#rancid writes
Text
For Him - [P.P.]
Pairings: Peter Parker x Depressed!Reader
Summary: You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.
Word Count: 7.0k
Content: THIS FIC IS CENTERED AROUND A DEPRESSIVE EPISODE. YOU ARE RESPONSIBLE FOR YOUR OWN MEDIA CONSUMTION.
Depression, language, Mentions of self-harm, Mentions of suicide ideation, friends to...open to being more?, Whump comfort, No actual harm comes to the reader, Happy Ending
( Masterlist )
A/N: I'm trying to get back into writing (I know I've said that before) and while my series are on pause, I've been trying to get back into a schedule with it. This piece is very personal to me and is very much something I wrote for myself. I'm sharing this only because I hope it can bring others the comfort it brought me. Or something close to it.
“Peter- Peter, please fix it!” Peter watched you helplessly as you continued to sob.
Your cries ripped from your chest, and you wished to reach inside the fresh gashes, grasp your heart, and grind it to dust. Anything to make it stop. It felt as if the tissue of your cardiac muscle was pulling itself apart, each painful pump shredding the fragile tissue further. You weren’t sure how much more you could take- how many beats you had left in you. You felt delirious.
It’s common knowledge that when your body is going through immense pain, such as breaking a bone, it goes into shock. Your sympathetic nervous system shuts off momentarily because your brain makes the executive decision that you can’t handle it. You wondered how much pain you could withstand before your body tapped out.
Everything was too much. Your brain couldn’t keep up. Neither could Peter. He watched on in horror as you screamed, clawing at the carpet, pushing your face into the ground, cradling your stomach, and rolling back and forth.
You were fine. He doesn’t understand. You were fine. You had been a little distant lately, but he had learned that was a pattern for you. When the months got colder and the nights got longer, you needed an adjustment period. Your space would get messy, and your naps would get longer. But you were always fine.
You had been ghosting Peter for six days (after two weeks of not seeing each other and you flaking on plans), and he had had enough. In his line of work, he tended to worry, however irrational that worry was, it was still there, palpable. You hadn’t been to class all week, he went to your job to surprise you, but you weren’t there either. He thought maybe you were upset with him, but the nagging thoughts racing through his mind couldn’t let you be. If something was wrong, he needed to know.
Peter has had a key to your place since you moved in. He was the only person you trusted, and you knew that sometimes he hated going home, finding it hard to leave “work” at work. You loved that your apartment was a safe place for him. Somewhere, he could rest his head and forget, for a moment, about Spider-Man and return to Peter Parker.
To say your place was a mess was an understatement. You were respectfully tidy; your space consistently looked lived-in, as opposed to Harry’s place, which always looked like a catalogue.
The smell of rotting food triggered his gag reflex momentarily. He soon got his bearings and saw dishes piled everywhere; the full plates looked almost untouched. Various fast food containers littered every surface. Clothes were draped over random furniture, and he could smell you too. He didn’t smell your strawberry shampoo and cocoa butter lotion but rather sweat and musk.
He entered cautiously, calling out to you, but heard no response. He surveyed his surroundings, looking for any possible distress. He worried for a minute that his Spidey-Sense™ wasn’t working. Obviously, something was wrong, but his sixth sense remained dormant in his nerves.
Then he heard it, breathing, a heartbeat. He moved in its direction, slowly approaching the couch. Curled up in a ball, you lay there, surrounded by malodorous clutter. You looked very uncomfortable slotting yourself between mounds of tupperware and dirty clothes. He called out to you again but got no response.
He lept over the back of the couch, landing in front of you, disregarding anything in his path. He brought a hand to your face and the other to your exposed wrist, checking for a pulse. You turned your face away from him, and he felt a rush of emotions surge through him.
Firstly, he was elated: you were alive, your pulsed drummed with the precision of a seasoned battlefield drummer, and you didn’t seem to have a fever or show any other indications of illness.
Secondly, he was angry: he hadn’t heard from you in a week, but he sees your phone on the floor in front of him. You were trying to move away from his touch as if his hand on your face was the broccoli your mother demanded you eat before leaving the table. And when he called to you, you didn’t respond- despite very obviously being awake.
Then, he was worried: he watched as your fingers trembled, your hand limp as he held your wrist. You looked dull, as if someone had turned down your saturation, drowning you out in the background of surrounding hues. Your eyes were glassy, seemingly unfocused as you stared ahead. You looked despondent, a husk of his dear friend.
He called out to you again, and you let out a small whimper. He was beginning to panic. You, on the other hand, were trying to find the will. The will to care, to respond, to look at him, to live.
“(Y/n), can you hear me?” again, you gave him nothing, and he felt panic rise in him again.
“(Y/n), come on, you gotta give me some sign of life.” You focused all of your energy, fighting desperately against your brain, and blinked, long and slow.
“Was that on purpose? Was that your response?” You blinked again, and Peter felt his chest tighten.
“Are you okay? You’re freaking me out, Bubs.” You blinked twice, and Peter stopped for a moment.
“Is two blinks a ‘no’?” You blinked again.
Peter ran a hand through his hair, and you realised he was stressed. You wanted to care so badly. Your friend was hurting, and it was your fault, and you couldn’t even care. Some friend you are. Peter deserved someone better, someone who could be there for him, someone who didn’t completely fall apart when the world became too heavy, someone who could convince themselves that breathing was a good thing. You felt someone shaking you.
“Hey! (Y/n), come back to me, buddy!” You blinked again, and the shaking stopped, but you could still feel his eyes boring into you.
“I asked if you were on drugs. Are you overdosing right now?” You blinked twice. You were feeling tired again. How ridiculous that you can lay here all day, but having to blink is too exhausting? You let out a yawn, and Peter relaxes some.
“(Y/n), can you try and talk to me? I’m freaking out here.” With a great amount of effort, you opened your mouth.
“I’m sorry.”
It was barely audible; your voice croaked due to its inactivity. You blinked a few times, forcing yourself to look at him. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were wet. You had done that. The ache in your bones grew and spread at the realisation. Peter just shook his head.
“I don’t need you to be sorry; you need to tell me what’s going on.”
To anyone else, he would have sounded cold, but you knew this tone. Peter was working a case, searching for clues, answers. You were dealing with Spider-man. You felt bad that you had drawn that out of him, that he was so distressed he had to put on his suit of armour.
How could you tell him? There was nothing going on. Not one thing, at least. It was a bunch of small things that you were handling like a baby. Your parents were upset with you, your grades were slipping, your job was stressful, you were constantly fatigued, and everything just felt like so much work. Work that you didn’t sign up for. Work that you were done doing.
“(Y/n), what’s going on?”
He hadn’t meant to raise his voice at you, but he was growing annoyed with your crypticness. He wanted to help you- wanted to make sure you’re okay- and he couldn’t do that if you didn’t tell him.
You let out some sharp breaths that almost resembled crying, but no tears left your eyes. You wondered if you had run out; if your brain had decided you had met your quota and had cut off your supply. Or maybe you were just so dehydrated that you didn’t have enough water to spare.
You watched as a single tear rolled down his cheek. You had made him cry. You were uncaring and cruel. You were hurting him. You were a shitty friend. He was so worried about you, and you did nothing to ease his concern. He had called you many times, and you would watch as your phone danced on the table. You would listen to his voicemails, at first light-hearted before quickly turning to panic. You stopped listening to them three days ago, unable to process his emotions as well as your own.
“Bubba, please. What is going on with you? You haven’t answered my texts, you haven’t been to class, you haven’t been to work. I’m really worried. Please, please talk to me.”
He was begging and the thought broke your wretched heart. You attempted to curl more into the couch, to hide away from the pain you saw in his eyes. His hand on your shoulder stopped you, and you didn’t have the strength to resist.
“I’m sorry.”
You watched as Peter’s face contorted wildly between emotions: anger, fear, concern, sorrow. He chewed on his lip as he looked you over again. His mouth gaped as if he was tripping over his words before they could even leave his mind.
“Why? What-? Did you do something?”
You shrugged your shoulders.
How could he even ask that? He knows what you did. He had just listed half of your offences. How could he even stand to look at you? You were a monster, vile and vicious.
You blinked again, and Peter frowned. You knew he wanted to hear you speak, that it would ease his worry, but you couldn’t. Saying the words is hard, flexing all those muscles to use your voice. Too much. It was all too much.
“What did you do?”
You can hear the fear in his voice. It makes you sick to your empty stomach. The weight of his question weighed on your chest.
You knew what he was asking. It was a question you had been asked many times by your parents, by professionals, and your friends. You had lost many over the question. Some of them running away screaming at your honesty. Others have told you it’s not your fault, they just can’t carry the weight. So they leave you to carry it on your own.
You recognised the way his eyes quickly darted to your wrist, then moved to any possible exposed skin. You saw the way he checked his surroundings, looking for anything there. You knew what he was looking for, even if he didn't.
You almost wanted to laugh at that. It was funny to your fucked up brain. They always want to know. They insist on it. They have to know if you’ve done something to yourself as if their knowledge could rewrite time and change futures. As if they know they have the special combination of words that would make you see the light and bring you back. As if they could say something-- anything --you hadn’t heard before. But that wasn’t the funny part. The funny part was being right.
You knew that it was getting bad again. You knew if Peter saw you like this, he would get scared. You knew he would assume the worst. And here he was, doing just that. The funny part was knowing that when people see depression, they expect it to just be this, and if it’s not, you’re fine. And when it does look like this, you must be suicidal.
And honestly, you wish you were. And you shouldn’t say that, but it’s true. At least then you could do something with it. But instead, you’re curled up on your couch, immobilised, waiting for the storm to pass. You look and feel pathetic. But for now, it’s funny. Mostly because you can’t handle how frustrating this is.
You tug your sleeve down, and Peter’s eyes track the movement, tracing over the smooth skin as it’s revealed. His body remains tense even as you stop. You move the other one, and he’s just as attentive. When both wrists are revealed to be fine, you expect him to relax, but he doesn’t.
You watch as his chest rises and falls, not quickly but noticeably. As if he’s trying to stay calm. You appreciate that, though feeling like a bit of an ass for it.
He takes a deep breath, his fingers coming up to pinch the bridge of his nose, “So then, why are you sorry?”
He looked at you expectantly, and you felt like crying again. It was too much. You knew what you had done, how shitty you had been. It’s all you could think about as his calls continued to go unanswered and your filth continued to pile around you. But he was asking too much. You didn’t want those words to leave your lips. You didn’t want him to hear them.
If he did, he might realise you’re right. He’d leave you here, and you’d never hear from him again. He’d be another soul lost to your devastation. Another broken person you made by knowing you. He’d realise how you tainted him, recognise you as sickness, and cut you off. And you couldn’t be mad at him when he did it. Because he would be right.
Or he would defend you. All that Peter Parker love pouring from him, insisting that everyone is good and deserves a chance. He would ignore all of your words, writing them off as nonsense. And maybe, maybe you’d start to believe him. You’d let him convince you that you’re okay. But soon, he would realise that he was wrong about you.
Either way, he would leave you. So maybe if you push him now, it won’t hurt so bad later. If you don’t let him build you up, you won’t fall as far.
So you said nothing, holding his gaze until you couldn’t anymore. His face shifted again, and you couldn’t take it. It was too much. It was your fault. You managed to roll over from your side to your stomach. You paid no mind to the various objects falling off the couch; you didn’t care that Peter had to dodge the debris. Especially when it distracted him long enough to let you hide. You buried your face into your crossed arms but didn’t close your eyes, the dark pocket you created being more than enough.
You felt hollow. Like life had finally broken you, taken everything that you were. You weren’t yourself anymore, just a husk. One that wouldn’t eat, or change clothes, or leave the house. But you weren’t empty. No, you had been carved out, but disgust and anger filled you now. But those big feelings left you feeling tired, tired constantly. No sleep was restful, no break long enough. It was baked in, carried in your bone marrow.
Peter was silent and you listened closely to his breathing. You couldn’t understand why he hadn’t given up yet, why he was sticking by your side. So you told him to leave.
You waited patiently for him to shout, for his footsteps to fade away, but he didn’t. He remained there, where you could feel his eyes on you. It was pissing you off.
“Leave!” you tried again, the sharpness of your tone muffled by the couch cushions.
You waited again, and this time, you heard movement. You heard a piece of silverware land softly on the coffee table and trash move around the floor. Finally, you thought. But then you felt a weight lean against the couch, then soft noises coming from a phone.
You peeked your head out to see Peter sitting on the floor, his back against the couch, scrolling through Instagram. He didn’t chuckle or laugh. He wasn’t really looking at his phone. His eyes were darting over to you every few seconds. You knew he knew you were watching him. This game went on for a long time. Nearly an hour passed in silence, one watching the other.
“I’m not leaving,” he said eventually, “not without you.”
That exhaustion was melting now, and all that left you with was anger.
“Fuck you,” you spit, then tucked your head back into your arms.
“I don’t think you mean that.”
Oh, fuck him. You snapped up, your arms supporting your body as you glared at him from the couch. He looked surprised, but not frightened. Peter had put himself in a terrible position. You were swirling with hatred, and now he had made himself a target. You couldn’t help the words tumbling from your mouth.
“You don’t get to tell me what I mean!” you shouted, your voice crackling like flames. “You don’t get to tell me how I feel! You don’t get to come in here where you’re not wanted and fuck with me. I don’t want you here! I don’t want to see you again!”
He winced at your words, and that made you feel a little powerful. You were hurting so much, seeing him feel a fraction of it made it feel smaller.
“I haven’t talked to you in days and you think, ‘Oh, I’ll just pop over.’ What a fucking joke!”
You laugh, though there’s no humour in it.
“I was worried.”
His eyes are wet again– his voice is so small –like he was seconds from breaking.
Good. Let him break as I have. Maybe then he can see, and understand. Or maybe he’ll leave, get the hell out of dodge. Doesn’t matter.
“No, you were selfish,” You bite. “You got lonely and figured I would be there. You didn’t want to think I just didn’t want you anymore, so you showed up. Because you know no one comes looking for you. Not without the suit.”
You watch as he recoils. He’s looking at you like a monster, and he should. You are. His mouth hangs open, his eyes locked onto yours. The air feels stiff, like a sheet of glass waiting to be shattered. He sniffled a little, and suddenly you didn’t feel so powerful. The game’s not fun if he’s not yelling back. He’s not telling you that you’re right or wrong, he’s not mad. He’s just hurt.
The anger drops from your face and now your eyes are wet too. You feel like you might vomit, but you know that’s just a bluff. You can’t remember the last time you ate something. Or more than three bites. Food doesn’t smell yummy anymore; it doesn’t taste flavorful. Your empty stomach isn’t as noticeable, and chewing is too much work for such little payoff.
Peter’s eyes soften slightly, like something’s clicked for him. His brows pull down and his lips pout.
Pity. He’s showing pity. You’ve hurt him, and he pities you.
You rise quickly, and Peter is quick to his feet to meet you there.
“I’m sorry,” you say, covering your mouth as you feel your breath quicken. You were going to break down again. “You should leave.”
You pushed past him, ignoring his calls after you. You beat him to your bedroom, where you shut and lock the door. Both hands cover your mouth as the tears begin falling and your chest starts heaving. It hurts; the muscles sore from how often this seems to happen.
You hear him jiggle the handle, calling your name through the door, begging you to open it. You sink down, your shirt bunching against the wood as you descend. But you wait. You can’t let it out now, not with him here. He shouldn’t have to see this. He shouldn’t have to put up with it.
Eventually, the knocking stops, and you hear him walk away. You wait longer still until you finally hear the front door open and close.
Then you scream.
It’s deep and guttural. A middle finger to the universe. It’s pure agony released from your throat. It’s all the words you can’t say fast enough. A battle cry from a broken soldier.
You continue to weep, crawling towards your bed, littered with clean clothes you haven’t folded, books you haven’t picked up, and various other trinkets you haven’t put away. But then the exhaustion comes back.
You curl in around yourself, crying out again in frustration.
You’re weak. You’re tired. You’re cruel. You’re pathetic. You’re fat. You’re too skinny. You’re disgusting. You’re heedless. You’re everything, but never enough.
Peter had never felt so defeated. He could see that you needed him, but you didn’t want him. That wasn’t a new feeling to Peter. He had long ago abandoned any hope that you would see him as more than a friend. Even if everyone you ever dated left much to be desired, you didn’t want him.
But this was different. This was something he hadn’t seen before.
He had gotten close. May had gotten pretty close herself. But it was never that. Whatever you were dealing with-- however you were dealing with it-- he didn’t know what to do with it.
You had never looked at him like that before, so full of hate. You had ripped him to shreds on your living room floor. Your words hurt, and it looked like you wanted them to. Like you enjoyed hurting him. It was scary. But then he saw it. That glint of fear in your eyes. The regret falling on your brows. And when you looked like you might cry, he knew.
That was something he did recognise, something he had seen in himself many years ago. The need to hurt. That primal urge to rip everything around you to ribbons. So it can look as ugly as you.
He followed you to your door, beginning to understand the hurt you were feeling. He didn’t want that for you. He wished he could remove it like a faulty wire, but you shut yourself off. He could hear your ragged breathing on the other side of the door, even through his pounding and shouting. But you wouldn’t open up, and he couldn’t do anything until you did.
He weighed his options and tried his best to leave. He wanted to trust that you would be okay, that you would someday unlock the door, but for now, he had to leave you be.
He picked up his stuff, made a mental note to come back and help you clean, and stepped outside. Before he released the handle, he heard you scream. A very real scream. He moved with urgency, panic rising in him. He fumbled with the key in his hands painted with red and blue nail polish. It was chipped from the many years of hanging on his keychain.
He called out to you but got no response. You continued to howl from the other room, and he rushed there. Trying the handle, he cursed, finding it still locked. He had never heard a noise like that before. Your guttural wailing filled his mind. He had one thought, banging and pulsing through his head: Save her. Save her. Save her. Save her.
He didn’t want to kick down the door and frighten you, so he spun hopelessly outside it, fingers tangled in his hair as he tried to make use of his big brain. There was pounding mixing in with your cries now, and Peter felt scared that you were reaching a peak he wouldn’t be able to get you down from.
He threw his backpack to the floor and began opening pockets. His eyes glanced over his wallet, and then he dove for it, pulling out the library card you made him get. You had drawn on it because he complained about how boring it looked. It was the spiderweb in the corner that caught his eye now. From it hung a little spider, but its abdomen was shaped like a heart. He had teased you relentlessly for it at the time, pointing out its anatomical incorrectness. You told him it was a reminder, but for what you never said.
He pushed the thought aside, sliding the card between the door jamb and the lock latch, wiggling it until he felt it release. Your cries could be heard from the other side, so he steeled himself. You needed him, and you needed him strong. He could do that for you. He could do anything for you.
He was taken aback, for a moment, by the display before him, his lips parting in a gasp. You thrashed about, showing rage in your despair. He felt a wave of disgust for himself. He supposed he had let this happen, let you stew too long.
All this time, he thought you were fine. In the same way he was always ‘fine’. But every time he wasn’t, you were there. You were by his side, ready to talk him down. But him? He just waited for you to do it on your own.
He would see the signs and put his head in the sand, remembering how embarrassing it is when someone notices and asks. Remembering the rage that would boil up in him, as if this person could even begin to understand where he was coming from. But he forgot how much he needed it too. How much that small kindness meant. He forgot the value of a shoulder to cry on and an ear to hear, even if they don’t understand.
But he couldn’t dwell on that now. He can’t focus on what he could have done, only what he can now. Because you’re here now, and he wants you around later.
He drops to his knees, his hands coming out to hold you before he stops himself. He calls out softly instead.
It’s apparent to him that you didn’t realise he was there, your wild eyes scanning over him, trying to decipher if he’s real. Your chest heaves as you lay on the ground, your face swollen and red. His heart breaks, for a moment, whispering an apology you don’t hear.
It hurts to have him look at you like that– to see you like this. But this is what you were afraid of, him seeing you and running. But so far, he hasn’t. And you’re selfish, bordering on desperate. It doesn’t matter why he’s here; it just matters that he is. And as much as you desperately want him to leave, to forget you and move on, you can’t help clinging to him.
The one ray of sunshine you have. The one who always gets it even if he doesn’t. The one that remembers to get things in your favourite colour and reminds you to change your water filter. Your rock. And you could use a rock right now, and you can't bring yourself to worry about it destroying him.
You begin heaving again, and Peter panics, still unsure how to help you. His eyes are too much, so you roll around onto your belly, your legs curled up underneath, your forehead against the carpet. Your hands are wrapped around your gut as everything in you comes out. All the rage, and despair, and confusion leaking through your broken cries.
Peter only intervenes when your fists start slamming down against your stomach. You can feel his hand trembling as it grabs yours, and you scream again. His hand retracts, uncertain how to move forward.
Snot is running down your face, and you can feel some dribble on your chin. You feel like a child. You feel like a disgusting mess. He shouldn’t have to see you like this.
It hurts, god, it hurts so much!
His name leaves your lips, broken and frayed around the consonants, and he scoots closer.
“What?” He asks, sounding nearly as broken as you. “What can I do?”.
“Peter- Peter, please fix it!”
You’re not sure why you asked. You weren’t sure what he could do. But you knew he would do it. That’s what he does, fix things. He fixed your laptop, and May’s stove, and your bad study habits, and your sour mood. He always did and asked for nothing in return.
But maybe this was too big of an ask. How could he fix this- A chemical imbalance that you’ve been fighting your entire life? How could he fix what doctors hadn’t? What if you couldn’t be fixed?
You slammed your fist back into you, each hit punctuated with an insult.
Disgusting Pathetic Selfish Broken Useless Dumb Weak
But then, you felt gentle, shaking hands once again. His touch was warm but different from the fire you felt inside. It didn’t burn, but sooth. He had come up behind you and guided your arms tighter around yourself, using his to keep them there, coaxing you into sitting up and resting against him.
He was all around you now; his heart beat steadily against your back, even as yours pounded fiercely. You screamed again, but this time Peter didn’t let go. He held you tighter, hoping desperately that if he held on harder, he could keep you from slipping away. That you would feel his love on your skin. That he could shove the broken pieces back together enough to help you set them right.
Your head hurts; pressure building behind your eyes. But you felt safe, even in this pain. Because Peter was here, holding you tightly. He was here, even if he shouldn’t be. He was here. And you found yourself relaxing into his hold, melting against him.
Your sobbing fell into a quiet whimpering, letting him soothe you with gentle shushes and his forehead resting on the side of yours. He readjusted his hold on you, rubbing up and down on your arm with one hand and pulling you closer with the other. You hung loosely like you had lost the strength to hold yourself up. Peter swore you wouldn’t have to.
“I got you,” he whispered, placing a kiss where his head once was.
Soon, your cries became sniffles, and you turned around to face Peter. His face seemed sad, maybe even tired, but he smiled at you nonetheless. It wasn’t out of sympathy, but true and genuine. That was still too much, feeling embarrassed by your current state, so you hid.
Peter let you wrap your arms and legs around him, trying not to shiver as your nose rubbed against his neck. He pulled you into his lap, relishing in your tight hold. You were coming back to him.
He rubbed soothing patterns on your back, resting his head against yours while whispering encouragements.
“Good job, sweetie, you’re breathing so well for me. That’s right, big breaths, you got it.”
The world slowly stopped spinning, and your body stopped spazzing. You got the feeling back in your fingertips, running them in circles across Peter’s back, trying to recalibrate. He breathed with you, praising for each one you took.
Then, you were still, your eyelids heavy with exhaustion. Peter could feel your eyelashes slowly brush against his neck as you blinked.
“Hey,” he called softly. You hummed, and he was grateful. “I know you're tired, but you should take a bath first.”
You shook your head no, curling into him deeper. His heart panged, wanting desperately to hold onto you longer, but not like this.
He scooped you up, and you whined, wrapping your legs around him tighter as his arm came around to hold your hips. You knew he wouldn’t drop you, but you weren’t used to being toted around.
He let you cling to him as he began filling the bath, making sure the water was warm but wouldn’t hurt. He then travelled to the laundry room to grab some fresh towels and threw in some bubble bath he had found under the sink.
“Come on, baby,” he tried, “In the bath, you go.”
You felt your cheeks warm at the nickname and tried not to think about how much you didn’t want Peter to let go.
It’s not him, You told yourself, he’s just here.
But it didn’t sound very convincing, not even to you. But regardless of your wishes, you knew he wouldn't always be, and what would you do when he left? You’d probably end up on the floor again, or worse.
“I’ll still be here when you’re done,” He said, as if he could read your thoughts, “I promise a bath will make you feel better.”
You took a deep breath, raising your head to look into his eyes. Galaxies lived there, swirling and teeming with life. Every emotion, every thought, bubbling in his irises. And one came through over all of them, ringing through the silence.
Love.
You saw it there as he looked at you. How could this be?
Love.
Had he not seen how monstrous you could be, how depraved and insane you truly were? How could he possibly find it in him to still love you? And how could you let something like that go? He had a love for you that you didn’t have for yourself, but you needed it.
You nodded your head, pushing the thought aside, as you rose on shaking legs. Peter smiled, then left, grinning at you through the crack in the door.
“Thank you,” he said before closing it behind him.
You peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, feeling embarrassed once again when you realised you were only in a t-shirt and a pair of underwear this entire time. Peter was a very good friend, and you couldn’t imagine why he was thanking you for anything.
You got into the water, your muscles relaxing as soon as they broke the barrier. You stretched, letting yourself sink deeper into the water. You lay there for a moment, relishing in the peace, in the momentary break in misery.
You dunk your head under the water, holding your breath and counting. You come up gasping, feeling the adrenaline coursing through your veins. You feel alive again.
You do that a few more times before actually washing your body. You try not to wince as you scrub the film from your body and hair. You took the time to pamper yourself, letting the lavender scent surround you. You even shaved so you could curl up in your fuzzy blanket later and just feel the softness. Peter was right- a bath made you feel a lot better.
You wrapped yourself up in your towel, feeling fresh and a lot less heavy, and opened the door. Peter was there sitting on your floor, thumbing through your record collection. You gasped at the vision around you, and Peter jumped up, a smile on his face.
“Hey, you’re back!” He saw your surprise and hastily apologized, “I hope you don’t mind. Just thought I’d put on some music.”
You shook your head at the man, ignoring his apology completely. You didn't care about the music. Your eyes wandered around the made bed, with fresh sheets, and the clothes that once occupied them neatly folded. The dirty clothes on your floor were gone, the hamper was empty, and when you listened carefully, you could hear the washing machine running in the other room.
“You didn’t have to clean up,” you said, embarrassment rising to your cheeks.
“It’s all good,” he brushed off, like it was nothing. “I pulled these out for you to change into, but you can- you can wear whatever, of course. And...I don't have to tell you that.”
The way he fumbled over his words was adorable, but you remembered then that you were only in a towel, standing in front of your best friend. You clutched it tighter, and he seemed to notice then too. Redness grew from his neck to his cheeks, and he quickly turned around.
“Sorry!” He shouted. Then calmly, “Sorry, I’ll uh- I’ll let you change.”
You reached for the pyjamas he set out and slipped them on. It felt nice. I mean, the pj’s weren’t new, but wearing something Peter picked out for you, with you in mind, felt…sweet. And they were extremely comfortable. You smiled softly as you smoothed out the fabric, then opened the door.
Peter was standing just on the other side with his back turned to it, but upon hearing the handle, he turned. His eyes quickly skated over your form before he beamed at you. You invited him into your room and turned down the record he had put on so it was softly playing in the background.
He stood awkwardly in your room, hands in his pockets, like he didn't know what to do next. You felt a similar way, sitting back on your bed. The silence was loud; both of you stuck between wanting to ask a million questions and not sure how to make the words right.
You figured he had done enough of the work today; you could try for him.
“I’m sorry,” you began.
He turned to you, worry written across his brows and a retort on his lips, but you cut him off.
“I- I was cruel to you. You didn’t deserve that.”
His face falls as he sighs, then trudges over to sit at your side with heavy feet.
“It’s okay-” he begins.
“Don’t say that,” You spit, some of that anger you tried to bury coming back. Peter stilled, and you felt bad, but he had to hear you. It was important. “Don’t say that how I treated you was acceptable because it wasn’t. You don’t deserve that from anyone. If I had seen someone speak to you that way– or ignore you the way I did –I would have killed them. I don’t get to lash out at you like that, okay?”
Peter’s eyes were twinkling again, and you couldn’t understand it.
“You- you shouldn’t have to put with it,” you continue shakily, “and I don’t think you should stick around.”
Peter rolled his eyes, chuckling.
“Tough luck.”
You look at him baffled, but he remains unfazed.
“You can’t get rid of me that easy,” he explains, “I spend most of my days chasing people who actually want me dead. You having a little outburst because you’re hurting and you don’t know how to say it? I can handle that.”
He grabs your hand, and you try to stop the butterflies taking flight within you.
“You disappearing for a few days? That’s nothing. Me leaving?” He laughs full-on now; it rolls through him, blooming from his chest, “That’s never gonna happen.”
“Peter-” you try, but it’s he who cuts you off now.
“No, I’m not hearing any of it. I’m not going anywhere,” he insists. “I’m not leaving you again. I will be right here, for as long as you need me, and even when you don’t.”
His hold on your hand is tighter now, as if he’s trying to press the promise into you. Placing it in your hand and hoping you never let it go. Or maybe it was more than the promise. You look into his eyes, and you see it again– love. You can’t make sense of it. Over and over again, that look. One you’ve seen so many times. Why?
“Because you shouldn’t have to do it alone.” He answers your silent question, “Because I don’t want you to do it alone, not when I’m right here.”
He lifts your hand and puts it over his heart. You can feel how fast it’s beating. Yours flutters in a similar way. It’s terrifying and thrilling, this promise he makes. You want Peter there, always. That’s why he has a key, free to pop into your life whenever he finds the time. Because you always want him there. It’s why he’s your emergency contact and the only person you trust (other than May, but you would never ask it of her) to water your plants when you’re away.
But if he stays, you’ll grow attached. More attached, at least. He’s seen one of many battles in a war you’ve been losing for as long as you can remember. He’s crazy enough to think he can handle more when you barely can yourself. But maybe that’s what you need, someone to fight with you. Someone to fight for.
You bring your arm around his neck, pulling him into a jarring hug. He accepts it, pulling you closer. You’re trembling ever so slightly, but you’re not fighting him anymore. He knows what this means. You’re letting him stay, and he’s so grateful.
You allow yourself to just breathe with him- to let him be here, and hold you. You never got that before, and accepting it now is hard, but you can do it.
“Do you wanna stay the night and watch some b-horror films?” you asked.
Peter smiled against you, and your heart leapt at the action.
“I thought you’d never ask.”
You feel a bit selfish as he steps into the bathroom to change into comfier clothes, as he crawls into bed and lets you curl into him, as he drapes his arm around you and holds you close. You can’t give him what he wants right now, what he deserves, but you want to. It’s hard, it’s terrifying, but you know that you can. You can do it for him. You're strong enough.
Tag List: @actuallypeterparker, @barbecuetiddy, @cherriescherriesred25, @heejinw0rld, @ilovemoonknight, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @mirrorballin24, @miwagila, @negasonic-teenage-asshole, @onlyangel-444, @preciousbabypeter, @purple-amaranthe, @raajali3, @remuslupinsdocs, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz
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We'll Meet Again
Alastorxfem!reader
Part two to "you're never fully dressed without a smile"
Plot: You're down infamously bad for Alastor. You work for a shift for Valentino and somehow you end up at everyone's favorite hell based hotel! I swear to god you will make physical contact with deal Al by chapter 3.
A/N: OH GOD THIS IS A LONG ONE, and honestly for an Alastor fic really Valentino and Angel Dust focused- but like any good story there are more than two characters so we should develop them✨
As always, minors DNI-
Somehow we got spicer and a bit more angsty so read the warnings and think critically if its something you really want to read
⚠️WARNINGS⚠️
-Domestic Violence, Abusive Relationships
-Swearing
-Valentino (has to be its own warning)
-Smoking and Alcohol use
-Sexual Innuendo
"Y/n"
"Y/n, please let me hear you. Your voice lights a fire within me that I cannot ignore"
The static popped, heartfelt and genuine, the phrase echoing throughout the dimly lit room and deep into the pits of your soul. It reminded you of those late nights spent at the studio with him. Of the memories you had created with him, you spent the least time mulling over your time at the station. It was just too much to handle, you would sit for hours talking about whatever fancies fit the time, swaying to the complex chords and swing of the music. No matter what mood you walked in with, it vanished the moment your frame entered his arms. Your hand grazed the edge of your cheek in the mirror imagining how his hand traced the outline of your face as it so often used to do. The show had hundreds of listeners, you were speaking to the world so it would appear, but anything and everything you said or played was made strictly for each-other.
Here you were, lost in time once again. You had missed those little moments, far more than you anticipated. You had always been one to get lost following the tracks of memory. but this..this was different, your body felt as if it was buzzing. His honey lined transatlantic accent reverberated throughout your skull. Sickeningly sweet, holding desperation but still not depravity. It lacked the typical Sadism and savagery, a commonality in your hellish experience. The wicked pair usually found itself wrapped around your arm and caught against your throat. You had become accustomed to those feelings of desperation, but somehow his was different. He hadn't said much of anything and it felt like he had bottled every sweet nothing and loving whisper he had uttered in your direction throughout your life, and poured them into his tonality all at once. The static grew heavier.
"Y/-n y-y-N"
his voice became distorted and crackled. He kept speaking but the words were mangled and malformed. You couldn't quite make out what he was attempting to get across. You couldn't lose him not another time, even if you hadn't really "had him" again.
It was enough to send you into a fit of desperation.The incoherencies faded out, only deafening static remained .
"Alastor"
your wavering voice filled with alarm. You rushed to the radio nearly falling of the counter as you did so. You feverishly tuned the knob hoping for just another moment with him, even if it was just audibly. The electricity crackles, and dark grey smoke erupts from the small box and into your face. You cough rapidly upon contact. The fire sparks, promptly melting the exterior of the radio.
"shit fuck shit fuck shit"
You rasp between coughs. Something ablaze was not entirely out of the ordinary, yet you remained panicked. you thoughtlessly unplug the radio, scalding your hands in the process. Not knowing what else to do, you throw the newly aflame radio into the tub. It wheezes out another plume of smoke before sinking down into the water.
"well that isn't..ideal"
You decide its a tomorrow issue and head off to sleep. Still slightly shaken up, you throw on a silky nightgown and plop into your bed. You wouldn't find peace in your sleep, you never did. You closed your eyes unready to face your demons but too exhausted to care.
The next day comes to pass sooner than you'd care to admit. You don't feel well rested, but you can't find it in yourself to go back to sleep. Your thoughts are still so dreadfully plagued with Alastor. The way his lips felt on your own, the soft gentle curl of his hair. Everything aspect of him was so fundamentally perfect. Even his so called flaws. He may be an attention seeking idiot, but he was your attention seeking idiot. That was all that mattered. You'd be happy to do most anything to supply him his attention fix. You looked at the clock across from your bed, it was already noon. You had told Angel you'd be at the club around one. Unhappily, you rolled out of bed grabbing another outfit from your closet to change into. You applied some simple mascara, and tied up your hair. You could finish getting read with Angel Dust like you usually did.
You arrive at the club meet Angel, you liked to arrive a few hours before your call time just to talk with each other. You had vastly different schedules but you made it work. You walk through the lobby watching other scandalously dressed demons go about their daily life. You could have sworn you saw a flick of shadow watching you from behind the other inhabitants. You shook it off, you didn't sleep well, its possible you're just seeing things.
You arrive at your dressing room, and knock at the door. Its a calm and quiet environment. The eye before the storm working tonight will plunge you both into.
"the fuck do you want, can't a guy do his eyeliner in peace"
you roll your eyes before opening the door, he glances back at you.
"oh hey toots, didn't expect you so soon- you're not late"
"Fuck off angel"
you sit down in your chair and begin brushing out your hair. Val was very particular about the image you portrayed, even if your hair was already curly he'd want it to curl differently, If it was straight, he'd want it consistent coiffed to his liking.
If you didn't have hair he'd probably get you a wig of some kind. You glance down at the black porcelain mask on the counter. It was delicately painted with small golden roses. It was the only thing between you and an army of horny fans. Angel finishes his eyeliner with a small flick of a wing.
He stands up and takes the brush from you. He combs through the ends making sure there aren't any tangles left before grabbing the curling iron. To be quite honest, you both absolutely sucked at doing your own hair, so you did each others. It was nice, and he always made you look good. You had known angel for quite some time, you felt like you knew who he was but nothing about him.
He was always rather private about the details of his life before hell. You had gathered he was Italian by his sound, and that he had been involved with the mob from small anecdotes he sometimes shared.
It didn't really matter who he used to be, he was your friend and you loved him.
"I mean this in the nicest way possible y/n, but you look like shit" He grabbed a strand of your hair wrapping it around the wand.
"oh gee thanks" you deadpan
"long night?" he asks releasing your hair from the curling wand scrunching it slightly.
"something like that, how about you, you look shockingly well rested, and i doubt its just the concealer"
"I'm staying at a new place" he continues working his way around your head.
"Val let you leave?" a hint of shock permeated your voice
"he can't dictate where i stay when i'm off the clock babe" He grabs a smaller curling want and begins with some small face framing pieces.
"does he know?" you ask hesitantly. You didn't want to upset him.
"I don't think he's caught on yet, probably figures I'm just out getting drunk and high off my ass"
"to be fair you often are"
"you're no angel either y/n" He rolls his eyes, he picks up the larger wand again and re-curls a few more of the back pieces.
"where did you move off to?"
You were lucky to have your own apartment. Most souls under contract with Valentino stayed in the complex....Your situation wasn't much better but it was enough. To be completely honest, you only lived about a ten minute walk from here. It wasn't much of a distance, but it was far enough Valentino would rather call upon some other, closer, unlucky soul outside of work hours to do his bidding. It was good enough. It was shocking to hear Angel had managed to find someplace with his cocaine habit and how little Val payed us.
"Its that rickety hotel on the edge of the Pride ring, I know it doesn't sound like much but its free" You almost visibly buffered from shock. How did he manage that? Then it hits you, he's probably sleeping there for free because he's sleeping with someone.
"who'd you have to fuck to get a room there"
"y/n" he groaned, slightly annoyed by your antics.
"No angel I'm serious, its hell people don't just give things out for free" you mused at his reaction.
"I didn't have to fuck anyone, its run by the princess, shes trying to rehabilitate souls"
"is that even possible" your mind began to swim with possibility.
"i dunno, i don't really care. It gives me a space to just exist..as myself..away from all of this"
your hand finds his way into one of his.
"i understand what you mean" your voice comes out no more than a whisper.
He continues curling your hair silently for a bit. Angel had his issues but he was a good person. He just found himself in a bad situation. Unexpectedly, he broke the silence. You two had a lot in common, including your tendencies of avoidance.
"you should live there too y/n, its free, and theres a bar, the bartender isn't too bad looking either."
You smile at the thought, it would be nice to get away from it all. Thats all it could be though, a thought. You were already on such thin ice with Val.
"Angie dear it sounds nice, but we both know I'm already Val's least favorite sinner. I shouldn't aggravate him more" you say with a defeated huff. Angel wraps another tendril of your h/c hair around the wand
"You can't let his life be your only life. I'm not stupid doll, I know you've been spending a lot more time around here." He's visibly and audibly frustrated.
He stays quiet for a minute picking up another strand of your hair.
"you're more than what you can do for Valentino okay? you were a person before you're still a person after, don't let him take everything from you." his voice becomes quiet, almost unrecognizable. Its velvety in a way, he speaks almost as if he's telling you just as much as he's telling himself Its the realest you've ever seen him be.
He quickly shakes it off
"his ugly mug cant be the only thing you see, I swear to god every time I look at him I throw up a little" He releases your hair from the curling iron stepping back to admire his work.
"now don't you look riveting" A jokingly seductive tone takes hold of his voice.
Your mind sparks with an idea, why complain about Val when you can just straight up mock him?
You stand up, rushing to the clothing rack, sift through the items before finding a long cherry red robe. Naturally its angel's. Its far too long for you, the second set of arms gets a little confusing, but eventually you slide it on. You sit back seductively on the counter mocking good ol Valentino.
"angel dust! you slut! you're fucking 20 guys before lunch! " You cross your arms dramatically before standing up on the counter. You strut across, being careful not to step on any of his things, but still maintaining the destructive energy Val usually carries.
A wild smile courses through your features, you grab the magazine Angel had been reading before you came in and throw it back into his face.
"Heres the 40 page shockingly kinky script about some kidnapping scene in France you have an hour to memorize, ignore the syntax errors and improvise!" He looks up at you baffled. I mean, you were right-He starts laughing uncontrollably,
"y/n what the fuck" he sputters out
You laugh along with him. He reaches up placing his arms around your waist, putting you onto the ground with very minimal effort. For a second you feel a bit like a house cat hopeless dragged off the counter. Angel was shockingly strong, for such a lanky guy he certainly wasn't flimsy or weak
A smug look overtakes his features
"let me show you how its really done"
He takes the robe off of your body and dawns it himself. He whips out a pair of bedazzled pink sunnies. Tilting them down, he gives you a cheeky wink. Once the knot of the belt is tied he is fully into character
"My siren! Y/n."
"oh god" you roll your eyes as angel begins his display. He walks across the room dragging you with him before twirling you into his arms. You cant help but be a little dizzy at the sudden motion.
"y/n, baby! You have made much so much money with that truly bodacious rack" He swings his arm around your waist. You both stifle a laugh as he drags his second set of hands across the shape of your body in the air in front of you.
"Angel I don't think Valentino would ever utter the phrase "bodacious rack", at least not in this existence" You form your fingers into little air quotes playfully rolling your eyes at him
"shh toots i am working on a real character here"
"Angel" you sigh
"shh" he hushes you again placing his finger against your lips.
Your collective antics go on for a little over two hours, stopping only briefly for you to style his fleecy hair. He looks at the clock before letting out an aggravated sigh. He pulls his body up from his chair.
"I gotta go doll, Val has me shootin yet another new movie before we shoot the scheduled "film", perks of being Hell's best actor" He grumbles grabbing his robe off of the floor leaving you alone in your shared dressing room.
You continued getting ready, expertly styling your newly curled hair and applying a thick coat of deep red lipstick. It wasn't too long after the door swung open. The suffocating smell of lust filling your lungs.
"My dear sweet y/n! how about we lose the mask for tonight?" Valentino burst into the room as if he owned the place. To be fair, he did. You still found it a bit off putting he didn't knock. Despite your profession, you valued privacy.
"Val-" You began, he cut you off.
"I don't believe I was asking." a smirk decorated his sly features.
"Respectfully, sir. It's not within my contract to appear as I truly am."
This shit again. Val was always on your ass about this. He always wanted more. Usually after a few minutes of arguing, he'd give up. There was nothing else he could do, so you don't think much of it. You pull out a cigarette, flicking the lighter, the small white stick begins to blaze.
You blow a cloud of hot red smoke in his direction. He rolls his eyes gritting his teeth in frustration. He takes a deep breath, sordid displays of force didn't work the best on you. You'd be frightened, but your stance would rarely change. Not unless he got physically violent, and quite honestly he was not in the mood today. You were not the most important thing to deal with. Its not that he didn't want to hurt you, he didn't want to waste his time. He tries a lighter, more manipulative approach.
"Think of how much success your beautiful little face would bring us. Sinners and Hell born alike already get off to your body, its just revealing a little bit more"
"No, I won't do it" your voice is small but resolute. He didn't have the patience for this. As soon as the word "no" left your lips Val had begun to lose it. "Wasting time" became a lot less important. Members of the Ars Goetia family would be present in tonight's audience. You had to look your best, so he could look his best.
"You are going to out there without that fucking mask and give all of hell a good show. You won't like what happens if you don't listen." He growled through gritted teeth
"Its breaking the contract. Val" You take another lazy puff from your cigarette. He ripped the cigarette from your hand, throwing it on the ground. He was done with your shit.
"I own you. Did you forget that, I own your body and your voice. you speak only when i want you to. You fuck who I choose. The only thing you technically have a right to is your name, isn't that right my little siren?"
His voice is sleazy to say the least, the tone makes you shudder. You couldn't help but think,
...was he right? you had asked to be anonymous, you never thought to specify how. He continued before you had a real chance to observe your thoughts. He wraps his arm around your shoulder, snakelike and seductive. He was getting tired of this, tired of you.
"the mask is getting old, hell will get tired of you if you don't give them more. you won't like what happens if they deem you all washed up.."
You attempt to move away, His grasp on your arm grows tighter. You flinch slightly from the pain, but not enough for him to notice. He wants to elicit a reaction in you, perhaps if you stay calm he'll give up.
"I have some very specific clientele coming to tonights show I need you to wow them"
You could hardly believe the audacity. Sure, Valentino was always kind of a prick but this complete and total discount of your previously agreed terms was relatively new. He had suggested removing the mask before and brought it up countless times, but this level of disregard was new. Screw being calm you weren't about to be this fundamentally disrespected.
"No I won't do tha- " his hand waves cutting you off. your voice caught in your throat the sigil on your hand marking his ownership glowing a dull faded pink.
"I can do whatever I please. I've let you forget that, I've been going too easy on you. Rereading our little contract brought me the enlightenment I needed. Those who bite don't get to speak" he pauses moving away from you taking in your figure.
"it looks like you'll just be dancing tonight, and what a wonderful performance that is going to be."
The click of his shoes taps against the stark white tile as he walks towards the clothing rack in the edge of the room. He hums, picking out a dark red burlesque outfit. He exchanges it for the mask from the table and breaks it in his hand.
"I think a more revealing number will compensate more than enough for your silence..don't you?"
Your last defense had been shattered. The last ounce of your personage robbed for the sake of pleasing some sleazy unsavory high end customer. You tried to speak but the words stayed nestled inside of you. You wanted to scream or talk honestly you'd take a whisper at this point, still, nothing. The anger in your heart welled its way up into your throat and without an outlet, your frustration took root in your tears."Great" you thought, "just what i needed to look respectable, yet another crying fit."
He grabs you by your shoulders, it had never registered how small you were in comparison. You knew he was tall, but in ten years, you'd never noticed how much taller he was. Usually the moth hunched over in some way to communicate better as his eyesight is less than superior...Yet here he stood a good three or four feet taller than you, anger almost visibly steaming off of his purple fur. two of his hands grasped firmly on your newly bruised shoulder, the other on your neck, and the last raised and ready to strike you. Closing your eyes you accept your fate. the contact comes and as soon as it does you are sprawled on the floor. Unable to move, unable to run. You had never been strong enough to fight. After all you were still the same person you were in 1936 and long after that. Your nose gushes blood, splattering droplets onto the tile as he abruptly jerks you up from the floor.
"maldita cabrona! quién se cree que es?"
he tuts clicking his tongue against the roof of his mouth. It sounds oddly like the loading of a gun. Every aspect of his body was drenched this newly violent attitude. His moth like horns lined with anticipation, twitching with every rigid breath.
Valentino had gotten rough with you before but not like this. This time, it felt more real. He leans in closer, his face directly in front of your own. From another angle perhaps the pose looked sweet,loving even. The thought made you sick.His arm rested against your shoulder, just forceful enough to cause you pain but not so harsh to send you tumbling to the ground again. The sharp talons tipping his long fingers traced the edge of your face, deep red blood madly racing after it. He would have killed you then in there if you weren't such a "valuable asset".
"Next time you'll learn to listen, I've killed fuckers for less than this shit you're giving me. If I don't have the patience with angeldust I certainly won't have it with you, even if you're named hell's favourite pequeña pecadora." He pauses glaring deep into your eyes
"I made you y/n, i can take that away and kill you myself whenever i please. try not to forget that again"
His inflection is wickedly sweet, but not sugary enough to hide his true malice.
He grunts in frustration, throwing you against the dressing room table, the back of your head shatters the mirror. An all too familiar feeling. He laughs viewing the position he's put you in, it is a dry, heartless, and dirty sound. The silence after is chilling. You close your eyes bracing for another impact that just doesn't come. He must have gotten bored with you, he usually did after a while. The door finally slams, the lights of the dressing room flicker and then click off. You slide down onto the floor, all you are left with is the small pool of blood and regret.
The performance that night felt like an eternity. Your skin practically peeling off as lustful eyes burned holes through your skin. You had drank a few more than too many cocktails. It wasn't nice to refuse a gift, and it kept you a little less than fully conscious. stumbling through the hallway you arrived once again at your dressing room. you sat down hopelessly viewing the dark purple bruises formed from your previous alteration through the shattered remnants of your mirror. So much for not "damaging the merchandise" as Val would so often say.A soft knock rattles you from your thoughts. the door creaks open and Angel Dust slides in. You silently look at each other's exhausted frame and scratched faces. Angel was the closest thing you had ever had to a friend, and just about the only person who could ever understand what you're going through. After all, your experience was modeled after his.
"Whats wrong y/n? cat got your tongue?"
Despite his exhaustion he kept up his usual performance. You didn't respond, you couldn't. The tears so expertly rimmed in your eyes threaten to fall. His expression falters and he walks up to you hugging you tightly. You didn't need to say or do anything to explain. He knew exactly what you were going through. For just a moment you relax into his arms.
A minute or so passes and you break the contact. You figure a little context wouldn't hurt. You motion to the glowing sigil on your wrist and then to your throat, hoping he understood the signal.
"You can't speak can ya doll?" He asked softly his hand ruffling your hair. You shook your head no.
"God i hate that fucking prick, he can't just play fair. Maybe if he did that sorry fuck wouldn't be making shitty porn and running washed out clubs for a living". He angrily paces around the room. As he speaks you grab an eyeliner pen and the back of some flier someone left taped to your door. It seemed like the easiest way to communicate. You messily scrawl the words
"Can I stay with you I promise its just for one night"
He takes the page from you a smile taking root.
"damn toots what happened to not mixing personal and professional life?" he joked. You sat there motionless, tears threatening to spill. He takes the hint and grabs a coat off of the rack wrapping it around your shoulders.
"I thought you'd never ask-I've been dying to hang out outside this shit hole. Let's head out, Its gonna rain soon and these boots are too hot to be messing with that acid bullshit"
He posed albeit dramatically earning a smile from you. He tilts his head towards the door and the two of you leave the messy dressing room behind. It was one of the few things you didn't have to worry about. After all, Valentino values appearances, any mess you had made would be gone in the morning. In one way or another, you could fuck up any way and make any mess, and Val would have it cleaned up. The only messes he wouldn't fix were the ones he made himself. The cuts on your body always lasted longer than your reflection in a broken mirror. Unlike you the mirror could be fixed.
Not long after you arrive at this so called "Hazbin Hotel"..you didn't have much to say other than it...seemed fitting. You walk up a few flights of carpeted stairs. His hand calmly connected to yours. He continues down the long winding hallway before reaching a large wooden door at the end. He unlocks the room, and it is exactly what you'd imagine it to be. An embodiment of everything "angel dust".
A few hours and a pack of cigarettes later, the rain starts. The acid falls from the sky burning sinners and generally..most everything in its path. The sizzle on the sidewalk almost sounds like the crackle of a record player. Leaning further back into his bed, you pull out yet another cigarette. Your hand waves, gesturing towards the box and Angel takes the last of the pack. He lights the end of yours first and then clicks the lighter again in an attempt to get his own fix. However the lighter had other plans, it pops and ticks before sputtering out completely. He strikes it a few more times to no avail
"Shit what does a guy gotta do to get a decent lighter in this shit hole"
His arms raised above his head in some odd exaggerated performance of anger. Despite the lack of necessity, you found the fake drama to be amusing. It reminded you of Alastor in some strange way. It was different than the usual drama you found yourself viewing. Hell is full of overdramatic assholes, at least Angel isn't.. cruel. You take the first hit of your newly lit cigarette. The pink smoke fizzling into your lungs, giving you a sense of calm you cant really find anywhere else.
"What you aren't gonna share?" he deadpans before he presses the edge of his previously unlit cigarette to yours.
You look at him as if to say "Angel you dumb bitch that never actually works you're just going to put mine out and then we'll both be miserable"
He rolls his eyes with his signature smug look. He presses his cigarette a bit closer to your own. Shockingly it lit up in a hot pink flame.
"Working with Val sucks but at least you learn a few useful things",
He deeply inhaled from his own newly lit cigarette, puffing the strawberry coloured smoke into your very clearly unamused face. Still. you couldn't help but laugh.. or you tried to anyway, not that it would have worked. You took another long delightful drag and sent the smoke his way. A fit of giggles ensued, at least on his part. You were just happy it worked and he didn't end up pissed off.
The action made you wonder, what if you weren't just meant to hurt others. perhaps you could light them up instead of burning them down. You sat there for about another hour, listening to Angel's sleep deprived rambles. It wasn't too much long after that your own exhaustion finally carried you safely into a well deserved slumber. It was peaceful, the most restful night you'd had since your fall into this desolate shit pit known as hell..For once you didn't "dream." You weren't haunted with his face. His shadow didn't suffocate you. The ghost of your past stayed simply that, a ghost.
The night passes swiftly. Almost as quickly as the stars had appeared they retreated deep into the hazy maroon sky and bright carmine clouds. The rain had stopped, somehow the damages caused weren't entirely discernible from the average look of things. It was then you heard radio static again.
Familiar and soothing, his gravelled voice broadcast to the denizens of hell.
"Good morning to all of you lovely listeners ! Today's broadcast is brought to you by hell's favourite sinner, what isn't to love about that little starlet. Tune on in dearest, I've been hearing so much about you."
the music started softly carried by the wind and into your ears. You felt intoxicated.
We'll meet again
Dont know where, dont know when
but I know we'll meet again some sunny day
Keep smiling through, just like you always do
til the blue skies drive the dark clouds far away
It was irrevocably, unmistakably unquestionably him.
Alastor, your Alastor.. was in hell. Not to mention an overlord (shocker there). Despite that fact, you were evidently on his mind. He was speaking to you and only you. There was nothing you could do to respond.
So you listened, to his voice, the instrumentation, the melody, everything. Maybe it would somehow bring you closer to him...
Unbeknownst to the both of you, you were no more than a few rooms apart, enjoying your stay at the Hazbin Hotel.
a/n: I SWEAR I PROMISE YOU, ANGEL, AND ALASTOR ARE GONNA WRECK THAT LITTLE FUCKERS SHIT, dw
#alastor#hazbin hotel#ao3#valentino#angel dust#valentino being a nasty fucker#im so sorry to all of the val fans i think hes rancid so the writing reflects that#alastor x reader
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Wait, what’s going on with Embers???? That fic has been on my read later list since 2021, what’s happened with it???
Brief overview, then I'm likely never touching this topic again, because this is not a Drama Blog:
Context: Embers is a super old AtLA fic that was written during the early fandom days, read widely at the time, and was the origin of the widely-used fanon name of "Wani" for Zuko's ship (kind of by default that it was one of the first popular fics to give his ship a name, I think?), even though most fic writers don't seem to realize it's from there anymore.
"What's Going On": I used to include a link in all my stories to it, because I believe in crediting other writers for borrowed elements, and I was using "Wani" in all my fics. But BOY did I not want to be sending readers that way anymore, so I've adopted a new name for Zuko's ship, and removed all Embers links.
None of the criticisms about Embers itself are new; I'm assuming they date back to when the fic was being written, because this isn't an "it aged badly" thing, this is an "actually yeah this gets worse the longer you think about it and I shouldn't have ignored my bad feelings just because some of the worldbuilding was interesting" thing.
An Incomplete List of Why I Made the Change:
I don't actually like the story that much anymore, and don't want to rec it
I tried to re-read it recently to see if some things were as bad as I remembered and it turns out they were So Much Worse Oh Yikes. More specifically, the treatment of Katara and Aang and their respective cultures has... rather a lot going on. One example: The Fire Nation and Air Nomads are both given multiple backstory elements in an attempt to make the average Fire Nation soldier's participation in the genocide/war in large part the fault of the Avatar and the Air Nomads themselves, and also fully justified from the Fire Nation perspective. And I do mean fully. One of its core tenants is "People from the Fire Nation (and only people from the Fire Nation) who don't follow orders Literally Die, therefore murdering pacifists and babies and continuing the war (and their regularly scheduled war crimes) is the only thing it is physically possible for them to do". I cannot emphasize enough how literal that is.
Also the name "Wani" means "Alligator" and is... objectively a pretty lame name for Zuko's ship? Where's the personality, where's the deeper meaning, where's the resonance with Zuko's themes? @tuktukpodfics initially thought I was calling the ship "Wanyi", and that's what I've switched to, because it is Objectively So Much Better. In their words: “Wànyī (萬一): Literally ‘one in ten thousand,’ ‘perchance.’ Used grammatically in Chinese to mean ‘what if’ or ‘just in case.’ I think a ship called ‘The Perchance’ is perfect for a boy clinging to false hope.”
TL:DR; I don't rec Embers anymore, because I don't actually like the story anymore, and there are things about it that get worse the more I think on them. I've removed links to it and renamed Zuko's ship to "Wanyi" ("The Perchance") because our boy deserves a ship name that reflects his character arc.
#for the record if you ever find something kind of rancid in my fics#do please let me know#EX: I've rewritten scenes to be better Actual Blind Rep for Toph based on blind reader feedback#and I'm debating how hard it would be to ignore/re-write the canon issues of Water Tribe sexism (for the Southern Tribe at the least)#because that is a common complaint I see from the people who's RL cultures the Water Tribes was based on#probably I can do more interesting things with that going forward#in other words justice for Hama and Hahn#at least the show itself made Hama excellently complex#anyways back to doing actual writing#please no follow up questions#though I will say anyone who wants to update their own fics to use Wanyi (or any other name): go for it!#all you need to do is plop your chapters in a word editor and find/replace the ship name! it took about 40 minutes to do literally#all of my fics and I had some other editing to do besides! it'll be even quicker for you!#let's sink the Wani#avatar the last airbender#atla#Zuko
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✺ (1/4) ✺ @jegulus-microfic prompt: switch — 765 words (mild nsfw, trans Reg; inappropriate secret activities at the brunch table)
James is pushing his luck at this point, and he knows it. Can’t help it, really. The heat in Regulus’ cheeks never fully gets the chance to fade, no matter how long a break he gives him, and it’s worth it. Fuck, it’s so worth it. He’ll deal with whatever turnaround he’s got coming to him later, because this? Oh, James is riding this high for as long as he fucking can.
The tiny little remote sits in the curl of his palm, tucked beneath the brunch table. It weighs less than his phone, about as big as his thumb, at best, and yet the power he wields with it is otherworldly.
A small red switch that clicks on and off, a plus button and a minus button beneath it to control the intensity of vibrations —it’s all he really needs. He’s been messing with it in starts and stops for the last hour, knowing full well that while he absently fidgets with the buttons and switch, Regulus is squirming one seat down across the table, absolutely ruining that vibrating g-string James got him for Christmas.
It’s been a little while since James last clicked it on, giving Regulus the opportunity to eat his food without the threat of accidentally inhaling a bit of french toast and truly calling more attention to himself —James is courteous like that. Now that they’ve all settled into chatting over coffee and mimosas, winding down after finishing up their meals, though, it feels like as good a time as any.
The setting was left on the lowest it could be last he turned the switch off, but James still doesn’t miss the way that Regulus flinches out of the corner of his eye when he clicks it back on again now, not expecting it after the extended reprieve. James glances away from where Sirius and Remus are chattering back and forth about wedding details to where Regulus sits between Barty and Dorcas.
He’s not even a little surprised to find a glare already fixed on him.
Feigning innocence, James pulls his lip between his teeth, bats his eyelashes. Presses the plus button three times in rapid succession. It’s too much too quickly when James knows that Regulus is already oversensitive, undoubtedly uncomfortably slick and swollen where he rubs his thighs together and shifts in his chair for some modicum of relief from the teasing his clit’s been subjected to since they sat down.
Another click of the plus button and Regulus’ hand comes down on the edge of the table harshly, rattling glasses and silverware, grip white-knuckled. Dorcas startles out of her conversation with Lily and Pandora across the table to look at him in concern but Regulus only waves her off with his free hand. Sirius’ head whips in his brother’s direction, dark brows pinching together when he catches the flush burning in Regulus’ cheeks, spilling over the edges of sharp jawline and down the sides of his neck.
“Alright, Reggie?” He calls.
“I’m fine,” Regulus hisses through his teeth. He catches his own strained tone and lets out a vaguely hysterical sounding laugh, making a rushed grab for the last of his mimosa in front of him. He downs the couple gulps in a hurry then breathes in deeply through his nose. “Another round?”
Sirius, bless him, thinks nothing of it, merely agrees and waves down their waitress —Regulus doesn’t drink in excess often, this could just be written off as a little too much too early in the day, weird as it may seem. No reason to suspect anything nefarious is going on anyway. Not like Regulus and James are running about advertising the things they get up to. Even though all of their friends know they’re together and have a bad habit of making that fact everyone else’s problem in some way or another.
Barty snorts beside Regulus, straight across the table from James, and catches his eye; doesn’t seem to miss a thing, Barty Crouch Jr., no matter how often he leads others to believe he does. He looks back at James with one brow arched upward, dark eyes dangerously knowing, lips quirked at the edges where he sips at a glass that’s straight champagne more than a mixed drink.
“Buzzing this morning, aren’t we, Reg?” Barty mutters, just loud enough for the two people it’s intended for.
James clicks the remote’s switch back to off instantly. Despite the soft whimper that escapes past Regulus’ clenched teeth, there’s still a positively murderous glower shot James’ way.
Oh, he is so fucked later. James can’t wait.
#jegulus#starchaser#sunseeker#jegulus microfic#heyyy haven't written one of these in a hot minute what's up#“kay it's barely after midnight” look i got excited#hated seeing all the trans reg hate so i did a little baby thing with him. plan on doing some more later.#good luck being rancid at all about it bc anons are still off here :) :)#anyway i love them. so much.#the little shits (affectionate)#kay’s writing#kay’s microfics
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There will of course be butches who want to go by more androgynous or masculine (nick)names, but I do not think it should be an expectation put on us neither from ourselves or from those around us that we inherently should be uncomfortable by carrying an obviously woman's name.
#I have an obvious woman's name (which is also rare and extremely beautiful haha) and it has unfortunately led to some rancid interractions#i will write more about this later i think i have more to say#butch#butch positivity#musings
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After reading and watching several adaptations, I have come to the conclusion that Quincey gets much more respect than Jonathan. Yes he appears much less, but he gets his heroic sacrifice when he does instead of getting bastardised. Three times I have seen him be the one who kills Dracula without Jonathan. In two of those he has the kukri.
Also idk if vampire Quincey is underappreciated, there is a novel all about him.
And in this one Jonathan is revealed to have been a cowardly cheater all along.
You know. Sometimes I think I might be going too overindulgent with my Harker Horrors and lavishing of attention on my favorite special little haunted gothic heroine lad.
And then I get lovely reminders like these that not only am I not being indulgent, I have to actively burn every daydream of an inhibition I have as a writer to unfuck 126 years' worth of doing the whole cast dirty, but Jonathan Harker the absolute worst.
#in all ways but physical I am ripping the Harkers out of the hands of the directors and writers#who came before me#setting those hands on fire#and running into the sunset of self-gratifying undiluted literary junk food#if people get to wipe their rancid ice-cold take Barely Skimmed the Wikipedia (of the Movie) fanfiction of these characters on the world#I get to do whatever I damn well please#jonathan harker#I will torment the hell out of you buddy#but I refuse to gut your character while I do it#dracula#my writing#adaptation#spinoff#bastardization
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The Villain's Housekeeper
(part 1) (part 2) (part 3) (part 4) (part 5) (part 6) (part 7) (part 8) (part 9) (part 10) (part 11)
The villain returns home as the sun is just starting to stain the sky orange. They dump their bag and coat at the door—the hero can pick them up later—and make their way through the hallway. The house is silent, and a quick peek into the living room finds their new maid asleep on the sofa. The maid outfit is dumped on the floor, and the villain tries not to think too much about what that means is under the blanket draped over the hero.
Satisfied with the sight, if not a little flustered at their own thoughts, the villain traipses up the stairs. They check the offending bookshelf on their way past; it’s certainly been tidied. Then it’s to the bedroom, to flop down in bed and try to sleep the night off.
The villain closes their eyes and dreams of bloodshed.
Villains all over the city have been panicking. Heroes are closing in on all of them. The supervillain has sent people out to handle the problem, and only a few have come back. All it took was for the supervillain to lose confidence, and it was chaos.
The villain is awoken by the sound of the coffee machine whirring in the kitchen below. They want nothing more than to roll over and go back to sleep, but their mind is focused on the clacking downstairs, the cupboard slamming, ceramics clinking, followed by heavy footsteps tramping up the stairs.
What are the chances that a hero would fall into the villain’s hands like this? Hurt, afraid, willing to do anything to hide. It’s almost too good to be true.
The hinges on the villain’s bedroom door creak horrendously as the hero nudges it open, a mug of coffee in their hand and the maid outfit beautifully in place.
So what happened to you?
The hero makes an attempt at a smile, and it comes out entirely too forced. “It’s almost two in the afternoon,” they comment when it becomes clear that the villain isn’t about to speak. “I thought it’d do you some good to at least wake up.”
Being awake saves them from the nightmares about their inevitable future. They take the mug from the hero when they hold it out to them.
“Thanks,” they say, the word stilted like it doesn’t want to be said. “Did you sleep alright?” And when they realise that sounds too much like they care, they add: “I need you in good condition to work well.”
“You said that last night, too,” the hero says flatly, “but yes, I did. Full eight hours, as promised.”
The villain nods before taking a sip of the coffee—just how they like it. The hero’s already nailed that part of the job. “Can you hoover? The hall was looking kind of gross when I came in last night.”
The hero’s face settles into that scowl again. “Sure.”
“Don’t forget what terms you’re here on, [Hero],” the villain calls after them as they turn to leave. “You have a lot resting on that hoover.”
The scowl dips into uncomfortable disgust as they glance back at the villain. “Like I could forget.”
And then they’re gone, the door clicking shut behind them. The villain sets the mug on the side after one last sip, lugging themself out of bed and to the wardrobe. Might as well do something productive before the supervillain’s terror inevitably forces them to face the end.
-
The hero turns the hoover off, and the room falls into blissful silence. They take a moment to enjoy how not loud it suddenly is.
“That looks better,” the villain says brightly from the kitchen table. The hero’s face pulls into a familiar-feeling frown; of course they had to go and break the silence. They’ve joined the hero downstairs to watch them work, like many days before now, thankfully changed out of yesterday’s clothes.
“You’re welcome,” the hero spits as they round on the villain. They’re staring, not even subtly, at the work the stupid maid outfit is doing for their physique. “For everything.”
“You sure know how to deliver.” The villain smiles, unbothered. “There’s something missing, though—when’re you gonna tell me about this freak showdown with your agency?”
The hero jams the hoover back in its place to avoid having to answer for a moment. They need to collect their thoughts, tell the villain the bare minimum, enough to sate their curiosity. Just enough to stop them goddamn asking.
“I found out some classified information, by accident,” they start slowly. The hoover whines loudly as they start coiling up the cable. “I told someone I trusted about it, and they turned out to be doing an inside job. The classified information got to the wrong people, and [Superhero] blamed me for it. He thought I was in on their little operation.”
The villain frowns. “All of that literally sounds like a bunch of bad coincidences.”
The hero shrugs nonchalantly, though it doesn’t feel nonchalant in the slightest. “I’m not known for being lucky.”
The villain’s gaze dips to the mug in their hands. They brought it down from their bedroom, though it’s probably cold by now. “That’s probably why you’re here” — they gesture rather vaguely at the hero — “like this.”
The maid outfit is easily the worst bout of luck in all of this. “Better than being tortured by my ex-boss, I suppose.”
“I suppose,” the villain echoes weakly, and their face dips into a frown that the hero almost misreads as regret.
Next part
Taglist: @excusemeasibangmyheadonawall
#creative writing#writblr#writers on tumblr#writing#writing community#heroes and villains#hero x villain#the villains housekeeper#BUCKLE IN LADS THIS IS WORKIN UP TO BE A LONG ASS SERIES#so far. SO FAR. i am 6 parts deep. and i am far from done#i hope youre ready i am going in with these two. no mercy. no morals. rancid vibes ONLY
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I don't know who needs to hear this, but the Final Fifteen isn't only about Crowley's feelings, and it's completely unreasonable to expect Aziraphale to worry about how Crowley is feeling when Aziraphale is clearly feeling something too, but no one ever looks at Crowley and screams at him to think about Aziraphale's feelings. Almost like some people in this fandom think Aziraphale exists to elevate Crowley and that his own feelings don't matter.
#good omens#crowley#final fifteen#aziraphale#aziraphale defense squad#I'm just gonna keep writing these since the rancid Aziraphale takes keep coming
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bro why is there so little fan content of catwoman of thee batman 2022 she's literally everything fans usually love she's got those gay vibes and is played as queer by the actor she's sexy she's a bit of an antihero and has tons of COOL motifs she has tons of CATS and also she like drank a glass of cold milk and nothing else mid conversation with battinson and neither of them batted an eye LIKE?? what more could you want in a person. and also she is the best character in the movie full offense
#i also felt the most empathy towards her backstory BY FAR#im putting this little extra rant in the tags cause i dont wanna start discourse#i mean this next part in like a silly goofy and also slightly critical way not in a moral failing way okay#but like oh my goddddddd it boggles my mind that the 2022 riddler specifically is getting so much more content than HER#when he has the most rancid milk smelling incel whiteboy vibes i have ever seen#warby parker ass buzzfeed intern ass glasses#i understand you like pathetic men i understand you like paul dano but why THIS paul dano#OVER CATWOMAN???????#this last part i do mean more seriously than the rest:#how come all the content i see of her is girl sexy#and so little of it is about the MOUNTAINS of content we get about her personality her hobbies her backstory her arc#like yeah girl sexy i get it but i feel like the most people talked about 2022 catwoman was#in anticipation of the movie about how hot she was gonna be#which is cool and all and i get it and i love to see it but it's such a shame to me that it stopped there#the batman#the batman 2022#feels like she is kind of becoming The Girl of the movie which like is also kind of the role i think she's supposed to fill in the movie#so like if you end up coming away from it thinking of her in that way it's like. only because you may have just been picking up#on the actual writing#but omggg ppl were so excited for her at first i wish that continued into fandom
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Picnics at Sunset - [L Lawliet]
Pairings: L (Death Note) x Female!Reader
Summary: You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.
Word Count: 14k words
Content: Swearing, Mentions of death, nudity?, friends to lovers, first kiss, Use of Celcius, touch of angst (it's death Note, come on), Sappy thoughts of love
( Masterlist )
A/N: I have so much to say, but I'll try to keep it brief. I'm sorry this is so long, but so much of this show cuts to long internal dialogues within a conversation, and I tried to capture that. I think I did well, but it is a little long-winded. I don't know if I'll do a lot of writing for this character, but he got stuck in my head recently, and this was the only way I knew to let him go.
You sat at your desk, the computer screen you had been staring at for the past three hours was beginning to hurt your head. You leaned back in your chair, rubbing your eyes; then silently cursing as you felt your mascara smear against the pads of your fingers. You needed a break and something other than a slice of cake in your stomach. You looked to your right out of habit, ready to tell your friend that you were taking a break and he should do the same, but his chair was empty.
You looked around the room.
“He stepped outside,” a voice said.
Behind you was Matsuda. You jumped when he spoke, not realising he was there, and he apologised for startling you.
“Yeah, we should get you a bell,” you suggested.
“Yeah, maybe so.” Matsuda laughed. “You know, if you want to bounce ideas off of someone, you can talk to me. I know I can’t come close to Ryusaki’s intelligence, but I’d like to think I have something to offer.”
“It’s okay,” you reassured. “I didn’t really need anything from him, just wanted to see what he was up to.”
“Well, I think he just needed some space to think. You know how he is.”
“That I do,” You agreed, “And I know If he wants to be alone, he’ll have no problem telling me himself.”
Matsuda laughed again, “I’m sure you’re right. But I have a feeling he won’t shoo you away. He has a soft spot for you.”
Just the idea of L turning you away had you put out. You crossed your arms, turning away with a huff. “Not if he knows what’s good for him.”
You heard Matsuda chuckling behind you, wishing you luck.
You marched up the stairs, down the hall, and got in the elevator, heading for the roof. As you made your way, you couldn’t help but admire the walls around you. The building L designed was quite impressive. You greatly enjoyed the glass elevator, preferring it over any others. Once you passed the tenth floor, the city could be seen. You were usually greeted by blinding sun and clear blue skies, but today, the sky was an enchanting apricot colour, blanketed by thick pink clouds heavy with rain. The sun was peaking from behind the silver buildings as if waiting to see you before finally saying goodbye. You waved to the people below, wishing them well on their oblivious wayfaring.
Soon you reached the top floor, and you pushed open the door to get to the roof access. The door to the roof was already opened, so you called out.
“Ryusaki! You out there?”
You were greeted by silence and tried again.
“I’m alone!”
Only then did you get a reply, “Did you bring any food?”
You chuckled, stepping out onto the roof. “No, I’m sorry.”
L stood out in the open, basking in the fading light and staring at the sky, unbothered by the cold air blowing. He was slouched over and hands firmly in his pockets. He turned his head to you, and the vibrant sky poured over his pale skin, drenching the soft canvas in the colours of monarchs and sunflowers. The light danced around his prominent eyes, flames in a ring of stone. His lips looked kissed by a dreamsicle. You looked away, finding your way back to reality.
“Did you want me to go back and get something?” You offered, throwing your thumb back towards the door.
“No,” He said, turning back to the sun, “Watari should be up soon.”
Before you could question, you heard the door open and close and the clinking sound of plates as they made their way up the stairs.
“Hello, dear,” The old man greeted with a smile.
He carried a tray with a full tea set in one hand and a wicker basket in the other, with a blanket draped across his arm. You watched as he laid it out on the ground, pulling plates and silverware from the basket along with a candelabra. Ryuga settled himself as Watari lit the candles, then gestured for you to do the same. The only clear spot to sit was right beside him, and you took it as gracefully as possible.
“I have brought sandwiches and various tea cakes,” Watari explained, “along with Keemun Mao Feng tea and honey. I hope you enjoy.”
You both thanked him and he left, closing the roof exit behind him. L sat, perching next to you, watching as you admired the display.
“It’s all my favourites,” You observed. “Why did you ask him to bring this?”
His thumb came to rest on his lip, gauging your reaction.
“I knew you would be getting hungry soon. I told Watari to bring some acceptable food if you didn’t grab any on your way up.”
You furrowed your brows in innocent confusion, “How did you know I’d come?”
His head turned away and you notice his feet shuffling, a tell for his anxiety.
“You always do.” He said with a shrug.
Your heart thumped affectionately as he turned his head, and your gaze fell back onto the band of sterling silver in his eyes. You smiled fondly at the man, and he had to look away. He busied himself with the basket, pulling out nicely wrapped sandwiches in brown butcher paper. He read the options out for you and passed you your selections. He then reached in and pulled out a white box with a blue bow. He began to tug at it, then stopped, offering it to you.
You giggled, unravelling the satin ribbon. When he pulled off the lid, a tiered display stand stood with ten layers of tiny cakes with an array of colours, creams, and toppings. L looked over the selection with a careful eye, then chose a spongy square with a raspberry on top. He pinched it between his fingers and brought it to his lips. You watched his selection process as you braided the ribbon into a piece of your hair, presenting it to your friend with a smile. He nodded in approval, and then you finally took a bite of your sandwich, moaning as the myriad of flavours filled your senses.
“Oh my god, this is delicious,” you said, pushing it towards Ryusaki, “You’ve gotta try it.”
His chewing stops as he eyes the sandwich in front of him like it were a loaded gun.
“I’m okay.” He said politely.
You accepted his dismissal, taking another bite from your sandwich, but still curious about it.
“Why don’t you eat anything but sugar?” You asked through a mouthful of sourdough.
“Well,” Ryusaki began, “Desserts tend to be more homogeneous in texture and taste. I find most ‘real’ food reduces my deductive skills by approximately twenty-five percent.”
You looked up at the beauty of the ending day around you and breathed in the air of the city.
“Do you need your deductive skills right now?” You asked softly, eyes still trained on the sky.
Moments passed in peaceful silence. You could hear a dog barking and the mummer of the life teeming below you. People going about their everyday lives, despite the horror of this new world. You tried to join them now and then, encouraging Ryusaki to do the same– to have a life outside of, despite of Kira. From your peripherals, you saw him spread his knees apart, sitting in a cross-legged position. You watched as he continued adjusting, trying to find a comfortable position. When he settled, you turned your eyes to his.
“Would you like some tea?” You asked.
He nodded his head, and you poured him half a cup from the teapot, filling the rest with cream and sugar, just the way he liked it. He thanked you when you passed it to him, fingers brushing briefly. You could tell he was a little uncomfortable, probably much more in tune with the “loss of thought” he was experiencing than any other person would be. He held his cup in both hands, elbows resting on his knees as he looked into the wheat-coloured drink. You left L to his thoughts, knowing he would share them if he deemed them important. You instead focused on tucking the rest of your sandwich away, opening another to try. You were happy Watari cared enough to cut them into little triangles.
“What are your plans after the Kira case?”
You nearly choked on your sandwich, not expecting the question. You wiped at your mouth with a napkin, trying to grab your composure.
“I haven’t given much thought to it,” you said, “but I know it will be a bittersweet moment when we catch him.”
Ryuga sat up a little, his interest piqued as he took another sip of his tea. “What do you mean by that?”
“Well,” you began, “I’ve met a lot of great people by working on this investigation. I don’t imagine our paths will cross much once this is all resolved, even if we do survive. But it makes me happy to think that one day they’ll get to walk into their front doors and hug their families without the fear of them being ripped away as collateral damage.”
“Not to mention,” You continued, “at the risk of sounding selfish, this job has some really nice perks. I’m compensated well, I get free room and board, I haven’t done my own laundry in four months, and I can even get company-provided gourmet picnics on the rooftop. There’s a lot to miss.”
“I must admit, I will miss the camaraderie,” L said softly. “But I fear the fallout from Kira’s arrest more.”
You knew what he meant. If he was right, and Light and Misa were Kira and The Second Kira, then it would destroy the task force. Matsuda’s heart would shatter, as would Mogi’s, though he’d hide it better than the former. Chief Yagami would likely suffer another heart attack, or perhaps snap entirely. And while you yourself didn’t want to believe it, you couldn’t deny what you knew was true. With the proof of shinigami's existence and an otherworldly murder weapon disguised as a harmless notebook downstairs, nothing could be ruled out. You questioned what other powers came with the notebook, and how those powers transferred.
Bribing Ryuke into answering all your questions was easy enough. It turns out he had never known the taste of a Fuji apple, only enjoying the common red delicious. One was enough to get him hooked. You presented everything you had learned about ownership of the notebook, how it can be passed, and how it affects the user. You and L had come to the same conclusion: sometime in Light’s confinement, he transferred ownership, as did Misa. You knew for sure when Misa visited Light the other day in the lobby.
At the beginning of the investigation, he refused to toy with her emotions, as it went against his code. And you found it comforting, knowing Kira would have no problem doing that, and Light was immediately opposed. For months, he made no effort to show affection to Misa, rebuffing any advance or innuendo she made, but you watched as he brought her into a hug. You watched as she melted into it, savouring the sparring touch and every word he whispered into her ear. You knew he hadn’t magically fallen in love with the girl, but was using the love she had for him.
Yes, Light had changed, and the repercussions were terrifying.
Ryusaki was silent. By now, the sun had set, and the moon began climbing up a ladder of stars. The candlelight flickered, making shadows jump and jive across your friend’s face. The shifts were jarring, but the gentle lighting softened his hardened edges. Your eyes traced the slope of his nose, down his plush lips, and his long neck. You wished to stretch out a curious finger to replace your itinerant eyes.
“Would you like a cake?” Ryusaki asked, changing the subject. You allowed the distraction, deciding you would bring it up again later, but not know.
You selected one with orange filling and chocolate drizzle. It was delicious, falling apart in your fingers as you ate it. You heard a soft chuckle leave your friend's mouth and you looked up at him confused. He said nothing, instead motioning towards his face. You tilted your head, not understanding what he meant. Before you could ask, L brought a napkin to the corner of your mouth, gently rubbing it across your bottom lip.
Your heart stopped beating and your lungs stopped breathing. His touch was like the flames of the flickering candles, igniting the skin he polished. His eyes flicked up to yours and you were lost in a pool of obsidian, his pupils vast in the stary night.
“There,” he said softly, “all gone.”
You searched for your voice, and it came out in a breathy whisper, “Thanks.”
He continued, unbothered by the unprecedented physical contact while you took a sip of your tea, in hopes that would help your unsteady heart. Before you had much time to recover, He spoke again.
“My favourite colour is blue.”
You blinked dumbly, at the man as he readjusted uncomfortably.
“My favourite cake is Strawberry Vanilla Sponge Cake,” He continued, “and I sing in the shower.”
You laughed out of shock, and words continued to spill from his mouth like he couldn’t stop them.
“If I could have a superpower, I would want invisibility. I think four-leaf clovers are ridiculously overblown, but I admire their inherent whimsy. I really like The Beatles, which is very embarrassing as I am British. But even more so because I listen to ‘We Can Work It Out’ when I get frustrated. They bring me a sort of comfort. I’ve always wanted a cat. I think it’s funny when they’re given people names, or named after ridiculous things. If I had one, I’d get a tuxedo cat and name it 3,4,4,5-tetramethylcyclohexa-2,5-dien-1-one.” You open your mouth to ask what that was, but he answered it before you could, “It’s a cyclic dienone, more commonly known as penguinone, and though it has no applicable uses, it’s funny.”
You shake your head, trying to make sense of his sudden urge to tell you all of these things. In his unblinking eyes, you saw something close to desperation and it confused you, forcing you to look away. You missed the way Ryusaki’s face fell.
“Are you…upset?” he asked cautiously. “I’m sorry if I overshared.”
“No, no,” You reassured, trying to alleviate some of the guilt that filled your chest at his apprehension. “I’m just confused”
“I was trying to establish trust,” he explained cooly.
Your brows furrowed, “Do you think I don’t trust you?”
“No, I-” he paused, releasing a sigh that moved his shoulders.
“Ignore me,” he said sadly, “Nothing I say lately seems to make much sense.”
Your heart shattered at the uncertainty in his voice. He usually spoke with such conviction. To hear him unsure, insecure in sensibility– his intelligence, really –it made you nauseous.
“Ryusaki,” you began, but he looked away.
“Ryusaki,” you tried again, this time resting a hand on his shoulder, “your sense is still very intact. You’re not the crazy one.”
He looked at your hand, where it rested without hesitancy.
“Look,” you continued, “Someone is trying to kill you. And it could very likely be your best friend. You’re making more sense than anyone else would in your situation.”
Suddenly his eyes shot to yours. There was a small fire burning there, and you worried that you had upset him. You began to remove your hand, but he rested his on yours, keeping it pressed against his shoulder. Your heart leapt at the contact, and you prayed he didn’t notice. Though, if you knew anything about Ryusaki, he did and already tucked it away as useful information.
“Light Yagami is not my best friend.” He said simply, “You are.”
You couldn’t fight the smile that sprouted from the sentiment.
“Really?” You asked in disbelief.
“Of course, I wouldn’t lie about that.”
Your smile grew more teasing, “But you didn’t even chain yourself to me.”
L smiled too, “I didn’t have to.”
Time passed in silence. It was a bit awkward, your hand remained on his shoulder as the candles burned. You were getting chilly, the night air nipping at you through your t-shirt. L’s hand kept yours still, you were much too nervous to move it away. Especially when you could see your friend thinking very hard.
He suddenly turned toward you, removing his hand and jostling yours. His thumb came to his lip, running it across and moving the muscle.
“There are a lot of social customs that I haven’t gotten to participate in, due to my isolated childhood, and even more so because of my dangerous career,” he said, “for instance, I had never had friends until this investigation, and now I have three. But that also means I haven’t experienced a lot of the common experiences that come with friendship.”
He looked you over, trying to gauge your reaction thus far. You seemed at ease but attentive. His eyes darted to the blue streak in your hair, and felt a warmth blossoming in his chest. He was amazed by how light-hearted you could be, despite the heavy burdens you carried. You shone so brightly, he was almost embarrassed to ask you to share.
“I was wondering if you would be willing to help me with that. I think it’s important to my development, and general understanding of the human condition.”
You were delighted to hear that he was thinking about such “trivial” things. As you became closer to L, you quickly realised that he lived a very lonely life. You could tell he had convinced himself that was what he wanted, but you knew a life of work wasn’t enough, and he deserved more. You always encouraged him to take care of more than his brain; to value his body and his spirit as well.
“Of course L,” you nearly cheered, “what did you have in mind?”
You waited patiently for his response, trying your best not to shrink under his gaze. You were sure that his eyes were a large reason as to why he made such a great detective. When he focused his eyes on someone, it made them feel see-through; like he could see everything that made up that person. Like he could read your thoughts.
“Can I-“ he began, then stopped. It was rare to see him trip over his words. “I would like- would it be okay if we hugged?”
Lightning struck across the sky, and you flinched, startled by the sound. You looked up into the dark, trying to find the flash of light you knew was long gone. You spotted the thick, rolling clouds hovering above you, and you hadn’t noticed before. Then the thunder rumbled, and the cry was resonant, penetrating your bones as it rolled through you. Then slowly, rain began falling from the sky. A few drops landed on your face, and you could feel them beginning to stick to your clothes.
When your shock faded away, you looked back at your friend. He was looking at you intently, hunched over like always. You opened your mouth to respond, but L spoke before you.
“Let’s step inside,” he said, resting his hand on your shoulder like you had before, “you’re shivering.”
You hadn’t realised that you were, but as you looked down at your hands, you couldn’t deny the tremble. He stood and began packing up everything on the blanket, refusing your help when you offered even though the rain had picked up. It was steady now, easily soaking through your clothes and his in turn. Once everything was tucked away, he guided you inside, opening the door for you.
As you walked down the steps, your mind spun around his words. He had asked to hug you, someone who you thought would be pretty averse to physical touch. You were surprised he let you lay a hand on him at all, and even more surprised when he reciprocated the action. It could’ve just been an experiment, a test to see how it made him feel, but you found yourself reviewing your own results.
You hadn’t really touched L before. There was no reason to. Even when he fell out of his chair over the whole “Shinigami” thing, you let the others crowd him. Your hands had maybe brushed here and there when passing sweets or documents, but intentional, prolonged contact was never made until today. You couldn’t deny his behaviour had been odd lately, though that was to be expected with the stress he was under. You wondered if he was indulging out of curiosity or a fear of missing out on life.
You jumped again as another bolt of lightning struck across the sky, followed by the soft beginnings of rain, now slowly collecting on the glass walls around you. You began walking down the hall and jerked your head to beckon Ryusaki, who seemed deep in thought. You watched the rain grow, drops colliding and running down the glass. You stopped to trace the tracks left, your body shuttering against the cold.
“I’m sorry,” your friend spoke quietly, as there was no one but you here, and no reason to raise a voice. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
You looked at him with shock, but he refused to look at you.
“Ryusaki, I haven’t felt uncomfortable around you since we started this investigation. Why would that change now?” When he didn’t respond, you bumped his shoulder with yours, “Seriously though, if you ever do make me uncomfortable, I won’t let you live it down.”
“Good,” he said, nodding his head. “I’ll hold you to that.”
You both continued to stare off into the distance in silence. You began breathing out hot puffs of air and drawing in the condensation. Meaningless shapes littered the space as you got lost in your thoughts.
You felt stuck between knowing and knowing nothing. You knew that You cared for Ryusaki very much. You knew you trusted him with your life, and you always felt better when he was around. You knew that you desired his attention and approval more than anyone else’s. You knew that he was beautiful and kind. But you didn’t know if he felt any of those things about you. You didn’t know what those things meant. Or rather, you feared what they could mean, and what that would do to the both of you.
Your thoughts were interrupted once again when you felt a weight on your shoulders, and you looked down to see pale, slender hands embellished with tendons and glistening in the light. Your jaw dropped slightly, seeing him appear so close behind you in your shared reflection.
“You’re still shivering.” He didn’t look at you, his eyes obscured by his shaggy hair, “A blanket should help.”
You offered a kind, timid smile in thanks, turning to face him. Your cheeks filled with blood though you couldn’t quite pin down why. Maybe it was just because he was touching you again when he’s never really done that before. Or maybe it was the fact that he was concerned about you. Or maybe it was the intimacy of it all, how close he was and how gentle his touch was.
His hallowed, all-seeing eyes met yours and you lost your breath. You wanted to look away, feeling pierced by his gaze, but you couldn’t– you wouldn’t. “If this isn’t sufficient, let me know. It’s my fault you’re cold.”
“No, it’s not,” You chuckled as he adjusted the material on your shoulder, “I walked out willingly. Yeah, you baited me into staying with food and tea, but I saw your plan, and I decided to go along with it.”
L smiled shyly, “I never could fool you.”
Your brows furrowed, and your heart sank.
“Can.” You corrected sternly. “You never can fool me.”
“Ah, Of course.” L said, removing his hands from you and tucking them back into his pockets, “You’re too observant for me to keep a secret. You’re always the first in the room to know what I’m thinking.”
He didn’t directly address his slip-up– referring to himself in the past tense as if he had died –so you didn’t either, instead filing that away under “more things to bring up later”.
“What can I say?” You teased. “Great minds think alike.”
“That they do,” he muttered, though you could tell his mind had taken him far away again.
You turned back to the window, and he joined you there. The rain had picked up, the heavy clouds drawing nearer. Your body buzzed with the electricity in the air. You could feel the winds of change surging through the city, and it filled you with determination.
“You should change,” Ryusaki whispered, “you’ll catch a cold.”
“Please,” You said, rolling your eyes and landing on his. “We were out there for less than an hour, and it never dropped below four degrees.”
“That’s still rather cold,” He hid his eyes from you, and you missed the sparks he carried there. “Not to mention the addition of rain.”
“If you’re so worried about my immune system,” you quipped, “studies show that hugs can actually help fight illness.”
That got a reaction out of the man, whipping his head to look at you.
“Is that so?” He asked, amusement teeming in his thin, grey irises. “Is it the exposure to more germs?”
“Possibly,” You admitted, “But it’s mostly the stress relief. Hugs reduce your cortisol and noradrenaline levels, improving blood pressure and general heart health. Also, with both of our body heats working together, it might help warm me up.”
L brought his thumb to his lip again, pondering your words.
“Maybe you have a point.” He muttered, “Perhaps we should test this theory.”
You agreed but neither of you moved, both too afraid to make the first move. You had hugged people before. You had hugged your family and many friends, so hugging Ryusaki shouldn’t be that nerve-racking, and yet, your body was buzzing just at the concept.
Suddenly, L Spread his arms, his figure drowning in his baggy sweater. It happened in slow motion, or at least it felt like it did. He dove towards you, wrapping his arms tightly around you, unintentionally pinning yours to your side, and his chin landed on the crown of your head gently.
You tensed, not expecting him to just go for it. Your face was pressed into his chest, your nose brushing his collarbone because of how his sweater had shifted. You were suddenly self-conscious breathing on him, trying your best to make sure your lungs were expanding and contracting naturally, but you could feel the awkwardness in your muscles.
“I don’t think this is working,” He said, his jaw moving against your head, “Your heart rate has only elevated. This seems to be…bothersome to you.”
He slowly removed himself but remained close, focusing his trying eyes on you, hands back in his pockets. “Please, tell me how you feel.”
“Well, firstly, you surprised me.” You couldn’t help but chuckle. Laughter bubbled up due to his unwavering gaze that affected you, though you didn’t want to concede to that. “And second, I’m not sure that counted as a hug. You trapped my arms, so I couldn’t reciprocate it properly.”
“I see,” He said, not showing any emotion you could detect (And you had gotten pretty good at reading L at this point). “What can I do better?”
His determination was…adorable. He was adamant about this, about hugging you better. You wouldn’t have thought this was something he ranked so highly in importance, and you felt flattered.
“Open your arms again,” You instructed, scooting closer.
He followed your orders, his head tilting to the side in curiosity. You took a quick breath, then brought your arms around his waist, then rested your ear between his pecs. There you heard his heart. You expected a steady thrum, but instead, the muscle beat like a kick drum without cause. But you supposed if you only fed your body sugar and caffeine, your heart would go crazy too.
He was also much comfier than you expected his skin and bones to be. His frame felt right in your arms, and a word flitted through your mind: safe. He was safe here in your arms, and you felt safe here too.
You remembered then that he was still standing there with his arms fully extended, like an owl stretching their wings.
“You can wrap your arms around me like before now,” You said into his chest.
He did as you said, and you felt an instant relief. Your blanket was wrapped around him, and you were surrounded by L. He was soft, like the petals of a Gardinia– like the ones your mother used to grow. He smelled like chocolate and strawberries, though with his diet, you were sure he sweated out sugar. In the refracted light the droplets cast, it looked just like that, like sugar crystals dancing across his skin.
Your nose picked up hints of lavender you recognised as the fabric softener Watari swore by. You wanted to bottle the sents and wear them yourself. You found yourself snuggling in closer, drawn in by the comforts of L.
You sighed in contentment, closing your eyes. His heartbeat stabilized, beating slower but strong. Slowly, he adjusted himself, bringing his arms tighter around you and turning so his ear rested against you and not his hewn jaw. Many moments went by like that, with nothing but the instrumental played by the rain, steady breathing, and hearts beating. As time went on, your heartbeats began to sync, beating together. You felt warmth spread throughout you at the thought. You liked this. You liked being close to Ryusaki.
“How long do these usually last?” He whispered into the rich silence.
“It depends on the friends, everyone’s comfort levels.” You replied thoughtfully. “Some people only hug for a few seconds; others hold each other like this. But it’s recommended that you get at least four hugs a day.”
He hummed, considering your answer. “I definitely haven’t been fulfilling that quota.”
“It’s okay,” You said through a laugh, “Me either.”
“Perhaps,” L said, putting on his detective voice, “If you have found this as enjoyable as I, we could do this more often– try to reach that benchmark more. The act of hugging seems to increase my oxytocin levels, which feels different than the dopamine confections give me. If it affects you the same way, I think that could be good for us both.”
Your laughter danced across this skin. “I can’t believe you can feel the difference between happy hormones.”
“Of course I can.” He said, completely unphased by your disbelief. “Dopamine feels more like I’m doing a good job, and Oxytocin is…”
You waited patiently while he found the words.
“Oxytocin makes me more…sentimental,” He landed on.
“I guess that makes sense,” You mumbled into his chest. “Weirdo.”
He chuckled at the title that would have hurt coming from anyone else.
“I would be okay with that,” You said, addressing his proposal, “If we hugged more often.”
“Great,” He said, and you could hear his smile. L could feel how the cold continued to cling to your skin. Although hugs were supposed to help fight illness, he doubted it was a cure. “We should finish up then so you can change.”
He released his hold on you and began to pull away, but without thinking, you held on tighter, your brows furrowing.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
“I’m not sure,” you said honestly. “I just don’t want to leave this.” L brought a hand to his chin, cradling it and trying his best not to jostle you. “Is it the hug that you want, or is it me?”
Your eyes bugged at his question. Immediately, you let go, creating distance as you jumped back. You reacted as if he had struck you instead of asking a straightforward question to better understand the situation.
Your mouth opened and closed a few times, not unlike a fish plucked from the water.
“Well, I- It’s uh…I mean- heh -what?” You stumbled. Again, L’s shark skin eyes bore into yours, dissecting every stutter and stammer.
“I believe the question was fairly easy to comprehend.” He said plainly, “I asked if it was the hug you wanted or me.”
You felt blood rush to your cheeks.
“I understood the question,” You weakly defended.
L’s head dropped once again to the side, his hair flopping loosely as he moved but still weighing down over his face.
“Then answer it.”
You swallowed. He had cornered you, baiting you by insinuating you weren’t as intelligent as he thought and getting you to confess that you in fact were not confused. But in truth, you were. Because it was true that you were extremely touched-starved. You had dedicated the better half of the last year to catching Kira. You hadn’t had time for much else. You weren’t exactly popular before either.
You were a criminal, a cyber-robinhood. You had stolen from several pharmaceutical companies and redistributed their funds to families in need. You thought it absolutely abhorrent that the companies could make money off of cancer and diabetes, depriving people of medicine they needed, not wanted. You had done it with your best friend, who was killed by Kira.
She had taught you the ropes and how to hide yourself from the authorities. She, however, had crossed the line. She began targeting government officials, leaking their private messages and phone records to the public. You would have thought that would align with Kira’s morals, but you guess not because she died of a heart attack in your arms. You hadn’t made a friend since, not until Ryusaki.
You didn’t want him to leave you too. You were terrified that he would be ripped away from you, much like your friend before. But it was more than that. You wanted Ryusaki to live. You wanted him to have a full life, one of joy and contentment. One where his intelligence wasn’t weaponised. One where he could let his guard down and not break his back with his posture. You wanted him to drown in hugs, to never be deprived of comfort again. And you wanted to be by his side to see it.
You had become very attached to the man before you. You admired him, respected him. You found yourself trying to be more like him in many ways. And you felt pride every time he mimicked you.
“I don’t know.”
L was unconvinced, leaning in closer, “Yes, you do. But you won’t say.”
You stared into his eyes, words eluding you. What could you say? You weren’t even sure what you wanted, what your answer would be. He looked at you curiously, awaiting your response. When you had none, he sighed.
“Fine then,” He said, turning his investigative gaze away from you. “I will escort you to your room. Hopefully, that will satisfy you.”
You had requested a room here at headquarters and were unsurprised when L told you that he had already built one for everyone on the task force. You had all but moved in during the Kira case. You hadn’t meant to, but it was just easier than taking the train alone after a late night of investigating. With no one to stop you, you would stay up until three ante merīdiem, studying and analysing trends. Sometimes you would crash at your desk, but usually, you would drag yourself away when you noticed your eyes becoming heavy. But now, your apartment was more of a formality than anything else. L knew this and made no comments on the matter. He was happy you stayed here instead, and that the rooms weren’t a complete waste of time and effort.
As you travelled through the silent halls, you brought your blanket tighter around your shoulders, tensing your jaw so your teeth didn’t chatter. Ryusaki seemed unbothered by the cold. He showed no signs of discomfort other than the way his shoulders folded forward more than they usually did. You wondered if he was just suppressing them or if he truly wasn’t cold. But then you saw a small shiver travel down his spine.
“You never told me,” you said softly, “what you were doing out there?”
His steady pace was unwavering, his bare feet gently padding across the tiled floors of the hall.
“Thinking,” He replied but offered nothing more.
“Of course you were thinking, that’s all you know to do. ” You joked, “What were you thinking about?”
He took a few more steps, then stopped. You continued forward until you were standing side by side. He stared ahead, but you turned to face him. You watched as his face remained flat, unchanged.
“I was thinking about my death,” he said plainly, continuing his previous pace. “I reviewed my mental record of my will, noting necessary amendments. Due to recent events, I felt it something I reconsider.”
Your stomach twisted at his casualness, and you looked away. How could he say that and have no feeling about it? Or rather, rationalize whatever feelings he had about the situation away?
“You-” You began, your words tripping over the lump in your throat, “you shouldn’t talk like that. You’re not going to die.”
You said it with finality, though your friend heard the subtle desperation, the fear beneath your bravado.
He stopped again, and when you turned to him, he turned as well. His eyes seemed almost hollow as he spoke.
“We all die. And I happen to find myself in a position in which I am taunting the reaper.”
L did a lot of staring, and this one you took as a personal challenge. He knew what you meant, and he was purposefully not addressing it. You weren’t backing down; you weren’t folding for him. The other members of the task force often forgot that he was human; you refused to forget. While he was smarter than anyone you had ever met, he wasn’t a supercomputer. He had hopes and dreams; he had fears.
“We’re here,” he said, interrupting this game of blink.
You hadn’t realised you had arrived at your room and hesitated at the door.
“Would you like me to step inside?” He offered.
You nodded.
“Very well then.”
He opened the door and you stepped in. He closed the door behind him, then stood a few feet into the room, scratching at his leg with his foot. You made your way to your closet, selecting a new shirt and some sweatpants, then went to your dresser, selecting new undergarments.
L looked to the wall after catching a glimpse of the lacey bra you balanced from your finger. You looked to your friend, ready to ask him to turn around, when you noticed his head already turned and a slight rosy hue crawling up his exposed neck. He was usually so devoid of colour; the splash of pink was a nice touch. You wondered what had flustered him and if it had anything to do with you. The thought made you excited, but you chose not to acknowledge that.
“I’m changing now,” You said, turning away from him.
L tried his best to keep his eyes off of you, but soon, your hands were in the air as you peeled off your shirt, and his curiosity won. His eyes traced over the exposed skin, counting the vertebrae up your back. His breath hitched slightly as you reached behind you and unlatched your bra. He caught himself imagining what it would look like if you were turned around and ripped his eyes away again. After all, you were his friend, and it was inappropriate to think such things about a friend. Especially one that trusted him enough to change in front of him. He would rather die than abuse your trust.
Soon, you were wiggling out of your pants, and his eyes betrayed him, following the movement of your hands. The cotton panties you wore were nothing special, plain and purple and a bit cheeky. It clung to the shape of your ass beautifully. His eyes bugged involuntarily, and he decided he could no longer trust himself to be facing you and turned his body.
As he faced the wall, he considered your interactions today. You had sought him out and then joined him outside despite knowing the discomfort the cold would bring you. Meaning you valued his amusement more than your comfort. You entertained his tangents and encouraged him to try new things, which meant that his general well-being must be something of importance to you. Why else would you go out of your way to protect it?
Yes, you wanted him to be happy and made that a responsibility of your own. You coached him through a new experience and reassured his insecurities about it. He had hugged you for two minutes and thirty seconds, but you had held him for two minutes and thirty-nine seconds. So you enjoyed the physical comfort, and obviously desired more, as you only stopped when he shocked you.
That’s right, you pulled away when he asked if you "wanted him." So enjoying his company was fine, but once "wanting" became a part of the equation, you rejected it. Or tried your best to. But you didn’t deny that you still desired his presence, allowing him to escort you to your room, where you took off your clothes in front of him.
When he looked at the incidents individually, it could all be chalked up to you being a good friend– one who trusted and respected him –but he was a better detective than that. He also knew to look at the big picture. In his mind, he replaced himself with other people, like puppets in a play, and saw how your reactions changed.
He found it hard to believe that you would allow someone else on the team to hold you for two minutes, lure you into the rain, or risk them seeing you in your underwear. Which begged the question, why do you treat him differently? How does your perception of him differ from the others?
Then it became abundantly clear, and he was shocked. The conclusion he came to seemed ludicrous, and yet, it was the only one that made sense-- the only one that stood with the evidence. How could this be? There was only one way to know.
He called your name and you hummed in response, putting on a new shirt and turning to face him.
“You evaded my question.” He remarked, still looking at the wall. “However, I think your evasion– and the several events surrounding it –has given me a more clear understanding of the answer you were guarding.”
You felt a general unease, not sure you liked the direction his inquisitive mind was heading. You wrung your hands anxiously in front of you, looking at the back of his head. You should have known L wouldn’t let that go.
“I told you I didn’t know.”
He turned quickly, catching you off guard. He was once again very close to you, his eyes dancing with curiosity and a bit of pride. It was a look you saw when he presented a theory based on new evidence he had finally made sense of that had previously baffled the team. You knew he was confident in whatever he had deduced and was more amused by your responses, watching carefully with a thumb pressed to his lip just a few inches away from your face.
“But I don’t think it was the complete truth,” he pressed, “which makes it a lie of omission.”
“I didn’t lie,” You quickly defended.
“But I saw it: a realisation flitting across your face. You looked at the evidence and came to a conclusion. You have some idea as to why you reacted to my question the way you did, and you have an answer. Does the answer put you in a position of vulnerability perhaps?”
You gaped at him, unsure how to respond. However, he continued to think aloud, answering your question for you with his own ramblings.
“Yes, that must be it. In answering whether you merely wanted more affection or me, it would force you to admit that you had a need that wasn’t being met. And since we had already discussed our general lack of affection in day-to-day life, revealing that you felt you wanted more hugs would not make you uncomfortable… no, it has to be me that you want. That’s the only reason you would react that way. Which makes me wonder, in what way do you want me?
“My phrasing may have impacted your response, as ‘want’ can mean different things in certain contexts. However, if you thought of me in a strictly platonic sense, you would not have assumed I meant anything more than my company. There is, of course, the possibility that previous interactions in male friendships lead you to believe I meant something else, but I think it is more likely that you interpreted it romantically because you have– on some level –romantic feelings for me. And by answering the question honestly, you would have revealed that.”
He paused for a moment before asking, “Am I right?”
Your brain was spinning, repeating every word he had said. He waited patiently as you mulled it over. You tried to disprove his theory, picking each line and defending the opposite, but it became harder and harder the longer you went on. You weren’t sure how you saw the man in front of you. He was your friend, someone you respected and cared for. You valued his opinion and you listened to his advice. But you couldn’t deny that you found him attractive. You had since you first met him.
After your friend had died, it didn’t take you long to piece together that it was Kira who killed her. You brought your theory to the police, but they didn’t take you seriously. Apparently, there had been many false reports of Kira's murders, and yours was the fifteenth report that day. You continued to argue, but you didn’t even get past the front desk. That night, when you got back home, you decided you would do everything you could to catch the killer. You broke into the police database– which was entirely too easy –then followed up with everyone they suspected. You used your skills to hack into the suspects' computers, scouring through their histories and files, but didn’t find anything incriminating. Except for one man.
He was too innocent, not even a record of porn on his computer. Most of his search results were quiz questions with brief breaks spent streaming funny videos. He was a studious pupil and the son of a cop. You consulted the police’s notes often and were surprised when they claimed it could be a student. Then soon after, the pattern of killings changed, further proving the theory.
You were convinced it was Light Yagami, but you needed more. So you tried to hack into L’s computer. You knew from the police notes of the meetings that L called in using a computer, meaning he had to have a Wi-Fi connection to talk to them in real time. It took you a while to hack the secure connection, and even longer to get into the computer. You felt defeated– outsmarted –when you realised the only thing on the device was whatever system he used for the calls and whatever connection he used for that was heavily encrypted.
You thought nothing more of the event until you were picked up off the street a few weeks later. You were grabbed and bound, the assailant immediately gagging and blindfolding you. The drive was long, and you were taken somewhere with winding hallways and cold rooms. You were restrained to a table, straps keeping you upright, and then your gag was removed.
You yelled in anger, cursing your capture and illustrating all the ways in which you would make them suffer for treating you this way. You only stopped when a robotic voice filled the room. It asked who you were, but you ignored its question, connecting the dots.
“You’re L,” You said plainly, “The renowned detective. You’ve solved every case you’ve ever taken on. And you apprehended me– confining me and taking away my vision –meaning you must think I’m Kira. You know who I am, that’s why you’ve taken me in.”
He confirmed your suspicions and listed out the crimes you had committed, and your behaviours that made him suspect you. You couldn’t deny his deductions, and instead of trying to prove your innocence, you told him about your own mission to catch Kira. You even apologised for trying to hack him as well, “but you understand, I had to try.”
He kept you tied up for a few, very long days, then let you walk around the room, giving you access to a bed and a few books. Now and then he would check in on you and offered to make amends for the misunderstanding. You only requested that he hear you out.
You told him about your theories and how you were disregarded by the police. He was the first person to tell you that he believed your friend was murdered and that it had more to do with them talking out against Kira online than the crimes they had committed. And that only angered you more.
Soon, he began to trust you. He showed you his face. He was nothing like you imagined, but everything you expected. He was odd; he looked almost sickly and was very deadpan. But he had a sense of humour, one that was just as odd as him. He was straightforward forward, and you didn’t have to wonder what he was thinking, as he often shared his thoughts. He was kind, having an obvious affinity for sweets, but always willing to share with you. He asked about you and your life, and you could tell he was cataloguing everything you had to say. He listened so intently when you spoke.
You only grew closer, looking forward to your meetings in the following weeks, and were elated when he told you about the new headquarters and how he wanted to introduce you to the rest of the team. He was impressed by your resourcefulness and intellect, but more importantly your passion. You were driven by revenge, but soon that changed. L believed in you, and you wanted to honour that.
Despite his quarks, you saw his soft underside, and it drew you in more. He was fascinating to you, alluring.
Was that normal for a friend? To simply see them and feel better, to seek out their company? Yeah, you guess it was, but you didn’t think it was as normal to think your friend is pretty. Friends don’t trace jaw lines or let their eyes linger on outstretched fingers and moving lips. Is that what you were feeling? Was your confusion and nervousness a result of an unrealised crush on your friend?
“Oh, I see,” Ryusaki mumbled, “It wasn’t an intentional lie; you only just now realised.”
You hated that he could read you as well as he could, and suddenly his proximity was suffocating. You stepped back, hiding from his gaze in your hands. It was bad enough that you had feelings for your best and only friend, but to come to that realisation in front of them –when they have the uncanny ability to practically read minds –was mortifying. You were cornered and unsure what to say. You didn’t even have time to consider what you wanted to do about your feelings before they were made known.
You could try to deny it, but you didn’t think that would work. Not against L. So you decided to look deeper. You had pieced together how your interactions proved you liked him, but how did L fare? You compared his behaviour towards you to the others. He was kinder with you, often wording things gentler to you than he would care to for anyone else. He provided confections to everyone, but he only offered you bites from his plate. He was more candid about his feelings with you, as well as his thoughts.
While he often toyed with the investigators, constantly testing their deductive reasoning and loyalty, L only asked what you thought to question his own conclusions. He valued your input more than others on the team, and you knew the task force was aware of that. if you were in the room, Ryusaki was always within arms reach. He never strayed far. He asked about your personal life, and he encouraged you to take breaks. He smiled and laughed around you, something you didn’t see in front of the others. You had seen L’s soft side, but only because he had shown it to you. He was vulnerable with you. But was that just friendship?
No, no there was more. Today, he cared for you, feeding you and treating you to a picnic. He apologised for your condition, completely disregarding his own. He did his best to atone for the wrong he felt he had done, going as far as to wrap you in his own warmth. He didn’t need to. He sought out the contact. Contact he didn’t look for elsewhere. Contacted he requested and asked for more of, in a less than graceful way. Tripping over words was out of character for the normally articulate detective.
He then stayed by your side, escorting you to your room, again, disregarding the fact that he too was cold and rained on. Furthermore, any other friend would have turned away from you while you changed, but he faced you. You remembered the blush on his face before you changed. Either the idea of you undressing or something he saw you were changing into caused that response. You had difficulty believing this came from a general lack of experience with women.
If Misa changed in front of him (which is an unavoidable event which has already happened with her room being monitored the way it is), you doubted he would have much of a reaction. Yes, you were sure. His flustered state was a result of you.
You removed your hands from your face and looked at the man of your affection. He wore a curious look, and you smiled.
“You’re not upset,” he observed, “Usually, people respond badly to my blunt deductions about their emotions. I expected you to yell or deny, but you’ve done neither.”
You chuckled lightly, “I don’t think there’s a way I could have denied that without further confirming your conclusion.”
“Well, your initial response of hiding from me was sufficient.” he said with a bit of smugness, “But I’m curious as to why you no longer feel the need to.”
“I don’t need to hide my feelings if you already know they exist,” you stated calmly, “And I’m sixty-seven percent sure you share my feelings, making them much less frightening.”
Rysuaki’s hidden eyebrows raised, and his eyes widened. You watched smugly as he said nothing, revelling in the pride of shocking even the great L.
You explained how you reached that conclusion, knowing that would be his first question. When you finished, he looked up to the ceiling, reevaluating the evidence. You watched as his careful mind picked apart your deduction and this time you allowed yourself to appreciate his unique beauty.
You traced the slope of his nose, following it down to the tendons in his neck and where his collar bones poked out from his baggy sweater. You greedily observed the way his clothes hung from his body, nearly swallowing him whole.
“It is true, I am rather fond of you. I made that more obvious than I intended, however, there’s nothing to be done about it now.” He admitted, “I can’t say I’ve ever had much of a love life or much experience with romantic feelings. I’m not sure how to proceed.”
You patted the spot next to you on the bed, and he crossed the room to join you. To your surprise, he sat with his feet on the floor, hands on his thighs.
“I think this a good place to start,” you said warmly. “We don’t have to do anything about it yet.”
He nodded but didn’t look at you. You could see the gears churning in his head, then you noticed his hands. There were impressions left in his thighs from his strong grip. Was it possible he was nervous? You couldn’t hide the delight the sight brought you. You thought it was adorable that you were something that could cause him so much grief. But you hated it too.
You placed your hand on his and he tensed slightly, but didn’t push it away.
“Hey,” you said softly, “Take a breath. Really, I don’t want you to stress over this. You have enough on your plate.”
He looked at your hand, his face level, silently assessing, and you allowed him the space to do so. His hand twitched a bit under yours before he turned it over, his palm meeting yours and his slender fingers weaving between your digits.
“What if-” he paused, as if not sure he should say what he was thinking. He took a breath as you instructed, then continued. “What if I want to do something about it?”
You couldn’t contain the smile that spread across your face, and you didn’t feel a need to.
“Then I would ask what you wanted to do.”
"It's not about what I want." He looked at you, eyes wide and panicked. “What if doing something is stupid and puts you in danger?”
You had never seen L so worked up before, and you were stunned for a moment. You realised he was letting you in, even more than before. He was letting you see his fear, something you're not sure he’s shown anyone willingly. And in this moment, you were reminded that he was just a young man. That his life had barely begun. Yet he had seen horrors you couldn’t imagine.
“If Light is Kira,” he continued, through gritted teeth. “then you are already endangered enough. But if our relationship is now romantic, he may use you to get to me. He would have no problem killing you if it brought him closer to his goal, and we both know that.”
“Ryusaki…” you tried, rubbing your thumb against the back of his cold, clammy hand. “He already knows I care for you. The others have been teasing me about my favouritism for months now. If he thought I knew anything, or that you would tell me anything, he would have already done it. If he could, he'd probably force me to write your name in the book somehow, so he didn’t have to do it himself.”
The fire in his eyes fizzled, and now he looked deflated again as if his anger was the only thing giving him the energy to fight.
“Then, I can’t tell you anything,” he concluded, “and that doesn’t make for a very strong relationship. One of secrecy where I’m forced to keep you at a distance…no that won’t do.”
He let go of your hand, looking away and rising to his feet. You felt that familiar tug in your heart, the one you felt at your desk when you realised he wasn’t beside you, the same feeling when he tried to end the hug. It felt like he was leaving you, and this time, it made you angry.
“Fuck that!” you said a little harsher than you intended. L turned to look at you in surprise; you had never raised your voice to him before (Aside from that time he arrested you and you didn’t know it was him you were cursing). “I refuse to let Kira make any decisions for me. That bastard doesn’t get to stop me from doing anything I want. And I want this, I’ll fight for it.”
You spoke with a vicious resolve, and L had to admit, it was intriguing.
“I’m done letting him ruin my life. I’m taking charge. I know there’s a way to prove it, to get him to confess. We can do it. We’ll catch that monster and frame his head on the wall.”
L was studying you; you could see it in his analytical eyes.
“‘Monster’ you say…” he wonders aloud, “There are many types of monsters; the one we face now... he’s a lying monster: He’s cunning, posing as a human, though having no understanding of the human heart. He works hard, but only to appease his own hubris. He seeks friendship even though he does not truly know how to love. I had once said, If I were to encounter such a monster, I would likely be eaten by them... because, in truth, I am that monster.”
He locks eyes with you, his gaze resolute.
“Tell me, honestly, how can you hate Kira and care for me? We are the same beast.” His body towered over yours, the shadows of the light obscuring his face under his hair. He was almost intimidating. “I do not fight for justice but my own amusement. How many lives have I disregarded all because I didn’t find the case challenging enough? How many people have I endangered solving this one? I allowed who I believed to be Kira intimate knowledge of the case, all because I thought it made the game more fun. I view people as disposable, just as Kira does, and manipulate them just as freely. Kira and I are cut from the very same cloth. Yet, you despise him and respect me.”
Your stare was hard and unforgiving. Rage shook your body, and L was sure that you had changed your mind. You hated him now, just as you should.
“No,” You said sternly, “You can lie to yourself all you want, but I won’t allow you to lie to me.”
You carefully lifted his chin, forcing him to hear you.
“You are flawed, yes. You certainly have an ego, but that doesn’t make you a monster. If you were presented with the power of the death note, you wouldn’t use it to make yourself a god. You don’t always fight fair, but the criminals you chase don’t either, and it would be silly to try for the high road. That is what makes you such a great detective. You do what needs to be done. But that’s not why I care about you.”
You saw a flicker of surprise on his face before he buried it once again.
“I care for you. Not L, the world’s greatest detective. I care for the man who treats me kindly and listens to my woes. I care for the man who checks in to make sure I’ve eaten and taken breaks. I care for the man who is so terrified of himself, he hides away from the world. I care for the man who was cursed with a brilliant mind and raised in a world of evil. I don’t care that you’re a genius, I’d love you dumb. I’m not interested in what you can do for me. I just want you.”
You watched as the man closed his eyes, unable to face your reverent judgment.
“You could step away right now, and I’d never think less of you. You could imprison Light, right or wrong, and I would stand by you. You could tell me that you don’t want this, and I wouldn’t fight you.” You moved your hand from his chin to rest against his cheek. “But if you bow down to Kira– admit defeat when your heart is still beating –I’ll never forgive you.”
His eyes snapped open, and he scanned your face, looking for a lie, but found one.
“We live in a world where gods of death are real,” you continued, “And that knowledge has made me realise even more that nothing in life is guaranteed. Nothing other than your own resolve. I chose life, and I wish you would choose the same.”
“You speak as if I am trying to kill myself.” he scrutinised.
“Since the arrest of Higuchi, you’ve stopped investigating," You pressed, "but we both know it’s not because you think we’ve stopped Kira. There’s still a second notebook- a second Kira. And I’m sure you’ve noticed the change in Yagami, almost as if coming in contact with the book has turned him back into Kira. I see the way he looks at you, the way he studies you. Don’t tell me you haven’t noticed.”
“I have,” he confirmed.
“Then why? Why have you stopped trying to catch him? If he is actively trying to catch you– to kill you –and you do nothing to stop it, you are killing yourself. You’re allowing him to win. And I can’t– no, I won’t catch him without you.”
“You wouldn’t avenge me?” He asked curiously.
“I’m here for my own selfish reasons,” you reminded him, “If you die, then everyone I have left will have been taken by Kira. What motivation would I have left to stop him?”
“I see…” he said flatly, “so if Kira is to be caught, we must both live to see it happen.”
“Yes, but more so, I would blame you for your death. Avenging you wouldn’t be possible, as you and your killer would be one and the same. I would hate you.”
His hand joined yours, guiding it away from his face and holding it at his side.
“I’m not sure I could rest knowing you hated me. Not when you’re the only person I trust and the only person I can say I’ve ever cared for– besides Watari, of course,” He said softly, “But in all honesty, I’m not sure what to make of it. I can’t control you, and I have no desire to, but allowing you to grow any closer to me is dangerous. And I would hate myself if anything happened to you.”
His fingers traced over the creases in your hand as he spoke, memorising the fate lines.
“But I can’t deny the attachment I have for you.” he continued, “It clouds my judgement, and I spend valuable time constantly correcting it. I’ve been indulging in delusions of running away with you. Taking you far away from the danger, placing you in a secure palace where you want for nothing, allowing you to lose yourself in all the simple pleasures your poetic mind can conjure. I would rather collect a list of books for your library than face Kira at the moment.”
You felt like crying, his words striking your heart. While it was easy to deduce that he favoured you over the others, such a blatant confession wasn’t something you expected. You knew this fantasy was built in his mind as something to make you happy, but you knew that this was something he wanted as well. To live a life of ease, not as a pawn to world governments. To be free to have intelligence and not be weaponised. You realised then, he was tired. He was exhausted from chasing Kira, exhausted from comparing himself to the enemy.
“Let’s get out of here then.”
He looked at you curiously.
“You can afford a break, a real one. Your mind is scattered, and you can’t possibly expect to outsmart Kira if you’re worrying about everything else.” You explained, “I’ll talk to Watari about planning a secure getaway for you but for now…”
You softly grabbed his hand and led him towards the door, “We’re going to your room so you can change. Then we’ll discuss what we’re doing for the night.”
He allowed you to lead him down the hall, saying nothing while you travelled. He only spoke again after you stepped into his room.
“I am not often surprised,” he marveled “But you continue to amaze me. I can’t predict you. You’re courageous and strong-willed, but always kind. You’re extremely brilliant, but you’re humble about it. But most amazingly, you believe in me– not because of what I’ve done, but because of who I am –and I’ve never met someone who could separate the two.”
You flush under his praise, “You say you can’t predict me, but I swear, you see right through me.”
“I’m sorry,” he said with panic in his eyes, “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
You laughed, the sound affecting L more than he expected. He loved it, loved making you laugh. He wanted to do it as much as possible, but that was something to figure out later.
“You didn’t,” you reassured, “but I do have something you can do to make it up to me,”
L smirked, knowing you were teasing him.
“I don’t understand. I didn’t offend, but you claim I need to make amends.”
“You don’t have to. It’s completely up to you.”
“What is it you would have me do?”
You didn’t answer with words, instead spreading your arms and then making a grabby motion towards him. Your smile was soft, gently pulling at your lips.
“Yes,” he said sweetly, “I suppose we could both use a boost of oxytocin.”
He took slow steps towards you, and then all at once, his arms were around your waist. He pulled you into him, lifting you slightly off the ground, bringing your neck to his hung head. You felt goosebumps where his nose nuzzled into your skin and your heart grew wings, soaring. You held L just as tightly, indulging in his desperate touch and burying your nose into his silky hair.
“I think we should revise our previous agreement about hugs.” He said after a moment, speaking into your throat.
“What amendments would you like to make?”
“I think four hugs a day is fine, but I don’t think we should limit ourselves to that. We do need to make up for our lack of hugs in the past after all. Furthermore,” he lifted his head slowly, so as not to knock you in the nose. He would feel horrible for that. “I think we could add or substitute hugs for other forms of affection as well.”
You hummed, and he continued.
“For instance, you have held my hand twice today, and both times, I felt a similar sort of comfort from the action. In fact, I’ve noticed any skin-to-skin contact with you eases me. Your hand on my face proved that. I tested this theory twice. Once, before our confessions, on the blanket. I placed my hand on the one you had placed on my shoulder. Then again, in your room, by simply touching your hand, tracing your palm instead of holding it. Both yielded similar results.”
You smiled at him fondly, your hands reaching up to play with his hair. As your nails skated across his scalp in lazy circles, his eyes fluttered a bit, his lids resting heavier.
“So you would like to add hand-holding? I’m fine with that.”
Your sweet voice flooded his mind, and your hands liberated his composure.
“Either you’re completely clueless to the effect you have on me,” he whispered, “Or you revel in it. And I’m not sure which is more terrifying.”
Your heart skipped a beat, which startled L for a moment, but then he realised it was because of an emotional response and not an attack from Kira.
“I wonder the same about you.”
L was unfamiliar with the look in your eyes. Your pupils were dilated, and your irises sparkled in the light. He’s never been looked at like that before. Your face looked brighter, and your body language (while restricted in your current position in his arms) was relaxed; open. And suddenly, he was entranced by your lips. You were talking, and he studied the muscles as they moved, unable to focus on anything else. He felt the urge to kiss you, and this shocked him. He forced himself to pay attention to your words.
“...besides you have all the power really. I know what I want, but if you don’t want me there’s nothing I can do about it. I could never kill you, but even if Kira forced my hand, I don’t know your name. And you’re the only one on the team who knows mine. Whether I like it or not, my heart is in your hands.”
“I would never hurt you,” he quickly defended, almost offended.
“I know,” you said simply, “That’s why I trust your hands.”
Your gaze was unwavering, your stance absolute. The emotions L tried to contain began stirring restlessly. He no longer felt like he had a hold on them. A hurricane of feelings he couldn’t quite name tore through his chest, and he didn’t know what else to do but act. He surged forward, pressing his lips to yours. It was awkward and brief, as neither of you puckered your lips, just touched them together. He kept his watchful eyes wide as he did so, gauging your response.
“Was that a kiss?” You finally asked once your silent shock was replaced by a highly amused smile.
A small frown overtook L’s face. “I fear if you had to ask…”
His sentence trailed off as he sat you back down on the ground. Then turned to walk to his closet. His was much larger than yours (which was ironic given he wore the same clothes for days straight), and you assumed he elected to change there when he closed the door. Now that he was out of sight, you allowed your excitement to show, jumping up and down and shaking your hands.
He had kissed you, almost. It was obvious that he didn't have the experience, but your heart swelled at the thought that he wanted those experiences with you. And he did kiss you, he held you in his arms, for no other reason than to hold you close.
You tried your best to calm down, but your bright smile would fool no one. Instead, you tried to focus your attention elsewhere, calling Watari. He had given you his number (or a number) months ago. He told you it was because he saw that you cared for his son and that his son trusted you. He also confessed that he was rather fond of you too. He wanted to see you make it out of this investigation.
He answered almost immediately.
“Hello, Ms Ogawa,” He was always careful to use your alias, even if he knew you were alone. “I notice that you’re calling from within headquarters, are you alright?”
“Yes, I’m fine. I was calling because I convinced Ryusaki to take some time off. I need you to plan a trip for him, no shorter than a week but something that’s easily extendable.”
The old man chuckled on the other end of the line.
“You convinced him to take a break? I didn’t think anyone was capable; I wonder how you managed.” He seemed amused, implying he knew something through his old man wisdom.
“I’m not entirely certain I did,” L emerged from the closet, looking nearly identical, just less soggy. You smiled at him as he made his way towards you. “But I’ll be very cross with him if he doesn’t. I think he knows that.”
The man you spoke of raised a single eyebrow as if to say, “Oh really?”
You made a similar face that left no room for argument.
“I see,” Watari continued, “Shall I book this trip for one or two?”
You couldn’t hide your surprise at the question. You didn’t know how to answer. You didn’t have to though as L decided then to grab the phone from your hand, pinching it awkwardly between his fingers.
“Two,” he replied on your behalf. “We’ll also need a cover so that the others don’t know we’re together.”
“Understood. How soon would you like to leave?”
L returned the phone to you, trusting your decision.
“We’ll leave tomorrow. We have plans for tonight, and I’d like to rest beforehand.”
“That’s very wise, Ms Ogawa. I’ll send over the itinerary soon.”
“Thank you, Watari.”
You hung up, placing your phone back in your pocket. When you looked up, L’s hand was extended, offering you a sweater.
“If you intend to go out,” he explained, “You’ll need a sweater.”
You took it gratefully, and he turned his head again, giving you space to change. When you finished pulling the shirt over your head, he looked up and felt like he had swallowed his tongue. He never anticipated that seeing you in his clothes would affect him this way. He was truly smitten by you, and that was something he could no longer deny.
“Ready?” You asked, disrupting his train of thought.
He nodded, and you offered him your hand. A small smile spread across his face as he took it. He trusted your hands too, he realised.
You reached the garage, selecting an inconspicuous sedan for your ventures. L moved to open the door when you stopped him.
“Wait!” Your heart was in your throat, but you closed your eyes and forced out the words. “My favourite flowers are poppies. I think it’s cool how versatile they are. The moon absolutely amazes me. I understand how its gravitational pull affects our tides, but I still can’t wrap my mind around it. I also really like The Smiths, which raises conflicting feelings in me because I hate Morrison as a person, but man, if he isn’t great as crying into a microphone.”
You heard a soft chuckle and felt a hand reach out to hold your bicep. You took a deep breath, continuing with Ryusaki’s encouragement.
“I prefer a good milkshake over any other dessert. I think time travel is probably the coolest superpower, but I think it’s too great a power that I wouldn’t trust myself with it. I like cats, but I’ve always wanted a pet raccoon. I don’t think I could get one, morally, but they just look so cute. If I had one, I would love that little guy so much. I would give him a really pretentious name; find a way to grant him Lordship.”
You opened your eyes slowly to see Ryusaki smiling, his thumb tracing circles on your arm. His eyes darted around your face, twinkling in city lights. His heart pounded harder with every word you uttered. Romance was never something he prioritised in his life, it wasn’t something he ever saw happening. Most people were put off by him, and it wasn’t often that he actually met people in his work. He could have lived the rest of his life hiding behind a computer screen, an imperceivable entity known only to one man. But now, he would give anything to stand in the sun with you while you look at him the way you do now. Affection and amnesty dripping from your gaze.
“I’d like to try and kiss you again,” he said timidly. “If you’d show me how.”
Your smile split your face, feeling overjoyed by his words. Each move you made, he mirrored, hands on cheeks and bodies touching as he matched your steps forward. You jumped up on your tiptoes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. Ryusaki’s eyes widened comically, and a hand rose to his lips as if he’d find your kiss there. But soon, his shock dissipated, replaced by a look of hunger.
This time, he led, dropping a hand to your waist to hold you close and using his other to lift your chin. He moved in so slowly, and your body thrummed with the anticipation of contact. He stopped, his lips barely grazing yours, and you couldn’t hide your desperate tremble when you felt his soft breath against your own. He pressed his puckered lips against yours, and you took no time reciprocating.
You brought a hand to the back of his neck, guiding him and pulling him closer. You felt like you were flying, your heart beating its feathered wings against your ribcage. You pulled your lips away just to bring them back, and you could feel his confidence growing as he tilted his head and his grip on your waist grew tighter. You began moving your lips against his, testing the waters. The rhythm was awkward at first, but he caught it soon enough.
His chest was rising and falling quickly against you, and he brought his hands up to hold your face. You lost yourself in his touch, in the way he clung to you. You were being consumed and felt no dire to run from it. He caught your bottom lip between his teeth, and you gasped.
Your eyelids flutter as your brain caught up to what was happening around you. Ryusaki was no longer kissing you but carefully cataloguing the look on your face in his mind. He was reviewing everything he did and how you reacted to it. He had decided that he loved kissing you, and he wanted you to love it too. He wanted love to be something you associated with him, especially now that he knew his brain was making a similar connection. He knew it was probably too soon to say something like that, but he could wait. He would wait forever if he had to. He had the brightest star in the sky in his palms, and he didn’t intend to let this shooting star fall from his grasp.
You were seeing sides of L that you never thought you would, ones you never thought to look for. He held you like a precious stone, something sacred. He looked at you like you were a wonder to behold, the eighth wonder of the world. It made it hard to breathe, suffocated by his silent adoration.
“So, where are we going this evening?” He asked from high above.
“I don’t know,” you said breathlessly, “but we have all of Tokyo, I’m sure we’ll find something.”
He loved this look on you. The joy in your eyes, the lack of stress in your muscles. Your glee was infectious, and he didn’t mind it.
“As long as you’re by my side, I think anything would do.”
He testingly laid a kiss on your forehead as he said it, and you felt like you would melt to the floor in a pile of goo. You removed a hand from his neck, resting it on his, and were delighted when he instantly intertwined your fingers.
“Well, I’m not going anywhere, Ryu-”
“Lawliet,” He interjected. You tilt your head, confused, and L does his best not to swoon as you rest your head in his hand on your cheek. “My name is Lawliet.”
You break out into a blinding grin, and Lawiet knows then that smile was the sunlight he was meant to bask in. Those were the rays that would light his darkest nights. The beams that would guide him through the intricate maze of life.
He had found all he needed. A friend who listens to his grief and grievances. One who cares enough to try and understand his mind and soothe it at the same time. Not for her own convenience, but for his betterment; never pushing the boundary of discomfort but bringing thrill to the change. He found a fresh pair of eyes, for when his get dull and tired, to show him the artistry outside of the ghastly monstrosities he and the world bathed in. A person brave enough to show up, even on the bad days. The whole world could fit in his palms when he held you like this.
“I’m not going anywhere, Lawliet.” you corrected.
L smiled, squeezing your hands three times. You returned the sentiment with a kiss to the hand you held in your own.
Tag List: @barbecuetiddy, @Isshecrazyorissheclever, @purple-amaranthe, @rudy-the-winged-wolf, @scorpiolystoned, @supernerdycookietrashblrr, @tayswiftlovebot, @wannapizzamymindposts, @whoreforklitz
I hope you enjoyed the read! Like I said, I don't think I'll do much writing for L, but I really enjoyed this. I hope even if you don't have as much love for this character as I do, you can still get something out of it :))
#rancid writes#death note#death note fanfiction#death note l#death note imagines#death note l lawliet#death note fluff#fluff#l lawliet#l death note#l x reader#l lawliet x reader#death note characters#friends to lovers
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I think there's a more indepth conversation to be had about masculinity and sexual position preference and how they're not mutually exclusive. And sure there is a certain point where characters can be made out to be incredibly OC and it can be irritating to see that adopted as the fanon norm, but at the end of the day its harmless fun, and the guage with which we use to measure masculinity doesn't begin and end with "raised by Batman" or "I'm insecure and must have a rigid gender binary in my media and fandom experience because my worldview deems personal grooming and using soap as effeminate" but I guess we're not there yet.
anyway wally tops because stamina and dick bottoms because flexibility and also because he likes it up the ass, but that's just my opinion
#birdflash#dickwally#sorry but that take is rancid#say it with me now#prefering the passive role in sex doesn't make you “the girl”!#and that can go both ways with people deeming dick the bottom AND THEREFORE effeminite#it's a double edged sword#If you want to see more fics catered to your preferences then write them yourself#ngl I'm disappointed seeing the interactions on that post#final comment was obviously a joke of course they can switch the point is that it DOESN'T MATTER#them both being 'muscled' has nothing to do with sex
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in honor of today's quali results (Lance nation rise), here's a sneak peek of chapter 3 from the crime au strollonso – green light, red wine (and i don't feel fine) – that I totally haven't abandoned, I'm genuinely SLOW.
not much of Lance there but promise it'll makse sense along the way... i love you all, today was a great day.
His accent was annoying, more prominent than Jenson’s in his rapid talks of feasible negotiation, sharpened so deliberately by the signature Hamilton quick wit. The sight of George, the too young Brit and, perhaps, another pet project of Lewis in the making, poked at Fernando’s interest with a barest hint of recognition.
He seemed like that certain type of those people who’d come to his club on a dare with a flock of posh friends — open shirt collar, cream-colored pants, trust fund babies, all of them sticking out like a sore thumb — and get positively shitfaced with two vodka martinis, tops. And Fernando isn’t the one to wallow in denial but the thought that followed caught him off-guard.
Lance would have fitted nicely in George’s bland company.
#vicsy writes#I HAVE FINALLY MADE PROGRESS#WE ARE GOING PLACES#they will fuck!!!#keeping it rancid before they ultimately become soft for each other#strollonso
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oh come on, where’s my option to join forces and two team them? or cheer her on from the sidelines even. chie can wreck shit actually i don’t want to deny her that
#didn’t even have enough courage to hold her back i just HAD to step in#this just kinda sucks. it’s moderately Off#there’s just this nasty misogynistic undercurrent here#chie can fight her own battles. i wish i had the option to support her in them instead of taking them for her#this really rubs me the wrong way cause it feels like it’s a step to the left of doing anything interesting#chie’s learning the wrong lesson for this to be an (intentional and purposeful) example of misogyny she faces#and it’s too misogynistic to be ‘fighting isn’t always the answer and you’re not alone anymore’ like it’s trying to do#why is she thanking me i didn’t do shit. if anything i slighted her. this is simply not very good#rambles#p4g posting#this isn’t quite downright rancid but more than anything it’s just not very good writing#everything once she apologizes (which she shouldn’t do) feels like a completely different beat#chie i’m so sorry you’re in persona 4#i feel like i’m gonna have said that about every teammate
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I will say that it's kind of funny to see Seven going from Voyager's specialest little girl to whatever the fuck is happening to her on s3 where she's basically reduced to backdrop with the occasional (out of character) quip. No one is ever truly safe on Trek unless you're a white man
#I'm trying to laugh about it because otherwise it's depressing as fuck#like when it comes to seven the character writes itself! there's so much backstory because voy did so much with her! and yet#if the writers can't even see *her* (or beverly or deanna) as a person...#and this is not even tackling the rancid way they 'included' raffi#truly pic setting back the clock 30 years#pic#seven of nine
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Not a gay Dean truther never will be. Going on a gay Dean truther's posts and telling them they are trying to erase bisexuality is still stupid. Leave people alone. If someone's headcanon or interpretation makes you mad, don't follow them/block them. 👍
#i can't believe the 2023 dean sexuality disk horse is just about whether Dean is gay or bi.#Some of you have never seen a straight Dean truther foam at the mouth and shit themselves inside out over bi Dean art.#Times they are a-changin'.#All of this is harmless. If you want to cultivate an environment where people don't write obnoxious tags on your posts#about a character's sexuality or a ship you like don't do that to other people.#I for one don't need even more people leaving me rancid tags about [redacted] literally every single fucking time I post about them.#So don't do this kind of thing like it's cool and fun and you're some kind of hero.
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so @alderamiin said subaru for the ask…. yes your ask was the one i deleted on accident whoops 😭😭 BUT HERE WE GO I MADE SURE TO REMEMBER TO DO YOURS WKDNDN (and i LOVE subaru fr i simply could not skip over him also) (pls expect my usual chaotic rambling im so sorry i really am overusing the caps button 😳😭😭)
Sexuality Headcanon: bisexual 👍 subaru being somewhere on the ace spectrum isnt a super strong headcanon of mine compared to the bisexual hc but i am still fond of it <33 bc i do tend to just hc him as bisexual but i suppose i could kind of see it <33 :DD !!
Gender Headcanon: subaru is literally, as we’ve all discussed, like EVERY letter of lgbtq+ i swear. like natsumi EXPLICITLY being stated to be his ideal self….. what cisgender boy has his ideal version of himself be a woman…. come on….. and hes been like. dressing and trying to pass as a girl for his crossdressing pre-isekai too. like subarus Practiced A Lot at this. subaru clearly enjoys doing this and he was crushed when he couldnt pass bc of his voice pre-isekai :(( AND LIKE subaru and his complex relationship to masculinity and feeling insecure in his own skin like……………… and then natsumi being his ideal self…… natsumi being the Heroine……….. and its like. subaru clearly has a case of “do i want to be them or be With Them” when it comes to men hes attracted to (most notably julius.) so like. it could apply to women too. like. and then the way subaru reacts to felix’s presentation too………. i just think it says a lot. i dont care what tappei says but he wrote all this shit in the text fr!!! and also in general. natsuki subaru being a gender neutral name…. same with natsumi schwartz… so yes genderqueer subaru for the win. i personally hc subaru as genderfluid or bigender!! and also like. subaru being Very LGBTQ+ is so in line with rezero’s themes of self love and self improvement and self discovery and Identity. i think it hits so much harder if subaru Is lgbtq+ versus if he was just insecure straight cis man. like no wonder subaru was struggling Even More. hes so so far in the closet and struggling with like the internal homophobia and shit fr :(((
that and 1. subaru being lgbt is such a great subversion of what you would think when you first meet his character. and also a subversion of ur typical isekai protag which ADDS to rezeros subversion of isekai in general and 2. i love making Certain People mad with these hcs. like its so supported by the text the only thing missing is explicit confirmation. which. i have my doubts with tappei on that but iirc he DID say he nearly wrote a lust if with the guys…. tappei. come on. you already explicitly said that natsumi is subarus ideal self.
A ship I have with said character: im very open to most subaru ships!!! i just love a lot of them—reinsuba, ottosuba, emisuba, remsuba, julisuba… i just like how each kind of dynamic with subaru has so much range like even in just main route alone?? and then you factor in the ifs and it gets So Interesting. theres so much history with each pairing and so much to explore, whether its platonic or romantic. and subaru has a LOT of love in his heart.
i just like each pairing for different reasons hah—like ok ive talked a lot about reinsuba and emisuba already in other asks so. i DO like remsuba okay. not in the sense that i want it to be the endgame ship in main route bc thats very much not happening and i would prefer The Most Detailed emisuba development of all time. which would be more thematically relevant <3 but i DO ADORE remsubas relationship in general. like its so so complicated??? like. yeah theres the conflict in arc 2. theres the conflict in arc 7 with her waking up and being different and being so mean to him about natsumi :((( theres her “youre my hero” versus “youre not a hero” WHICH. URHGHF ITS SO GOOD….. and like yeah remsuba really do be. iffy. in terms of how healthy it is. but its so complicated bc you also have rem being like—she was like the first person, narratively, to be willing to DIE to save subaru the exact way he does for other people (including rem). and then the famous from zero scene in season one which is a MASTERPIECE but i hate how people fixate on “i love emilia” LIKE REM IS HAPPY FOR SUBARU. SHE IS HAPPY AS LONG AS HE IS. EVEN IF HE DOESNT LIKE HER BACK. but also he did like her back romantically for a time. and also of course rem had her fixation on subaru :(( subaru had his own obsession for emilia while rem had hers for subaru pre-being gluttonyed?? :(( yeah like. remsuba being so complicated is so interesting to me. like she and subaru are very passionate people yes. but also they do need to learn to tone it down sometimes you know? REM ESPECIALLY TOO BECAUSE EVEN AFTER SHE STOPS BEING MURDERY TOWARDS HIM… FOR EXAMPLE IN SEASON ONE SHE WOULD CANONICALLY GO TO HIS ROOM IN THE MORNING AND WAIT FOR HIM TO WAKE UP…. like she'd just sit there at his bedside and Stare at him... like girl chill a bit its okay T^T i havent read sloth if. but it seems like they learned to mellow out and have a happy life T^T apart from. a shit ton of people dying in the background and also subaru dying of old age and resetting back to arc 3. i am interested to see if we’ll get further remsuba closure in arc 8 yes. but also im bonking subaru on the head in arc 7 for saying even REM TORTURING HIM was a fond memory. pls let this be addressed again later i swear sodndn.
ok also julisuba and ottosuba. i am no expert on julisuba but on the other hand i have analyzed Too Much Ottosuba so perhaps i am an expert there wodndn. but YEAH i love those ships. they have so much history and moments between them and they are. definitely the more Explicit evidence of subaru being bi (between subarus Interest in julius and reid calling julisuba boyfriends and SUBARUS INTEREST IN JULIUS... vs ottosuba repeatedly being like “omg do you Like Like me?” “NO I DONT SHUT UP” and also their continued divorce arc dynamics yep). but also i will say i really like ottosuba because specifically they are the subaru pairing where theyre like. Very Much Closer To Being Equals. if theyre not already equals in something. like in terms of power levels and intellect and their very loving families and previous inability to fit in or be believed by people and also their status in the narrative as Being Just A Guy in comparison to everyone else. and yet ottosuba are the MOST important members to their camp for their jobs—subaru keeps everyone alive, and otto handles All the politics, which we see over and over again. they are literally THE power duo. otto is so so important too as the second person to die FOR subaru the same way subarus died for others. like the paralleling of otto pushing subaru out of the way when the white whale drove otto insane (and later otto tried to go back for subaru once he regained his senses ;-;;;) versus otto pushing subaru out of the way so he didnt get killed by garf ;-;;;;;. and otto being the second person after rem to also give subaru an EXTREMELY IMPORTANT speech to him (otto-rem parallels...???) <33 except ottosuba also foil a lot bc of their Different Morals. but theyre both stubborn as hell and have a tendency to go off and do shit they think is best without telling anyone bc theyre too deadset (hah) on what THEY think. (OTTO. SPENDING A WHOLE YEAR SECRETLY GETTING THE BOOK OF WISDOM AND HAVING IT RESTORED?? HELLO???) anyway yeah ill stop right here bc i have So Much ottosuba posts on this damn blog wkdndn but i really do think the appeal of ottosuba is that they Are on a more even playing ground. and their morality flipflops sometimes. ottos issues are just more lowkey than subarus widndnd. i am. however. nervous about all the ottosuba and vincent-chisha parallels in arc 8 bc………. possible otto perma death on the horizon??? 😭😭😭😭 itd CRUSH subaru.
also of course the similar flavors of julisuba and ottosuba….. u can have ur tsundere x tsundere ships in TWO DIFFERENT FONTS. anyway ill become a julius lore expert someday i promise.
A BROTP I have with said character: BROTP ottosuba and ramsuba are so so funny and great wofndn but special shoutout to garf and subaru in particular!!! i think its interesting how far their relationship has come bc they had a VERY rough start and its like. 1. im sure garf would immediately regret going into a rage and killing a shit ton of people in that One Failed Loop and 2. we learn garf is a traumatized fourteen year old whos been trying so hard to take care of the demihumans inside sanctuary while his sister and mom left him, one way or another, and hes very afraid of the outside world. and its like YEAH now your behavior makes sense. and its so good to see garfs growth and also his growth in his relationship with subaru (and otto) bc he looks up to subaru sm!!! subaru helped garf so much T^T theyre brothers guys 😭😭 i think its so adorable and so sweet. ill defend garf all day everyday. garf 🤝 subaru with their DAMN hero complexes while otto tries to keep them both on a leash so they dont do stupid shit. subaru IS a good role model for garf though ill say that. subaru tries so hard to be a good role model wkdndn. and yes i always laugh when garf teases subaru for drawing doodles and writing encouraging things for emilia in the temple.
A NOTP I have with said character: okay so. maybe i will spill some tea here. hah so i went over in ram’s ask how i think ramsuba in wrath if is actually super interesting widndns but otherwise ramsuba to me is bland. which. i also just feel like subaru/crusch and subaru/ana and subaru/priscilla are also bland. like. i dont think theyll ever feel interesting to me akdndn. like theres not. as much to work off of imo. like i just dont think theyre a good match romantically at all. like At All. priscilla especially LMAO…. and im tired of people reducing women in the story to just boobs and being fucked by subaru 😭😭😭 like i dont have anything against those subaru ships, my biggest notp is just seeing a bunch of characters be butchered just to have subaru have sex with various women. 😭😭 obviously not everyone in the fandom does that but i see this happens the most with priscilla fr. pls. shes more than just boobs :(((
anyway. my other notp is like. echidna/subaru but like. i feel similarly to ram/roswaal on this where its like. theres a potential there to show a nuanced complex toxic relationship bc THAT IS what echidna/subaru are. even more so in greed if. like theyve spent an UNGODLY amount of time together like their relationship is so fucked. like god the amount of details that were added to their dynamic in the greed if ln makes me go INSANE….. like you know how echidna said that subaru could use her body with this contract?? what she ALSO really meant was HEY SUBARU YOU CAN KILL ME IF YOU WANT. ILL JUST COME BACK BC WE ALWAYS MEET IN A DREAM WORLD AND THERES NO CONSEQUENCES BUT ITLL FEEL REAL TO YOU. LIKE HOLY FUCK FR 😭😭 and like in generally reading through greed if ln is a Trip alright. like “no yeah duh of course it is, suffaru, its GREED IF” but LISTEN……. echidna being subarus weird mother figure and then like. idk there are obvious implications i feel from like the body fluid tea and then echidna being like “you can use my body” and then theres a moment where she puts his hand on her chest and yeah its to feel her heart but LIKE…. SOMETHING ABOUT THAT SCENE FELT LIKE. SOMETHING. TO ME. AND THEN SHES SO OBSESSED WITH HIM AND HES DEPENDENT ON HER LIKE JESUS ITS A MESS. ITS LIKE HOW SHE WAS WITH OG ROSWAAL. GOD. *puts my head in my hands*
anyway my real notp is like. depicting echidna/subaru like it is a Healthy Thing like no it is not 😭😭😭😭 it never was healthy and it literally never will be unless ur changing echidnas character drastically. if ur gonna show off echidna/subaru then they are gonna be SO RANCID in like every way possible there is no other correct way to write them. she is terrible for him. she literally saw him and went “i can make him worse” and then it happened. bc greed if subaru is a Terrible Person. like. its not even a question. the biggest example i can think of rn other than obvious Rbd use is KEEPING MEILI. A CHILD. HOSTAGE AND LOCKED UP IN ORDER TO USE ELSA. HER OLDER SISTER FIGURE. JEEZ. my biggest notp of all time is treating unhealthy relationships as if they Arent unhealthy.
MY OTHER BIGGEST NOTP OF ALL TIME FOR ANYTHING IS SHIPPING A CHILD AND AN OLDER PERSON TOGETHER. subaru/petra SHOULD BE AN OBVIOUS NOTP BUT SURE DOESNT FEEL LIKE IT SOMETIMES….. guys she is a child. come on. hes seventeen and shes TWELVE. GUYS…. and then theres tappei making iirc an ACTUAL petra if????? and idk what the content in petra if is exactly but i worry given tappeis track record with the child characters sometimes 😭😭 AND THEN PETRA BEING IN LUST IF. TAPPEI…… N-NOTHING HAPPENS, RIGHT? *EXPLODES WITH RAGE*. even if petra and subaru get together later when theyre Older Adults in some AU or something its like. subaru knew her when she was a young child. and she had a crush on him then. um. personally idk if im fully comfortable with that hah T^T
A random headcanon: GONNA TALK ABOUT WRATH IF. anyway so the wrath if divergence point is that subaru gets beatrice to teleport him away and ram chases him down, ram tries to strangle him to death but fails, he smashes her head with a rock. yes. BUT OKAY when u watch the anime. beatrice comes for his aid AFTER subaru gets to the cliff and tries to psych himself up to like. jump off to save rem and stuff. THEREFORE wrath if subaru still considered trying to rbd via jumping off that cliff. he just decided not to and agreed to have beatrice teleport him away. this is something not many people seem to mention or maybe even notice (??) but I THINK ABOUT IT A LOT…. :((
General Opinion over said character: i LOVE SUBARU WITH MY WHOLE BEING. he is my absolute favorite anime character of all time. his character arc is so chaotic and complicated and i think the way he Does like still struggle with the same Inner Conflicts is so so much more realistic. recovery and self improvement are NOT linear and he shows that perfectly. and i hate how much people misread subaru T^T the whole chadbaru trend in fandom of how he should get harems or how he should leave everyone or be terrible to emilia for *insert a long list of Terrible reasons here* is so. like did we all read and watch the same damn story or what hah. the whole point of rezero is LOVE ITSELF….. and subaru ultimately has a lot of love for so many people around him. though of course i do worry for how rbd reveal is going to be handled, and im not entirely sure how to feel about subarus arc 7 development atm. rbd reveal is gonna have catastrophic consequences for Everyone. like everyone hes ever been close to finding out hes died a shit ton of times to save him?? that so many of them have like. maimed and killed him or at least Tried To Do That? like HOW are we gonna get a happy ending out of all of this—hows tappei gonna handle this?? 😭😭 i worry sometimes that when rbd reveal happens it wont be nuanced or itll gloss over certain things or it just. wont be so satisfying. bc u have arc 7 subaru out here with SUICIDE PILLS……. ARC 7 SUBARU IN REPEATED INSANE DEATH LOOPS AS A CHILD….. how are we gonna come back from this?? 😭😭 i have my doubts sometimes but tappei loves insane character development for subaru so i suppose i will hope. i just wish for all the trauma to be seen and addressed akdndn and the fact that rbd is so. complicated. it makes subaru and his relationships with everyone else so complicated. and rbd is inherently unfair in a lot of ways to both subaru and everyone hes close to. i cant wait for more subaru development but i also think after arc 8 he NEEDS a break or like otherwise, personally i think subarus gonna snap for good and not be able to return from it 😭😭 or ill just have to suspend my uhh disbelief. i suppose. but yes i do love subaru a lot!!! his hair is a Pain in the ass to draw but ill endure the pain just for him. <33
but regarding all of subarus loved ones maiming and killing him a lot—i think its fascinating how the if routes prove he is JUST as capable of ruining all their lives. like i feel like people forget that sometimes in favor of woaaah cool what if routes where subaru becomes “badass”…. but LIKE…. hes SO SO CAPABLE of so much destruction. he is choice itself. he is capable of changing the entire world and everyone around him. he is capable of causing the deaths and trauma for SO MANY PEOPLE… and like i think rezero itself and subarus relationships are like an extreme version of hedgehog’s dilemma, u know? like u get close to people to love and be loved, but ur also very vulnerable to getting hurt. and rezero is About love. and part of close relationships are that ur so close u Can be hurt. maybe you Will be hurt. but u will also Love….. unless ur one of the ifbarus then fuck u for making the wrong decisions ig wodndndn. im telling u guys that subaru is LITERALLY an eldritch being at this rate. todd is so right.
and. okay one last thing im gonna be real for a second. im a little eh on subaru being a child, honestly. like i DO like the trope of turning characters back into their child selves in order to explore their psychology that way!! but like. idk i feel like the childbaru arc is kinda too similar to the whole amnesiabaru arc in arc 6. it feels Extraneous. it doesnt feel different enough for me personally. (emphasis on personally. this is all my opinion hah.) and then he is STILL A CHILD IN ARC 8 EVEN THOUGH THE OTHER PEOPLE THAT GOT TURNED INTO KIDS ARE NOW BACK TO NORMAL…… LIKE…. im sorry but the childbaru has overstayed its welcome by the time we get to arc 8 imo 😭😭
#re:zero#natsuki subaru#ask#arcs 7-8 spoilers#i decided to do ur ask as soon as i could so i didnt forget bc i deleted ur ask oops HAH#i dont know if people like remsuba on here BUT I LIKE REMSUBA OKAY THEYRE COMPLICATED AND I LIKE IT.#and. yep there we go theres my usual ottosuba agenda 😭😭#if anyone asks me otto ill write even more essays ig 😭😭 HAH….#i just think. subaru ships have a lot of great flavors. but they also have some of the most rancid flavors in my opinion lmao 😭😭😭#rancid (affectionate or derogatory)#my reply to these asks keep getting longer and longer aalsdjdfls oh well
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