#this is so oddly specific but like :'| if u do this hiss hiss u have my ire

[dragonliiight]

Modern verse Dion is really bad at video games so when Joshua made him play Final Fantasy 14 he was one of those people that didn't do the job quest and didn't get his job stone cause he thought it was optional content. He was one of those people that queue's into level 30+ duties without a job stone until Joshua told him you can't do that :'|

[riddlemethis-or-riddlemethat]

Hello! If u don't mind i would like to req Tom Riddle x m!reader where reader is an exchange student and surprise surprise he's a parselmouth! So let's say, speaking with animals r common on where he live, n obviously Tom was intrigued

U can do anything w this prompt, sfw, nswf, whatever! I js need to feed my TR brainrot

omg yes!! this is a brilliant idea!!! thank you for requesting, I love this prompt so much

the TR brainrot is so real😔

I made the reader confident, because I felt like they would be interesting to someone as narcissistic as Tom, and he'd probably feel more curious about the new boy who seems so oddly comfortable in what should be this new, unfamiliar environment.

hope you enjoy!

tags: x male reader, kinda ooc Tom? (not really though, this is how I imagine he would act around others at Hogwarts, seeing as he was supposed to be charming and perfect, you know?), suggestive thoughts (Tom has pretty interesting thoughts about reader 😏), cocky!reader, use of y/n, not beta-read

word count: 1564

Fresh Face - TR x male!Slytherin!reader

The Great Hall buzzed with chatter, friends catching up after the holidays, first-years being welcomed to their new houses, excitement and general anticipation for the new year. Tom sat, surrounded by his friends, making idle small talk with a pleasant smile painted on his face.

Suddenly, McGonagall stood at the podium, gesturing for silence. A respectful hush fell over the Hall as people broke off their conversations to tune in.

Some keen individuals began to notice that the Sorting Hat was still out. Other even more observant students noticed the figure stood off the side of McGonagall. Some particularly enterprising students made the connection between these two observations, and concluded that this figure was a new student, about to be sorted.

But that still left the question: why was he separated from the first years?

Only one specific student, Tom, noticed that the figure was a young boy, around his age, who stood with confidence and a calmness that was odd for someone clearly in an unfamiliar environment. Tom also noticed that the boy was dressed in brand new school robes, unmarked but pressed and proper, high quality and perfectly tailored, highlighting the boy’s long legs and muscular chest and strong thighs and-.

Tom moved on.

He noticed more. He noticed movement.

Movement?

Yes, right there, on the boy’s shoulders, around his neck (and what a lovely neck it was, Tom wanted to know what it would look like bruised and with his hands wrapped around it-). A dark, sleek thing, winding about the boy, a small, narrow head, a flicking tongue...

A snake?

Tom watched, in curiosity, as the snake shifted, pressing its face close to the boy's ear, hissing something Tom couldn’t hear, too far away. He watched, in shock, as the boy chuckled, slanting a gaze towards the snake and rolling his eyes (Godric, what Tom wouldn’t give to see those gorgeous eyes roll for another reason-).

Bloody hell, what was with him today, these cursed thoughts were getting out of hand.

Tom watched, intrigued and definitely not obsessively so, as the boy (a parseltongue?), turned back to the podium, attention back on Professor McGonagall, who had finished her speech.

Tom was ashamed to realise he had heard absolutely none of it, and he could only watch as McGonogall turned to the mysterious boy, calling him up.

“Y/n Y/l/n, if you could please come up.” McGonagall called out.

Well, at least he knew his name.

Tom watched as the boy strode up the stage, nodding politely at Professor McGonagall, a small gesture of respect and deference that detracted nothing from his confidence. The snake was still on the boy's shoulders, mostly hidden by the boy’s robes.

The boy, Y/n, sat down on the chair, elegant and comfortable, waiting as McGonagall placed the hat on his head. Y/n’s eyes slipped shut for a moment, a small smirk spread across his face as he opened them again, a loud declaration of “Slytherin!” ringing out across the Great Hall from the old hat.

Tom found that a small, barely noticeable twitch had occurred on his own lips, tugging them slightly upward in a mirror of Y/n’s smirk. Tom quickly reigned in his features, unfortunately not before Mattheo, his younger brother, noticed it, a teasing smirk spreading across his face, an expression promising misery later.

Suddenly, gasps rang out across the Great Hall, and Tom watched in awe as the boy gracefully stood from the seat, each movement powerful and controlled. That wasn’t what the mindless fools about him were gasping at, however. They were gaping at the beautiful, gorgeous snake on Y/n’s shoulders, uncurling from where it was looped about his neck, baring its head and hissing out at the crowd.

“Look at these idiots.”

Tom raised a brow at the snake’s rather offensive comment.

Y/n chuckled, a hand lifting to stroke at the snake’s head, a languid smirk on his face as he walked off the stage, joining the Slytherin table amidst hesitant cheers and staggered applause.

“I know, Nyx, I know. But it’s rather funny isn’t it?”

Tom could barely hold back the smirk as he heard your response.

“I suppose...”

Tom grunted in surprise, glaring at Mattheo, who had elbowed him in the ribs, and at Theo and Enzo, who were snickering behind their hands and avoiding his gaze by collapsing into each other.

“What’s got you gawking, Tommy?” Mattheo asked, a cocky smirk on his face as he avoided Tom’s retaliation.

“None of your business.”

“Aww come on, don’t be like that Tommy. I’m your little brother, it’s practically my duty to make it my business.”

Tom scowled, swatting at Mattheo’s head and slapping him, hard.

Mattheo whined, rubbing his head and glaring at Tom.

“You’re mean. And your boy is staring at you.”

Tom was embarrassed at how quickly he turned his head, the tips of his ear flushing slightly and a scowl fixing on his face as Mattheo cackled with Theo and Enzo, laughing at him.

All thoughts of revenge and fratricide were chased out of his mind as he looked at you, your (beautiful, merlin) eyes already staring at him, meeting in a thrilling clash of wills.

The snake, Nyx, flicks its tongue, looking at Tom assessingly.

A shame you were seated so far, Tom had no means of speaking with you right now. Whatever, he was a Prefect, and in your new house. He’d find time.

You smiled passively before turning away, paying attention to the young boy engaging you in conversation.

Tom, too, turned back to his brother and friends, scowl returning as he watched them falling over each other and howling with laughter.

****

You were reading peacefully in the common room, catching up on topics covered at Hogwarts your old school hadn’t covered, when you felt a presence approaching you, and the cold nose of Nyx, your pet snake, pressing against your neck. You look up, seeing Tom Riddle, Slytherin’s perfect prince, heading towards you.

You slid a bookmark into your textbook, marking the page before closing it and setting it aside. As Tom approaches you, he smiles pleasantly, eyes calculating as he greets you.

“Y/l/n, right? Nice to meet you, I’m Tom Riddle, the Slytherin prefect.” He extends a hand, elegant, pale, and slender. You take it, shaking it in yours and noting how cool it was to the touch in contrast to your own warmth.

“Yes, nice to meet you, Riddle.”

Nyx raises her head, peering at Tom.

“Hello, speaker.” she hisses, and you turn to the snake, brows lifting in surprise. You had been warned that Hogwarts had no speakers.

“Hello, I am Tom Riddle, what is your name?” Tom speaks back, calm and collected.

“Nyx. You seem more intelligent than the buffoons around us.”

You laugh, fond amusement at your snake’s discontent with the lack of intellect surrounding you.

“Sorry about her, she’s crabby about the move.” You hiss, speaking to Tom as you pet Nyx’s smooth scales.

“I was told there were no speakers at Hogwarts. That it was considered... Dark arts.” you speak, tone questioning as you raise a brow at Tom, your eyes appraising.

He just smirks, his eyes equally calculating. “It is considered Dark, yes. And no-one but my closest friends and trusted know of me. You are quite bold to have revealed your... talents, so readily to the whole school, Y/l/n.”

Tom was intrigued, fascinated, curious even. (obsessed~ sings a voice in the back of Tom’s head that sound suspiciously like Mattheo)

“They can’t do anything about me, and I refused to leave Nyx lonely and unattended.” you shrug, smiling at Tom.

“You’re a stubborn one, aren’t you?” Tom raises his brow, smirking at you.

You smirk at him as you pick up your book, standing and walking past him to your dorm room.

“I’ll see you around, Riddle.” You call out over your shoulder.

Tom chuckles to himself as you walk away (and salazar, that ass-), before turning away to return to his dorm for the night.

The minute he walked into the dorm, he was greeted by jeering and snickering from all fronts, Mattheo, Lorenzo, Theodore, the assholes three.

He ignored the hollering of the three idiots, and strode into the en suite bathroom, showering and getting ready for bed.

When he stepped out of the bathroom, it was to be met with Mattheo and Theo looping arms around his shoulders and walking him over to their bed, one either side, and Lorenzo sprawled on his bed, laughing his head off as the Theo-duo menaces traded matching smirks and launched into a merciless interrogation and endless teasing.

****

After substantial ribbing and general bullying from all three fronts, and Mattheo being dramatic and snuggling with Theo and Lorenzo cooing over him in a bed together after Tom hexed him, Tom settled into his own bed, his eyes slipping shut as he systematically went through the memories of his day, filing them away as was demanded.

Eventually, he fell into his memories of you.

Y/n Y/l/n.

Parseltongue, exchange student, smart, snarky, confident. (hot, gorgeous, delicious-)

Curiouser and curiouser.

Tom smirked to himself as he crafted a new room in his mind, one just for you.

He fell asleep with one thought in his mind.

This was going to be interesting.

****

Word Count: 1564

I might do a continuation of this eventually, it's a great idea! thank you so much for the request @prettorett I hope you enjoy this!

🥰🥰

tag: @helendeath this is the fic haha

[regretisstoredintheme]

So I saw you said you've been writing oddly specific headcannons-?

And I'm just here to say-

y e s

I would like to see them plz XD

-T

Omg do I..??? Have an anon..???? :0

HIIIIII :DDDD

The handholding/blush hcs were the oddly specific hcs I had mentioned— HOWEVER— HAVE MORE THAT I THOUGHT OF OFF THE TOP OF MY HEAD

Leo had a lisp for a while — it wasn’t very noticeable and he hid it well, but Mikey thought it was cool so he copied it, exaggerating the lisp. it became “Mikey’s thing” (as it usually goes when the younger sibling copies 😭)

Donnie doesn’t like grass. Not like plants in general- he loves plants- he just hates the feeling of grass. Considering they’re in New York, he had never really felt it until April took them on a road-trip, in which Donnie had quite literally hissed at the spiky foliage.

Leo will randomly sing/yell at the top of his lungs and will not relent until one of his brothers copies the stim back.

“AAAAAA”

“AAAAAAAAAAA”

“AAAAAAAA, THERE NOW WILL YOU SHUT. U—”

Raph has nightmares; like— a chronic nightmare kind of thing, it’s why he’s an early bird. when he wakes up from them and can’t go back to sleep— he goes to Leo. “Leo?? Why Leo!?” you ask? Well, my friend, Countless reasons! 1. Leo is the one who cares most about Raph’s fear of being alone, and I feel like waking up in the dark without anyone awake would KICKSTART THAT MF. 2. Leo has insomnia, anyway, and usually he’s awake when Raph has a nightmare. 3. Leo talks in his sleep, and it’s really hard to feel alone in the when there’s someone in the room being loud as hell. 4. LEO MAKES JOKES?? IN HIS SLEEP??? Raph gets to chuckle a little through tired tears, feeling more comfortable in his own shell. 5. Leo and Raph are constantly fighting for control of the team as leader, however, when the team isn’t involved, it seems like they can both just relax and enjoy the quiet. 6. Leo is the lightest sleeper unknown to man. Even if Raph just peeked through the curtains, the slightest fabric movement has Leo jutting awake, looking around before recognizing his brother, a tired smile replacing the shock on his face. 7. Leo doesn’t judge him or make him feel any less of a hero for having a nightmare. All he does is smile, ask “What’s up, bug guy?” with gentle understanding, and offer a place on the floor to sleep. THAT ONE WAS LONG SHSJSBSJBD

Raph has teddy bears. Many. Many teddy bears. I feel like this is mostly canon considering his frequent buyer gift card, but I just feel like it had to be said 😤

Mikey is FLEXIBLE as FUCK. “Psycho-acrobatics” is right.

Donnie offered to give Casey Jr. braces, but the time traveler declined, saying he thought they looked cool.

April, Cassandra, Casey Jr. and Sunita will sometimes call themselves the “protesters quartet” as they often go out to advocate for rights of certain minorities.

April knows how to temper chocolate. She rightfully abuses this power.

[mirror-is-distured]

The Library

Mountain x reader fluff

Basically you are having a bad day and mountain helps you relax in the library, the other ghouls tease him for being soft lol

A/N: this is my a/u where the reader is dating mountain bcs I love him and he's so cool, but Noone else knows :) also sorry if there are spelling mistakes English is my second language

WORD COUNT : 4761

I sighed, walking out of the large doorway that separated papa nhili from the rest of the building. I started to pace down the dimly light hall, the soft thud of the door echoing out in front of me. I honestly just needed a break. I felt like one of copias' rats, running around endlessly, completing tasks and running errands for the ministry. All I wanted was a hug, someone to care about me, just the comfort of knowing someone cared about me. I was utterly lost in my own head, wandering quickly down the hallway, the air was chill, and the scent of incense and candle smoke filled my nose. I didn't even realize I had reached the library until the hard wooden doors smacked me in the face. "Fuck" I muttered under my breath, reaching up to hold my forehead; my hand was cold against my face. I opened the door to the room, and the silence that hit me was almost overwhelming, alongside the smell of musk and old leather. The atmosphere was comforting, and the wood was cold under my bare feet. I slowly weaved through the book shelved, my fingers lightly brushing the leather-bound spines and the rough hand-pressed pages. I let out a slight hiss and pulled my hand back as a specifically sharp page cut my finger. I quickly shoved it into my mouth to stop the blood. I took a deep breath through my nose, the faint taste of iron filling my mouth. I started walking again, down the rows and up the stairs to the study area. I found myself on a couch next to the window. The deep red velvet was lush against my thighs, and the light that cascaded in was bright but softened by the faded glass. I stared out, watching the snow drift down ever so gently. I let out a small yelp as a hand grabbed my shoulder; I knew it was a ghoul as their skin was always oddly warm. I turned to see a ghoul, faceless, but his eyes were soft as they stared back at me."Mountain? Shouldn't you be practicing the new song? I mean, the LA ritual is only in three months." I asked as he sat down next to me. "Yeah, but I couldn't help noticing you seem a little off tho, are you ok?" He responded, his voice slightly muffled because of the mask. "Oh, um.. yea, I've just had a rough day," I said. It was true, and I was exhausted from all my work. "Do you wanna.. talk about?" He asked, lifting up his mask slightly so I could hear him better. "Not really, I just wanna relax for a little bit," I mumbled. I was surprised to see him move over and gesture toward his chest. "Hey, hey, it's ok. Do you wanna just cuddle?"

Mountain was known to be unempathetic or cold. He never let people see him in a venerable state; not even the other ghouls could get him to open up. I laid my head gently against him as he wrapped his arms around me, our legs tangled together. I felt him move. He had to do something; when I looked up, I saw he had removed his mask, something that ghouls were hesitant to do around humans. Many people say they wear the masks because they are horrifying underneath, but they look almost like humans. Aside from the red at the tips of his horns and his lips, his face was completely gray, and the faint purple glow from his eyes made him look ethereal as he stayed out the window. I looked back down to the library below and felt a soft kiss on my head; I practically melted right then and there; his big hands slowly started to stroke my back as he spoke, low enough so only I could hear it, "shh, it's all going to be ok, I love you mia bella." I felt his hand grab my chin and gently pull it toward his face. Placing his head against mine, still throbbing from earlier, he softly nuzzled against me before kissing my lips. He looked me in the eyes before saying the four words that made me melt every time. "You are safe here." he kissed me again before beginning to play with my hair, and for the first time in a while, it was true. I felt genuinely safe as I fell asleep in his arms.

Later that night, when we were at dinner, he grabbed my hand and whispered into my ear, "I meant was I said earlier; you are always safe with me; I will always protect you, mi amore." even through the mask I still understood what he said. I was about to speak when swiss and sodo ran up to us, frantically waiving around aether's phone as aether came running up after them, screaming at them to "give his phone back" and "not to embarrass Mountian"swiss shoved the phone in our faces, while sodo was bent over laughing. He let go of my hand, snatched the phone from Swiss, and tried to delete the picture. Just then, I got a ping on my phone and pulled it out to check. I opened it to see a message from the aether; it was a picture of me and mountain snuggled up together on the red velvet couch inside the library.

[aetherarf]

I NEED TO SAY YOU MADE ME A BRAIN ROT FOR SCARA SO MUCH I'M DROWNING SGSKSGDNGDJDDHJDJXDHDJDH When there's comfort, there's always angst-- I demand a Scaramouche x Reader //can be the chubby one too (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ where Scaramouche had a small argument them, then later the reader gets hurt someway another (you decide--) which made Scaramouche regretful for arguing with them then save them from whatever they're facing. Angst/Comfort HC/fic TYSM IN ADVANCE

Just going to say I'm going to go with my normal, as-vague-as-possible reader just because there's not much reason to fit in specifically talking about chubbiness since it's a more angst based prompt than Reader getting loved u know

[[ WARNING: ANGST, ASSAULT, DEATH [of unnamed characters] ]]

[[ Summary: Arguments happen, and sometimes they get nasty. After a few insults gone too far, you decide you need time to cool off. He couldn't have meant it, could he...? Oh, but who could resist taking advantage of such an opportunity?

Word Count: 1'376 ]]

"Scara, I'm leaving... I don't want to say something I can't take back."

"Don't come back then."

You knew he didn't mean it, always a sharp tongue and quick wit with him, any insult, to you at least, was just him puffing up and trying to look scary.

But that's why you were so upset. He was... distant, like he was afraid of you. To get close enough to him that he's call you darling or love was agony, but it was worth it. It was like sitting in the cold for hours at a time, setting a piece of fish out to the kitten who hid under the garbage, and then coming back the next day with another piece, putting it just a little bit closer to you. And then a little closer. And a little closer.

Until, eventually, it would eat from your hand. Then eventually you could pet it. And eventually it would curl in your lap.

And while you had him curling in your lap, he would still hiss, afraid and unsure, despite everything.

You didn't have to lure him out anymore, so you needed to find another way to help him, to make him show love, not through thinly veiled insults.

He seemed hesitant--which was expected, there was a reason he was this way, even if he didn't talk about it and vehemently insisted there wasn't anything wrong, there wasn't anything he was hiding. Other than what he said while sleeping, and what he told you, you knew nothing about him. He was reserved and skilled at keeping his past hidden.

But you couldn't bandage a wound if he does not expose it to you.

In the cold night, you walked alone. You had been, for a few hours now, just to avoid talking with him, you needed to think. Eventually, you found it got dark, and you were far from home. You wondered how late it actually was, with how the bitter cold nipped at your skin and how you could nearly see the stars in the sky from the all encompassing dark.

He's going to get upset over this, you thought, exhausted. Maybe you were assuming the worst?

You might as well make your way back home, you wouldn't mind getting a hotel room just for the night, but you didn't bring enough money for that, you didn't think you'd end up this far, anyway.

Walking, you watched your feet, only lifting your head to read the signs to guide you back... and eventually, you found you had gone in a circle.

How? You thought you went in a straight line... but... maybe you really were just too out of it. Spotting a person leaning beside a building, you opted to walk over, asking directions to a place you could navigate back home from.

However, they stared at you... oddly, for a moment. "You look familiar." They said, taking a long drag of their cigarette, all but blowing the smoke into your face rudely, making you cough and try to dust it away.

"Well, uh, I'm sorry but you don't look familiar at all." You replied, all stiffness and worry. "If you don't know where that is, you can just say so."

The person stood up properly, no longer leaning.

"You're one of those... Fatui. The Balladeer's little toy, right?" They asked, and you took a step backwards, but you then bumped into something solid, and seeing a tall, solid man staring down at you with the eyes of a corpse. You nearly screamed, scrambling away desperately, landing on the ground and turning to be on your back, looking around desperately for a way out, but it wasn't that simple--it was like the wolves circling around a wounded deer.

"The Boss would pay a pretty price to have you under his thumb."

You shook your head, tears in your eyes--no matter your strength, weak or powerful, you couldn't overwhelm this many people like this. You doubted you could even scramble away and run.

"Please," you sobbed, not knowing what you were asking for, "Please, don't."

They closed in, slowly...

And, briefly, you were blinded by a flash of white and purple--and deafened by screams of agony.

As the ringing stopped, and everything slowly came back, you saw Scaramouche--he stood there, back facing you, and as he turned back to look at you, blood covered his face, his arms... his clothes. You pushed yourself up to your knees, Scaramouche going down onto one knee, not looking at you--

"I'm sorry," he said, voice low and soft, "Did they hurt you?"

You hesitated, "N-No, no. I only fell in panic." You admitted, looking around--But he grabbed your jaw, making him look at you,

"Don't look at them, I don't want you to see what I did."

You had an idea, if the blood on him was any indication, but you just nodded, holding his wrist so his hand wouldn't leave your face so soon, it moved to cupping your jaw lovingly.

"We should go before someone sees," Scaramouche said plainly. While he wouldn't get in trouble, and as soon as an investigation went underway, they'd drop it as soon as they even had a thought it could have been the Balladeer...

But if you two stayed at the mess, the scene of the crime, that was harder to deal with.

He held you close as you walked, in complete silence. You were tired, the cold sapped all the energy from your body, and while you were on the adrenaline high... you ended up just exhausting yourself instead of doing something with it. Not that you could, but...

The two of you walked inside, and you could smell...

"You made my favourite?" You asked, softly... Scaramouche sighed.

"I did, but it's cold now. I'll reheat it and make it properly tomorrow," He said, though he didn't let you out of his grasp, gently helping you sit at the table, while he was near, working on it.

"That's... sweet. But... That won't fix everything, you know."

The gentle click of silverware, "I know," he said, softly, "But I knew it made you happy." And I like seeing you happy. "Then you didn't come home." And I got scared, so i went out to find you.

There was a moment of silence, and he set down your food in front of you, he just sat down next to you, his hand on your leg... just wanting to make sure you were there.

"We need to talk about this."

"I know... But I don't know how... to."

He was still afraid, like a kitten with his ears folded back, but he was not hissing or snapping... a moment of vulnerability while he waited for an answer.

"I want you to say what you feel," You said, poking at your food, "Don't insult me and assume I know what you meant. Tell me you love me, tell me you got upset or angry. I don't like this guessing game."

He nodded.

"I... Cannot promise it will... be perfect, but I will try." He explained, and you nodded.

"All you can do is try." You reassured, leaning over and pressing a kiss to his cheek. "And maybe go get clean, I don't want you going to bed with blood on you."

He reached up and touched his cheek, half-dried blood on his face.

"Right," but he didn't leave yet... as though he just didn't want to.

You rested your hand on top of yours, and he closed his eyes...

"Scara, were you..." You could see how tired he looked, and the faint stains on his cheeks--so slight you could only see them in the bright room, when he was near motionless, "... Crying?"

He opened his eyes... and sighed.

"I don't like it when we fight."

"Well, we don't have to fight. We can just talk about it, okay?"

"... Okay."

"Now go get clean, I want to finish eating and go to bed. I'll see you then?"

"If you're not in bed I'm going to commit another atrocity," he said, joking, a small smile on his face. You lightly pushed on his shoulder, and he groaned dramatically, before finally getting up.

Things would be, gradually, getting better now.

[palbabor-writes]

Hellooo queen I hope you had/will have a great day. This is actually my first time requesting something so I’m very sorry if I do something wrong 🥺🥺... can you maybe write some fluff (OR NSFW I DONT MIND... just love him way too much damn) stuff for dabi?? I don't know if you only take requests with exact instructions or if this request is enough... if you need something more precise i will try to come up with something! Thank you very much!!

Hello, love! You did it perfectly & thank you so much for asking! I can be a bit of a lurker on things, so I totally get how much courage it takes to do one of these.

You did amazing & I love, love this question. I love it so much that I went ahead and took an old outline of mine & made it into a full blown fic for you!

Now, in honor of all the craziness swirling around our favorite flame user, Imma post it a little earlier then I’d planned! So, thank you for the ask & I hope to talk to you again ( ＾◡＾)っ ♡

Pairing: Dabi x Fem!Reader

Word Count: 7496

Warnings: SMUT, NSFW 18+ only, mentions of blood and gore, heat play, dick piercings, adult language and freaking Dabi. That alone should warn you.

Thermós θερμός   ther·​mos adjective m (feminine θερμή, neuter θερμόν); warm, hot, boiling, glowing

It’s sweltering; the fervor of summer sticky, humid, and oppressive. Japan is in the throes of August, and this heatwave is not letting up. Even at night, it’s impossible for Dabi to get comfortable. He’s been lying, half naked, draped across his narrow twin mattress for the last few hours, sweating. 

His quirk isn’t helping matters.

He’s been trying to recruit new members. Every day, he sets out, pounding the pavement, sifting through the bits and pieces of trash that he runs into. It’s a pity. If those scrubs weren’t so fucking pathetic, he might not be in this predicament. But they are, and now he’s having to suffer the consequences of his temper. 

His phone gleams on his dilapidated side table, a text message chiming across the screen as it flashes a speck of brightness into the darkened room. Groaning, he leans over and snatches it up, his hands slick as he clutches the encased plastic. 

It’s Toga. 

As a rule, he tries to avoid her. He hates her chatter. It’s always some unending nonsense about those UA kids, about Stain, or about fucking blood. It’s always blood with her. Give her five minutes, and she’ll work it into her conversation somehow, even if it’s just blurting it out, a blush staining her cheeks. 

Fucking freak.

[ Blondie: 12:34 am ]

- found smth 4 u. (Y/N) has a place. Keeps it @ like 60 degrees… lol

Well, disgusting as Toga is, she has her uses; he thinks as he reads her text. 

He’d asked her, a few days before, if she knew a place where he could crash. Somewhere that had some goddamn air conditioning. The hideout’s unit is on the fritz again, not that it had ever worked all that well. 

Hmm, well this is something, at least. 

Dabi’s isn’t sure what to think about Toga’s little ‘find’. You were a newer recruit, someone that Compress had brought in. 

He hadn’t paid much attention to you. You didn’t stay at the base and were only around if there was a specific mission, or a task, that Shigaraki set for you. He isn’t even sure what your quirk is. You seemed easy-going, neutral, but he doubted you’d extend that easy-going demeanor to him camping out at your place for the A/C. 

Chucking his phone back on the side table, Dabi flops to his side and tries to drift off, hoping his exhaustion will let him ignore the suffocating heat he’s drowning in.

 Fuck. 

He’d done it again. It was hard to resist the urge when these people spouted such vague fucking bullshit at him. No one, not fucking one of them, could live up to his cause. And if they couldn’t meet that standard? Well, they were better off as ash, melting into blackened pools as the asphalt greedily soaked their blood into its cracked depths. 

There is a heat advisory today. 

He’d heard the news as he scarfed down a quick breakfast at the hideout’s bar. He wouldn’t be out for that long, he reasoned. Besides, maybe today he’d find someone good. 

Wishful thinking on his part. 

His skin feels oppressive and his staples and piercings are scalding, the metal hissing and steaming as he tries to dampen his quirk. It’s harder to regulate his temperature on hot days. He shouldn’t be out here, he thinks, snarling as he pats out a few rogue flames that catch on his dark jacket. Even lifting his arm to perform that simple task makes him grunt, hissing out a mantra of curses.

Shit, fuck, goddamn it fucking all. 

He looks bitterly up at the sun and debates his next move. 

He could retreat to the bar, but that doesn’t solve his problem. No, the viscous heat that radiated along those upper floors would just make his skin feel worse. Hell, it might even result in more mottling, his burns stretching farther along his arms and chest. He’s not going back to the bar.

Where the fuck even is he?

He peers down the alley toward the street. It’s not too busy; just after noon, so most of the foot traffic from the morning has died down. He yanks his hood up, ignoring the ache of his legs as he stalks toward the street corner. 

Carefully, he pokes out, his eyes tracing over the crosswalk, looking for the street signs. Ah. He’s close to that address, your address, that Toga sent him. 

Slipping his hands into his pockets, he saunters along the pavement, careful to keep his head down. 

You were out of town. 

He’d picked up that tidbit from Compress this morning. The masked man had been lamenting that you might be away for a few days, possibly weeks. Something about being on a fact finding task for that shadowy voice that talked with Shigaraki from his tv. 

He didn’t care, still doesn’t. All he knows is that you supposedly keep your place cold, and that’s all the encouragement he needs.

You’ve got a nice apartment. 

It’s decorated in pleasing whites, yellows, reds and greens, with clean lines and modern touches. It’s kinda like you, he considers as he shrugs his coat off and breathes in that amazing waft of cold A/C. You’ve been useful to have in the League; efficient and no nonsense about the missions you're given and you can fit in with the outside world. You’d give even Toga a run for her money when it comes to espionage, he’s heard others say about you. 

Dabi tosses a distasteful glare at your narrow couch and pads toward your bedroom, shouldering the door open and stepping into the dark sanctuary.

Your bed looks nice. It’s a good size too. 

Lifting his boots from his feet and stripping down to his boxers, he presses into your clean sheets; shivering as the chilly air hits his overheated skin, cooling and dampening that oppressive sense of heat. He’s out in seconds, his body relaxing, slackening as he falls into the void of his dreams.

Yeah, now that he’s had this, there’s no way he’s staying at that hideout of the League’s unless he has to. 

You’re gone for the better part of a week. 

He’s started asking Compress about you. At first, the older man had given him an impassive stare. Since when did Dabi even know your name? 

He’s asking because he needs to talk with you about… uh… supplies? 

This, apparently, is the correct thing to say, because Compress nods his head sagely and elaborates on your timetable. You’re collecting things for Kurogiri and you’ll be gone for another few days. 

Good, Dabi thinks, slinking into your apartment again, lowering the window behind him. He’s careful to leave things as he found them, his entryway into your place included. You don’t need to know about this.

What the fuck would he even say to you? 

Hey, uh, it’s fucking hot at the hideout, and since you’ve got a working A/C unit and like 3 fans, he’s been sleeping over at yours. No big deal, right?

Even after you return, he keeps sneaking in. 

He’s gotten your schedule memorized, and he’s heedful of the hours you keep. You’re a little more regular than the others in the League. You actually sleep at night; unlike the rest. The others are often out at God knows what hour, combing for recruits and leads, but not you.

So, Dabi shifts into full night owl mode. He crashes at your place in the midmorning, after you leave for the day, trying to ignore the perfume that comes from your sheets. 

You’ve got a nice smell. 

It’s oddly comforting, and he hates when he accidentally burrows into your pillows; nostrils flared, inhaling that aroma that’s all you. While he’s never talked with you before this, he goes out of his way to ignore you now. 

What he’s doing is fucking weird, and lines are blurring. The other week he’d bumped into you coming out of the bar and he’d almost snatched you to him. 

You must have just showered, because that fucking scent was radiating off your skin. It’s nothing too, eh, feminine? No, it’s more like… oranges and sandalwood. It’s a heady blend of rich balsamic and citrus, and he can’t get it out of his head.

August has faded into September, and he’s still sleeping over at yours. 

He can’t help it. It’s not his fault your bed is so downy and, fuck, cool. It’s like the sheets don’t absorb his warmth. No, they’re always cold and they feel so fucking good against his staples and burned skin. 

It’s midmorning, closer to noon, and he’s dozing, his eyes heavy and drooping. He’s exhausted, so bone tired, that he doesn’t hear your door opening. No, he doesn’t even notice you until he hears your voice.

“Um, would you like to tell me why you’re in my bed?”

He’s on his feet in a flash, a slow flicking of blue flames tracing along his fingers. You’re framed in your doorway, eyes wide, stepping away from his aggressive stance. 

“Woah, woah,” you begin, lifting your hands in supplication. “Let’s just… take a minute and talk. I’m not-”

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he snaps, his cerulean eyes narrowing, but he dampens his fire, a long curling of smoke framing his face. 

“Uh, I think you got that backward there, bud. You’re not supposed to be here, I live here,” you scoff, one hand propping on your hip, head tilted exaggeratedly. 

Dabi is about to spit something else out when you stride into your bedroom, tugging your jacket off and sauntering over to a tall dresser. He snaps his mouth closed and watches you. He’s not sure how he’s going to talk his way out of this, and he’s grateful for the reprieve. But, he knows an onslaught of anger or, fuck, preserve him, a lecture is incoming. Worst case, he thinks, observing you from his peripheral as you tug out a long shirt and some shorts, you’ll just kick him out and that will be that. 

You glance at him again, your eyes lingering over his exposed chest and legs, and he can’t help the scowl that breaks over his face. He’s not embarrassed, he’s just, well, he’s not sure how to classify that stare. Most people recoil or toss him a glance of pity, their brows wrinkled with worry and distaste. But you? You arched an eyebrow and smiled.

Fucking weirdo. 

Pausing in your doorway, you bite your lip into your mouth and carefully speak your next statement, voice smooth. “Look, while I’d rather you, oh, I don’t know, asked me about staying here. I’m not in the mood to argue with you, and I’ve got a long journey ahead of me tonight.” You take a deep inhale and toss him another smile. 

“Just… just lay back down and get some rest. I promise I won’t molest you,” you tease, and he snaps his head up at that, his chin jutting in agitation. 

You laugh at his sour face and he feels wrong-footed; lost. What the fuck? Who says shit like that? Who is in their right mind is just, oh, no worries man, promise I won’t grab your dick?

What’s wrong with you?

“I’m going to change and then I’m going to go to sleep. You can go, or you can stay, I really don’t care. All I know is that I’m not going to sleep on the couch when I’m in my apartment.” You retort, that grin still lifting your lips as you step away, the wall shielding you from his view. 

Dabi remains where he is; standing in your bedroom, clad in his boxers, his hands clenched into fists by his side. Somehow this is worse than you throwing him out.

You return a few minutes later and he can’t get a good look at you. You slink past him and are under your covers in an instant. Not that he’s trying to give you a once over, he snarls to himself, shaking his inky head. 

You nestle into the comforter and turn to your side, leaving him plenty of room on the opposite end of the bed. He blinks at you, a deep welling of uncertainty nestling in his stomach. 

You’re quiet for a long moment, your eyes closing and shoulders relaxing, acting like there’s not a wanted, deadly villain in your bedroom, paces from your side. Then, you twist, giving him a quick scan, your eyes lingering over his. 

“Either lay down or get out, Dabi. I’m not going to be able to sleep with you glaring at me like that. You look like some kinda ghost.”

Your declaration provokes a huffing, agitated reaction out of him. If there’s one thing Dabi hates, it’s being told what to do. 

He slings himself beside you, splaying out, his body laying on top of the sheets. You chuckle, your head peeking at him over your shoulder. He ignores you and tries to close his eyes. 

It feels strange, resting next to you like this. It’s… intimate, and he’s not sure if he hates or likes the sensation. He chances a glance at you, but you’ve already turned back to your side, your shoulders rising and lowering rhythmically. He shakes his head at your blasé reaction. How can you just, fuck, sleep? 

He can’t get comfortable and his skin feels heavy again. It’s not heat this time. No, now something else is making everything feel too close, too warm. 

He dampens his thoughts, mind frantically focusing on anything but you. As the sun slips behind the buildings across the street, his eyes lower and he fitfully sleeps, your rich smell filling his senses.

He’d left you in the night; tucking his clothes back on and easing out of your window. 

True to your word, you’d relegated yourself to your side of the bed, hardly tossing or turning as you slept. As he paced back to the hideout, he wasn’t sure what he’d gotten himself into. He just hoped you’d keep your mouth shut. He didn’t want the others knowing about this, it felt, well it’s not like him. Abrasive- fucking spewing anger and vitriol? Yeah, that was him. But this? This was too soft, too gentle. He hated it.

But that’s the problem with hate. It’s terribly close to that other emotion. They’re sisters, really. Usually love and hate exist on two sides, but they’re still the same coin, no matter how you toss them. 

You don’t act any differently after that night.

You keep coming to the hideout, giving him a vague smile and greeting before continuing your day. He’s acting differently, though. He can’t help but watch you, suddenly fascinated with how you move. He tries his best to shake himself from his musings, but sometimes he can’t help it. 

If anything, he grumbles to himself, watching you chatter with Toga, you’re subtly going out of your way to place yourself in front of him. You were never around this much before. Well, maybe you were. He didn’t pay you any mind back then, but now? Now he can’t get enough of you. 

He reacts when you laugh, or talk, his head turning, like a sunflower, toward the light you give off. Ugh. His only hopeful reprieve from this, from you, is the changing seasons. The days are getting shorter and that heatwave is finally, finally breaking. 

It’s his one comfort, his saving grace.

Yeah, he should have fucking never tossed that wish into the universe.

No, another heatwave passes over the island and it’s the worst one yet. The daily temperatures have been hitting the low 100s and the nights aren’t much better. To make matters worse, the A/C at the hideout has given up the ghost and won’t turn on at all now. 

Still, Dabi’s prepared. He’d bought a secondhand electric fan a few weeks ago, and he’s grateful for the tiny slice of paradise that it grants him. It’s not as nice as your apartment, or your bed, but it will do.

He’s laying across his mattress, sweat trickling down his back and shoulders, trying to ignore that ache in his burned skin. The fan is blowing across him and he’s about to crank it up a notch when it gives out an ominous sputter. 

Dabi sits up, his eyes flashing. No, no, no, no. There’s no fucking way.

The fan’s blades are slowing, that sweet, cool air dampening, drifting into the low-lying humidity that surrounds him. He yanks the plug from the wall, his staples stinging as he stands. He stomps over to the outlet and plugs the fan back in, turning on his haunches to see if the blades will start that familiar whirl. 

There’s fuck all happening. 

Cursing, he kicks the shitty thing over and grabs his jacket, storming down the stairs and into the night.

You’re sleeping when he slinks under your window sill, sliding the glass shut and kicking his heavy boots to the floor. It’s that sound that wakes you, and you lift yourself up, your sheets falling from your chest, revealing a bare shoulder and low cut shirt to him. Unabashed by your appearance, you wipe a palm over your eyes, rubbing the sleep away and croaking out a greeting. 

“When I said you could sleep over here, I didn’t mean you could barge in at all hours. And through my window? So, that’s why the hinge looks like that.” 

Dabi considers you for a moment, his blue eyes gleaming in the moonlight. You tilt your head at him and suck your teeth. 

“A, oh, I don’t know, sorry, would be nice?” you scold, that alluring smile lifting your lips. He follows the line of your mouth, his thoughts hazing over, focusing on some other, darker, daydream.

“Hello?” you call, waving your hand beside your face. “Earth to Dabi. What do you want?”

That question slips him out of his stupor and he lifts his eyes back to yours. “The A/C is out. Bought a fan a few weeks ago, but the fucking thing broke and I can’t… it’s hard to regulate my body temperature in this fucking heat. You keep this place like an icebox, so I started crashing here. Wasn’t planning on coming back, but after tonight-”

“Ok, ok,” you laugh, already scooting over and flinging the covers back. “Seeing as you didn’t try any funny business last time, I guess I’ll let it slide. Just, not to be rude, but shut up and let me sleep. I’ve gotta long day tomorrow and as enthralling as this conversation is…”

“Whatever,” Dabi mutters, slinging his damp shirt over his head and pacing over to the side of your bed. You blink up at him and shake your head, that tiny grin lingering. He presses into your familiar sheets, eyes already slipping closed as the fragrance of you pulls at him.

It’s early when he wakes, shuddering out of a nightmare, red flames and crying voices fading into the back of his mind. 

Wincing, he raises a hand to his eyes and pulls at his face, relieved that it’s still cool air that meets him. As he rolls to his side, he feels something trace over his unscarred chest. The sensation makes him freeze, his eyes snapping open again, the cerulean searching, whisking over the dim figure beside him. 

You’re still sleeping, but you’ve shifted, your body curled, facing him, and one of your hands is reaching toward him. Shit, he thinks, heart pounding in his ears. You’re so close. 

He’s never been this close to you. 

Your mouth is parted, delicate lips plush and soft in the early morning gloom. He tries to shift away, but your brow creases when he does, so he stills his movements, gritting his teeth and trying to ignore that flush that is building across his nose.

This is stupid. It’s just you. It’s not like the two of you have even done anything. Fuck, you barely talk with one another. 

He burrows his head into his pillow and the shift of his body urges you closer to him, your hand opening and pressing to his skin. A sigh slips from your mouth as your fingers splay out, tapping against his warmth, and he nearly startles off the bed.

He looks down at your hand, aghast. He wants to move it off of him; can’t stand that you’re touching him, he tells himself, that you’re this close to him. But he can’t bring himself to move. Your hand is so delicate, so…

Unconscious, you turn from him, your fingers lifting on their own, curling back to you. Dabi almost moans as you slip from him, clamping down on the sudden, primal desire that races through him. He wants to grab you; to drag you back to him. 

The hell? What the fuck is wrong with him?

Sucking his teeth, he turns over, facing away from the confusing neediness that’s lapping at his subconscious. He fluffs his pillow aggressively, trying to drown out all the raw emotions that are racing through his mind.

Forget it. Sleep.

 When he wakes again, you’re gone. 

The sheets where you slept are cold under his fingertips and he sits up, his arms resting on his knees. This whole situation is so fucking weird.

He lets himself ease into consciousness before standing and stretching out the leftover kinks in his muscles; stooping to grab his discarded shirt, pulling the fabric over his head and shaking his dark head against the sunlight. Just as he’s slipping his coat on, he notices the note that’s sitting on one of your bedroom chairs. It’s got his name on it, so he snatches it up, flipping open the folded paper. 

“There’s some leftover pizza in the fridge, I won’t have time to eat it. Help yourself. There’s also a spare key on the coffee table. Take it and stop jimmying my window open.” 

Scoffing, he crumples the paper up, tossing it over his shoulder as he paces into your kitchen.

It’s a fucking thing now. 

He’s rarely at the hideout. Why bother? You don’t seem to care if he sleeps over. Hell, you make space for him. There’s gotta be something else to it; there has to be. What kinda idiot is so fucking accommodating? You act like you’re a fucking hostel or something. Well, a hostel where there’s only one bed. 

You even bought another fan. You told him you don’t like to keep the overhead one on in the cooler weather, so he can use this one for his side of the bed.

Yeah, he’s got a goddamn side of the bed. It’s fucking insane.

The other members of the League either haven’t noticed what’s going on between the two of you, or they don’t care. It’s not like either of you talk about your sleeping habits. Fuck, you still never interact with him at the hideout, content to maintain that level of professionalism.

He’s not sure why it bothers him. 

One night, the temperature drops into the low 40s and he’s stretched out on your blankets, enjoying the first real cold snap of the fall, when he sees you shivering. It’s not very noticeable, what with the way you’re turned away and bundled, but it makes him tilt his head toward you, watching. 

Another pass of his fan has you repeating the quake and, without thinking, he pulls you closer, one long arm wrapping around your shoulder and tugging. Startled, you fight his hold, but he calms your movements with a squeeze, grumbling about your stoic reluctance. 

What’s the big deal? It’s not like you haven’t brushed up against him before. Calm down. 

You quiet after that and slowly, tentatively, you lean against his bare chest, your cheek cool against his heated skin. He tucks his chin over your head and tries to keep his breathing even. He doesn’t want you to hear, fuck, feel his heartbeat; it’s slamming its way out of his throat and he gulps when your fingers pull him closer. 

“How are you so warm?” you ask, your breath floating across his pectorals. 

“It’s my stupid quirk,” Dabi mutters, dipping his head down to his pillow, shifting you with him. You nod against his lean muscles and your fingertips trace cool designs into his skin, lingering over his burnt patches and staples. He sighs, unable to resist the low shiver that creeps up his spine. 

This is nice; too fucking nice.

He can’t do without your touch now.

Remember that thing about love and hate being sisters? Well, that hate is simmering into something else for Dabi. It’s not love, he doesn’t know you well enough, but it’s certainly not hate anymore.

He likes touching you. You’re smooth against his jagged skin and he enjoys the contrast. He’s slow when he pulls you against him, careful to not snag you against his staples, but you seem to like his heat. You’ve even started wearing less to bed, slipping out of that baggy shirt and into a thin tank top; he’s pleased that he has more of you to caress. 

It’s getting harder to keep you out of his head. He can smell your perfume, even if he hasn’t seen you for days, and each time he does see you, even at the hideout, his fingers itch to press against you. 

You’d laughed at his sudden, intense, interest. The hell Dabi, are you touch starved or something? You’d teased. What’s up with you? I was worried about you burning down my apartment, not you turning into some kind of cuddle fiend.

He doesn’t care what you say. He knows it’s fucking stupid, fucking dumb, that he’s this desperate. It just feels good. And there’s not much about him that feels good these days, so he’ll take what he can get. Fuck you very much.

There’s a meeting. It’s one of the ones where Shigaraki demands that everyone make their way to the bar. 

Boss man has been tense lately, thrumming with some dark energy, so the room is quiet as Kurogiri elaborates on the smaller details of the mission. Your part is minimal, limited to reconnaissance with Toga. It’s boring shit, and Dabi is only half listening to any of it.  

Besides, there’s something else that’s snagging his attention. 

Dabi is sitting on the couch, his eyes lingering on you. You’re wearing one of his favorite outfits and the color looks good on you. It brings out your eyes. You’re questioning Spinner and Toga about the finer points of your team up. He can’t hear you from here, but that doesn’t matter, he’s still in the best spot to spy you leaning forward, perfect ass on full display. 

“She’s gotten better, more adept at working undercover,” Compress’ voice shakes Dabi from his thoughts and he turns to him, a bland frown on his face.

“Who?”

“Please, you know who I’m talking about. You can’t stop looking at her.” 

He chortles, his laugh a sharp bark. “You’re fucking joking. Her? Fuck, no. I’m gonna head out, not like the boss has anything for me anyway,” Dabi stands, slipping his hands into his trench coat and pacing to the heavy door, shouldering his way into the night. 

He leans against the brick wall, lighting up a cigarette and sighing a thin line of smoke into the chilled air. Fuck, they’re noticing what’s going on. Wait. What is going on? It’s not like the two of you are fucking. Yet, a small voice echoes in the back of his mind, and he smirks at that thought. 

Yeah, maybe it’s time to speed things up.

You step out a few minutes later, your eyes searching for him. He flicks his cigarette onto the pavement and wraps his fingers in your coat, tugging you to him. You don’t fight him; don’t make a sound as he pins you against the brick, his body hot against your front. 

The two of you watch the other, his cerulean eyes roving over your face. Then he’s lifting your chin, his lips sliding across yours. It’s a strange kiss. Usually, he’s too busy trying to get off to focus on his partner. He rarely kisses anyone, even if he’s hooking up. But this kiss? 

Like everything else about you, it’s fucking nice. 

You move with him, your body surging from the brick, breasts flattening against his chest, fingers cupping behind his ears; nipping and sucking at him, your teeth digging into his burned lower lip and pulling. You’re encouraging him to touch you next, rubbing yourself on him until his hands fall to your hips. He’s already half hard, and that warm juncture of your thighs isn’t helping matters.

To his shock, he’s having trouble keeping up. 

You’re already pulling from him when he dips his tongue into your mouth. He gasps at the emptiness, that chilling vacancy that your touch leaves him panting into. Before he can bemoan your absence, you’re kissing at his neck, lifting on your tiptoes to reach the staples on the side of his face. You lick at him, your wet tongue dragging over his burns. He trembles under your hands and you smile, your laugh bright. 

Snarling, Dabi yanks your head back and you meet his hazy gaze, biting your lip; pantomiming a wonton innocence. Immediately, he’s pushing you into the brick, his hands cupping and lingering until you’re whining for him. That’s fucking better, he thinks, his teeth worrying against your pulse. 

Just when he’s got you where he wants you, your hand snakes between the two of you, pressing against the bulge of his dick. Dabi can’t help his sharp intake of air, and his head falls to your shoulder as he ruts into your palm. You keep kissing at the side of his face, your lips roving over his ear as you tug at his covered dick. You’re saying something, but he can’t focus when you’re doing that.

“Dabi,” you try again, teeth ensnaring his destroyed earlobe, sucking at the burnt skin. “They’re about to come out.” 

He knocks your hand away from his straining, throbbing length and leans away from you. Fuck, you look good. 

Your lips are swollen, and your eyes are dazzling. He can’t pull himself away. You smile at his dazed expression and lift a hand to his cheek, your palm cool against his overheated skin.

The door shudders open and the two of you spring apart. A few minutes later Toga is grabbing at your arm and pulling you down the street, away from him.

He’s waiting outside your apartment, another cigarette smoldering to ash under his lips. But he can’t bring himself to go in. 

Not without you. 

Toga’s kept you busy. It’s been over an hour since that kiss in the alleyway. He’s cooled off since then, but that simmering heat that you elicited from him? That hasn’t dimmed. He’s still half hard against his dark pants and he can’t bring himself to care. Besides, Dabi has a very specific idea about how he’s going to have you lessen that pressure for him. 

He’s just about to light another cigarette when he sees you. 

You walk into your building, and he starts the long climb up the fire escape. His heart is pounding again. He hasn’t wanted something this badly in ages. He’s been so fucking focused on his cause, on making his plans a reality; he just hasn’t had the time. 

But now? Fuck, he wants there to be more hours in the day. He’s hoping the two of you can pick up where you left off. Yeah, he tells himself, scaling the last few steps, it’s just about the sex. 

That sounds better than saying what he really wants. 

You’re already slipping your oversized sleep shirt over your head when he lifts your window. You pause, watching him curl his way into your space. Once he pulls his legs inside he turns to you, his eyes dark, unfathomable, the blue so deep that you feel you’re drowning in it. 

He doesn’t shut the window. Instead, he yanks his clothes off, clattering them against your floor. You smile and a gentle laugh makes its way to him. 

“What did I say about coming in through the window?” you chuckle, already lifting your arms for him. 

He’s against you in a single breath, his warmth seeping its way into your chilled skin. His lips are rough, pressing and lifting, biting and nipping. He’s working you toward your bed and once your knees hit the edge of your mattress, he’s shoving you down. 

You flop against the cold blankets, your legs already spreading for his hips. He’s hot, scaldingly hot, against your hands. Your fingers dip into his hair and you pull him back, earning a low growl and his flashing glare, displeasure written all over his face. 

“Slow down,” you scold, your legs wrapping around his hips, grinding against the hardness you find. 

“The fuck? You goddamn tease. Fucking saying that, then rubbing your wet pussy all over my dick,” Dabi snarls, snatching your wrists and pinning your hands beside your head.

“How do you know it’s wet?” you ask, batting your eyes at his steeled jaw. 

“It fucking better be,” he groans, his teeth sinking into your neck and pressing, hard. 

You gasp at the stimulation and arch for him, testing his hold on your wrists. Grunting, he licks a wet line to your pulse, his hands tightening over yours. “Mmm, why don’t you find out?” you ask, leaning into his lips, loving the contrast of his destroyed and perfect skin. 

He shifts his grip on you, yanking your arms up, pinning your hands above your head. He lifts one of his own hands away once he’s satisfied he’s got a good hold on you. His warm fingers trace down your side, pausing when he gets to the lacy band of your panties. Teasingly, he pulls fabric away from your skin, and lets it snap against your hip. Dabi tips his nose into the curve of your neck and shoulder, taking a deep drag against you. 

You buck your hips, squirming under his weight. “You get lost? My pussy is a little further down.” 

He chuckles darkly, his breath making you shiver. You’re just about to wriggle from him when one long finger eases past your panties and presses into your sopping heat. “Oh,” you gasp, your eyes rolling back. It feels like he’s heated his fingertip, and the skin that’s stroking and thrusting into you is warm, too warm. 

Dabi leans away from your neck, bracing himself above you with his knees, pulling himself into a hunched position. He’s smirking at your awed expression and his teeth glow in the darkness. 

“Like I said doll, you’re already so fucking wet for me. You want more?”

You nod and buck your hips, digging that finger deeper. He groans at your eagerness and you can feel him warming the next digit up, the tip burning against the soft flesh of your inner thighs. 

Once it’s in, he starts to v the two, dragging them along your rippling walls, spreading you open, easing you into his hand. Your slick is sliding down your legs and seeping into the sheets. Still, Dabi keeps on, maintaining that steady stretch. It starts to sting and you shift away, but he releases your wrists, free hand moves to your hip, stilling you. 

You glance up at him, curious. His eyes are hooded, the blue a velvety sapphire. He looks like he’s holding himself back from something. Almost like… like he’s handling you with more care than he’s ever given anything. It’s a strange thought, but the idea of it makes you reach for him, your fingers running down his discolored skin, lingering over the staples and piercings. 

“I’ve gotta stretch you out,” he informs you, his eyes closing behind his trembling eyelids, savoring your gentle caress. 

“Hmm, you that big?” you joke, fully expecting him to react, to silence you with a kiss or another well-timed thrust of his fingers. But he surprises you. He opens his eyes and fixes you with a rough stare, his digits continuing that aching pull. You’re throbbing around him, your arousal easing his passage, his extensions. 

“I don’t want to… hurt-” he stops, his eyes narrowing. With an inaudible sigh, he slides down your body, only halting once he’s face to face with your sleek cunt. His breath heaves against you and you wrap a leg over his back, holding him close. 

Dabi laves his tongue over you, latching onto your pulpy clit and giving it a soft suck. Your hands sink into his hair, curling into the spiky tendrils, urging him to give you more.  

He rewards your needy moans with another lick and he flicks his eyes up to yours, watching you over your shaking curves. 

“I’m going to add another finger,” he tells you, preparing you for another deep stretch. When he enters you almost pull from him, your hips bowing away at the pricking of pain. Sensing your distress, he keeps his lips around your pulsing clit, distracting you with kisses and low blows of air. 

Finally, you can feel yourself loosening. Your feet brace against your bed and you use the leverage to maneuver him deeper. You feel, you feel so…

Dabi, realizing that your cunt is quivering around his intruding digits, shifts closer, his piercings rubbing against your thighs. He’s sloppy now, less controlled. His tongue is circling your clit with furious laps and he lets a canine trace the bud. His fingers are still spreading and he’s found that spongy spot now. He taps against it, teasing you, making you clench and gasp around him. 

Just when you think you can’t take it anymore, when it seems like all the sensations are too, too, much; it snaps. The coiling in your core pulls free and you’re moaning, so loudly you’re worried your neighbors will hear. His name is falling from your lips at a rapid rate and you can feel his smirk as he lifts his fingers from your cunt. 

Dabi leans away and you shake at the loss of him. He was so warm, so hot against your damp skin and you miss it. He watches you, tucking his fingers into his mouth, lapping the final bits of your release from him. 

“Take off your clothes,” he demands when he’s finished, his hands already dropping to his tented boxers, slipping the elastic down his trim waist. 

You shift to obey, your hands yanking your shirt, bra and soaked panties off of you. You splay under him, indolently admiring the sight that is revealed to you. Oh, you think, unable to contain your small gasp, he is big. 

His cock is long, thick, and curved, and it’s dripping with pre-cum. There’s a crossed set of piercings at the tip of his length and you watch, mesmerized, as a shimmering strand of his arousal catches on the shiny silver, leeching down the smooth length of him. He’s bigger than anything you’ve ever taken, and that thought makes you shiver with anticipation, and a small sliver of worry.  

Dabi grins wildly at your flushed face. “Like what you see?” 

You nod, and he laughs, fingers snatching your legs, tugging you toward him. You spread for him, so eager and fucking turned on you can’t think straight. His hand lowers to his cock, and he strokes himself as he rechecks your silken cunt, gathering some of the gossamer strands of your arousal on his fingers as he ensures that you’re ready to take him. 

“I’m not going to go slow,” he warns you, his eyes lifting from your folds. 

Gulping and biting your lip, you nod, a shaking exhale escaping your lungs. He shifts himself nearer and begins to press. He’s right, you think, wincing at the sting of his intrusion. He’d stretched you out, licked you until you were leaking all over the bed, but it hurts. 

It takes him a moment to bottom out. Once he does, he groans and gasps above you. “Fuck (Y/N), you’re so damn tight.” 

You flop your head against your pillow and let out a long sigh. He’s holding still as you adjust, and, despite his warning, he’s being careful with you. It makes your chest squeeze. After a few more pained breaths, you can feel a low tingling radiating from your core. It’s like an itch. Experimentally, you cant your hips, your legs wrapping around his waist, cautious of the stapled skin across his lower back. 

Dabi mutters a soft curse and pulls back, his length sliding out of your drenched pussy. When he glides back in, you feel that same tingling sensation. Distantly, you realize it must be those piercings of his, but you’re too overwhelmed by the sensation to process it fully. 

“Hold on,” he groans, his hands bracing beside your head. You lace your arms around his bowed neck, and he starts to pounds into you. It’s a calculated motion, but- ah- he’s taking the extra second between his powerful pulls and thrusts to scrape his pelvis against your pulsating clit, stimulating you, ensuring that dim blaze pleasure within you keeps building. Whimpering, you arch your back, your ankles locking around him, encouraging him to keep going. You feel so good, so full, filled to the brim and practically begging him for more. 

Sloppily, his mismatched lips find yours and he nibbles and kisses at you. The sheer heat of him is making you both slick with sweat. You don’t mind the salty, dampened feeling, if anything, it eases his motions. 

You’re so wet now that he’s gliding easily into you; that piercing of his heating up, and the rapid fire thrusts he’s giving you create a smoldering inside you; like he’s catching you on fire from the inside out. 

His hips stutter and he lifts one hand from the bed, his thumb easily finding your clit. He presses a tight circle across you and you see spots. 

“Come on,” he groans, his voice hoarse, strained, “cum for me (Y/N). Fucking cum on my dick.” 

That desperation in his tone is all that it takes. 

Seconds later, you’re arching and shaking so much that he has to hold you still. He eases into you a final time, his frantic thrusts slowing, spacing out as he enjoys your rippling channel, and the fiery feeling of his own release almost hurtles you over the edge again. You curl against him, panting into his burnt ear, licking at the damaged skin.

Dabi leans heavily against you, one large hand pressing into your lower back, lifting you to him. Once he comes back to himself, he kisses at your shoulder, his warm breath making you shiver. He eases himself out of you and your legs clamp together, holding his cum inside you. It still feels so, so hot, and you’re not ready to let it drip out of you, not yet. 

He untangles himself from you and adjusts some of his staples, wincing against the sting of his marred and clean flesh. Realizing what he’s doing, you slip from the bed and pad into your bathroom. You clean yourself off and grab a bottle of hydrogen peroxide, dampening a clean cloth with the solution. 

“Here. It’s got some peroxide on it,” you tell him as you reenter the bedroom, tossing the rag his way. He catches it easily, dabbing it over himself, careful to not snag it on any of his loose skin. While he’s busy doing that, you snatch up his discarded white shirt and sling it over your head. He looks at you and scoffs. 

“What’s wrong with yours?” he asks, tossing the cloth onto the floor.

“Yours looked better,” you inform him, returning to his side and leaning close. He rolls his eyes at you and you shift into his open lap, straddling his hips. Grinning, you kiss at his neck again, sneaking a few groans from him. Sighing as you give him a particularly hard nip, he bats you off of him, tumbling you down to the sheets. 

“Give me a fucking minute,” he complains, shaking his head as you wrap around him, pulling him into your arms. Once he’s settled onto the bed you turn, pressing your back to his chest, relaxing into the familiar hold. He snorts, amused by your sudden change of mind. 

Dabi lowers his forehead to the back of your head, a small smile rising along his lips. Your breathing evens out and he listens to the sound, trying to memorize each little detail of you.

Yeah, this is it, he tells himself as he drifts off. The rest is just extra. Oh, it’s nice, to be sure, but this, this right here is what he really wants.

Notes: Soft, soft Dabi. I like him like this ꒰ ᵕ༚ᵕ꒱ ˖°  

Tags: @evesmores, @spicy-skull, @xwildskullx

[villain-enthusiast]

hey! i already asked, i’m very sorry cause im sure u have a lot of other requests... but could u please write a snippet in which hero is an assassin sent to kill villain but they get caught and are interrogated (but don’t wanna cooperate even if they’re terribly scared). finally they give in (after days) and villain shows mercy (they both have a thing) and idk haha... this is oddly specific but i absolutely love the way u write so ig everything u might add up would be great <3

“I’m...not telling you...anything.”

Villain smirked and grabbed Hero’s chin to yank them close, pulling them taut against the chains holding their arms to either side of them. 

“So confident.” Villain brushed a thumb over their bloodied cheek, expression deceptively soft. “Perhaps I haven’t been pushing you hard enough.”

“It’s been five days since you got me and you’re just now realizing that?” Hero rasped, trying to salvage some of their bravado underneath the pulsing fear and pain in their veins.

Villain let go of their face to let them sag in the chains and walked to the back to grab a new torture tool. “Well, you assassins typically aren’t the strongest type from my experience, but it looks like the guild finally decided to hire someone good enough to withstand my work.”

Hero swallowed and ducked their head as Villain sauntered back over and held up a wicked-looking knife with a curved blade. 

“I’ll ask again, where are the headquarters located?” They walked behind Hero. “What is your leader’s name?” The cold bite of the knife pressed in between Hero’s shoulder blades. “And finally, what are the plans to take down my team?”

Hero clenched their jaw and said nothing, heart pounding traitorously in their chest.

The first cut was fast and shallow--supposed to be tolerable, but then came a horrible, horrible burning sensation that traveled through their shoulders and up their arms, a literal fire under their skin. They couldn’t help the cry of pain that hissed through their teeth.

Knives weren’t supposed to do that.

“Wh-what--?”

“Poison. Engineered by one of my top lab scientists,” Villain explained. “Pretty painful, huh?”

Hero could barely shake their head before Villain made another swipe, this time on a barely healed cut from a few days ago.

It was pure, fiery agony from that point on.

Hero held on as long as they could, forcing screams back down their throat, telling themselves they could withstand the pain, the blaze of the caustic poison running through their blood and over their body. But their resistance didn’t last.

“O-okay!” Hero blurted, squeezing their eyes shut. “S-stop...hngg...please, I’ll t-tell you what you want...what you want to k-know.”

Villain walked in front of them, a smile on their face. “Oh darling, that’s all I needed to hear.” They pulled a small syringe from their pocket and stuck the needle into a vein in Hero’s neck before pressing down on the plunger.

The flame went out.

Hero gasped in relief, gulping lungfuls of cold air, sweat running down their face and soaking their torn shirt. Two cuts. That was all it had taken from Villain to get them to talk. A burn of shame almost akin to the poison colored their cheeks red.

“I didn’t think it’d be that easy, to be honest.” Villain tilted their head, that knife still in their palm. “Stamina running low?”

Hero snarled, tears pricking their eyes. “It’s been almost a whole fucking week, Villain.”

“Precisely why it was the perfect time for me to use this beauty. Probably wouldn’t have worked three days ago.” Villain put the silver blade down on a nearby desk. “Guards!”

Hero blinked, snapping their head up at the order from Villain, who only raised a brow at them. Two henchmen came into the room and unhooked Hero from their restraints, hands on either arm to keep them steady.

“Take them back to their cell and give them some water and food,” Villain said, watching Hero with a refined interest at the way they had slumped against the guards, barely able to keep themselves up from exhaustion, or pain.

“I’ll ask you tomorrow for the information that I need,” Villain clarified to Hero, stepping closer and carding a hand through their hair. “And you’ll give it to me. Just like you promised.”

Just before Hero was led out of the room, the assassin twisted in the guards’ grip and managed a small but effective grin. 

“I never promised anything, Villain.”

.

part two

[imaginesbymonika]

Camille | Harry Styles x Reader

Plot: Y/N meets an ex and she’s quick to remind her that their relationship will never be as strong as their previous one.

Warnings: angst, fluff at the end

Song to listen to while reading:

Harry had never been entirely public about his relationships, yes… after a while gossip would circulate and people would figure out who he was dating. But paparazzi would never manage to actually get a picture of him and his current girlfriend.

That was until he met Y/N.

Suddenly Harry was seen all over town with the young woman. They went on coffee dates and his fans were quick to notice how his dimples became even deeper, whenever he was around her. He was happy and everyone could see that.

“Are you ready?”,Harry asks as he softly grabs Y/N’s hand. She nods before the car door opens. Then all hell broke loose. Camera lights were coming from all directions and Y/N worried for a minute that she would eventually turn blind. as she holds on to his hand even tighter. He giggles.

She wears a beautiful red dress while he wears a red suit. A couple, straight out of a magazine - she suited him like no other woman had ever before.

“I am going to the restroom real quick.”, she whispers into his ear, after both of them found their table:” Freshening up my lipstick.”. Harry nods and watches her until she steps through the doors into the restroom. She swallows thickly at the scenery of supermodels and actresses in-front of her , who all seem to turn at the same time. A few of them smile at her, while others stare at her in pure enviousness.

She walks past them and when she stands in front of the mirror, she meets eyes with a specific somebody in the reflection. A shiver runs down her spine. “Oh, it’s Harry’s new ladylove.”, she announces and Y/N tries her best not to look as intimidated by Camille as she felt. She nods as she hears giggling in the back:” You must be Camille, it’s nice to meet you.”.

“Cut the bullshit.”, she hisses:” We all know that Harry and I were the one couple, no red dress of yours could ever compare to me. Remember-.”, she leans closer:” What he does with you, he did with me first.”.

Then she leaves.

“There you are.”,Harry says as Y/N sits down next to him again, she smiles at him softly as he leans forward to give her a short but sweet kiss:” You’re looking so stunning tonight. As always.”.

“I-.”.

But before Y/N can complete her sentence the lights on the stage go on and Harry begins to clap.

A few hours later, when both of them arrive back at his house they’re equally drained. But while Harry rambles on and on about the award show, Y/N realizes how her heart grows heavy- she shouldn’t feel this way about what his ex had to say, after all, she’s an ex for a reason.

“Are you okay?”,Harry’s deep but soothing voice brings the young woman back into reality as he walks up to her. He takes her hands in his. Y/N nods and wants to let go, but Harry’s grip tightens gentle. She sighs. “Please, don’t lie to me.”

Y/N licks her lips:” Okay. I-, well, I met Camille in the restroom.”. As soon as the words leave her lips Harry’s eyes widen in realization:” What did she say?”. His voice was suddenly lower than before and Y/N can hear the anger building up in it. “She did not-.”.

“What did she say?”, he repeats himself more sternly.

“That she is- better than me. And that everything you do with me- you did with her, well, first.”

Harry scoffs, while letting go of Y/N hand. He wanders off into the kitchen and takes a water out of the refrigerator, without saying anything he takes a sip. “Harry?”

He takes out his phone and dials some number while his girlfriend sits down on one of the barstools in front of him. “Yeah, hi. Camille? This is Harry.”, he speaks, his voice oddly soft:” I heard you came across Y/N this evening.”.

Y/N feels how her stomach turns. How could he be so peaceful and gentle? How could he speak like that to a woman that verbally tortured her just a few hours prior? Embarrassed her and made their relationship sound like a joke to all those celebrities.

“I heard what you said-.”

And then Harry changes. His eyes turn darker, while he snatches the water bottle and tosses it through the room:” What the actual fuck, Camille?!”.

Y/N’s eyes widen. “After our break up I composed a fucking number one album about you- for you, because I believed we are friends. You humiliated me in that fucking restroom- why? Because I fucking trusted you. I trusted our friendship- stop me asking me why? Why? Why? Why? Because I trusted you, Camille! Yeah right, don’t try to behave all innocent- Oh Je suis désolé, my ass! If you try to degrade Y/N or our relationship ever again- I swear to god, Camille. You will regret that, you got it?”.

As soon as the last word leaves Harry’s lips he ends the call and throws his phone onto the sofa. He licks his lips while his hands shake slightly. A silence falls upon the two lovers. Y/N who is still sitting on the barstool opens her mouth, but when no words come out she closes it again.

“I’m sorry, you had to-.”.

“I love you.”.

Harry chuckles as he walks around the corner. He takes her in his arms:”I just want you to know, I am on your side. Always. No matter what. Okay?”

Y/N smiles into his chest.

“Love you too, Y/N.”

[soulwillower]

boyfriend stuff • richie tozier

(richie tozier x reader)      

requested: PLEASE FAKE DATING TO LOVERS WITH RICHIE PLEASE A WHOLE FIC PLEASE MORE

warnings: swearing, fluff, mentions of sex, a bit of drinking, family members, richie has a little sis!! and i believe that is it but as always its unedited

[losers + reader are in college]

sorry i haven’t been posting much but i have this fic for u guys, hope u like it!

6k words yowza

♡

"you said what?!" you hiss, your stomach swirling, jaw dropped as the wind whips your hair around. richie's grinning, but it's not his usual up-to-something grin. much more of an i'm-sorry-i-ran-my-mouth-again  kind of smile, but it's still richie's, so it's impossible to stay annoyed.  

"well shit, doll. you know how i am! and it was my grandma, i couldn't let her down. she is crazy." he says with a shrug, his hand pushing back his wild curls as you glare up at him in his stupid striped shirt and awful, annoying, angelic face.

you scoff, crossing your arms as your eyes flick to behind richie, taking in the law library and some kids playing hackey-sack on the quad. birds chirp in the distance. "c'mon, toots. you can play my girlfriend for a few days, right?" he asks gently, making you look back to him, gazing into his hopeful expression.

you're silent as a warm breeze flutters around you and you weigh your options - honestly, what could go wrong by going to your friend's grandma's house and pretending to be his girlfriend for a bit?

"how far is the drive?" you ask sharply.

"yes, baby! i knew i could count on you." he yelps, scooping you in his arms and making you yelp, rolling your eyes. "i didn't actually commit to fake-dating you yet, richie. unless you pay me."

"100 bucks, kid." he says, holding your shoulders. you gape at him, "what? do you seriously need to convince your grandma and the rest of your family that you're dating someone that much?" you ask, eyes wide and a smile curling onto your lips.

this boy was ridiculous.

he launches into a story about how his grandma is super weird - nice, but oddly suspicious; like (as he puts it) red-scare mccarthy type suspicious, which doesn't do much to help his case with you.

he then lists on his fingers the reasons he needed a girlfriend and continued to insist, "y/n/n, look at me. nobody's going to believe that i'm single. i'm way too gorgeous." you roll your eyes so hard it hurts. 

"-plus, you're the only friend i have that is hot enough and tolerant enough to pass as my girl for a whole weekend. i would ask stan the man, but i already mentioned that it was specifically a lady-lover of mine, and i can't put stan through a weekend of bra stuffing on top of faking' it with me."

you scoff at his absurdity, following him as he walks towards his dorm and weighing your options. "we have to stay with your batshit grandma, tozier? and you're really gonna do all that boyfriend stuff?"

he just laughs, tilting his head up so the sun glints on his forehead and you have to tear your eyes away before you get too attached to the sight of him.

"oh, of course i am toots. i can't wait to treat you like you deserve, babe. plus, it's a small house. we'll be sharing a room, though." he mutters, slinging a heavy arm around you and giving you icy butterflies that thrash in your ribcage. you groan, "come on, richie. i'm only doing this out of the goodness of my heart." you mutter, shaking your head as he sweeps the door to his building open and wiggles his brows. "and i have to share a bed with you?"

"you can curse my momma for bein' so liberal."  he says with a shake of his head, "you'll love her, though. she's excited to meet my girlfriend."

you fake a gag.

x

somehow, a week later, you're pulling yourself out of richie's beat up cherokee and sighing at the heat outside, watching as richie unfolds his body to his full height and sweeps an arm towards the quaint house across the street.  you walk to his side of the car and shake your head, trying not to think of the pressure of acting like a good girlfriend for the next two and a half days.

the drive back to richie's hometown was just as you'd expected a road trip with richie would be - cherry cola, loud music, a/c on blast as the summer warmth whips around his car on the outside, and a briefly awkward lay out of rules for the two of you to follow.

"well what about, like, rules?" you ask, feet balanced on the dashboard. he looks over to you, smirking as he hums along to the radio as it plays quietly. "well, like, what about them?" he asks, smacking his mouth and fake twirling his hair like a valley girl. you hide a giggle behind a glare.

"i'm serious, rich." but your smile gives way to your playful manner as you toss a chip at him. it hits his shoulder and he smirks - you're distracted, then, by how the faint morning glow hits his eyelashes, how his side-profile is sharp and angular but somehow also soft and subdued.

his hair is scruffy and placed perfectly as if he'd just rolled out of bed - though you know it took him a few minutes to make it look that way. he's wearing his stupid black corduroy pants and a long sleeve shirt that looks so soft you might melt and his lips are quirked into a wry smile.

richie's eyes are bright and teasing as ever, even on this early morning, and his teeth toy with his pink lips as he grins. you smile to yourself as you stare, because richie tozier is an artwork.

"y/n/n?" he asks softly, shooting you a soft look that really makes your fingertips tingle as you reach for your coffee. had he been speaking to you? you clear your throat, "richie, eyes on the road."

he chuckles but obeys, turning to look forwards, and you feel your heartbeat relax slightly. "okay. what about touching?" you reiterate as he keeps glancing at you, making you flush and your stomach thrash in tickle.

"you know i'm all for it." he wiggles his eyebrows and you scoff, shaking your head and pressing your lips together to keep down a smile. he's too much."-for real, though. what are you comfortable with? i can do any of that boyfriend stuff." he says, mimicking your words from the week before when you'd agreed to come, and you turn red again for nearly no reason.

you shrug. "well, touching is fine...but don't you think.... er- i mean, maybe kissing is just... a little weird? i don’t know." you ask, your stomach fluttering. you're not totally sure why, or you just don't want to address it, but you think that kissing richie might make things... different for you.

you ignore the feeling as richie nods. "yeah, i mean it’s not like my parents are gonna try and make us lock lips in front of them anyways." he mutters, making you roll your eyes, smiling out the window as the countryside flashes by in splashes of green and yellow.

"right, kid. you ready?" richie's voice calls you to look at him with a smile. "guess so." you shrug, your breath mixing with the warm afternoon air. the front door of the house creaks open from across the yard and richie turns to you, smiling devilishly and holding your bag in his hand.

"quick, they're coming. kiss me." he says with a lopsided grin. your stomach dips and you huff, "ew, no!"

he looks at you with a grin as you continue, "-you just had funyuns! that's so gross." you say, shoving his face as he tries to lean closer to you, making kissy faces. you can't help yourself from giggling as he smiles, "do it! c'mon, toots. plant one on me." "no, rich!" you squeal with another laugh, shoving him as he beams down at you. slowly, he pulls you into his chest and you lay your head, wrapping your arms around him. the proximity of your bodies takes your breath away as you breathe in the faint scent of mint, strawberry and cigarettes. it makes you relax almost completely and you're unsure when these feelings with richie started, but you're suddenly hyperaware of them and you think you might be in some real trouble.

"let's do this, y/n/n."

x

you'd expected meeting richie's family to be the most stressful part of your day, but it went so smoothly you were almost concerned.

his mom was taller than you but still shorter than him, and when he lifted her up in greeting it made your heart swell. next was his grandma, who was quite short and had curly gray hair. she hugged you and kissed your cheek and you immediately felt welcome as you met them.

then not shortly after, a fiery bullet with a black dress and light - up sneakers came barreling full speed at richie, making you blink as he yelled, "munch!" and lifted the girl up.

you met his little sister, who he insisted you call "munch," through a shy wave and a grin as she had her arms looped and face buried in his neck.

and then you smiled and pretended not to feel anything as you watched him tickle her and kiss her forehead.

throughout the day, it is physically painful for you to watch richie with his family. really, it is.

you know richie tozier. the boy who falls asleep at the library and drools on his textbook, the boy who ties people's shoelaces together at parties when he's just entered that drunken stage of "pranky richie." he's the dumbass who fell out the window of bill's dorm and into the bushes, the kid who was a huge nerd yet incessantly boasted about his 'very high' body count (which, by the way, you did not believe). he was the loud person at every party, the kind who drew people in out of admiration, fascination or loathing, he was the boy who got the highest gpa and also the highest amount of parking violations and speeding tickets.

but here, at home...

god, richie was incredible. he had a whole other side to him that fit in perfectly, like a missing piece to a puzzle that you didn't even know was incomplete. he spent as much time with his sister, munch, as he could - singing to her, brushing and braiding her hair, teasing her relentlessly, and making snacks for the three of you.

he even wore a tiara and a tutu when munch insisted you have a tea party - and he steeped real tea (which tasted like shit because he did not know how to steep tea), even getting out his grandma's fancy cups.

the way he treated munch was honestly the nail in the coffin for you, because the one thing you expected richie to be bad at was interacting with young kids. like, he swears like a sailor, is always bouncing around, rarely goes a day without a cigarette, and just all around seems like he'd prefer the company of an average-aged joe. but he is full of surprises, as you've learned.

x

it took almost six hours of driving to get to his grandma's house, none of which richie allowed you to drive, despite your insistence. so after a quick catnap, you'd spent the entire day exploring the house, playing games, and getting to know munch and the rest of his family. and so now, before bed, richie was upstairs showering while you were sitting downstairs at the kitchen table with his grandma and his sister.

you were left to your own wits with his family, which wasn't too bad, but you're nervous you're going to slip up.

"you are just such a lovely young woman, aren't you?" his grandma asks, sipping on her bailey's. you laugh, shrugging your shoulders. "you're too kind, really. you guys are just easy to be around." you say with a smile.

"now i just wonder, what made you settle with richie?" she asks, lifting a brow. you choke on the last gulp of your own bailey's, the warmth going straight to your stomach and the alcohol right to the head. you decide to go the joke route.

"i have no idea, i mean. have you seen those awful shirts?" you say with a snort. his grandma laughs sweetly, sipping again and seemingly forgetting the problem so you pull at your collar, willing for richie to come rescue you.

speak of the devil and he shall appear.

"-hey, you can't judge my life choices, y/n/n, because you are one of them." he says with a grin, drawing you into the crook of his shoulder. "the best one, might i add."

you flush but just roll your eyes, knowing that it's just for show, but secretly yearning for that to be true.

he groans."can you at least pretend you think i'm charming?" richie whines,  "that costs extra." you say, then suddenly your eyes snap to richie's as you realize what you've said.

"costs?" his grandma asks, looking confused. you clear your throat, "o-oh, i..."

"she owes me gas money." "he owes me money for food."

you stare at each other - fuck. that's kind of awkward. richie's grandma hums in suspicion and your mouth feels dry.

richie suddenly guffaws loudly, shaking your shoulders as he nods. "well aren't we the cutest, y/n/n? okay, let's get you off to bed now." he rushes, shitty excuse doing nothing to fix the situation as he tugs your arm so you rise from the stool, then places your empty mug in the sink. he kisses his grandma on the cheek and hurries you upstairs, towards the guest bedroom where you're both staying.

x

the next day was when you really realized that richie tozier never stopped fidgeting. he was an anxious person inherently, so you understood this mixed with his adhd led him to tapping fingers, humming and bouncing his legs.

earlier, he'd had his arm secured around your waist (a foreign yet welcoming sensation) as you'd eaten dinner with his family. he was shaking his leg so aggressively that the table was vibrating and you loved it - you loved the uncomfortable but understanding looks on everyone's faces. you loved that they loved richie just as you did, you loved that they accepted him and teased him and hugged him and joked with him and listened to him like you did.

"what're you thinking' about?" he'd asked into your ear, loud enough that the others had definitely heard. his grin was nearly audible and you smile, looking into his warm eyes, "just you." you'd said simply, with a shrug. and as the words left your mouth, you realized you weren't even putting on a show, or ‘faking it' for his family.

you just really, really liked richie.

shit.

so now, it was well after richie's sister had gone to sleep and the rest of the family was up drinking, listening to music and telling stories. you really were enjoying all the embarrassing stories that fell from maggie's lips, her brain and body being well into a bottle of chardonnay and being more and more humiliating as the clock ticked on.

"-and he was- what was he, dear, seven?" she asks, hand falling onto wentworth's thigh. richie groans, "mom, stop. this isn't even funny."

you nudge him, "speak for yourself."

richie scowls then, leaning back against the awful floral pattern of the couch and pulling you into his side. you smile as you nuzzle into his chest, listening to his wild heartbeat as maggie laughs, "oh, rich. we're just teasing you because we love you."

you nod and giggle as he sticks his tongue out at her. his grandma speaks up, "how did you two kids meet?"

she sounds almost angry, and you're not sure why, so you laugh a little into your sleeve as richie leans up a bit as if preparing for a bullshit speech.

"well y/n was friends with bill first, you know. bill, mike, and her had a class together, and i always heard about y/n this, oh y/n that." richie starts. you smile as you watch him talk, recognizing that it really is the way you met. you'd figured he would just make something up.

"-but anyways, this one time, she came into the dorm because she thought bill would be there. it was just me, though. i was working on some homework or something, and she-she just looked amazing. seriously, i sounded like bill when i introduced myself because i stuttered so much." maggie shakes her head at that, but richie plows through, "and god, ma, she's so smart, she was so sweet i swear i almost got cavities just from talkin' to her for ten minutes. i have never been more star struck in my life, dad. i swear." he says, shaking his head. "later, after y/n left, bill told me he did it intentionally. the little wingman he is, tried to get us to hang out because he knew i'd fall head over heels in love. who couldn't?" he ends, smiling gently at you and brushing his hand on your cheek.

oh.

you feel yourself flush and then you smile at the carpet, your hand rising to grab richie's and lace them together.  you didn't know how damn thick tozier could lay it on - boy did he know how to woo a girl. even if it's all fake.

"meant to be, huh?" wentworth says, and you look from him to richie's grandma, then to richie. "guess so." you say quietly, leaning up to quickly peck richie's cheek and then telling yourself it's just for show in front of his family. it isn't.

it was only 15 minutes later that richie decided it was time to retire to the bed, insisting you come with him - but you know it’s because he’s getting very embarrassed. it was cute to see him flustered for a change. 

"goodnight!" you call, waving to maggie and went as they raise their glasses at the two of you, maggie with a knowing glint in her eye.

you both walk in content silence until you get into your bedroom. 

the music still plays downstairs, a melody of piano and guitar and maybe a quartet wafting up through the vents and creating an eerily romantic ambiance. slowly and wordlessly, richie puts his hands on your waist and hums nonsense as he sways the two of you.

without thinking, you melt into his touch and smile.

you wind your arms around his neck as you move with him, his meaningless humming setting your heart into overdrive - or, perhaps, it's because of the proximity to the boy in front of you.

"rich, nobody's here to see us." it's whispered, because you really don't want to pull away or to have him realize that this isn't what friends do, because you like it. a lot. 

"i know." he says it so softly, you barely hear it. but it's there, the words are out in the open, and you like the way they fall over the air in the room like they're meant to be there. the soft light of the single lamp, the ugly floral wallpaper, the smell of richie.

"isn't it nice, though?" he adds, almost like an afterthought. you grin down at the carpet below you, your eyes taking in his striped socks, his feet absolutely dwarfing yours as you move back and forth gently.

"yeah, it really is." you whisper back, lifting your head up to watch his owl-eyes as they stare back at you, his chewed lips parted as small puffs of breath fall out, his nose splattered with freckles that you can make out from the proximity. he smells like chocolate and that damn mint smell again

"richie..." you start, your eyes trained on his lips as you slowly feel yourself leaning closer to him. he looks frozen, his eyes now changing from wide to almost hooded as he stares down at you. 

you wonder if he's afraid to move, because he's stopped swaying you and now his thumbs are rubbing circles into your side, slipping under your top and yeah, that's definitely new but it's amazing and you wonder if it's such a bad thing for you to want all this stuff with richie.

and to want more.

"yeah babe?" he asks and your brain marvels at how natural and unceremoniously the pet word falls from his lips, as if that really was your name.

but then - be it fear, shame, or anxiety - you mumble out the words, shaking your head. "did bill really try to set us up? l-like, was that all true?" you say with an awkward smile. you just clear your throat, eyes not focusing on richie as if you're looking for something, anything to occupy your mind because you can physically feel the tension and it's suffocating you.

"yeah." he says simply after a couple moments, arms still wrapped around you. you're now too nervous to look at him because he'll see how pleased you are, how happy it makes you that people want you and richie to be together. "all of it was real." he says and his voice sounds so honest, so genuine and so raw that you smile bashfully, looking at him shyly.

"oh, cool." you mutter quietly, fingers playing with the fabric on his chest. he chuckles and his chest shakes with the noise as he pulls you even closer to him. his fingers rise softly to cup your chin and he tilts your head so you're looking in to each other's eyes.

richie is staring at you with a sincerity that you swear you've never seen before; his gaze on yours makes you hear a soft guitar melody, makes you feel weightless and completely full at the same time, makes you taste adventure and strawberries. 

his lips are parting and if he were to speak to you right now, you're completely confident that you would not comprehend a single one of his words because you're too caught up in him. he's making you see pale pinks and blues and lilac and you swear you want to stay the subject of his gaze forever and ever, just you and him and the world outside this room. 

"cool, hm? cool is all i get, baby?" he asks softly, and the only reason you hear it at all is because you feel his breath on your lips and even though you said 'no kissing,' that was a lie - you think you might want to feel his lips on yours forever. your eyes fall shut as you grip his shirt collar, smelling his stupid strawberry 3-in-1 wash as you lean in closer.

and his lips brush yours so faintly that you swear it's like a kiss from a fairy; there and gone so quickly you aren't sure if it ever happened in the first place-

"-jesus, munch!" richie suddenly yelps, scaring you and himself as he jumps slightly, leaning away from you.

you look down, eyes opening to see richie's sleepy sister staring up at you two with wide eyes, her hand clutching richie's leg. "why are you up, kid?" he asks softly, kneeling to her height, hands leaving you. your heart pounds wildly in your chest and you try to catch your breathing, your fingers brushing your lips as you watch richie. did that just happen?

munch whispers into richie's ear, looking to the floor afterwards and you smile, loving how different the siblings are in personality and how sweetly richie treats her. 

richie looks to you with a bashful grin of his own, his cheeks glowing pink and making your heart flutter because at least he felt slightly the same way you felt right now.

"munch wants you to read her a story." he says, shrugging lightly, "you don't have to if you don't want to." he adds, his hand rubbing her head as she hugs his leg. you smile, "n-no, i'd love to."

richie rubs munch's cheek, "lead the way, kiddo." richie loops his arm around your waist softly as you follow her to her room, and you are pretty damn sure it's not just for show.

it took about ten minutes for her to fall back asleep, nestled in a mound of stuffed animals, blankets, and an old shirt of richie's that he'd left behind when he went to school. 

your own eyes droop as you lean your head onto richie's shoulder from where the two of you rest against the wall, stretched on the edge of her bed, and the last thing you remember is smiling at munch's sleeping figure before it's all blank.

you wake up again with a start as you hear a thudding noise - your eyes are bleary and dry, your back and neck kinked in the worst way and you groan a bit as you stir and lift your head. you look around and richie is standing in front of you, arm outstretched. wordlessly, you grab his hand and pull yourself to your wobbly legs as you look at his sister's sleeping body.

you're so exhausted and thrown off that you just follow richie wordlessly into your room and pull off your jeans, putting on shorts before flopping onto the bed next to richie in the dark. 

"g'night." he mumbles sleepily as he wraps a heavy arm around your waist, pulling you closer so he can reach over you to put his glasses on the nightstand. he falls back onto the pillow with a tired huff and you're already half asleep but you can't help your heart from picking up speed as a pair of lips press softly to your hairline.

you fall asleep this time feeling warm and comfortable, the feeling of his lips burning on your forehead sweetly. 

x

when you wake the next day richie’s already gone, the space next to you cold and empty.

 after getting ready, you pad down to the main floor to find everyone outside, munch and richie splashing around in the pool in the backyard. you're excited to see they've set up a lunch outside in the shade under the tree and you decide to go put on your swimsuit just as richie walks in.

"mornin' sugar." he grins, walking over to the kitchen sink. you snort, looking at the clock on the oven: 11:18.

"hey, sorry i slept so late." you mumble, your stomach filling with butterflies as he smiles genuinely at you. your eyes trail over his bare chest, dripping with water droplets as he breathes slowly. your mind flashes back to last night, and you shake your head, jabbing your thumb behind you. "um, i should go put on my suit." you feel awkward. 

he hums, pushing off the counter, "i'll walk with you."

you frown as he does, nervous about being alone with him again. you're being a fucking dumbass, sure, but he makes you nervous in the most delicious way and you can't help but picture his lips fully on yours. it's a terrifying thought, honestly.

"my grandma is being weird today, i think she's onto it because she said we were just really good frien-" richie mutters as you walk the hall and you cut him off, frustrated with his paranoia for no reason.

"rich, why does it even matter if she suspects us? it's not like she knows for sure." you try to reason, your hands falling on to his arms to halt his stride.

he’d just mentioned his grandma’s offhand comment about how close of friends you seem to be. maybe it was nothing, or maybe she didn't believe you. why did it even matter?

he shakes his head, eyes wide. "because that's fucking embarrassing for me! i have feelings, you know." he defends.  

you roll your eyes - you knew damn well richie had feelings. this was getting to be so stupid, this whole thing was pointless - because you know that you've just fallen in love with richie for real and made things ten times harder for the two of you.

"of course you do, rich, but we-"

the noise of footfall in the hallway to your left sends you both into a panic for no entirely good reason, so you tug him closer towards you with wide eyes. his hands catch himself on the wall on either side of you, his breath fanning on your face.

why are you so panicky and jumpy? "did they hear us?" richie whispers frantically, head turning to look and see who was coming towards you.

so instead of responding, for some reason your brain insists you act like a fool and draw his lips to yours. your hands cup his jaw as you press your lips to his, the feeling sending your stomach through loops and your brain fuzzy.

holy shit, this was exactly what you told yourself not to do. shit.

just as you pull back slightly, intending only for the kiss to be a chaste peck, richie's hands are on your body and he's pressing you against the wall, deepening the kiss as he tilts your head to deepen it. 

you're caught off guard, eyes wide as you throw your hands around his neck, kissing him fervently. your eyes close and his tongue prods your lip, taking your fucking breath away.

he tastes like sugary lemonade and you think you're melting, spiraling and falling deeper as you open your mouth. you almost moan out at the feeling of his tongue in your mouth, sliding your tongue against him just as a throat clears.  

you both pull back, alarmed even though you knew this was going to happen - but you're more alarmed at what the fuck richie just did than at his grandma staring at you. 

yeah, his grandma catching you kissing was sort of a huge victory in the 'selling the fake relationship' department, but it’s also a huge bummer for your 'pride and self-confidence' department.

“shouldn't you two be outside?” she says, a small smile on her lips. you let out a quick breath, unable to fucking speak after what just happened. you faintly think you can hear richie saying something to her and then she’s shaking her head with a smile and walking towards the backyard. you blink,  your fingers still hovering over your tingling lips. then, you snap out of it and turn to richie.  as you shove him up the stairs, you yelp, "if you ever kiss me like that again-"

"oh, shut up, you liked it!" he fights back as he turns toward the room you're sharing and lifts a brow, "you opened your mouth for tongue-" he starts but you screech, rushing through the doorframe and shutting the door a little to loudly, "i did not!" you hiss, shoving his shoulders and hiding your smile.  

he stares at you, a grin on his face and eyes teasing. "-then why'd you lick mine when i stuck it in your mouth?" he’s shrugging. you want to punch him in embarrassment because holy shit, is this not a big deal to him?

your eyes widen and you scrunch your face, "god, you're disgusting, just-" you sigh, shaking your head.

your heart is thumping wildly in your chest and you have to physically hold your hands down by your sides so you don't reach up and tug at the stray curl on richie's forehead.

"doll, all i'm sayin' is that was a good practice kiss." he shrugs again.

right. it was for practice.

he speaks up again and you swear he’s giving you a headache. "hey, i mean...since we're here, should we practice sleeping together too?" you turn bright at his words. "richard!" he giggles as you slap his shoulders and he mutters, "-yeah, no, i was kidding, sugar. damn, baby." he mutters, shaking his head with a grin so bright you can't help but share it. “i mean, technically we already did, last night and the night before. but that’s not the kind of sleepin’ i was talking about-“

you cut him off with a stern look and an elbow to the gut and he has the audacity to fucking giggle. 

your stomach tosses and flips itself sick inside of you at the sound and you sigh, giving him a look as he grins. you hope he doesn't notice the absolute heart-eyes you have for him at every given moment.

"cross my heart, sugar. totally kidding." he says, eyes closing as his fingers lazily trace an 'x' over his chest. "i'll wait out here for ya, toots." he says as he walks out of the room, leaving you to change into your suit quickly.

when you open the door back up for him, he whistles. "damn, y/n/n, you look fuckin' sexy."

you stare at him with a blank expression. "richie i'm wearing the same clothes as earlier." you deadpan, gesturing to yourself, having put your clothes back on top of your suit. he grins cheekily as he walks down the stairs, flashing you a wink, "i know that."

he rocks back on his heels. 

"so what can i do to show my love for you since i can't kiss you?" he asks, smirking. you roll your eyes, "shut up, richie. we're by ourselves right now, you don't have to do anything." you insist, pulling your hair back from your face. he sighs, groaning as if in pain. "but what if i just want to?"

you freeze, looking to him with wide eyes as your stomach drops. "do you really just want to?" you ask, mostly joking as your heart beat picks up. he takes a few steps towards you, shirt now on as his curls drip slightly. you watch a drop roll down his jaw and you swallow.

"yeah, i really do." he says simply, shrugging. "i’ve realized that i really do want to do all the boyfriend stuff for you."

you let out a shaky laugh, a smile falling onto your face as you raise your eyebrows. "for show?" you ask, and he shakes his head with a small laugh. "no." he says and you stare at him, unmoving. 

"so you’re gonna make me say it, huh?" he says with a smile that gives you full-blown butterflies as he pulls you to him. you smile back at him, heart melting into mush at the thought of richie being your real boyfriend.

"i think you should, just to be safe." you say with a grin. he smiles brightly, hand coming up to your cheek. his thumb rubs over your face.

"i love you, y/n." he says softly, looking into your eyes. "i want to be your boyfriend, and i want you to be my girl and i want to do stupid shit with you and have tea parties with munch, and for you to listen to my parent's embarrass me, and to spend all my time with you. i want all the boyfriend stuff, y/n."

you shake your head, "we already do that, rich. i've been yours this whole time." his cheeks turn pink and you love the way he looks so you add, "i love you too, richie. i really do. please be my boyfriend."

he kisses you, then.

it's soft, his lips like rose petals and his kiss like honey and it's quite different from your other kiss - both incredible, but this one with much more intention and love. it melts you completely as richie pulls you closer to him, his lips parting from yours slowly, a smile falling onto his face.

"what do you say then, want to go for a swim?" he asks softly, sending you a smile that is blushy and beautiful. you smile, pecking his lips. "sure, rich."

"c'mon, girlfriend." he says happily, tugging you down the stairs and making you grin stupidly, knowing this time for sure that it's not just for show.

//tag list:  @gabiatthedisco @blisshemmings​ @toziershmozier @simplesammyx @dickology64 @clownsloveyou @moon-shine-baby​ @daughter-of-the-stars11  @lets-vibe-bro @trashedfortozier @oceandog13 @finnskindofwoman​ @diorbubs @kait-tozier​ @upamongthestarss​ @fiantomartell @beverlyparkerr @beauregard-s @baby-yoda-a \\

[whitworth-waldo]

Here's the second part to my loceit fic, but a quick warning:

THERE IS DECEITS REAL NAME AND REFERENCES TO THE LATES EPISODE

WATCH THAT BEFORE YOU READ THIS

SPOILERS

Something Deceit was always jealous of, was the fact that every other side could show their emotions. It was considered natural for them, but whenever he did it, everyone thought he was trying to manipulate them. At times he really hated that he was in charge of Thomas’ dishonesty.

All the other sides had people there to comfort them when they were feeling bad. He didn’t have anyone, as edgy as it sounds. Whenever he was upset he buried it. He pushed it deep down into his brain so that it would never resurface. But it always did.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never just ignore things. He had feelings that could be hurt, and he other sides didn't seem to understand that. It hurt when Virgil called him useless. He felt bad for saying the things he did to Virgil and Patton, but he couldn’t apologize now. If he did, they would think he was just trying to use them.

Deceit was balled up with his head on his knees and his arms wrapped around his shins. He had a single tear running down his cheek. He slowly got up and wiped his face clean of any tears left over.

“Why do I even care?! It’s not like they do. I don’t fucking care anymore!”

Deceit stomped out of his room and down the stairs. Virgil was in the kitchen, so Deceit gave him a death glare whenever Virgil looked at him.

“Got a fucking priblem?”

Roman had stepped into the kitchen, and was being protective of Virgil.

“Yeah. I do. Not like you’ll listen anyway though, because every fucking time I express actaul emotion you take it as me being minipulative. So don’t fucking ask if you’re not even gonna listen to me.”

Roman and Virgil looked taken aback. Deceit shook his head, he filled a cup with hot tea. He needed the warmth from the tea to actually warm up, while he wasn’t entirely cold-blooded, he didn't have a lot of body heat. 

“Why are you even a side? What do you do, besides lie, that is?”

Deceit shook his head.

“You’ll figure that out in the next week jackass. And you wonder why I haven’t shared my name yet.”

Virgil spoke up.

“They don’t know it yet?”

Deceit’s head shot up and he gave Virgil a death glare, Virgil just smirked.

“Don’t.”

“His name is Janice.”

Roman burst out laughing.

“Janice?! What are you? A middle school librarian!”

Deceit, or Janice, hissed. Roman wrapped an arm around Virgil's waist and Virgil kept smirking. Logan walked into the kitchen just then.

“Hey, Logan! Want to know Deceit’s name?”

Logan shrugged.

“Sure, I guess.”

Roman laughed.

“Our dear scaley reptilian rapscallion here, his name is Janice!”

Logan hummed.

“As in the Roman God? J-a-n-u-s? Or J-a-n-i-c-e, which is much less probable. J-a-n-i-c-e is usually a name reserved for females.”

Deceit smiled.

“My name is spelled J-a-n-u-s, like the God. Logan is correct.”

“I usually am.”

Virgil frowned.

“Roman God? What?”

Logan nodded.

“Janus is the Roman God of beginnings, as well as transitions. He is depicted with two heads, as he was always looking into the future and the past. Oddly, he is one of the only Roman Gods who doesn’t have a Greek counterpart.”

Logan sat on the counter and Deceit took a sip of his tea and looked at Virgil.

“See what you get when you try to be a dick?”

Logan tilted his head.

“I infer that Virgil was being rude. What was he doing?”

“First off, he told others my name when I wasn't ready. And secondly, he was making fun of it.”

Virgil looked away and Roman held him closer.

“Can you blame him? You’re constantly lying, and trying to get Thomas to do unethical things.”

Logan made a face of confusion.

“Can you blame him for his own actions? Yes, yes you can.”

Deceit chuckled.

“Plus, I only want what’s best for Thomas! How many times do I have to say that?! I think by now I’ve said it at least 5 times.”

Janus shook his head and walked back to his room. He walked back into the kitchen wrapped in a yellow blanket. He plopped himself onto the floor and sipped his tea. Virgil and Roman had left, so Janus assumed they went into Virgil’s room.

“Hey, I just wanted to thank you for earlier. In that nasty fight, you didn’t have to agree with me.”

Logan hummed.

“Well, you were right. I’m not going to agree with people who aren’t right just because they aren’t well liked.”

Deceit smiled, he leaned back onto a cupboard and snuggled into his blanket. Janus had always liked that Logan seemed to be unbiased most of the time. Logan and him were labelled the brain cells of the group by the fans, and they weren’t necessarily wrong, or Janus didn’t think so at least.

Logan stayed in the kitchen for a while with Janus. They didn’t really talk, it was just a comfortable silence. Then after like, half an hour Logan got curious.

“Why do you always wear a coat and gloves?”

“I don’t produce much body heat, the whole reptile thing. So I wear heavier clothes to keep warm.”

“I always assumed it was just a fashion choice.”

Janus chuckled.

“No, although, it is rather stylish. I’m just always freezing.”

Logan smiled and nodded.

“I know this is a kinda stupid question, but have the others ever, like, ranted about me before? Specifically Virgil.”

Logan had to think back a while,but he did remember Virgil being really upset when Janus made his first appearance on Sanders Sides.

“Yeah, Virgil was really mad when you first showed up.”

Janus nodded.

“Sorry for impersonating you, second nature ya know.”

Logan shrugged.

“Not the worst thing that’s happened before.”

“That’s good. Anyway, what did Virgil say?”

“He said that he couldn't believe we were listening to a darkside.”

Janus rolled his eyes.

“Quite hypocritical, don’t you think?”

Logan nodded, he was finding this moment peaceful. He was also happy that Janus was being what Logan assumed to be himself. He wasn’t trying to be this evil tough side.

“Very. He also said that the D-Day example was a stretch.”

“Completely untrue. The allies set up fake tanks and everything!”

Logan nodded again. Deceit always knew what he was talking about, even when impersonating other sides, that was another thing Logan liked about Janus.

Remus walked into the kitchen about an hour into Janus and Logan talking in the kitchen.Logan was still on the counter and Janus was sitting on the floor wrapped up right next to Logan’s leg. He just got a cup of Orange juice and walked out.

“They’re SO gonna get together.”

Remus was out of earshot of both the sides, Virgil was passing him and looked confused.

“Who?”

“Dee and Logan. They’re still in the kitchen, just talking.”

Virgil scrunched up his face.

“Logan wouldn’t like him.”

Remus just shook his head.

“Sure.”

Back in the kitchen, Janus and Logan were talking about true crime stuff.

“Would you prefer to be called Janus or Deceit?”

Janus shrugged.

“You could call me Dee, or Jan. Doesn’t really matter anymore, since Virgil kinda outed me.”

Logan frowned.

“You still get a preference for what you want people to call you.”

Janus smiled.

“Dee is fine. You know, you and Remus are the only two who have asked me that.”

“Hm, that’s kinda strange.”

Deceit nodded.

“Guess it’s because the others don't like me too much, do they?”

Logan shook his head.

“Don’t know why though. I find your company quite pleasant.”

Janus smiled, he felt a small blush creep upon his cheeks.

“Thanks. I have to say, I think you’re also nice to be around. It’s peaceful, and when we disagree it's just a simple debate. No shouting or offensive things said.”

Logan smiled and nodded.

“Yeah, that’s always nice.”

Janus closed his eyes for a couple minutes, he only opened them when he heard footsteps.

“You guys are still out here? It’s literally been two hours.”

Janus opened his eyes and saw Roman at the fridge.

“Aren’t you and Virgil still accompanying each other?”

Roman looked at Logan weirdly.

“Yeah, but we’re a couple.”

Janus blushed, but he hid it by snuggling even further in his blanket. Roman still probably saw it.

“Do I like him? Why am I blushing? He compared us to a couple! What’s going on? Am I ok?! I’m fine, it’s probably just a crush. Right? Yeah. It’ll go away in a few days.”

Janus was spacing out.

“Yo, Janus, you good?”

He looked up and saw Roman staring at him.

“I’m fine.”

Roman shook his head and left.

“Are you ok?”

Janus tilted his head.

“Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

Logan shook his head.

“No, I mean actually. Are you emotionally healthy?”

Janus froze.

“It’s ok if you aren’t, Dee. I’ve noticed that the others don’t necessarily take your emotions into consideration. If you want to talk about it, you could talk to me at any time. I might not be a very emotional person, but I could give advice.”

Janus nodded.

“Thanks, that means a lot.”

Janus rested his head on the cupboard behind him and closed his eyes, only this time, when he opened them he was in his bed.

[the-terminal-archive]

“I still can’t come up with a nickname for you!!!” “And yet, I don’t have to come up with one for you.” “Mmm, but it’s so much more fun to give someone a nickname! It’s like being a cool friend!”

The bridge seemed to stretch on further and further, yet also seemed to descend closer to the magma the longer they went along. Several thin paths stretched out, coated in quartz shards of just about every color one could imagine. “...Hey, Phantom?” “Hm?” “What kind of inclusions did you put to get such a bright blue???” “Ah, it’s blue…? Uh, I think it was called dumortierite. I was lucky that it was growing in some of the mines that I went to with some of the diamonds I looked after. It...hah, I’ve felt it growing for some time, does it like me that much?” “Well, you seem to have a lot of it?” “I hope one day it overtakes the quartz hosting it.” “...What do you mean?” “It has a maximum hardness of 8.5… And, sure, it hurts every few days as it grows, but...Perhaps I’ll stand a better chance against these beasts.” There was a smile on their face, though it twitched with some emotion Ametrine could not describe. “I don’t mean to sound so melancholy, forgive me. You...You’re quite the rarity of a gem… Yet you stay with those colored green? Dear, you could pass for one who bears a purple hue!” “I know, I know! I just… I have my reasons for being there! Well...reason. Savvy is the one that helped me be...this, y’know? It’s nice, but I’m also kind of an anomaly? I mean, that’s what they said.” “Not really an anomaly… You’d still be taken in by the purple ones, they’d classify you as one with the personality of an orange gem, perhaps even yellow with how your citrine is colored. That’s assuming your fingers are purple at the tips...yes?”

“...Yea, I guess... But either way, I’d rather stay with my best friend!!” “...Hm.” The blue and yellow quartz took a sharp left, nearly causing Ametrine to fall off kilter with a squeak. It would take a moment for them to catch back up.

The bridge they walked along was poorly supported, though there were a few back routes to other paths judging by where they were going. Ahead, there was a series of small caverns...they probably wouldn’t fit more than a few people. The closer they got, the more Phantom would begin to look around, as if remaining alert in case something happened.

“...What are you doing?” “I just need to be sure of something whenever I come here. We should be fine, thankfully.” Ametrine nodded, and then flinched when they heard the sound of crumbling rock. Nothing fell, not yet, but… Goodness, was this place unsteady! “Not to worry, it does that a lot. The rock beneath us is likely a bit less dense than us, but it can still hold its own well.” “I-If you’re sure!” They went back to smiling a second later as they came upon the caverns. Poking their head in one of them, they glanced at the striped rock encasing it, the taller pointing to a small red rock poking out of it. Well- it wasn’t even that small. Ametrine approached it, the form being of two hands, a couple other organs with that same red hue poking out. “This one is still forming, but it’s the most promising. A shame they’re a red one, but...what can you do, hm? Even if they won’t be highly looked upon, it’s alright.” “What even is this...rock? Looks like a garnet. Savvy would be interested in meeting them if so!” “And that, you would be correct. These gems are found close to diamonds, it only makes sense that one would show up here.” “...Huh...did...did Savvy-” “Oh, heavens, no. There’s only a few other gems that could possibly be here, anyhow… and… a green gem? There’s not enough chromium here for that.” “Chromi...chro...hmm…” “It’s fine if you can’t say it yourself! Just know it’s important in gem growth.” They got no response, watching as Ametrine went up to the forming being and holding one of its hands. They weren’t surprised the other was so affectionate- rather- that the hand they held curled its fingers around the hand holding it, its form seeming to relax a little as some blood seeped out.

“Well...I certainly haven’t seen one do that.” “Savvy says it’s a little something special I do besides moving magnets and stuff! They said something about being able to make the nervous systems of others reactive for a short while? I don’t really care about the specifics…” “Well, it seems to appreciate the gesture. Perhaps later, when it’s fully formed, I could bring you back here to meet whoever this turns out to be.” “Maybe, if I’m allowed to! Ummm...what are in the other two?” “Just some zircon, would you like to see it?” “Mhm! If it’s fine!!!” “Well, if it wasn’t, I wouldn’t have asked! These two aren’t nearly as- ...ah?” The pause made the projected eyes look at where Phantom was looking, a look of concern upon their face taking root. A moment later, warnings started popping up, recognizing the familiar threat. “G-GET BACK!” They yelped, darting away and back onto the bridge from where they went. The other would do the same, but damn near fell off the side of the platform supporting them. They looked around, almost confused? Perhaps trying to pinpoint something? Before their gaze fell on the first instance of any noise being made, coming from yet another beast. This one had fewer limbs, yet still towered over them. Its eyes, as if made of glass, were shattered in places, and it too seemed to only look around wildly, trying to hear any further noise. “Zircon… a 7.5, oh dear.” Even the quiet mumbling caught the attention of this new entity, and its corroded voice rumbled with piqued appetite.

“Right, Ametrine, do you feel any signs of a headache?” “Yeah!” “I need you to suppress them.” “U-Uh!!! I don’t think that’s how it wo-” “Just trust me on this! They take advantage of the mind, akin to some other entities that exist! If you must, just run!” “N-No, I’m not leaving you! You could die!” “...Indeed I could… Fine! I suppose I could teach you what I said I would, even though this one is a bit...dangerous to teach with.” “W-Wait, HUH?” “Here, just take this! Things will be fine!” And, before they could process much, Ametrine had one of their daggers! What’s more is that they heard a crunching noise from the taller gem, though it was uncertain from what, exactly. “It’s simple, really! Follow me, once we get to its back, we will tear its limbs from its form!” “It’s that simple?!” They squeaked as they leapt to the side, narrowly dodging a swipe from the beast’s claws and then following the other quartz as they took off. “I told you to just trust me! These are made of diamond bits, what else must I say?”

Everything felt like a bit of a blur soon after, whether that was due to the beast trying to mess with them or their boots kicking into high gear, Ametrine knew not. All they could make out was the beast’s thrashing once the two were on its back. That, and a couple things related to the Phantom… other than a few scuffs on the cluster they had, they were also thrown off the back they were upon at one point. Seeing no other option, they took off a second limb from the monster and used it as a means to guide them down to Phantom. Helping them back up, they...they even dusted themself off, as if they knew they had just a little time to spare.

“Ah- goodness, this is a horrible idea…” “YOU THINK????” “Wait…” They murmured, perking up a little. “...The bridge…” “Wh-What?” “We may have run into a bit of luck. Come along, little one!” They picked up the silver-plated gem, who made a noise of surprise. “Wh-What are you-?” “No worries! How good are you at landing on your feet?” “Not very good, why?” “I’m going to have to throw you.” “You WHAT!?” “Well, seeing as we’re already on the back of this zircon, I see no better means than to do this! Please forgive me!” Ametrine would have protested further, but there was nothing other than a quiet ‘Bon Voyage!’ As they were thrown. They could have sworn they saw a pale yellow shard thrown out as well, which was caught in the unhinged jaw of the Zircon, who willingly devoured such. Phantom waited in silence on its back until a loud hiss was heard, then started moving again, up to its head. As its movements started becoming erratic, they could hear small cracking noises. Please, let them carry themself far enough! There were several stumbles on the slippery skin, coated in bright red blood, though they managed to make it to the apex of the beast as it slammed itself onto the bridge. Such an action would cause it to break under the pressure, the quartz managing to leap off and though they didn’t stick the landing, rolling right next to Ametrine was better than landing on them. Though, a moment later, Phantom would heave themself up, a hand reaching for their head. “Augh...Never again will I make a decision such as this…” “You better not!!! That was the worst fear I’ve had in...uh...ten minutes!” “Mhm, right...ugh…” Perhaps the Zircon’s suffering in the magma below caused them a worse headache than they thought. “Mmm, I need a rest, teaching you things can wait a little.” Though, at least they still managed to grab the daggers that were theirs before Ametrine could notice or look up. However, when they did, their visor flickered a little as they adjusted to the adrenaline calming down, and-- “U-Uh, you’re bleeding…” “I sure am. It was just one of the yellow points, i-it’ll be fine.” “...Does it hurt?” “My entire head hurts….” “Right, right!! Uh!!! I can take you somewhere, hold on!!! I can take you somewhere to rest!” No response. They had only glanced away for a moment, but upon hearing the soft thud, looked over to see that the other had passed out. Oh… well! That wasn’t happening anytime soon! They also probably weren’t going to see that garnet anytime soon, either! … It was oddly silent in this cozy place! Hm...where were they going to take Phantom? They considered taking the tall one someplace safe, but...Oh, right… Tsavorite did want something taken care of. Perhaps they’d just have to cut this stay short. Bummer! And with that, they picked up the exhausted one, glancing at those small caverns once more before beginning to leave. Hopefully, nothing blocked their way as they made their exit from such a horrid scene- as they saw the mass of zircon bubble and froth as it struggled against inevitable death.

[rigb0ner]

Okay, you guys asked for it! I hope you enjoy reading! :)

***

In order for Lance and Shiro to make it out alive from the Blade of Marmora trials, they have only two choices:

1. to fuck

or

2. to fight

However, Lance doesn't want to fight, and Shiro doesn't want to fuck.

***

a.k.a. an AU where Lance accompanies Shiro to the Blade of Marmora instead of Keith, and there is no "Knowledge or death" but a choice to "Fuck or fight".

***

Shiro's behavior has been rather... aggressive, especially towards Lance in the last few days. Neither of the two could conclude the reason why though. However, Lance had a few ideas. He knew he was annoying at times. The groans he often earned from his teammates where more than enough proof, but he was harmless. Lance was the Blue Paladin, the heart of Voltron. He was a huge asset to the team, not because he had the ability to easily lift their spirits with his silliness and contagious smile, but because he cared. He valued his teammates' concerns over his own. Yes, he was arrogant, but he was also, and mostly, considerate.

But, for some reason, he wasn't able to lift everyone's spirits. He liked to think that he had a specific bond with each of his teammates, even Keith. Aside from all the daily bickering over very ridiculous topics, there was mutual fondness and respect between them both. However, it was Shiro who gave him the darkest of glares and the most disgusted of sighs. It hurt, to think that someone whom he deeply admired since he first enlisted in the Garrison, would treat him so condescendingly. He was his hero, and it killed Lance to be scorned so often by him, for reasons unknown. But Lance wasn't an idiot. He knew when to stop himself from escalating situations from bad to worse.

And now, with no one else to be by Shiro's side, due to having their own tasks that were specifically correlated with their lions, Lance would stand by his leader. And he would be there for him, no matter how difficult the situation, to help him, and maybe, to prove himself to Shiro that he wasn't careless, and that he actually gave a shit. But he could tell by the look on Shiro's face that he was not at all excited to have him as his only choice. The Blue Paladin did well to resist the urge to scoff and cross his arms in irritation, and stood tall, prepared to begin for their mission.

***

Lance and Shiro had learned that the Blade of Marmora were a secretive rebel group fighting against the Galra Empire, and the only way they could form an alliance was to attempt several trials to become members to fight along side each other when it was time for battle. The two Paladins would endure intense battles in each of the several rooms, together. They would be stripped from their Paladin uniforms, and any bayard would be confiscated.

Lance knew bringing their personal weapons was forbidden, but he thought he'd bring his bayard just in case. However, like Shiro, he was given a new suit, as well as a new weapon. Lance's hand now tightened around the tang of his blade—an item that felt so foreign in his hand—feeling his palms sweating as his legs trembled. This was definitely not his usual weapon of choice. It didn't feel right. But the Blue Paladin watched Shiro in awe, standing in place as his leader suddenly let out a battle cry, then clashed his blade with their opponent's. He moved swiftly, dodged quickly, and stabbed mercilessly, leading them to the next chamber. Lance couldn't feel more useless. To his amazement, however, Shiro clearly knew what he was doing, taking down each opponent with the intention to succeed, with or without Lance. The Blue Paladin felt pathetic to say the least.

But as they continued to press onward from each room prior to the next, Lance had noticed that their opponents grew more numerous. Shiro, now bruised and bloody, slowly losing his strength and breath, was struggling to fight, as their opponents came at them in full force. Lance had to do something. He needed to help. But what could he, an inexperienced fighter, do to help his leader? It was obvious that he couldn't just stand there and watch. So, with a firm grip around his weapon, Lance breathed in shakily, suddenly bracing himself, then ran fast, and lunged forward—although clumsily—at their opponent with his blade, hearing Shiro immediately shout his name. Lance ignored him, or perhaps, he didn't hear. However, his weapon clashed with his opponent's, steel scraping against each other as their blades collided.

Despite Shiro's strength receding, he continued to slice and kick with all the might he had left, watching Lance from his peripheral vision as his opponent's limp body fell to the floor. His heart was racing with adrenaline as he heaved a heavy breath. But then the sound of a painful hiss caught Shiro's attention as his face turned completely towards Lance's direction. The sight of blood oozing from his partner's shoulder made him run fast, stabbing the opponents’ abdomens without hesitation. When he withdrew his blade he stared at Lance with the slightest bit of concern before scowling. "Why did you interfere?" he questioned breathlessly, although raising his voice. 

Lance held his painful shoulder upright, not appreciating Shiro's tone and glare whatsoever. He inhaled a sharp breath and pumped up his chest defiantly, brows narrowing in irritation. "Stop treating me like I'm your bitch," he hissed, slightly surprising himself from the sudden outburst. "What kind of question is that? Did you just expect me to stand there and watch you get hurt? Whether you want me here or not, I want to help you! Why is that such a problem? You can't die on us!"

"Watch your tone," Shiro retorted, scowling at Lance's disobedience. "I can take care of myself!" he added. Lance scoffed, "Yeah. Of course you can." He dared to give Shiro the most annoyed look before breaking eye contact, walking towards the next chamber as the doors slid open.

So stubborn, they thought.

***

This next chamber they entered, Lance noticed, was smaller, unlike the previous ones. There was another thing his eyes caught sight of; a bed, in the middle of the empty room. It was the strangest thing he’d seen since they entered the Blade’s headquarters. The uneasiness in his stomach only grew when the sudden flash of a hologram appeared in front of them, revealing the face of Kolivan, the leader of the Blade of Marmora. He then spoke, "You have made it to the final trial, upon which you have succeeded on the previous challenges. But, for this last trial, however, you have two choices to make."

"What are they?" Lance questioned anxiously, not quite understanding the small curve forming on Kolivan's lips as he spoke. 

"You two must choose to fight, or to bond," Kolivan explained. 

"Wait," said the Blue Paladin, "what do you mean 'to bond'?"

Shiro's expression looked just as perplexed, and then there was a slight pause, before Kolivan elaborated. "You must join together to breed. If not, you must fight each other. There is no other option."

Lance gawked at Shiro in horror, beyond bewildered.

No.

No way.

No freaking way is this happening!

I don't want to fight, but I...

"Make a choice," Kolivan said, before the hologram subsequently disappeared. Lance couldn't help but quiver in fear, feeling unbelievably gawky as he stood subconsciously close next to Shiro, hearing the doors close from behind them. How ridiculous he'd felt.

Fuck, fuck, fuck!

What do we do?

"Lance," Shiro spoke suddenly in a deep tone, earning the Blue Paladin's attention, who’d hesitated before responding nervously.

"Yeah, Shiro?"

Oh my god! Does he actually want to do this with me? 

"Are you ready?"

Holy shit!

"U-um... actually, I... I've never done this before," Lance admitted bashfully, watching Shiro narrow his brows in response.

"What do you mean? Of course you have. Did you forget about all the battles we've been through? Or, perhaps, our training?" Shiro questioned.

The Blue Paladin's eyes widened, realizing they were clearly not on the same page. "Wait. Shiro... do you actually want to fight me?" he asked in an obviously frightened tone.

Shiro laughed. "Well, I'm certainly not going to fuck you."

Lance couldn't ignore the unsettling feeling in his chest as his leader said those anxiety-inducing words. "But, I... I don't want to fight!" he exclaimed, watching Shiro draw out his blade. 

"What are you suggesting?" his leader questioned in a warning tone, watching him squirm in place. The Blue Paladin was clearly contemplating on what to say, but he couldn't form any words. 

Don't say it, you idiot!

He doesn't want to hear it! 

Shiro cocked a brow, feeling impatient as his weapon was now pointing directly towards the Blue Paladin. "Well?"

"Please, Shiro," Lance begged, arms surrendering over his chest as the tip of the blade brushed against his palm. "Don't. I don't want to fight."

Backing away slowly from his leader, his hand tightening around the tang of his own blade, completely unwilling to use it against Shiro. He couldn't. Not when he was aware of his leader's capability to take him down so easily. He could certainly try, though, but he thought it was pointless. Shiro scoffed, but oddly wore a small smirk on his face. His unusual behavior was all too concerning for the Blue Paladin. "Come on, Lance," he began. "Let's put your training to the test."

But Lance looked troubled, pedaling back once again as Shiro slowly stepped forward. "I'm not going to fight you, Shiro," he stated. "I won't!"

The smirk on his leader's face suddenly faltered, staring at the boy's frightened but immune expression, which was pleading him to reconsider. Lance clearly wasn't going to quit, and it only pissed Shiro off. But Lance stayed still, watching the older Paladin come closer, slowly lowering his outstretched hand in front of him. However, the young Paladin couldn't exactly pinpoint the intention behind his leader's fervent stare. Whatever it was, though, Lance couldn't help but feel excited, and cautious, as Shiro walked into his personal space, hand tightening around the weapon next to his thigh. Then, Lance felt a hand cup his chin — Shiro's dark gray eyes never leaving his blue ones. "You're not a cadet anymore, Lance. You're a Paladin of Voltron, a defender of the universe. And as such, it is your job to protect the innocent," his leader explained, leaning in close to the boy's face. "Isn't that right? Don't you want to protect the ones you love?"

Lance simply nodded, feeling desperate and confused, although entranced by Shiro's thumb caressing his lips, which trembled slightly from the contact. "For someone with so much potential, your carelessness overwhelms it all. I just can't seem to get any peace and quiet with you around." The Black Paladin sighed subsequently, but in an eerily relieved kind of way that Lance didn't understand.

"You don't mean that," the younger Paladin retorted, voice shaking. "I know that I can be irritating at times, but Shiro, I'm more than that! You know that it's..."

"That's enough already!" Shiro interrupted, suddenly shoving Lance away, causing him to trip on his feet and fall on his back.

***

WIP #2: Sharpshooter

Lance experiences his very first blowjob with the Captain of the IGF-Atlas—Takashi Shirogane—also known as his longtime hero and crush ever since he enlisted in the Galaxy Garrison.

***

“Good morning, Cadet.”

Lance furrowed his brows in confusion, turning his head to see—Commander Iverson, and, oh, some things just never change.

“Good morning, Sir,” he cleared his throat, “but, with all due respect, it’s Lieutenant, now.”

Commander Iverson chuckled. “Indeed. How you’ve grown.”

Lance nodded. “Yes. I’d say so.”

A sudden tension filled the air.

”Sir?”

“I... um, I believe I owe you an apology.”

Lance pretended not to understand. After all, he’d hoped this moment would come. He knew that he’d prove himself eventually.

“What for, Sir?”

”For not seeing your greatness within.”

Now, that—that wasn’t what Lance was expecting to hear. Those exact words... he’d heard them before, but not like this. It was strange, to say the least. But nevertheless, it flattered him. And yet, he didn’t care. Commander Iverson never cared, and Lance was sure those words were meaningless.

But... it’s all in the past, now. Lance knew that he couldn’t please everybody. Although, having other people’s respect, especially from those who doubted him, was, admittedly, very satisfying. That was all he ever wanted—besides flying.

Lance broke the silence. “It’s fine, Sir. I know that my behavior in the past wasn’t the best, but, as you can see, I am pretty great now.“

Commander Iverson cleared his throat. “You are. Thank you for your service, Lance.”

The Lieutenant offered a smiled in response. “Thank you for giving me the opportunity.”

Despite your lack of faith.

“Anyway, what are my duties for today, Commander?”

”Oh, well, perhaps you can start by checking inventory.”

”Okay.”

“Actually, before you do that, Lieutenant McClain...”

“Yes?”

“Captain Shirogane wants to see you.”

***

He was stalling himself...

Lance wasn’t really sure why, but all he knew was that he was actually nervous to see his Captain. In fact, he was taking all the precious time in the world, with the intent of distracting himself by whatever means necessary.

And, truth be told, he felt absolutely ridiculous.

The Lieutenant hadn’t realized how tight his grip around the clipboard was. He was clutching it for dear life, but why?

Lance wandered around the building, uncertain of where he was going, passing by instructors and other commanding officers—until, he reached an empty corridor. It was slightly dim, and quiet. Good. He needed a moment to himself.

The Lieutenant sighed, closing his eyes for a moment. His mind was suddenly flooding with dreadful thoughts:

Why am I hiding? We’ve been dating for a few weeks now! But...

“God,” he muttered under his breath, resting his head back against the wall, “I’m so pathetic.”

And that’s when he realized, it had been a while since they’ve communicated, which was understandable, considering the fact that they’ve both been very busy with their own individual assignments. Lance missed him, of course. Lance rarely got to see the Captain during the day.

They didn’t always get to see each other everyday, but sometimes they were given the chance to share a few minutes of conversation with each other—mostly during lunch, and meetings, however.

But now, Shiro had asked to see Lance personally. And, despite what people may think of him, Lance wasn’t such a fool as certain people claimed. He’d noticed the expression on Shiro’s face the last few times they’ve interacted, and it sent shivers down his spine. Although, his Captain was very clever at covering it up with that polite and handsome smile. It was the look of lust. That was definitely the look Shiro giving him. Lance knew it because he’d been staring at him the same way.

Granted, again, they’ve only been dating for a few weeks, and their busy schedules gave them less time to communicate and spend time together, even when they were both free. But make no mistake, there was clearly tension between the two of them whenever they were in the same room, and Lance liked it, but he also feared it because of how powerful Shiro’s presence was whenever he entered the room. Everybody would stand immediately in respect, whether Shiro expected it or not. And Lance wasn’t surprised, but he didn’t know what to think. He loved his Captain’s intimating side, but at the same time, he feared it.

***

And... that’s all I’ve got, if it weren’t for my damn writer’s block!!! :’(

Anyways, I hope you all enjoyed reading the progress of these fics because I honestly enjoyed writing them. I would have loved to finish them but I just can’t anymore... it sucks, I know, but that’s how it is! I love you all <333

[dorky-arsene]

Day 6 - Demon

@shuakeweek​

Much like my Day 3 entry, this one’s going to be a fic as well, using the “Demon” half of the prompt. This one’s also gonna have an art attached to it, since I kinda went all out. -shrugs-

Like the last fic, this one’s probably best suited for a teen-rating. It also has slightly more cursing and like the last fic has some mild spoils for Persona 5.

(as for the art, do NOT repost it)

Goro frowned at his notes as he set up the cheap candles he’d picked up half an hour ago, trying his damnedest to make sure none of the candles ended up dumping wax on his cheap carpet. After all, it’d be a bitch to clean off the wax, and the company I’m renting this apartment from will probably want to take my damn soul if I so much as spilled a single drop of wax..

The stressed high-schooler sighed, brushed hair out of his face for the 20th time, and looked over his notes again. So.. here it says I need a sprig of mistletoe.. How inconvenient, I’ve got none, he thought to himself, mentally slapping himself. Goddamn it. Why did I forget to get that.. ugh... It’s literally key to his mythological lore, and yet my tired ass forgot it!

Guess I’ll have to use something else as a replacement, Goro thought to himself, having to brush yet more of his too-long hair out of his face again as he shook his head in self-disapproval. The best thing Goro could think of on a whim was, oddly, coffee beans, which were sitting innocently in his kitchen on the counter.

“...Can’t believe I’m using fucking coffee to commune with a supposed trickster god,” Goro groaned aloud, narrowing his eyes at the cheap bag of coffee beans before shaking his head again and getting off his knees to go get it. “This had better work properly or I swear I’m going to chew Mifune-san out for even suggesting this.. Uuuugh... I spent real money for this..”

He swiped the coffee beans off the counter, then a culinary torch he normally only used for attempting crepes, turning off the lights in his tiny kitchen after that. It left only the light coming out of the glass doors leading to the tiny, crappy balcony of his apartment, which wasn’t a lot of light to go off of considering it was April and sundown had already passed. Somehow, though, by a miracle Goro could see just well enough to tell where the candles were.

He had a mat to deposit the chalk dust and coffee beans safely without fucking up the carpet, and now all he had to do was light the 6 crappy candles and deposit everything. The candles went first, bathing the little cleared-out living room area in orange-golden light as more and more of them got lit up. Then he deposited the chalk dust, in a little plastic bag with a corner cut off, forming a circle with vaguely wing-like marks.

In it, he wrote down the characters he thought was supposed to spell out Loki’s name, also in the chalk dust. It seemed a little longer than it was supposed to, but.. Goro was admittedly too tired to try and look up the damn proper words at the moment. He wanted it over with.

The last part was, of course, putting down the coffee beans and injuring himself just enough to deposit blood. That, and according to his notes, he had to make some stupid vow-thing..

“Here we fucking go,” Goro said to himself, scooping up some of the smelly beans and dropping them in the middle, carefully so he didn’t undo the circle and mess up the spell. After brushing more light brown hair out of his face, Goro grabbed a sewing needle off the ground he’d placed earlier, jamming it into his palm with an angry hiss and holding it above the coffee bean offering. He didn’t want to watch this part, so he squeezed his eyes shut, reciting the lines he’d practiced at least what had to be a hundred times over the past week and a half.

God, did Goro’s stomach feel pretty stormy right now..

“I.. I am thou, thou a-art I..” Goro stuttered, feeling his blood dripping off his hand uncomfortably. “F-from the sea of my soul.. I summon you.. I.. I bear the strength of my soul..”

...Crap, what was the rest..?! Damn it, Goro, you’re flubbing it..! he thought briefly, before the rest clicked into place. The needle in his palm got loose, and he hesitantly let go of it, practically hearing it drop against the likely soaked coffee beans.

“U-uh..” he tried again, eventually getting the courage again to speak. “I bear the strength of my soul.. to ascertain all on my own. N-now come to me, Loki!”

Still with his eyes closed, Goro felt the atmosphere of the room change somehow, and what little light he saw seemed to change to a blue-ish color. Goro sensed a foreign warmth a bit where he’d set up his mat, and so he backed away, feeling himself shake as he fumbled for the black towel he’d gotten specifically for the communication attempt. Besides that, he’d used his main hand, his left hand, to do this, so it stung like a bitch the whole time as he awaited whatever result.

...Still, curiosity and a hint of fear struck the tired highschooler’s heart, so he opened one eye to take a peek. The coffee beans and blood had entirely disappeared, and the circle’s color was no longer boring cheap stone white, rather becoming a strangely attractive shade of red and glowing. The candles’ flames actually turned a stark blue, burning in both light and dark shades of it, and most noise had disappeared from the environment, save for Goro’s frightened breathing and the flare of the candles.

...Then, a rush of wind knocked Goro to his bottom, and just like that, a quasi-humanoid being appeared above him. Black feathers fluttered around Goro and on him and his floor, their source being half-feathered wings attached to the humanoid. He found himself gazing into the face of the being, with his eyes seeming to have golden-colored outsides and red irises, and the demon had a sharp, cunning smirk to go with the already distracting eyes.

Besides that, the demon appeared to have black, red-tipped hair that half-hid nubby horns, a dual set of two, one set gold and the other silver, and as for clothes, he seemed to have an armored vest of sorts with a bright red ribbon hung loosely over. He also wore semi-armored gloves, and thin pants with leg armor, with no shoes to speak of. It was a contrast, certainly, to Goro’s simple thrift store nightgown and pants, both of which were more of a mild stormy but light grey and nothing else, save for whatever chalk, wax and blood he’d gotten on himself in the past 10 minutes.

The dark-haired demon chuckled softly, his voice apparently no older than someone Goro’s age.. which felt really weird. Perhaps weirdly attractive, if Goro were being honest to his closeted heart.

“Oh my.. I seem to be a little off-course,” the teenaged demon spoke, floating in midair as if he’d done so his whole life. “It’s not a whole loss, I suppose.. What a cute summoner~.”

Goro felt his cheeks flush at the compliment (or flirt), and he tried to glare at the demon. “Uh, off-course? I’m pretty sure this was intentional on my end. Does the name “Loki” sound a bell?”

Quizzically, the demon’s thick eyebrows furrowed and he tilted his head, his smirk fading into a thin line.

“Loki..? What’re you on about? I’m called Satanael, and I’m as far from a Norse god as can be. A trickster, when I feel like it, but I’m more of a rebel than anything,” the demon introduced, stretching out his arms and smiling. “I can see you wrote my name instead of the intended one.. That’s probably contributing to me being off-course and all.”

Goro looked where Satanael had pointed out, and upon re-reading the kanji the summoning circle currently produced.. It struck Goro that it was, indeed, the wrong goddamn name.

“Fuck my life,” the brunette responded, facepalming. “Now I’m stuck with you, I guess.. First I forget the damned mistletoe and now it turns out I wrote the most incorrect thing of INCORRECT THINGS--”

Satanael seemed to be sweating nervously upon hearing Goro berate himself, and he gently placed a hand on the tired teen’s shoulder.

“Hey, hey, don’t get all worked up. I can already feel your soul wearing itself out faster. Panic only nets you passing out, human. I mean, I’m sure you’d be as cute as a sleeping cat when passed out, but--”

“Off!” Goro yelped, swatting at the demon with his towel. “Get off me, will you?! Can’t I panic in peace around here..?”

“..The circle’s still in effect, so not for a while,” Satanael pointed out, in the most awkward way in the world by using two of his six massive wings that kept poking the curtains of Goro’s sliding glass door. “You wanted assistance, right? You got the rest of the incantation down properly, so you must want help in something, right..?”

“...” Goro sat up properly for once, and he wrapped his hand around his towel, trying to ignore the pound of feathers Satanael shed all over his stupid living room like some cat with too much fur. He needed a second, and it seemed the demon got the memo, magically scooping up his shed feathers and dumping them as the brown-haired novice of a summoner tried to cobble his internal brain back together from the panic disaster mess it was.

Ugh.. Dammit, this is what I get for trying to summon demons by myself, Goro complained internally, nursing his aching hand and watching Satanael trying to clean up his feathers successfully. He’d gotten most of them by the time the stressed teen got back to breathing as if he wasn’t biking at 60 miles an hour, and another self-deprecating thought passed his mind before he’d next opened his mouth. Maybe I should have asked Kitagawa-san to help me out.. He studies stuff like this on his off time for his artwork, so I probably could have gotten the right fucking god instead of a random-ass demon..

“..Hey, Satanael-san? Where were you supposed to be going, anyway?”

With a bundle of feathers in his arms, Satanael turned his head. “Oh, you mean being off-course. Uh, kick the circle, will you? I don’t mind being in the human realm for a bit while we reorganize, yeah? And thanks for the coffee beans. I appreciate the gift, human.”

Goro kicked the circle with his bare foot despite his lingering confusion, and the candles promptly turned back to their usual color, the chalk having gone back to normal. Well, now the coffee beans, blood and needle were gone, but everything else was still right where it was, save for the streak of chalk from Goro’s bare foot.

“Anyways,” the demon continued, “I was off to confront some asshole human who just so happens to be a reincarnation of one of the main “Sin” groups your sort likes to put my kind into. Ah, he doesn’t go by Samael anymore, but that’s the name I knew him by before he decided to up and betray me.”

“..Betray?” Goro questioned. “So why come all the way up here for one measly human anyway?”

“Hrm. Correct yourself to say “falsely powerful” human, friend. That nasty son of a bitch decided to try and give himself a foothold in Japanese politics with so many violations of the point of my movement that I want to punch him back home,” Satanael hissed, the cores of his eyes flashing gold as he dumped the feathers onto Goro’s kitchen counter. “..Actually, now that I think about it, I don’t think you summoning me was a mere accident. You feel a bit like he does.. Only a little.”

“...Huh??” It didn’t quite click to Goro, what Satanael meant, despite something telling Goro a certain bald-headed bastard might’ve been involved.

Satanael gestured to the circle, which still had his name’s characters in it. “I’m not so sure it was coincidence you wrote the name of a particularly rebellious demon, now, is it? I am the very representation of rebelling against authority, at least for some.

I’ve got a few names under my belt, because of it. Some call me “Satan”, since I’ve already rebelled once and gotten kicked out. Others like to call me “Lucifer” or “Helel”, too. But Satanael’s the preferred one. Get my drift?”

“..Wait, go back,” Goro said, standing up off the ground, while still holding onto his towel in his left hand. “A.. A rebel demon? ..W-well, I.. I wanted to rebel against my biological father.. He keeps trying to make me do his dirty work and I have a hell of a time trying to get him off my damn back.”

The teen huffed, and Satanael folded his wings, blowing out Goro’s candles and essentially helping pick up the mess all over the living room floor as the mortal of the pair turned on the kitchen lights again.

Goro opened his fridge to check for food, but was only met with a supply of apples and water bottles, and old leftovers he didn’t feel like trusting to the half-broken microwave he had to get off some sketchy online shop.

“..Uh, just out of curiosity, Satanael, do you eat?”

Kneeling in the middle of the floor with the mat, the demon lord just shrugged. “If coffee comes with it, I have no problem with what you have. I’d prefer you eat something, though. It’d be unbecoming of you to faint in the midst of teenage rebellion-ing your father.”

“Touche,” Goro responded blandly, pulling out the leftovers and a few apples. He also took out a water bottle and his coffee machine, the one other machine besides his alarm clock and his P.A.D. that worked without being too shitty, and he filled up the coffee machine’s water tank. “Oh, also.. I feel like I was rude earlier to you, so I apologize for that. My name is Goro Akechi, by the way. I’d forgotten, almost, to tell you that.”

“..Goro.. I like it,” Satanael chuckled, closing his eyes and smiling cheerfully as he placed Goro’s sewing needle back on the kitchen counter, bloodless. “I.. I suppose a more personable name I normally use while hiding among your kind is Akira. Akira Kurusu.”

“If I may.. have you been in Japan for a long time, before?” Goro asked, quietly, while he looked in the demon lord’s direction. The newly-dubbed Akira simply nodded, but in a wistful way, as his smile shrunk slightly to match.

“I’ve been here once before. Not, well, in your current capital.. but in the country. A little place called Inaba. I once happened to meet Izanami there, right when this other nasty human decided to invoke her power and try to cover the damn place in poisonous Yomi fog, all while I’d been in my human disguise. Let’s just say some humans close to your age a few years back had to put her in her place by summoning her very, very angry former husband.. I didn’t get involved much beyond observation for obvious reasons, really.”

“...” The much too tired teenager didn’t grace the little story with a response, finding it too tiring to follow beyond a basic repeat of legends he’d known since middle school. Well, besides the “Yomi fog” and the familiarity of what Akira may have been talking about.

...Oh, right.. Maybe Akira-san’s speaking about the Inaba fog murders. God, that was a disaster for their police force.. I ended up studying that for my current crappy job..

Reluctantly, Goro tossed the leftover food from the previous night onto a pair of plates, just a split-up beef bowl with noodles, and one plate went into the sketchy microwave, leaving the prep of the coffee. Another quick check of the kitchen yielded sugar and little creamer cups he’d snuck out of the office at work, and Goro turned around again to the demon lord, who had surprisingly ditched the demon form in favor of a mild, unassuming human look, complete with removed shoes already put near the apartment entrance and glasses.

“..A-ah.. Is that what it looks like?” the highschooler asked, instead of what he’d intended to ask. “It’s.. it’s a bit different, to say the least..”

Not to mention, Goro thought privately to himself, the unassuming-ness of this look feels.. cute, almost? The glasses are so nerdy, though.. The hair, though.. it helps balance that nerdiness out.. And he’s pretty tall, even as a normal human..

Akira just smiled slightly at Goro from his spot on the couch, twirling a bit of his now horn-free hair. “Well.. Sometimes, my kind has to regenerate a little at times. Sort of like those “Time Masters” from “Doctor Whom”, or whatever that human show is.

Except I just have roughly the same face, hair and voice every time. I’m halfway through at the moment, so in human terms, I am currently, in both mind and body, 16 years old... again. Does it make you feel more comfortable for me to look like this? You don’t seem too unhappy about it-”

Goro felt his cheeks heat up, and he just tried to not think about how alluring Akira’s new grey eyes looked, instead interrupting Akira in his tracks and turning his tomato-red face away again. “J-just tell me your coffee preference, please.”

“Just a touch of sugar and no creamer,” Akira reported, and the other teen could practically feel the disguised demon lord’s wink being sent in his direction as he grounded up the coffee beans in a bowl with the butt of a nearby hammer.

Dammit.. This’ll be a long however-long-he’ll-be-here, won’t it.. he thought with a frown, silently regretting ever going through with his little demon-summoning plan to ruin Shido’s day. Jeez, and on top of me getting the wrong otherworldly being, I end up with one that’s attractive!! I wish so badly to scream, Goro further thought, feeling his cheeks go on fire as he dumped the ground coffee into its filter, practically slamming the door on the filter hole shut just to snap himself out of it.

Evidently, he now had the craving to just go sit and talk with Akira for awhile instead. Goro was grateful for the stinging pain of his left hand when he grabbed the sugar bowl, grateful for a distraction from his mind’s silly, likely insomnia-caused thoughts. 

Goro shook his head at himself again, sighing as the microwave beeped to indicate the leftovers somehow didn’t get burnt.

I guess I really am wanting to date a demon lord.. Practically inevitable since he’s taken up flirting with me.. I guess this’ll just. Happen. Why not.

---

END

[ursoself-satisfying]

All Things Must Pass

this was a request!!! hes so young here wow

Joe Mazzello x F!Reader, sad/comfort fluff

A/N: i have so little time to write this was a struggle,,, i projected a lot onto this fic, using the language i use when im in a negative headspace n such so i hope it doesnt thro anyone off,,, i went thru a lot of what i felt then wrote that cus i deal w mental health issues n tried to portray what i go thru in a semi-accurate way but not one so specific its not readable u kno??? y'all that peep my references here tho get bonus points

Warnings: none rly,,, its kinda vague n sad like dealing w not discussing whats wrong n such,,,,, nothing bad tho,, not even any language wow!!! jk one language wh00ps

The warm mug in your hand didn’t improve your mood. The steam of the drink drifted up from the contents and swirled in intricate patterns near your face. You pursed your chapped lips and blinked your drying eyes. A feeling had been swelling in you for days, but you couldn’t quite identify it yet. With soft blankets curled around you and your body folded up on the couch, you pondered it again. This wasn’t an unfamiliar experience. It had been happening for years. The bite of the sharp night air bled through a crack in your draping covers and you shivered, conserving your heat by pulling further into yourself. Though familiar, this state you were in was anything but comfortable. Even if you really were comfortable like this, you wouldn’t have wanted to admit it.

The kitchen light was the only thing shining through the apartment. It wasn’t your apartment, no. This wave had to come crashing down on you when you were far from the safety of your home. This apartment was safe It belonged to your boyfriend and he made you feel safe, but he wasn’t there right now. It was just you and the sound of minuscule little droplets of rain pattering against the window. The street lights made the storm seem like a glitter against the glass, reflecting back the business of the night.

You couldn’t remember the last time you felt like this, but you had to remember it was ok not to be ok sometimes. “We naturally go through emotional highs and lows, everyone does,” she told you, “it doesn’t mean you’re broken if you feel bad- it means you're human.” ‘Remeber that,’ you'd thought, ‘remember it’s ok. You’re ok.’

Your drink smelled sweet and a little burnt. You breathed in the warmth wafting from it before slowly and cautiously tipping the cup to your lips. A hiss escaped your lips at the still scalding temperature colliding with your raw skin and you sighed. Your love of the cold weather had betrayed you and left you weak. The entire situation was stressful and tiring, and you’d cry if you could but for some horrible reason you just couldn’t.

Your mind struggled to focus on one thing at a time that had led to your current emotions but it mostly focused on the bad. Your mind was foggy and muddled and insisted on making a mental list of all the reasons your life was the absolute worst in this very moment. ‘Perhaps,’ you reasoned, ‘if I identify what's wrong, I can fix it.’

You were far from home. New York City was scary and big and loud and dirty and new to you. This was exciting and terrifying at the same time. You wanted to see everything, and Joe wanted to show it all to you, but of course, he still had work things and you were left alone. You only had so much time there and even less time with him. There was never any way you could have fit in every important place you wanted to see into the few precious hours you could share.

That led into your second reason, which was that you just desperately missed Joe. He hadn’t wanted to leave you alone,  but duty does call and he had to answer. “I love you, ok? I’m so sorry, I- I wish I could have planned for this but-”

“You couldn’t have known! It’s ok,” You’d smiled at him and he kissed you before he left. Every morning and every night and every time he had the chance, he kissed you. God, it gave you life. His face just seemed to fit into your so perfectly, like your hands were molded against his cheeks. You closed your eyes and could almost feel him there with you, his warmth keeping you sane, but when you opened your eyes, he was gone.

Maybe the third reason was that your relationship was fairly new and you were insecure in the commitment for a number of reasons- or maybe it’s just that the holiday season was upon you and that ‘seasonal depression’ was hitting you hard. There was so much to do, so much to not miss out on, and so little time to relax and actually enjoy this time of year. Joe hadn’t managed to decorate for anything yet and had actually planned to do so with you, but it didn’t look like you’d have the chance to now. There were no lights up anywhere, no festive knick-knacks up on the shelves, nothing.

‘Or maybe,’ you thought, ‘it’s not seasonal, it’s just me.’ This was a turning point and you were scared. Joe had never seen you in such a deep, naturally dark headspace before, and you had little explanation for it. There was no one thing you could blame for the way you felt. It was just- Everything. A vague yet overwhelming anxiety rolled through you that made your guts feel like they’d turned to sawdust and were swirling around inside you like you were the floor of some horrible workshop.

The lighter side of your mind spoke up, ‘Maybe that’s not such a bad comparison, I mean, you are a workshop, always tinkering, changing, evolving. You are a human bent on self-improvement. Recovery,’ the voice reminded, ‘is not linear.’

“But any step forward is a good step,” you said out loud.

“What’s that from?”

“Holy fuckin’ sh-!” Your entire body jolted violently at the surprise of the response and your drink sloshed over the sides of your mug, spilling all over your blanket. Thankfully, it was no longer hot. “God, what a- what a waste of a good cup of-” Your curses trailed off into angry murmurs and you stood before looking over at Joe standing in the entryway looking equally as startled.

He’d just come back from a meeting with a potential director for an upcoming film to be met with his girlfriend completely spaced out on the couch. She’d been sitting there for several minutes without knowing he’d come in. When he spoke and surprised her, he jumped nearly as much as she did. He went over to help her clean up the spilled drink with a soft, sorry expression. She’d already gotten up, though, and shuffled to the kitchen without really acknowledging him. Something about the situation made Joe feel sick and guilty. “I’m so sorry. I, uh,” he paused and breathed a laugh as he picked up a pillow slipping off the couch and looked at the form that had moved into the kitchen, placing the empty cup on the counter with a soft click of ceramic against marble.

His breath hitched and he forgot whatever it was he’d intended to say to her. She was cast in odd shadows from the lights of the streetlamps inside combatting with the yellow glow of from above the stove. The scene carried none of the normally blissfull air his lover had. It was sharp and contrasting, like the set of an old expressionist film. He thought she would look fit beside the likes of Nosferatu, her in her cloak of covers and tussled hair barely emerging from the makeshift hood that supported her neck. The way she’d cocooned herself reminded him of a lost child standing alone in the cold, one no passing stranger would stop to notice.

It was silent for a moment as the actor continued absorbing her aura. The cars driving about in the rain echoed through the building. The sounds of splashing through puddles and revving engines drifted by his ears. [Y/N] stared at the sink before slowly meeting her boyfriend’s gaze. They just looked at each other. Joe felt like he wasn’t even there though like she didn’t see him there. She stared through him with the same disassociated look she had when he’d walked in. His shoes suddenly became of great interest to him and dragged his attention from her to the grain of the floor. “I’m,” he gulped and raised his eyebrows in a mixture of guilt and concern, “I’m so sorry I couldn’t be here with you today.” He looked at her again and she finally seemed to notice him standing there.

His sad puppy dog eyes bore you down. You’d fallen so hard for them. Before you’d even learned his name, you knew him by his eyes. You forced yourself to process what he’d said and were quickly overcome with guilt of your own. “Oh- Oh, no! Joe,” you pleaded and sighed as you rushed to him with a sympathetic smile, “I’m sorry, I just, like, spaced out- I’m fine, it’s all fine.” You nodded lightly at him with a stretched smile and looked up at him with hands gently placed on his chest, holding tightly to the coat he’d yet to remove.

“I know you have to work and I could never-” You bit your lip as your mental search for words was shown through the frantic lines your eyes traced, “I never want to be an obstacle.” With a softened gaze, pleading for ease in the oddly uncomfortable situation, you continued, “I’m pretty sure I’m always gonna love you, and I’ll be here,” his mouth parted as you paused, “just for you. No matter how many dates you miss, as long as you’re doing your best.” A pitiful chuckle fell from your lips.

So early in your relationship, you weren’t sure when an appropriate time to address your current emotional state would present itself. Then again, is any time a good time to discuss something like this? You felt he deserved an explanation, at the very least, to ease him a bit from the stiff form he kept since he’d returned that night. ‘Where to begin’, you wondered. Before you could let another sad syllable drip from your clenched teeth, jaw tight in distracted thought, arms wrapped around you and a bristly cheek pressed against your own.

“This is weird.” He whispered, “Why are we weird right now?” The blankets around were nuzzled out of the way so he could bury his face in the crook of your neck. His nose pressed hard against your hot skin. You were unprepared for the contact. All you could focus on was his heavy breathing beside your ear, every exhale slipping down your back and making you shiver. Cautious hands danced up the back of his neck, barely touching the airs that stood on end from the undefinable energy surging between the two of you. Molding yourself to fit perfectly in the empty cavities of space left, you were flush against him, clinging to the back of his head and letting his arms shift under yours to support you.

“I’m bad right now.” Your voice was almost a whimper, choking you on it’s way out. It wasn’t even your voice, the words were breaths you let out at all once. Joe- You weren’t sure he understood, and you didn’t expect him to immediately. He has no context yet, no reference besides what you’d carefully revealed to him. It was never your intention to hide any of your traits or symptoms or past from him, or most anyone, really, but it wasn’t exactly a hot topic of conversation.

He’d remembered briefly her using the phrase ‘when I was bad’ once or twice when referring to her mental and emotional state, but she didn’t often talk about it. Either it was sensitive or simply private, but it was fine. He didn’t push. The last thing he wanted was to make her uncomfortable or drive her away. While respecting her privacy and her past, he still swelled with concern at the thought of not knowing. It was a loving kind of fear that filled his stomach when he’d imagined moments like this; moments where something was wrong, something was off and he was in the dark. He didn’t need a reason to love and support her, but he was unsure of how to help in the best way.

“Bad emotionally,” she started in barely a whisper, though it was louder than before, “not ‘bad’ like-” There was a hot huff of air with a small laugh behind it and [Y/N] sniffled, “not ‘bad’ like- like ‘I’ve been bad, officer’- not in a sexual way-” It was punctuated with a cottony laugh.

Joe shook his head softly and gave the girl in his arms a squeeze. His smile was wide, though she couldn’t see it. Her squeak made him laugh a little and he could feel the air around them suddenly lose about five pounds. It was easier to lift his shoulders in this new situation.

After a moment of breathing in sync, cars passing by, and rain beating rhythmically against the windows, the man broke the silence. “You don’t have to say anything-”

“You know I can’t do that, Joe.” He held onto her for a moment longer then pulled only his head back slightly to kiss her turned cheek while she was still in his embrace. In the warm kitchen light, the patterns of the blanket and the shadows of the passing headlight combined like brushstrokes on the scene and turned them into the likeness of a Klimt painting. Yellow cascading down their backs and an iconic arching connection made this art.

“If you’re bad, then let's make it better.” The words were pressed into her skin by his plush lips. Before pulling away, their hands found one another’s and gripped them tightly, like he was a rope and she was dangling over the ever looming pit of her past.

For the first time, she could feel a wetness pricking at her eyes. Without effort or dismay, she could cry. There were no sobs to accompany it, just silent streaming tears. She didn’t stop them for they were a gift. The damp streaks beneath each eye bent around her growing grin as she looked up at her lover through the filter of emotional release. Everything but the earthy brown around his pupils was a watery mess in her eyes. ‘God,’ she thought, ‘This- He is a good one. He is so- He is so beautiful.’

Joe could feel the pain in his chest as his heart shook, threatening to crack at the image of his love in such a fragile form. “Let’s just-” He could have claimed the rest of the sentence got stuck in his throat but the truth is there was nothing there to get stuck, nothing to follow what he’d started saying. “Is it ok if we just,” he took a deep breath, “be together? Would that- Would that help?”

“You already help. Being here helps.” Her voice was back now, though, physically, she didn’t look in any way improved.

Joe handled his girlfriend gently and urged her to the couch with him, pulling down onto his lap so they both laid on the piece of furniture long ways. Her bundled body blanketed his and he leaned back, letting her warm him. Struggling to slip off his coat as he kicked off his shoes, Joe also snaked his arm into a pocket to retrieve his phone. He pulled it out with a small noise of pride and held it out in front of him. “A little George Harrison makes everything better, right?” There was a sleepy hum of agreement and ‘My Sweet Lord’ played softly from the speaker of his device. He nestled into [Y/N]’s and closed his eyes. He held the phone in his hands, clasped together as his arms wrapped around the woman.

The ‘hallelujahs’ seemed in time with the weather outside as the couple drifted further from the present and into their own billowing comfort. The lights still were yellow outside, as they were inside, and the cars didn’t stop speeding through the puddles. Though you doubted the return of these feelings would stop, for now, you were content. Joe was there with you and it somehow, just his presence, made some of the sadness wash away. He was like a rain on your pity parade, saving you from any continued celebration of your own inabilities. Tomorrow, there might be explanations needed, but tonight you felt blessed. He was safe. He was warm. Your mind wasn’t racing and your eyes weren’t dry. This was better than anything you’d been feeling, anything swelling inside you the past few days. This wasn’t an unfamiliar experience, and you’d hoped it would never become one.

Glancing up at the man beneath you one last time, you smiled genuinely, bliss settling in your center, and you closed your eyes. George Harrison lulled you to sleep that night, and safely asleep you fell, holding tightly to Joe through it all, just as tightly as he held you.

[you-get-to-exhale-now-cyrus]

Cyrus’ Dictionary

1 || 2 || 3 || 4 || 5 || 6 || 7 || 8 || 9 || 10 || 11 || 12 || 13 || 14 || 15 || 16

Summary: Cyrus has always been good with words; there’s a reason English is his favorite subject. But with TJ, he seems to be at a loss for words. When they get paired up for a summer assignment, Cyrus slowly starts to build a new dictionary. One that involves TJ and everything they do together. Along the way, maybe he’ll find the words to tell him how he feels.

Chapter 16: Basorexia

Word Count: 3304

Read on AO3

Cyrus woke up to his head pounding. He groaned, placing a hand to his head, but all thoughts of pain seemed to melt away upon seeing TJ. He smiled to hard that it felt like his face was going to split. Carefully, as though not to wake him, he placed his hand under his jaw, sending a zip of electricity down his arm. And boy, did he really want to kiss him. He’d never felt such a strong urge before, but he was pretty sure TJ would forever spite him for having their first kiss while he was still asleep. Rolling over, he plucked his journal from the drawer, flipping to the back of the pages.

basorexia: the overwhelming desire to kiss someone

He flipped back onto his stomach, gingerly pushing TJ’s arm. “Psst, TJ,” he whispered, “it’s time to get up,”

TJ groaned in response, putting a hand over his face. “It’s too early,” he mumbled out, his words almost unintelligible.

“It’s never too early,” he whispered, resting his head on the athlete’s shoulder.

TJ smiled, eyes still shut, and reached down to try and find Cyrus’ hand, intertwining it with Cyrus’. “You remember what I do?”

Cyrus tapped his chin, pretending to think it over. “Remember what?”

TJ fluttered his eyes open, tapping Cyrus’ chest lightly. “You little shit,” he chuckled, attacking him with tickles. Cyrus’ laughter was the more beautiful sound he’d ever heard; he could listen to it forever

“And you love me for it,” Cyrus choked out, a few laughs getting caught in his throat.

“Yeah. . .I do,” TJ whispered, smiling that soft smile that was only reserved for Cyrus.

Cyrus started leaning in, his eyes fluttering shut briefly. Here it was; he was finally going to do what he’d been wanting to for such a long time. TJ was so close he could already feel his heart racing.

“What are you doing?”

TJ’s words snapped him out of his thoughts, causing his eyes to open wide, and his face to turn an embarrassing shade of red. “O-oh, uh, kissing? You? Is that not okay?”

TJ smiled, squeezing the other boy’s hand. “I wanna take you on a real date first,”

Cyrus perked up at that; it was the one thing he’d wanted more than anything. “Today?”

TJ nodded. “Today,”

Cyrus put a hand over his chest. “Maybe today can be our always,”

TJ rolled his eyes, ruffling the other boy’s hair. “I cannot believe I love this fool,” he murmured, pushing the covers off. He reached into his bag for his phone, checking it for new messages.

[andi’s girlfriend: help. mom suspects im gay. need help]

TJ felt his heart sink into his stomach, clutching his phone tightly. “Actually, can we postpone? I need to help Amber,” he admitted, turning to Cyrus with a look of upsetness.

“You’re going to go back there? What about your mom?” he asked, putting his hands on the boy’s shoulders.

“She needs me. Stay here, Cy,” he said, starting out the door.

“Wait, Teej!”

He turned back around, and Cyrus came full force at him, wrapping his arms around him. “You’re killing it as a brother,”

By the time TJ had reached the door, he was nearly out of breath, wheezing with each step. He really needed basketball season to pick up again. He could already hear the arguing before he entered the door.

“-you can’t cherry pick the Bible-”

“-do not use that tone with me, I will-”

“-you just don’t listen! Why won’t you let me explain that-”

“-there’s nothing for you to say-”

“What’s going on here?” TJ’s voice boomed above the others, garnering their attention. It was the first time he’d spoken to his mom in a while.

“This doesn’t concern you,” she snapped, crossing her arms and pacing around the kitchen.

“Actually it does,” he cut in cooly, “Amber’s my sister, and your daughter. You should love her, and me, no matter what,”

“But-”

“But nothing,” he hissed, coming up behind Amber and putting his hands on her shoulders, “there are no ‘buts’ when it comes to love,”

And with that, TJ grabbed Amber’s hand and the two of them headed out the door, shutting it with a slam. TJ didn’t have a destination in mind, he was just walking. Arm around Amber, he told her that things were going to be, that they had to be. That their mom was going to come around to it eventually. None of these things did he know were true, but he knew he needed to console Amber.

After walking absentmindedly for a little while, they found themselves at the cemetery. Both of them could pick out their dad’s gravestone without any hesitation, even if it did look just like the other ones. Mumbling something under his breath that sounded like a vague prayer, TJ let Amber through the gates, walking slowly to their dad’s gravestone.

“Hi dad,” TJ started, his voice feeling thick and strained all of a sudden, “I miss you. Things are tough at home,”

“Mom knows we’re gay,” Amber cut in, shutting her eyes, “things aren’t good. And I know you would accept us no matter what. Even when we were little and didn’t know we were gay, you were always so nice to everyone,” she remembered, a soft smile on her face.

“We need help,” TJ murmured, “please, give us a sign. Something that things are going to be okay,” he murmured, his fingers tracing all the crevices of the stone.

“I love you, dad. Miss you,” Amber choked out, pressing a kiss to her fingers, and then pressing them to the stone. Both of them lingered a moment longer, before leaving and starting to walk again. A small ladybug landed on Amber’s shoulder, but neither of them noticed it.

“Wanna go to Cyrus’ house?” he asked, to which Amber agreed. He pulled out his phone, sending Cyrus a quick text.

[Underdog <3: amber is gonna come over with me <3 <3 <3 <3]

Amber peered over his shoulder, noting the heart emojis. “Suddenly you’re all into emojis, huh,”

TJ snickered, slinging an arm around her. “Something like that,”

“But you can all stay here!” Cyrus insisted, taking Amber’s hand in his.

TJ shook his head. “I can’t ask you to do that, Cy. I’ve already overstayed my visit. I don’t think I could say thank you enough,”

Amber gave his hand a squeeze, offering a sympathetic smile. “Thank you,” she whispered.

TJ nudged Cyrus. “So much for postponing our date, huh,”

Amber snapped up, nearly hitting Cyrus as she tore away from the hug. “What?”

Cyrus chuckled, lacing TJ’s hand with his. “Oh did we not tell you? We like each other,”

“Called it! I called it, like, months ago,” she bragged, crossing her arms. Her phone buzzed, and she opened it up.

[jonah: hey do u wanna hang out?]

[Me: sure! your house?]

[jonah: yup]

“I gotta go, but you two lovebirds have fun on your date,” she smiled, giving TJ a knowing look, “tell me everything,” she insisted, walking out with a small wave.

“So about that date?” TJ asked, his eyes hopeful.

“I was thinking a picnic? It’s a really nice day,” Cyrus suggested, nodding towards the window.

“Absolutely,”

“. . .and so them we went over to Cyrus’ house, and then you texted,” she explained, leaning back against the couch. It was a little weird that she was talking to her ex-boyfriend about her girlfriend problems, but it was funny the way things worked out. She felt oddly comfortable around Jonah.

“That sucks, Amber. I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do,” he offered, crossing his legs.

Amber waved him off. “It’s not your fault. How are things with you and Walker?”

Jonah smiled sadly, pulling his knees up. “He’s on vacation right now. I miss him. We’ve been hanging out all summer, like, every single day, and now it just feels. . .empty,”

Amber gave his shoulder a light shove. “You can’t wallow in your sadness. C’mon let’s do something,”

“Like what?”

“Whatever you want. It’s your house, after all,” she pointed out.

Jonah’s lips curled into a tentative smile. “Karaoke?”

Amber’s face lit up, and she repeatedly clapped her hands. “Oh my gosh, yes!”

Jonah beamed, nodding for her to get up. “I have a machine in my basement. C’mon,” he said, leading her down there, “wait hold on,” he said, reaching up to her shoulder, “ladybug,”

Amber smiled, pressing a hand against her heart. Dad.

The two of them belted to their heart's’ content, from one hit wonders of the 90’s, to the ‘trash’ on the radio these days. Their faces hurt from smiling and laughing so much, but they wouldn’t trade that feeling for anything. It was nice to be able to escape from reality for a little while.

“Mini muffin?” Cyrus offered, leaning back against the oak tree. TJ gladly took it, shifting over by him and pressing his back against the tree.

“Did you make these?”

Cyrus scoffed. “No, I got them from the bakery,” he admitted, “but it’s the thought that counts?”

“It is,” TJ agreed, stuffing the whole thing in his mouth, “this is really nice,” he mumbled through chewing.

“Worth the wait?” Cyrus mused, taking his hand.

“Duh,”

Cyrus beamed, grabbing his journal and a pencil, flipping to the next open page and starting to write.

7/1

Today I went on a date with TJ and

“Weren’t you going to show me something in there last night?” TJ cut in, prompting Cyrus to stop writing.

“Oh,” he mumbled, embarrassed, “it’s stupid,” he muttered, shutting the journal.

“Nothing you could ever write is stupid,” TJ assured him, putting a hand over his.

Cyrus knew he wouldn’t be able to look at that smile without caving. “Okay. So, like, during the summer, I’ve been keeping track of, like, very specific words. But they’re like based on us hanging out, if that makes any sense. I’ve been keeping track of them in here,”

TJ smiled wider than he ever had. “Can I see?” he asked softly, and Cyrus pushed the journal into his hands. He flipped to the back, tracing his finger over Cyrus’ neat handwriting.

“Aga-uh, agatho-” he squinted, trying to pronounce the alphabet soup of letter that was the first word.

“Agathokakological,” Cyrus said seamlessly, peering over at the list of words, “it’s like, someone that’s made up of both good and bad,”

TJ shook his head, almost in disbelief. “That’ me to a ‘T’,” he noted, moving on to the next word, “. . .duende. Looks kinda like dude,”

Cyrus laughed, scooting a little closer to TJ. “It’s like the power of art to move a person. When you were talking about sculptures that day, I couldn’t help but notice,” he mumbled.

TJ smiled wider, if that was even possible at this point. “Nyctophilia?”

“A love of darkness and night. Remember when we went stargazing?”

TJ chuckled, taking out his phone and scrolling through his camera roll until he found the selfie he took of him and Cyrus, with the latter boy being asleep. “I think I remember,”

Cyrus shoved TJ lightly, craning his neck a little to better see the picture. “You goof,”

“You missed the shooting star that night,” TJ informed him, shutting his phone off.

“Oh? What’d you wish for?”

TJ snorted. “Take a wild guess,” he said, squeezing his hand. Cyrus ducked his head, miserably failing at hiding his blush.

“Cingulomania. . .is that some disease?” TJ wondered, to which Cyrus laughed, leaning his head on TJ’s shoulder.

“No, it’s, like, the desire to hold someone in your arms,” he explained, thinking back to the day at the laser tag arena.

“Well in that case,” TJ mumbled, snaking an arm around Cyrus’ back and pulling him close. Cyrus breathed in deeply, inhaling the vague scent of cherry chapstick on TJ’s lips.

“Nepenthe,” he continued down the list.

“Something that can make you forget grief or suffering,” Cyrus supplied, grazing his fingers over TJ’s knuckles.

“That night in the basement? The sleepover?” TJ asked, swallowing hard. He didn’t really want to tread here.

Cyrus nodded, letting out a soft sigh. “That was a nice night,”

Not the word I would have used. “Well. . .yeah, yeah, nice,”

Cyrus furrowed his brows, tilting his head up. “Something the matter?”

TJ shook his head, trying to figure out how to word this as lightly as possible. “After you left in the morning. . .my mom was saying things, like, that I shouldn’t hang out with you because. . .”

“Oh,” Cyrus mumbled, his eyes flitting down to their hands, “sorry,”

“It’s not your fault,” he assured him, “next word,” he said quickly, scanning down the list. Cyrus nodded, his hair brushing ever so lightly against TJ’s jaw.

“Philophobia,”

“Remember that day we met in the park? And we talked about Andi and Amber? You said something about being. . .afraid, I guess, of getting emotionally attached to people,”

TJ nodded, smirking. “I guess you were the one exception,”

“Aw,” Cyrus cooes, motioning for TJ to go on.

“Mam- hold on, uhm, mamiha-”

“Mamihlapinatapai,” Cyrus says with relative ease, only stumbling once, “I’m assuming you remember the day at the Spoon when we. . .”

“. . .stared off?” TJ finished, to which Cyrus nodded, “yeah, I remember that,”

“Mamihlapinatapai.  It’s like a look exchanged between people, and they both want something to happen, but nothing does,” Cyrus explained, meeting TJ’s eyes. They were so close, dangerously close. TJ quickly turned his gaze back to the journal.

“Thantophobia. Lots of phobias,” he notes, running his finger down the spine of the journal.

“That’s from. . .the day we went shopping for Christmas sweaters. The word, it’s like, like a fear of losing someone that you love,” he said softly, and TJ almost didn’t catch it.

TJ leaned his head on top of Cyrus. “Yeah. I never wanna lose you,”

“And you won’t,” Cyrus assured him, “next word?”

“Wonderwall. . .like the Taylor Swift song?” TJ questioned with a grin.

“You know the Taylor Swift song?”

TJ scoffed. “I’m not uncultured. Is that what it’s from?”

Cyrus shook his head. “No, not from that. It means, like, someone that you can’t stop thinking about, no matter how hard you try,”

TJ carded his fingers through the other boy’s hair. “You really are too cute,”

Cyrus put a hand over his face, the heat radiating. “Next word,” he mumbled.

“Naz,”

“That night at the fair, when we were on the ferris wheel. And I was like ‘I’d love you no matter what’,” Cyrus started, “that’s kind of what it is. Knowing that you are loved no matter what,”

“Platonically?”

Cyrus nearly laughed at that. “At the time? Probably not,” he admitted bashfully.

“Anam cara,”

Cyrus beamed. “Soul friend,” he said, “it was from that night at the tree house,”

“I remember that,” TJ murmured, blinking slowly.

“I think that’s the night that I realized how hard I’d fallen for you,”

And if TJ wasn’t blushing before, he sure was now. “You’re such a sap,”

“I do not appreciate the mockery,” Cyrus defended, tapping the journal, “next,”

“Kalon,”

Cyrus’ face was burning, and these words were not helping. “It’s. . .beauty that’s more than skin deep,”

TJ picked his head up off of Cyrus’, bringing a finger under his chin and hooking it up. “You think I’m beautiful?”

“Now that you say it out loud it sounds stupid,” Cyrus whined, reaching for the journal with an eraser, but TJ stopped him.

“No, no! It’s, like, really endearing. I love it,” TJ promised him, taking the eraser and tossing it back in the picnic basket.

Cyrus relaxed, draping an arm across TJ’s chest. “Next word,” he whispered.

TJ squinted at the page. “Some french nonsense that I’m not even going to try and begin to pronounce,”

Cyrus puffed out a breath. “La douleur exquise,” Cyrus supplied, laying the French accent on thick and obnoxious, “that’s like the heartbreaking realization that someone you love is unattainable,”

TJ laughed, throwing his head back so that he tapped the tree behind him. “Clearly that’s a lie,”

Cyrus chuckled; TJ’s laughter was infectious. “I guess so,” he whispered, looking up and immediately getting lost in TJ’s eyes. Shaking himself out of the daze, TJ turned back to the words.

“Quinceanera,”

Cyrus’ face scrunched up, leaning to see the page. “That says querencia,” he pointed out, “it’s. . .well, it’s like a place where you feel most at home. Where you feel like your most authentic self,”

“So, like, wherever you are,” TJ whispered; Cyrus could feel his warm breath on his face, they were so close.

“Next word,” Cyrus murmured, his eyes not once leaving TJ.

“Redemancy,”

“A love returned in full,” Cyrus whispered.

“Hm, I think I have someone in mind,” TJ joked, cracking a smile out of Cyrus. He brings their noses to touch, and TJ has to strain his eyes to see the last one in order to not break contact.

“Basorexia,”

Cyrus smiled softly. “The overwhelming feeling of wanting to kiss someone,”

“Oh, really? Diagnose me with that shit,” TJ laughed, and Cyrus felt like he could melt right then and there.

“Can I. . .you know,”

“Kiss me?” TJ finished, a smug look on his face.

Cyrus nodded sheepishly, unable to maintain eye contact for more than a second. “Yeah. . .that,”

“What’s stopping you?”

Cyrus hesitated, biting at his lips nervously. It’d been a while since he’d been this nervous around TJ, of all people. “I-I don’t know,”

TJ pulled his hands up, holding one of Cyrus’ in both of his. “We don’t have to if you’re not ready,” he promised him. He didn’t want to rush Cyrus into something he wasn’t comfortable with.

Cyrus shook his head, with confidence. “Please, I’ve been ready for this for a while,”

“Me too,”

TJ didn’t move, instead waiting for Cyrus to do something, which he did. He counted all the freckles on his nose before leaning forward and connecting their lips. It was unlike anything he’d felt before; it was like TJ’s lips were air and he couldn’t breathe. TJ felt like all the wind was knocked out of him; his lips were buzzing, and any other sound in the world melted away into nothingness. In retrospect, it was a pretty mediocre kiss, but it was everything in the world to TJ and Cyrus.

“Holy fucking shit,” TJ mumbled after he’d pulled back, taking in a deep breath; it was his first breath after his first kiss.

Cyrus rolled his eyes, punching him lightly. “Way to ruin the moment,”

“You’re blushing,” TJ countered, pinching his cheeks endearingly. Cyrus pouted, shaking his head.

“So are you, Mr. Tomato,” Cyrus joked, sticking his tongue out.

“So what’s today’s word?” TJ asked, tugging Cyrus into his lap and pressing a soft kiss to his temple.

“That was today’s word, dork,”

“Can I add one?” he asked, fishing out the pencil from the basket.

“Sure,”

TJ scrawled down a word at the bottom, trying to make it look as much as Cyrus’ handwriting as he could. When he showed it to Cyrus, the boy put his head in his hands.

logolepsy: an obsession with words

“I am not obsessed with words,” Cyrus pouted, his words muffled.

TJ held the journal up above his head, out of Cyrus’ reach. “I beg to differ,” he countered, chuckling lightly.

“. . .fine. I like words,” Cyrus admitted, “happy?”

“Just like?” TJ shot back, smirking.

“You talk too much,” Cyrus huffed, cupping TJ’s face and pulling him closer, “round two?”

TJ nodded, and this time it was him who closed the gap. This kiss wasn’t electric like the first; it was safe and familiar, like he’d been here a thousand times before. No other thoughts rattled around in his mind; all he was thinking about was how lucky he was, to be able to share this moment with someone he loved so much.

Tag List: @shortstackofpeaches || @seanna313 || @geekingbeautytx || @heavenlybyers || @ginnychrises|| @wlwandimack || @giocondasstuff || @lemonboytyrus || @adorejrizzle || @swingsetboys || @ifellintotyrushell || @idk-dude-17 || @rbf-lesbian || @marianara-sauce || @kaptainjinxz || @alex-poster-pizz || @quietmarvel || @blueberry-my-hero-macadamia || @broadwayitbitch || @tjsmuffin || @tjthekippen || @idpleasesir || @hi-hello-hey-there || @bingewatchingenthusiast|| @booklove-2 || @illbeyourreasonwhy || @birdiesandflowers || @whistlepunk || @phinallyjackie || @thedampjofangirl || @tyrus4eva || @tj-is-a-lemony-boy || @tj-goodman-bittersweet-boy || @dis-app-oin-tme-nt || @nessarinthegay || @breadisticks || @typewriter-riz || @gobletofash || @bluemuffinboy || @sofuuh || @cheesystars || @tjmuffin || @multifandom-bxitch || @allylovessadie || @hithatsmyname || @tyrusinarush || @tyrus-lookback || @gaycefulwords || @theobligatedklutz || @bambikippen ||

[quilloftheclouds]

for the oc asks: 67, 73, 90, 100 (for any of your characters! hope u have a great week!)

[Send me an oc name and a number!]

HISS TUMBLR DELETED MY FIRST ATTEMPT AT ANSWERING THIS

anyways

LET’S TRY AGAIN, SHALL WE? I hope you have a great week as well!! I’ll be rolling a die to choose which characters to use~

67. How many people does your oc prefer to be around? A crowd, a few friends, or all on their own?

Dione doesn’t like anyone. ^^’ I mean. She’s got social anxiety, and it’s pretty evident that she much prefers to be on her own at almost all times.

Funny thing is there seems to be a bit of an exception developing with a certain someone~ >u>

73. If your oc were to be arrested, what would it most likely be for? Is it justified? Have they actually been arrested before?

Rose! Okay so, despite Rose] lying about working for the Navy, she actually does quite a few things that are Definitely Not Legal. One of these things is stealing and reading classified documents she shouldn’t have access to, and this is likely the most probable thing she would be caught for of the lot of her crimes. Back when she worked as a bounty hunter, Rose could get away with quite a bit because of her high rank, so I don’t think she’s actually been arrested before! (Or if she was, she would immediately be released upon her captors realizing who she was!)

90. Does your oc have any objects they could never give up? Why is it so important to them? Do they have any family heirlooms?

XUÀN

This is... a little spoilery but ah well who cares I Love My Pirate Nerd.

Captain Xuàn is actually the Guardian of Surge’s Fang, one of the five Ascendant artifacts. This is a push dagger (more specifically the blade of said push dagger) that’s oddly shaped like a shark’s tooth, and... probably contains something magical, though you’re not allowed to know what that is, yet~

Anyways, because of her status as Guardian, she’s not allowed to lose it or give it up unless officially passing it on to another Guardian!

Family heirloom-wise, she was supposed to be given a certain compass that someone else of the cast now holds.

100. Does your character ever swear? How often? How vulgar is their swearing?

Phoenix is probably one of my most common swearers. She’s a sailor, and not the most formal of them, so coarse language is something she grew up with and is accustomed to. She’s usually fairly good about avoiding its usage around children, and she’s definitely not one to swear all the time, but certainly in bad situations you’ll hear a few f-bombs from her and other curses of that level or lower.

Thank you for the ask!!