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mokulule · 5 months

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Take Out for Dummies - Part 3

Aka Danny has been hired to take out Red Hood, there may or may not have been a misunderstanding.

First | Masterpost

Jason had carefully checked their surrounding for cameras, but they ended up doing as Danny had suggested, sitting back to back each with their own collection of various meats and vegetables on sticks.

Danny groaned and leaned his weight back against Jason. “What is it about food on a stick that makes it so delicious?”

Jason chuckled, “I don’t know.”

It was simple fare, charred just the right amount from the grill and spicy in a way that warmed.

There was a moment of silence.

“You have a very nice voice, you know? Like I get the voice modulation is meant to be scary and all and it makes sense. Just… you have a nice voice.”Jason swallowed. He wasn’t sure why his throat felt so tight all of a sudden.

“Thanks.” He didn’t know what else to say.

They finished eating and Danny jumped up with renewed restless energy, still turned away from Jason.

“Tell me when you’re decent.”

Jason snorted as he pulled the helmet back on and it came online. “I’ll show you indecent.”

Danny squeaked. Jason turned around to find him hiding his face in his hands in embarrassment. At least Jason wasn’t the only one with the dirty thoughts.

“Alright-“ Jason peeled one of Danny’s hands away to hold it, “show the way. Are we breaking in?”

“Uh-“ Danny looked from Jason to the hand, his cheeks were dusted a very becoming pink - turnabout really was fair play. Finally he seemed to come back online as he shook his head.

“No, I have a key.”

Jason grabbed the trash bag in his other hand as Danny was still carting around his unicorn.

“Why do you have a key to the ice rink?”

“I do maintenance here sometimes, so I asked to borrow the rink for tonight.”

“Are there anyone in Gotham you don’t know at this point?”

“I’m sure there are plenty still,” Danny answered the rhetorical question as he opened the roof access door. Why that was the door he had a key to was another question entirely. Though they may of course just all use the same key.

They went down a stairwell and out into the cold hall with the frozen rink as centerpiece. Jason eyed Danny’s thin button down shirt, if he’d planned this why hadn’t he brought a jacket?

“There’s skates over there,” Danny pointed to the skate renting counter on the left side of the room. “will you grab me a pair of size seven skates, while I turn on some music and lights?”

Jason did as asked jumping the counter. There was a convenient trash can behind the counter where he could dump the bag.

When he returned to the main hall with skates in hand his eyes widened. When Danny had said turn on the lights he hadn’t expected them to be from those multicolored disco balls, nor for the music to put them back to the 70’s with an upbeat disco track.

“What do you think?” Danny yelled from where he ducked out from an operator room.

“It’s something alright,” Jason yelled back as he sat down on one of the benches and started pulling his boots off. He snorted as he realized something: if this was still an elaborate hit, Danny would be the type to love the double pun of taking out Red Hood by putting him on ice.

Jason didn’t actually think this was a hit. Hadn’t thought so in quite a while. He’d let his guard down.

Danny walked over with that small smile on his face that made Jason wonder if this was just his base state; just happy, enjoying himself, doing his little odd jobs, helping kids out for pebbles because he could, taking Red Hood out on a date.

Jason still didn’t know what to think about that. Like even if he genuinely thought whoever asked him to take out Red Hood meant on a date, there was still that logic break where Danny had decided, yeah sure sounds like a fun time, let’s just corner the former crime lord current vigilante on a rooftop in the middle of the night to ask his date preferences.

Danny was definitely not normal in any sense of the word, but Jason found that he couldn’t help but like that. Some good kind of crazy in this city for once.

“Never been to a skating disco before?” Danny asked when he within easy speaking range.

“Can’t say that I have.”

“Well not that there’s really any expectations here since it’s just the two of us, so we can do whatever.” Danny grinned, sat down next Jason and pulled his shoes off. He was in his skates and jumping to his feet in no time at all. He wobbled, and windmilled his arms so as not to fall and Jason had to grab him and steady him.

“Are you sure you have tried this before?”

“I’ll have you know I’m a great skater.” Danny sniffed, brushing Jason off, as he started awkwardly walking towards the rink in his skates.

“Just not at walking in them.”

Danny sent him a bewildered look. “Nobody is good at walking in skates.”

Jason rolled his eyes and tightened and tied off the last lace. He didn’t jump up carelessly like Danny, instead he rose and took careful steps. While it was indeed neither comfortable or normal to walk on the bladed edge of the skates, he did make it seem a great deal more natural than Danny had.

Danny stuck out his tongue at him for that and Jason couldn’t help but laugh.

“Yeah yeah, laugh it up. Join me on the ice and we’ll see who’s laughing.” With that he stepped onto the ice in a languid, confident glide, that immediately made it clear, that Danny did indeed know how to skate.

But Jason was no slouch either. He could skate even if it’s been a while and he never said no to a challenge. It took a moment for Jason to get used to the ice below his feet, but he quickly gained both speed and confidence.

Danny caught his eyes then with a wink, turned, and built up speed in a few quick glides and then he was jumping off the ice, spinning in the air and at what seemed like last moment he landed on just one leg, the other leg stretched out behind him as he leaned forward in something almost like a bow.

Okay so it turns out Danny couldn’t just skate he could skate. As in he could do not just spins but flips - Jason could do flips fine on the ground; he was not quite Dick enough to try it on ice. Of course Danny was also being a little shit about it.

There was something about that smile he was sporting that made Jason just want to reach out and grab him - and do what? He wasn’t sure. But there was an invite to try and catch him in the way he glided around Jason, responding to Jason’s movements by darting away like a fish only to come back, but never close enough to reach.

Jason smiled. Okay, he would bite.

When next Danny passed, he lunged. Danny shot forward with a delighted laugh. Jason wasn’t far behind him, but Danny’s turns were needle point sharp as he lead Jason on a merry chase across the ice. He was slippery as a fucking eel, the way he kept himself just shy of Jason’s fingertips every time he reached for him.

He was doing it on purpose too, Jason realized. He was letting Jason get close only to twist and turn and escape with a laugh and leave Jason to regain the balance he lost by lunging. Jason didn’t immediately pick up the chase this time.

“What’s the matter Hood? Can’t keep up?”Jason huffed. No, he couldn’t. That much was clear at this point. But that didn’t mean the game was over. It only meant Jason had to work smarter not harder. He stuck his hands in his jacket pockets and started on a leisured circuit of the rink.

“Did you skate a lot as a kid?”

Danny came into Jason’s field of view, skating backwards effortlessly. There was a slight pout on his face at the interrupted game, but he answered Jason’s question, “Not really.”

“Huh, how did you learn to skate then?” Jason asked surprised.

That wiped away Danny’s pout and Jason felt a twinge of anticipation for what surely boded another fun story, but nothing could have prepared him for what actually came out of Danny’s mouth.

“I was taught by a yeti named Frostbite, he’s like my mentor in everything ice.”

“A yeti?” Jason spluttered.

Danny grinned in a way that showed he knew exactly how outrageous it sounded, but still kept his voice perfectly even when he said, “yes, it’s their national sport.”

Jason laughed. He couldn’t help it. “Uh huh, and where did you meet this yeti?”

“A place called the Far Frozen, not many people have heard of it. They tend to be rather reclusive.”

Danny didn’t falter one moment in his explanation. He either had a selection of stories he told or he was extremely good at improvising. He was also suddenly within reach, guard down as he thought Red Hood had given up on the game.

Jason lunged. Danny’s eyes widened comically as he realized his mistake and tried to backpedal, but it was too late. Jason had him wrapped in his arms. They both went down overbalanced from Danny’s struggle. Jason twisted them so he took the brunt of the fall. Danny didn’t deserve to be caught beneath 225 pounds of vigilante even if he’d been asking for it.

They laid there on the ice catching their breaths.

“Bastard, you caught me.” Danny finally spoke giggling like he couldn’t believe it.

“Yeah, you shouldn’t have-“ Jason stopped, finally noticing how cold Danny was. “You’re freezing!”

“No really it’s fine-“ Danny protested as Jason pulled him back up, but Jason wouldn’t have it.

“Who forgets to wear a jacket when going skating,” Jason grumbled pulling his jacket off and wrapping it around Danny shoulders. It looked comically large hanging off Danny’s small frame, but Jason only gave himself a small moment to appreciate it before drawing Danny close again.

It took a moment but then Danny relaxed into the hold.

“How’s this? Better?” Jason asked after a while.

Danny looked up his eyes wide and blue and maybe a little overwhelmed. “Y-yeah.”

Jason frowned looking around to locate the bench where their shoes were. “We should probably get out of this cold.”

“No,” Danny said immediately pressing close, then flinched, before saying quietly, “can we just stay like this for a bit?”

Jason blinked in confusion. It didn’t make sense to stay in the cold, but he found himself agreeing quietly.

The music at this point had turned to quieter songs. Jason was starting to feel the cold himself by staying still, and he started to sway to the music, moving just a little across the ice. Danny looked up. He wiggled around and it took only a moment for him to actually find the sleeves and push his arms through. Jason let go to let him and soon found his hands captured in still cold but no longer freezing hands.

“Dance with me?” Danny asked.

Jason couldn’t say no to that, but “I’ve never danced on ice before.”

Danny grinned and glided back in close, getting them positioned for a waltz. “It doesn’t have to be right, but you lead and I’ll follow and make sure we don’t fall on our asses.”

Jason scoffed as he lead them into a glide that had Danny moving along mostly backwards on the ice.

“You don’t trust me to follow.”

“No,” Danny grinned, “But I do trust you to catch me.”

Jason rolled his eyes fondly behind the helmet. Then dipped Danny suddenly to make him prove it. There wasn’t a hint of struggle, he stayed relaxed in his hold as if they’d danced together like this a million times. Jason didn’t know what to do with that, and pulled him back up.

Jason didn’t know how long they danced. Danny had started talking quietly after a while admitting he hadn’t gone on a date since he went to high school, and got Jason to admit he liked reading. but he did know his feet were starting to hurt. Still he was reluctant for it to be over.

It was only when Danny failed in hiding a yawn they left the rink.

Jason rolled the bike to a smooth stop putting one foot down to keep balance. He let go of the handlebars and straightened up to allow Danny to get off.

However instead of getting off Danny took off the helmet, hung it on a handlebar and twisted around bringing his legs up until he faced Jason and could wrap them lightly around Jason’s waist. Jason’s mind went blank at the way it brought them closer, the only thing keeping the position somewhat decent for the public was the unicorn now squished between them. If Jason now wished he’d never won the thing, that was a secret he was taking to his second grave.

“So,” Danny said conversationally, wrapping his arms loosely around Jason’s neck, leaning his forearms on his shoulders almost thoughtfully, “I had fun.” He smiled. “I hope you also had fun, that was the whole purpose after all.”

He paused - maybe waiting for a response, but Jason didn’t even know what to say. He certainly wasn’t going to admit he had fun. That was- Red Hood wouldn’t do that. He’d already behaved way too much like himself tonight.

There was a momentary frown on Danny’s face before it smoothed out replaced by a soft smile, that Jason had no idea what to do with. “This is the point where a successful date is usually rewarded with a kiss - you can say no?”

Jason stiffened.

Surely he wasn’t going to?!

Danny leaned in, his smile turned wicked for a moment as his hands splayed out on either side of the helmet. Jason needed to stop him, but instead his traitorous hands landed on Danny’s waist.

He needed to push him away; he didn’t.

Danny’s hands tightened on the helmet, pulling-

Except he didn’t pull the helmet off, he just pulled Jason closer and tilted his head backwards and then pressed his lips to the helmet, right were his mouth would have been. It was chaste, but not just a quick peck. No, it was a slow and languid press in a way that made Jason all too aware that there was little more than an inch between their lips, but it might as well have been miles for the barrier between them. Slow in a way that made Jason’s breath catch in his throat and his treacherous brain wish Danny had removed the fucking helmet.

Danny drew back, his blue eyes practically sparkling in mischief and he lightly bonked his forehead against the helmet before twisting around again and jumping off, Jason letting him reluctantly.

“See you around, Hood.” Danny waved once before he started walking down the road, unicorn plushie under one arm, utterly unafraid to walk the most crime ridden streets of Gotham in the early hours of the morning. Presumably he was going home to his mystery residence.

Jason should follow him. It was the perfect time to find out more about the mystery that was Odd-Job Danny. It was why he’d agreed to the date in the first place. Right?

Instead his brain was going around in circles, wondering if he had pulled up his helmet when Danny first mentioned the kiss, not pulled it off of course, just up to his nose or so, would Danny have gone through with it? Would he have actually kissed him? Or did he only do it because he knew the helmet was there in between them?

Did Jason want him to kiss him?

Fuck. He did.

Danny was gone now, nowhere to be seen. Whatever chance he’d had of figuring out more was gone. And yet that seemed the least of Jason’s problems.

So that's the end of the date, though of course not the end of the story. Consider commenting or writing something in the tags if you liked it, things irl are gonna be very busy for the next year so I could use all the motivation for writing I can scrape together. You can subscribe at the masterpost for future updates. Next

#take out for dummies #dead on main #dp x dc

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nomazee · 1 month

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Hello, congratulations on your milestone! 🎉

May I have (for the mix-and-match 😚) Dr.Ratio and the word-concept "bathtub"? 🫢

Take your time! ❤️❤️

this one was fun to write too (as per usual with ratio) i've written for dr ratio so much in the last two weeks i think i am becoming him.... Im slowly morphing into veritas ratio please save me... THANK YOU FOR REQUESTING this was lovely :3

my 1k event!

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“No way. You take bubble baths with a rubber duck?”

Veritas freezes for no longer than a millisecond before whipping his head around to see you in the doorway of the bathroom. He’d been relaxing just moments ago, sinking into the hot water with his eyes closed, and yes there was a rubber duck in the bath with him but that was not by choice. It just happened to be there when he ran the bath, and he opens his mouth to argue but is quickly cut off by your endless rambling.

“Anyways, I came to wash your hair. One of your assistants told me you just left in the middle of your usual work hours, and I thought, ‘wow, how odd, the Ratio I know would never do that!’ And then I thought, what better way to cheer my dear friend up than keep him company and wash his hair! It did look a little greasy today.”

“I am not your dear friend,” he argues mockingly, but the bite in his voice falls short when you circle around the bath and set down your paraphernalia on the tiles next to you (a microfiber hair towel, shampoo, conditioner, some miscellaneous hair foams and sprays that he really does not trust you with). “You are the most insufferable person I have ever had the displeasure of knowing. Get out of my bathroom.”

“This is our bathroom now, Ratio. We’re a community, you and me.”

“It’s ‘you and I.’”

“Exactly! You and I, a community. You’re getting the hang of it now.”

Veritas sighs, surrendering any potential of a relaxing evening to your whims. This is, unfortunately, how it usually goes, and he has yet to make a real effort to stop it. A voice in the back of his head taunts him because at his core, he has zero desire to stop it at all.

“Come on,” you keep babbling, threading your fingers roughly through his already-damp hair. It’s not a pleasant sensation at all, and he winces and holds back a pained yelp. “It’s kind of like going to a spa, or whatever. I’m trying to pamper you. Be grateful!”

“There’s nothing to be grateful about when you’re trying to scalp me,” he could push your hands away easily, bat you off and make you leave. Instead, though, he gives you a minute to tame your inelegant movements into something gentler. He hears the sound of a bottle uncapping, and then your hands are back on his scalp, lathering honey-scented shampoo into the layers of his hair.

“Is this better?” you ask cheekily, tracing circles in his hair, digging your fingertips in and scratching just a little bit, hard enough to feel it but light enough that it’s still soothing. Veritas sighs through his nose, deep and heavy and sinking back into the water. There’s no mocking retorts, no quips, no sarcastic tone, just the even cycle of his breathing and the rhythm of his heartbeat thudding in his ears. If he tries hard enough, focuses enough, he can hear yours too, but it makes his stomach twist with an uncomfortable, unnameable feeling.

In your bundle of things that you brought, there’s an empty plastic cup, and you use it to scoop water from the tub and rinse the foam from his hair. Veritas feels wholly exposed, for obvious reasons among others, and the urge to kick you out still sits heavy in his chest. Right next to it is a warmth, though, something holding his sensibility hostage, something that finds this more comforting than it would be if he’d sat in the bath until the water went cold, all alone, without your hands washing his hair clean of oil and grime and the weight of his research.

You break him of his reverie, but the sudden sound of your voice isn’t as intrusive as he anticipated. “You know, you should start using this oil thing for your hair, I got it from one of my coworkers,” by now, his hair is completely rid of any remaining shampoo, and your hands are rubbing a thin layer of conditioner into the ends of each strand, “and it’s supposed to help your hair grow. I think you’d look great with long hair, Veritas, don’t you agree?”

“What, do you think about that often?” It’s supposed to be something snarky, something to shut you down before you dig too deep, but you never catch the hint—it’s your best and worst quality.

“Maybe,” you admit, heft in your words, a density that needs to be cut open and examined. He’s good at that—good at looking and prying, but he’s the worst if he’s next to you. You’re nowhere near as thorough of a researcher as him, but he thinks (with a sense of embarrassment) that when the subject is him, you’re the most qualified person around. “Wouldn’t it be nice? With your hair all down to your shoulders, maybe. And if you really think it’s a hassle to take care of, I’ll just do it for you.”

He’s perfectly capable of taking care of his own hair, thank you very much, but the idea of having you wash it for him, brush out the tangles in it every other day is appealing to a starving man like Veritas. He aches, and the skin at the nape of his neck itches.

“You’re saying nonsense,” he says, and he can feel the way his brow has tightened and he instinctively goes to chew at the dead skin on his lips. “My hair is perfectly fine the way it is.”

“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” you respond, “just giving you options.” Your hands finally leave his hair, and suddenly the water in the bathtub feels frigid and icy, and Veritas represses a shiver. “Your hair is squeaky clean. Now, get out of the bathroom! It’s my turn to hang out with the rubber duck.”

“Would you—?!” Veritas turns to glare at you, but the impish grin on your face makes him falter. You’re incorrigible. “The duck isn’t mine! And you have your own bathroom. Stop invading my space.”

“Sigh,” you say aloud, because you’re corny and theatrics are written into every part of your personality. “Oh, grandest Ratio, I really did think we were friends, but you wound me so deeply! All this time has meant nothing to you! All this new shampoo that I bought just for you, gone to waste…”

“For gods’ sake,” he mutters, reaching for a set of pajamas that you’d so conveniently taken from his own dressers and brought with you while on your mission to wash his hair. “Turn around so I can get dressed and then you can use the bathroom. So annoying.”

“Not annoying enough to kick me out, though,” you say, and you’re completely right, and Veritas will admit that one day, but certainly not today.

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gen taglist: @tragedy-of-commons @lasiancunin @hanyi-writes

#nora hits 1k #veritas ratio x reader #dr ratio x reader #ratio x reader #dr. ratio x reader #hsr x reader #honkai x reader #honkai star rail x reader #veritas x reader #oh veritas my beautiful annoying obnoxious scholarly man

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samkerrworshipper · 1 month

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she’s on the run

beautiful girl series part 4 -> pt.1 -> pt.2 -> pt.3

leah williamson x daughter reader, jordan nobbs x daughter reader

this was created whilst i listened to so long, london and florida!!!!

You waited until Leah had fully descended the stairs, waiting patiently until you heard Lia and her talking in the kitchen before you started to creep off of your bed and towards your open window. It was a easy climb, one you’d made hundreds of times, you hardly batted an eyelid as you climbed out of the window, your legs swinging out and over until they hit the tiling of the roof. After that it was a simple jump from the roof too the gravel drive way, your only concern was trying to be as quiet as possible, so instead of jumping as normal, you stepped to the edge of the tiles, being ever so careful to make sure that you didn’t slip and fall. Once you got to the edge you sat down, scooting until your feet were hanging over the edge, turning onto your stomach and sliding down until your feet found one of the tresses on the side.

It was a odd form of rock climbing but with some arm strength and dodgy footing, you managed to eventually get your feet onto the gravel of your moms driveway.

You didn’t look backwards as you tiptoed across the driveway, the only think you focused on was turning your location off before starting to jog away from your mom’s house.

You didn’t know where you were going, you just knew that you needed to get far enough away that your moms friends who crowded all of the surrounding neighbourhoods couldn’t find you, you needed a way out of here.

You didn’t have a lot of options, and the options you did have were shitty, but there wasn’t really any others that would work.

You pulled your phone out of your pocket as you rounded the corner of the block, ducking into the first alleyway that you spotted.

There were a couple of numbers that were options, some better than others, you went with the first one that came to head.

The phone rings out for a few seconds, your fingers jitter against the sides of your plastic case, whether you feel prepared to admit it or not, you’re going through withdrawals, it’s around now that you’re body is accustomed to shooting up, to getting a hit of drugs and right now it’s becoming more obvious by the minute how desperate your body is for that high that your body is used to receiving.

Maya had become the older sister that you never had, she cared about you, she treated you with more care and love then anybody else in your life, there wasn’t really any hesitation in your mind as you pressed down on her contact, the ringing noise being the only thing to register in your mind.

It rang out for a while, before your phone went silent for a few seconds.

Originally, you thought that it had rung out, but then there was a groan and something else from the other side of the phone.

“Babygirl?”

You don’t know where the nickname had come from, but along the way it had just become the way that Maya had chosen to address you.

“Hey, I need your help, where are you?”

You heard some rustling, and then Maya’s voice.

“I’m still at Matt’s house, what’s happened?”

Fuck. Fuck.

Matt was a problem, but he was one of the only people who could solve your main problem right now, that was all that was at the forefront of your mind.

“Mom found out about the drugs, she took them off me. I’m crashing, can you come get me?”

More rustling, then someone talking in the background.

“Fuck, kid. I’m gonna come get you alright, we’ll get you to Matt’s house and he’ll look out for you, it’s gonna be okay, we’ll look after you, I always look out for my girls.”

More rustling, accompanied by more background talk.

“Just send me your location alright, I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

You nod your head, taking in the information and finding that your hands and body seem to relax with the knowledge that there is a resolution coming.

“Okay, okay, thank you, thank you, I love you.”

Maya’s like you, or at least you try to tell yourself that. She’s never had anyone who loved her, she’s all by herself. That’s what you tell yourself, that nobody’s ever loved you, that you’re all alone, she tells you the same. That nobody will love you like a good high, that your all alone, that you always will be. To start with, you thought it was all nonsense, that to her you were just a means of getting money, but after hearing it enough, after realising the truth behind her words, you thought it must be true, she was older than you, she’d seen more of the world than you had.

You stayed hunched over in the alleyway, ignoring the buzzing on your phone that meant your mother had realised you were gone. You felt a pang of compassion in your heart, just briefly. You didn’t want to worry her, you didn’t want to think about the anguish that would have crossed Leah’s face when she’d returned to your bedroom to find it empty, even worse if it was Jordan.

Consciously, you didn’t care, not really, all you cared about was the fucking high that you were missing out on. But the eight year old version of you, somewhere in the lowest pit of your heart felt horrifically bad.

It took fifteen minutes of you being hunched against a brick wall, hiding from the view of the street, shaking and shivering before you were hit with the light of headlights, coming from the end of the alleyway.

You stayed hidden, just in case it was your mother or somebody else, staying crouched down behind a bin.

“Babygirl, let’s go.”

You stood up properly, your body straightening out and beginning to walk towards the far to bright white lights.

You sat down in the passenger seat, closing the door behind you as swiftly as possible.

Maya captured you in a hug before you could do anything, her arms wrapping around your neck and torso.

“I’m so proud of you, you’re in good care, I’ll look out for you, me and Matt and the girls, you’re in good company.”

You nodded your head against her shoulder, slowly pulling yourself from her embrace.

Her pupils were dilated, your brain didn’t consider the danger behind her being high, more jealous that she was riding on a happy cloud that you were craving to be on.

The drive felt longer than it should have, your phone buzzed relentlessly the whole way there, it took everything in you not to look down and block the numbers that you knew were ringing, but you didn’t have it in you.

You didn’t like the feeling that hit your gut when you rolled up to the same house that you’d stumbled out of a couple nights ago, you loved Maya, you loved drugs, what you didn’t love was the overwhelming fear that you felt at having to face the same man who had done those horrible things to you days ago. Maya must have noticed, or seen something was up with you.

“Something wrong, darlin?”

She was 23, closer to your Mom’s age then yours, she cared about you.

“Matt, he didn’t want money for the drugs, he wanted something else.”

You expected, or you hoped that Maya would be shocked, but she wasn’t, not in the slightest.

“I think you’ll find babygirl that your body is the most powerful form of payment, men will do anything for a woman’s body, it’s good you learn that young. Matt provides a lot, drugs, care, a house, give him what he wants and he’ll treat you well.”

You stuttered on your words.

“W-what if I don’t want it?”

Maya put her hand on your cheek, squeezing firm enough to make it sting slightly.

“There is no such thing as not wanting it. We’re primal, we crave to be touched and wanted, he’s just teaching you that. It’s an eye for an eye. You get your high, he gets what he wants. It works out for everyone. He’s just trying to keep you safe, just trying to make you feel loved, it’s the only kind of love there is.”

In your core, in your brain, you know it’s untrue, Maya believes in what she’s saying though, or at least she appears to.

“Now c’mon, let’s get you upstairs, get you some artificial assistance.”

She pats you on the shoulder, before opening up the door on her side of the car and stepping out. You let go of the breath that you’d been holding in. Maya is like your big sister, she cares about you, she would never intentionally hurt you, she’s the only person who really gives a shit about you.

You open the car door without much more hesitation, having convinced yourself that she’s right, and more that once you shoot up that your brain will quiet down and all of your doubts will be silenced.

Maya leads you into the house, it’s a lot emptier than it was the other day, a lot less people sprinkled across all of the surfaces, instead there are a few girls and Matt, who’s right in the middle of all of them.

“Pretty girl, didn’t think I’d see you back so soon.”

He’s voice is drawling, slightly tilted.

You didn’t have anything to say that wouldn’t come off as rude, so you simply smiled at him, as well as you could considering the bile that was in your stomach just at the thought of the man in front of you.

“She got kicked out, needed some place to go, I told her there is always room for her here.”

Matt nodded and smiled, his hands were all over the women around him, you tried your hardest to keepy your eyes on his face and not the company he was keeping.

“Of course, I look out for my girls. You craving pretty girl? You need something?”

You nodded your head, hopefully, you were desperate, the emotional nature of what you’d just been through with your mother enough to be slowly pushing you towards the edge.

“Maya take her upstairs, the speed is in my bedside draw, I’ll be up in a bit.”

Maya smiled and nodded, grabbing you by the shoulder and pushing you towards the same stairs you’d stumbled down just a few days ago.

You tried not to feel completely daunted as you were tugged upstairs, your shaky legs carrying you the distance to the bedroom that you’d been in less than twenty for hours ago.

It was the same position, same place, same everything.

It was hard not to feel completely terrified.

Maya led you over to the bed, sitting you down whilst she rustled in the bedside table.

It was silent, calm, as peaceful as you could feel in your current situation, until your phone started buzzing again.

“Answer it, let them know you’re fine.”

You looked ay Maya like she was crazy, she sure seemed it.

“Excuse me?”

Maya looked up from her spot rustling through the drawer.

“They’ll leave you alone if you answer, let them know you’re fine and not dead in a ditch somewhere.”

You gulped, pulling your phone out of your pant pocket and looking at the flashing contact of your mom, your finger hesitating over the green button before clicking on it.

“Bubba? Bubba? Jord, she answered, I’ve got her.”

The exhale of relief that you heard leave your mom’s lips was one of pure happiness.

“Mom, please don’t ahte me, please don’t hate me.”

You could always deal with the thought or realisation that your mom didn’t love you, but having her hate you, it would do things to you that you couldn’t handle.

“Bubba where are you? I don’t hate you, I could never hate you, I love you so much bubba. Just let me know where you are, we’ll come get you, we’ll sort this out.”

Your mom sounded more desperate than you’d ever heard her.

“I’m okay mom, I’m okay, I’m safe.”

Another exhale of relief.

“Look bubba, all your aunties are out looking for you, me and Jord have been worried sick, just let me know where you are, please. I’m so worried about you bubba, look, just come home, we can figure out the drug stuff, me and mama will get you all the help you need, we’ll make it all better, just come home.”

It had been hardly two hours since you’d slipped out of your window, you didn’t want to know how stressed your mom would have gotten had it been six or twelve.

“Mom I know I did wrong, trust me, I know. But you want me to go to rehab, you want me to get better, and trust me I want it, but I can’t do it, please.”

You heard something being dropped and then a button being pressed.

“Chick, listen to me, your mom and I are worried sick, you need to come back home. We’ll sort it all out, we’ll get you the help you need, but you need to come home, just tell us where you are.”

The feeling of the rubber tourniquet being tied to your upper arm and a needle prodding at your vein distracted you slightly.

“Look mom, I’m in good company, I’m safe, I love you both but I can’t do rehab, I can’t do getting better, I’m not ready, I’m not strong enough for that, I’m not like you and mom, I can’t be strong and brave, I can’t tough it out when it gets hard. I just need you to love me from a distance and understand that I’m doing whats best for me.”

Maya looks on proudly, it feels like your saying things to appease her and that makes you feel good, the validation of having her smile at you and nod her head at you, it wasn’t love but it was something close, the closest you felt in a while.

“Bubba, listen to me. You are so strong, everything you’ve been through in your life, it’s nothing in comparison to this. You don’t need the drugs, you don’t. This isn’t you bubba.”

You think that deep down, Leah and Jordan have no idea who you are anymore. The injection into your bloodstream only solidifies those thoughts.

“This is me mom, this is who I am now. I was like you and jord’s perfect little child, your perfect girl but that’s not me anymore. I’m not the same kid, this is me.”

You swore you heard a sob, or sniffle from the other side of the line.

“Bubba, we’ll sort this out, just come back home, please.”

You shook your head, enjoying the feeling of your blood circulating the drugs that had just hit your system.

“I can’t do that mom’s, I love you, and I’m so grateful for you but I can’t come home, I just can’t mom, bye.”

Before either of them could reply to you, you pressed down on the hang up button, throwing your phone to the end of the bed and leaning back, letting the high begin to sink in.

The bed sunk down next to you, Maya’s arm snaking around your waist.

“Good job babygirl, I’m proud of you, you’ve got me, I’ll look out for you, I look out for all of my girls.”

If you were sane, you’d probably ask yourself the question of what kind of person looked out for their people by giving them drugs and subjecting them to sexual assault, but with the drugs running through your veins and the relief starting to hit your brain, you couldn’t find you in it to care.

“Feels good.”

Maya brought your head to her neck, it was warm, happy, nice.

“I know babygirl, feels so good doesn’t it?”

You nod your head, the bliss starting to really get to you, your whole body feeling the affects of it.

Everytime you get high you think it’ll last forever, that the overwhelming numb happiness will last permanently. Every time you shoot up, you think that maybe it’ll all get better, that the feeling you’ve been searching for, will finally set in. It doesn’t though.

You come to the conclusion that it must be a more pure solution, or more concentrated because it’s getting to your head a lot quicker than normal.

You don’t even notice when Matt slips into the room, too busy processing the overwhelming feeling of the drugs rushing through you. It’s good, it feels good, until the bed dips on the other side of you and a hand is on your waist.

Your body is too numb to try and fight back, even if you had the energy or will to, you doubt you’d be strong enough.

There are words being spoken around you, hands all over your body.

You can’t open your eyes, can’t even try to understand what is happening to you.

You bite down on your lip, as your pants are tugged down.

You dissasociate it, disassociate the hands on you, dissasociate the feeling of being violated, enjoy the fact that the mixture of the drugs in your system and pain coming from your lip manage to be enough to distract from the pain being inflicted on you.

It’s primal, it’s an eye for an eye, it’s a form of payment.

Some time during the process, you drift off, whether it’s from the drugs or pain you aren’t sure, you just know that the sweet mixture of the meth seems to be enough.

You wake up with an arm around you, your silently terrified to open your eyes and find out who, but you’re also in pain and a little bit too curious for your own good. You’re grateful that the hands are Maya’s, it’s a small win. Your head is still dazed, it feels good, but you’re itching for something, itching for more.

“Hey babygirl.”

It’s light outside, it has of been a couple of hours and based on the pain between your legs you don’t want to know what’s happened in the couple of hours you’ve been unconscious.

“You feeling a bit better?”

You nod your head, focusing in on the daze and not the itch across your body and the pain your experiencing.

“You’ve been such a good girl for Matt and I, doing exactly how we pleased, we’re so proud of you.”

It’s the kind of praise you’ve been searching for months. Growing up, for your mom’s, you’d always been the perfect child, a pathological people pleaser. You’d always been told you were independent, in the end though it had all just been loneliness. You grew up to quickly, from the moment you were in foster care, passed around like a piece of trash, there was no option but for you to be lonely. Then you moved in with Jordan and Leah, and they had each other, you were still alone. You didn’t allow for yourself to make mistakes, you had a chance with them, if you were anything less than perfect then how could they want you? You were a student, a star athlete, polite, a perfectionist to your core. You took on all of the burden during the breakup, you were there for both of your mom’s through it all, yet you were the one who was always at the brunt of their anger and discontent. You weren’t worthy of their love, not when the perfect child stopped being perfect because of the pressure, because of the self-hatred that had manifested inside of you since the first people to show you love had broken apart, leaving you empty on the inside.

You blamed yourself for a lot of it, Leah and Jordan had been fine before you, it was like as soon as you entered their life it was just a ticking time bomb, you wrecked everything, you were a semi truck that drove through people, pulled everyone and everything in it’s way a part.

Maya knew how it felt, she’d broken people a part, she knew what it felt like to be all alone, she’d taught you that it was okay, that it was okay to be lonely.

She cared about you, she understood you, she wanted you.

“More, need more.”

She looked into your eyes and you felt understood, like she knew exactly what you were going through and knew how to patch up and fix all of your problems.

“Alright babygirl, just give me a second and we’ll get you juiced up, huh? You deserve it, you’ve been such a perfect girl for us.”

Maya removed her body from yours, reaching over to the bedside table, rummaging through it the same way she did last night.

Your body was still vibrating with the endorphins, the dopamine was filling your head, replacing everything in you that felt dead and broken, it felt so good, it was the feeling that you craved, the reason that you’d given everything else up, because it made you feel more content and fulfilled then anything else.

You were scared of losing it, scared of losing touch with the feeling that you were relying on.

You craved her praise, craved the drugs, craved the nothingness that came from having everything around you turn into nothing, all of the feelings, all of the struggle, all the pain and suffering turned into dust.

It was what made your life worth living, without the high you didn’t think your life would even remotely worth living for, you had nothing, you had nobody, you were alone.

Maya was quicker with her mannerisms, she knew what she was doing.

You’d never seen her do needles before the last twenty four hours, but you also weren’t that shocked. She had the tracks along her arms, the attitude that seemed like she could. She was the one who’d introduced you to drugs, it had started with a bit of pot, then coke, then heroin, then any pill that you could find and eventually, speed.

You’d been tentative at first, speed was more addictive than any other drug, speed did bad things to a body, methamphetamines were a druggies worst enemy. You’d met cokeheads and some of the most addicted heroin junkies and yet plenty of them had told you that they would never touch meth, that it was too intoxicating.

Meth took control of a persons body, penetrated the system faster than most drugs, meth got into your head, it changed a person for the worse.

You wanted that though, you were seeking for that. You were seeking for something to take control of you, something to change you, something to change the way your brain was wired.

It felt so good, you’d never been into needles either, avoided them like they were the plague, but with the plastic tourniquet strapped onto your arm and the cold point of the needle pressing against your inner arm.

It was the best feeling in the world, the best feeling known to man.

You felt like you were on the peak of Mount Everest, like you were unstoppable.

It was the same feeling you’d once gotten from just being in a room with your moms, the same feeling you’d gotten after a good game of football, the same feeling you’d gotten out of getting a good mark back on a test.

A while ago, a time that you don’t like to think about anymore, it all came naturally. Your body did hunger for that kind of attention because it received it naturally, it didn’t have to worry about when the next burst of serotonin would come. You didn’t have to create your own sensation, like you do now, you didn’t have to put yourself on a constant calendar to keep yourself sane, to make sure that you stayed happy enough to stay alive.

You didn’t think about the fact that you’d shot up a couple of hours ago, that you’re body was only just now learning to absorb intravenous drugs, that you were more dosed up then you had been in your entire life and now you were adding gasoline to the fire inside of you, you didn’t care, all you wanted was for this feeling to keep lasting, for the pain in your stomach from everything that you knew had happened but couldn’t recollect to be numbed by the drugs that you were craving.

You felt alive when the needle pressed into your arm, it made you feel like you were unstoppable, enlightened, like nothing could stop you. It was a strak contrast to how you felt when you were sober, when you were sober, you felt like the weight of the world was resting on your shoulders, that you were responsible for all the people that were around you and if you failed them then you were no better than the little traumatised girl that had been handed to your moms all those years ago.

You tried to ignore the odd chest pain that set in as the drugs mixed in with your blood, or tried your very best at least, it was hard though, when the initial pain started to turn into a skin splitting sensation you tried your best to pay no mind to it.

It was odd, you figured it might be a new effect you were unearthing, needles gave a different high in comparison to your normal, it was understandable that their would be different effects.

For the first time though, in a long time, you weren’t overcome with the near overwhelming relief that normally flooded you, the pain in your chest was to strong, instead of your heart slowing, your pain subsiding and all the thoughts quieting down, it felt like you were going into overdrive, hyperaware of everything that resided inside of you. Your chest was hurting, your heart was beating at a abnormally fast pace and your brain hurt, like it was rattling around inside of your head, bruising the inside of your skull and cracking it into pieces as every second passed.

“Maya, maya.”

It was a croak, yourr eyes being forced open as you took sharp, short breaths.

“You’re okay babygirl, deep breaths, it’ll feel good any minute.”

Except it wasn’t feeling good and it was feeling worse as every second passed. Your skin was prickly, hot and red and burning all over, your heart felt like it was beating faster than it had ever before and everything about how you were feeling felt so inexplicably wrong.

“Not good, not good, not good.”

Maya’s hand was on your face, patting at you like you were a dog, like you were a pet to her.

“Ride it out, you’ve got it babygirl, it’ll pass.”

It wasn’t passing though, it wasn’t, nothing about how you felt was passing at all.

You could feel your control of your body start to fade, you didn’t understand how or why, you didn’t understand what was happening, you knew though that whatever this was, whatever you’d taken or been given, it wasn’t good. It felt like poison inside of you, slowly taking control of every thing inside of you, like something was eating you up from the inside, as every moment surpassed.

You wanted to think that it was going to be fine, that you were just experiencing some kind of heightened high from the buildup in your system, but there was something overwhelmingly odd and wrong about how you felt, it was real, realer than any drugs had made you feel.

Drugs were artificial, and they made you feel artificially happy, or numb, somewhere between those two. Drugs had never made you feel real and tangible, like you were more of a human than anybody else, but right now, you felt more personified then you ever had, like you were so synched with your body that it was too much, too much feelings, too much pain, to much of everything.

You struggled to get out anymore words, between the feeling of your heart beating the speed of light and your chest being too tight for any oxygen to enter your airway.

You supposed she got the message when your body started to shake, your eyes rolling into the back of your skull as your body struggled to cope.

You heard her scream, felt her pick up your body, in blinks of your eyes you made out the staircase, the entryway, Matt in your line of sight.

You get traded into his arms, arms that make you feel tense and uncomfortable, something your body seems to react to because the tremors or seizures, or whatever the fuck your experiecing only worsens.

You blink in and out of consciousness as you’re taken from the house, into the backseat of somebody’s car, Maya and Matt seated in the front, murmuring to each other as you violently shook in the backseat, your consciousness fading as your body became less connected to you.

You weren’t sure where you were going, where drug addicts thought it was a good idea to take a person fucked up out of their minds, you hoped it wasn’t back to your mothers, or rehab, you seriously doubted the latter considering that two addicts themselves were more likely to take you to a fucking graveyard instead of rehab.

You knew neither of them were talking to you, just talking between the two of them, you hoped they were getting you some kind of help, that the two of them would stick by you and find you some help, Maya loved you, Maya was the only person who cared, she would get you help, she would stop this feeling, she would fix it.

You couldn’t see, you couldn’t control your body, you couldn’t feel any sensations across your skin beside the burning created by the lack of oxygen being circulated throughout you. It was like the drugs were slowly infiltrating every part of you, that the veins which mapped out your body underneath your skin were being pumped full of the toxic substance that you’d been so desperate to fill yourself with.

It must have been a bad reaction, or something you’d taken was laced, probably with fentanyl or something that was mixing badly, fentanyl was renowned for being one of the worst things to combine with meth, opioids and stimulants were bad together, it was probably the two forms mixing together inside of you, creating a horrible chemical concoction of reactions inside of you.

You couldn’t keep yourself awake for most of the car ride, there were patches of consciousness, patches where your eyes would open just for them to close once again.

You were awake when the car stopped, not awake enough to catch a glimpse of where you’d stopped at but awake enough to hear the car engine turn still on. The passenger door opened, then footsteps, then the backseat door beside you opened.

Maya picked you up, or at least that’s who you thought had your arms around you, your eyes were forced shut so you didn’t have any confirmation.

A few steps were taken, fast ones, and then she was squatting like she intended to put you down, and then she did.

You didn’t know how or why or where, you just knew that it was cold, there was rain drizzling down on your face, your body was shaking more than ever and you could hear the footsteps getting further and further away from you, then the sound of a car door being opened and shut and the car pulling away.

You were in agony, there was no other way to put it.

You’d been abandoned before, it was nothing new for you, it only reinforced the idea that you were simply incapable of keeping people in your life, nobody wanted you long term, you weren’t made for long term love, you were like a toy to a child. Fun and entertaining for a short amount of time, before you were forgotten and then eventually, thrown away.

You passed out before you could think more about the toy comparison, cold, alone and forgotten.

#woso #woso community #sammykworshipper thoughts #leah williamson #arsenal wfc #leah williamson x reader #jordan nobbs x reader #jordan and leah #jordan nobbs #golden retriever leah vibes #leah williamson imagine #leah williamson fic #woso fix #woso imagine #woso fanfics

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helluvapoison · 2 months

Note

4. Trying to hide your injury from them, but failing miserably once you faint right in front of them, "5. Where does it hurt the most?" with Lucifer and reader

Injured Prompt

Lucifer Morningstar x Reader

Did you know when you roll your ankle you’re not supposed to walk on it? You might’ve known that if the Pride Ring’s hospital ever answered the fucking phone!

ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʕ•̫͡•ʔ•̫͡•ʔ

If your boyfriend Lucifer wasn’t out and about today, making up for some odd months of meetings, he could’ve teleported you there in no time. Then again, if he was here he might summon Belphegor themself. Not wanting to bother anyone, you told yourself it would be fine. Besides with Hell’s “no checking out early” healing abilities, it would right itself on its own by tomorrow! That continued to be your mantra but as the day got away from you it became harder to ignore that stabbing pain in your foot.

It certainly didn’t help that you’d overexerted yourself by helping Charlie move things up and down the hall because Nifty had clogged the pipes (again) which resulted in minor flooding damage. The whole time it felt like Vaggie’s suspicious stare saw right through your poorly worn mask. Charlie asked no less than 22 times if you were ok to which you waved off her concerns. It took a few hours but the furniture was moved out of the room, leaving only a mushy carpet to deal with. Neither Kiki nor Alastor could be found and since Lucifer wasn’t there to snap the problem away, the princess attempted herself. However her powers were still a bit… undisciplined. The best she could do to try and evaporate the water had actually set the carpet on fire.

Vaggie rested her hand on Charlie’s shoulder with a soft smile, “It might be time for a break, babe. Don’t want you to overdo it.” She pointedly shot that part at you.

With a sigh the blonde conceded and allowed Vaggie to usher her out.

Simultaneously grateful but cursing the downtime, you waited a minute before leaving yourself. Now that you've slowed to a stop your ankle throbbed with vengeance. Peeling your sock back to take a peek, you gasped. Your foot was definitely not purple this morning! Shit shit shit, it was definitely time for a break!

You limped to the elevator, using the wall for support when Lucifer rounded the corner. Like the wall had tried to bite you, you yanked your hand from it and forced both feet flat on the ground. You grimaced, poorly trying to conceal it with a smile.

“Duckie!” You greeted through a wheeze. Has breathing been this hard all day?

With much more enthusiasm in his voice, he sang your name and rushed over. Lucifer lifted you off the ground to spin with you in his arms, unknowingly providing momentary relief. His laugh and smile were infectious. Just a second with him had swept you into the world you shared and washed away your troubles. Unfortunately they returned once he set you down and despite how gently he did, you hissed when you touched the floor again.

“What was that?” He asked with a tilted head, holding onto your waist.

“Oh, uh, I’m practicing my Sir Pentious impression!”

You’re unsure why you lied. Maybe a part of you wanted to pretend for a little longer. You think back to the time you got a paper cut and he forced you into bed rest for three days. Once he found out about your ankle nearly snapping in half, you would, inadvertently, send him spiraling into his mother duck state of mind! And the poor man never seemed to catch a break! You didn’t want to stress him out over something that would heal.

He seemed to believe your fib.

At least someone did because it was getting harder to convince yourself.

“It’s good, it’s good!” Lucifer nodded thoughtfully, narrowing his eyes. You instantly knew he was trying to recall just who the serpent fellow was. “Anywho, I ran into Charlie just now. Heard this place almost fell apart without me, huh?”

He nudged your arm with his elbow, prompting you to laugh instead of focusing on the pain. You forced the sound out a bit too much to try and make leaning against the wall look natural. It didn’t. You almost collapsed against the surface, sliding down as your leg began to give. Lucifer slipped his hands under your arms, doing the majority work of holding you up. Your head began nodding off and you realized you were face to face with him. Not a good sign considering your height difference. He was wearing his nervous grin that you knew all too well he only put on before he started panicking internally.

“Darling, is this part of the Sir Pina Colada impression? Starting to, uh, worry over here.”

“Nothing, nothing. I think… I just… nee..”

The last thing you see is Lucifer’s smile dropping entirely, pupils shrinking to worry-filled slits.

Then black.

There’s a moment while waking up where it’s pure bliss. You’re not you; you’re not anyone. You barely exist— and then you do. The worries, memories, pain; it all comes rushing up on you like a train and hits you just as hard. You scrunch your nose and pull your eyebrows together as you attempt to sit up. Silk under your palms have you acutely aware that you’re not in your bed, but Lucifer’s. And you know what they say about speaking of the devil.

“Oh no! Nonononono, I don’t think so,” He sings, gently pushing your shoulders back until you’re flat against the plushy pillows, “You’ve got some explaining to do. ”

“Fuck, ‘m sorry,” You groan, “I thought I had it under control! I didn’t want you to worry.”

“Au contraire, darling, I want to worry about you! Just maybe not that much next time, alright? I think I had a heart attack! If that’s what those feel like… Ech.” Lucifer was wracked by a shiver, shaking off the final wave with his head.

You let out a breathy laugh.

The man smiled at the sound and honed his full attention on you, forcing a serious, but soft, tone, “Now! Doctor Morningstar is here to help, so tell me, where does it hurt most? ”

“My ankle.”

You recoiled when he attempted to peel away your sock. He muttered an apology, studying your foot rather unfazed. As interesting as it was to watch him get truly somber about something, you couldn’t appreciate it right now. The fire spreading from your ankle stole all your senses and he wasn’t even touching it anymore.

“It wasn’t all purple-y yesterday right? We might have to amputate.”

“Lucifer.” You growled through grit teeth.

He chuckled. “Sorry. That one killed when Charlie was younger. Ok, ok! Pain management first, jokes later.”

There was a heavy knock on the door that made both of you turn your heads. Your eyes narrowed while a bright grin spread across his porcelain face.

“Are you expecting someone?” You asked suspiciously.

“Belphegor, of course!”

Of course.

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel imagine #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer morningstar imagine #injured reader #poiboiwrites

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shibaraki · 10 months

Text

THE ARSONIST’S LULLABY ┊ TODOROKI TOUYA

synopsis: the theory is everyone has a metaphorical part of themselves frozen in childhood. a symbolic, younger version of the self that can still be saved.

dabi comes home with what seems to be a sleeping four year old in his arms and the look of a man who has just seen a ghost.

tags: GN reader, reader is a civilian, sorta established relationship (dabi is paranoid and allergic to labels), accidental child acquisition, angst and fluff, pre LOV (like right before), alludes to past canon child abuse, dissociation, family feels (dabi shithead big brother tendencies)

wc: 8K

“What the fuck—”

“Don’t,” Dabi hushed you frantically, far more frayed than you’ve ever seen him. Affronted, you open the door wider all the same, allowing him inside.

He’s careful with his movements as he kicks off his boots and ducks into the living room. The lump bundled in his jacket does not stir. Dabi lowers to a crouch and settles a young child on the sofa cushions. You note the deliberate care in which he slides his arms out from beneath the boy's body.

The coat lapels have slipped to reveal a child that can surely be no older than four years old. Waxen skin, full cheeks and a wind bitten nose. Most notable is the red hair, thick and fanning across the decorative pillow in undefined waves.

You feel inclined to tiptoe as you approach. Navigating the short space cautiously, knowing where to set your feet; avoiding the creaky floorboards you’ve long since memorised. Dabi lets out a shuddering breath and slumps back against the coffee table. Not once does he look at you even as you enter his vision.

Knelt at Dabi’s side, you evaluate the things laid out before you. The air remains tepid. There are no remnants of smoke clinging to his clothes. Your gaze sweeps over his body. He isn’t running hot, and the sutures aren’t weeping. Not a blood stain nor a burn mark to be seen. He is simply frozen, staring down at the boy.

The child, too, is unscathed. Under a thin T-shirt his small chest rises and falls. He wears an expression that can only be described as tranquil; part of this disturbs you, and tempts you to poke the kid, if only to make sure he isn’t a doll.

You brush your knuckles along his jaw. The kid runs cold but he’s warmer than expected after being rushed through the late evening streets without sleeves. No shoes on his feet either. Odd, considering his socks are clean.

There are a million questions clamouring in your head that you lose the opportunity to ask—that all lead to a single, heartbreaking answer—because the little boy stirs at your touch. His eyelids scrunch together as if to protest his own consciousness, then gradually open, irises as blue as early spring periwinkles peeking through slits.

Nausea grips you. A dark amalgamation of anger, anxiety, confusion and jealousy knotted itself deep in your gut. Those eyes—eyes just like Dabi’s, staring back at you, head tilting with a blank expression.

You take far too long to notice that he’s stopped breathing. Stuck in place, likely frightened to be somewhere unfamiliar, crowded by people he does not know. “Hi there sweetheart,” you say, willing yourself to smile reassuringly. “I know this must be scary for you but I promise you’re safe. We won’t hurt you”.

At that the little boy puffs up. “I’m not scared!”

Dabi scoffs. He hasn’t looked in the boy's direction since he woke up; you nudge his side, brow furrowed in disapproval. “Good. 'Cause you've got nothing to be scared of,” you tell him, glare softening as it slides back to the couch. “Do you think you could tell us your name?”

The silence is oppressive. You’re stared at as if you were a battle to be conquered. You sigh, “Alright. You don’t need to tell me. Stranger danger, right?”

Oddly enough, the boy doesn’t appear disturbed about his surroundings at all. You’d prepared yourself for tears, or some wailing. Instead he casually pushed himself upright into a sitting position and stretched his short arms high over his head, as if waking from a routine nap.

You draw air through your teeth, gasping as his shirt lifts with the stretch and reveals his belly. Dabi’s jaw winds at the sight. The air around you expands, thick with ephemeral warmth. He’s considerate to keep it there, boiling violently under his skin. His reaction nags at your conscience, and you want to grab him when he stands to walk away, but you’ve no choice but to prioritise the situation in front of you.

There are burns around the child’s midsection. Mottled pink and swollen. He rejects your touch as you reach out to examine him further. “You’re hurt, kiddo. We can help. Let me—”

“No!” he yells. You startle at the genuine heartbreak in his voice. He scrambles down and shoves past you. Rabbit footed, he sprints to the bathroom and slams the door. You strain to listen, relieved that he does not turn the lock, and debate going after him. Something about that childlike anger is deeply familiar.

Ice crawls through your chest; it’s a dread that lingers in your periphery yet evades perception the longer you try to put a finger on it. You throw another glance down the hallway as you stride toward the genkan. “Dabi,” you call firmly. His hands, bloodied with the runoff dirt and ash, continue scrubbing at the sole of his boot in an almost mechanical fashion. “Touya,” you try again, quieter, exercising caution when wielding that name. And his movement stutters. “You can’t just—go! Not now. He’s badly burned. Where did you even find him?”

You’re patient as he exhales a harsh breath; seems to grapple with his thoughts, a distant look in his eyes. Seeing him so unsettled is scaring you. “Does it really matter? He’ll probably be gone soon,” he mutters. A wave of defensiveness on behalf of the poor child bubbles to the surface. But before you can argue, he is tugging his cleaned boots on with sudden force.

Dabi stomps to settle the heel and pulls open your front door. It rattles on the hinges. A cold evening breeze billows into the apartment and bites at your bare arms. “I’ll be back later. Just pretend he’s not here,” he grunts. “He won’t notice the difference”.

“Wait, baby—!”

And he’s gone again.

You smother the frustrated yell that follows into your hands. There’s a faint sense of abandonment on the fringes, creeping in and forming a lump in your throat. Dabi always had to run first. You rub at your eyes until the sting disappears and exhale until all the air in your lungs is gone, taking with it your frustrations.

Somehow the hallway stretches that much longer. This time you press weight onto the old floorboards and hear them creak, making your presence known as you approach. There’s no noise behind the bathroom door. Your fingers curl around the handle but a gut feeling begs that you pause.

The soft knock of your knuckles to the frame echoes through the apartment. “It’s me,” you say. “I’m sorry if I made you uncomfortable, little guy. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t in pain”.

Your ears prick at the quiet movement inside the bathroom. The latch clicks as the handle turns and you move away as much as the narrow space can afford, the front of your sweater bunched up in your fist; it mirrors the child’s own stance, shifting in place gripping his shirt.

Now under the cheap flickering light you notice an uneven patch of white in his hair. There is something uncomfortably broken about him that you can’t place. A dissonance between his outline and the world, as though he were a pencil drawing in a watercolour canvas.

“M’not little,” he insists with a stomp, looking like he might cry. “Stop talkin’ to me like I’m a baby”.

“Alright. You’re not a baby, you’re a big kid,” you settle on your knees in front of him, lowering your voice in a way a child might consider more ‘grown up’, “But I still have to make sure you don’t need a doctor. So is it okay if I ask about the marks on your tummy?”

This time his reaction is far more subdued. Exhausted from his earlier anger, maybe. Or resigned to the fact that you will not let the injuries go. He jerked his shoulders and crossed both arms, staring down at his feet.

“Has someone been hurting you—did they do that to you?”

The kid huffs, indignant. “No,” he mumbles with a pout. Your eyes follow his fingers where they begin to anxiously clench and unclench. “My quirk”.

The admission is clearly difficult for him, like he has to force the words out of his mouth. You unfold your legs from beneath you and dip to try to meet his eyes, “Your quirk hurts you?”

“Not all the time!” there’s that flash of emotion again, racketing through him like thunder. If he were a kitten you think all the hair on his body would be on end. “If—if I train more I bet it wouldn’t,” he sniffs. “But father told me I can’t do that anymore”.

“Oh,” you’re taken aback at the mention of another father figure. You feel a growing dislike for the unknown man. “Well that’s kinda silly. How will you ever learn to use it safely if you don’t practice?”

Finally, the boy’s glassy eyes snap up and meet your own. He’s practically glowing; awestruck, as though you’d turned his entire worldview on its head with just a few words. “Right, right?” he begins to bounce on the balls of his feet. “I’m gonna be the bestest, strongest hero. Better than All Might!”

Your thoughts stall, reaction delayed. Only Dabi would bring home a kid who loves heroes—that is if they’re related at all. You find it hard to believe. Those eyes do not lie.

“That right?” you let yourself be influenced by his enthusiasm and mirror his grin. Whatever Dabi did or did not omit it’s not the kids fault. “Well, I’ll be cheering you on from the sidelines. How about that?”

“Yeah! You’ll see!” your heart clenches at the sight of his little leg stomping excitedly as he rubs at his eyes. A hiccup wracks his body. Telegraphing your movements you rest a hand at his back, rubbing back and forth to calm him. Such an extreme response to such a simple praise.

After some gentle cajoling you manage to get him to sit on a stool in the kitchen with some apple juice that you miraculously had in the fridge. Your eyes linger on the glass in his hands as you apply the medicated cream to his stomach, barely big enough to hold it.

You exhale, fingers pausing by his waist. The sight is hard to swallow. The tissue is smooth to touch and irregularly shaped, as though the scar had outgrew the initial wound. Even as you reached the inflamed sections he hadn’t so much as flinched; again you're reminded of Dabi, his impassive expression perched on the edge of your bathtub, skin swelling around his sutures, a merry scarlet waterfall weeping from the exposed wounds.

“Where did that man go?” he asks, pulling you from your reverie.

“Ah, he needed to go get something,” the lie is unconvincing even to your own ears. Discomfited, you clear your throat and add, “You can call him Dabi when he’s back”.

You search for his discarded shirt while he tests the name with his own voice. Small mouth shaped around the syllables, da-bi, and spitting it out quick again, dabi. “That’s right. Dabi. You like his name?” the kid staunchly shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes. He pushes it back with both of his hands.

“S’dumb,” he says. The bluntness makes you laugh.

“I bet your name is cooler, right?” that catches his attention. He nods once with a firm hum. “You wanna tell me it now?”

Your efforts seemed to fall flat. The child would not tell you his name; during the numerous attempts in the hours that followed, you got the sense that he couldn’t tell you. And he would get this odd look about him, as if it was you asking that was confusing to him. As if you should already know.

Far more concerning to you is that he never asks to go home. Not once does he mention his mother or father of his own volition. After countless questions you can discern that his knowledge is strangely limited. He seems frozen in time, with no real memory of how Dabi found him.

The hours pass uninterrupted when your curiosity veers away from his circumstances and closer to him. To things he loves, and the like. You carry him on your hip, surprisingly light, and settle him back on the couch as he rambled about Caped Kid and Supertoon and the old All Might animated shorts that you forgot even existed. He kicks his feet along the cushions excitedly when you find some pirated clips online for him to watch.

By the time Dabi comes home the kid has fallen asleep, right back where he first left him. Your arms cross over your chest, the earlier anger rising once more, but something about his expression wills you to temper it.

Dabi is wet through. Soaked to the bone, clothes hanging on his frame. Black streaks are running down his cheeks, and despite your disappointment you hastily tug your sleeve over your hand as you start forward, bringing it up to dab away the dye before it seeps into his sutures.

It’s a relief that he doesn’t flinch away. Not even as his gaze drifts to the TV, which has automatically started up another All Might clip. No vitriol comes. A warm, savoury smell fills your senses and you notice that he’s carrying a plastic bag.

“Brought food,” he rasps. You look back up and meet his eyes, unnerved at how far away he sounds.

“Thank you,” you murmur. Casting a final glance to the young boy on your couch—laying suspiciously still—you wrap fingers around Dabi’s cold wrist and coax him into the kitchen. He sets the food on the counter and in letting go the plastic handle is left upright, misshapen from the responsive heat of his quirk.

He inhales, readying himself to speak, but you gently interrupt, “I think you should shower first. Change into something comfortable. I’ll… I’ll serve the food”.

Dabi sighs but slinks away to the bathroom at your suggestion. You watch him bristle and glare halfheartedly at the head peeking up from behind the couch cushions and the boy shrinks back. Not a moment later the door slams and he flinches, chubby fingers clutching tight to the upholstery.

“Is Dabi mad?” the small voice asks. Sullen in a way that draws you closer to comfort him. Your hand comes to rest on the crown of his head, petting him now that he’ll let you.

“No, no,” you demurred. “Well. Maybe he is, but he’s just having a lot of uh, big feelings”.

“Big feelings,” the boy nods. Then he peers up at you searchingly, “…Is he melting?”

Having expected him to ask literally anything but that, you give a soft laugh. “Dabi isn’t melting. It’s the colour in his hair. He painted it and if it gets wet it washes out, like you saw”.

“Oh”.

The kid is calmer now, no longer ready to bury himself between the cushions. “He brought food back. Smells like curry,” you tell him. “Want some?”

Returning to the kitchen after an enthusiastic ‘yes’—pushed out between a big yawn—you unwrap the takeout boxes and begin to portion them. Dabi finished his shower, dressed in the loose fitted sweatpants and t-shirt you kept for the nights he felt comfortable enough to stay, and accepted the plate you put in his hands.

Together, you eat around the kotatsu in relative silence filled only by the limited ramblings of the child Dabi brought home. He’s the type to express things with his entire body, the type that cannot sit still, and you find yourself shooting Dabi the odd furtive glance, worried he might snap, almost daring him to try.

But Dabi does not snap. He doesn’t look at either of you. You note the tension in his shoulders, winding tighter with every mention of the word ‘hero’, and how his fist clenches and uncurls, knuckles white where the blood recedes. He keeps his head down, forearm curled protectively around the food on his plate as he eats, and doesn’t say a word.

You’ve never met anyone else who can so readily act as though they’re unfeeling. The embodiment of feigned indifference. Dabi was so confident in his detachment, with the scathing comments, comfort in violence and purposefully unapproachable demeanour, but you knew what lie underneath; you can tell when it’s an act and when it’s real, and right now he’s never been more transparent.

The boy starts to droop into his food some time during the next Caped Kid episode. Your hand shoots out to cup his chin when his head wobbles on his shoulders, close to using the rice as a pillow. “He’s all tuckered out again,” you comment aloud, licking your thumb to wipe at the sauce around his mouth. “Can you take the—?”

Dabi is already standing, stacking the plates atop one another without so much as trying to be quiet. You roll your eyes to the ceiling, seeking strength, and tuck the little boy to your front, hoisting him back up into the couch. He stirs and blinks around the room as though seeing for the first time.

“It’s alright. Go back to sleep,” you whisper. He yawns, jaw stretching around such a tiny squeak that you can’t help but to kiss his hair.

Dabi is standing at the sink, back turned to the dirty dishes and leant against the counter. Your eyes meet, but you pointedly look away and say nothing as you step forward to gather the empty takeout boxes and throw them out.

He speaks, if only to fill the silence, “I shouldn’t have walked out”.

It’s the closest to an apology you’ll probably ever get. “Y’think?” you hesitated for a long minute, speaking only as you sensed his presence at your back. “Actually, what the fuck were you thinking?”

Really, your relationship with Dabi has always been chimerical in nature. Some strange patchwork attempt at being human. You fucked, kissed one another at the door, shared parts of your lives that you wished you never had. Labels only drove him away, like identifying the thing you’d woven together would bring it to actuality, make it corporeal, ridding you of plausible deniability.

It was never a question why he brought the kid here. This is where you play house, after all. Dabi’s shoebox apartment was empty, simply a place to go when he wasn’t out doing who knows what, like a waiting room. A space between spaces. Yours was far more appropriate for a child, and you’d thought that maybe—he chose to trust you enough, to finally ask for help, rather than doing it out of convenience.

Heat soaks through your shirt as his mottled, slender hand settles on your waist. You turn on your heel to face him directly, resolve weakening at the careful squeeze of his fingers. You sigh, palms brushing featherlight up the uneven flesh along his forearms and follow as he retreated backward to lower onto the nearby breakfast stool.

“I was hit with a quirk on my way back”.

“What?” your inner conflict falters. Concern superseding your anger you cup his jaw to tip his head back and side to side to get a good look at him. “When? Are you hurt?”

Dabi snorts, relaxed by your gentle countenance and fretting. “Not now. Earlier. Some middle schooler without a handle on her quirk yet. Quit fussin’, I’m fine,” he continues and shakes free of your hands, so you settle them on his shoulders. He walks his fingers behind your knees, cupping the back of your thighs, uncharacteristically restless.

“It’s where the…“ his jaw clenched and he pressed his forehead hard to your stomach, burrowing into the fabric. Anticipation grips your lungs when he doesn’t immediately explain.

“Talk to me baby,” you run your fingers through his hair and they come away stained black. “How did—what does the quirk do?”

“Fuck, I hardly had time to ask about specifics. The stupid kid knocked into me and suddenly I had my arms full,” Dabi’s snarling dwindles. He licks his lips, hesitant, and casts his eyes to the narrow space between your bodies. Quieter this time, “It’s where he came from”.

You register his words. The realisation slides through you with sharp clarity. It swells in you, all encompassing and painful, like love and heartbreak at the same time. “He’s not yours, is he?” you say, reminiscent of a whisper. “He’s you”.

“My inner child. Some pseudo bullshit like that,” Dabi supplies, as though the distinction was important. He looks up, the column of his throat pressed to your sternum, and your chest loosens a little, some of the fear ebbing. “Did you seriously think I knocked someone up?”

“Plausibly, what else was I supposed to think?”

“Not that,” he scoffs. “Either way, I don’t know how long we’re stuck with him”.

“Don’t talk about him like he’s a burden,” you frowned. Dabi’s eyes squint, and he makes a low, dubious noise. “Why didn’t you tell me straight away?”

“Didn’t want you to know,” he shrugs. It shouldn’t sting the way it does. This is hardly the first time Dabi kept something from you. “Thought I could make the kid keep his mouth shut about my family”.

Inwardly you think he needn’t worry about that. They were as secretive and stubborn as each other, in that respect. Hell, it took Dabi three years to give up his name and that was only because he’d been delirious at the time.

“But you left anyway”.

“He woke up,” Dabi says, like that was enough explanation. You give a commiserate nod, cradling his rough jaw, because maybe it is. “Needed to blow off some steam. Figured I might look for the twerp that caused all this but she’d probably run if she saw me again”.

“Don’t tell me you scared the poor girl shitless?”

“Alright. I won’t tell you,” he snorted, biting at the heel of your hand when you mutter his name disapprovingly.

“So we just wait for him to go?” you brush the remaining skin between his eye and his cheek with your thumb, following the curve of his sutures. “Maybe it is psychological then. Make your inner child happy and the quirk might cancel out sooner”.

There’s something dark in Dabi’s expression when his mouth pulls wide into a smarmy grin, eyes burning as his fingers dig into your thighs. “Looking to rehabilitate me, sweetheart?”

You soon put that to rest, guiding him into a kiss. His grip falls slack, and then returns, more needy than dangerous. Dabi’s lips pressed back, insisted, softer than you thought possible. “Course not,” you murmur, admiring the resentful flush on his face as you draw back. “Maybe I like you as you are. Just a little”.

“Bad taste,” he breathes. His nose scrunches the way it always does when he’s feeling too much, and you kiss that too. You recognise Dabi’s flaws for what they are, and you’ve given yourself to him knowingly. Even so, in the confines of your mind, you do wish he might’ve had the chance to be something better.

This inner child incident could be a small step. You don’t expect his perspective on society will change; he could learn compassion and forgive himself for whatever led him here. But what exactly is an inner child?

The theory goes that everyone has a metaphorical part of themselves frozen in childhood. A symbolic, younger version of the self that can be talked to, supported, and guided—that can still be saved.

Dabi informs you with great reluctance that this little Touya was probably closer to five years old, and stuck in the time right after his first brother was born. You never knew he had siblings.

“Did something significant happen around that time?” you worry at your bottom lip, glancing out toward the living room, shrouded in darkness now that the TV has switched to standby. “Do you remember what you wanted most, from before?”

You hear your name. You’re startled by the intensity in Dabi’s stare, unyielding and sharp. A primitive part of you wants to shrink back from it. “Don’t push it,” he says.

It was on the tip of your tongue to remark something equally catty. Instead you swallow them. “Wouldn’t dream of it,” you muttered. Through trial and error you’ve already memorised the ley lines that make up Dabi’s boundaries and know well enough that prying too far into his past, or encroaching on his future plans, is a hard no-no.

“We’re going to need a cover story for him if he’s here longer than a day,” you continue, a smile creeping in alongside your teasing inflection. “Guess you’re a dad—”

“Not a chance in hell,” Dabi grimaces, skin taut around his scars. “If it comes to it, say he’s my nephew”.

“You’re no fun,” you concede. “Fine. Uncle Dabi”.

The discussion leads nowhere in the end. Dabi is unwilling to delve any further into his childhood and you know a losing battle when you see one. You turn your attention to the sleeping arrangements, and decide that it would be best to roll out your spare futons in the living room, just in case something happens.

And Dabi, despite his objections, despite puttering around with pillows under each arm and cursing under his breath, throws them down and sprawls out across the blankets. You feel his stare as you move Touya—as you’ve taken to calling him in your head—from his resting place to the space between your bodies.

Touya isn’t yet the light sleeper you know Dabi to be. His eyes shift behind closed lids and his lips curl in momentary discomfort but he doesn’t wake. “Does he have to sleep there?” Dabi all but sneers when Touya curls into your warm chest, much the way he would like to.

“Aw. Don’t be jealous,” you pillow Touya’s head on your shoulder and reach across to take Dabi’s hand, entwining your fingers through stubborn means. “He’s just a baby”.

A fresh wave of heat ripples around your hands and Dabi’s grip is solid, as though you’ve been soldered together. “He’s not a baby. He’s already five,” he mutters with a faraway look in his eyes, indifferent to the callousness in his words.

Your palms kiss and you aim for a lighthearted tone, “Stop being a dick. You’ll have me to yourself again soon enough”.

Dabi grunts and some of the tension is relieved from the atmosphere, his face thrown into stark relief by the sliver of moonlight flooding through your curtains. Not for the first time, you wonder if he feels the after aches of childhood—if the hollow inside him felt that much deeper now that Touya was out here, safe in your arms—and suddenly holding his hand is not enough.

You entangle your legs and distract yourself with the feel of his boney ankle. Some things are better left unknown, you reason. A mantra that encompasses your relationship. Better not pick and prod. You’ve done quite enough of it already, more than you’re entitled to. Sometimes you worry that one day you’ll unravel the wrong thread and he’ll never stop bleeding.

Touya clutches tighter to your shirt. Kicks a tiny foot against your pelvis in protest of the movement, surprisingly hard. Dabi snickers at your restrained groan. “Guess you’ve always been a restless sleeper”.

“That's what you get for giving him my spot,” Dabi says, the beginnings of a smile in his voice. “Was worse when I was a kid”.

“Clearly. A fly could sneeze and wake you up,” you remove the heel from your stomach and let it tangle with the blankets. Touya suddenly flips onto his back, arm cast out toward Dabi, not far from smacking him in the face. “Atleast he feels safe, I suppose”.

The night settles, your apartment alongside it. Walls quietly groan as the wind picks up a fraction. “We should take him somewhere tomorrow,” you think aloud, staring at the hairline fracture in the ceiling. “The arcade, maybe”.

“Now why the fuck would we do that?” Dabi’s voice is lower, muffled, and a quick sidelong glance confirms that his mouth is half squashed into the pillow, fatigue starting to weigh on him. “Don’t even have clothes for him”.

“Kano-san might let us borrow some,” you offer tiredly. Though your neighbour's four children were all over five years old you had no doubt she kept hand-me-downs. “It’s not fair to just keep him holed up til he disappears”.

“I refuse…” Dabi mumbled. You snort, resting your chin on Touya’s crown, swaddled by warmth. Shadows creep in and blur the edges of your vision. You’re gently coaxed into sleep, final thoughts being the hope that Dabi would still be there tomorrow.

What you receive is far more. Where soft moonlight once drifted in through the cracks, harsh sun is striking through the dim room, right against your closed eyes. You flinch away from it, turning into your pillow. Half-awake, you aren’t quite in and not quite outside yourself, but you are conscious enough to hear Dabi laugh at your displeasure.

The weight in your arms is gone. Pawing at the yawning emptiness, you abruptly sit up and whip your eyes around the room. They land on Dabi, who is laid on his back and surrendering to his current predicament. He pointedly avoids acknowledging it.

Time stretches thinly as you take in the scene. At some point in the night, Touya had made his way over to Dabi and laid himself on top of him. Chubby cheek squished to Dabi’s sternum, lashes fluttering as he dreams. Fleeting, you consider that he may be trying to crawl right back into him.

“G’morning,” you sigh, blood rushing to your limbs as you contort and stretch. Unable to resist, you shuffle across the futon and press yourself to Dabi’s side, nuzzling into his shoulder. You tilt your head up to find Dabi looking down at you. “Kiss?”

“Your breath stinks,” but he kisses you anyway. His own is hardly better. You nip at his lip, licking over the faint sting and drawing back before he can reciprocate.

“Did you sleep okay?”

“Yeah,” his hands gesture toward the lump on his chest, “until this shit happened”.

“Now he’s taken my spot”. You could point out that Dabi had every opportunity to move the boy through the night, or however long he’d been there, but didn't. “Though it makes sense he’d want to be near you”.

“He doesn’t want anything. He’s not real,” Dabi drawls. He’s betrayed by the arm that supports Touya from beneath as he sits up exceedingly slowly, the other holding the back of his head. Dabi pivots the small figure into his lap, acting like a cradle.

Limbs akimbo, Touya lies on his back, mouth open and ribs expanding with each breath. His clothes are askew. Shirt ridden up his round belly, loose pants bunched up at the knees. To your relief the burn marks look no worse than the day before.

“Even though his body isn’t suited to his quirk, he still…” your voice is but a murmur as you sit up to trace a fingertip over the swell of his pink cheek. “He’s a very brave little boy”

Dabi held the toddler delicately in his arms, a fraction away from his body, and paled whenever he stirred a little. You see how his pupils soften, tension seeping from his shoulders bit by bit. “Or maybe he’s just stupid," he rasps.

“Well, many heroes are both of those things,” you offer, mouth curling as you hold Dabi’s half lidded gaze. His mouth presses thin so as not to give you the satisfaction of making him smile. When your attention returns to Touya an unfamiliar quietude comes over you.

“Last night,” he starts. “I left because I thought it would be harder”.

You pause, peering up from the little boy curled in his lap. “To what?”

“Not to hurt him,” he says, quietly. “Or you”.

Then Touya sputters a first, clean breath, breaking into a drawn out sob that drags you from processing what that could mean. Dabi grows tense and your hand flutters across Touya, rubbing over his chest as you coo and hush. The louder he cries the stronger the tremor in Dabi’s hand becomes.

“There there, little guy. We’re right here,” you slip an arm around Dabi’s back, and suddenly your murmurings begin to soothe Touya’s distress. Red rimmed eyes squint up at you. “Did you have a nightmare, buddy?”

“Heroes—” Touya eventually hiccups and jolts. Frustrated he hits himself, face twisted in devastating anger. “Heroes don’t—have nightmares!”

You move to still his fists but Dabi beats you to it, fingers circling a pair of wrists and holding them firmly. “They will if I have anything to say about it,” he says.

“Really, Dabi,” you admonish, pursing your lips at him. He wrinkles his nose and sticks his tongue out in response. Muffled giggling fills the room and you realise it’s coming from the bundle in his lap.

Dabi looks as if he’s been struck. A finger pokes at the skin above his puckered cheek. “Dabi made an ugly face,” Touya grins.

“Oh yeah?” Dabi growls and leans forward, spine bending uncomfortably just to get into the boy’s personal space. “Well I’ve got bad news for you, kid”.

Whatever the desired effect, Touya’s chime-like laughter only doubles, and while watching their interaction you feel warmth ignite behind your breastbone.

Not long after, you return from Kano-san’s upstairs apartment with a cotton sweater, discoloured patches sewn onto the elbows, and a pair of pants. They’re size five yet too big for Touya, so you roll them to the ankle. “How’s that?” you ask, getting to your feet. “It’s not itchy on your burns, is it?”

Touya wriggles. You’ve come to learn that he really can’t sit still, especially when you’re fussing. “No,” he says, flapping the sleeves that fall over his hands, silently asking that you roll those up too. “Where are we going? I want to train!”

“No training inside. You’re going to set off my fire alarm,” you reply, absentminded as your fingers gently fold back the shirtsleeves to his wrist. “And we’re going to the arcades first. You can beat Dabi at all the games”.

“Yeah!”

“Fat chance,” Dabi calls from the bathroom. Light footsteps echo through the hallway and his voice grows louder. “We’re not going anywhere near Musutafu,” he adds, shucking on his dried black coat over a plain t-shirt and jeans that may as well have been painted on his legs. He pulls something out from his pocket and throws it, “Put that on him to be safe”.

You catch the lump one handed, bringing it down to inspect it. A beanie hat. “Is that really necessary?” you murmur, releasing your grasp when Touya decides he wants the hat for himself and stretches it haphazardly over his head.

Dabi rounds the couch and hooks his chin over your shoulder, watching the kid struggle. “Can’t have him being recognised…” he says, the corner of his mouth twitching at a thought that suddenly crosses his mind. “Or maybe we should. Hey, kid,” Touya’s head whirls around the room in search of Dabi, vision blocked by the beanie; he pushes it up above his eyebrows, periwinkle eyes peeking beneath.

“Wanna go to my old house and scare someone?”

Touya’s lips thin and his nose crinkles, managing to look down at Dabi despite being so much shorter. “Heroes aren’t ‘posed to scare people,” he argued.

“Whatever. This guy isn’t good,” Dabi huffs, wincing at the click in his knees as he crouches in front of the boy to fix the hat seam, and Touya positively preens under Dabi’s direct attention. “This guy hurts people. Hurts his family. Probably deserves it, right?”

You watch in disbelief as Touya hums and begins to consider it. “Okay that’s enough,” you circle and coax them toward the genkan. “We aren’t scaring anyone. We are going to the arcade and we’re not going to cause trouble. Yes?”

Dabi and Touya share a long, knowing look. You can’t say you’re unhappy that they’re connecting—they’re unbearably cute when standing side by side, dithering as you slip on your shoes. “Yes?” you repeat yourself with more emphasis.

They nod in tandem.

“Good. Now who is holding my hand?”

Daylight feeds in through the sparse grey clouds, upper wind guiding them east where they darken, likely raining over another part of the city. The pavements are wet, rainwater fed into the uprooted cracks. A couple smile at you as they pass. It is rare for anyone to glance your way when Dabi’s at your side; he knows the image he projects and he likes it that way. But today, with Touya in the middle holding one of each hand, you paint a far lovelier picture.

You think you must look like a family, on the outside. It’s nothing you ever imagined for yourself. Especially not with Dabi, who was seemingly hell bent on getting himself arrested, or killed, in his spare time—not that you knew the finer details, but you weren’t dense.

“I can feel your street cred depleting,” you quietly tease as you stop at a pedestrian crossing, bridging the gap while Touya is preoccupied with counting down until the red man turns green. “Uncle Dabi”.

Dabi’s upper lip curls and he lurches half a step, as if to attack you, and you pull away laughing.

Your neighbourhood doesn’t see much in the way of funding, or heroes, and that truth is reflected in the surroundings. Buildings half constructed, shutters down, people lingering on the streets. Touya presses a hairsbreadth closer to Dabi, sensing how eyes turn to him, and you catch the way Dabi squeezes his small hand in response.

“Scared?”

Touya straightens, “No!”

Dabi snorts, “Thought not”.

The arcade isn’t far. Well beyond its years, an old musk clings to the carpets despite the open windows. Light bulbs flicker here and there. You can taste electricity buzzing in the air. The machines are outdated, but they work. High pitched, quick paced music paces from all directions. If you had to, you'd describe it as the embodiment of sensory overload.

As luck would have it Touya recognises most of the games, having been released around his time. He steps on your shoes to watch raptly while you try to win him a prize on the claw machines, and he kneels at your feet to steal any ticket away before you can grab them.

He frees himself of your grip the moment he spots Crimson Fighter. You sidle up beside Dabi as if to shield from it all. His knuckles brush the back of your hand and you smile to yourself. So starved for affection yet so intensely humiliated by it—that and the fact that he cannot seem to let Touya out of his sight, only a few feet away.

You loosely entwine your fingers and he relaxes. “Not gonna play another round with him?”

“Why don’t you?”

In that instant you hear the repeated call of your name. Touya bounces from left to right, waving you over. “Look at me! Come watch!” he beams. “Look at me, I can win!”

Dabi’s fingers flex, tighten, digging crescent moons into your knuckles. You shoot him a worried glance but the light in his eyes has dimmed once again, and you tug him over towards Touya like a kite on a string, keeping him tethered until he returns from whatever memory he’s lost in.

“I’m looking, I'm looking,” you titter, standing behind him and tilting to watch the screen. Dabi’s presence lingers. Your heart pangs when Touya stands on the tips of his toes to reach the controls. He picks the Endeavor avatar and the game opens up onto a floating platform, All Might standing at the other end.

“Fight!” Touya whispers in sync with the narrator, mashing all the buttons without direction or strategy. He clicks and clicks and clicks until Endeavor’s quirk bar is maxed out and he releases; pixelated flames burst across the screen, doing significant damage to All Might but not enough—and too much to himself. The Endeavor avatar drops to his knees, overcome by dehydration and exhaustion, defeated by his own flame.

Apparently brought back to the present, Dabi laughs.

“No…” Touya’s eyes grow round in disbelief and then harden. He kicks the machine with as much force as he can muster. Before he can do it again you’ve wrapped an arm under his armpits and herded him outside. “Let go!”

“Absolutely not,” you grasp his elbows and settle on your haunches. Touya turns his head away from you in dramatic fashion. “That isn’t okay. These games belong to someone else. They’re not yours to damage”.

“Shouldn’t’a picked Endeavor,” Dabi remarks.

Your neck aches as it snaps up to glare at him. “Not helping,” you hiss through gritted teeth. He puts his hands up in a show of surrender and you inhale until your lungs feel tight. Exhale.

Touya has fallen suspiciously quiet, chin tucked to his chest, and thankfully nobody inside noticed his brief outburst. “Hey,” gently, you run your palms along his shoulders. “Talk to me, kiddo. I promise you’re not in big trouble”.

Your ears pick up fragmented parts of his mumbling, “Lost… M’weak… Endeavor… stronger… not ‘posed to lose”. Something about his reaction is both fragile and momentous, and with Dabi nearby your instincts are telling you to tread carefully.

“Hey, listen to me. I don’t know much but I do know you’re not weak,” you begin to smooth down his sweater, and fiddle with the seam of his beanie while you talk—fretting, admittedly, and determined to wipe the heartbreak off his face. “You’re the strongest little dude I know”.

Touya sniffs, unconvinced. He waddles further into your embrace and you take it as a win “Gotta be stronger than All Might”.

“One day you could be,” you reason, gathering him against your front and hoisting him up as his legs wrap around your waist. A firm body stands behind you. Dabi is closer than anticipated and you falter, meeting his half lidded eyes. Reality stomps over the little charade you’ve created—recalling that the boy in your arms, so desperate to reach the pinnacle of heroics, will one day be Dabi, the self proclaimed villain.

“Y’know, even All Might didn’t become the number one hero until he was thirty,” you tuck a wayward curl back into Touya’s beanie and use your sleeve to wipe his damp cheeks. “He had to learn to control his quirk and get through hero school, just like you will. It takes time”.

“R—really…?” you’d be remiss not to notice the hope in his voice as he fists at his sweater, stretching the fabric further. “But I need to be strong now,” he insists thickly, a fresh round of tears at his waterline.

Dabi steps closer as more people pass by, nudging you into a dead end alley. There’s heat emanating from his skin, making ripples in the air. You hold his gaze with purpose, turning until Touya is once again enveloped by your bodies, and the boy instinctively reaches for his adult counterpart.

“You are strong,” you tell him, pressing a kiss to Touya’s temple. “Wanna know what Dabi and I were talking about while you were sleeping this morning?”

Touya’s mouth quivers, sneaking a furtive glance. He nods. You narrow your eyes at Dabi, try to tell him that this could be it, and he relents, accepting the weight as it is passed to him.

Touya settles in his arms. “We…” Dabi’s jaw ticks. There’s a depression in his cheek where the inner flesh is held between teeth. “We said that you’re brave”.

You circle your arms around his middle, around Touya, and rest your cheek on his shoulder. Touya blinks in awe. “Brave?”

“Brave for trying so hard to reach your goal,” Dabi continues. The harsh edge to his voice has puttered out into melancholy. “Even when it hurts. Especially then”.

“I am?”

“You are,” you murmur, cradling the back of Touya’s head. There’s an odd sheen to his skin. Translucent almost. Your heart jolts. Conflicting emotions swell in your chest, leaving you torn. “I heard heroes have that in spades”.

Eyes bright and wide, undoubtedly that of a child, Touya looks at Dabi, and Dabi looks back. “You’d be one of the good ones, kid,” he rasps. It comes like pulling teeth but he means it, and Touya must know—the quirk must hear the sincerity, because the little boy beams and the air tastes sharp. He lights up, eyes first, like dusk catching on stained glass windows, robin egg blue overcast with shades of pink, heat suffusing through his bones until—

Your fingers enclose around the limp fabric of Touya’s beanie. Dabi shudders an exhale. The patched sweater falls limp over his crossed arms.

“That… worked?”

Dabi’s mouth opens and closes, lips shaping around words he doesn’t know how to say. You cannot read his expression at all. You yourself can hardly register Touya’s absence, left like a bruise that you just know is going to start aching the second the adrenaline wears off.

“I guess it did,” he finally agrees, quietly. Not quite whispered, but his voice carried no strength. Through the discomfit cuts an abrupt, shrill beep. Dabi swallows, and after pulling out his phone his expression sours.

“Who is it?”

“An associate,” he says, hands an unsteady counterpoint to the surety in his voice. Another blatant cover that you know better than to peel back. “…He wants me to meet his new colleagues. He thinks I’ll work well with them”.

“Do you need to go now, or…?” your skin prickles with unease, leaning into him as close and psychics would allow, not wanting to part with him.

“Think you’ll miss him?” Dabi asks instead, bordering on hesitation. Your head tilts at the sudden change in topic. His gaze dips low to avoid yours. You rest your hand over his chest. His heart beats against your palm, hard and steady. You wonder what, if anything, Touya’s time here might’ve changed.

“I don’t have to,” you tell him, choosing your words carefully. “He’s right in here”.

Dabi hums in that way he often does when he thinks you’re being ridiculous. Your thumb moves back and forth, shifting the fabric of his shirt. “…He deserved better,” you say, heedless of the cold determination setting into Dabi’s bones. And later, despite being the truth, you would come to regret voicing it.

He looks back at the message on his phone, typing out a reply with his screen tilted away from prying eyes. “You’re right,” he mutters.

“He did”.

#bnha x reader #mha x reader #dabi x reader #todoroki touya x reader

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websterss · 1 year

Text

𝐓𝐖𝐎 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄𝐁𝐈𝐑𝐃𝐒 — 𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐑𝐘

𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓: highkey just wanna go on a lil date with ethan. i'm guessing he doesn't have much experience with girls but him being nervous would be so 🤭you would've asked him out to satisfy your friends considering you talked about him a lot, not realising he'd say yes. that made you incredibly nervous but i feel like the date would either be a movie (cliche ik) or bowling. maybe a group date? but the rest of group would let you sit alone with ethan to talk to him about star wars or something nerdy. just kissing his cheek before getting off the subway and thanking him for a fun night. crying

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): Umm, lots of cussing, fluff. SPOILERS?? I don’t know if this has spoilers honestly.

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 2,867

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: Ethan Landry x fem!Reader

𝐀/𝐍: Hope you enjoy it! Char’s gonna give me shit cause I don’t know much about star wars. Also I didn’t do the subway scene. Ugh I hope you like it love!😭

𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓

“You’re gonna join us for bowling tonight right?” You snapped your head up at Chad who threw a knowing smirk your way. You roll your eyes, fixating your attention back onto your term paper.

“Do I have a choice?”

“No.” You let out a laugh at his bluntness.

“Great!” You emit a laugh of amusement.

“Find a date yet?” This shook your core as your paper was now long forgotten. Your jaw slacked open in shock.

“Date? What do you mean date?” You sat up straighter in your chair. “No one said anything about dates!”

“Are you fucking with me?” Chad’s shoulder fell in disbelief. “I got Tara. Sam’s bringing Danny. Mindy and Anika are coming together. Quinn’s bound to bring along some new arm candy. That just leaves you...” He trailed off in a wince. “And Ethan.”

“But I’m not- Wait he’s going, what the fuck why wasn’t I informed about this?” You quirk an eyebrow at him.

“Cause we know how you get when he’s around. We wanted to ease you into it tonight.” He laughed at you as you grew all flustered. You looked back down at your paper. “Would it kill you to ask him out? Put him out of his misery.” You glance up with a timid glint in your eyes. You find interest in fiddling with the rings on your fingers. Spinning them in a circle to relieve you of this specific conversation you try to avoid. “Mindy still has her obvious suspicions about him. But after rooming with the nerd for months. He checks out okay. I think he’d be good for you.” He reached out to place a comforting hand over your own. “I think it’s time you let yourself have some fun. I know you should...” Then came the dreaded words he hesitated to say. “Wes would too.”

Your eyes meet him for a brief moment. The odds of a repeat from those last ten months were odd. Yet upon losing Wes, you put off any sort of dating. Especially with guy’s you hardly met, yet still conjured up a crush on. Who was to say that this wouldn’t turn out to be a good thing though. Maybe letting loose for once would be good. Just maybe. You weighed your options as you bit your bottom lip.

“Come on...I see those knobs turning. You know you want to...” He sing songed.

“You don’t know what I want.” You pushed his hand away playfully.

“Don’t have to. You’re doing that thing-” He gestured to his lips. “It’s your tell.”

“My tell...Okay!” You raised your hands up in defense.

“So you’re gonna ask him. Before tonight.”

“Well I-”

“Great because he’s coming this way right now...Hey Ethan over here!” Your eyes grew as Chad waved him down.

“Are you fucking kidding me!” You ducked, trying to hide your flustered state.

“Hey guys...” Ethan's charming smile graced you. God that fucking smile did things to you.

“That’s my cue-” Chad pointed in the opposite direction and stood up from his chair. “Hey buddy, what’s up? How about you take my seat, yeah. I gotta run anyway.” Chad gestured over his thumb, then made Ethan plop down right in right of you. He huffed from the firm hand on his shoulder.

“Chad-” You begin to pull at his sleeve.

“Y/n has a very important question to ask you by the way. Okay, you two have a wonderful rest of your remaining classes, alright. See you tonight bud!” Chad pointed at Ethan in his dismissal.

“Tonight? What’s tonight?” Ethan questioned with confusion written over his face.

“You didn’t fucking invite him- Chad! Son of a bitch...” You call after him, as he throws a shit eating grin your way. His thumbs up doing nothing to comfort you in any shape or form. You close your eyes, then glance back at Ethan, who seemed too pure for this world as the corners up his lips lifted into a faint smile. You breathed out a nervous laugh as you sat up tall again. You placed your elbows on the table as you tapped your fingers in a rhythmic pattern on the tabletop.

“You wanted to- ask me something?” He nodded, recalling Chad’s words.

“Yeah I did...” You daze off not wanting to meet his gaze just yet. “I do!” You exclaim quickly. “God I’m not good at this...” You throw your head back as if the ceiling was going to provide you with some answers...and hopefully even the strength. Rather more...have the balls to ask Chad’s cute ass roomate out on a date because heavens know you didn’t have them.

“You think I’m cute?” Your heart and soul freeze up. Your head moves back down, shock didn’t even begin to describe what you were feeling.

“Did I say that out loud?” Your chest rises and falls.

“I could lie and say no...” He shrugs. He shrugged, he fucking shrugged. He wasn’t teasing you or giving you shit. He just fucking shrugged, offering to lie to save your remaining dignity. At this point you either went all in, or you grabbed your things and got the hell out of there. Sadly you were glued to your chair.

“I do think you’re cute- hot actually. Like in that nerdy attractive type of way, and you’re fucking tall, which is honestly an added bonus to be honest. Holy fuck okay-” Your palms now laid flat on the table. “I’m honestly not surprised Chad hasn't invited you yet. I think this was his plan...to finally have me ask you out on a date.”

“You-” Ethan begins. His eyes soften.

“I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while now, yeah!” You answer his question. “Were going bowling tonight in case you were wondering.” You inquire. “I’m not that great, but I magically get a strike every once and a while, are you any good at bowling?” Your question catches him off guard. He’s still trying to process the fact that the girl he likes just asked him out, and you have yet to let him say yes.

“I think I’m okay.” He laughs out.

“Okay great you’re on my team then.” You nod. You tap and tap and tap your fingers on the tabletop. Hoping the silence that weighed over you like pressure fated, but you both didn’t know what to do. You poured out inner most thoughts out of impulse. No self control, just flat out admitted to your consciousness thought. Good thing you didn’t blurt out the fact you like to imagine it was him as you touched-

“Holy shit, okay!” Ethan readjusted himself in his seat. Mouth agape. His face was beet red at this point.

“Did I say that out lo-”

“Yup, you did!” He chewed on his lips, as he shook his head with his eyes closed shut. “That’s an image I will not be able to get out of my head...” He mutters out slowly.

“I’m gonna shut up now.” You facepalm yourself.

Ethan couldn’t believe this was happening. Let alone half the shit you just admitted to him. Yet as his eyes fell on your embarrassed state. He couldn’t help the beaming smile on his face. He shook his head in amusement. He leaned closer. Placing his elbows on the table as he leaned over half the table now. “Yes...my answers yes by the way.”

You pull down your hands. The slightest peek of your eyes meeting his coy smirk and the mischievous glint in his eyes. “Wait really? I thought I totally just blew it.” You breathe a laugh out.

“No, not with me. Though I don’t think you should tell the next guy after me that you like to touch yo-”

“Yeah, yeah okay! Point taken.” You waved him off. You meet in the middle, with beaming chuckles and giggles. “Though you got one thing wrong...”

“What’s that?”

“There’s no one else- after you that is, if this doesn’t work. Just you...” You shrug nonchalantly.

“Just me?” He leans back, crossing his arms over his chest. He doesn’t miss the obvious glance at his arms.

“Just you.” You nod. You both glance away from each other. Growing timid under the others lingering gaze. Though it’s not till Ethan gently brushes his finger against the top of your fingertip, just faintly enough you can’t miss it, that you slowly follow the buttons of his shirt, up to his awaiting gaze.

“You wanna get lunch with me?” He lets out softly. An awaiting lapse of hope falls behind those two brown eyes of his. Your mind was already made up at this point.

“Yeah, I’d loved to.” You give a firm nod, then begin to gather up your things. Your paper would have to be finished later on in the evening, or during the weekend. As you place your laptop back into your bag, and zip it up, Ethan stands up and offers to carry it.

“Here let me...” His signature grin decorated his face again.

“Sure you can carry two bags?” You tease, as he swings your book bag over his left shoulder.

“You did not just say that.” He mocks hurt as you walk out of the study room you requested to be in.

Night came around quicker than you would have expected. You and the group had taken the subway to head on over to the bowling alley many classmates suggested to go to. Seeing as you had never done atomic bowling. The group decided to head on around 9 to let you have the experience of bowling in the dark. You thought it had been a sweet gesture on their part. Your eyes grew with excitement seeing the lights turned off, and the monitors playing music videos. The glow in the dark theme satisfied your inner child.

Now you were seated in a booth, laughing about something Ethan was whispering in your ear, well at least from what Chad could tell. His staring caught the others attention, they too now engrossed in the happy pair on a date.

“Okay when did that happen?” Tara scoffed in disbelief, but the smile painted on his face told the group she wasn’t anything other than happy for you two.

“That would be my doing.” Chad bowed for his friends.

“You did that, when?” Tara slapped his shoulder.

“Mmm...Today.” He shrugged then flinched back to avoid another smack from her. “Look, she was hesitant to ask him out. I just gave her that extra push.” He raised his hand up in surrender. Then gestured at the two of you with open palms. “Come on...you can’t tell me that they don’t look good together.” You had thrown your head back in fits of giggles. Ethan watches you with admiration and a longing gaze.

“They do look cute together.” Sam chimed in, then glanced down at Danny, whose lap she sat in. Mindy’s scoff fell through the air though, all eyes fell onto her now.

“I still don’t trust the guy.”

“I course you don’t.” Chad shook his head. “You and your rules.”

“Hello! It’s basic horror movies 101 shit. Never trust the love interest.” Mindy gestured to Ethan resting his arm over the back of your head of the booth. “We’ve only known him for how long? Trust me there’s something about him.”

“Yeah...my roommate likes our friend!” Chad gestured to you. “When’s the last time you’ve seen her smile like that. Heard her laugh. It’s been too fucking long. She’s happy, she’s letting go. Moving on from Wes!” He reminded her with a frown. “Let her have this Mindy. Can we leave the two lovebirds alone now and enjoy this wonderful time tonight. Danny, your turn, my man.” He picked up a ball and gestured it to him. Danny patted Sam’s thigh to let him get up. He took a swig of his beer then took the ball from his hands. “That’s what I’m talking about!” He slapped Danny’s back. The others chimed in with cheers and woops.

“Are those two ever gonna play?” Mindy gestured to you with the rim of her beer.

“Mindy, you added their names in last. There’s ten of us!” He jabbed at her. Then pointed to the screen on the overhead of their lane. The group turned to the monitor screen. Their eyes started from the top and trailed down all the way to the bottom. Yours and Ethan’s name mocking her. She winced.

Quinn Paul. Mindy Anika Chad Tara Danny Sam Y/n Ethan

“I don’t think they seem to mind it though. Look.” Quinn looked off from the monitor then gestured to Ethan, who leaned into your side further. His face hidden as he whispered in your ear.

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Sam asked with a laugh.

“You wanna get out of here?” Tara chimed with a deep voice.

“Oh yes, Ethan. I’d love to!” Quinn said in a pitched tone.

“That is not what they’re saying.” Sam rolled her eyes but couldn’t contain her laugh.

“That is exactly what they’re saying!” Tara laughed.

“They’re staring at us.” He chuckled softly into your ear. Your smile only widened as you slowly turned towards him. Your eyes cast over to your friends then back to him.

“I know. They’ve been doing that since we sat down.”

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Ethan looked at his arm resting in front of you on the table.

“Probably trying to meddle their way into my love life.” You sigh as you lean back against the arm behind you. You glance over to them, and catch Mindy being the last to avert her eyes. “Though knowing Mindy, she’s still trying to scope you out.” Your heart feels wounded seeing his happy demeanor shift into one of doubt.

“She doesn’t like me very much does she?” He emits a nervous chuckle.

“No, it’s not that. She’s just a bit cautious about letting in new party members. Trust me, she’ll get over it once you get to know her. Once she gets to know you. Trust me okay. You have nothing to worry about.” You reassure him. He dips his head then picks it right back up. His eyes flicker down to your lips then your eyes.

“I trust you.”

“Good, I’d worry if you didn’t.” You hum, taking the opening to let your fingers caress over his lightly, just like he’d done so back in the study room. He chuckles then initiates your hands holding. Your right thumb and his left begin the ultimate thumb war. You both fight to the finish not wanting to lose.

“You’re cheating!”

“Gross...” Mindy takes a sip of her beer.

“What? It’s cute.” Tara slacks her jaw in shock.

“What are they five? A thumb war, really?” Mindy evaluates and gives her opinion as though this was a scary movie she was critiquing for the poor acting of the clueless character who couldn’t clearly sense the presence of the killer creeping up behind her.

“Mindy!” Chad sucks his teeth.

“Hey!” She pouts. “I’m just saying. Shouldn’t they be kissing instead of a thumb war or something? I can’t give my two cents now, but fine, it’s none of my business. To each their own I guess.”

“You’re unbelievable you know that, and quit fucking staring.” Chad greets his teeth as he calls her out.

“Like you fuckers weren’t all doing it earlier.”

“Well, we’re not anymore...so quit it. Alright, who's next? There will be a victor tonight and I’m making sure of it.” Chad clasped his hands together.

“That would be the love birds...who are about to kiss, holy shit. I knew it!” Mindy pointed to the cheesy movie scene happening a booth down from the group. They all whipped their heads around in time to watch a love story in the making. Their hearts warming as a nervous Ethan leaned in, gently planting a slow kiss on you. Chad whistled low enough so you wouldn’t hear him. He placed a hand over where his heart lay.

“That’s what I’m talking about people. Thank you god! I knew that kid had fucking game. Am I a matchmaker in the making or what?”

“Or something...” Mindy snickered. Chad frowned and flipped her off.

“Fuck you, Mindy!”

“Fuck you, Chad!”

“So who’s gonna go break them up...” Anika gave her two seconds of still being present in the moment. All heads looked back, watching as you and Ethan were too engrossed in each other's arms...and mouths. One hand locked into Ethan’s curls as he cupped one side of your face. Chad looked away, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly.

“Not it!”

“Not it!” “Not it!” “Not it!” “Not it!”

“Not it!” “Not it!”

“Shit!” Chad cursed. He looked back to your heavy but slow make out session, then to the monitor. A flash present over your name to indicate that it was your turn. “Anyone want an extra turn?” He clasped his hands. Two hands, Tara’s and Sam’s flew up, willing to fill in for the two clearly horny teenagers a booth down.

#ethan landry #ethan landry x reader #ethan landry imagine #ethan landry imagines #ethan landry oneshot #ethan landry x fem!reader #my gif #writings by juls

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griffintail2 · 1 month

Text

Wolf in Duck's Clothing (Part 4)

Summary: A small child sinner tries to navigate her way through Hell.

Pairings: Lucifer x Child!GN!Reader

Warnings: Cursing, Implied Trauma, Implied Past Bad Caretaker

<<First <Last -- Next>

A/N: Omg there's so many of you enjoying-- Thank you for the love and I hope you keep enjoying!

And-And he tried to work on his project while his mind was still muddled. But he realized he was still focused on the child when he noticed his duck had wolf ears now.

“Fuck.” He put his head in his hands.

Why did he care? Why were they stuck in his head? He’s never cared about a sinner before! He even knew there were children sinners! But this one…this one was stuck in his head. And fuck! He cared…he cared if the kid was ok.

It was messing with his head! He’d asked them for their name, he comforted them, and he even gave them his place to stay even if it was temporary! He shouldn’t care, they’re just another sinner…

But that felt wrong to think. He cursed to himself as he paced in his workshop. It was another day, he had little sleep (which was normal but it felt distressing right now) and he couldn’t understand his own mind.

He took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair.

Fine, ok. He’ll just show himself! He’ll show himself what he’ll get if he shows the sinner kindness. Remind himself what sinners were all about. You give them an inch, they’ll take the mile.

So, he put his care forward and was ready to let it be shattered, just like every other time…

The child came to the kitchen to get food in the morning, frowning in confusion when they saw Lucifer in there, humming to himself as he was cooking.

“…Good morning.” They muttered.

He looked over, smiling at them. “Hey, I hope you like pancakes.”

They watched him carefully, shifting nervously. It was his home so of course he could come out. They just weren’t ready for this.

“I think so.” They nodded.

Lucifer noticed their ears pointing back as their tail wrapped close to them, and he frowned softly at their response.

“Well, come sit down they’re almost done.”

They hesitated for a moment before coming to sit in the chair at the dining table. Lucifer nodded before he went back to the food in front of him.

“Did you get some more sleep?”

“Yes.”

“Good, good.” He nodded as he put a pancake on top of a small stack, bringing it over to them. “I figured after last night you should get a good breakfast.”

“Thank you…” They tilted their head as they looked at the food as he went to grab his own food. “Do you need something?”

Lucifer frowned as he looked back at the sinner. “No?”

They simply watched him for a moment before humming and turning back to the food, picking up a fork. “Ok.”

…What? He watched the sinner confused. They were a bit of an odd one for sure.

“OK then.” He muttered before grabbing his plate and sitting at the table with them.

It was silent besides the scraping of forks and knives on plates. He was always terrible at small talk. He could put on a big show sure! But he wasn’t very good at simple socializing, especially after being a shut-in for the past few years. It didn’t really help the inability to small talk with that.

He looked around the kitchen, trying to think of anything to say. It was spotless in here other than the small mess he’d just made. Pausing, he thought of something to say.

“What have you been doing around here?” He asked.

They looked up, putting an arm over their mouth as they swallowed. So, they had pretty decent manners for a child.

“Cleaning.” They answered.

He waited for more but they just sat there, tail slowly swishing behind them.

“Wait, wait. You’ve only been cleaning since you’ve been here?”

They nodded snout scrunching up slightly. “The dust kept making me sneeze. And it needed to be cleaned.”

“So, you haven’t been…playing or reading? Anything like that?”

“…I’m not supposed to touch anything I don’t need to.” They shifted in their seat. “And I only need to when I clean.”

Damn it Lucifer.

He hung his head for a moment forming words before he looked up and put his hands on the table.

“You don’t have to clean. That’s not your job, this isn’t even your house.” He told them. “I appreciate it, but you don’t need to do that. Look, let’s change that rule. You can touch things when you want, you just can’t take it from the house. Ok?”

They sat there, taking it in before nodding. “Ok.”

“Great.” He took a breath. “You know, I say what have you been doing, I guess I don’t have much for you to do other than read. You can read right?” They nodded and he nodded as well. “While that’s good, it wouldn’t be fun all the time…hm…Alright. Finish your breakfast then I’m going to show you something.”

They continued eating with that and he watched them carefully. He should have been clearer about his rule, but he didn’t think they’d take it that way. Strange kid.

The pair of them finished their food and he put the plates in the sinks. He’ll…probably come back to clean them later. He led the child down the halls, their ears pointed back and their arms behind them as they followed behind him. With a grand bow, he opened the door to his workshop, grinning as the little one giggled.

“This is where I do my work.” He motioned for them to come in. “And…my more personal projects. But, the reason we’re here. You can take one duck from any pile, except that one.” He pointed to one closer to his desk. “Those ones are more dangerous.”

The child came in, their eyes lighting up at all the colorful little things. They came in such a variety. They’d never seen so many colors in one room either, especially such beautiful bright ones. Their ears perked up in delight as their tail started to wag. Going towards one of the safe piles, they went to touch but stopped, hesitating as they looked at him.

Lucifer, himself, wasn’t able to help the soft smile as he watched the wonder and joy in the child’s eyes. No one had been so excited to see his ducks in years. Charlie used to love them when she was younger, but she’d grown. Not as enthused. But the little one was enthralled by them all.

“You can look through them.” He encouraged.

“…they’re all yours?” They asked him.

“Yes, but like I said. You can choose one for yourself.”

They retracted their hand though. “I can’t take your things. That’s wrong.”

“What have you been doing around here?” He asked.

They looked up, putting an arm over their mouth as they swallowed. So, they had pretty decent manners for a child.

“Cleaning.” They answered.

He waited for more but they just sat there, tail slowly swishing behind them.

“Wait, wait. You’ve only been cleaning since you’ve been here?”

They nodded snout scrunching up slightly. “The dust kept making me sneeze. And it needed to be cleaned.”

“So, you haven’t been…playing or reading? Anything like that?”

“…I’m not supposed to touch anything I don’t need to.” They shifted in their seat. “And I only need to when I clean.”

Damn it Lucifer.

He hung his head for a moment forming words before he looked up and put his hands on the table.

They sat there, taking it in before nodding. “Ok.”

They continued eating with that and he watched them carefully. He should have been clearer about his rule, but he didn’t think they’d take it that way. Strange kid.

“You can look through them.” He encouraged.

“…they’re all yours?” They asked him.

“Yes, but like I said. You can choose one for yourself.”

They retracted their hand though. “I can’t take your things. That’s wrong.

He laughed softly. “It’s not, I’m giving you one. You need something to play with. These are perfect.”

They looked at the pile, shifting slightly, clearly wanting to just go in. He couldn’t understand why they weren’t though.

“What do I give?” They asked, looking away from the temptation and back to him.

He frowned. “Nothing?”

“But you’re giving. I need to give back. That’s how it works.”

He still held his frown as he came over crouching in front of them. “No, this is a gift. You don’t give anything for a gift.”

“…Gift?”

He chuckled quietly thinking it a joke…but the child tilted their head in confusion. He stood in his crouched position for a moment before sitting cross-legged in front of them.

“Yeah, a gift. Things you get on birthdays and holidays. You know?” He waved his hand, but their ears went flat as they looked frustrated by their own confusion. “…Has no one ever given you a gift?”

“…no, I don’t think so.”

He let out a humorless laugh of disbelief. “Who was taking care of you before?”

That question got him closed out as they wrapped their tail close and clasped their hands together as they looked down. He sighed deeply as he tapped his hands against his legs.

Ok. Ok. A lot of things were starting to make sense.

“Ok, let me see your hand little one.” He held his hand out to them palm out.

They hesitated as they stared at his hand. Cautiously, they put their hand in his.

“Palm up.” He told them gently as he looked over to the pile of ducks, looking over it carefully.

They silently followed his instructions as he saw a cute little duck wearing a little fishing hat and holding a fishing hook (That actually reeled in! But that’s not what matters right now.). He took it into his free hand before he put the little duck in their hand. Carefully, he had them close their hand around it gently.

“This is yours. It’s a gift from me to you. A gift means you don’t give me anything. It’s yours to enjoy and do whatever you like with it. It’s yours.” He emphasized as he put one hand carefully on their shoulder.

His hand let go of theirs and their hand shook slightly.

“And, I want to gift you a few more, make up for all the gifts everyone should have been giving you.” He smiled gently. “But I want you to pick the ones you like instead. Sound good?”

“You promise?” They muttered instead.

“Promise what?” He asked.

“It’s mine?” They looked up at him with misty eyes.

He smiled sadly as he gently put a hand on their cheek. “I promise. I won’t let anyone take them away from you.”

They let out a quiet whimper and he sighed as he gently pulled them forward and into a hug. He gently pet the top of their head and instead of hugging him, they hugged their gift close.

“You’ll be alright now little one.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ Taglist! (Comment or message me to be included) - @m-m-e-d-u-s-a - @legostars - @sarah-dreemurr-magne - @ringsofpersonti - @kisskisskys - @mysterypotatoink - @amberforest08 - @type-ink - @nagi3seastorm - @sunmizuiro - @lonelysimp18

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel fanfiction #child reader #hazbin hotel lucifer x reader #hazbin lucifer #lucifer magne x reader #lucifer x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer hazbin hotel

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moonmunson · 2 months

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either way / no doubt

a/n: either way and no doubt by Odie Leigh have been on repeat currently and I relate to them so heavily so I word vomited on a Google docs. its a little rushed but oh well LMAO (I'm also always writing with a plus sized reader in mind)

cw: over thinker fem!reader, autistic coded reader, not knowing how to enter into a first serious relationship, kind lover boy!Eddie, no use of y/n

wc: 2.1k

It is the beginning of Spring when she meets Eddie Munson. Genuinely meets him, not just sees him around town and wonders what it’s like to be in his orbit. Working at the local diner, she sees him and his group of friends often. She’s served them a couple times, and they’re always respectful - albeit rambunctious. They tip well, stack their dishes for the busboys to clear, wave to her on the way out.

It’s the day Eddie comes in by himself that marks it as different, new. He sits in her section of the diner, glances her way and then averts his gaze when she meets it. That’s odd, but she doesn’t think much else of it. Not until the end of his meal - consisting of a solitary cup of coffee and a slice of apple pie - does he stop her when she checks to see if he needs anything.

He asks if she’d want to hang out sometime, and she laughs - a forced exhale of nerves. He asks why she’s laughing, and she doesn’t know what to say. After a few moments of awkward silence, she relents and shrugs. What would we do? He says anything she wants. What if she doesn’t know what she wants to do? He says they’ll figure it out together.

They end up sitting in the back of Eddie’s van, the open doors facing Lover’s Lake. She’s fidgety, and stumbling over her words. He keeps staring at her when she talks and she’s not used to anybody doing this much work to stay focused on her and what she has to say, especially because she’s not saying much of substance. He asks her so many questions, and mundane ones at that. How are classes at the community college? What’s your major? She answers as best she can.

The feeling of someone looking at her makes her skin crawl. She doesn’t know what to do with her hands, she’s uncomfortably aware of the position of her nose on her face, which seems incredibly silly, and then she’s thinking about just how silly that is when he asks her if she’s alright.

“Sorry?”

“I was just asking if you felt alright. It looked like you went away for a second there,” Eddie ducks his head down to catch her line of sight. Eye contact has always been difficult for her, but this is different - warm - like sunshine. “I know I’m not the most exciting person to talk to, but I hope you’re having a good time. I enjoy talking to you.”

“I’m here, sorry. I like talking to you too.”

“You don’t have to apologize, it’s okay.”

“Sorry. Oh-” She sucks in a breath and places her hand over her mouth, eyes wide at the realization of her mistake. He giggles, a sweet boyish sound, and it warms his face. She thinks she could love that face, if he let her. If she knew how. She laughs too, despite herself. “It’s a bad habit. I really have to stop apologizing so much.”

He’s still smiling when he says it’s okay, he understands.

Later, when he drops her off at her apartment, the sun has gone down. The ride he’d offered her is relatively quiet. It’s a strange thing, to see the way someone adjusts themself around you. The usual loud heavy metal is absent here. The fast driving and sharp turns are traded in for complying with the speed limit, graceful steering and soft brakes. When he looks at her, she directs her gaze out the window - when she looks at him, he is focused on the road.

He stops her as she takes off her seatbelt and goes to open the door, jumping out of his own and running around the front of the van to open it for her. She leads him to her front door, and he asks if he can see her again, if he can have her number. She nods, and rummages around her purse for a few frantic seconds before finding her waitress notepad and pen. When she rips the page out that she’s written her number on and hands it to him, he clutches it to his chest and smiles.

“I’ll call you when I get home, if that’s okay. Just to let you know I made it back safely.”

“And if I want to keep talking to you?”

“We can talk for as long as you want to.”

“Okay.”

Eddie walks backwards for a few seconds, keeping his eyes locked on hers, paper still against his heart. By the time he’s made it back to his van, he lifts a hand up for a short wave goodbye, and turns to face the vehicle.

Now or never.

“Eddie?” In true Munson fashion, he whips around completely at the sound of her calling out to him.

“Yeah, sweets?”

“I just wanted to tell you I had a really nice time with you today. I can’t wait for you to call me later.” She tucks her hair behind her ears, needing to do something with her hands to offset the nausea brought about by her impulsive vulnerability. He smiles wider, if that’s even possible.

“I’m glad you had a good time. I’ve been wanting to ask you out forever, Gareth and the guys kept busting my balls about it. I promise I’ll call when I get home.”

She nods, her eyes tracking his steps as he makes it to his car. She watches him drive off. It feels so strange, this immediate wanting him to come back, wanting him to come inside and crawl into her brain. To know her fully. It scares her in a way she’s incredibly unused to. When she can’t hear the music blasting from his speakers anymore, she makes her way inside and slumps against the door for a few seconds.

He does call when he gets home, and they talk until the sun rises.

They spend the next few days talking on the phone. It’s easier like this, she thinks. She doesn’t have to worry about the way she looks when she’s thinking of something to say. She doesn’t have to avoid his white hot gaze, the way she can feel it trail over her face when she’s speaking. If he notices how much more she opens up to him when they’re not actively sitting next to each other, he doesn’t mention it.

When they’re not on the phone, he clings to her brainspace like moss on a tree. She can’t stop thinking about him, to the point she’s worried she’s obsessing over something that isn’t there. He’d said he had a good time, he said he enjoyed talking to her, so why does it keep bothering her so much? He feels safe. He does feel safe, but she’s not used to conversations with no expectations. No guise, no hidden agenda. If he notices the way she starts to pull away due to her overthinking, her sentences shorter and stunted, he doesn’t mention it. He carries on as usual, calling her to talk about what he’d done that day. It makes her smile.

When he asks, unprompted, if he can see her again, she says yes.

They go to the lake again. It is an early March morning, the last tendrils of Winter still grasping desperately for some kind of recognition against early Spring. He brings a blanket and hot cocoa for both of them, and she feels it in her chest - warm and sweet and chocolatey, like his eyes. It’s easier this time, talking to him. She spends less time worried about her posture and cadence - more time really listening to him speak and trying her hardest to maintain eye contact.

The early morning breeze makes ripples on the otherwise still surface of the water. It’s so beautiful. He’s so beautiful. He’s so expressive when he speaks. She used to think he was careless, jumping on tables and riling up the people he knew didn’t like him. Seeing him up close like this, she realizes it’s kind of the opposite. It’s careful, planned, the way he uses his hands, his eyes. Even when he’s talking about a book he's read a million times, she feels like she's there among the scenery and characters he describes. It’s entirely captivating. She wants to be more like him. Carefully carefree.

She’s never done this kind of thing - the relationship kind of thing. If that’s what this is, she has no idea how to traverse this new terrain. She can’t find her footing, she doesn’t know what the formula is, what the proper way to go about it looks like. She doesn’t think about sounding weird when she asks:

“What are we doing?”

Eddie pauses mid sip, brings the cup back down to his lap.

“Currently? Or like, with our lives?” He chuffs out a little laugh. Not in a teasing way, though it's hard for her to differentiate. “Because currently, from my perspective at least, I’m sitting in my van with a pretty girl talking about our favorite books. What I’m doing with my life is something a lot of people, including me, would really like to know.”

Levity, she recognizes.

“Sorry if it's a weird question, I just…” She trails off, breaking eye contact, looking at her hands in her lap. He scoots forward a bit, the side of his thigh touching hers as their legs dangle off the back of the van. He doesn’t push her to say anything, doesn’t acknowledge the unneeded apology, doesn’t fill the silence with his own voice. He just waits, patiently. She doesn’t think she’s ever seen him sit this still.

“I really like you, and I really like talking to you. I’ve never done anything like this,” She uses her pointer finger to gesture between the two of them, drawing a connecting line between their bodies, “I don’t know how to, if that makes sense. I’m not really a lot of people’s type, I guess.”

“Hey, look at me,” Eddie sets the cup down next to him and very gently takes her hand, locks their fingers together. When she raises her eyes to meet his, he continues. “There’s no rush, I mean it. You set the pace here, okay? I like you, like a lot. If all you wanna do is sit here and talk, I’m totally fine with that. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, sweets.”

“What if you find out how weird I am and decide you don’t want to talk to me anymore?”

At this, Eddie relinquishes his grip on her hand, hops down from the lip of the back of the van, and stands in front of her.

“Y’know who you’re talking to?” two thumbs pointed towards himself - eyebrows raised, mouth quirked in a goofy grin, “King of the freaks, misfits, and ne'er do wells. I don’t think you could scare me off, but you’re certainly welcome to try.”

“So just… be myself?” She scrunches her face up - the idea of being genuine is almost totally foreign to her.

“Be yourself!”

“Ew. Yeah, alright, fine.” She sighs in resignation and shrugs a shoulder. Doesn’t think about how convincing he is, or how willing she was to drop some of her defenses. Carefully carefree. She can do it.

They share a laugh, finishing their luke-warm cocoa together and talking until the sun is high in the sky and the temperature rises too high for them to ignore any longer. This time, the drive home is less quiet. She meets his gaze when he looks over at her from the driver’s seat, she hums along to the sound of the radio, it's nice. Comfortable.

Just like last time, Eddie hastens to run around the van and open her door for her. He extends a hand to help her down and out, and they stay connected on the short journey to her apartment’s front door. Eddie watches while she digs the keys out of her purse, unlocking the door and leading the both of them inside for a drink. He kicks his shoes off by the welcome mat, and they look like they belong there.

It is the beginning of Spring when Eddie Munson permanently plants himself in her life, a steadfast source of comfort and nourishment. It is hard for her, and it takes longer than most for her to truly open up. To show him all the nooks and crannies of her mind. He takes it all in stride - her overthinking, her quirks and neuroses. He shows her that it is entirely impossible to trust someone enough to take part in the watering and flowering - that it's not a weight she has to hold alone. She can bloom.

if you enjoyed this story please like and reblog!!

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fic #eddie munson my beloved #eddie munson imagine #stranger things fic #stranger things imagine #it is possible to be mentally ill and be in a healthy relationship #it's rotten work #not to me #not if its you #sio writes

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circeyoru · 2 months

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Unwanted Soul _ Part 7 = Requested

[Yandere!Alastor x Owner of his Soul!Reader]

Part 1 — Part 2 — Part 2.5 (ask) — Part 3 — Part 4 — Part 5 — Part 6 — Part 7 (here)

It’s been around a few good months since the attack on the hotel, everything has been quiet around the hotel and you’ve been adapting well to the residents of the hotel. Since you were technically a staff member. Plus, since you’ve confessed to Alastor, things didn’t change much

Was what you wanted to say

You find yourself pulled out of your comfort zone when you’re set to have some form of duty. Then there was your little self-imposed obligation to go on dates with Alastor that suited him. While you were happy Alastor was enjoying your time, you can’t help but find yourself drained by the end of it

Not to mention Charlie’s insistent of your inclusion in her various activities. You really really preferred to be in the comforts of your room watching aime and reading manga or manhwa or whatever they are called

Still though, Alastor always knew when you were burn out from socializing and would put a stop to your suffering. Followed by a relaxing cuddling and anything you prefer. His attitude and behaviour towards you didn’t change all that much if you don’t count the increased intensity and the easiness of making him flustered

Because you and Alastor were a ‘confirmed item’, there were a lot of teasing from the hotel members to which Alastor prides himself on blocking off and you let him. Though there was an odd dynamic between Alastor and Lucifer

What you could describe as a parent or father judging his child’s lover type of deal. An example was you leaning against Alastor while on the lobby couch then Lucifer comes sitting next to you as well and moved you so that you were leaning on him. Or another where they were both preparing your meal and had a contest over, but because they took too long, you made your cup noodles

It was all weird and all, though nothing to stress over. You like staying at the hotel all the same, even though your friendship with them isn’t all that strong compared to what you share between Alastor or Lucifer

“You know, Pager, it got me thinking.” Lucifer started. It was a random quiet and slow day, as rare as it is, Alastor was out in Cannibal Town to gossip with Rosie. Of course he told everyone else he had important business to attend to.

“Yeah? You’re not thinking of making another library themed duck collection, right?” You gave him a suspicious gaze, looking up from your novel. “I’m not accepting those. I have like… a whole shelf of them back home.”

Lucifer awkwardly chuckled, “Okay, I mean, no! Of course not.”

You gave him a look of pure doubt. “If you gave me some and Alastor knew about it, you bet he’ll burn it.”

“Just gotta make them fireproof or something.” Lucifer whispered, but he shook his head and cleared his throat, sounding more professional. “Okay, this is serious! Very!”

Without warning, he suddenly dragged you into a portal of his own and you two arrived in a realm of his making. A realm where everything was golden. You hugged onto him tightly when you realized it was a gold sea below you two. Naturally, you yelled at him for doing this out of the blue

You had him held onto your while you wrote ‘wings’ on your page to form a pair of them behind your back to keep you afloat. You went back to yelling at Lucifer before he gestured to you, saying this was the point

Unable to comprehend, you said of course because you were no angel. Nor did you expect him to just drag you into another realm out of the blue

“What if you didn’t need to write on your pages to get things done?” Lucifer suggested, his wings flapping from time to time to remain in the air over the flowing golden liquid below you two.

“Then I can’t do anything. I’m nothing without my quill and pages or at least a surface to write on.” You answered, pointing to the wings that magically appeared from your words alone. “You know that.”

“I mean as in you don’t use them. Maybe start small, like don’t use your pages and only your quill to write.” Lucifer cryptically explained, you gave him a raised brow and he groaned, “Oh, come on! You watch your little shows, you know what I mean! Writing it in the air and poof!”

You laughed. Yes, you’ve seen these things happen in TV shows and anime, but you never got the chance or want to try it out. You see, you don’t exactly see yourself to have something so overpowered in your skillset or ability list

From what Alastor told, his immense power came from the evil deeds he has done in his years alive. His ticket to Hell had his name when he first killed. Then his power slowly built up from the serial killings he did. Adding to that, there was fraud, manipulation, and corruption. His twisted moral of how a hunter make good use of their prey was way too concerning for you

Cannibalism. He ate his victims as a method of exposing the bodies, well, only the ones he saw were healthy. But still. Then he told you like a storybook before bed how he dug up graves in the bayou where he dump the bodies or put it somewhere noticeable on purpose to catch the attention of the public

Afterwards? He speaks through the microphone in his booth while the radio all over his hometown state listens, he sympathized with the victim and their family and friends, he warned listeners to be careful, he wished the authorities to make quick work in finding and arresting the killer. All while a sick smile was on his face as he made those broadcast

It’s times when he tells you his cruelty that you’re reminded with who you rescued, sure Hell was a piece of work, but Alastor was another story. He’s something straight out of a serial killer movie, but in real life. You can’t question enough how Alastor fell for you and turned to a yandere type as well, but not like you’re regretting it now. He grew on you far too much

In contrast to Alastor’s build-up or something like a pre-register in Hell for power, you’ve done doing to that degree. You didn’t kill others, you aren’t even manipulative, and you definitely wasn’t brave enough to commit some other crimes. If anything, you were a victim

You already can’t understand why you had the power you do now. Alastor theorized before it was due to the fact you love books, but then the question changes to how your powers were this unique. Why were you any to summon and conjure items you understand?

Alastor can do something similar but it’s just that. Similar. He snaps his fingers and things just appear. There were limits, but something he can’t do was summon angelic steel or weapons like you can

Once you joked how you were actually destined to be in Heaven. That got Alastor into a frenzy. Immediately pinning you down and patting your back to see if there were wings

“A joke! It was just a joke!” You shouted at him, there was that crazed look in his eyes that sent a chill down his spine. Even though you have his soul and limited his powers, he was still the more powerful one between you two.

Alastor blinked and got off of you, his eyes narrowed as his smile shrank, “A poor joke, Darling. Even if you’re destined for Heaven and taken away from me… I will find you and drag you back down to Hell.”

You got Lucifer to bring you back to your room and leave thing as that. You don’t think you can do it, it was a pleasant thought, to be able to do that you’d be more powerful. Then again, you’re not seeking to be powerful. There was nothing for you to fight for. You had Alastor, that was enough

Not in Lucifer’s case though. He kept pestering you on learning, randomly bringing you to his golden realm that you got used to it and just prepared pages with the word ‘wings’ written on it. His persistence caught Alastor’s attention

At first, Alastor was annoyed that Lucifer was trying to spend time with you and to your delight chased Lucifer away, but after you told him what it was about, he was interested to see your power grow as well. Claiming that it was a great opportunity

Of course, he added that it wasn’t due to him doubting he can’t protect you in times of needs, but he didn’t want what happened on that roof to happen again

What if you didn’t have a surface to write on? What if you didn’t have your book with you? What if your pages were wet? What if your quill was taken away from you? What if you were put into a situation where you can’t rely on your pages and quill?

In that sense, Alastor was all for Lucifer’s idea. Since Lucifer was the one to see how your power developed, he was the better supervisor than Alastor. As much as your love hates to admit it. Though he wanted what’s best for you and he thinks you needed this now that you were staying at the hotel where sinners and demons can roam freely

“Fine…” You sighed, “I’ll try your little idea…”

“Yes! Come on! We’re starting training!!” Lucifer opened up the portal with his apple cane.

“Have a productive time, My Beloved!” Alastor hugged your good luck, kissing the top of your head, “I’ll have your favourites ready when you return.”

And so started with your little power upgrade project

Lucifer spared no expenses when it came to dragging you out of bed from your comfort activities to do more trial and error

It felt like the days when you were back in your living years, having to study and work. The twist was that you enjoy it since it was your first friend from Hell that got you to work. If anyone was in doubt about Lucifer being the King of Hell. He was a hellish tormentor for you

Turns out, that golden realm he has was all under his control and that golden sea could have been dry land. Oh you were so pissed when you learned that. Sure it helped with exercising your wings ability but he could have told you in the first place!

You’re very very tempted to just smack him in the head. But you told yourself not to give into temptation and just be good and get this over with. Lucifer is still the King of Hell and a powerful fallen angel that was leagues above you. You can never compare or try to win over

Alastor, the sweet thing, was always there for you when you needed some comfort or when you didn’t have motivation to continue

He provided you with so much that you thought back to your time alive

When you were down in the dumps and burn out, you longed for someone to be by your side to support you through thick and thin. You thought you had it, but it was a lie you told yourself. You thought that was happiness, it was nothing but a joke you drown yourself in

You truly enjoy your time with Alastor and all that he has given you, devoted to you. You can’t thank him enough

In the end, there was truth to Lucifer’s little theory. You started with plainly writing in the air with your quill, nothing happened naturally. Later on, you started to envision writing on something and it worked just a smidge. You soon learned to see the air as your surface, treat it like there was a hologram of a page there and write on it. Like all those sci-fi movies and TV shows you watched

Letters started to appear in a neon glow, coloured in your signature colour of your aura. In no time, the letters appeared more constant to your writing, then words formed. That was a big step, your next goal was to actually summon something

That took more time to perfect, but you got it since you were past the big goal of writing on nothing or air. The items you summoned grew in size and weight, then you barely managed to summon your angelic weapon. You fainted right after it appeared

You lacked stamina and energy to maintain it after using so much to summon it into existence. A short break was taken before you pushed yourself to continue. Lucifer and Alastor both supported you while reminding you that there was no pressure

No pressure. They actually mean it. It wasn’t a tactic to guilt-trip you into working harder. Figures appeared in your mind but you shook it away. No, you’re doing this because Alastor and Lucifer believes you can do it. You’re doing it not because you were forced. You want to do it

It was when you finally managed to summon an angelic weapon and maintain it for a good while that Lucifer deemed your powers successfully upgraded. Him having to act like a system congratulating your work, it left Alastor confused, but he too praised you for your achievement without giving up

Next step was to not use your quill to write, you already had an idea to use your fingers like a particular anime’s protagonist from long long ago. Maybe you should rewatch it for some more ideas. But there was something else that you never got around to ask

“Oh yeah, why is it that you keep bringing me to this goldy realm of yours?” You poofed away some random objects you summoned with a wave, “Can’t we just do all this in the hotel? It’s big enough for it and we didn’t actually use much space anyways.”

Lucifer groaned, “Oh, no. No~ No, no, no, no, no, no, no. Thats, uh hah, no. Bad idea.”

Your head tilted, “Bad idea? That’s the hotel you rebuilt with the others, right?”

Lucifer would be banging his head from that movement, sadly and unfortunately for him, there was no wall in sight in this weird golden realm. “Yes, but now Charlie let Vox’s people install these screens all over the place and… Arghhh… I had to destroy the TV in my room cause of all the heebie-jeebies I got from it.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was like the day before I asked you if you thought of that power upgrade thing.”

No wonder Alastor was more pushy about you staying in your shared room or his radio tower recently. Never letting you away from those areas. Now you understand what it was about. You did wonder why Alastor didn’t tell you, but then you recalled how it was you that have been stressing about the deal with Lucifer and your power, so there was never a chance for him to tell you that

And naturally the other hotel members would assume Alastor told you so they never approached you. Ohhh… You feel like a jerk now

You quickly made your way down to the lobby, easily finding everyone you needed

“Charlie!”

“Oh! You want to join our activity? We’re gonna do some online competition with this new—”

“No, Charlie, why did you accept VoxTech’s stuff?” You questioned immediately, stepping between the group and the large screen.

“Vox was sponsoring us! He gave us so much help! He even had his employees install everything around the hotel.” Charlie praised, though you noticed how her eyes stayed glued to what was behind her. The others all nodded in agreement, seemingly in a trance.

Your eyebrows furrowed, you looked behind you, just a peek was enough to see that Vox had been hypnotizing them to say good things about him. You glared at the screen, showing Vox and his hypnotic eye. This doesn’t work on you. “Alastor!”

“Darling!” Alastor appeared through the shadows, immediately turning you away from the screen as his hands held your face so that you stare at him, “Did he do anything to you?”

“It’s okay, hypnosis has no effect on me.” You spoke through squished cheeks, you squeeked when Alastor stole a peck before releasing you. You blush, never will you get used to this, you peeked around your lover, seeing the group recover. “Alastor, destroy all VoxTech products in this hotel. No matter how big or small.”

Alastor’s grin grew, “With pleasure.”

You wrote ‘recovery’ on your pages and restored the gang back to conscious minds. You would try your newest technique, but this was more concerning since it was on someone other than you

When the group snapped back to their senses, Charlie and Vaggie shouted at you for what you told Alastor to do. You argued back that they weren’t even aware that they were mind controlled by Vox, it was a matter of time before they were mere puppets. You pointed over to Angel who’s boss, Valentino was Vox’s partner, and Angel backed you up easily

Lucifer offered his thoughts on the matter as well, claiming that’s why he doesn’t watch TV that often. He didn’t want to say anything because the hotel was Charlie’s and it was her decision on what she does with it

You went on to warning them how controlling and unseemingly evil Vox could get, he truly is manipulative with that perfect CEO outlook he gave everyone around him. When things don’t go his way, he was sure to retaliate like a baby throwing a tantrum. You relate with Alastor on how you two view Vox. Truly, you wonder why he was accepted as an Overlord with that personality of his

From this the group honestly saw how you were once an informant for Lucifer. You speak your mind, acting swiftly and precisely. Your knowledge on other demons, Overlords even, was a deadly weapon at your disposal. Your secretive nature made things more complicated since you wouldn’t be one to share unless necessary

Alastor praised and sang you words of flattery at your action, even though he was the one that did all the work. You merely had to drag him to your level and kiss him to shut him up, then you two went back to your shared room to cuddle while having your movie night

Charlie and Vaggie cut all contacts with Vox and his company, warning him to stay away from the hotel if and when he has ill-intention to associate with it

“F**k!” Vox slammed his fist onto the table, his screen face glitched with error messages as his rage continued to raise. All his cameras and speakers in the Hazbin Hotel was gone, the connection wasn’t merely lost, it was completely gone.

He didn’t expect someone with authority to make Alastor destroy them all. He thought the bleeding princess will keep him at bay, and he was so close to finding out about that figure on the roof that day. Someone that protected Alastor and removed all the eyes he had to watch that battle.

“Pages…” Vox mumbled, he tugged on a chain that suddenly appeared. A contract chain. “You better stop meddling in my plans!”

“It wasn’t me! I swear!” The pulled in figure cried, her long hair covering her crying face, “I’ve been here all this time! How can I do anything!?”

Vox glared, pulling on the chain until it was choking her, “Well, it’s not everyday you see a sinner with the power to command pages to do their bidding, right? Who else if not for you? Huh?”

The female demon cried and sobbed more, “It wasn’t me, it really wasn’t… Don’t punish me…”

Vox eyed his giant tank with aquatic creatures, his grin grew, “Yeah, I think you need some reminding.” He told his little weak contracted soul to his eye level, “Who it is that owns you, you don’t get to decide. Copy-Kat.”

Note: Hi hi everyone!! This is back from a bit of a pause (as you can tell, I've been working on another series). Though this part might not be as good as you'd like. But necessary for the future parts. Haha~

The requests sent a long time ago on the Reader's/your past acquaintances and interaction with Vox will be added to the parts after this! Or treated as trivia when direct contact is made!

Give this series a warm welcome back~

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

Taglist: (those that don't specify to being in all the works' taglist will automatically be assumed to be in whichever series they comment on)

@aconfusedwonderland @crowleysthings @donustellaron @mistpurpl3 @lucifers-silhouette @fluffy-koalala @nevermore-ramblings @justboredforreal @youroneandonlysimp @falsemain @scenteddelusion5 @anni1600 @readergirlstuff @salutations-demonsanddappers @mistpurpl3 @haruskrd @biadoll21 @speedycoffeedelight @wendds @paninibit @emperatris-rinaka @lucifers-silhouette @an-idyllic-novelist

#Circe's Nighty Writings #Circe's requested writings #alastor imagine #alastor x reader #alastor x y/n #alastor x you #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor headcanons #hazbin hotel fanfiction #alastor #hazbin hotel oneshots #yandere alastor #yandere alastor x reader #yandere hazbin hotel #alastor fanfiction #hazbin hotel imagines #Unwanted Soul

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ghosts-u · 2 months

Text

Chapter 2 - Previous chapter

Upon opening her eyes Y/N was met with a luscious field filled with Apple trees and flowers. You untangle your self from the many pillows and blankest that you were tangled in. You step out of the crevice of the tree into the open moving across the veins of flowers.

You look around in aww at the Beautiful scenery around yourself. The sky unlike the deep red sky of hell, the sky was filled with hues of bright pinks and purples and a deep rich blue that seemed to persist through the sky. You had never seen a blue sky before so it was a bit odd to you but you remember daddy telling you earth's sky was blue.

So many twinkling stars where in the sky too many to count. You decided to explore this place perhaps you can even make a friend! You pass through the apple trees leading to another area that was a lake next to a large field of pretty flowers. And there they were many different animals peacefully grazing or sleeping in the field. You run up to the closest animal to you which was a baby highland cow giving it a hug startling the poor thing. It lets out a startled moo making you giggle giving it a pat on the head.

“I’m sorry I didn’t mean to scare you!” Y/N says the cow nudging her with its head as if saying it forgave her giving the cow one last pet on the head you run off to keep exploring. Running down to the water you see some ducks swimming in the water,they swim over to you and you pat each of their heads.

“Having fun Y/N!”

You yelp almost falling into the water but luckily your father catches you before you get soaked. “DADDY YOU SCARED ME!” You say with a huff and he just laughs bringing you up into his arms. “I’m sorry sweetie, can’t help it sometimes.” He says patting your back. “Daddy where is this? Is this what outside looks like!” You ask practically vibrating in excitement you had never left the palace, and daddy had fired all the imps that worked there except the ones hired by your mom. You always wanted to meet other demons your own age but daddy said you couldn’t.

“Oh sweetheart of course not that is no place for you to be. Daddy made this place just for you so you can run around as much as you like! I know how bored you got in the palace.” You look up at him and get the feeling in your chest that makes it feel like your heart is sinking. The feeling you always get when your dad never tells you the exact reason you couldn’t do something like he wasn’t telling the whole truth. The feeling you get when he tells you that you don’t need any friend's. You can’t help but think that it’s the same feeling your mom got when ever she looked at you…

Your dad would never do anything to hurt you. So why would he lie to you? there’s no reason to lie about the fact you can’t have Friends or leave the palace or why you can’t see your older sister. So why would he lie about this? This world filled with so much color and wonderful things, but just to be sure you ask. “Hey daddy once where done playing here. Can we go back to lulu world I had a lot of fun there.”

Daddy makes that face, the face he makes when you ask too many questions. You know he doesn't like it when you start to questions the things around you. He smiles and snaps his fingers and all of a sudden they were in lulu world but some things were different, Everything looked like it was sparkling new there where more rides and attractions than when you had first visited.

“Tada! See we don’t need to go back there you have everything you could ever want here!” “He says lifting you in the air spinning you around. You look up at the sky still filled with the pastel colors and stars. But you always liked the red sky you would see when you looked out your window…But that was before they where all boarded up and replaced with paintings.

Why do you have a feeling your never going to see that red sky again.

________

A/N

Little morning star having a pomni moment realizing Luci ain’t letting her out lol.

I wrote this small chapter for you guys because the chapter I had planed was getting really long it’s gonna take a while to write.

Also I recently started a water fast and my bones feel really heavy and I can barely make it to my kitchen without feeling like I’m gonna pass out so I haven’t been writing as much as I should have. Gonna eat some food and take some iron and see if it help. I'm not the best at describing things but girl daoko was the inspo for the little garden Luci made for little morning star.

#platonic yandere #hazbin hotel platonic #yandere hazbin hotel #yandere lucifer morningstar #yandere x reader #yandere hazbin hotel x reader #yandere platonic #hazbin hotel x reader #lucifer morningstar x reader #platonic yandere x reader

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strangersmunsons · 2 months

Text

bloodletting

you're kind of dead. but so is Eddie, just in a different way.

"Oh, you were a vampire, and baby, I’m a walking dead."

Contains: Vampire!Eddie x Zombie!Reader, gn!zombie!reader, Eddie owns a record store, you’re newly (un)dead and still figuring it out. No use of y/n, no description of reader’s appearance, use of pet names but no gendered pronouns. Warnings: mentions of death and descriptions of anatomical parts, both of which may be a little gross. Allusions to murder, though nothing is shown. Eddie drinks blood. Word Count: ~5,000 Not sure if this has been done yet; I've seen vampire!eddie and zombie!eddie, but I don't think I've come across this particular x reader combo? so hopefully I'm not stepping on anyone's toes here. anyway - hope you enjoy!

The summer heat is miserable, suffocating; large swaths of shimmering air hover above the sticky tar pavement, beckoning you from a distance like a teasing portal to another dimension, always in sight but never in reach.

You plod down the crack-ridden sidewalk, eyes cast downward. Dregs of once-lush moss and sprays of weeds poke through the shattered valleys in the concrete, now brown and withered beneath the cruel sun.

You admire those tiny plants. How they survive. How they find a way to live, against all odds, in the most unlikeliest of places.

They remind you of yourself. Especially now, on the verge of their death.

You continue on, shuffling aimlessly. Each step is halting, just the tiniest bit broken. And there’s an odd grinding noise that emits from your left knee if you take too large of a stride. You suppose that it would probably hurt, if you could feel pain.

But such sensations tend to be lost on you these days.

You glance skyward, the sun a winking yellow coin directly overhead. You’re not sure how it may affect your strange flesh — you haven’t quite worked out all the particulars of your condition yet. Some parts of you are lost, utterly lifeless; and yet, your sentience, amongst other random physiological capabilities, remain. You imagine your trillions of cells to be stuck in some kind of purgatory, hovering on the equatorial line between life and death.

Can the sun hurt you? Have your cells gone far enough down the path of their programmed death so as to be rendered impervious to the ultraviolet rays, or are the thymine dimers still forming, creating mutinous clumps in your DNA? Or, would you react like a corpse left to rot in the desert, internal gasses bubbling up through your gut that will make you bloat and split, ripping you open like a spoiled piece of overripe fruit?

You’d rather not find out.

The strip mall you’re treading through is mostly deserted. You suppose that everyone is at home, waiting out the heat within the cool confines of air-conditioned houses. Only you, to whom the temperature changes barely register, are out and about.

You duck into the nearest shop without checking to see what store it is. You just need to kill some time, wait for some cloud cover before venturing back out. There’s a cheerful tinkling of bells when you push the door open, an inviting sound to welcome you inside.

Hovering at the entrance, you stare unblinkingly around at your new surroundings — a record store.

Here, it’s dark and cool. The walls are painted black, and only just visible beneath the hundreds of posters plastered overtop of them. There are rows and rows of vinyl records and cassette tapes on display, and one corner is sectioned off for t-shirts and band merchandise, along with a table offering a small selection of horror novels and VHS tapes. No one seems to around, though you figure at least one employee must be lurking somewhere. An unknown song crackles through the speakers, some band with a wailing guitar and an even louder singer. It’s not bad.

You take a deep breath, although you’re not sure what the action does for you, exactly, and move down an aisle to start browsing in. Your fingers pop at the knuckles when you stretch your hands out to file through the records, and you frown when you notice one of your fingernails has broken off.

Is that gonna grow back, or…?

“Help you find somethin’?”

You look up, careful not to move your head too quickly, lest it snap right off of your neck.

The store employee — Eddie, by the title on his nametag — is standing very close to you, much closer than you would expect him to be, considering that you hadn’t seen or heard anyone approaching at all. Your eyes rake over his figure.

He has dark, tangled curls that hang all the way down to his chest, and his eyes are so brown they’re nearly black. He’s wearing a denim vest over a black W.A.S.P. shirt with the sleeves cut off, exposing thick, tattooed arms. He gives you a serene, close-mouthed smile that dimples his cheeks, full lips stretching widely across his pale face. If you could still flush, you probably would, but blood flow seems to be at a very minimum, if it’s even happening at all. He’s hot.

Well. Interesting to note that that part of you hasn’t changed.

You cough. “J-just looking.” Your voice is dry, raspy; you sound like a sixty-year-old chainsmoker. But if it surprises Eddie, it doesn’t show.

He points at the album you’ve paused at. “You like The Cramps?”

You nod carefully, not trusting your rusty larynx.

He hooks a thumb over his shoulder at the merch section. “We got some cool shirts of theirs over there, too, if you wanna take a look.”

“O-okay.”

There’s a mild shift in his expression, a slight shadow crossing over that customer-service smile, causing it to fade from his pretty face. He stares at you curiously; you swear you see his nostrils flaring.

You take a cautious step back.

“Well…if you need anything, just holler,” he tells you, disgruntled. As he turns and walks away, back to the register, he casts a backward glance at you, brow furrowed. If you weren’t so nervous, you might have marveled at how silent his footfalls are.

With shaky hands, you continue perusing the selection before you, though all you can really focus on is the feeling of Eddie’s eyes glued to your back from across the store.

Some of your senses might have been dulled, but you still know when you’re being watched.

Would it be too suspicious if you just dropped everything and made a break for it? You haven’t technically done anything wrong. Your only crime is being dead. And really, what can he — or anyone — even do to you?

Kill me?

You snicker.

Then, to your horror, in between Smell of Female and Off the Bone, your left pinkie finger falls off.

Immediately you lurch forward to hide the offending digit from Eddie’s prying eyes, hunching over the display rack. The damn thing has been threatening to come loose for days, kept in its place with the help of a little surgical tape and some superglue — but you’d hoped that the remaining ligaments would be strong enough to prevent this from happening.

Desperately, you plunge further into the display box, jamming your lifeless hands down between the records, groping blindly for the missing finger. You glance back at Eddie, who’s staring at you unabashedly, face a mask of blank confusion. He rises from his seat behind the checkout counter.

Finally, your hand closes around the lost pinkie, and you pull it back out of the display box, keeping it hidden within the confines of your fist. You just manage to spin around with your hands clasped behind your back by the time Eddie manages to make his way over to you again.

He stands with his feet firmly planted on the ground before you, his hands on his hips. “Everything alright over here?” he asks, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Yessir,” you chuckle drily.

He’s unconvinced. “Whatcha got back there?”

Panic bolts through your ruined insides. “N-nothing,” you rasp.

His dark eyebrows shoot up towards his hairline. “No? Prove it.”

He waits expectantly. You try to moisten your lips with your tongue, but the muscle feels like a dehydrated slug in your mouth. Reluctantly, you move the finger so it’s in just one of your fists, and then hold your other hand out to him, flat so he can see your empty palm, smiling weakly.

It’s stupid, but it’s all you’ve got.

Eddie rolls his eyes and scoffs, but before he can say anything, your body betrays you once again. Your grip is none too strong anymore, and the missing digit slips through the web of your other, still-intact fingers, dropping to the floor with a tiny thunk.

Both you and Eddie stare down at the freestanding pinkie, sitting in the center of a white tile near your feet, mottled and sickly-looking. Neither of you say anything.

Suddenly his dark eyes are boring into yours again.

“Uh…I can explain.”

“I knew you smelled wrong,” is the first thing he tells you in the back office of the shop, as he rifles determinedly through the desk drawers.

“Wrong?” you ask, alarmed.

He shoots you a look, a reassuring smile on his lips. “Not bad — just different. Like…” He pauses, searching for the right word. “Like green. Earthy, I guess.”

You wonder if it’s worth mentioning that you crawled out of the ground a week ago.

“It’s not how people usually smell,” he says casually, face turning triumphant when he finally finds what he’s searching for. Eddie holds up a pocket-sized sewing kit in a plastic case. “I keep this around in case one of my patches falls off. I gotta say, emergency finger-reattachment surgery is a first for me.”

You’re still stuck on his previous statement. “H-how do people usually smell?” your voice quivers, and you wonder how he can act so nonchalant despite your decidedly-undead condition.

“Oh, like lots of different things,” he muses, selecting a needle from the kit. “Some people are flowery, some are fruity.” He wrinkles his nose. “Some people have harsher smells, like…crude oil, or something. And then there’s some that are so sweet it actually burns my nose.”

Eddie holds the case out so you can peer inside at the contents. “Here. Pick a color for your stitches.”

You opt for a tiny spool of dark green thread.

He gestures towards the rolling chair behind the desk. “Have a seat.”

You do as you’re told, plopping unceremoniously down onto the cushion. The chair moves several inches back across the floor from the force of your graceless fall.

Eddie snips the thread, and pops the end in his mouth to wet the frayed fibers, smoothing them into one even strand. Then he threads the needle quickly with an expert hand, tying it off with a knot when he has a decent amount of string to work with.

He kneels down before you, gently taking your pinkie-less hand in his. “Lemme see…do you think you can hold it in place for me?”

You hold the missing pinkie to the spot it was ripped from, lining up the torn edges as best you can. The whitish bone poking out at the ends slips greasily against the stumpy flesh of your knuckle. Frustrated, you try to hold it still so that the phalange and the metacarpal bones are aligned at least somewhat evenly, but you don’t quite have the stability.

Eddie purses his lips, but amusement flickers in his dark eyes. He takes the finger back from you. “I’ve got it, I think,” he says kindly. “Just, ah, help keep it steady, okay?”

Tongue poking out of his mouth in concentration, Eddie presses the needle lightly against your skin. His eyes flit up to yours. “Does that hurt?”

“No,” you admit.

“Didn’t think so,” he says smugly.

He pushes the needle in deeper, piercing the skin, maneuvering the slim point beneath the flesh of your knuckle and into the lost finger, connecting the two, then pulling it back out. He does it again and again, looping the thread through your skin until the first few knobbly stitches are formed.

He checks in again, just in case. “Still doesn’t hurt?”

You shake your head.

Eddie chuckles under his breath, then resumes his progress. For the next ten minutes, he weaves the needle in and out of your skin, until there are stitches going the whole way around your finger. He carefully ties the last one off, trimming the excess thread with a pair of tiny scissors.

You hold your now-intact hand out, admiring his handiwork. It’s not perfect, but it’s certainly miles better than anything you could have done yourself.

“Thank you.” You’re touched by his kindness, but still completely boggled by his non-reaction to a customer losing an entire finger. “I h-have,” you hack out a cough, “a question.”

“Shoot.”

“You’re very calm. How is that?”

Eddie, still kneeling on the floor, looks up at you, puzzled. Then it dawns on him. “Oh, honey. You don’t realize?” But he doesn’t wait for you to reply, maybe anticipating that your throaty, stuttering speech will take too long. Instead, his face scrunches, mouth twisting as though he’s running his tongue across his gums, and then his lips pull back, baring his teeth at you, and —

Shiny, lethal-looking fangs slide out through some hidden, gummy pockets right above his canines. They’re sharp, sharper than any needle he might string through you, gleaming menacingly even in the dim fluorescent light.

You let out a noise that might have been a squeal, in a past life. Clumsily, your feet push at the floor, sending you careening backwards on the rolling chair in an effort to get away from him.

“Whoa, whoa, hang on! It’s alright!”

Eddie stands and moves a few paces back, giving you some space. He holds his hands up in surrender. “I’m not gonna hurt you, babe. Pretty sure you don’t got what I need, anyway.”

Your body sags in the chair, which is pressed all the way up against the office’s back wall. You eye him warily, although you suppose you’re being a little hypocritical.

But you’re not the one packing fangs that rival a pit viper’s.

Eddie smiles at you, pointed teeth poking down over that full bottom lip of his. “What? Did you think you were the only thing that went bump in the night?” he jokes.

Yes. Admittedly.

His face softens. “You haven’t been like this very long, have you?”

Timidly, you shake your head no, the vertebrae in your cervical spine grinding from within your neck.

Lost in thought, Eddie runs his tongue over his teeth again — a seemingly-unconscious movement. “Right…do you need a place to stay tonight?” he asks suddenly, concern lining his features.

You’re not sure how to answer. You don’t seem to really need anything. “Uh…”

He crosses his arms across his chest, mouth quirking up in amusement. “Have you just been wandering around town like you’re in Night of the Living Dead?”

You snort, a dry puff of air whistling through your nostrils. “Kinda.”

“Sheesh. Y’know, I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as inconspicuous as you think you are. It’s a wonder no one’s shot you in the head yet.”

“I th-thought I was blending in pretty well.”

He laughs, a deep belly-laugh that reverberates around the tiny room. “To the untrained eye, maybe. But not to me.”

Eddie, as it turns out, owns the record store, Vicious Vinyl, and lives in the apartment above the shop. The small space is decorated similarly, so much so that it might be mistaken for a second level of the store as opposed to his home. But while Vicious Vinyl seems to offer a wide variety of music options for its patrons, Eddie’s tastes are made clear when you enter the apartment; he’s a heavy metal guy. Pictures of thrash bands, big names you recognize and obscure ones you don’t, hang on all the walls, and macabre-looking baubles lie on every flat surface. Music equipment is scattered throughout the room, guitars and amps filling the empty gaps between the dark furniture. And the windows are all covered by heavy black curtains — drawn tightly shut, of course, keeping the poisonous sunshine from leaching in.

“I have a cot that I’ll set up for you,” says Eddie, tossing his keys onto the kitchen table. You note that the cloth draped overtop of it is a deep crimson color.

Eddie pauses mid-step as something occurs to him. “Do you sleep?”

“Uh-uh. Do you?”

Eddie nods. “I do. Not in a coffin,” he adds, catching the way you peer around the room as though looking for a cobweb-ridden box. He nudges you playfully. “But you know where I do sleep?”

You imagine him hanging upside down from the ceiling like a bat. “Where?”

His eyes twinkle, like he’s about to divulge something juicy. “Under the bed.”

Your mouth falls open in surprise, and he laughs at your awestruck gaze. “Don’t know why, just feels right.”

“Weird.”

“Weirder than not sleeping at all?”

You shrug, unsteady frame rippling with the motion. Your cracked lips pull up at the corners, forming your first true smile of this odd existence. Eddie grins back.

“You’re pretty cute for a corpse, you know that?”

Your dead body fills with delight that you don’t quite know how to express — you hope that your condition excuses your lack of verbal response. But either way Eddie doesn’t seem to mind it; he simply turns and heads into the living room, motioning for you to follow.

You obey, shuffling along as quickly as you can, feet dragging noisily against the hardwood floor. When he gestures for you to do so, you sink unsteadily onto the plush leather couch.

“I have to get back down to the shop, but I’ll close early and come back up soon,” he says nonchalantly, adjusting the chain bracelet on his wrist. “In the meantime, you make yourself at home.”

“Thank you.”

He nods in acknowledgement and, with a smile, exits the apartment, leaving you alone.

The door clicks shut, and you settle back into the cushions, eyes wandering around as your tap your feet gently, impatiently, against the floor. You pick up the remote from the coffee table and flick the boxy television to life. You flip through channels for a while, letting each mindless program play for a minute before moving on to the next one, the muted colors on the bulbous screen and scratchy audio leaving little to no impression upon you. Boring. You turn it back off.

You purse your dry lips in thought. Truthfully, what you really want to do is snoop, but it’s rather gracious of Eddie to let you stay here, especially unattended…trusting, even. Would he be able to tell if you took a quick look around? And would he be angry with you if you did?

You decide you can probably risk it. He told you to make yourself at home, after all.

Rising once more, you peer around the room cautiously, scanning all the bookshelves and photographs and records, looking for anything out of the ordinary, or decidedly vampiric — whatever that should be. But the den seems to be pretty innocuous.

You make your way back into the kitchen. From here, a short stretch of hallway juts out of the room, with two more doors — one is already slightly ajar, offering a glimpse of Eddie’s bedroom, and the other turns out to be a tiny bathroom. You rest a hand on the bedroom door, ready to enter and unearth all of Eddie’s secrets, but hesitate, intuition flickering.

If Eddie’s in possession of any bloody contraband, there’s one certain place you suspect he might keep it, and it’s not in his room.

The refrigerator is humming innocently with life. There’s the crackling sound of ice being made. Its cool whiteness is smooth and clean. Your hand clasps around the handle, and you wrench the door open.

Jars rattle from the force of your pull. A burst of bright light floods the dark kitchen, illuminating your dead face in a nightmarish glow.

The interior shelves are smeared with crimson fingerprints, speckled with dried puddles of red crust. No doubt spillage from the plethora of bloody bottles crowded inside, all filled with that human lifestuff that they — and he — need so badly to survive. The dark, thick liquid gleams within the confines of the glass, some filled to the brim, others containing only mere dregs.

Fascinated, you pull one of the bottles off the shelf and give it an experimental shake, watching bubbles whir into existence on the surface, making a layer of soft pink foam. You twist off the cap, peering inside; almost nosing the lip of the opening, you give it a delicate sniff. You’re not sure if your olfactory nerves can actually detect the faint, rusty odor, or if it’s a phantom scent, pulled from your memory.

You quietly screw the cap back on, and stowe the bottle back in its place. The refrigerator door swings shut once more, closing the gory sight out of view.

Interesting.

Hours later, Eddie comes back to the apartment. You’re sitting at the kitchen table now, working on the crossword puzzle from yesterday’s newspaper, dry tongue poking out of the corner of your mouth in concentration.

“Hello,” he greets you easily, shrugging out of his vest and tossing it over the back of a chair. He comes to stand beside you, looking down at the paper from over your shoulder. “24 down is orc, by the way. O-R-C.”

You frown. “I’m not there yet.”

Eddie barks out a laugh. “Sorry.” He pulls the chair next to you away from the table and takes a seat.

You tap the end of your pencil against the table. “I w-would’ve gotten it.”

“I’m sure you would have,” he says indulgently, resting his head on his hand. “Is this what you’ve been doing all afternoon?”

You nod. Mostly, anyway.

He studies your face for a moment, then scrunches his nose.

You mimic his expression. “What?”

“Have you noticed that you don’t blink?”

“No.”

He pokes you in the shoulder. “It’s kinda spooky,” he chuckles playfully. “Which is fine! I’m kinda spooky, too.”

“I don’t think I n-need to.”

His head cocks to the side. “You are funny, aren’t you,” he murmurs.

That’s one way of putting it.

Eddie bites his lip — fangs hidden away again, retreated back in their gummy slits — and, hesitantly, extends one hand towards you. You flinch back automatically.

“Sorry,” he says, but doesn’t pull his hand back. “But do you mind if I just…try something?”

You nod cautiously, unsure of what he’s getting at.

Eddie — slowly, so as not to startle you — leans forward and presses his palm to your chest, right over where your heart lurks inside. He searches for a pulse that isn’t there, feeling nothing, no meaty organ throbbing and thumping against your ribcage, just placid hollowness, as though there were no chambered fist of tissue there at all.

A hush falls over the two of you, while he waits in vain.

You offer an apologetic smile.

Eddie simply hums, and removes his hand, settling back in his chair. “You and I aren’t so different, you know. Mine doesn’t beat, either, unless I…” he trails off, a twinkle of mirth in his eyes. “Well, you can probably guess.”

“Yes. I found your stash.”

Eddie sucks in a quick breath, face hardening. “Forgive me. I know it’s a little gruesome, but a man’s gotta survive somehow, doesn’t he?”

You nod, understanding. The shock of his vampirism has worn off quickly, now that you no longer believe him to be a threat. As he’s so dutifully pointed out, and proven again just now, you don’t have what he needs.

“Listen, I was thinking when I was down there, and I know I already said you could stay for the night, but —”

Dismay. He’s already kicking you out, and you’ve only been here for a few hours.

“— we can talk about a more long-term arrangement, if you want?”

Oh. Okay.

Eddie continues, oblivious to your inner turmoil, “I need some help around the shop. And I can’t trust myself to have too many employees hanging around, for obvious reasons,” he chuckles, gesturing helplessly towards his fridge, “so if you’re interested, I could give you a job. And I’d have you stay here with me, of course.”

“Really?” you whisper raggedly.

Eddie shrugs. “Yeah. And you don’t have to worry about rent or anything, either. Just a few hours of work a day, that’s all I ask.”

You nod eagerly, the motion exuberant enough that it makes your neck click.

Eddie’s eyes widen at the alarming sound, though he’s still grinning. “Okay! Be careful. Your head will be a lot harder to sew back on than a finger.”

The next few weeks are a bit of a learning curve, you and Eddie both adjusting to your presence in each other’s lives.

During the day, you get some basic retail training. Eddie handles the real business side of things, but teaches you how he likes to organize and stock new arrivals, and lets you try your hand at the register. You’re good at it, but he’s hesitant to let customers speak to you for too long, lest they notice anything…unusual about you.

It’s all good fun, the two of you together, even when business is slow. You spend one dull afternoon crowded at the counter together, working on a nametag — Eddie’s a good artist, and decorates the space around your name with green, swirling designs and miniature doodles of tombstones. He even lets you swipe a Cramps button from the merch table to pin onto your lanyard.

When the shop closes up, you both trudge back upstairs to the apartment, and pass the time playing cards, watching movies, listening to records; Eddie will sip on a cup of dark liquid, puffing on a cigarette or maybe a joint, while you sit with your hands folded neatly in your lap, no needs or vices to trouble you, just enjoying this newfound companionship. Sometimes he even reads aloud to you, or plays you song on his acoustic guitar.

Eventually it reaches that point in the day where the sun finally sinks out of sight, wherein Eddie yanks back the curtains and throws up the window, letting the cool night air seep in. You watch with fascination every time, transfixed by the way the moonlight hits his pale skin, shines across his dark curls…dances over his pearly teeth.

Later, Eddie will retire to bed, bidding you goodnight and crawling into the small space beneath his floor and his mattress to sleep, while you sit up on the couch or the cot he’s so needlessly set up for you, with the gentle hum of the television keeping you company in the slumberless dark.

But other times he leaves, disappearing into the night and not returning til it’s nearly dawn, spattered with blood, bits of gore clinging to his clothes. He practically lurches into the apartment, blood-drunk, dragging what’s left of his kill behind him in a cooler for safekeeping.

The bloodletting takes place outside. He never brings the body in.

The first time it happened, you simply watched, glassy eyes watching him from across the room. But the next time you were ready. When he finished stowing the fresh blood away in the fridge, you moved in, and gently tugged on the back of his shirt, prompting him to remove his clothing; when he was stripped down to his boxers, you brought the discarded, ruined garments to the sink, and ran them under cold water. He watched you treat his clothes silently, searching for any sign of fright or disgust, but found none. He rested his hands on your shoulders and squeezed, a nonverbal thank you, before leaving you to take a shower.

This becomes routine. Eddie feeds and brings home the leftovers, which will tide him over until he has to make another kill. This doesn’t bother you; with each passing day, you feel more and more disconnected from the humans around you, the true ones, the ones who live and breathe and pump blood through their veins. You aren’t one of them, and they aren’t one of you.

So you don’t ask who any of them are, or where he finds them, but you do wait patiently for your vampire to come home, with a damp cloth in hand, ready to wash the blood from his face.

Tonight is one such night; when he stumbles through the door and into the kitchen, you’re already seated at the table with a bowl of warm water and a rag. You rise unsteadily to greet him, and he unloads his haul, putting the fresh bottles away onto their cold shelves. When he turns to face you again, he leans in, letting you tenderly swipe the dried smears of red tissue from around his mouth. His lips pout slightly when you drag the cloth over them, like a small kiss barely felt through the fabric.

He seems different; charged and bristling, as opposed to his usual sated and sleepy state.

“Everything okay?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he strokes a thumb across your cheekbone, a light, experimental touch. “You’re sort of perfect for me, you know that?”

You pause your ministrations, startled by the unprompted praise. You swallow drily, and try to continue cleaning his face, but he clasps a hand around your wrist, keeping it in place.

His other arm snakes around your waist. “I’m serious,” he insists in a whisper. “Where have you been all my life?”

A faint smile touches your lips. “Had to wait until mine was over, I s’pose.”

His eyelids flutter, and before you can react, his bloody mouth is on yours. His kisses are sloppy, all fangs and tongue, smearing your lips and chin with gore. You return them dazedly, brittle fingers knotting in his tangled hair, letting him take what he wants.

It’s not like you need to catch your breath.

When he finally pulls back, a string of red-tinged spit connects your mouths. He pants in your face, nose rubbing against yours, then dots bloody pecks all over your cheeks and forehead. You lean into him, letting him hold your dead body in his arms.

“My little love,” he whispers into your skin.

thank you for reading!! ❤️

btw did you know that the gaboon viper has the longest fangs of any venemous snake? this has nothing to do with the fic. just thought if you made it to the end, maybe you'd enjoy a fun snake fact I came across when looking something up for this story. their fangs can grow up to 2 inches long, and this species is in a genus called Bitis, so that's fucking hilarious.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson reader insert #eddie munson x gn!reader #eddie munson x gender neutral reader #eddie munson oneshot #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson blurb #vampire!eddie munson #vampire!eddie #monster!eddie munson #monster!eddie #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic

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nyoomiin · 1 month

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roommates: part ten.

your new roommate is... odd, and recently, so are your dreams. still, despite the secrecy, the mystery, and his ice cold exterior, you have the feeling you'd waltz right into love with him. (maybe you already have before.)

pairing. scaramouche x gn!reader

tags. no warnings, slice of life, fluff, slowburn, friends to lovers, reincarnation au, post irminsul erasure

prev. masterlist. next.

You can't breathe. You can't breathe and it hurts and it burns and oh god, are you dying?

You jerk upright, chest heaving, skin slick with cold sweat. Your hand reaches for your heart, and it scorches with a fiery rage. You died. You were dead. You were killed. You had died and then you hadn't and you had lived a lifetime in a moment and —

Someone's calling your name.

Your vision clears.

A white bed. Oakwood flooring. Sunlit windows. Someone by your side.

Kunikuzushi.

His eyes are wide, marred with concern, and for a second, you can't tell which Kunikuzushi you're looking at.

“Are you okay?” someone else squeaks. It takes you seconds to remember her name. Paimon.

No, you want to snap, but that wouldn't be very fair to her. She wasn't the reason you were feeling like you had been thrown down the Palace of Alcazazaray, then fallen into a rose bush of thorns.

“I need some space,” you say, swallowing thickly.

Aether nods understandingly. You stand, legs shaky, and Kuni moves to follow you out the door.

“You should leave them be for now,” Nahida cautions him.

You can’t see his expression, but you can hear the growl in his undertone. “I’ll do whatever the fuck I want.”

You turn to him, and his agitation melts into something softer. He doesn’t expect you’d send him away. But… you don’t have the strength to face him just yet. How could you have, after everything? Was that even the right way to phrase it?

He must see it on your face. He glances away.

“I’m sorry,” you offer weakly. “I’ll talk to you later.”

Crossing his arms, he raises a fine brow, as if there wasn’t any reason to be apologizing at all. You suppose there isn’t, but you feel bad all the same. He waves you away. “Sure.”

Shutting the door behind you, you duck into an empty hallway, back hitting the wall. Archons, you think. What a clusterfuck.

You find yourself staggering into Alhaitham’s office. You don’t even know how you got there, but with the way your feet ached, you supposed you had walked. For a second, you wonder why you hadn’t gone home instead. Stupid thought. Kunikuzushi is bound to be there.

Alhaitham’s gaze flicks upwards at you, then back down to his work. Still, he shifts, making some space for you. “You look unwell.”

“Nice to know,” you say, flopping down next to him. Your cheek smushes against his arms. Honestly, this man did nothing but sit around reading all day — why the fuck was he so fit? He was nothing like Kuni. That scrawny ass could never compare, both in the present and back then —

You stop yourself there before your train of thought can derail any further. Suddenly curious, you turn to Alhaitham quickly. “‘Haitham, do you… believe in past lives?”

He gives you an odd look.

“There is no scientific proof on the existence of reincarnation,” he replies slowly. Then, he pauses, and he has that slight squinty-eyed look on his face again, also known as the face he makes whenever he thinks about Kaveh. “Though, I assume my past life would’ve been much less insufferable without having to deal with someone like Kaveh.”

You roll your eyes. Insufferable, he says, as if Kaveh was someone he could ever live without. Sighing, you massage your temples. Gods if you weren’t exhausted. You need your brain to shut up and stop thinking about anything related to all this nonsense.

“I’m going to sleep on you,” you tell Alhaitham.

“You can sleep in your home.”

“But you’re more comfortable.”

( You were avoiding him.

He had expected it wouldn’t take more than a week to settle your thoughts, yet two had passed, and you showed no sign of seeking him out at all. Worse still, these days, it felt as though he lived in an apartment for one. You’d leave at dawn and return after dusk, claiming you were too tired to speak with him. You stopped meeting his gaze and that bright, stupidly endearing grin you always wore turned tight and pressed thin.

How utterly unamusing.

He refuses to let this drag on any longer. Frankly, the entire situation should’ve been resolved weeks ago — and you’d have gone back to being yourself. Bothersome and foolish and the only person in the world he’d allow to treat him the way you did.

Tonight, he decides. He’d speak with you tonight, even if it was the last thing he did. )

taglist. (send an ask to be added.)

@franaby @dragontammerz @ainnofinway @sketcheeee @briluvspnk @bunniicantsleep @featuredtofu @tragedy-of-commons @parkjayssi @xiaosantenna @idontevenknow129 @bfajax @mostlymoth @thenyxsky @kiyiiaarchived @skyvella @theautisticduck @someonealreadyhadmynickname @wanderersumbrella

#—stellaronhvnters.#scaramouche x reader #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin impact #man its been awhile #JUST ONE MORE CHAPTER LEFT THEN THE EPILOGUE I THINK #☝️☝️☝️💪💪💪

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babydollmarauders · 8 months

Text

MEDIA MANAGEMENT — JACK HUGHES (23-24 SZN PART 5)

au masterlist

notes: do i like this? idk. but it’s out.

y/ndevils00

liked by jackhughes, dawson1417, and 221,691 others

y/ndevils00 ALL HAIL SATAN! i mean— THE DEVILS!!

YOUR NEW JERSEY DEVILS ARE NOW 6-0 IN THE PRESEASON! STILL THE FINAL UNDEFEATED TEAM IN THE PRESEASON!

tonight we played a home game against the dirty dish rags, and WON 5-2!!

the normal roster played tonight, which means prudential center was finally not just a whore house, but a whore HOME 🫶

we kicked off with a power play goal from my sweet blonde swede, Jesper Bratt! with an assist from my personal devil, Jacky!

literally THIRTY-TWO SECONDS later, MY SMUSH GOT HIS FIRST GOAL OF THE PRESEASON! I COULDN’T BE PROUDER OF YOU, MY MUNCHKIN! I KNEW YOU COULD DO IT!

in second period, we got a power play goal from best friend number 1!!! you are a star in every way! shine your light, puppy!!

we also got a power play goal from the light of my life, the love of my heart, my uber hot and a lot less smart, boyfriend; JACK ‘BABYGIRL’ ROWDEN HUGHES!!! SO PROUD OF YOU, YOU SEXY DEVIL, YOU!

and to finish us off, in third period, we got a goal from the one, the only, CAPTAIN SWISS SLUT!! look at you go! sticking your tongue out, one game at a time!

p.s. can you guess who was able to talk her way into being allowed to bring her professional camera and take pics through the camera holes in the glass?

i’ll give you a hint! she’s super hot, super smart, loves nicknames, and has a degree in ‘annoying her boyfriend’!

tagged jesperbratt, lhughes_06, dawson1417, jackhughes, nicohischier

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john.marino97 i’m not featured?

y/ndevils00 do better

john.marino97 but i played good?

y/ndevils00 do. better.

john.marino97 @/dawson1417 translate?

dawson1417 she has my child hostage. i cannot translate.

john.marino97 @/dawson1417 your child?

dawson1417 …i’ve said too much

user74 omg PROFESSIONAL GRADE PHOTOS

jackhughes you are an odd duck, my love

y/ndevils00 why are you talking about trevor on MY post?

jackhughes why would you think i’m calling Z “my love”?

y/ndevils00 idk what y’all are into 🤷‍♀️

lhughes_06 thank you squish! but “munchkin”? you know i’m taller than you, right?

y/ndevils00 only physically

lhughes_06 i think that’s the only way that counts…

y/ndevils00 mentally? i could squash you. but i would never, because you’re my smush and ily

lhughes_06 mhm, i appreciate that

user62 where can i get a captain swiss slut? asking for a friend…

y/ndevils00 mine came from Bern! check there!

dawson1417 i’m a star 😊⭐️

y/ndevils00 YOU’RE A STAR!! AND YOU SHINE THE BRIGHTEST!!

dawson1417 and no do better?

y/ndevils00 no do better!! you did great!

john.marino97 i hate you both

y/ndevils00 @/john.marino97 you love us so much you could die

john.marino97 shut up 😒

jesperbratt i look good! 😄

y/ndevils00 you look like the sweet angel that you are!

nicohischier why do you always get me with my tongue out?

y/ndevils00 i have a sixth sense

nicohischier i thought your sixth sense was finding Jack when he’s on the ipad?

y/ndevils00 i have a seventh sense

nicohischier yeah, okay

user29 THE GOALIE TAPS

dougieham y/n, how do you feel that Jack wore a mouthguard tonight? 🎤

y/ndevils00 I FEEL GREAT! THE SUN IS SHINING, THE BIRDS ARE SINGING, THE FLOWERS ARE BLOOMING 🗣️

jackhughes you said you’d love me even without teeth 🤨

y/ndevils00 i don’t wanna test that theory

trevorzegras hot damn! my man is on fire! GO HUGHESY!

y/ndevils00 i’m gonna fly to anaheim and soak your pillow in vinegar

trevorzegras YOUR man is on fire!

y/ndevils00 that’s what i thought

#media management au!#media management series <3 #jack hughes #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes blurb #jack hughes fic #nj devils #nhl fic #nhl imagine #faithlynn’s writings <3 #faithlynn’s insta edits <3

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peachesofteal · 9 months

Text

Trick or Treat

Kyle 'Gaz' Garrick/female reader 1.8k words For @glitterypirateduck's GAZFEST Warnings-tags: 18+ Minors DNI. No smut but contains suggestive themes, slice of life, dad!Kyle, light angst, fluff/comfort. Brief character appearance from another series. I didn't use a prompt for this but it is a one shot.

Trick or treating is an odd custom.

You feel this way, because like Kyle, you didn’t grow up in a place where knocking on doors for candy was a predominant tradition. Halloween was celebrated, surely, but dressing up as little ghouls and running around, screaming ‘smell my feet’ to your neighbors was just… not a thing when you were a child.

Times have changed though, since you were young. Customs have floated across the oceans. They have melted into new traditions, new practices that took over schools and playground chatter.

“I wan’ ta be a ghost!” Oliver’s little face beams up at you as he clutches your hand, skipping beside your body with boundless energy, crisp brown leaves crunching beneath his heels.

“A ghost?!” you gasp, fake fear making him shriek with giggles. “That’s too scary!”

“Naw it’s not!” it’s a playful protest, and you when you turn the corner, he forgets all about the allure of trick or treating for something infinitely better.

The sight of his dad standing on the sidewalk in front of the house. His dad, who he hasn’t seen in nearly three weeks, waiting for him. For you.

He takes off into a sprint.

He’s only four, but fast, and you stay on his heels as he flings himself into the arms of his father.

“DADDY!”

“Don’t you look the part.” Kyle murmurs, heat creeping up your neck into your cheeks when his hands graze your waist. He ducks under the brim of the black, pointed witch hat you managed to find last minute, and presses his lips against yours. You savor him, soaking in everything, the smell of his skin, the remnant flavor of sweetened peppermint on his tongue, the heat of his body pressed to yours.

Everything you’ve been missing.

Everything you’ve ever needed.

“Do you like it?” you croon, and his hands lift the edge of your shirt, just enough so that his palm lays flat against you, kneading against your hip.

“It’s… bewitching?” He tries the word before the crack of a smile forms, a breathy chuckle, amusement at himself blooming across his face.

He stuns you. Still. Even after five years. Even after being married, having his child, being separated across continents for too many too long stretches of time.

“I think-“ you’re about to tell him that you’re thinking about after trick or treating, when Oli will be asleep, when the house will be quiet and dark, all of the candy given away, the candles blown out. When his body will be flush with yours in bed, and you’ll push and pull one another into a daze of pleasure.

He’s been home for a week, but the longing, the wanting never stops. It only builds, desperate to drink up as much of him as possible, eager to hang on to everything he gives you before he goes again.

“I’m ready!” Oliver’s shout interrupts you, chiming over some camp Halloween music crackling in the background, finally ready for his grand entrance even though you got him ready over a half hour ago, and Kyle huffs a laugh into your neck before you both pivot to where your son stands on top of the stairs, clad in his very fancy, brand new Buzz Lightyear costume.

“What's this?” A perfectly packaged Buzz Lightyear costume sits on the kitchen table, and Kyle rubs the back of his neck.

“He ah- didn’t want to be a ghost anymore.”

“What?” The dog barks from the backyard, pulling a glance from you to where Oliver plays with her, where they chase each other around in circles in the dusk lit grass.

“And I couldn’t tell him no…” Your husband tries to explain sheepishly, and you bite your lip to keep from laughing.

“Yeah, you’re not really good at that.” His hand envelopes yours, lips pressing to your knuckles. “That’s alright though.” You know he feels guilty. He feels the weight of his absence, feels the pain every time he comes, or goes.

You try to hold it for him. The sadness. The remorse. The struggle. Try to put the flames out, when they grow too high, when it’s too much for him to bear. After all, Oliver was a decision the two of you made, together.

Sometimes you succeed in lessening this weight that he carries.

Sometimes you do not.

“Okay, hold still!” you hurry backwards, lining them up in the frame on the front step, flanked by the poorly carved jack o lanterns, the jagged teeth and uneven eyes glinting at you from where the LED lights flicker inside their hollowed-out guts.

Oliver grins, looking between you and his dad, who crouches beside him, holding him close in an embrace. They have their arms around one another, and they're so happy, so sweet, that you have you hurry up and blink your tears away before Kyle’s super senses catch on.

You click a million frames of the same photo, just in case, selecting the second one to send off in a group message.

>Buzz and his favorite Sergeant go trick or treating! >Soap: I thought I was his favorite Sergeant? >Price: Enjoy, make sure you get some of the good candy for yourselves! >You: Of course, and we will! Soap, send pics of Bee in her costume and the fam!

The response comes fast, a picture, a selfie in an elevator. Soap’s got a half full pillowcase in one hand, and the phone in his other, their partner standing behind him, her fingers folded over his waist, face beaming and bright as she smiles up at the camera. Ghost looms next to her with a little girl curled up against his chest in a homemade bumblebee costume.

Kyle barks out a laugh, and types out a quick reply.

>Kyle: Who made that costume? I know it wasn’t you, Soap. >Ghost: It definitely wasn’t.

“Muuum!” It’s an impatient whine, and you slide your phone away, handing him his plastic pumpkin.

“Alright, rules.” Kyle begins, the tone of his voice serious enough to jog Oli’s attention immediately. “Stay with us at times. No running too far ahead. Mum or I should be able to see you, yeah?” Oli nods agreeably. “No crossing the street without a grown up. And say thank you at the door.”

“But wot if they give me apples?”

“Say smell my feet.” Kyle deadpans and Oliver’s eyes go wide, while you smack your husband’s bicep lightly.

“No! You still say thank you. Buzz Lightyear likes apples, you know.” Oli deflates a bit, and Kyle laughs, pulling him in for a hug. The little boy melts, still content to just be cuddled and held by his dad, even though he tells everyone he’s a ‘big boy now’. You try to memorize the sight, something to think back on in a few weeks when your bed is empty again, and there’s one less setting at the dinner table.

“What are we waiting for?” Kyle pats Oliver on the back, and then the three of you take off down the street under the orange glow of All Hallows Eve.

“He’s cleaning up well.” Kyle muses. Oliver runs down the sidewalk, pointing at his orange globe with pure excitement.

“Mmmm.” You hum your agreement, pulling your jacket a little tighter. It’s gotten cooler since the sun went down, and the crisp fall air nips at your skin. “Cold, love?” A warm arm goes around your shoulders and then tucks you in tight, close enough that your face can nestle into his clavicle. “I’ll warm you up later.” He murmurs and you roll your eyes.

“You’re so cheeky sometimes, you know that?”

“I do.” He’s solemn when he says it, but his eyes twinkle, mischievous streak simmering just beneath the surface of his enchanting gaze.

“No question where he gets it from.” Kyle’s fingers touch your temple and then swipe down, glancing across your cheekbone before he’s cupping your face fully, tilting your mouth up to his for a dizzying kiss.

“You’re not so well behaved yourself.” He chides between the slide of your lips, and you smirk into it, nipping at him when he deepens the kiss. Your heart glows in your chest, warm, happy, sated, and you melt into him, content to be swallowed in the bliss of his touch, his love-

Oliver screams.

Everything happens at once.

Oliver screams, and you both recognize it immediately. You gasp, moving to turn away but you’re too slow, far too slow compared to Kyle. You feel the strength of his body, his muscles turned to action in your grip, and then nothing, save for his absence.

He’s already gone.

He’s already over the fence, and up the little yard of the house where you son stands with tears streaming down his cheeks.

There’s a bowl of candy on chair next to him, and as you get closer, you notice that it has one of those animatron hands in it, the ones that snap forward and grab someone unsuspecting when they reach for a treat.

Oh. Your body sags with relief. Your heart slows to a slightly elevated pace.

“You’re alright, shhh. I’m here. Dad’s here.” Kyle has Oliver in a hug, and he rocks him side to side, rubbing his back and whispering soothingly. “Just had a scare, is all.” Your son’s crying relaxes, and he sniffles, keeping his face pressed into Kyle’s chest, hands clutching at him. When Kyle moves to stand, he lets out a frightened cry, and your husband is quick to comfort him, shushing in his ear as he holds him tight. “I’m right here.” He coos, rising with the boy in his arms, looking at you over his head.

“I think that’s enough for tonight then.” You whisper, leaning forward to peer at Oliver’s sleepy and tearful face. It’s late, well past his bedtime, and he’s already hit every house on the block, filling his little jack o lantern to brim. “Let’s go home?” Kyle nods his agreement.

Your fingers intertwine with his during the walk home. He holds you, and his son, the entire way, until the front door is swinging open and the two of you are lowering Oliver into bed, tucking him in carefully and kissing him goodnight. Kyle strokes a gentle touch across his cheek, and you volunteer to do the clean-up downstairs so he can linger there, sitting by his son’s bed, watching over his sleeping form.

When you’re done, and the lights have been turned off, the jack o lanterns no longer flickering in the night, the street nearly quiet, Kyle pulls you into your bedroom.

“Want to leave the hat on?” He raises a brow, and you smother a giggle before pulling the pointy hat off your head with a flourish.

“Trick or treat?” He steals the question from your lips with his, pulling you downwards, burying you between his body and the sheets.

“I love you.” He whispers against you in the dark, mouth tracing a map across your skin. “Happy Halloween, my love.”

#gazfest #kyle gaz garrick #gaz x reader #gaz mw2 #kyle gaz garrick x reader #kyle garrick #kyle gaz garrick x you #kyle garrick x reader #gaz cod #peaches writes

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