's just so focused on boxing up his secrets, keeping them hidden from everyone that he won't rely on his only option. I really can't leave him now, can I?

"You can talk about it if you want, or you don't have to. But you don't have to be alone, whatever it is," I try to console him gently, moving to the side so he can see me in his peripheral. But my movement just makes him squeeze his eyes shut. My heart stutters upon realizing I'm not getting through to him, he isn't hearing me.

"Don't say that shit like you care!" he nearly explodes, voice rattling in my ears. "You don't understand anything. You don't know a thing about me."

He's looking at me again, desperation swimming in his ocean gaze, hiding away from the rage taking over his expression. His eyes rove over my face, sizing me up, waiting for the moment I bite back or walk away.

"I know I don't know anything," I tell him softly, making sure that my expression is open and, fuck, caring. Because I do care. "That's why I'm asking you to help me help you. However way is better."

"I don't want your fucking help," he hisses, eyes narrowing. "I don't want your fucking pity. I want you gone."

I open my mouth to passively fight him on that decision, but he interrupts me before I can even get a word out. "You can't spew this bullshit at me. Like you've lived a day in my life and you know what's it's like to be me. You don't, and you never will if it's up to me." With each word, pity, guilt, and anger builds within me. He's suffering and he won't let himself feel even an ounce of reprieve. Instead, he's trying to push everyone away. He's the type of asshole who probably thinks he deserves to be alone. "I don't want you here, nor do I need you here. Go coddle someone who needs it and get off my fucking case."

I clap back at him the moment he finishes. "Well, maybe you do need help! Maybe you do need my fucking pity! Have you thought about that?" I snap, gesturing to him with a hand. Why can't he just accept this? Get help? Let someone take it so he doesn't have to bear it all? "I don't need to be you to get it, Sal. I don't even need to be me to get it because I see it. You think you can hide it all, carry it all, but you clearly fucking cannot." I scrunch up my face to accentuate my words, trying to get it across to him through the parts of my face on display, the thing that supposedly captures his fascination so much. "It's seeping off of you like oil; doesn't even soak into you. You don't wear your heart on your sleeve, you wear your feelings. I don't know what the hell's going on, but it doesn't take a genius with an IQ higher than yours to see that you're in pain."

Sal doesn't let up that harsh scowl, but I watch his Adam's apple bob as he swallows. And then he blinks. Then he's turning his back to me, walking away from me and toward the kitchen while running a hand down his face.

My heart physically feels as if it's cracking in two, but I grip onto the bit of clarity I have left after literally yelling in his face. I take a hesitant step toward him when his head tilts down, his hair falling around him.

I wet my lips, ponder what to say now. How to approach this with my fingers quaking as each quiet second passes.

"Let's..." I whisper, heaving a troubled sigh. "You don't have to tell me, but maybe talking about it will relieve you, even if just a little." I chew on the inside of my cheek, tiptoeing around the topic, making sure I'm gentle with him now that he's backed down. "And if you really don't want to talk about it, you don't have to. We can watch a movie, play a game. Whatever you want."

The tides are shifting. With each offer that leaves my mouth, something about us changes. With how much I live to loathe change, I find that I don't fear it the way I did before. Not if the change is with Sal. Not right now when this man is nearly falling apart in front of me and pretending that he isn't.

"I need--" his voice cracks and my heart does the same. He's holding himself together with wet glue right now. What the fuck is going on? "I need to talk to Ash," he tries again, his voice a little more stable this time, though still soft and reserved. "But I can't. She's busy."

I bite down on my bottom lip. I know he doesn't want to talk to me. He said it himself; he would never tell me his secrets. But I don't think either of us have much of a choice.

"I'm not Ash," I say delicately, taking one more step toward him. There's still so much distance between us, I don't know how to get to him. "But whatever you say will never leave this room. Once it's out, I'll forget it ever happened if that's what you want."

He doesn't move, doesn't speak. He's heavily contemplating, weighing his options. 

Still silent, he jumps into action, moving to a cabinet in the kitchen. He opens it, pulls out a can of peaches. I watch his every movement as he opens the can then grabs a fork from a drawer. 

I don't push him to speak, I let him figure out what he wants to do. He doesn't quite face me, but he turns so that his back leans against the counter, all while he bites into a colorful peach slice that's hanging from his fork.

He chews while staring unblinkingly at the emptiness in front of him.

"She messaged me."

My eyebrows draw together in confusion for a moment, but I think about what he's said before I ask him to be more specific. 

She. She. I only know of two women regarding Sal-- one being Ash, and the other...

I hold my breath as I realize. It's the woman who hurt him. I shift my weight, expression slackening as I try to find a solution for him. My mind starts swimming with ways to drag him from the depths of his agony. 

Ash told me that if I ever had strange messages and suspected it to be that woman, that I should let her know. And if this woman is harassing Sal, we could take it to police and maybe, hopefully, they could do something about it.

"And I don't know what to do," he continues helplessly, his sweet voice melodic with despair as he looks down at his can of peaches.

I watch him, collecting myself to approach him as rationally as possible. Then, I close the fated distance between us and walk over to him. I stand before him, about a foot of space between us. He doesn't look up.

"Here's what we can do," I start tenderly, trying to be as soft as possible while being a stable foothold he can use to climb out of this mess.  "You don't have to look at it again," I continue, my gaze never leaving him even though he's almost completely hidden from me. "If you trust me with it, I'll take your phone, log in, screenshot the message. Then, I'll block her-- no response because she does not deserve it. I'll send the screenshot to myself then send it to Ash from there. It'll be out of your hands at that point. Me and Ash will handle the rest." Me and Ash because I want to sink my fangs into this bitch too.

Sal sets the can on the counter beside him, rubs a hand across his forehead. His fringe is wild, his hair sticking up in different directions until he runs a hand through his hair, his black nails clashing against a sea of cerulean blue. "Okay," he says, the word so quiet and raspy that I nearly miss it.

I wait just a moment, eyes glued to him. "Okay," I repeat. "I'm going grab your phone."

I backtrack to the living room, picking his phone up from the couch where he'd left it. I flip it so that the screen is facing me and see an Instagram notification. I don't read it just yet, but I slide up on the lock so that he can type in his password. 

When I'm back in the kitchen, I stand in front of Sal and hand him the phone. Fork hanging from his mouth, he quickly types in his password then hands the device back to me. 

It's open to the message. I know I'm doing this for him, but I'm afraid to look too much in fear of seeing something he doesn't want me to see. The last thing I want to do is betray his trust when he's finally given it to me.

"Do you want me to read it or just get the job done?" I ask him. 

"Just read it. It's inevitable either way," he mutters dejectedly. That tone makes me frown worriedly. I'm already on the precipice of falling into complete heartbreak. His reaction certainly doesn't help. Still, I take the screenshot before glancing over the text:

@zoxbby112: 2 fucking years? sexual assault? you've got to be fucking joking you pathetic piece of shit. i TOLD you no one was going to believe your dumb ass and you still went and did it anyway. you're literally a dude, if you didn't want it you should've pushed me off or smth. everyone says no in the heat of the moment asshole. you liked it, you just need to play the victim since no one else is ever going to want you and that ugly fucking face. you're lucky i even still fucked you after getting that piece of plastic off you. fucked up my entire life. making yours a living hell is the only revenge i'm willing to get. 

I have to grip onto the counter to stop myself from crumbling to my knees upon realizing just how this woman hurt him. It was sexual assault. She assaulted him. 

"Oh, Sal..." The words slip past my lips, unbidden and broken as I take a shaky breath.

I blink past the sudden tears in my eyes and shake my head as I block her account then delete the message, navigating my way through his home screen and to discord. I send the message to myself then grab my own phone, making sure to save the screenshot. I go back to his, deleting the photo from our messages and his camera roll so he never has to see it again.

I don't know what to do. I don't know how to feel. So much of me wants to be angry, but all I'm feeling is throbbing pain and overwhelming guilt. I feel like my organs are being harvested from my body, like my skin is slowly being peeled away from my bones. All because I have no idea what to do for him, I don't know how to make it better. I don't know how to fix it for him, and I don't think I can.

"I'm..." I start to say, my voice hoarse. 

"Please don't tell me you're sorry," he says quietly, stabbing his fork into another peach.

I tilt my head, biting my tongue as I place his phone down beside him. If I were in his situation, I wouldn't want to hear sorry's anymore either. God, more than anything I just wish I could go back in time and save him from that.

"You know," I say instead, so much emotion ravaging me whole that I don't know how to stay standing on my own. The only reason I'm still up is for him. "I don't know much about physics, but I did like biology. And something my teacher taught me is that skin renewal takes seven years. So in seven years, you'll have brand new skin, and, um, it won't be the same skin you had when..." I trail off, going completely blank while trying to give him something to look forward to. Everything is so pathetic that even my brain can't cooperate.

Sal's head snaps up to look at me like he actually understood what I was yapping about. His pretty blue eyes glisten with unshed tears, but he still looks at me, face completely expressionless.

I match his gaze, waiting for something. Anything. But then he cracks a pitiful smile, snorts softly-- shows me as much humor as he can muster up. Wipes at his eyes with the back of his hand.

I feel each of my damaged cells rebuilding themselves again at his shift in character. My heart beat becomes a little stronger, my breath more even and not so shallow with torturous anticipation. 

"My skin will be untouched in seven years," he laughs, albeit humorlessly, but it's something.

"Yea, that's what I was getting at," I confirm, rubbing my arms and looking down at my feet.

Still standing beside him, I glance up just as he bites off half the peach slice on his fork. He gazes back at me, his eyes bluer than any sky I've seen, expression softer than any lingering touch of his.

I feel heat gather along my cheeks when he tilts the fork toward me slowly, offering me the other half of the peach. He looks like a cornered bunny, giving the fox hovering around him a peace offering. It's an apology and a thank you, reinforcing the trust that I handled with as much care as possible. 

This fruit means something to him. I haven't an inkling of understanding on the offer, but if it matters to him then it matters to me.

I gently pluck the fork from his fingers, bite off the other half of the peach then hand the fork back.

Turning, I lean my back against the counter and stand beside him, both of us looking into the empty living room in front of us. We don't talk, we don't share a word. But we do pass that fork back and forth. He takes a bite of a peach, I finish it off. It goes like that until the can is empty, and then we both just kind of... stand there.

He pushes off the counter with a soft grunt, dumps the remaining syrup into the sink, washes it down the drain, then he walks over to me. He just stands there and looks down at me with the gentlest expression I've ever seen on him.

I stare back at him, dumbfounded as my mind races for explanations. So much is different now, I didn't think it could possibly change any more but I'm slowly learning that I keep severely underestimating Sal Fisher. Neither of us can make up excuses for this. 

I quickly fit the puzzle pieces together though and realize he's right in front of me because I'm blocking the trashcan. What only solidifies it is that a little upside down smile quirks his lips upon seeing me connect the dots. 

Now, we move the the awkward, embarrassment stage that comes with deep connection. Yea, making friends really sucks, especially when I want so much more than friends.

What?

The unwarranted thought flies out of my head as Sal braces a hand on the counter beside me when I don't move, caging me in as he bends forward. His face passes right beside mine and his hair brushes my cheek, making a chill run up my spine.

His body heat encases me like a warm duvet on the coldest of winter days, his scent wrapping around my soul, squeezing tight, comforting. He's so familiar now, it feels so normal being close to him like this. So much so that I ache to hold him right here for hours. Forever, even. 

Maybe it's the dim lights in the kitchen, the dark night filtering in from his balcony windows. But when he moves backward, he doesn't go far.

He hovers near me, his hand still pressed into the counter beside me. He's close, very close. Closer than he's ever been, I think. 

I map the curve of his lips, my eyes drifting to where the deep scars elongate and change the shape of his mouth, dragging up his cheek and to his eye-- the eye that I can clearly tell is a prosthetic now that he's so close. It looks so similar to his real eye that I genuinely couldn't tell the difference before. 

"You have freckles," I whisper upon noticing them, my voice barely above a whisper. Before I can stop myself, I lift a hand between us and gently run my fingertips over his skin, tracing every little light spot along his nose and cheeks. 

His eyes glance back and forth between mine in my peripheral vision and at the same time, a light pink dusts his cheeks that I'm so focused on. He swallows, licks his lips. Unable to form words.

He opens his mouth, almost like he's thinking of saying something, but he doesn't. He simply lets out a breath, delicately holds me in his gaze.

I let my hand drop between us, marveling at the feel of his soft skin beneath mine. I don't want to make him uncomfortable though, I'm already ogling him enough as it is.

At the realization that I really am looking at him so hard, I tilt my head down, dropping my gaze. After what that awful woman texted him tonight, I doubt he wants to be looked at like this. Picked apart, observed. The point of this is to help him, not point out everything he probably hates about himself. Though, there really is nothing to hate. The me from a couple months ago would passionately object to that statement, but that's past-me for a reason. 

Things change. I changed. Sal's changed.

My breath catches in my throat when his hand presses against my cheek, using the leverage to tilt my head up again. To look at him.

My heart leaps in my chest and I'm unable to breathe when I notice his dilated pupil, feel his thumb gently rubbing my along my jawline. His eyes track his digit's movements, but I can't even be bothered to look away from him. I'm bewitched by his fascination with me, haunted by the calm expression on his face, the wonder in his eyes.

His thumb drags down from my cheek and to my mouth, skimming over my top lip, then the bottom. I feel skittish, burning to move some part of my body to release the energy pent up inside me.

His tongue runs over his bottom lip, entranced by my own mouth.

And if he were to actually try to kiss me this time, I wouldn't stop him.

A low hum spreads throughout my entire body upon acknowledging our situation and the tension that's suddenly filled the air. It's a tingling in every limb, down my spine, up to the very tips of my fingers and toes. I feel him everywhere even though he's only touching my face. I can see him so well, so easily. The slightly darker shade of his left eye and the golden flecks of stardust in his right eye. Pretty. So pretty.

"So pretty," he murmurs my own thoughts. Something about the way he says it, so unguarded and adoring, makes me think I wasn't supposed to hear it.

I don't know how to reply or if I even should. I simply watch him like I have been all night, feeling oxygen and rationality leave me with each prolonged second of this somewhat embrace of ours. We've found ourselves like this more than once today, could we possibly escape it again?

I feel so light and heavy at the same time, thrumming with energy but weak. The feeling of his skin, so cool against my flushed skin, is enough to have my mind racing but to make my body completely freeze. I'm stuck. There's so much... so much that I want to do with the way he's looking at me this way, but I can't make myself do it.

I don't quite realize how close we've suddenly gotten until his nose bumps my mask's. A quiet gasp leaves me and his eyes dart up, gazing into mine.

He's fighting himself and I can tell, the quick scrunch of his eyebrows gives everything away.

Things are really about to change-- again. As if they hadn't already.

There's something startling about the way his eyebrows draw together again, but this time in a pleading way, like he's silently willing me with his mind to pull away from him. Begging me to put a stop to his internal madness. To change his mind. His doe eyes look a little scared and a little dedicated– two very different emotions that just so happen to go hand-in-hand for the moment. 

The way he's looking at me... it's been so long since anyone has looked so pleasurably torn up over wanting me so badly. And not in a lustful way, but in the way that forms bonds. Connects us so intimately without the goal of chasing an orgasm or being able to get something out of the situation. The way he's looking at me screams curiosity and a need to sate it so bad that he's not fighting the battle he wanted me to pull him away from moments ago. He's just slowly giving in and trying to convince himself that he's not.

I'm no better than him in this moment. My hands are balled into fists, my entire body frozen and awaiting whatever it is that's going to come next. My fingernails bite into my palms and my heart drums against my chest, wishing he'd move closer.

I didn't think it'd be this way. I didn't expect to crave him so badly, to miss the feeling of his lips on mine without ever having felt it before. It's excruciating to yearn for him in this new way and hope that he doesn't back out before I can even feel him.

As if he read my mind, he's moved so close that I can feel his breath on my chin, his top lip brush over mine.

I suck in a choking breath and hold it, praying this isn't all a dream.

"Aren't you scared?" He whispers quietly, his mouth skimming over mine with each syllable. His words echo in my mind, his tone caressing my thoughts, coercing me into falling into him and never getting up again.

"No," I whisper back, shutting my eyes and waiting. It's scarier to look at him and fear that he'll move away. Almost as if to lock him into place, I grip onto the hem of his shirt.

He goes quiet and I feel every one of my neurons lighting up with anticipation when his forehead presses against my mask's. 

"Push me away. Something," Sal whispers, the words so quiet and pained that I don't dare open my eyes to observe his current state. 

He knows. He knows this is exactly what he told me wouldn't happen, but now it's about to. And we should be realistic, think about the consequences but I don't want to. I just want to feel him, have him near. I want to be selfish.

I lick my lips, forgetting he's so close. My tongue swipes over his bottom lip and I hear it-- feel it when he steals a breath that tries to escape him.

"I can't," I answer him hoarsely, unable to raise my voice for him to hear me better as I squeeze the fabric of his shirt in my fist. Every bit of me aches to touch him, to feel his skin on mine but I can't muster up the courage, not when this entire situation is in his hands right now.

I won't choose for him today, not with what brought us to this. If he wants me, he can take me.

"Please." His word comes out in a broken whisper, so full of yearning that a little whimper escapes my mouth.

"Please," I mimic him, entranced by the featherlight brush of my lips over his. I can't keep doing this. I can't... "I can't think. Do it."

He lets out the most pitiful sigh I think I've ever heard in my life, and then leisurely presses his lips into mine. It's slow, soft, careful. He holds himself there, suffocates in the sensation just as I do.

Everything I thought I had lost so long ago comes rushing back into me. Excitement, life, a want for more than basic necessity. And for once, I don't feel bad. I don't feel guilty for wanting Sal as much as I do.

I place a hand on his stomach to remind myself that this kiss is real, that he's truly standing in front of me.

My touch was the trigger, I realize, when his other hand moves to my other cheek, pulls me closer to him. He tilts his head a bit as his jagged lips part against mine, softly welcoming the slanting of my mouth against his.

My throat feels as though it's clamped shut as I move a hand to grab onto the base of Sal's neck, my fingers wrapping around the collar of his shirt. I'm completely enraptured by the feeling of his mouth on mine. I feel like I'm going to faint, my heart beating so quickly, so vigorously that I can hear my blood pulsing in my ears. There's so much emotion that I've bitten down and hidden for so long regarding Sal. It's all coming out now.

Our lips move slowly, passionately. There's no rush, no heat. It's just feeling. Every movement, every moment of his lips sliding so delicately against mine, every ragged breath, every tightening of his hands on my face or my fingers bunching into his shirt. The feeling of our noses occasionally brushing against each other, plastic against damaged skin, and his chin skimming over mine just a bit. It's beautiful and so passionately smothering. The quiet morphs to mimic the simultaneous quick pace of our heart beats.

I feel the rapid beating of his heart like a drum right in the center of my chest where we touch, becoming one despite the heavy, loathsome origin story we were granted with. I'm sure he can feel just how much he's affecting me, his hand drifting over my neck and two fingers pressing against my pulse point like he did the first time we were together.

As sadistic as he is, I think he's only checking because he can't tell where his heart beat begins and where mine ends. 

Sal's lips close over mine again, the feeling eliciting a shiver that threatens to take over my entire being. I return his kiss, desperate to be closer to him in any way possible while my hand trails from his shirt to his cheek, brushing over the soft, scarred skin. 

He presses me against the kitchen counter, his hands beginning to roam past my face and neck as things gravitate from sweet to intense.

Our kiss becomes aggressive, his teeth biting into my lips and quiet breaths and whimpers passing from him and to me. He makes me feel crazy, filling me with exhilaration that courses through my blood quicker than adrenaline ever possibly could. 

Sal moves backward and I move to follow, but then his lips leave mine. 

I open my eyes, blinking up at him with barely an inch of space between our faces. 

He stares at me, looking like I've just torn him to pieces and hid every bit of him away and now he has to play eternity-long hide-n-seek.

But beyond that, his lips are flushed and kissed, his cheeks tinged pink and hair a mess-- when did I touch his hair? His eyes look a little brighter though, a little less haunted.

"Uh," he voices shakily. "Heat of the moment?"

He doesn't even sound like he believes himself.

The statement still makes my hopes deflate dramatically though. I chew on the inside of my cheek and force myself to look him in the eye as I lie to his face. "Yea," I rasp, taken aback by the sound of my voice. "Yea."

He watches me closely, never moving farther nor closer. As the seconds pass, he seems to sober up, the terrified look in his eyes slowly fading away.

If he decides this was a one time thing, at least I got to taste him once. At least we got one moment, one kiss. It's what I wanted and it's what he wants. 

Sal interrupts my thoughts, whispering, "You know..." One of his hands painstakingly and slowly trails along my side, making my skin erupt with  goosebumps. "I think we're still in the heat of the moment," he continues darkly, gaze falling to my mouth.

I don't let shock take control, I only try to control the smile that tries to quirk my lips. "I think so too," I whisper back, looking down at his teeth that bite into his lower lip like he's barely holding himself back.

As soon as he hears my response, he doesn't bother holding back. He smashes his lips onto mine and engages the two of us in the same dangerous dance we made the mistake of beginning earlier.

-------

A/N::::: BEEN HOLDING THIS ONE IN THE DRAFTS FOR A WHILLLLLLEEEEE I CAN'T BELIEVE IT'S FINALLY TIME-- LIKE I ACTUALLY CAN'T BELIEVE IT WHAT THE FUCK AM I GOING TO WRITE AFTER THIS

jk >:3

yea so as much as i adore this chapter, it also scares me because i feel like it moves way too fast (totally hasn't been nearly thirty fucking chapters ahahhaha). so yea, PLEASE let me know how we feel about this and what could have been better!

psa: i'm going to be starting student teaching august 1st, and college has me going to lots of meetings which means things are about to get VERRRYYYY busy for me… busier than they've ever been :( but!! i think things will be okay. lately, i've been teaching myself to fight through the lack of motivation and write any time i get even an inkling of yearning for it. exactly why y'all got this chapter so soon, actually! i saw something about how stephen king writes 5,000 words a day and i've been building to that! so while i won't be able to freely write as much as i know i'll want to, i'll still be writing. you guys know the drill though, even if it takes me a month or two to get something out, WINTER BREAK IS IN DECEMBER WHICH MEANS I CAN BEAT Y'ALL UP WITH CHAPTERS!!!

as always, i love you all SO much. more than you'll ever know. things have been tough on my mental lately and i'm going to be going through a HUGE shift in my life, but… that's okay cuz I know I'll always have you guys. thank you for being the most stable, non-toxic, and reliable things in my life! y'all going in my will fr

have a wonderful morning/day/evening/night my babies <3

p.s. when i wrote this note, i had just posted this chapter to wattpad-- which was about a week ago. the huge shift in my life had involved a six year relationship that i ended yesterday. i am incredibly torn up and shaken by this, but i believe it needed to happen for my wellbeing as well as my growth as a person. I know it's not necessarily an important thing to add to this note, but i want to give a reason just in case this healing process causes a prolonged absence for me. i am completely dedicated to faceless fixation and even today i've thought about what i want to write next, but i need to put some focus on myself instead of running away from my problems. thank you guys for being wonderful, i love you all so much!! until next time <3

[feyhunter78]

Among the Sun Ch 12

Description: Miguel has revealed his secrets now it is time to reveal yours. (Also, this is the chapter I mentioned that I half wrote on my bathroom floor, and I'm obsessed with it.) Ch 13

It has all come back to you, every dream, memory, smile, and tear that fell with Miguel at the very center. Those traitorous memories that made a fool of you, all when he uttered such simple words. We are fated.

It was no spell, at least not one born of Miguel’s own abilities. You are uncomfortably familiar with that sensation, with the way his eyes swirl and darken, the crimson color bleeding through. But that is not this. His eyes remain that warm umber color, ever shifting shades of brown, from the intoxicating color of honeyed mead to the deep color of fresh soil, primed and tilled in order for new life to grow. They are the catalyst of his very being, and you, you are ensnared, trapped within a molten pool of warmth, embers flickering as you bury your hands in your skirt.

He looks so different now. Back then he was stumbling, skin ashen, eyes haunted, frame bowed under the weight of some invisible burden you could not fathom. But now, now he is beautiful, divine, and destructive, his skin glows, his eyes, in this moment they burn with anguish but prior…prior they were filled with joy. He stands tall, the weight has seemed to slip from his shoulders, or perhaps he simply became more adept at hiding it.

“I do not know what to say. Y/N…I have longed for you, searched the entirety of the realm—-”

“And yet you had a child with another, you turned me away for another.” You know your words are not fair or even rational, but you are angry, angry, and hurt.

The memories flooding your mind are overwhelming, coming with them is the grief and loneliness you felt during that time, it is a crushing weight, one that nearly takes you to your knees. But you will not fall, not in front of he who abandoned you.

“Do not speak of her.” Miguel says, his voice hard.

It makes you flinch, and you can see his fingers twitch, a need, a desire, coursing through him to take hold and comfort you. He was always so wonderful at that, comforting you.

You remember telling him of how your favorite lady-in-waiting was to be married off to some boorish nobleman who lived far, far, away from the palace, how you sobbed at the uncaringness of the world you lived in. He held you in his arms, hand smoothing up and down your back comfortingly, his voice low as he whispered reassurances in your ear. He never made you feel childish or spoiled for crying so often, and many times, about such small things. In fact, he often believed—and voiced—that you did not give your worries enough attention, that you cast them aside in favor of focusing on the issues of others.

“Mi dulce princesa, eres tan abnegada.” He’d say, as he brushed back the hair from your face, a sad smile gracing his lips.

My sweet princess, you are so self-sacrificing. Was it true? You never thought of yourself in such a way, but perhaps Miguel was right.

You would not do so now, though; you would not relinquish your pain in order to soothe his.

“I cannot speak of the woman you chose over me?” You snap, wanting to dig your fingers into Miguel’s heart and squeeze until he bleeds, as you feel you do.

Miguel gives a short laugh. “If I were to choose her over you, she would be here in your place.”

“Then who may I not speak of?” You raise your chin in defiance. “Am I not to be your empress? Is that not what you called me as you took yourself in hand to my memory?”

A slight shiver passes through him, and you watch as goosebumps cover his exposed skin. “You may not speak of my daughter as if she is to blame, she is a child.”

The fire raging within you begins to falter. It was never your intention to insult his daughter, you held no anger towards her, she had no part to play in this mocking tragedy for which you seemed cast as lead role. “I would never, she is, as you said, a child, there is no blame to place upon her, nor would I ever.”

Miguel deflates slightly. “Do you think that even in my gratefulness, I did not wish the gods had allowed you to be Gabi’s mother? That I did not wish she had your eyes or your smile? She is beautiful, and she is mine, but I wish she was ours .”

You bite the inside of your cheek, his words hitting the center of your chest and reverberating out. “I…”

“I am sorry y/n, that I pushed you away, that I did not recognize you. I have been searching for you in every village, every city, every kingdom, every—”

“Brothel.” You cut in, a thick lump in your throat as you recall the rumors. “I have heard the tales, Your Grace.”

Miguel’s tail unfurls from around your ankle, and you take a step back from him, a flicker of satisfaction sparks to life in your chest when his fingers twitch again.

“I thought you had no use for streetwalkers.” You add, the urge to push, and push, and push until he breaks grows strong.

You know him, you did not before, your mind still clouded, but now your memories have returned, and you know him. You know that if you push, if you tug at certain strings within him, he will fall, crumble before you. Is it cruel? Perhaps, but you consider his actions to be cruel as well.

“I waited for you, gave myself only to you, I know I did not ask you to promise you would do the same but I…” It’s true, you had not asked him, but part of you hoped he would do the same, would keep himself for you. It was a foolish thought, and you knew it. He was a man, a handsome man. Men as handsome as Miguel back home would have dozens of lovers by the time they married. Not that there were any back home as handsome as him.

“It is a flaw in my design.” He says softly, staring at your hands, his own tucked behind his back. “A curse within my nature, left behind from the games, I must expend my energy, or I will go mad.”

“You must fuck, so you do not go mad. Miguel, do you take me for a fool?” You deadpan, raising both eyebrows at him.

He hums in delight. “To hear my name from your lips, even said with scorn, is a gift.”

“One I will revoke if you do not cease toying with me.” You say sternly.

“I would only toy with you if you desired it, querida.” He purrs, emboldened by the sound of his name falling from your lips.

You grab the nearest object, a silver spoon, and throw it at him. It bounces off his toned chest and clatters to the floor. You both stare at it for a moment before you shoot him a withering glare. “Flattery will not save you. I have—had brothers, I am not ignorant to the excuses men give women, I have heard them try their pitiful ploys on my companions.”

He holds out his hands in a pacifying manner. “It is no ploy. My mother wished for me to take the throne, a deal was struck, and now I must purge myself of unholy energy or lust will consume my mind.”

He does not look as though he’s lying.

A curse within his nature. The very nature his mother conceived and conspired to create, seeking out a demon, bargaining with it in order to ensure her son could claim the throne, and in doing so she deemed him to such a fate?

“I see.” You say lamely, unsure of how to process this new revelation.

“Could I have held myself off, waited until I found you? Perhaps, but in doing so the moment I found you I would have become frenzied, like a brute, having only the control to find us a private space before I fell upon you.”

His words, though you know, should strike fear in your heart, instead serve to entice you, your breathing picking up ever so slightly.

Miguel’s eyes flicker down to your chest, then to your eyes. “You do not wish that for yourself. Do not wish to be ravaged by me, gown and undergarments shredded, skin marked, fangs sunk into the crook of your neck as I rut into you as an animal does its mate. You would be powerless to stop me, reduced to a babbling pliant mess, my seed spilling from between your legs. I would not be able to stop, cariño, even if you begged me.”

“That would be quite improper.” There is a throbbing in your core, your breath catching in your throat as he steps forward.

“I imagined they were you, compelled them to forget, it has only ever been you, mi vida.” His hands settle on your shoulders, lightly trailing down your arms.

“But Ava?” You breathe, leaning into his touch.

“A foolish attempt to forget you, thin gauze over a gaping wound.” He tells you, brushing his nose down the curve of your face, down the column of your throat until he settles over the spot, he had bitten the previous night. “It did not work; each encounter only drew me back to you.”

Your body molds against his, eyes fluttering shut at his dulcet tones. “Oh?”

“You have branded me, your form burned into my eyelids, your name imprinted on my tongue, your touch melded into my skin, mi emperatriz, there is no one but you.” He whispers, his breath warm on the sensitive skin of your neck, causing a shiver to run through you. Trsl: My empress

“No one?” You ask, a gasp slipping past your lips when Miguel bites down, fangs digging into the very same spot from before, lightning arcing through your body.

He remains there for a moment, drinking, the sound filling the silence as you scramble to remain upright pleasure zinging through you, your thoughts coming to a standstill.

Then Miguel pulls back, lips crimson, fangs bared, his pupils blown wide. “No one.”

TL: @not-aya, @belos-simp69, @deputy-videogamer, @sxnasbitch, @maxi-ride, @minimari415, @syndrlla97, @gejo333, @lady-necromancer, @zeyzeys-stuff, @tayleighuh, @loser-alert, @envyjmoney, @allysunny, @princessloveweird, @freehentai, @xlittlebubx-blog, @berry-potchy, @drefear, @jkthinkstoomuch, @ihateuguys, @yuuotosaka3, @queenofroses22, @ray-rook, @lollipopin, @faexsins, @drefear

[wreywrites]

Sorrows and Squeaky Toys

Summer of Bad Batch Week 2

Prompts: Injured & Comfort Zone

Warnings: Vague references to torture, nightmares (nothing graphic) AO3

“Crosshair?” Zara asked quietly.

She got a wordless growl in response.

“Crosshair, can I see your hand?”

“Kriff you—”

“Later,” she said, without any of the usual venom, snatching his wrist anyway, and scrutinizing his hand.

He jerked away, glaring at her.

“Crosshair—”

“It’s not that hand, idiot.” He held up the other hand.

That one definitely looked shaky.

With a resigned sigh, he held it out to her.

“Look all you like, I guess. Since I can’t stop you.”

Zara took his hand, working her fingers gently over his. “Master Brallo could have had you fixed up in no time. He was an excellent Force healer—kriff, he didn’t even need the Force, he could do it the medic way too. Ky had him teach me some—enough to get by. I wasn’t ever as good as the Healers though.”

“Are you trying to be comforting?”

She let out a short huff. “Wasn’t a very good way to phrase it, was it?”

“No. We need to work on your bedside manner.” He looked like he was going to say something more, but he stopped short with a hiss. “Ouch!”

“Sorry.” She paused, holding his palm like it was made of starfeather eggshells. “What happened? You know, why—?”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” he growled.

“Okay, but it would be easier to help if I knew what the injury was.”

Another growl.

Zara sighed. “Crosshair…”

He glared off over her shoulder.

“Crosshair, can I please help you? I know you don’t like it, but I really think I can at least make it better if you would just step out of your comfort zone—”

His face was an inch away, eyes burning into hers, fingers closed around her wrist like a vice. “We are so far beyond my comfort zone,” he snarled.

Zara wasn’t really afraid of Crosshair—not usually—but at that moment she didn’t exactly feel safe. Shaky hand or no, if there was going to be a murder, he had the advantage and the motivation. She flinched only a little, but she knew her eyes were wide and her nostrils flaring with every breath.

Crosshair’s voice dropped to a horrifying hoarse whisper. “We have sprinted past my comfort zone. And yet we are always in yours.”

“You’re right.” The words came out higher than she would have liked, but not a squeak—not yet. She swallowed and tried again. “You’re right. I—I know what sets me off and I avoid it like a plague. And it’s not fair that I get to do that and you don’t. So…” Zara took a deep breath.

After several seconds of silence, Crosshair said, “So what?”

“So I’m meditating. I don’t think I can actually heal your hand with the Force. I was never that good and I don’t want to mess it up. But I think I can help. I just have to meditate and focus on it and—”

“And that won’t set you off?”

“No, it will, it definitely will.” She finally felt brave enough to look him in the eye again. She was surprised to see how much his gaze had softened from murderous rage to something nearing legitimate concern. “I will absolutely have nightmares tonight, so I’ll need to borrow Batcher.”

He didn’t quite smile as he shook his head. “She likes you best anyway.”

“Companion animal breeds can sense trauma and are very emotionally intelligent. So it’s not exactly a good thing that I’m her favorite. Just means I have the most baggage. Now,” Zara smiled, “can I see your hand?”

*****

AZI told him once—more than once, probably, but when the droid got to blabbering Crosshair tended to tune him out—that the tremor might be psychosomatic.

Crosshair knew it was. But knowing the problem and fixing it were two separate issues.

More annoyingly, Zara was probably right—he needed to talk about it.

But not tonight. And besides, if he told anyone, it was going to be Batcher, because she’d never share his secrets.

Either way, his hand wasn’t shaking. Whatever Zara had done—he never knew—Omega told him once he had all the Force sensitivity of a meiloorun, and Zara had heard and laughed and agreed, and that hurt a little, even though it was true—whatever she had done when she closed her eyes and wrapped his hand in hers and just sat quietly for half an hour, it had worked. He’d gone all day with no shakes. When they ran into each other in the market, Zara headed one way with Echo and Crosshair headed the other way with a pack full of the little clay boats that made such good targets, she noticed him carrying the rifle and gave him a grin and a nod, and he nodded back, and that was it.

He hadn’t missed a single shot.

Crosshair sighed and knocked.

An excited bark came from inside the house.

“Batcher, it’s okay! Hey, get—get down, silly girl! Go find Squeaky Moon-yo and we’ll play.”

Another bark and the scrabbling of hound toes on hard floors.

The door opened.

“Hey.” Zara gave him a lopsided smile. “You’re out late.”

“You’re up late.”

“Yeah, well…” She shrugged and stepped back, gesturing him in. “Not like I’ll sleep well anyway—wasn’t in a rush to get to the nightmares. Batcher and I were watching Corrie Cops.”

Batcher came skidding back through the house, her squeaky toy dangling from her jaws. She dropped it at Zara’s feet.

“Good girl!” Zara picked up the toy and tossed it out the open back door. Batcher bounded joyfully after it.

“You don’t leave the door open at night, do you?”

“No, I close it before I go to bed. But when I’m up I usually leave it open so Batcher can come in and out.”

Batcher barked and Squeaky Moon-yo squeaked.

“I swear that thing was the best twelve credits I’ve ever spent.”

Crosshair nodded. Then, without waiting for an invitation, he walked into the living area and sat on the couch facing the holo screen. It was an old episode of Corrie Cops… Commander Thorn old. “What are you, eight seasons behind?”

“I’ve seen them all—well, not the last few episodes of the new season, but I’m not sure I’ll keep watching. It’s not as good as it used to be. Makes me…” She trailed off, arms crossed, not looking at him.

He nodded again and patted the couch next to him. “Sit.”

Zara frowned. “Serious?”

“Serious.”

“You wanna talk about things being outside your comfort zone.”

“Yeah, well…” He shrugged. “Hand hasn’t been shaking all day. You deserve a good night’s sleep.”

She wrapped herself in a blanket off the armchair, then sat beside him. “I’ll still have nightmares.”

“I’ll wake you up.” Tentative, he wrapped an arm around her shoulder.

She started to lean in, then sat back up. “Oh, the door—”

Crosshair whistled. “Batcher!”

The lurca trotted back in and dropped Squeaky Moon-yo next to her bed.

“Bring it here.” Crosshair held his open palm toward her.

Batcher tilted her head, then picked Squeaky Moon-yo up again and carried it to Crosshair. He took the toy, sizing it up for a moment. With a flick of the wrist, he whipped the squeaky toy across the room where it thumped into the door switch and slid the door shut.

“Nice.” Zara leaned against him again.

Having retrieved Squeaky Moon-yo, Batcher returned to the couch, dropping heavily to the floor in front of it.

Crosshair reached down and rubbed the top of her head. “Good girl.”

Batcher sighed, then sprawled out and fell instantly asleep.

The kitchen light was still on, but there was nothing to be done for that, and Zara didn’t seem terribly concerned as she snuggled closer.

“This is the episode where they catch that guy smuggling spice by—” She stopped.

Crosshair was already reaching for the remote. He remembered this episode too. Not that he would ever admit how much he enjoyed Corrie Cops or the fact that he had seen every episode at least four times. Unfortunately, he didn’t get the holo screen shut off before they showed the Jedi Temple as the backdrop for their undercover operation.

Wordlessly, Zara waved a hand toward the kitchen. The lights flicked off. Then she sniffed. “Might as well be lazy—already going to have nightmares.”

“Zara—”

“Good night, Crosshair.”

“Thank you. For—my hand.”

“You’re welcome,” she whispered.

“Now, go to sleep.”

She nodded against his shoulder, and soon he had a snoring lurca at his feet and the slow rise and fall of Zara’s chest at his side.

*****

Squirming next to him woke him up.

Crosshair shook his head, blinking, confused for a moment about where he was—not his bunk, not his bedroom, not Kamino—

Zara squirmed again and he remembered.

“Hey.” He put a hand on her shoulder, shaking her just a little. “Zara, wake up.”

Nothing.

“Zara.”

She sat up with a strangled yelp. To her credit, she didn’t pull her lightsaber on him. She sat ramrod straight, staring through the far wall, sides heaving with shallow and much too quick breaths.

He wasn’t sure if he always rubbed circles on her back when she had nightmares, but he was now, hand still on her shoulder, thumb tracing little circles by her shoulder blade. “It’s just us,” he said quietly. “Just you and me and Batcher.”

Slowly, he felt her calm down. Her shoulders rose and fell less frantically, her breaths were less raspy and audible. Finally, she leaned back against him, staring up at the ceiling. He could see tears in her eyes and chose not to comment.

“Your nightmares—they’re about the Purge, aren’t they?”

Zara took a shaky breath and nodded. “They didn’t do anything to your hand on Tantiss, did they?”

He shook his head. “It’s psychosomatic.”

Her fingers laced between his. “Must be why you’re Batcher’s second favorite.”

*****

“Omega, you know you need to knock before you barge into people’s houses—”

“Shh!” she hissed. “I messaged Zara and she didn’t answer, which means she’s sleeping, and she told me I’m welcome to let myself in—especially if she has Batcher overnight—so I did, and—” She stopped, pushed Echo into the living area, and gestured at the couch.

Crosshair was on his back, fast asleep on the end of the couch that reclined, one arm hanging off the armrest, the other draped across Zara’s stomach and ending in their fingers tangled together. Echo couldn’t tell which one of them was snoring a little.

Echo smiled and shook his head. “Batcher,” he whispered. When she looked up at him, he jerked his head at the front door and she trotted out, tongue lolling. He followed the lurca, steering Omega in front of him by the shoulders, then closed the door behind them.

“Didn’t know they were having a sleepover.” Omega sounded impish. “She just said she was going to see if she could do something for his hand.”

Echo resisted about eighteen different jokes and simply said, “She did—yesterday morning—and then I’ll bet you a hundred credits he felt bad last night because he knew she’d have nightmares, so he came over to keep an eye on her.”

Omega looked thoughtful, then nodded. “It’s nice that they can help each other. Even if they don’t always like it.”

Echo laughed. “Yeah, the inherent bitterness of being a portable comfort zone for someone you aren’t sure if you hate or—” He caught himself and shot Omega a look out of the corner of his eye. “Hey, don’t tell anyone about this.”

The girl snorted. “I won’t. I like Zara, but I don’t want to have to cuddle her after her nightmares because Wrecker teased Crosshair into quitting.”

“The inherent bitterness strikes again!”

“Hey! Besides, if I’m bitter about anything, it’s that I can’t do what she does, and she can’t teach me because—because it hurts.”

Echo pulled in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “The thing about injuries like that—they go deep. They take a long time to heal.”

“But they do, right? She says she’s better than she was.”

“Yeah. You just have to feel safe enough to let yourself heal. And now she does. They both do.”

[upon-a-starry-night]

Scary Movies, Scary Feelings

Pairing: Wanda x F!Reader

Main Masterlist         Wanda Masterlist

Word Count: 2k

Summary: You hate scary movies but your friends want to go see the latest one, at least you’ll have Wanda there to protect you.

~

Scary movies weren’t really your thing. I mean sure you could stomach some of the popular ones during Halloween but with each new awful thing that comes out your anxiety screams at you to never watch YouTube for fear of the unskippable horror ads.

Still, it had been a long time since you’d gone out with friends and your good friend Justin kept suggesting you see a movie so you figured it would be a good opportunity. However, it just so happens that your friends all love a good scary movie and have been eager to see the newest one that just came out in theaters.

So that’s how you found yourself standing in the theater lobby waiting for the rest of your friends to arrive.

“David just texted me he can’t make it, last minute family thing” Justin informed you, that was the second friend to cancel out of the blue. You considered just calling it off and going home when your favorite person walked in.

Wanda was by far your best friend out of everyone, you’d known her the longest and if you were honest you had developed a crush on her a little over a year ago.

She greeted you with a hug and you relaxed in her embrace, at least you wouldn’t be entirely alone.

Justin seemed slightly surprised at her arrival despite the entire friend group agreeing to come, perhaps he thought she’d cancel on them too, but deep down you knew Wanda would never make you watch a scary movie without her to comfort you.

You thought back to all the movie nights the two of you had had, you rarely ever watched scary movies because Wanda understood your discomfort with them but during many Halloween sleepovers, you had the habit of hiding in her shoulder when you got scared. You’d be embarrassed about it if all of your energy didn’t go to trying to calm your racing heart and not look at the screen.

“Let me buy you your favorite candy Y/n” Justin suggested, turning to go to the counter when Wanda stopped him

“I already got her a box of it” She opened her bag to reveal a box of your favorite candy sitting next to hers, you smiled at the gesture- theater food was always overpriced anyway.

“You’re welcome to get yourself something though, y/n and I are going to go find our seats” Wanda grabbed your hand and pulled the two of you away from Justin who stood there deflated a little bit before catching up to you.

Your seats were in the middle of the theater and you shrunk in on yourself when you noticed your seat required you to sit next to a stranger. You moved to begrudgingly sit down when Wanda grabbed your shoulder and shook her head, sitting in your place.

It was times like this that made you fall for her, how considerate she was of you, and how much she knew about your preferences.

You sat in the middle seat and Justin sat down next to you, as you watched the previews Justin leaned over to you and whispered in your ear

“If you get scared you can always hold my hand” You awkwardly laughed off his suggestion. You and Justin had never been anything more than friends and he had to know you were gay right?

Wanda quickly pointed something out in a trailer that caught your attention and the two of you quietly chatted about upcoming movies you wanted to watch before the movie finally started.

You were fine for the beginning of the movie, it was all mostly just plot explanation but you couldn’t help but be tense when things started to go wrong in the film.

You tried eating some candy to distract yourself from the fear but your anxiety was at an all-time high. Scary movies at home were one thing but they were ten times worse in the theater.

In the corner of your vision, you saw Justin put his hand face up on your armrest and you frowned. That was your armrest.

At the first jumpscare, you flinched and placed your candy box in front of your eyes as some sort of shield. You looked over at Wanda and she gave you a comforting smile. She wasn’t making fun of you in any way she was just seeing if you were okay.

You gave her a weak smile that looked more like a grimace and she offered her hand out to you. You took it graciously and when the next jumpscare came around you squeezed it tight. You’d apologize later but right now you were too panicked to do anything. She gave you three reassuring squeezes back to let you know she was there if you needed her.

You relaxed slightly as you focused on the feeling of her soft hands, her cold rings were grounding your anxiety and soon you could feel your body slowly relaxing.

The movie avoided jumpscares for a while as it focused on the main characters but as the end of the movie neared you knew something was bound to happen at any moment.

The last jumpscare caught you completely off guard and you let out a squeak as you ducked and hid your head in Wanda’s shoulder.

Despite being horrified you were sure you were blushing like crazy.

You opted to listen to the few minutes the movie had left to avoid any more jumpscares. Sure enough, you heard the collective jump from the crowd as another scare happened but you were happily buried in the scent of Wanda’s shampoo.

Once the movie ended you reluctantly pulled yourself away from Wanda, apologizing for clinging onto her but she just smiled and told you she didn’t mind.

The three of you exited the theater into the lobby as Justin began speaking to you

“So what did you think of the movie y/n? I thought it was great, I mean that part, where that guy got his arm ripped off, was so-” 

You cringed as he talked about the gory scenes you tried to close your eyes for most of.

You felt Wanda place a hand on your back soothingly

“Justin.” she cut off his rambling with a firm but soft voice “She doesn’t really like to hear about that kind of stuff” She defended and you gave her an appreciative smile.

“Oh. Sorry Y/n” You shrugged at his response, it wasn’t that big of a deal, you were just glad the movie was over.

Justin shifted uncomfortably as he hesitated before speaking directly to you

“y/n… I was wondering if maybe you’d like- want to go to dinner?” Your eyes widened in surprise

“I mean- it doesn’t have to be tonight if you don’t want but I just- I’ve liked you for a while now and this was supposed to kind of be like a date but then Wanda showed up”

You furrowed your brows in confusion. A date? This was supposed to be a friendly outing.

“I don’t think it can be a date if one person doesn’t even know it’s a date” Wanda expressed, looking somewhat annoyed at the situation.

You fiddled with your hands “Uhm Justin you’re not really my… type” you tried to explain, but you couldn’t help but feel bad as he visibly deflated at your rejection

“Uhm I’m gonna head to the bathroom real quick, I’ll be right back” He didn’t bother waiting for a response before leaving the two of you alone.

You turned to Wanda whose eyes never left Justin as he walked away, a glare was set on her face. You wondered for a second if Wanda liked Justin and would be mad at you.

“Are you mad at me?” you softly asked, Wanda’s eyes snapping to you instantly at your question.

“Mad at you? No, why would I be?” She seemed appalled you’d even considered her aggression to be directed at you

“I don’t know it just seemed-” you tried to search for the right words to say “I just thought, because you seemed upset, that maybe you liked Justin- and I promise I don’t like him so he’s all yours I just-” you cut yourself off from your ramble, wringing your hands as a nervous habit.

Her gaze softened as she realized what you were trying to imply, she gently stopped your hands from their nervous wringing and slid her fingers between yours

“ I don’t like Justin” She assured you “he’s not even remotely my type”

You nodded slowly, trying to figure out what to say next

“So… what is your type then?” You watched her reaction closely, waiting for her to describe her dream guy to you so you could just smile and nod along.

She took a soft sharp inhale, looking into your eyes and then down at your lips before looking back up. You blinked a few times and tried to convince yourself what you just saw really happened. You glanced down at her lips too and looked up at her now flushed cheeks. She was blushing… because of you?

You watched her gaze drift back behind your shoulder and turned to see what she was looking at when her hand cupped your cheek and pulled your gaze back to her. She had gotten closer now, you hadn’t even noticed when. 

She glanced at your lips again before slowly leaning forward, her eyes searching for permission. You nodded lightly as your heart fluttered in disbelief and she closed the distance between you. Her lips were soft and sweet, she tasted like her favorite candy and you decided you had a new favorite taste. Her other hand came up to rest on your jaw as she deepened the kiss between you, lightly biting your lip causing you to let out a soft moan.

She pulled away, just enough so that your noses were on the brink of touching as she stared at you with a sparkling gaze. Her eyes shifted over to the side again and this time when you saw what she was looking at you froze.

Only a few feet away stood Justin, a shocked look on his face as he processed what he was witnessing.

Your attention was pulled back as you heard Wanda’s soft giggle. You finally registered what she had just done and chuckled with her

“That was mean Wanda” You playfully scolded, she just shrugged

“Not as mean as texting everyone not to come so he could have you all by himself” She mused, discreetly grabbing your hand again and intertwining your fingers together.

She began pulling you to the exit as your brain caught up to her words “Wait-” you finally understood and she just chuckled again at your oblivion.

Once the two of you were outside you both seemed to realize this was where you’d part ways, you shifted on your feet trying to come up with some excuse to not have to leave her yet.

“You know I never answered your question” You gave her a questioning look “About my type”

Your heart rate increased as you stared into her green eyes, her gaze never wavering from yours

“You.” She answered “You’re my type”

Butterflies erupted in your stomach at the confession, you’d waited so long for something you thought would never happen, and here you were, standing in front of the most beautiful woman you’d ever met and she’d just told you you were her type.

Nothing would ever beat this moment. Besides maybe a few minutes ago when she kissed you.

You breathed an overly dramatic sigh of relief “Well that’s good news because I thought we were going to have to talk about standards”

She playfully shoved your shoulder at your words and you caught her hand before it retracted, playing with the rings on her fingers. You looked up at her soft gaze, reeling in the way she admired you like no one else ever could.

“You’re my type too” you admit

“That took you way too long to admit” she joked, and you scoffed, dropping her hand and crossing your arms

You both missed the contact immediately.

You shivered as a breeze flowed through the air and an idea popped into your head

“You know Wanda…” you started, “ that movie was pretty scary, I think I’m going to need somebody to sleep with me in case I get scared”

Wanda caught on to your train of thought and giggled as she played along

“I think I can help you with that”

~

Thanks for reading! as always please comment what you thought and if there’s anything you’d like to see next! <3

[quinloki]

𝐵𝓊𝑔𝑔𝓎'𝓈 𝒮𝓅𝑜𝑜𝓀𝓉𝒶𝒸𝓊𝓁𝒶𝓇 𝒮𝓅𝑒𝒸𝒾𝒶𝓁!

This is my costume contest entry for @swampstew's costume contest event \o/

Characters: Marco, Ace, Reader Warnings: None (implied poly relationship) Notes: Reader is implied shorter-than-average as a gag for the characters they're dressing up as.

Word count: 696

Ace tugged at the button up collar, undoing the top button again. “I know I agreed, but I didn’t think you were going to shove me into five layers of clothes, (Y/N).” He grumbles a little as you hand him a dark blue and silver trimmed military style jacket.

“At this rate the gloves are going to be the death of you.” You reply with a smirk. “Marco’s wearing something similar, he’s not complaining.” You say as you help him get the gold braided cord around his right arm the correct way.

Marco was standing in front of a mirror in the blue and silver trimmed military uniform. He had it buttoned up correctly, the boots were shined, and the few accessories were in place as though he was actually part of the Amestris Empire. He was currently getting used to the plastic prop cigarette you’d provided him, trying to make it look natural and sort out how to keep it comfortable.

He’d gone so far as to make sure he was clean shaven for the part, combing back and trying to tame some of his hair so it was only a little spiky in the front.

“His flames don’t run hot.” Ace huffs. “And look at him, he’s preening.”

“You would be too, pretty boy, if you’d look in the mirror.” Marco says flatly, turning around and giving Ace a grin, managing to keep the cigarette where he wants it.

“You know, the Colonel often wears a long black coat in the series, if you want, I can go get it?” You offer, giving him a half-teasing, half-irritated smile.

He flinches a little, and then sighs in surrender. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry for complaining so much.” He offers up. “But why are you the main character?”

“Cause you two giants are too tall.” You assert, handing him a pair of gloves with thin red lines stitched into them. You’re wearing a black a-shirt, a thick brown belt, black pants and boots and a bright red coat with a black symbol stitched on the back. Thatch had helped you do the stitching, and it’d taken both of you a few months. It was beautiful work at least, and you were certainly going to get more use out of it than just this single contest event.

“Not that you have to be short to dress up as a short character.” You admit, checking your loose-braided blonde wig before putting it on. “But… this is my favorite character, and the two of you share a lot of physical traits with my other favorite characters, so it just worked out well. Too good to pass up.”

You finish getting your costume on and Ace nearly snorts trying not to laugh.

“What’s so funny?” You question.

He puts a hand over his mouth trying to stifle a laugh and failing miserably. “N-noth-nothing!” He manages. “It’s just- hahahaha!”

Marco turns to look and grunts, nearly snorting as he tries not to laugh too.

 “Heck, is something wrong?” You question, starting to panic a little.

“No, not at all.” Marco assures you.

“You look shorter than usual!” Ace finally blurts out, losing it entirely and cackling.

Your panic morphs into irritation. You start to say something, but Marco interjects.

“Those boots are even thicker than your usual shoes.” He states in disbelief. “It’s impressive, yoi.”

“Y-you’re both wearing boots too!” You stammer, suddenly painfully aware of your lack of height for the first time in months. “You’re just standing taller than usual, th-that’s all.”

You snatch a pair of white gloves out of Ace’s hands as he hands them over, still trying to contain his amusement. You grumble under your breath a little as you put the gloves on.

“Should’ve made you dress as the younger brother,” You huff. “Stick you in a big tin can all day.”

Ace’s gloved hand slips under your chin as he leans down from behind you. The rough texture sends a jolt down your back and you aren’t sure what to do with it. Before you can think on it he whispers into your ear.

“Don’t be mad, pipsqueak, I’ll make it up to you later.”

[katyawriteswhump]

the power of love, part 12 (steddie, steve whump, stobin fic)

Alternate ending S4: Steve has a habit of surviving near death experiences then getting sick for no reason. And Eddie and those fatal bat bites? After an impossible feat of mouth-to-mouth resuscitation from Steve, he’s mysteriously fixed. So, Eddie’s back to being banished, this time with Steve and Robin in tow. Eddie’s healing, but Steve isn’t… and life gets even more confusing, when Eddie develops feelings for Steve, which aren’t entirely unrequited.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 13

(also on AO3 here and as part of my steve whump fic series)

Eddie POV

To Eddie, there’s something way too police-like about the way Hopper escorts Steve to the Humvee. He even raises a hand to check Steve doesn’t knock his head, while climbing in the rear seat. Eleven gets in the far side of Steve, and Robin piles in on the near side. 

Robin shoots Eddie such a mean look and slams the armoured door. Left standing in the mud, Eddie gets it—subtle as a monster punch in his gut. Stay away from Steve.

“Let’s move.” Hopper motions urgently, and Eddie trudges over and gets in.

“You sure you want me riding shotgun? What with me being… Oh, I dunno, verified spawn of Satan?” 

Hopper drops his voice to a barely audible rumble: “Whatever game you two were playing last night, I don’t wanna know.” He doesn’t sound chummy. Not actively hostile either. “I promised your uncle I’d look out for you, if I could.”

Eddie inhales sharply: “You’ve seen him? He’s okay?”

“He salvaged your six-string after the quake. He wanted me to tell you.”

Eddie snorted; cannot deny it’d played on his mind. God, Wayne knows him too damn well.

Hopper fiddles with the switches on the spartan dashboard. “Not gonna say he’s okay, because nobody in Hawkins is. Our best hope is that the military pull out when they can’t find Eleven. We still have allies, acquaintances of Owens, though their numbers are thinning fast.”

“That who we’re running to?”

Hopper has some kind of plan, which he explains as he grinds into gear. They’re heading for a remote road, where these remaining ‘allies’ have arranged further transport. “Luckily,” says Hopper, “you guys were pretty much on route.”

“We can’t stay away long,” says Eleven. “I have to go back. I can beat One, with help from friends, and…”

Eddie peeps over his shoulder, sees her staring hopefully at Steve. Who is staring glassily ahead.

“Steve?” prompts Robin. “Anything you feel like sharing.”

“Will you gimme a break? Look, I got an idea about what’s behind all this. I don’t know how much sense it’s gonna make, so…”

Nothing could’ve prepared Eddie for what Steve discloses next. “I know how nuts this must sound,” Steve says. Eddie, like the others, is temporarily stunned speechless. “That I should be… That I should’ve drowned in that lake, when I was a kid.”

“The only thing nuts,” says Robin, who’s literally cuddling him from the side, “is that you didn’t tell us this sooner.”

Steve squirms. “Honestly? It only came together in my head in the past day or so. It was like a really annoying jigsaw puzzle, and jigsaws are basically my least favorite thing ever.”

“We need to figure this out,” says Hopper. “There was no gate open to the Upside Down in 1978. Doesn’t mean Steve’s powers, if that’s what you got, aren’t linked to the Upside Down, or the experiments at Hawkins Lab. If they are, doesn’t mean they’re all bad news. Look at El.”

“I guess.” The Humvee rocks and rolls over a particularly cavernous pothole, and Steve flinches hard. “In my dreams and shit, I see this trippy… I don’t know how to describe them. They’re like a ghost or something; also, not quite a ghost. Whatever, I got this hunch they’re behind it.”

“Could be some kind of water spirit,” says Robin. “Or even a goddess. Oooh, so the Romans worshipped this water goddess, Minerva, and the ancient Celts had Sulis—"

“Be serious,” says Steve.

“I am serious. In Native American religions, water can represent a link between life and death. I wish I knew more.”

“Not sure I wanna know any of this.” Steve peeps down at El, who’s not quit staring at him. “If this is your crazy-pants frenemy after all, now would be a really good time to tell me.”

She shakes her head. “No. If I sense anything, it’s good… soft… like Mama should’ve been.”

“Oh,” says Steve. “Can you, like, see them too?”

“No.”

“Son-of-a-bitch!” bellows Hopper. The Humvee’s wheels churn uselessly in the sludgy ground. “Everyone out, apart from you.” He points at Steve. “You okay to take the wheel?”

Steve revs for about ten seconds. Eleven uses her powers to unstick the armoured vehicle, and nobody needs to shove. Trouble is, they get stuck again about ten minutes later. And again, five minutes after that. Soon after they next get going, there’s a loud metallic clunk. The Humvee chokes, splutters, and dies completely.

They all tumble out yet again, apart from Steve, who stays put, and nobody argues. Hopper props up the hood. “Munson, you any good with cars?” 

“Uh, hello?” says Robin. “My moms jumpstarts her Chevette every single day.”

That distracts Steve’s guard-dog. Eddie suffers a moment of agonising indecision then pops his head in the rear seat.

“How you doing?” Eddie knows it’s a stupid question. 

Steve shoots him a withering look, fluffs his messy hair. Eddie slides in beside then totally freezes up. He feels horrible about Steve’s arm in the sling, and as for the rest of it… 

HE DIED! On the other hand, I died too.

Yeah, how exactly does Eddie Munson fit into this beyond-freaky legend? He hardly gives a shit— he’s not the one seeing ‘ghosts’ and, worse, starting to resemble a ghost.

“Eddie,” whispers Steve. “I might need to get away.”

“Get away?” mouths Eddie. “What do you mean? From Hopper?”

Steve’s silence is answer enough.

“Granted, the dude’s packing heat,” says Eddie. And driving a freakin’ tank. "He’s not holding you hostage.”

“I know that. God, I’m so confused.” Steve’s stopped being grouchy or fighty. Which is pretty un-Steve, and scary in itself. He curls a hand over his eyes. “I feel like I’m being… I dunno, pulled in the wrong direction.”

A power chord of fear twangs across Eddie’s every fibre. “You want us to go back to Hawkins?” 

“Us?” Steve emerges from behind his fingers. “No. Hop’s right. You’d be arrested and I’d be… Ugh, I’m so goddamn sick of this. I want this all to be over, so we can… you know, fool around together.”

He reaches out, hooks a strand of Eddie’s now-totally-mad hair behind his ear, and sorta smiles. For a single damn fine moment, that smile sparks in his eyes; Eddie loses himself there, and their world is perfect.

Then Steve’s fingers drift away. Eddie wants to catch them, kiss them, promise he’ll do anything Steve needs. He’ll take down the whole damn US army, slay Vecna in a blaze of glory, even if he dies AGAIN trying, and yet… 

… Holy shit, he’s terrified of Steve! Scared that, if he touches him, he’s gonna crumble into dust, or…

“Earth to Eddie?” Steve waves in front of Eddie’s nose. “Have I added invisibility to my list of useless powers?”

“No. It’s just… I want this over too, so we can do, uh, yeeeaah, stuff.” Wow. Call yourself a lyricist, Munson? He’s rescued by a roar from the Hummer’s engine. That sleepwalker’s glaze returns to Steve’s eyes, and it feels way too much like another door swinging closed in Eddie’s face.

Although the dinged motor is fixed, the mud continues to be literally a pain in the butt. Nobody enjoys the bruisingly rough ride on the rock-hard, upholstery-free seats. 

“At this rate, we’re gonna have to ditch this piece of garbage and walk,” says Hopper.

“Jesus Christ, just ditch me already,” mutters Steve, who’s turned a disturbing shade of gray-green. Hopper doesn’t argue, which makes Eddie think he isn’t taking all that Steve says seriously. Which makes Eddie feel kinda sick, too.

What should they do? He wishes he could talk to Steve alone again, this time be less of a tongue-tied dipshit. That said, how can Steve go back to Hawkins? Right now, he can’t hardly walk.

They’re halfway across a patch of open land when they get stuck yet again. Eleven’s nearly as washed out as Steve, her nose bleeding. Hopper suggests they get the Humvee moving the traditional way.

“Shame about all that rain,” says Robin, as she, Hopper and Eddie pile out to push.

“Is that a dig?” snaps Steve, from the driver’s seat.

“Wasn’t supposed to be. Sorry. Sorry.”

They’ve barely put their backs into it, when Hopper squints into the air and curses louder than ever. A distant juddering noise reaches Eddie’s hearing.

“Oh my God,” cries Robin. “Is that—”

“Sikorsky search-and-rescue Hawks,” shouts Hopper. Yup, Eddie counts a battle-wave of ten or more. “Into the trees. Go, go, go!”

“What about our tank?” Eddie jumps on instinct to help Steve, who’s clambering out, seeming kinda dazed. Robin blocks Eddie’s path. It’s all a moot point, because Hopper’s already got to Steve.

“If they see it,” says Hopper, hustling Steve ahead of him, “chances are they’ll take a potshot.”

“I can crash them,” gasps Eleven. “Done it before.”

“Not a great idea, kiddo,” says Hopper. “They’ll know for sure it’s us, and throw everything they got into this part of the country. We’ll never make our meet.”

Eddie is scratched from head to foot by outdoor crap, before Hopper says, wheezing hard, “This’ll do.” They all get down in a bunker-like dip. Steve kneels beside Eddie, Hopper behind them. Robin shuffles around to crouch beside Steve.

“Do you hear that?” murmurs Steve to Eddie.

“Uh, yeah,” replies Eddie. “Evil empire TIE fighters, straight outta the Death Star.”

“Not them. A river or something. Loud. Like a waterfall.”

“Could be a giant bear taking a slash?” says Eddie, because life is currently so unfunny, he really might as well. And no, he can’t hear any water. Only the crescendoing approach of that airborne death squad.

“Bears have gotten so far down my ‘worry about’ list,” says Robin, “that that’s scary itself.” She picks a cobweb out of Steve’s hair. Steve, meanwhile, closes his eyes. He starts to tremble. “Uh, Steve,” says Robin, “what are you—”

“What d’you think I’m doing?” Bitchy Steve has returned, which Eddie chooses to find reassuring. “They’ll see the Hummer for sure. If I can actually do what you say I did—”

“It makes you sick,” hisses Eddie.

Robin bristles. “Since when did you care?”

“Will you both zip it?” says Steve.

Robin rubs his back. Eddie considers squeezing his knee, then decides against it. Hopper stops scrutinising the skies, brow furrowing: “What’s he doing?”

“Nothing!” Robin’s overwrought smile is stupidly guilty.

“Stevie?” prompts Eddie. “Is there anything we—”

“No, no. I remember this insane crackling. If I can get that going… Gnnng!”

“Anger helps,” whispers Eleven, from the far side of Robin. “What makes you angry?”

“A ton of shit! I can’t… Jesus, it feels like my head’s gonna explode.”

There’s a blinding flash, and a deafening thunderclap. Steve crumples forward, and Hopper grabs him by the scruff of his sweater before he hits the dirt. Eddie shrinks back, his own heart beating like it’s gonna bust outta his chest.

Steve’s now basically hyperventilating. “Ssssh, you did great.” Hopper gently braces an arm around him. “You gotta calm down. Breathe slower, nice and steady, huh?”

Eddie glances up at a bank of wispy grey clouds that hadn’t been there before. A few tense moments pass, the air palpably crackling with an electric tension. Then the noise from the choppers begins to fade.

“They’re turning around,” says Hopper. “Hawks can’t fly with lightning around.”

Robin’s shoulders sink with a relief Eddie shares. Steve, however, groans miserably. Hopper is still keeping Steve upright and asks, “You gonna puke?”

Steve scrunches his face and nods. 

“Stop goggling and get lost,” says Hopper to the others. Nobody disobeys. They’ve not gone a dozen yards, before Robin trips and falls on her face. As Eddie stoops to help her, she springs back up without aid. Far more shockingly, she throws her arms around Eddie’s neck:

“Oh my God, oh my God, I know the powers are awesome but he’s sick and I’m so scared he’s dying. What do we do? How can we help him? WHAT DO WE DO?”

All Eddie can do is press his cheek to her hair, and answer with an honesty that jack-knifes through his guts. “I don’t know, Robin. I haven’t a goddamn clue.”

Part 13

...

PS--In case anybody's worried... while there is plenty of trauma ahead, I only do happy endings ;)

tags: @estrellami-1 @kal-ology @finntheehumaneater (thank you, thank you, thank you!) If anybody else would like to be tagged on this fic or any of my writing, please let me know :) Reblogs, comments and likes also very much appreciated :) Thank you for reading so far :)

(also part of my steve whump fic series on AO3)

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 13

[constant-and-immovable]

What are your thoughts about the PoTC cast in Back Sails?

AHAHAHAHHA! I kept meaning to do this!

this ended up INCREDIBLY long...

Elizabeth is either killed early on, or makes it to the end, there's no in between. I imagine she would be good friends with eleanor but eventually they'd see they're in this game on different sides and there's a dramatic moment where Elizabeth betrays her. Its framed as a "see she's not purely good either" moment, meant to reflect that everyone here is technically a criminal, but the fandom hated Eleanor enough by then that Lizzie becomes part of a bunch of annoying Girl Boss memes .

I'm gay, so I want a scene where Anne teaches Elizabeth how to use a knife. Also a scene of her and Will sparring, since we're told he taught her how to sword fight, but NEVER SAW IT...

Will does okay! He survives most of the way through, and really would have gone longer, but gets killed off for Elizabeth's character development. Most of his involvement was with finding the treasure and assisting in the defense of Nassau. OR he ends up opening a blacksmith shop on the island. There's an emotional moment where Flint applauds his fine work, but tells him it's all fucking worthless. They need strength and quantity, not high art. Will doesn't get to show off his artistry again for a while. Billy and Will remain the Token Straight Men of the series, and even though they never speak and only share one frame, there are hundreds of fics about them.

Jack...depends on which one. The guy who played comic relief and court jester throughout the other films? He's shot in a brawl he didn't even start his first time in Nassau. The guy who carried around a pistol with one shot on a mission of cold revenge? The guy who didn't even flinch at the idea of trading souls for his own? The guy that laughed at his own hanging? Yeah, he would make it at least as far as Charles Vane did. He gets killed, naturally, because he ends up a fan favorite. He gets on Silver's nerves immensely, despite the fact that they have a weird chemistry. Flint only exchanges a few words with him, one of them being essentially "Get the fuck off my ship and if I see you on it again I will shoot you."

Either that, or they end up with a Picard/Q dynaimic.

Tia Dalma kicks ass and takes names. She's given a weapon. If she has supernatural powers in this, that becomes a major plot point to convince her onto their side. She outright (violently, graphically) gets people killed by some kind of magic trap trying to get to her island, or else we just see their bodies mangled on display leading up to her cabin. Madi becomes the person to suggest going in from behind the main entrance to the island where the traps are, and gets in alone, and convinces her to assist--but only if they can deliver to her the heart of Davy Jones, which becomes the main collateral of the series instead of the Urca gold. Idk, Jones buried instructions for her release in it or something.

Barbossa does extremely well, and while he's at the forefront of most of the battles, he somehow survives to the end, he, like Anne & Rackham, sails under the black still despite the supposed end of piracy on Nassau OR his epilogue piece is him sitting in an office above the tavern on Tortuga, establishing a second pirate base there. He doesn't get the Pearl in this version, but manages to sail off with The Fucking Warship. He, Flint, and Blackbeard hate each other, deeply, but also have the most experience and end up collaborating throughout the show for a few of the major battles.

Anna-Maria almost gets involved with Anne, but doesn't. She doesn't like how much they have in common, a rough past, a shaky relationship with a Jack (I assume we unfortunately have to see pretty much everyone fucking someone at some point, since it's Starz, and there's no way the writers wouldn't have gone the easy route of her and Jack), but she does save Anne's life at one point. Max thanks for her it, upset that she wasn't there, and post break up with Anne, Max finds her again, offers her a position on the new Nassau which she says she'll consider. In typical fashion of the show, we're never given a definite as to whether or not the two women ever get together. She survives but only because I said so, otherwise she's a minor character and therefore easy cannon-fodder (possibly literally) for an early series death.

Norrington ends up playing a major role in the early season, betrays the English at one point for Elizabeth's protection (he tells them that he's doing it to doublecross her, he tells her he's double crossing them, he doesn't know what he's doing). Will and Elizabeth were fighting Because Drama and This is Starz, so at some point she marries him, but it cements him onto their side (opposite of Eleanor and Woodes in the later seasons). He's good with strategy until it's personal (remember in his own canon he's the one who chased Jack around the world, got his crew killed), but a personal stake in things is what makes Elizabeth hone in on her best ideas, and they level each other out.

Season two finale he's killed by a random English spy on the island who was sent to be sure Norrington was doing what he said he would. With Eleanor's approval, Elizabeth tortures the spy for information, but after he gives up with little useless nonsense he knows, she still kills him, dumps the body, lies and says their information source escaped. When he washes in with the tide, Will claims it was his actions. He and Norrington were not close, but they were from the same town, and (he lies) he respected him. He knows Elizabeth did it, but also knows that he'll get much less flack for it, if any; and Elizabeth nods a thank you. It's the start of them communicating again.

Gibbs, as a storyteller, is given protection by the narrative, as it knows that it needs him alive to exist, and therefore he lives.

[sabraeal]

Brewed With Intent, Part 3

[Read on AO3]

“You’re sure that you feel all right?” Shidan stoops— not far, but enough— to stare Obi right in the eyes, mouth furrowed deep into its concern corners. It’s habit to brace, to wait for her inevitable sympathetic flinch when that otherworldly something drives them back—

But it never comes. Shidan holds his gaze— a second, then two, then suddenly half a minute’s passed without a single shudder— and asks, “No itching or…hm…burning?”

Pencil-thin brows hike right up to his hairline, rumpling the scar that cuts across beneath it, both nothing and everything like Shirayuki had imagined. “Are those symptoms I should be worrying about, Doc?”

“Not a doctor,” Shidan reminds him absently, “and no.”

“What?” Obi sputters out. “Then why would you ask—?”

“The last time someone tried to cast something on you, you turned into a human bonfire.” Shidan levels a stare at him so flat she could skip rocks across it. “Taking some measure of caution seems prudent.”

It’s riveting to watch his mouth work, to see all the muscles twisting together to shape words that never quite manage to be more than a dissatisfied grunt. “Well, not a human one.”

The glare Shidan gives him could hang pictures. “Why don’t you go take a breather here in the back? Just in case. Last thing I need is a customer to spontaneously combust on East Broadway.”

“Please, I’m civilized, I’d make it to at least Belmont.”

“I still think it’ll be some frog action.” Yuzuri bumps the stock room door open with her hip, a box of vacuum-sealed herb packets teetering in her arms. “Or maybe a small mammal. I don’t know what your biology would do with something cold-blooded.”

“Best not to find out.” Suzu turns too-earnest eyes to him. “I think you’d make a handsome stoat.”

Obi presses a hand to his chest, shirt rumpling enough to bare even more bronze beneath, and ah, two buttons have never seemed so indecent. “That’s the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me.”

“Hey!” A cardboard corner lodges under his sternum in protest. “I called you hot!”

“Yeah, but that’s just facts.” Obi’s palm shoves against one flat side, angling her back toward the aisles. “Suzu’s showing some imagination. A little faith, if you will.”

“Really? You’re gonna lecture me about moralism? A de—?”

“How long should do you think we should wait?” Shirayuki asks, if only to give her an excuse to do something besides letting her eyes trace the length of his cheekbones another dozen times. “I was hoping to do some of my rounds today if, er…”

It would be insensitive to say, if Obi doesn’t explode on them. Though it’s certainly not as career limiting for him as it would be for, say, either her or Ryuu, the whole business with Haki had still come as a bit of a blow. Even now his hair hasn’t fully grown back in, just a thick forest of black bristle he complains is at the whim of his pillow, even though Shirayuki’s half sure she’s never seen him use one.

Shirayuki casts a curious glance at the hand he runs through it, ignoring the itching of her own palms. Whatever he's doing, it’s clearly working for him.

“Can’t say for sure.” Shidan scratches at his goatee, giving Obi a squint for good measure, almost as if he could see the inner workings of the charm over him, like a clock maker inspects gears on a timepiece. “Fifteen minutes?

“Oh, like one of those vaccines things, right?” Obi doesn’t sit so much as free fall into the bean bag chair in Shidan’s office, long legs stretched across the carpet. “Miss made me wait with her once.”

Yuzuri huffs as she heads toward the shop, one ear flicking. “It’s bullshit that you can’t get sick. Totally unfair. Proof that the universe has its fucking favorites, to be honest.”

“Don’t blame me.” He hooks his hands behind his head, eyes at half-mast, positively lounging. She catches herself mid-star, her eyes nearly raking across ever leather and denim clad inch. And especially the few inches with neither. “Blame— what’s it you guys call it? Speciation? Different biology.”

“Well, some of it has to be the same,” Suzu muses, chin in hand. “You know, for, uh” —he stutters under Obi’s sudden glare— “reasons.”

Shirayuki blinks. “Re—?”

“All right, I think we’ve done more than enough agitation testing,” Shidan grunts, getting to his feet. “Let’s let the guy catch his breath. Give him some space.”

“To combust? If he’s going to do that, a few feet won’t really—”

“Suzu!” Yuzuri stamps her foot just outside the office, ears pulled so low they practically disappear into her hair. “You can’t just say someone is going to explode.”

“Why?” He blinks, craning his neck down to stare. “It’s not like it’ll hurt him.”

“Still. It’s rude!” The graphic part of his tee crumples beneath her fist as she reaches out and tugs, yanking all six foot two of him right off his feet. “Now just get over here already. The last thing I need is you turning into a pile of ash and making more work for me.”

Shidan sighs, running a hand through his already tousled thatch of hair. “Well, that’s the peanut gallery. Shirayuki…?”

“I’ll stay.” It’s supposed to sound supportive, stalwart, but with the heat that licks up her neck, tickling at the apples of her cheeks, she doubts it makes the mark. “Just in case.”

“Your funer—” Shidan coughs, hand scraping over his stubble— “choice.”

“Don’t worry, doc,” Obi hums, head tilted back, skin stretched taut enough she can see his throat bob as he swallows. “This isn’t Miss’s first rodeo. She can handle anything my biology can throw at her.”

Shidan hums, unconvinced. “Right, well, there is a fire extinguisher under the counter. If you need it.”

“I don’t think we will, that sort of reaction tends to be, er…instantaneous.” Shirayuki angles her most grateful smile up at him. “Thank you though. Not just for the, er, information. But everything.”

His shoulders hike up by his ears, as allergic to gratitude as every other master practitioner she’s met. At least he isn’t trying to rush her out the door the way Lata did every time he caught a whiff of sincerity on her. “Don’t mention it.”

It’s hardly a long walk from his desk to the door, but it’s enough steps to see how he’s favoring one side, like Grandpa did whenever the weather got too wet out. “I could brew you something for that, if you wanted.”

His hand hooks on the jamb, holding him steady as he turns a furrowed brow toward her. “For what?”

“Your limp.”

It’s astounding how quickly the red rockets up his neck, not even taking a pause at his cheeks, just barreling up from his collar until it crashes against his hairline. “N-no!” He coughs again, hand scrubbing over his face. “I mean— it’s nothing. Works itself out in time. Just…worry about yourselves.”

It’s in her nature to gently insist, to wheedle curmudgeons around to a show of kindness, but she barely has time to take in a breath before the door slams behind him. Hard enough that it rattles the walls, setting more than a few of his pictures askew.

“Well,” she hums, reaching over to fix one within arm’s reach. “That seems a little unnecessary.”

“Miss.”

There’s no reason for Obi's mouth to hitch like that, or for his arresting eyes to soften, overflowing with affection she can appreciate every ounce of now that instinct is no longer blaring alarm in her ears. And yet, here he is, too-sharp canines dinting his lower lip, shoulders practically shivering as he bites back his snickers. Poorly, she might add.

It doesn’t make the picture of it any less pretty. And it certainly doesn’t do anything to discourage her staring at him, that’s for sure.

“I don’t see what’s so funny,” she murmurs, her own cheeks flushed as she turns them away. “He’s injured! I was just trying to be helpful. That’s hardly a reason to get so flustered…”

“Miss.” The word practically squeaks out of him, laughter slipping out behind it. “How do you think he got that limp?”

“How would I…?”

It’s the pity that gets her, just the slightest sliver hidden behind the fondness in his eyes, the same kind Yuzuri gives her when she’s a little slow to understand something adult, and—

“Oh.” There'd been marks on Garrack’s neck, so fresh, only a handful purpled and even less yellowed. And a discount that she’d been so certain she earned them. “Oh.”

“There we go,” Obi hums, settling deeper into the bean bag. “Now you’ve got it.”

*

It’s only fifteen minutes— less time than it takes Ryuu to complete the sudoku in the paper, or Obi takes to make a sandwich— and yet every second of it is interminable, stretching by with all the speed of molasses down a bottle’s neck. No wonder Obi is always acting like he’s about to jump out of his skin at the library.

But this isn’t just an outright allergy to sitting stationary— no, Shirayuki has extenuating circumstances. The kind that make her wonder if that leather is as touchable as it looks.

“That bad, hm?”

Her eyes dart up, disrupted from the corners they’d been sneaking their surreptitious glances. His are still closed, head tilted back on his hands, like he’d be more at home with a hammock at his back than a bean bag, mojito within arm's reach. Only his smile’s strained, more teeth than teasing, braced for a blow. “Huh?”

“You know…” One large hand waggles over him, a sliver of gold peeking through his eyelashes. “The new look.”

Is it? That’s what she’d like to ask— if when he looks in the mirror, this is the face he sees, or whether Shidan’s charms have polished the edges off they way they’ve erased the extra eyelid. If this is just a human face plastered over a more eldritch one, more palatable to the small animal that is her brain, or what had been hiding beneath that miasma all along, waiting for a heart stout enough to be seen.

Instead she watches his eyelashes splay over the golden arch of his cheekbone and feels her mouth go inexplicably dry. “N-no! Yuzuri’s right. It’s, um…”

“Hot?” he offers, entirely too eager. Even rolls up to his side, one arm angled behind his head, like one of those pin-ups the Laxdo dorm boys had hurried to take down from the wall the last time she stopped by.

“Attractive,” she allows, ignoring the insufferable angle his smirk slants itself to. “You’ll certainly draw attention while we’re out.”

“Attractive.” He tests the word, savors it, and apparently likes the taste. “But am I attracting you, Miss?”

It’s mortifying how quickly her skin goes hot, a slight flush to lobster red in seconds. “Obi!”

“Kidding, kidding!” His hand fly up, but she’s in no mood to be placated, not when they tremble at the same frequency as his laugh. “All this being perceived— it’s going straight to my head.”

He deserves every ounce the scowl she gives him, gaining gravitas as it ramps over the forbidding fold of her arms. “Be that as it may, it’s still not very nice to tease! Especially when you’re not even interested in the answer.”

“I wonder.” There’s a strange set to his smile, like his mouth doesn’t quite fit on his face, like it belongs to a different man entirely— but it’s gone as quick as it arrived, disappearing behind what she’s quickly coming to realize is his usual grin. “So where to next, Miss? After the Doc gives me a clean bill of health, of course.”

There’s a plan, a list, but— but he stretches. Palms press flat to the wall behind him, exaggerating the arch of his back, and— and his shirt rolls up, baring the barest sliver of bronze right above his waistband. A dusting of dusky hair peeks above the brass button, trailing down to parts unknown, and her fingers itch, wanting to know it’s as silky as it looks, or— “I don’t know.”

He blinks, gold making his eyes all the more owlish. “You don’t know?”

“Ah, I mean…” She shakes her head, as if percussive force might knock her tongue loose of its tangle. “There’s a few places…that have put out requests, I mean! And I thought we might have, um…”

This isn’t working. Whatever this is— she’s got to get a hold of herself. With a steeling breath, she slaps her cheeks, hard enough to feel the sting.

Obi’s arches a narrow brow. “You okay there, Miss?”

“Yes, sure.” Barely. “There’s no requests for urgent consult, so I thought head toward the market first and maybe make out way n—”

“The market? You mean…” A groan really should looks so good “Don’t tell me, we’re going to the harbor.”

*

“What”— Kihal hooks her hands over her hips, thunderous as any squall over the Sound— “is that?”

Shirayuki blinks, tracing the finger she points right over her shoulder to where Obi lounges against the pier, jacket slung over his shoulder. It’s brisk this close to the water, but with the temperature Obi runs at, anything more than short sleeves is for aesthetic. Certainly no cause for alarm, but today—

Well, today she can see how the seam of his sleeve strains around his bicep, and the way his torso tapers right down to his waist, practically a triangle—

She swallows. “Obi’s trying out a charm Shidan made him.”

“Demon boy?” Kihal makes a disgruntled squeak back in her throat, half-threatening, half-cute, and all annoyed. “Oh, I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all.”

Shirayuki watches him unfurl from his lean, hips rolling as he saunters toward them, and can’t help but think, get in line.