#this is just a stream of conscious - don't expect anyone to read it all

[spaceorphan18]

More thoughts on XM97 - because of course I have more thoughts...

Doing some more reflection, because this is what I do during hyperfixation, apparently.

It helps to write things down and get them out of my head, I suppose. Honestly, it'll be nice to get past the last episode, because then I can compartmentalize and just push the thing away until season 2 (if the finale gives me any reason to want to come back).

DeMayo went on another tweeting spree (I just keep an eye on these things because I get curious) and during this particular bout, I feel like I've got somethings clarified. And I think my own personal frustrations come down to - the ideas of writing and creating vs fan expectations.

Overall, I do think that XM97 is a solidly good (or at least entertaining) show. The animation is good. The voice cast is good. And the ideas they are using, in theory, are more adult and mature and nuanced than the original kids' show ever was (which, I'll give TAS some credit - dug deeper a lot of times when most kids' cartoons of the time didn't).

One of the biggest issues for me has been execution. First of all, the show is way too short for the amount they're trying to pack in here. It almost feels like they wanted to do everything on their wishlist because if they didn't, they wouldn't get the chance to do it. And it feels, muddied... They really needed a full season to unpack a lot of this.

The thing about Rogue and Gambit's story.... I get the 'kill your darlings' strategy of writing. In fact, I agree that good stories are messy and have conflict and you should always put your heroes through the worst. I feel like there was a better way to do the story (I believe) they're telling.

I don't think Magneto needed to be a part of it at all, and the triangle just feels... forced in a lot of ways. I understand that they went there to give Remy some heartbreak along the way, but I truly believe the two of them, with their own issues, and the two of them being in an undefined relationship with complicated issues over touch -- still could have resulted in compelling TV, and still would kept the devastation of Gambit's death.

Episode 5 is still my favorite, and despite my distaste for the whole Magneto side of it, I think the writing there was top notch, and still the best this show has been. I get, though, that they wanted to have Rogue and Gambit "break up" for the impact to hit harder, for Rogue to feel much more guilt once he died, for that last line to be even more heartbreaking.

So, the easiest route was to add the Magneto of it all. Episode 5 is brilliant in a vacuum. But in greater context there are other ways you can get there. And, no, Magneto wasn't ultimately needed. Rogue still could have had regrets, there still could have been heartbreak, there are always things you just don't say before a tragedy.

The thing about it, had they set this up correctly, and in a way that was more satisfying and didn't involve third parties? You may have gotten way more of the Rogue and Gambit fans on board. (And I'll get to the fan side of this in a second.)

See, TAS flirted with Rogue and Gambit's romance but never pushed it too far. Not only was it a kids' show, but Rogue probably would have never had her powers under control and it just was never going to go that far. Meanwhile, the comics have moved way beyond where TAS was. Rogue and Gambit's relationship has evolved a lot in thirty years - way past the tragedy, past the will-they/won't-they, past the break ups and reunions, and in the comics, Rogue and Gambit are a relatively healthy (for a comic book couple) couple of best friends and old marrieds. They're story is so far beyond what they once were that going back to TAS feels... odd.

So, the show starting in this place where TAS left off feels awkward in a lot of ways. There's a lot of expectations layered onto this show, but the show -- being limited by external factors, can't really handle all of it.

I don't think the first few episodes of the show did enough to show the sheer strength of Rogue and Gambit's connection and relationship. And part of that was time and part of that is because it's a sequel to a show set thirty years ago and part of it is time compression and part of it is the writing wanting to leave some vague open-endedness to the relationship so that Episode 5 could work.

And thus Episode 5 feels a bit jarring. It's way more a mature script. There's much more going on in those relationships that we haven't seen set up. Not really. And it's almost relying too much on - things that were mildly set up in the original and the heavy history of the comics.

Which leads me to what has happened afterwards. I think that in a world sans the Magneto of it all, you still get a Rogue who is absolutely heartbroken over the loss of her love. She would still go dark. She would still seek vengeance. She would still wrap herself up in that trench coat and wreck havoc on everyone until she ultimately succumbed to her own grief and eventually dealt with it in one way or the other.

(The part that I just don't agree with -- besides giving up the trench coat, which I know is symbolic in gesture -- is her running off to play Colossus in Fatal Attractions. Which, again, is why they did add the Magneto of it all, but I'm digressing.)

Anyway, this leads me to the fan expectations, and why it does feel so raw for a lot of us. Rogue and Gambit have never really had their time to shine. The films are full of mischaracterizations and limited (very limited) appearances. The other TV shows never let the relationship shine. And even in the comics it felt like forever for the X-Office to take them seriously.

This TV show felt like an opportunity to start fresh. To be excited about something. To get behind the characters we love and celebrate them. We can still break their hearts. We can still even kill them off. But give us a reason to care!

But instead of building that relationship with us fans, it went a different route. And now we feel heartbroken and angry, instead of just heartbroken. Gambit fans - who get shit on so often - get one bright of moment of glory before a death that feels somewhat hollow when you start to realize it was in purpose of someone else's story. Rogue fans - have the internet hating her with a passion. It feels like once again - being set up only to fail.

It feels hurtful, even when, I truly believe, that was not the writers' intentions. Make your characters go through hell - yes, but you have to have your audience on your side to make it impactful.

I don't really know where the show goes from here. There's either going to be closure or a cliffhanger. What I'd really like, though, is some sort of hope.

Because I get real life sucks. And I get that we often reflect in our fiction that it does. But we're talking about a cartoon about superheroes. We're talking about escapism at its finest. I love complicated and messy and nuanced and sometimes even heartbreaking stories -- but I also want something that makes it all worth while.

There is still one episode left, and I'm curious as to where it's going to go. Because at the end of the day, X-Men has always been about hope, too.

#xmen #x men 97 #rogue #gambit #roguegambit #romy #good lord look a this diatribe #I'm so sorry #okay i'll shut up now #I just needed to say all the things to get them out of my head #this is just a stream of conscious - don't expect anyone to read it all #I'll be so glad when this is done and this summer I can focus on the comics

[ladynestaarcheron]

You Made Her Like That

so i got a bunch of angsty prompts, and i decided to ignore them and write things angsty thing instead. basically set during the camping trip from hell, but with a more appropriate reaction on nesta's part.

shout out to @skychild29 for beta-reading! hope you all enjoy!

You can also read this on AO3.

---

Nesta isn't sure how many days it's been when she decides to stop. Three or four, she can't be too sure. Three or four days of this trek through the Night Court countryside. Not that she takes in any of the scenery. She can't see anything further than the next step in front of her. Beyond that are her nightmares, out of order and never-ending: Feyre's crying face, Tomas, Elain turning away, Elain drowning in the Cauldron, Velaris streets as she runs past cheery shops, four Hybern soldiers looming over her bed as she snaps awake. The crack of her father's neck rings clearly in her ears every night, no matter how hard she tries to drown out the fire.

It's a stream of different types of pain, all of it entirely consuming and unbearable in its own way. It's no wonder a few days have passed before she's able to form a conscious thought: I don't want to do this anymore.

So she just stops.

She becomes acutely aware of the pain in her shoulders, her back--oh, it's everywhere--and shrugs the bag off. Only when it hits the ground with a thud does Cassian turn around.

"What is it?" he says after a minute. It's the first thing he's said to her that isn't a command in...however long she's been here. He doesn't sound like he cares, but she guesses he has to ask.

She doesn't pick her eyes up from the ground. "I'm done." Disuse, dehydration, and exhaustion makes her voice an unattractive type of hoarse, but it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore.

He doesn't take a step closer. "It's--our campsite's not far. It's only another hour."

Only another hour. There isn't a chance in hell.

"Come on. You can carry the pack."

Something sparks in Nesta's chest at that. Granted, fairly weak, but strong enough to make her look up and meet his gaze head-on. "No," she says, cold and more clearly than before.

He clenches his jaw. "Nesta--"

But she interrupts him. She won't be taking anymore of this--this bullshit.

"If you're going to kill me," she says, keeping her head high the way Mother taught her and her voice icy, "you can do it right here. But I'm not taking another step for this...camping trip."

She's precise and unfeeling with her words. Proper.

Which of course he hates. Of course. So she expects it when he takes a step back, mouth falling open. "You think...I'm...going...to kill you? You think...that I've brought you here...to kill you?"

But Nesta doesn't balk. Her muscles and bones are on the brink of collapse, but she keeps her spine rigid and her stare even. She can do this. She can hold her own.

"Nesta," he says, voice strangled, like it chokes him to say her name. Fine. With how much he hates her, she supposes she should have expected that too.

What she does not expect is what he does next, which is to rush at her, almost faster than she can clock, and grip her arms far more tightly than he ever has before. With her soreness, it hurts more than it should. And she's definitely not ready for when he starts to shout.

"YOU'RE KILLING ME!" he roars, louder than she's ever heard him, as loud as she was when she screamed for his life a lifetime ago, so loud she hears the sound of it well before she begins to process the words. "You're killing me! And--and everyone! Do you know what it's like? I mean, you're just, you're the one killing yourself! Do you know what that does, Nesta, to your sisters? They cry over you because you're killing yourself. And you have been for so long. And what about your friends? What about Gwyn and Emerie? They look up to you! Do you have any idea what something like this can do to them, to watch you just fade out of life? And Amren--Amren doesn't fucking care about anyone like she cares about you--and you just--don't! You just crossed her out of your life!

"And what about me, Nesta?" he asks, pleading, shouting, shaking her slightly as he says the words. "What about me? You know how I feel about you, you know how much I care, and you just...it's like you don't care! You can throw it away like it's nothing! Like it meant fucking nothing to you, and you just--like I don't matter! And you know, because you watched it happen with Elain, you know what it's like to watch someone you care about treat themselves that way, so how can you do that to me? How can you do this to me?"

His final, desperate, repeated question sounds again, echoing in the emptiness between the mountains. It's silent for a long moment, and all she is aware of is the pain in his eyes, twin to the suffocation in her throat.

The spell breaks, shatters, and she with it.

"Get off of me!" she snarls, slapping his chest as she flings herself away from him, almost falling backwards. Her vision goes red, like the whole world is perfectly encased in one of his glowing Siphons. "You are so full of shit, you are such a fucking liar!" She's breathing so heavily but it isn't working--oxygen doesn't seem to be coming through. Distantly, she thinks that this should mean she shouldn't be able to speak, but it's as though someone else is pulling them right out of her mouth. She can't stop them from coming. They all simply fall out; she hears them for the first time along with him.

"My sisters don't care about me! I don't have any sisters! I did everything for both of them and it still wasn't enough! I walked all the way to the Wall for Feyre, I tried to get her out, but she didn't even want to come back! And then I did everything she asked when she did, every time! It wasn't even my war! I could've gone! And I did it--for her!"

Behind her eyelids, she can see her sister: asleep next to her in the bed their mother died in, standing tall in a crown Rhysand placed upon her head, crying her name as Hybern drags her into the Cauldron, pregnant and glowing. Locking her out of her life forever, painting a pretty picture with smiling faces of everyone she knows, except for her.

She relives betrayal after betrayal now, in the middle of nowhere. Her stomach rips in two, forcing her to continue in a messy, unending banshee shriek.

"And I've always done everything for Elain! I've done everything for her! I died for her and the last thing I did alive was fight for her, I fought the Cauldron for her. And it still wasn't enough, it's still not enough, they still don't want me! In her stupid house or in her life, that's why she sent me away--with you!

There's something wrong with the air here--it's not working, her lungs aren't working. Maybe this is it, maybe Rhsyand has snuck up behind her to kill her. Cassian takes a small step towards her, arms raised, but she swings her arms down violently to keep him away.

"You think Gwyn and Emerie don't know? You think they don't--they're not stupid! They know! Everyone knows, everyone looks at me and sees--they know what I am! They don't need you to--I don't need you to tell them! They know about the soldiers; everyone knows about the soldiers!"

She can taste iron. Blood, from her throat. She hasn't drunk nearly enough this week to be screaming like this--but she is, shrieking, crying, shaking, and everything hurts and her head fucking hurts but she can't stop--

"Amren never cared about! You think I don't--Amren thinks I'm a waste of life! She never cared about me--and she thinks I should go to the Prison because she hates me and she wishes I were dead and Morrigan thinks I should be in the Court of Nightmares--and you don't care about me at all, you liar."

He takes another step, inching closer like his dying form had once, saying something, but she can only hear herself screaming in her memory and now.

"You don't care, you don't care that I died, that I'm already--you don't care, you think I'm a whore, you don't care that I can't eat or sleep and you don't care about anything that's happened to me, and you don't care that I can't take baths and you don't care if the magic kills me and you don't care what people say about me and you don't care if I'm scared and you, you, you only care about yourself! And you hate me because of the soldiers and you don't care that I didn't even mean to kill them and you don't care--you don't care that I see my father--you don't care about the fire--you don't care about me, you don't care what happens to me--you--you--"

A slight gust of cool wind in her face has her gasping for breath. There's a searing pain, but can't localize it, and doubles over.

"Shh," Cassian says, and she realizes it's not the first time he's said it. Her body jerks of its own accord, and that is when she realizes that he's holding her upright. "Shh, Nesta, it's all right, just breathe. Just breathe."

She can't--she's trying but she's not getting any air--she's drowning, her lungs aren't working--she tries to push him off of her. "You stay away from me--"

He holds his palms up again, and she stumbles backwards, falling onto the ground. Her hands scrape against something sharp, but if they bleed, she can't feel it.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Nesta," he says. "You just need to breathe. With me, Nesta."

His voice is quiet. Too quiet. She shouldn't be able to hear him, and maybe she doesn't. Maybe she can only see him mouth the words--but wait, no, she can't see anything--

"Match my breathing, Nesta. In...out...in...out..."

It's a struggle, almost the most effort she's ever put into anything, but after some time--she can't tell how much--she gets there. She finally starts to feel the cold of the night air again, and only then does she realize hot tears are still streaming down her face, and then she hears herself sobbing.

"It's all right, Nesta," he says slowly crawling towards her. His voice sounds odd. Different. "I promise it'll be all right. I promise. Just keep breathing."

He gives her some water to drink. She doesn't want to, it makes her head pound even more, but he makes her. And when she's had a whole skin he says, in the most gentle voice she's heard in years, "You need to sleep, Nesta."

"I..."

"I'm just going to get the mats out...it's all right, Nesta. Come on, lie down."

He helps her; easing her onto the mat.

"I'm just going to clean your hands," he says, coming around to her other side and holding her palms. He swipes them with something cold and lightly stinging, then rubs a soothing lotion over that.

"It's all right," he says again. "I'm going to give you this, all right?" He pulls something out of a pocket. A vial of some blue liquid. "It's to help you sleep. Okay, s--Nesta? Just to help you sleep."

She stares at it. It's quiet now, which means she's stopped crying. Her head still hurts. Thinking still hurts.

"All right, Nesta?"

He takes her hand, opens it, and presses the bottle into her palm. She drops it--she's still shaking.

"It's all right. Everything's going to be all right. You're just going to take this, Nesta." He holds it up to her mouth, tilting it back slowly, as though she were an infant. The stuff is tasteless, and makes her mouth feel numb.

"There you go. It's all right, Nesta..."

Something is on top of her--a blanket? No, there hadn't been blankets. No, it's Cassian's wing.

She twitches closer to him automatically but forces herself to jolt back, his warmth beckoning to her like a forbidden fruit.

"It's all right, Nesta, I won't light the fire. I'm not going to hurt you. No one's going to hurt you. Just go to sleep. Everything's going to be all right. I promise."

Whatever he'd given her acts fast. Or maybe she's just so tired. Perhaps both. But she can feel herself being pulled under, knows she couldn't fight it off even if she wanted to. Vaguely, before her mind goes blank, she realizes what's wrong with his voice: Cassian is crying too.

---

and that's it! i've had it in mind for months and i'm excited to share it. i hope i did it justice.

as for continuing: i don't think I would do a novel-length end to this, because the way i see it continuing is it basically eventually would tie into my current wip, fatwd. but I think i could write another chapter or so of the aftermath--the ic's reaction and fallout--if there's enough interest in that. so lmk😊

#nessian #nesta archeron #acosf #acotar #i hate tagging ugh

[helloalycia]

teenage dirtbag [one] // wanda maximoff

summary: when you're paired with the most popular girl in your grade for Chemistry class, you definitely don't expect to start liking her like that...

warning/s: none i don't think??

author's note: okay so i have a ton of requests to work through but i got sidetracked and before i knew it, five parts of this imagine were written.

It's based off the song 'Teenage Dirtbag' and idk, i thought it was cute to write! Who doesn't love the popular girl!wanda and loner!reader concept?

Here’s a cover of the song to listen to because i really liked it and a girl sings it so it immediately made the song 10x more gay, just how i like it 🥰

masterlist | wattpad | part two | part three | part four | part five

"Are you all comfortable?"

The class stayed silent, watching our Chemistry teacher, Mr. Hale, as he looked to everyone with a raised brow.

"You all like who you're sat with?" he asked again, as if expecting an actual response from someone.

I exchanged questioning glances with my best friend, Y/BF/N, who was sat beside me. It was the first day back in Chemistry class of our final year of high school and we were just waiting to begin.

"Anyone?" he asked, looking around.

"Yeah," a few students mumbled in response so we could move on.

He clapped his hands together. "Great! Well, don't get too comfortable because I made a seating chart."

A chorus of groans erupted from the class, including from me and Y/BF/N. Every other class had successfully managed to not give us a seating chart. I'd heard that Mr. Hale was an awkward teacher who hated students (ironically), but I didn't think he'd stoop so low as to pair us with students who weren't our friends. These new seats were also our partners for the rest of the year and were non-negotiable, so any projects or work we did would have to be with our seat buddy. Fun.

Students began to shuffle to their newly-assigned seats reluctantly as Mr. Hale read out the chart. When Y/BF/N left my side, I frowned dramatically, waving goodbye to him.

"Wanda Maximoff, you're now partners with Y/N Y/L/N," said Mr. Hale, making me look up at the mention of my name.

I didn't get chance to register what he'd said as the aforementioned girl soon approached me, settling her bag on the table beside me. I looked up and saw Wanda Maximoff smiling my way before taking a seat on the stool.

Huh. Wanda Maximoff. She was one of the most popular girls in our grade. Everybody loved her, either wanting to be friends with her, be with her or be her. I'd personally never crossed paths with her apart from the few classes we shared. She seemed nice enough, but I guess I had preconceived notions of what she was like since she'd made the very poor decision to date the most obnoxious guy ever. Anyone making decisions that terrible definitely had a flaw.

She had a twin brother, Pietro, who was also in our grade and played on the football team alongside her boyfriend. Her parents were good friends with mine, through mutual friends, I think, as I recalled my mum mentioning 'Mrs. Maximoff's boy' or 'Mrs. Maximoff's girl'. And I remembered when her family moved into our town back in second grade.

Admittedly, Wanda was the star of the show back then, too. We were only kids, but child Y/N wasn't blind. She was the first girl I'd crushed on, an innocent child crush – the crush that made me realise I liked girls. Apart from that, and the fact that she had a locker behind me in the hallway, I never really thought about her.

I glanced behind me, catching Y/BF/N's gaze across the room as he sat beside some other kid. He frowned, implying he wished we were partners, and I knew just how he felt.

Once Mr. Hale finished assigning seats, he gave us five minutes to get to know our new partners as he struggled to find the powerpoint for today's class. If there was anything worse than getting assigned seats, it was ice breakers.

"Er, well, hi," Wanda greeted, turning to face me. Green eyes sparkled brightly behind a friendly smile. "I'm Wanda. But, I mean, we already know each other."

"That we do," I said with a nod, returning her smile. "How're you doing? Your summer go well?"

She ran a hand through her hair, adjusting herself so she was comfortable on her stool. And as she did, a waft of her perfume washed over me and I blinked, trying to ignore how nice it smelled. Floral. Subtle. It suited her.

"Good, yeah," she answered with a nod. "Could have gone on longer for all I care."

I chuckled. "I feel that. I'm definitely not ready to be back."

"Right?" she said with raised brows. "It's gonna take a while to get back into routine, that's for sure. But I guess I did miss seeing my friends everyday."

I hummed in agreement, eyes flickering to Mr. Hale as he attempted to tackle the oncoming stream of animations on his powerpoint. I tried not to laugh as I looked back to Wanda, who clearly noticed the same thing as me and stifled a smile.

"Have you had Mr. Hale before?" I asked, nodding his way.

She shook her head. "Nope. You?"

"Never."

"Sucks that he makes seating charts," she said with a sigh, before realising what she said and looking to me with panicked eyes. "Not that I don't like you or anything–!"

"It's fine, I get it," I cut her off with an amused smile. "I wanted to sit with my friend, too."

She breathed out quietly, a hint of relief in her eyes, and scrunched her nose with an apologetic smile. Okay, yeah, maybe that was kind of cute. Older Y/N wasn't blind either. Wanda Maximoff was beautiful, with long brunette locks and matching hazel eyes that seemed to change from blue to green to brown in a kaleidoscope of colour. A winning smile and soothing voice was enough for anyone to fall for her unintentional charm, but it was purely admiration. Everyone pretty much had a mild crush on her, you'd be stupid not to.

"If we're gonna be working together, d'you wanna get the whole awkward number exchange out the way now?" she asked, half joking, half not.

"I– er– sure," I stumbled out rather carelessly, before cringing internally. Where did that come from?

Thankfully, she didn't seem to pick up on it (or just saved me the embarrassment of acknowledging it) and was already writing her number on a slip of paper. Sliding it my way, she capped her pen and gave me her signature smile.

"Thanks," I said with a nod, accepting the paper and pocketing it. "Can't wait to start those lovely science projects we've got coming up!"

She let out a quiet laugh at my sarcasm. "It'll be fine. You're not dumb, right? So, we'll be fine."

"Can't promise you that," I joked, making her roll her eyes playfully.

"Maybe if we–"

But she was cut off when Mr. Hale spoke up loudly, interrupting everyone's conversations.

"Five minutes are up, let's begin!"

I wondered if everyone was thinking the same thing as me – that was not five minutes.

"So it begins...," I mumbled to myself, facing forward.

Wanda breathed out, a stifled laugh, probably having heard my comment, and I couldn't help but crack a smile. Maybe I judged her too harshly. She wasn't actually that bad.

—

Since being paired with Wanda, I was surprised by how much she'd made an effort to befriend me outside of class. We'd always been back to back with our lockers though not quite speaking, but since becoming Chemistry partners, she'd wish me a good morning if she caught me, or greet me briefly as we collected our books.

She didn't have to, but I could see why everybody liked her now. She was just genuinely nice. Due to circumstance, we'd become partners, but rather than leaving it at that, she made a genuine effort to befriend me. And not even just me, but also Y/BF/N, who was at the locker next to mine. He was as surprised as I was, expecting Wanda to mind her own business as we weren't exactly in the same social circles.

This was, I guess you could say, the start of our friendship. And it was a good one at that. I grew to learn how funny she was, how much she loved her brother, the passion she had for art and painting... she was a wonderful person. Which is why I didn't understand why she was with her boyfriend, Nate. He was a grade-A dick and everything Wanda wasn't. How were they a thing?

It sounds like I'm being a bitch and judgemental, but he really is the worst. The few unfortunate times I shared a class with him or caught sight of him around school, he was causing some sort of trouble with the teachers or picking on students in a way that made it seem like a joke but everybody knew it wasn't.

For example, there was a time when Wanda and I were studying for an upcoming Chemistry test we had. We decided to just help each other study since we already worked together in class, so knew we could motivate each other to actually put in the work. It was, maybe, the fourth studying session we had, and I was going over some notes when I felt her eyes watching me.

"You need a hand?" I asked, unable to take the staring any longer. I looked up at her, quirking a brow.

She seemed to fall out of her daydream and straightened up, eyes flickering to mine. "Huh?"

I gave her an awkward smile, unable to maintain her gaze. "You're staring."

She didn't seem fazed as I called her out, instead leaning back in her seat and continuing to study me curiously.

"Did you do something different with your hair?"

Subconsciously reaching for my hair, I straightened up my ponytail and shook my head. "No...?"

She chewed on her lip, saying after a pause, "You tied it up. You usually leave it out."

Did I? I wasn't sure. I just knew that her noticing something like that made me feel self conscious all of a sudden.

"It looks good," she decided, before offering up a small smile. "You should do it like that more often."

Quickly, I felt warm. Was it stuffy in here or was it just me? God, compliments already made me feel stupid. And compliments from pretty girls made me feel ten times that. It didn't help that she was watching me with an endearing expression, making me focus on my book before me.

"Thanks," I got out quickly. "I– yeah."

Her smile widened before she looked back down to her own book. Suddenly, I became acutely aware of the way her leg brushed up against mine under the table.

Thankfully, the strange fuzzy feeling following her compliment faded and we were able to get back to work without her tuning out again. As we were going over each other's practice questions, an annoying voice shouted from across the library.

"Wanda, head's up!"

"Hey, no talking in the library!" a librarian hissed at the voice.

Wanda and I looked up just in time for a football to smack me in the side of the head. I didn't even see it coming until I felt the thing slap my head, giving me an instant urge to strangle whoever threw it.

"Fuck," I cursed, holding my head and closing my eyes to breathe through the pain.

"Oh my God, are you okay?" Wanda's voice made me open my eyes and I saw her leaning forward, hand resting on my shoulder and the other on top of mine that was clutching my head.

"Been better," I admitted, trying to make light of the situation because as angry as I was at the idiot who threw it, I was also embarrassed because it hit me.

Wanda seemed concerned as she gently pulled me hand away, not letting go as she got a better look at the side of my face which I was sure was burning red. At least that's what it felt like.

"Shit, I'm so sorry."

I looked up and saw none other than Nate Green, Wanda's boyfriend, hovering and stifling a laugh as he looked at me. He had his stupid varsity jacket on and I was tempted to strangle him with it.

"I thought Wanda would catch it," he explained stupidly, before moving around the desk to collect his football.

Breathing out through gritted teeth, I pulled away from Wanda and nodded reassuringly. "I'll be fine. Just need an ice pack."

"You're such an idiot, Nate!" Wanda snapped, looking to him with a glare. "You need to watch what you're doing!"

He smiled sheepishly, making me roll my eyes and clench my jaw at the heat on the right side of my face. Fuck, that really hurt.

"What did you want?" Wanda asked him with a quirked brow. She definitely wasn't impressed. I'd hate to ever be on the wrong side of that condescending glare.

"I thought we could go out," he said like it was that simple.

"I'm studying," she quipped with crossed arms.

"I'm happy to wait," he said, toying with the ball in his hands.

Knowing I definitely didn't want that, I closed my books and said, "It's cool. You guys go. I think we're done here anyway."

Nate grinned. "See? S'all good."

Wanda ignored him and looked to me with worried eyes. "Y/N, are you sure?"

"You know your stuff," I said, referring to the work. "You'll be fine in the test. I'm sure."

I offered her a small, forced smile, before standing up to pack my bag. She did the same, beginning to pack her own things, but her eyes kept flittering towards me.

"D'you want me to go to the nurse's office with you?" she asked, shame laced in her voice.

"It's fine, I'll be fine," I said, hurrying up with my actions so I could just get out of here whilst I still had (some of) my dignity left. "See you in class tomorrow."

She nodded, sending a guilty smile my way. "See you tomorrow, Y/N."

Without giving either of them a look, I shouldered my backpack and left the library. Just another reminder of why Nate Green was literally the worst person ever.

—

Liking Wanda as more than a friend wasn't something that happened for a while if I'm being honest. I guess I started to enjoy her presence more and more the longer we spent time together.

I'd come to appreciate it whenever she'd say something completely out of the blue that made no sense whatsoever, or whenever she'd laugh at something I'd said that was arguably not funny but she didn't want to make me feel bad, or even whenever I teased her about something stupid she did, resulting in her doing that cute little nose scrunch she did. But I didn't think of it as liking her, more just a randomly-formed friendship that I was glad to have.

Maybe it was this misinterpretation that didn't make me see how I was acting around her, such as the time I was in the dinner queue at lunch when I realised she was stood behind me.

"Oh, hey, Y/N," she said when she noticed it was me in front of her. Her usual bright, friendly smile was on her lips as she looked to me. "You good?"

I nodded, returning her smile. "Yeah. Just getting some doughnuts for Y/BF/N and I. You?"

"Same," she said, before nudging the guy next to her, who I recognised as her brother. "Pietro and I thought we'd treat ourselves."

At the mention of his name, Pietro looked down to his sister before his gaze fell on me. A mischievous smile appeared on his lips as he put out his hand.

"Pietro Maximoff," he introduced. "You must be the Chemistry partner, Y/N, right?"

I raised my eyebrows with surprise as I shook his hand. "You, er, know who I am?"

He glanced at his sister with a cheeky smile. Wanda was avoiding both of our gazes, her cheeks dusting pink.

Clearly saving face for Wanda, he said, "We've been in the same grade since kids, right? 'Course I do."

Despite the truth to his words, something told me that wasn't how he knew who I was. Especially since I was sure I'd never spoken to him in my life. But, to save Wanda the embarrassment of clearly having spoken of me at home, I nodded to Pietro.

"Right," I agreed with an amused smile. "Duh."

I moved down the queue and grabbed two doughnuts from the display, putting them in two separate paper bags.

"Dibs the last one!" Pietro exclaimed as soon as I returned the clippers to the display. He reached around his sister immaturely and bagged the last doughnut.

Wanda rolled her eyes. "You know I can ask for more, right?"

Pietro grinned, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Go on then."

The two were twins, but they couldn't have been more different. I simply revelled in their interaction, finding it adorable.

Wanda did as she said, asking the dinner lady if there were any more doughnuts in the back. Unfortunately for her, those were the last for the day, making Pietro laugh as Wanda pouted.

"Sucks to be you," he teased her, as I paid for mine and Y/BF/N's doughnuts.

"I hate you," she mumbled playfully, but I saw the disappointment in her eyes as he lovingly but annoyingly waved his bag before her eyes.

Without even thinking much of it, I held out one of the bags in my hand. "Here. You can have mine."

Wanda looked to me with surprise. "Are you sure? I can live without a doughnut, if that's what you're thinking."

I chuckled, grabbing her hand and making her take it. "It's okay. I wasn't in the mood anyway."

Plus, you look better when you're smiling and not pouting, I added in my head.

She accepted the bag reluctantly. "I– thanks. At least let me pay for it–"

"It's just a doughnut, Wanda," I teased, before nodding her way. "See you later."

Leaving her and Pietro to it, I headed back to the table Y/BF/N was sat at and took a seat opposite him before giving him his doughnut.

"Sweet," he said, quickly opening the bag before realising I didn't have one. "Where's yours?"

Over his shoulder, I saw Wanda and Pietro taking a seat at their lunch table, doughnuts in hand and a heartwarming smile on Wanda's lips.

"They ran out," I answered Y/BF/N. "Wasn't in the mood anyway. Enjoy."

He shrugged before digging in. I'd like to say I didn't spare glances in Wanda's direction every now and then for the rest of the lunch hour, but I'd be lying if I did.

—

I'm in the art department. You okay to bring it here?

I read over the text Wanda sent me before shooting her an 'okay' and heading to the Art department. I'd grabbed her notebook in class earlier on, only realising as I was studying with Y/BF/N in the library and pulled out an extra one, so I was going to give it her back.

I guess, when you realise you like someone, it comes randomly, suddenly, without warning. Liking someone isn't instant, it's constant and gradual and subconscious. I guess I'd been falling for Wanda for a while, without even realising, but today was the day I acknowledged that fact.

The Art department wasn't somewhere I frequented regularly – give me a paint and brushes and I'd probably present you with a finger painting – but it was definitely worth the visit. Art pieces from current and past students were hung on the walls, a mural of the school was spray painted on another, and sculptures stood around. The whole department brought a smile to anyone's face with its bright colours and open space – I could see why Art students always hung out here, Wanda included.

Speaking of Wanda, I found her in one of the classrooms sat at a stool in front of a series of canvasses. The room had a few other Art students littered around, working on their own pieces during their lunch period, otherwise it was empty.

"Hey," I called, getting her attention as I approached her.

She followed my voice and straightened up with a cheery smile. "Y/N, hey. Thanks for coming. I'm working on my Art project, so I couldn't pull myself away."

I waved my hand dismissively, joining her side. "It's all good, don't worry." My eyes wandered to the series of canvases on easels she was working on and widened. "Holy shit, these are so good."

Three unfinished hyperrealistic portraits of people were before us, one whom I recognised as Pietro. The paintings were so detailed, despite their medium-size, and I couldn't imagine how long they must have taken.

"You think?" she asked, glancing between them. "I think I messed up the nose here." She pointed with the back end of her paintbrush to the nose of Pietro. "It's a bit bent."

I almost laughed as I looked to her with disbelief. "Are you kidding? Wanda, these are amazing. How did you even do this?"

She looked down bashfully, a nervous smile on her lips. "I don't know. It's for a project. I chose to do family portraits." She pointed to each one as she said, "My mum, my dad and my brother."

I was in awe of her talent, jaw dropped with amazement still. I always knew she was an artist, but I'd never actually seen her work. I was starting to wish I'd come here a lot sooner.

"So, you got my notebook?" she asked, pulling me back into reality.

I looked away from the paintings reluctantly before getting her notebook from my bag and holding it out for her. As she accepted it, she must have forgotten she was holding her paintbrush as the tip brushed my wrist, leaving a swipe of red there.

"Oh, my bad," she said with a laugh, before setting her notebook and brush down and grabbing a paper towel from beside her.

Wetting it with water from her bottle, she pressed it to my wrist and swiped the paint away. It was such a mundane action, but the way her fingers gently held my wrist and emanated a warmth only she seemed to carry sent shivers down my spine.

I glanced up at her, letting her do it, and noticed the swipe of paint she had across her cheek, as if she'd touched her face without realising.

Now that I paid attention, I noticed how cute she looked in her Art getup. An old, oversized shirt covered in paint was being worn to cover her clothes, sleeves loosely rolled up to her elbows. Her long hair was tied back into a ponytail, but her baby hairs framed her forehead adorably.

When her hair wasn't in her face, her eyes only seemed more intense, glistening with excitement and happiness. I almost forgot to breathe when they met mine briefly, a hint of embarrassment there from when cleaning me up. She was in her element here and it made sense to me now.

I knew I'd fallen for her.

—

"You don't get it," I was saying to Y/BF/N as we hung about the school gym, waiting for the teacher to start the lesson. "It's bad. I like her. Like, like like her."

Y/BF/N laughed, clapping me on the back with pity. "You're screwed."

I frowned. "I know."

As he stretched for class, he continued, "I mean, I get it, I do. She's super nice. Pretty. And you guys seem to get on."

I chewed on my lower lip worriedly.

He gave me a knowing look. "There's one problem though."

I groaned, running a hand down my face. "I know, I know. She's got that dick of a boyfriend."

He chuckled. "That's one way to put it."

I sighed, crossing my arms with annoyance. Since realising I liked Wanda as a little more than a friend, things weren't going well for me. Whenever we worked together, I'd forget what I was thinking because I was too busy admiring her side profile or getting lost in her eyes. If she spoke about the work, told a joke or was simply speaking her thoughts aloud, I'd focus on every little thing she was saying, knowing I could listen to her speak all day. It was bad, but thankfully I hadn't stumbled over my words or made a total fool of myself in front of her. I was determined to not let it get that far.

My eyes wandered around the gym as Y/BF/N tried to give me advice, but admittedly, his words flew in one ear and out the other when I caught sight of Wanda.

She was standing with her friends, smiling and laughing to whatever they were saying. Like everyone else in here, she was wearing her gym kit – black athletic shorts and a blue and white tee shirt, the colour of our school. It wasn't anything special, yet she made it seem that way, outdoing anyone in here. Her brown hair was tied back, the ponytail falling down her back, showing her stunning profile and making my mouth go dry.

Another clap on the back from Y/BF/N pulled me from my reverie and I looked to see he was laughing at me.

"Majorly screwed," he corrected his previous comment.

He was definitely right.

#wanda maximoff x you #wanda marvel #wanda maximoff imagine #wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen #marvel imagine #mcu imagine #mcu #wanda maximoff au #Spotify

[cryptiql]

smoke signals

pairing: dabi/m!reader

warnings: smoking, mentions of anxiety and abuse, but otherwise okay. please do not read forward if any of the listed warnings might trigger you in any way, and stay safe <3

words: 6.5k

a/n: this is my first ever mha fic and the fact that i decided to do dabi first shows i have some massive balls but i'm giving it a try! if he seems ooc at all or i get some facts wrong, please lmk and i'll fix them. (heavily inspired by smoke signals by phoebe bridgers—would recommend listening to it or any of her other songs while reading)

dabi found the meaning of life in a simple strum of chords; a melody twisted by melancholy tunes that resonated deep within the gates of his mind. they haunt him—either by breaking his conscious from a much needed rest to bring him tossing and turning in the damp air of the loft, or making sure that he stayed wide awake during the late hours of the night and well into the creeping day. the lyrics are so surreal that he has to sit down and contemplate their meaning like an english teacher would to the color red, but they're painted saccharine and drip with honey flowing from the mouth that sings them and he hates it. he hates that he's wasted moments better spent wrecking havoc just to understand that stupid little ditty that clings to his heart like a leech. but this song did not come from his own craft—no.

dabi had known the putrid stench of sweat and vermillion blood when the flames licked at his skin, breaching the coarse flesh of his palms to rain hellfire upon all those who dared oppress him. he could weave lies with knots that would take years to unravel, and set whole cities ablaze with a mere finger. clawing oneself from a well built to drown them in their trauma does tend to leave scars on ones hands, and dabi's body was practically a canvas for mutilation, so he could consider himself an expert on the matter. he could attempt to make such a song by strapping in with his many hours of free time and diligent persona, but his hands were not made for music; neither delicate, sonorous tunes or dark, grating strains. they were made for war.

so if anyone had asks, "no" is his answer. "i don't play." and yes, it is while he's drumming a rhythmic beat that he claims this to be true, but the last thing he thinks about is donning a set of drums during his free time. he's far too distracted by the image of your taper fingers curled around the neck of your guitar to consider anything else.

the gentle but keen plucking of chords startles him from yet another ridiculously long-winded spiel by shigaraki, and dabi swallows a strangled groan behind his grinding teeth. it's in his head, now, and so far the only thing that has succeeded in reaping it from his memory—if only for a few minutes—is the blood stained battlefield that he's found himself fighting on far too many times this month alone.

what's he complaining about, though? it's not as though he minds getting down in the dirt. in fact, he's ecstatic to dig his claws into any gruesome ordeal so long as it benefits him in some way, so why is he so invested in this little to and fro game of twenty questions with the likes of you; someone as significant in the world as a paperclip without paper to hold? why come back, despite there being nothing in it for him besides a series of migraines?

not from you, a voice answers from inside. you're an absolute pleasure.

dabi nearly snarls at the confirmation that his own mind is turning against him, and as he does this, a plume of smoke erupts from his lips, billowing and curving to create intricate patters before dissipating into the atmosphere. a second time. a third. a fourth drag from the cigarette has completely obscured his face from anyone's view, and he relishes in the instant of privacy it gives him. however, it has also blocked him from seeing everyone else in the room, and while he normally would have considered that a blessing, it appears tomura has had enough of it.

you get headaches because you smoke too much, comes a second voice; yours, scolding in a way he'd only expect from a worried mother. dabi only has a split second to register it before shigaraki's head pokes through the fumes, red eyes alight with rage and lips pulled back into a snarl.

"would you quit doing that inside? it's fogging up my brain and i can't think straight." he grates.

"strange—i assumed there wasn't a brain in there to fog up in the first place." tomura's nostrils flare and dabi's pride spikes.

"besides, you came in here and looked directly at me as i was smoking—why didn't you ask me to stop then?"

"i was telling you with my eyes, idiot. you should know when it's time to either take it outside or put the damn thing out. there are ashtrays for a reason, and not everyone here wants to inhale that shit." he interrupts their intense staring contest only to wave his hand to clear the smog. now he can see the rest of the league clearly (oh joy, he thinks) and gives an indignant grunt when spotting toga at the bar table, covering her mouth and nose as a pitiful aim to block her lungs from the smoke. twice, who had unfortunately used up the last pack of his own cigarettes that morning, leans forward to take a whiff, exhaling soon after with satisfaction.

kurogiri stands at his usual spot behind the bar, seemingly unaffected as he idly scrubs away at grime infested glasses, while sako lounges at the opposite end of the room. his mask is on, leaving dabi to wonder if it's been like that all day, or if he just recently put it on to better fend off the fumes. he doesn't really care, whatever the case.

after a beat of silence, dabi wets his lips to respond, a lopsided smirk growing on his features.

"oh, i'm sorry your frail body hasn't adapted to a bit of vapor in the air. and with that flakey skin of yours, it's no wonder you're extra sensitive—"

shigaraki's hands come flying through the next waft to slam against the tabletop where dabi's feet lie, causing it to wobble and creak in protest. the ravenette doesn't even flinch as the harsh, raspy words are spat in his face.

"if you're not going to pay attention, then leave. actually, i'd prefer you do that either way."

and dabi would have happily disregarded his request if not for the faint ringing in his ears, rising higher and higher before receding back into his skull like the tide. a scowl morphs its way onto his once vacant expression as he puts pressure on his temple, rubbing softly where his eyebrows knit together. just for today, he'll indulge his so-called boss's whims. the piercing screech that emits from below when he pushes his chair back does nothing to help with the ever-growing headache, but it hardly matters now that he's headed out the exit. he's able to catch the last fragments of shigaraki's raving before the door closes, leaving him to stand amid the tumult of the city in all of its glory.

the alleyway is dark with looming shadows, but people are still milling about, so dabi considers himself lucky for already being dressed in his disguise. he flips his hood up, pulls the surgical mask over his nose and quickly slides on his sunglasses for good measure before slipping out into the traffic, sometimes going with the flow and then weaving past those moving too slow for his liking.

right now, his patience is a mere thread; hair thin and on the edge of snapping whenever someone bumps his shoulder. their negligence is infuriating, and he's tempted to roast them into a charred, mangled mess then and there—the consequences of blowing his cover be damned—but by some miracle, he manages to refrain from doing so. it takes about five minutes for his temper to shorten to the length of a matchstick, and he knows that one more shove will be what strikes it. dabi pauses for a moment to crane his neck, allowing the sea of people to flow around him like a stream to a rock as he searches for an alternative route. it appears as though he'll have to take his chances with the crowd until he hears the repetitive ringing of a bell and a man's voice calling for passengers to board. public transport was risky, what with him being a menace to society, but he can't possibly be the single most shady dressing person on the train, right?

he wouldn't bother answering his own question when daylight was burning, so dabi pushes himself from the swarm and leaps for the streetcar just as it begins pulling away from the stop. there's a shuddering jolt before the passengers settle in for their departure, and as his palms squeeze the metal railing in response, he notices the peeling red paint clinging to the car's exterior and finds himself staring at it for a ludicrous amount of time, not thinking about anything in particular.

the rickety trolley is semi-packed with civilians, none of whom regard his presence with anything more than a noncommittal glance. good—that makes his job ten times easier. to his chagrin, it runs over more than a few opposing train tracks or crudely paved bumps in the road, and this causes the whole cart to jostle before stilling completely, the process repeating itself over and over.

the knowledge that his trip to the outskirts of town is a short one is the only thing that calms his nerves.

when dabi finally arrives at his destination, the sun is gradually descending from its peak in the sky, and the clouds are more like wispy tufts than the luscious, cotton candy lumps they were just hours earlier. overhead, the baby blue hues turn to shades of opal; a forewarning of rain. the feelings of irritation and malice from earlier are still bound to him like chains that threaten to snap him in half when drawn too tight. the crippling weight causes his feet to drag along the gravel path at a sluggish pace, his own hot breaths fanning against his face from behind the mask. if anyone actually lived out here and they were to see him, their first impression would be that a living corpse had just waltzed onto their property. it was just his luck, then, that you were the only person out here, and by extent, the only one not deterred by his appearance.

even so, dabi's mind kicks into gear. was this a good idea? he doesn't even know why he came here—he just needed a place to blow off steam and his body had already made the choice on its own. this isn't any different from all the other times, though, and he can't ignore the fact when it sits in the pit of his stomach like an anchor. you're always the first person he goes to at times like these (dabi subconsciously rules out the man working at the local 7/11 who sells his liquor cheap, though he's still appreciative of the bottle to numb his thoughts). that tells him more than he wants to know.

your house is quaint, like those old country cottages he sometimes sees pictures of, and squats on a large, grassy mound of earth surrounded by heaps of rocks and sand from the neighboring beach. it merges with a towering lighthouse, and dabi notes that there must not be any sailors due to make port yet, otherwise the light would be on. the second thing he takes in are the flowerbeds sitting under your two front windows, and how they look withered and close to death.

"i wanted to add some color, but i can't keep plants alive for shit." you had said, huffing in amusement to yourself as you tended to the weeping alliums. "succulents are the only exception."

a small pot of them sits on the windowsill, but they seem to have gotten to big for it; the rubbery leaves spilling over the cracked rim. he hardly registers how much of a stalker he must look like until he stands on your welcome mat, peering through the dirty glass panes to find you nowhere in sight. the lights aren't on, so he can only see the outlines of furniture when bands of light stream in to reveal them.

sitting back on the balls of his feet, dabi curses under his breath. it's not like he was expecting anything. how was he supposed to know whether or not you were home when you had no way of telling him?

"jesus, patch!" a shout startles him from his brooding, but he doesn't let it show as he looks towards to ocean. you're hauling yourself over a large rock to wave him over, wearing a familiar grin. so that's why he couldn't see you. dabi makes careful work of leaping over jagged stones and threatening to bake any nosy seagulls as he makes his way to where you sit, with your favored instrument slung over your shoulder. the ghost of a smile graces his lips when he recalls how you would have scolded him for being mean to the birds, but that was before last week.

"pesky fucking bastards—they keep shitting on my music sheets!" another seagull waddles into your vicinity, only to squawk in distress as you shoo it away with your foot. "i wonder if this is natures way of telling me to quit while i'm behind. . ."

after breaching the treacherous terrain and nearly scraping himself in the process, dabi squats on the stone beside yours, looking up at you with hooded eyes. you meet his gaze with nothing short of merriment and a shake of your head.

"if someone had seen you, you would have been arrested on the spot for being a peeping tom." you chuckle, combing a hand through your hair with a smirk. "what? you lookin' you catch me in the nude or something?"

dabi scowls, choosing to ignore the question rather than give into the bait. as if i would be satisfied by looking at anyone but you in that state. he swats the air as if it would drive the notion from his mind like a bothersome fly.

"in the middle of fuck-ass nowhere? i'd never get caught."

"aw, don't be like that. if you really wanted a peek you could've just asked." the mocking tone in your voice spurs him to smack your thigh, which earns a hearty laugh in reply.

"ooh, don't treat me so roughly, or i might begin to like it!"

dabi has had more than enough experience with your flirtatious tendencies, and he feels he should have gotten used to it by now, but his heart still clenches every damn time. the worse part? he can't say that he minds. you don't give him a chance to respond, but dabi hasn't a clue what he would have said, so he lets you continue, watching intently as you rifle through your bag to fish out a guitar pick. shifting into a crisscross position, you perch the guitar on your lap and begin tuning the strings, idly talking about how uneventful the past days have been. dabi pretends not to have heard that it was because he wasn't there to visit, and instead gives his attention to the lighthouse in hopes that you won't see the faintest of reds dusting his ears.

five minutes pass before you actually start playing, and even then, it's only a few experimental notes here and there that help you build towards the perfected melody.

it's too sweet for his taste; dabi swears that's why his stomach turns so ferociously and prompts him to lean against the boulder to his right for some sort of stability. he won't even humor the idea that it's because of the way your lips twitch into a near half-smile before melding back into a concentrated frown the moment you strike a wrong cord. an embarrassed flush captures your cheeks as you study the music sheets, briefly pressing down on them when a sudden breeze flutters the pages. the pencil that was once tucked behind your ear now sticks out from one corner of your mouth, a flash of pink and orange melding together when you go to absentmindedly gnaw on the wood.

many more minutes fly by, and you've long since abandoned the new tune just to pick up an old one. dabi's back straightens at the first set of strings you pluck, and he recognizes them as the same ones that have been playing on repeat in his head since the day you met.

dabi's heart hammers in tune with every footfall that slaps against the pavement, tearing through the small pools of water that grow with every second. it hasn't stopped raining since the chase began, and there isn't an inch of him that hasn't been soaked through. still, something good must come from this little dilemma—the burning sensation that clings to his arms has almost settled down. the silhouettes of trees merge with inky blackness when he blinks, and he reaches with trembling hands to wipe the droplets of water clinging to his eyelashes.

a yellow square of what assumes to be light shines in the distance, contrasting wildly adverse to the darkness that sweeps him up from under his feet and pushes him forward. the sound of police sirens has been reduced to a mere memory in the time that was running, but he isn't about to risk going back to the league's base in fear of a stakeout waiting to get the jump on them. besides, why stop there when the possibility of shelter awaits him?

the bottoms of dabi's shoes are slick with mud, and blades of grass have snuck their way under the cuffs of his jeans to scratch at his skin. the sensations paired with the numbing cold are beyond uncomfortable, but he won't have to worry about that once he gets inside—that being if the person inside doesn't put up a fight.

he'd expect them to be mad if they did anything except that, no matter how welcoming the house looked. dabi's instincts tell him that someone out this far from the city doesn't a have a lot of connections, and thus killing them wouldn't cause an uprising if it were needed, but the minute he grips the doorknob, a thought occurs. if they have a quirk, its power could level my own or even surpass it. . . he grits his teeth. but like hell i'm going to let them win.

the hesitation vanishes in an instant as dabi turns the knob and thrusts himself inside, wielding a blue flame in his dominant hand to further illuminate the room. the wind is so fierce that it pulls the door shut for him, and the villain finds himself staring down the unperturbed figure of another man, perhaps around his age, hunched over a stove and glaring at a steaming kettle. they lock gazes, and almost immediately, the kettle gives a high pitched whistle. you look away first, lifting the pot and turning the burner off whilst opening the cupboard overhead to pull out two mugs, both of which adorn ugly christmas-themed patterns that dabi wishes he could forget ever seeing.

his glare hardens when you move to the table in the far corner and begin pouring what he assumes to be tea, taking one cup into your own grasp and leaving the other at his own disposal. your one mistake is grabbing your phone from the counter, but when dabi's flame enlarges, you hold your arms up in defense. then, before he can even formulate a proper threat, you toss the phone to him. he catches it easily and observes the dark screen, masking his astonishment with a more sinister expression.

the only other move you make is to drape yourself across a cushion on the window seat with an acoustic guitar in hand. you look more relaxed by the second despite being cornered by a dangerous criminal, and dabi has to refrain from voicing his shock when you address him with an almost bored tone.

"if the tea isn't to your taste, there's more in the cabinet. shower is down the hall to your left, and there's a spare bedroom upstairs to the right. do whatever the hell you want, just don't burn the place down or touch my freddie mercury records."

dabi is stuck to the spot for one of three reasons, he determines. one, your attitude has surprised him into a stupor that not even hiw own will can break. two, his refusal to believe that you're handling this situation in a calm manner is really just his defense mechanism kicking in, and he won't move until proven that you won't do anything when his back is turned. and three, you're quirk is similar to that of madusa's and you've successfully turned him into a fleshy mannequin.

"if you're worried about me calling the cops, what you're holding is the only working phone here. the power is out due to the storm, so my landline is dead, and the nearest form of help is a crippled old widow five miles west. i'm not going to risk running when i'm up against someone with a quirk."

dabi considers everything said, but never once allows his fire to dim. he took the surrounding area into account while making his escape, and he can see the landline is in fact out of service, so the male's assurances checked out. hell, the light source that guided him here was nothing but an old-timey oil lamp. the fact that you're quirkless does him a great amount of good as well.

with cautious steps, dabi makes a beeline for the bathroom, but he stops halfway to stare at you again. you respond by quirking a brow and kicking your feet up, something akin to mischief in your guise.

"i can take the shower with you since you're so afraid i'll make a break for it." you drawl, and dabi snarls, a fowl cuss bubbling in his throat as heat crawls its way up his neck.

"why, with a blush like that you might not need any drying off~."

dabi decides that he's had enough and storms down the hall, already peeling off his dripping clothes and and silently promising that he'll burn the guy to a crisp if he so much as tries to catch a peek. he can hear you calling out in hilarity even as he slinks into the shower and attempts to drown you out with the static-filled haze that captures his senses.

"the name's, y/n, by the way!"

try as he might, dabi had never been able to keep from coming back. now the reason why has been revealed to him on a silver platter, and he won't even spare it a glance.

your soft singing snaps him from his reminiscing as he stretches his legs, stifling a groan when something pops as not to disturb you. while digging through his pockets for a cigarette, he stops momentarily for fear of forgetting how to breathe when he lays his sights on you. you're in your own little world; everything else—him included— seems to have disappeared as you play from the heart. you need no standing ovation, no adoring fans or fantastic lightshows. you've said it once, that fame and glory mean nothing to you, and that you have all you could ever want or need right here, nestled in the beachside view of what you call home.

"and i have you." a cool breeze ruffles your dirt stained overalls as you reach up to wipe a bead of sweat from your forehead. the sun beats down on you, never shining half as bright as your smile, and the shore kisses the boulders with waxing and waning waves of aquamarine; frothy, foamy masses washing up with it to carry lone strands of seaweed. "otherwise i'd go mad without your company."

okay, that was lie. the truth is right there, practically spitting in his face how much of an idiot he is for trying to deny it, and dabi is glaring right back at it. he feels like an impatient kid on christmas eve, sneaking glimpses of gifts under the tree and feeling like he's committed a felony after getting caught. and you do catch him.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" there it is—that stupid nickname. it's always been laced with mirth when you call him as such, but now it's replaced by genuine curiosity. and is that a hit of concern he hears? you study him with pursed lips and stony features that gradually morphs into that of concern when the silence stretches on. dabi forces himself to sneer at you, and something stirs inside his chest when you don't flinch.

he hates it. he hates you.

dabi nods to the sky, a guarded noise building in the back of his throat as he tugs on his earlobe.

"s'gonna rain." your jaw visibly clenches, but you humor his evasive habits just like you always have, looking to the clouds, which have darkened considerably in the last hour or so. it's around this time that the weather patterns become more unpredictable, but you've noticed the distinct lack of rainfall in spite of the gathering storm brewing overhead. you could sit out here for a while longer without much activity in the sky, and it would take more than a little shower to drive you inside, especially when you finally had the chance to enjoy some quality time with dabi. you notice the way his shoulders droop and the tension from his facial muscles all but disappears when he sits amidst the smell of fresh salt water and unpolluted air—the weight of his past slowly but surely ebbing away. you'd like to hope you have some part in that. oh god, do you ever hope.

you plead to whatever omnipresent being above that he's not just here to hit a blunt without getting reprimanded for it, or that he's making these daily visits out of pity.

"nah. it's been like this for a little while—looks like a storm will hit, but then it passes before it even begins." you sling the guitar back over your shoulder and gather up your music sheets, eyeing dabi from your perch. you're challenging him now, and normally you would never dare force him to speak if he didn't want to, but something about his aura is off. you can sense it in his words; the very air he breathes; and it compels you to hold him close, if only he would let you.

"so, you gonna tell me why you're avoiding the ques—" a deep rumble interrupts you, and dabi lets out a sigh of relief that you're thankfully too distracted to hear. a single drop of water hits your nose, followed by another, and another, and—

"you were saying?"

"oh shut it." you don't get to finish speaking, for a crack of lightning strikes the far end of the beach, scattering sand in every direction. you just barely manage to scoop up your belongings before sliding from the rock, but your footing betrays you and send you stumbling to the ground. dabi is there to catch you, wasting no more time in hauling you to your feet and rushing you as carefully as possible through the jagged maze. he can't refrain from smiling when you splutter a string of profanities pass poorly hidden laughter, an unmistakable "FUCK ME!" spilling into the cold evening when you accidentally stub your toe on a particularly sharp stone. it's pouring within seconds, and no sooner do you reach the doorstep do you both realize how sopping wet you are.

the last thing you think of is your chattering teeth, however, when you see dabi's spiky tufts of hair dripping with residue and his electric blue eyes gazing into yours. what you do think is that for the first time in your painfully ordinary life; your twenty three years of mediocrity and progressive isolation from the world around you; you have found the single person who understands your struggles and has chosen—for some unfathomable reason—not to abandon you. you wish you could say your parents were the same, but you also have scars from a distant childhood that brought you to this place.

this old lighthouse is your home, yes, but dabi is your sanctuary. he might as well be a god by how often you worship him from afar, wondering if ever you'd be so lucky; so eternally blessed; as to call him yours.

you don't register that he's opened the door to let you both inside until a cozy warmth envelopes you. no, wait, that's dabi's fire. it should terrify you that the same man who threatened you with those flames is now at arms length, but you trust him not to hurt you in any way, and so you lean into the gentle licking of heat on your skin, humming in content as your shivering comes to a halt.

dabi's fear of burning you diminishes when you flash him a grateful smile, a whisper of thanks echoing across the walls and pummeling his heart without resistance. he averts his eyes with a curt nod, a feeling like molasses weighing down his tongue and drowning the words he wants to say.

"you're welcome." is all he can muster.

half an hour later, your guitar is drying by the hearth and the two of you are huddled on the window seat, nursing cups of coffee and watching the storm in a comfortable silence. you haven't blinked in a while, meaning you've wandered off the tracks of consciousness as suspected, and pretty soon, you start singing quietly to yourself; the deep crooning used as background noise to your aimless meditation. dabi nudges your calf with his foot and is rewarded with a brief quirk of your lips and a nudge back. he doesn't have the patience nor the brain power to decipher how long this goes on for, but it doesn't matter.

this is fine. the image of red hair and a tall, intimidating figure invades his train of thought, and dabi curls inwards on himself. this is fine.

but it's not.

trembling, he places his mug on the table before retracting back into his seat, clasping his hands together. he tries visualizing the ties of his life coming together to form a rope. the fingers on his left—memories from his past—linking together with those from his right—memories made with you. his palms connect, bringing instant relief with the knowledge that he's here now, practically nestled between your legs, out of harms way. you're both fine.

dabi takes the swelling anxiety and pretends to crush it within his fist; clenching and unclenching it until his peace of mind returns.

"penny for your thoughts, patch?" you ask again, still in somewhat of a trance. this time, dabi answers.

"why do you call me that?"

you're caught of guard, half expecting him to ask why you haven't turned him in to the authorities. you've seen him without his disguise, you know his name, and for the past eight months you've been socializing with him like normal human beings do. that's more than both of you could have said in the past. of all the burning questions, he chose that one? "i've heard 'patchwork' and 'staples' and just about everything in between. why shorten it to patch?"

you gape at him, opening your mouth, then closing it, and so on. the pitter patter of rain against the window has ascended into relentless pelting. it sounds like gunfire to dabi; assaulting his ears in floods; but to you, it's nothing more than a waterfall hindering your view of the ocean. the deep breath you take seems to put more suspense in the atmosphere than needed, and it makes dabi's heartrate quicken for an entirely different reason, yet he makes no sign of stopping you.

"because my first thought whenever i see you is how much you remind me of a doll." oh. what?

you can tell by dabi's reaction that that wasn't what he was expecting, so you gesture for him to wait. he isn't sure he likes the forlorn expression you're wearing.

"typically, when kids first get a doll, they treat it like glass and make sure to tend to it with love. other times, doll owners are reckless and tear them apart just to stitch them back together like nothing happened. you use that camouflaged to blend in with the public, and i'm lucky enough to see what's under it. . .but sometimes i wish you'd keep the mask on so i don't have to see you upset."

upset? a fizzing sound erupts from his palms that he struggles to put out. he's not upset.

"don't try to hide it. you're always scowling when you think i'm not looking, or when you forget i'm even here, and i know it's because someone broke you without the intent of fixing you up."

once more, red clouds dabi's vision, and he moves to stand up.

"you had to clean up after their mistakes because no one else would, but instead of reusing the bits and pieces of your old self, you burned them. you destroyed any and all evidence of who you used to be and now you're patching yourself together with parts that aren't your own, because you don't want to hold onto what happened. though, something tells me you still haven't let go, otherwise you wouldn't be so angry."

"you don't know that!" he snaps, but he knows it's not true.

your hand closes around his wrist, and dabi recoils with such strength that it yanks you from your seat. dabi doesn't want you to let go, no matter how much he thrashes in place, because the sensation of your skin on his grounds him. somehow you know this, and you give a comforting squeeze to his pulse.

"but that's not all i see. because dolls are beautiful, and it's the ones who still love them after they're broken that they need the most. no one's told you they think you're beautiful, have they?"

dabi shakes his head, refusing to meet your gaze even when you cup his cheek with your free hand tilt it towards you. every touch is filled with hesitancy; feather light and more intimate than anything dabi has ever witnessed, let alone experienced personally. with the way you hold him like he's water in your hands, your eyes overflowing with a love he hasn't known in forever, dabi knows he won't find another feeling like it. you're not the embodiment of good—at least not by society's strict standards—but at least you can sit there and say you've committed a crime. you've never bloodied your hands by hurting others, much less gotten a thrill from doing so, and that's why he pulls away. he has to, because dabi is a harbinger of war, and if he holds you any closer it will only be to kill you.

he says something; a snarl mixed with a broken plea that he prays will make you stop; and you do. his silent victory doesn't last for long, though, because then you're using both hands to cradle his face and fuck, the pads of your thumbs grazing his scars feel like heaven. "won't you let me be the first?" how could he say no? how, when the taste of honey and whiskey is so addictive that he's already drooling into the kiss and willing to beg for more; when your mouth slots perfectly with his and dabi begins to wonder if he's stumbled right into the scene of a cliché wattpad story. the idea causes him to huff out a growl, and although neither of you can talk, he can imagine how strongly you must want to poke fun at him for the action. he can feel you smirking—the smug little bastard you are—and dabi ponders how long it will take to reduce that attitude of yours until you're submitting to him.

not yet. he chastises himself, completely unaware that you're currently thinking the same thing. dabi kneads the flesh of your hips through your jeans while you comb your fingers through his hair, gasping sharply between bruising, wet kisses and keening when he leans down to nurse your lips with soft pecks afterword. you're still trying to process the fact that you've coerced this devious criminal into making out with you in the pale glow of your seaside residence, but for the moment, you need not concern yourself with the details. you've forgotten all about dabi's ego and how this whole situation is no doubt feeding its flames. his grip on your waist is making you too delirious to care.

"fuck." dabi's breath is staggering when you finally pull back, an aura of clarity and desire hanging between the two of you.

"y-yeah. . .that was. . ." you can't produce a word, or even a paragraph to describe it. you know you're going to hit yourself later for admitting such a banal phrase in the midst of what could be classified as your very first kiss, but that is neither here nor there, and you would rather suffer an agonizing death than let dabi find out that he stole your first. you're too preoccupied envisioning all the other firsts to come, so you don't notice the way he stares at you like some precious jewel, but his fingertips brushing your bottom lip succeed in snapping you out of it.

"hm?"

dabi goes quiet, contemplating what to say as the thunder moves abroad and the rain comes to an end, leaving the house in a numbing state of tranquility.

"why not call me doll, then? it'd be easier."

you chuckle in response, playing with the hairs at the base of dabi's neck and making sure not to miss the way he melts into the affection. "i thought that'd be moving too fast." and dabi; still drugged from your kiss and what he can only hope is love; rasps out a genuine laugh, cupping your jaw with a tenderness that makes your knees weak.

"you offered to take a shower with me the night we met, and you think a nickname is moving too fast?"

you stick your tongue out at him, and dabi resists the urge to grab it, even if it's just a bluff.

"would you have let me call you that anyways?" you ask, something hopeful ridden in your tone. dabi feigns consideration as he looks to the ceiling, snickering when you smack his chest. eventually, he murmurs what you audibly hear as "brat" before resting his forehead on yours, an impish glint in his gaze.

"no."

you turn your chin up at him, giggling when he nips at the skin. dabi knows just as well that your attempts at escaping him are halfhearted, so he encircles his arms around your waist tighter, delighting in the flush that paints your cheeks.

"then i think i'll settle for my love, or darling, if that's alright with you."

dabi can't fend off the blush for his life, but he's not afraid if you acknowledge it. he can get you back easily, and he plans to. "fine by me, doll."

#⛓.dabi #dabi x male reader #dabi x reader #anime x male reader #mha x male reader #touya todoroki x male reader #my hero x reader #my hero x y/n #boku no hero x reader #x male reader #bnha x you #dabi fluff #dabi angst #dabi imagine

[hawksky]

You wake up on your ex's fire escape; wc 2.5k

A/N: I don't really know how to categorize this ? starts as funny, gets into angst with a happy/hopeful ending. I might write this again for another character and make it 0 angst but using Megumi just let this get away from me. Thank you @sixeyesgojo for reading through my first draft, it helped me edit a lot since 😘. Although I have not looked over the ending since I wrote it, I'm done working on this fic so sorry if it falls flat.

CW: Mentions of excessive alcohol consumption.

Suggested listening: song 1 and song 2 you can pick just one to cater your experience (they are VERY different vibes) or switch over around the shampoo situation.

Objectively, there were good ways to wake up. In the arms of a beautiful person, with cold sheets and a warm body, or with the scent of your favourite breakfast wafting through the air. No disrespect to mornings at all, there were good ways to wake up, you were mature enough to recognize this.

A perplexingly rough, wet, and warm sensation gliding across your cheek, while last night’s jeans dug into your waist, and there was a pounding in your head? It was fairly safe to say this was not a good way to wake up.

It spoke volumes for how out of it you were that it was only just beginning to register in your brain that you weren’t at home, you were not even on a bed, and that the continued licks across your face were the work of animal far too large to be one of your friends cats.

“Fucking hell you’re supposed to be intimidating” you hear a voice grumble without much heat behind it.

As you forced your eyes open you are met with an excited dog tapping its paws in excitement of your presence, and the man behind the half hearted grumble. His gaze was unmistakably familiar, but his expression could not be more foreign to you.

“uhm, Hi” you croaked out while plastering a wide grin in hopes he wouldn’t murder you.

His eyebrow raised on instinct in response. You knew he was waiting for you to explain what you were doing, but the reality was you didn’t have an answer.

“I wish I could explain, but honestly I’m not sure what happened – last thing I remember was being bought another shot… Wait, where am I exactly?” You were desperately hoping you came off as charming instead of pathetic given the circumstances.

“How out of it are you?” he scrunched his face in confusion as he muttered to himself. “You’re on my fire escape, it’s in Ikebukuro? Tokyo… Japan, in case you needed the reminder”

It felt infantilizing to have him scold you like this, which only made this next part all the more difficult. You were not supposed to be Ikebukuro. You were not supposed to be in Tokyo. You were supposed to be in Yokohama. What was even more concerning is that you were definitely not supposed to be on your old fire escape, the one connected to the apartment your ex still lived in.

As you painstakingly pushed yourself upright, a warm weight laid on your upper thigh, a furry face nuzzling into your stomach – you wondered if she was aware of tension between you and her owner. You scratched behind her ears, letting Jade know she was in fact a good girl despite the earlier reprimand from her owner.

As much as you’d love to spend the day sitting on a fire escape petting your ex’s dog, you had to go home, you just need to call –

Your phone. Where was your phone? You felt around frantically for your phone, only to come up with nothing. A light sense of panic bubbles in the pit of your stomach, only to be swiftly interrupted.

“it’s already charging, I plugged it in last night, you dropped in inches away from falling down”

So, he was still watching you despite having returned inside long ago. It was difficult for you to parse this sort of gesture, how caring could it be to plug someone’s phone in when you still left them to sleep outside? Maybe he was just doing everything he could to get rid of you. It was too much to try and analyze for someone who blacked out and woke up in a different city.

“Why did you come here?” you hear him bite out from inside. It sounds harsh, but it feels like his stange way of inviting you inside.

“I don’t know what you’ve picked up from these circumstances, but not knowing is kind of a part of the problem. Believe me, there’s no amount of conscious desperation that would leaf me to sleeping on a fire escape, even yours”

You glanced around the apartment to avoid his void expression; it was spotless. But it was even harder noticing, the turned over picture frames, your favourite quilt still on the back of the couch – remnants of the past living in the present.

This tension only increased as a mug of freshly brewed green tea was placed in front of you. How thoughtful to remember you hated coffee, to realize your throat was probably killing you – you would have tasted a creeping bitterness from all these emotions, if it wasn’t overpowered by what was the distinct taste of your favourite brand that had to be special ordered.

He had always complained, there were plenty of good options for tea at the grocery store, why wasn’t that enough for you? It was so much extra effort to special order from a tea shop across town, the only place that you were able to charm the owner into ordering for you.

“How are you still so fucking awful at taking care of yourself?” he spat the words out like an insult, it was jarring honestly. Despite the time away from each other, it was no less strange to feel his detachment.

He moved towards the door beckoning Jade to follow. “There’s a towel and change of clothes in the bathroom, you should probably take a shower. If I’m not back by the time you leave, just lock up before you go, I haven’t moved the spare key.” Without looking back or waiting for a response he left.

You were starting to recognize your growing frustration – you had known him how long? Dated and lived together for a not-insignificant amount of time? Yet here you were, no idea how to interpret this strange morning, much less his last comment. Did he want you to be here when he returned? Were you supposed to leave and act like you had never been there? Could he genuinely be as indifferent as he wanted you to believe? It pissed you that your feelings were probably plain on your face.

You searched for your phone, finding it on what used to be your side of the couch. It felt ridiculous to think you ever had a side of the couch, but you were both creatures of habit and slowly without even thinking you both made your own little sanctuary mere metres away from each other.

You awoke your phone, expecting a flood of texts and phone calls from your friends, only to find nothing. Not a single check in from anyone. You open the group chat and furiously tap out a message.

<Hey assholes who let me go home on my own last night? Anyways good job I blacked out and I’m on Fushiguro’s fire escape! You are all absolutely useless to me I swear to god.>

Your phone vibrates rapidly as you place it down but you’re not in the mood to field their questions.

You’re tempted to leave now, just to get it over with, go home and crawl into bed and forget any of this ever happened. But, you felt gross, it was late enough in the morning that you could run into someone you knew, and you missed the water pressure here.

As you got ready for your shower you surveyed your options. You refused to smell like him, but the only other bottle in the shower was doggy shampoo. Surely dog’s fur and human hair weren’t so different right? Jade did have a beautiful coat, very soft and shiny… You reprimanded yourself for the ridiculous idea, but the point remained, there had to be something else for you to use.

Your brain, far more alert than it was 30 minutes ago, thought of all the things he hadn’t changed, all the fixtures still in place. You had always kept an extra set of all your supplies under the sink. By the grace of all that is good on this cruel cruel earth, they were there, in all their dusty glory, your prized hygiene products sat unmoved under the sink. It would have been sick and twisted to have to leave your ex-boyfriend’s apartment smelling exactly like him, left to spend the rest of the day agonizing over whether you should take another shower.

As you entered the shower you wondered more. He had to have noticed the softness in your eyes, the faint smile you wore just having an ounce of his attention again, the way ti widened at every caring gesture, and falling with every biting remark.

Yes, it hurt every day missing him. Yes, it would hurt if he hated you. But none of that compared to the feeling of not knowing. What were you supposed to do with all these residual feelings that have yet to go away? Were they worth the suffocation or should you strip them away?

You were proud of yourself, all these reminders of what you once had, in a place you once loved, and you had yet to break down, not even shedding a tear. If you weren’t wrapping yourself in a towel, you would’ve given yourself a pat on the back. This victory was short lived, everyone’s strength has its limits and you had taken yours too far past it already. But then you saw it, something you were completely unprepared for.

Laid neatly on top the closed laundry basket was THE outfit. It was nothing special to anyone else, just a grey sweater and loose joggers, but how many days had you spent alone breathing in his scent for comfort while he was gone? How many hard days at work had you reaching for these exact pieces as if they were the cure to all your problems?

Unable to support your own weight anymore, you fell to the tiled floor, tears spilling out, as your already sore throat grew even more hoarse – you felt like everything was collapsing around you. You weren’t expecting to see him, and you certainly weren’t expecting to need him in so many little ways. It was easy to forget how easily he weaves himself into your life, encroaching on everything you do.

The world disappeared behind each shallow breath, and an endless stream of tears you couldn’t control. Your fingers scratch against your forearms repeatedly, trying to ground yourself in some reality you could no longer grasp. It is so exhausting trying to be over him, going through these cycles of strong emotions, over and over and over again.

Suddenly, for the second time in as few hours, you felt an overwhelming weight encompass your body.

Of course, his stupid fucking perfect dog would still know how to bring you out of a panic attack like he had spent so much time training when you started dating. You clutched to Jade as your breathing slowed, but it did nothing to stop your sobs, if anything it was just another painful reminder of everything you let go.

“Uhhh….” Megumi was frozen at the door, for the first time today he didn’t know what to do. His indifferent façade dropped as he observed the scene on his bathroom floor.

There’s nothing left to lose, not for a moment that he has seen this morning have you possessed more than an ounce of dignity, “So that’s it? You don’t know what to do either? You know it’s been a whole fucking year and I still haven’t figured out how to live without you. A whole year and I’m still a mess. I can’t survive being reminded of us, look at me. And yet every attempt to get over you was a knife twisting because they’ll never be you. Now I’m here and I get to witness the wonderful Megumi Fushiguro, unaffected, and you… you have it all together.” You trail off, giving to him everything left in you.

You weren’t expecting the confused and indignant expression on his face, “You think this is having it together?” His voice lightly raising with each word “This place might as well be a sealed shrine to you and our relationship. I haven’t thrown a single thing out, moved any furniture, bought anything new – the only thing that’s ‘new’ is your stupid tea I keep buying even though I hate it, and for fucks sake y/n I should’ve moved out. Every part of me that looks like I have it together is just my version of a mess.” He brushes a stray strand out of your face, his own face moving far too close for this to be purely platonic anymore “y/n I’m no better off than you are, I’ve just kept everyone from looking”.

“So what are we supposed to do with all this?” Your eyes shining, naïve hope seeping through your defenses at the confirmation that he couldn’t live without you either.

“We could try again” Somehow, it wasn’t quite what you needed to hear. “I, am going to get dressed, and then we’ll talk, I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He nodded lightly, pulling himself up and exiting with Jade on his heels.

Dressed in the clothes you thought would burn your skin to even touch let alone wear, you let out a long sigh as you sit on at the breakfast nook. “Look, Megumi, I need to know if you’ve worked through it, any of it? I can’t, I can’t wait another three years for you to tell me you can’t say the words I love you, that you can’t commit to more than a yearly rental, I can’t just have you here I need more security than that”

He pursed his lips, unsure of what he could say to that, how he could make sure you didn’t leave again.

“Megumi, I don’t need you to say it to me today, I don’t need you to commit to anything today, but I have to know you’ve tried that I can’t keep waiting for you”

“I… Just give me a minute, please” his voice weak pleading with you. You waited, knowing better than to rush him, laying a hand on top of his assuring him you weren’t going to run out the door.

“y/n, I’m supposed to be honest and vulnerable, I’m supposed to tell myself that people won’t abandon me just because I give them access to who I really am. I want to tell you I love you, because there’s no other explanation for feeling this way. For feeling like your eyes outshine the stars, that your mind is more brilliant than the sun. I’ve tortured myself for a year with the idea of you meeting someone who could give you everything I couldn’t, and selfishly I prayed they were awful, I wished you were miserable so I pretend the truth wasn’t real that I was not enough for you, that I couldn’t give you what you needed. I’ve never seen a loving relationship, certainly not for long enough to form memories, but I look at you and I can’t imagine anything else”

Your thumb reaches to brush away the stray tear sliding down his face as he spoke to you. Manoeuvring yourself around to be on the same side of the nook as him, you pull him into you, letting him bury his head into the crook of your neck. You placed a gentle kiss into his hair before whispered into his ear “You were always enough, I just needed you to know it too.”

not not a tag list: @satosuguslut @sandyscastle

#megumi fushiguro x reader #fushiguro megumi #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jujutsu kaisen angst #megumi fushiguro angst #megumi fushiguro fic #jujutsu kaisen fics #im so bad at tagging yall i never know what works or what people use sos #megumi fushiguro x y/n #i give up ok bye

[stray-kids-react]

Polaroid

Han x Fem. Reader Soulmate au

Warnings - Swearing, mentions of sex, and Fluff that'll make you cry.

Masterlist

...

Y/n's pov, November 27 2020

My mother once told me that I will know when I'm in love, she never specified what hints will cross my path... She just said I'll know.

As a young adult now, sharing an apartment with my close friend Yeji. I'm starting to become impatient with this whole game of love, why can't I just get told who is my perfect match. I'm so tired of having my hopes risen up and then crashed down onto my heart... Breaking it each time.

"Any plans today?" Yeji asked from the kitchen, making me cringe at the word plans.

I just was still recovering from a terrible break up, where I caught the supposedly love of my life slurping the life out of his assistants pussy. I won't forget the feeling of my heart completely stopping for a few seconds, as my mind told me to run and not look back.

"Yes actually, I have a date with Netflix and the leftovers in the fridge." I replied, slyly smirking as she stared at me like a worried mother.

"Well Netflix isn't going to have to wait for his turn. Because I have this guy who is really interested you and is a total sweetheart." She sighed, showing me a photo of the guy she was trying to set me up with.

"Yeah... No." I replied, beginning to retreat back to my room.

"Y/n! JISUNG TOLD ME!" Yeji announced, catching my attention from the front of my bedroom door.

"I-it's still a no Yeji." I whimpered, shutting the door harshly behind me as she sighed in defeat.

Yeji's pov

She needs to get out of this place, it's been two weeks now. All over a guy she barely even knew, I know the true reason she is hiding and she will never admit it.

Y/n is scared to see his face again, our best friend Han Jisung. The best friend that she happened to fall in love with, and moved away from after she got accepted into the university of her dreams.

They were never just best friends in anyone's eyes, not even there own. Yet they both tried to fill in the whole in their heart with other people, never realizing that all they had to do was just say three difficult words.

Y/n was in a hurry to find her perfect partner after I found mine, the man next door with the matching tattoo on his wrist. Your tattoo shows up when you are over the age of 19 and are near your soulmate, it shows up on your wrist, neck, or shoulder blade.

She didn't want to see Jisung in case that tattoo never came, they both wouldn't be able to handle the realization. But it is a part of life, and I'm not going to let my best friends live alone when they could have a chance to be in love and happy.

Han wanted to see us both while he was visiting the city, even though he knew the risk of utter devastation. That fake profile was just a set up so that she would finally meet up with Han, and she probably already knew about my plans.

I walked up to her door cautiously, gently brushing my knuckles against her door.

"Y/n... I know why you are actually upset."

Y/n pov

"Because of Han Jisung." I answered, brushing past the old childhood photos saved on my phone.

"I know that's what you were going to say Yeji, and you're right. I know I won't be able to take it if the guy I love isn't the one for me, and that all of those nights alone with him that are coded into my brain are worthless. I'm scared Yeji, I'm scared that I won't be able to think of most of my life without tearing up." I explained, as she plopped down on my bed next to me.

"You're fear will just get worse until you find out, you'll never know the result until you actually try." She replied, placing my head on her shoulder for comfort.

I let out a shaky breath as a couple tears streamed down my cheeks, she was right as usual. But I still needed at least one day to prepare myself.

"Fine, but let me rest today. I'm not going to fancy restraint with puffy eyes and bed head." I remarked, watching as a sly smile spread across her lips.

She slowly began to exit my bedroom, delighted that she finally got her way with me. Not even explaining who that fake date even was, probably just a random guy from Google. It was 11:30 at night, and all of my crying really wore the energy out of my body and mind.

So eventually sleep crossed paths with my mind and hooked up, completely losing consciousness as my memories flashed like a polaroid camera.

December 15th 2018

"I can't believe we're graduating this year, seems like we only started high school yesterday." Jisung sighed, carrying both of our bags while walking home together.

"Don't worry quokka, you'll still carry my bags for me even after high school." I teased, pinching the reddened skin of his cheeks.

"Oh very funny, and you'll still put crackers in your mouth and pretend to be a walrus." He remarked dodging the snowball that came his way.

He set my bags down on my front yard as he gathered his own army of cold fluff balls. I tackled him to the ground as we both drowned the silence in laughter, I traced my frosted mittens across his face. Gently crossing his lips as he brushed the snow chunks from my hair.

The close warmth of his breath against my face sent my heart into a frenzy, I secretly craved the closeness of him... But I never wanted to admit it in case I'd lose him.

His now glossed lips looked so kiss able, the way they pouted as he focused on my hair. And how they stretched into a warm smile that left a fuzzy feeling in my heart for years, made it only harder to stop myself from interlocking them with mine.

"I better get going bun bun. I'll see you tomorrow at school though." Jisung reassured, lightly booping my nose as he left his trail from my snowy front yard. Waving one last time to catch my attention as I was at the front door.

"Farewell loser!" He shouted, showing off that bright smile of his.

"Farewell to you as well, asshole!" I retorted, giggling as I walked into my empty house all alone.

November 28th 2020

Y/n pov

"Wake up! Time for bubble tea!" Yeji screamed, jumping on top of me as she consistently hit me with my own pillows.

"I thought we were meeting Jisung later." I sighed, looking at the red numbers of my alarm clock reading 7:30am.

"Yes we are, but I want bubble tea and to talk with you about some stuff I found out." Yeji replied, pulling me out of bed to soon push me into the washroom.

I complied to her excited energy, understanding it is pretty exciting for her.

The steaming water swallowed every inch of my skin, blocking out all of the noises outside. Only leaving me and the blank wall to stare at, droplets of water racing against each other. A flash of the mirror and sunlight clashing, sending the flash of a polaroid to my memories.

August 16th 2018

Yeji squealed as her boyfriend threw her into the pool, soon joining her in a large cannonball jump. All of his friends danced around with liquor drenching their breath, as their bodies clashed together in ways they didn't fully understand.

It wasn't my style of fun, it instead gave me a wave of fear and stress. Not recognizing any of these people, while they danced around half naked. Yeji's boyfriend decided that she had enough fun for one night, and took her home to rest.

I hurriedly gathered my belongings and rushed out the door, just as excited and horny shouts came from the pool. I was okay to walk home alone, it felt nice to be surrounded my silence for once. Even if my conscious tortured me about every bad possibility.

"Need a drive home party animal?" a familiar voice called from across the road, that voice of the man who has always had my back.

"I'd actually really like that." I replied, feeling a wave of comfort when I entered the car.

"I can tell your a bit freaked out." He sighed, throwing his bad into the backseat.

"That party was just... A lot. A lot more than I expected." I whimpered, still a bit overwhelmed from the experience.

"How about you stay at my place for the night. We'll even watch some American horror story..." Jisung suggested, even though he was shit terrified of anything remotely scary.

"I'm holding you to it quokka." I giggled, slapping his thigh teasingly.

We drove to his home as the car filled with a random playlist of songs, one landing on my favorite 'Turning Page'.

"I didn't know you liked this song." I commented, blushing softly at the tone of the song.

"I want this to be the song that represents me and my soulmate. It sounds cheesy, but it's true." He revealed, glancing my way as the car stopped in the from of his home.

The whole topic of soulmates use to be humorous to me, remembering when me and Han drew matching docks on our palms as 'our' symbol. Even taking a polaroid photo of the amazing art we drew, I still have it in my phone case.

Then it hit me, how much it would hurt to see him destined with someone other then me. That moment when he glanced back into my eyes with a shy smile, is when I admitted to myself for falling madly in love with my best friend.

November 28th 2020

I walked along the streets of our home town, hanging my mask off my chin when sipping my bubble tea.

"You know what's crazy." Yeji started, catching my focus immediately.

"I remember the moment you started crushing on Jisung. You didn't even have to tell me, I already knew." She admitted, gazing at me with only a soft warmth in her eyes.

"It was obvious by how many photos you had of him and you on your wall, and the way you looked at him as if he were your dream person." She continued, texting something on her phone that I couldn't quite see.

"Or how when he caught you staring he'd reply with 'take a picture it'll last longer'... And you always did to get revenge. I will never forget the day I saw you two as more then best friends, that was the same day when I bought you that polaroid camera for Christmas. " She replied, taking a short break as her hands nervously fidgeted with her skirt.

"That's why I want a 'thank you' later on." She mumbled, before running off and leaving me completely stunned on the bench.

"Y/n..."

September 14th 2018

"It's crazy that this is your last day here." I sighed, trying my best not to cry.

He nodded trying to smile the pain away like me, but soon caving in once his arms met my body. I nuzzled into the crook of his neck, hoping I could capture his scent one last time.

"I'll still visit. I can't cope without seeing your face, asshole." He chuckled lightly, sniffling quietly when he retracted his arms away.

He stared at my features for a few long seconds, as if he was contemplating on doing something. Jisung shook his head, smiling brightly once more as he pulled me into one last hug.

As he put his palm on the door knob, I shouted his name one last time. Running across the room towards him, he turned around immediately dropping his bangs on the ground.

He instantly knew what I was going to do, since his lips molded with mine without one ounce of hesitation. His hands lost in my hair, pulling me closer and closer until there was no space between us. Jisung's lips were so much sweeter and softer then any other kiss I've had.

The sweetness was sprinkled with the salty taste of our mixed tears. Only creating more as the kiss began to end, both of us realizing we should've told each other so much sooner.

"I love you." We both sighed at the same time, smiling sadly at the bittersweet sting in our hearts.

November 28th 2020

"Jisung..." I gasped, turning around quickly to make sure I wasn't hallucinating.

"W-wow... You've really. Wow." He stuttered, cautiously inching closer towards me.

"You too." I chuckled airily, swallowing back my tears. I missed him so much, but it hurt too much to see him at the same time.

"Y/n... I know it's been a while. But I honestly came here because I needed to see you. I still love you, and I don't care if we're soul mates or not. I'll sharpie our own symbol on us everyday if I have to." He revealed, grasping my hands between his own.

"I'm sorry that I was being so selfish." I sighed, caving into my own tears. Regretting my fears of seeing him again, feeling terrible for torturing him just as much as I tortured myself.

"We are both scared. It's not our fault, but I just want us to accept that things may not go our way. But that won't stop us from being together." He reassured, lightly brushing frosted his mitten across my features. Glossing over my lips gently, his eyes warm and gentle as they fluttered shut.

I molded into his kiss immediately, lacing my fingers through his silky hair. Soon pulling him closer to my so there was no space between us, making sure no one could try and ruin this moment for us.

His lips still were as sweet as the first time they molded into mine, and his fingertips could still make my legs give out by how gentle they were against my skin. Every emotion flashed through my mind, all my regrets, confidence, love, lust... It all flashed just like a...

"Polaroid." He gasped, tugging my palm next to his as the ink slowly traced the same picture into my palm. The picture of the camera that captured all the moments I treasured with my soulmate, the soulmate that was everything I could've asked for.

#stray kids #kpop #skz scenarios #stray kids reactions #han jisung #han jisung x you #han jisung x reader #jisung oneshots #skz jisung #skz oneshots #han jisung icons #han jisung imagines #han jisung oneshot #skz imagines

[smileyoongle]

Masterpiece (A Park Jimin Yandere AU)

Summary: You thought it was just a painting until you bought it. You thought the man in the frame was beautiful until you saw him. You thought it was a masterpiece until you were ruined.

Pairing: Yandere! Jimin×Reader, Taehyung×Reader

Warnings: Contains mentions of smut, deaths, blood, obsessive behaviour and mental health issues. Please read at your own risk.

Your hands were placed firmly on either side of your bathroom sink, steadying you as you stared at your reflection in the mirror.

 Correction.

 As you stared at him through the reflection in the mirror.

 You couldn't tell how long you had been standing like this but you sure knew that you were about to pass out. Your hair was damp and it stuck to your skin, the towel wrapped around you absorbing the tiny drops of water that glided down your shoulders. There was a suffocating silence in the bathroom, the cool air from your bedroom making goosebumps rise on your skin. 

You were hallucinating, you concluded. How else could park Jimin be standing behind you right now? Paintings didn't come to life. Even though you liked that idea, they just didn't. Your mind was in a daze, unable to comprehend what your next move should be. But you had to do something. Maybe call out for help? Taehyung and Nan were right downstairs, weren't they? 

No, Y/N. They'd probably make you go back for another therapy session.

You swallowed thickly before inhaling deeply. Jimin stood still behind you, his smirk unmoving along with his eyes. If you didn't see the rise and fall of his chest, you would have thought he was a statue. 

"You're not real." You whispered, your eyes becoming moist due to the lack of blinking. Another beat of silence passed before Jimin's lips twisted into a grin. Your breath hitched, your fingers tightening their grip on the counter to keep you standing. He cocked an eyebrow, tilting his head to the side and resting it on the doorframe. 

"You tell me." Came his reply. His voice was gentle, like a lullaby. You didn't expect anything less but in all honesty, you weren't really anticipating any of this. This was pure madness. You were going mad. 

Your curiosity got the best of you and you just had to turn around, your eyes meeting the absence of the very man who was driving you nuts. To say you were relieved was an understatement, a grateful sigh leaving your lips almost immediately.

Okay, you aren't going mad. You're just sleep deprived.

You placed your hands on your hips, slowly stepping out of the bathroom and scanning the room for any kind of sign that someone had been here.

"Looking for me?" 

You flinched, your eyes falling on Taehyung as he stood with his arms crossed at your bedroom door. You gave him a disapproving glare for scaring you before walking past him towards your closet. Taehyung chuckled and followed you, his hands wrapping around your waist as you opened the doors to your wardrobe. Your heart did that thing, a frown gracing your eyebrows at the familiar feeling. It was because of Taehyung. No kidding.

You felt his hot breath on your neck, his lips meeting your shoulder right after. His hands gripped your waist tighter, pulling you against his body. As much as you wanted to tell him to leave, you couldn't.

"Tae, what are you doing?" You breathed, wincing when he bit down on your shoulder harshly. He peppered your neck with kisses until he reached your ear.

"What do you think?" He rasped, sucking right beneath your ear. You let out a soft moan before he turned you around. You wrapped your arms around his neck, pulling him closer, your lips pressing against his firmly. His tongue ran across your bottom lip, his fingers digging into your hips roughly and making you gasp. He deepened the kiss, lust clouding over both of you. 

You never had self control around Taehyung. Everytime you decided that you wouldn't do this to him, his touch had you melting. 

"Fuck, I love you."

The irony.

You immediately pulled away, your hands pushing Taehyung away from you. His hands loosened their hold on your hips, his chest heaving as an aftermath of the snogging you both had done. Taehyung closed his eyes in frustration, your shoulder brushing against his as you rushed past him.

 Taehyung wanted to slap himself for saying those words to you. He knew better than that but he just couldn't hold it back. He had to let you know how he felt, although your reaction told him that you already knew. For years, he stood by you, waiting for you to mirror his feelings but you never did. And every time he asked, he got the same answer. 

"I can't deal with the kind of emotional investment that a relationship requires."

You clenched the front of your towel, your other hand going towards the doorknob of your bedroom door. Your head began to throb, indicating that you were gonna be downing aspirins in a couple hours. Today was a little too eventful for you and not in a happy way. Everything was just going wrong.

"Just- just please tell me what I can do to change your mind.." 

Your hand froze on the doorknob, a subtle ache passing over you upon hearing the desperation in Taehyung's voice. You almost gave in. Almost. With a sharp inhale, you opened the door and turned to Taehyung, your eyes fixed on the maroon carpet of your room. You couldn't look him in the eyes, too scared to witness the pain in them. All because of you.

"Leave." You stated sternly, pursing your lips and waiting patiently for him to do as you said. You heard him chuckle bitterly, your fists clenching by your side. Your eyes fell shut as he walked over to you, his warm breath fanning your face before he placed a kiss on your forehead. You pursed your lips tighter, an apology begging to be let out. 

"Take care." Taehyung mumbled against your forehead, glancing at you one last time before leaving you alone. With shaky hands, you slammed the door shut, falling on the floor with your back against it. 

You tucked your knees under your chin, blinking rapidly to prevent yourself from crying. You felt dizzy, your head spinning as you tried to stay conscious. The events of the day were taking a toll on you, your body slowly shutting down. You whimpered and crawled to your bed, getting under the blankets with much difficulty. You were still in your towel, your fingers ripping it off you and tossing it to the ground. A single tear made its way to the side of your face, your eyes staring at the ceiling. 

"No matter how much you try to push me away, I'll always be here."

"You'll never be alone, Y/N. I promise to be your rock."

"I don't care what everyone says, you are my best friend and I'm not letting anyone take that away."

"We both could just stay single for the rest of our lives. No relationship rollercoasters!"

A sob escaped your mouth, your hand immediately going to cover it up. You were alone in your room but you still felt exposed. As if a hundred eyes were watching you break down. This was intimate, even in your own personal space. You didn't wanna cry. No. You weren't weak.

Taehyung's words kept running through your mind, making you wonder why things changed. He used to be supportive of your single-forever tag and now, he wanted the opposite of it. You wouldn't have cared if he got into a relationship, he was still gonna be your best friend. But the problem was, he wanted this with you. And something told you that he was in too deep for you to do anything about it. 

With a heavy exhale, you closed your eyes, the headache taking over along with the mental exhaustion.

_____________________________________________

Tears streamed down your face endlessly, the ropes digging into your skin as you struggled against them. The basement was dark and eerily quiet, the only noises coming from the gagged girls who lay unconscious at the corner of the room. It was a mistake. You should have just taken the long way home. So what if your dad would have gotten mad at you? At least you would be home. Safe and sound.

The dirty rag tied up around your mouth was wet with your saliva, protests leaving your mouth as you tried to scream. You still didn't know how you got here. All you remembered was that alley. That damned alley. 

A loud clanking of chains grabbed your attention, your eyes widening as you froze. Someone was coming, you could tell. Your chest heaved as you waited patiently for your kidnapper to show himself. You guessed it was a male. It had to be.

The silhouette of a man made its way to you, your head leaning forward to see who it was. And the second he stepped into the light, your blood ran cold. Cameron D'silva, your new neighbour who had managed to make you crush on him. His eyes were darker than you had ever seen, his dirty blonde hair a mess. His lips curved into a smirk, a sadistic one. You immediately shook your head, not being able to believe this. The one time you liked a guy, he ended up being a kidnapper? Wow. 

"Hello, Y/N. You don't know how good I feel to finally see you here. All tied up for me." He chuckled, running his fingers down your arm. You flinched, making incoherent noises until he rolled his eyes and took off your gag. You coughed, licking your lips before speaking.

"Why are you doing this?!" You asked, your vision hazy with the amount of tears that constantly pooled in your eyes. Cameron raised an eyebrow, giving you his sweetest smile. You wanted throw up at the show he was putting on. You couldn't believe that this was the same guy who had taken you to the fair as a date. 

"You see, I like you, Y/N. I really do. And it has always been a fantasy of mine to tie my girl up while I give her the time of her life-" You spat on him, glaring at him with all the hatred you could muster. You were disgusted by him. There was no way you would let him touch you. He clenched his jaw, wiping away your saliva from his face before chuckling bitterly. 

"You aren't the first one, Y/N. All those girls have defied me only to end up with the same fate. But don't worry, I promise I like you more than them. They are nothing compared to you." He said, grinning at you and playing with your hair. You gritted your teeth, ready to bite back when he harshly pulled your hair, making you scream in agony. The cynical expression on his face had etched itself in your memory, his eyes portraying the insanity that he possessed.

"I can't wait to ruin you…"

You jolted awake with sweat beading on your forehead, your heart pounding against your ribcage. Your throat was dry and your hands were clammy. Even in your naked state, you were sweating. You took in your surroundings, sighing in relief upon seeing your own bedroom.

Just a dream.

Even though you convinced yourself that it was just a dream, you found it difficult to breathe. Your lungs were on fire and your mind kept replaying the bitter dream again and again like a broken record. No matter how much you ran, that night always came back to haunt you. 

Your body trembled as you pulled the blanket up to your neck and rested against the headboard. You were slowly slipping away. Unfortunately, there was no Taehyung this time. He was gone and you had to help yourself alone. Your breathing turned shallow with every passing second, your head throbbing in pain. 

"Breathe, Y/N, breathe. You're safe here. It's all over." 

Your eyebrows furrowed, your attention moving towards the voice you had just heard. Your room was empty, only your breathing echoing through its walls. But whoever it was, your mind definitely reacted positively to the voice. You could feel yourself relaxing, your brain registering the fact that it was all really over. It had been years since that night and you were completely alright. Your eyes darted around the room, your body twisting around in the sheets to find the source of the voice. 

Hadn't you heard it before? 

You wracked your brain as you got out of bed, quickly putting on a robe over your bare body. There was definitely no one here, right? Suddenly, the realisation dawned on you, your eyes falling on the portrait in front of your bed. You had heard this voice during your little hallucination drama. Bingo!

Were you going insane for real?

Taglist: @csol16 @thanksforthemameries @min-t-posts @xanny91 @silverstitchedsoul @truestrengths @jackgot7lo @jazzytfw @cassiescarlet12 @kpopgirlbtssvt @slut-for-fandoms @kawaiimusiccollection @butwhatsoft @baby-glitch @wickedbutlovely @siphite @vincent-stargogh @sarcasticsmolstiles @khantij @btsarmysvtcarat @pr1nc355y05h1 @sugasheart @yoongass @smolwriterdude @iamcrazyforkdramas @roseofmyst @vannilacake @yeontanie21 @rottenratatouille @chimchimeebabo

Let me know what you think and also if you wanna be tagged! Ily bye!🖤

-XX

#bts #bts jimin #bts angst #yandere bts #yandere×reader #yandere jimin #yandere #yandere bts imagine #yandere au #jimin fanfic #park jimin #yandere park jimin #yandere jimin×reader #masterpiece yandere jimin au #bts imagines #bts reactions #bts request #bts v #bts au #smileyoongle #bts taehyung #kim namjoon #bts namjoon #taehyung×reader

[motleyfuckingcruee]

I'm Here (Douglas Booth x reader)

Summary:

From the prompts list: "Please. Don't leave." & "Hey, I'm with you, okay? Always."

Requested:

anon

Warnings:

Language, fluff, anxiety, and a panic attack occurs

REQUESTS ARE OPEN!!!!

COMMENT IF YOU WANT TO BE ON A TAGLIST! OR GO TO MY BIO TO ADD YOURSELF TO ONE!

(Just saying, the reader in this is actually me. She's exactly like me)

//

You’d never admit it to anyone, but you suffer from severe anxiety and panic attacks. The first thing you learned when you started to suffer from those things are that anxiety attacks and panic attacks are two separate things. Anxiety attacks are triggered from something. Panic attacks are not, and they just attack you whenever they feel like it. You hadn’t even told your boyfriend, Douglas. He’s the closest person to you in your life. To be fair, you don’t have that many people in your life to begin with.

You sit on the couch in your and Douglas’ shared apartment. He said he’d be a bit late because his manager needed to speak to him. It’d probably be a while then. You weren’t sure what to do with yourself. You’d planned on just watching the movies you picked out with Dougie, but that wasn’t going to happen. It’s already eight at night. You were up at three this morning thanks to your insomnia and you’d probably pass out before the first movie is even over. Then you’d wake up two hours later, staying up all damn day until you come home. You run on two hours of sleep every day. You’re constantly exhausted.

You look down at your movie choices. There’s The Perks Of Being A Wallflower, American Satan, The Corpse Bride, and What Happens In Vegas. Four of your favorite movies. You have a diverse taste in movies, just like your taste in music.

You could go from listening to Lana Del Rey who is what people would describe as sad Hollywood, to Falling In Reverse with Ronnie Radke screaming into your ears, to Tove Lo who is very sexual, to Motley Crue and Guns N Roses. You can thank your parents for your diverse music taste.

That’s something that Douglas says that he loves about you. You’re open to any new kind of music. You’re just a musically oriented person. Nearly everything you do, you have to have music on. Whether it be your doing paperwork or reading, or going on a five minute car ride. You just feel the need to have your music on. You can’t stand the silence. You feel like it beats down on you and that your breathing is too heavy. That leads you to feel extremely self-conscious.

That’s why you always have music playing softly in the background when you’re home alone. At the moment Fast Slow Disco by St. Vincent is playing. It distracts you from your thoughts. You walk into the hallway to look at the pictures that you and Doug hung up not too long ago.

You smile as you see the picture that he took of the two of you on your first date. He had his arm wrapped around your waist and you had yours wrapped around his neck. You were kissing his cheek. He had a huge smile on his face. You remember that night so clearly. He made you feel happier in the few hours that you two spent together than anything else had in the past twenty four years of your life. He was a rare gift that you knew you couldn’t let go easily.

You expected Douglas to never call back. You didn’t think he’d show up at your doorstep the next morning to take you out to a surprise breakfast. He treats you so good. He takes you out on surprise dates and surprise vacations. He tells you he loves you every chance he gets.

You still don’t know how you got so lucky to have him. He’s the most amazing man you know. Sure, it sucks that his job takes him away from you a lot, but he makes it up to you when he gets home. Sometimes Douglas is able to take you with him to the set. You love being behind the scenes. When he acts, it’s like he’s a completely different person. He tries to get into character as best as he can, and he does an amazing job. He never ceases to amaze you.

You walk back into the living room, throwing yourself down onto the couch. You sigh, bored out of your mind. You don’t bother with turning on the TV. There’s never anything on anyways. You guess that you could watch more reruns of Impractical Jokers. You turn your head to look at the remote that’s out of reach. Nevermind. Too far.

You sit up quickly as you feel your breaths start to get shallow. Your heart picks up speed, almost feeling like it’s going to bust out of your chest. Fuck.

Your hands start shaking violently. You hold them together, hoping that will help. It obviously doesn’t. Your eyes start to water and before you know it, tears are streaming down your face. Your chest starts to tighten, making you feel like you can’t breathe at all. You try to inhale and exhale slowly, but that doesn’t work. It only makes your breaths shorter.

You don’t even hear the door shut, signalling that Douglas is home.

“Babe?” He says.

But you can’t respond. All your thinking about is trying to get your breathing under control. You feel him sit next to you. He wraps his arms around you, pulling you into him. He whispers sweet nothings to you, hoping to calm you down. You cry into his shirt, which makes your breathing worse.

“Hey, hey,” He says, stroking your hair. “Deep breaths, baby. Deep breaths. In. . . and out.” You do as he says. He repeats it multiple times.

You’re a little bit better. “Please,” You choke out. “Don’t leave.”

“Hey,” Douglas says, pulling away to look into your eyes. He smiles at you reassuringly. He tucks some hairs that fell into your face behind your ear. “I’m with you, okay? Always.”

You nod, letting yourself fall back into his embrace. He kisses your hair as you start to calm down. You feel your eyes grow heavy. You definitely tired yourself out. You’re glad that Douglas walked in when he did. That could’ve been a lot worse. Your eyes close reluctantly.

You feel an arm go behind your knees, the other one behind your neck. Then, your body is off the ground. You open one eye to see that Douglas is carrying you. He lays you down on the bed, climbing in behind you. He wraps his arm around your waist, the other one is the pillow for your head.

He kisses your neck, whispering a “Goodnight.”

Before you know it, you and Douglas are fast asleep. You finally get a good night’s rest after what feels like ages. You love Douglas so much.

You know that he’ll be there for you no matter what.

Taglist:

All fics: @the--blackdahlia @sugar-content @sharon6713 @siliwanoel @charlyallise @lo-bells @lauravic @livingdeadharley @kawennote09 @ozzypawsbone-princeofbarkness

#motley crue #classic rock #rock #rocknroll #rock music #rockband #nikki sixx #fanfic #fanfiction #reader #reader insert #douglas booth #the dirt