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#was this based on real life events the first time i went on ao3? also maybe

floralcyanide · 2 months

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ʜɪꜱᴛᴏʀʏ ᴘʀᴏꜰᴇꜱꜱᴏʀ!ᴊᴏʜɴ “ʙᴜᴄᴋʏ” ᴇɢᴀɴ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴꜱ

Today is your first day pursuing your Master of Arts in History, and the first day you meet your advisor, Dr. Egan, Professor of History.

pairing: professor!john "bucky" egan / fem!reader

warnings: none

author’s note: peep the somewhat grey hair edit of bucky I made lol, this is such s elf indulgent au because I am a history major looking to go into my master's and also I want to be a history professor so yeah ((: I will either write this as an actual fic but idk yet!! enjoy (:

masterlist | divider credit: @cafekitsune

this fic has been cross posted to ao3.

ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴄᴏᴘʏ, ʀᴇᴘʀᴏᴅᴜᴄᴇ, ᴏʀ ᴄʟᴀɪᴍ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀs ᴏɴ ᴛᴜᴍʙʟʀ, ᴀᴏ3, ᴡᴀᴛᴛᴘᴀᴅ, ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏ ᴡᴇʙsɪᴛᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴅᴏ ɴᴏᴛ ʜᴀᴠᴇ ᴘᴇʀᴍɪssɪᴏɴ ᴛᴏ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ɪɴ ᴀɪ ɢᴇɴᴇʀᴀᴛᴏʀs ᴏʀ ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ᴛᴏ ᴅᴏ ᴡɪᴛʜ ᴀʀᴛɪғɪᴄɪᴀʟ ɪɴᴛᴇʟʟɪɢᴇɴᴄᴇ. ʏᴏᴜ ᴍᴀʏ ɴᴏᴛ ᴜsᴇ ᴍʏ ᴡᴏʀᴋs ᴛᴏ sᴇʟʟ ғᴏʀ ᴀs ʏᴏᴜʀ ᴏᴡɴ ᴄʀᴇᴀᴛɪᴏɴ.

✦ It’s your first day on your path toward your Master of Arts in History. You’re meeting with your advisor today, who will help you on that very path and hopefully guide you to its end with success.

✦ Apparently, your advisor is prevalent around campus despite you never having a class of his. Your university is quite large, so even though your focus is American History, and so is his, it’s not unheard of to never have met him.

✦ He wasn’t too into social events held by the history department, which is understandable. You loved attending them in your later years of being an underclassmen. But they can be overwhelming at times.

✦ You wrap your knuckles against the wooden door before you, and before you can finish knocking, a tall, salt-and-pepper man swings the door open with a dazzling smile.

✦ “Welcome, I’m Dr. Egan. I’ll be your advisor for the rest of your time here on campus.” He offers a hand for you to shake, which you happily take. His grip is firm, but so is yours. You were taught to look someone right in the eye while shaking their hand firmly- but not too firmly. Dr. Egan picks up on this.

✦ You’re one of three female history majors in the entire department going toward a Master’s and one of about twenty altogether in the major. So, of course, you’re going to need a firm handshake and steady eye contact to get ahead in your field.

✦ “Quite a handshake you have there,” Dr. Egan says, taking a seat behind his desk. He waves a hand for you to sit in one of the chairs in front of it. “Thank you,” you say, “My grandfather taught me always to have a perfect grip.” “Your grandfather was right,” Dr. Egan nods, “because in this major, being an equal with the males will take you far.”

✦ Your grandfather and father were history buffs and even lived through major historical moments, like the World Wars. So your goal in life is to teach others about what they loved so dearly and went through so harshly.

✦ Your mother had you just a few years before your father was shipped off to England, so you spent the beginning of your school years without him. Your grandfather filled in the gaps you missed from your father, thankfully. Sadly, your grandfather passed just last year, but you aim to carry his legacy and intelligence.

✦ “I’m aware, unfortunately,” you grimace at the thought of the male-dominating discipline, “But I’ve made it this far, and I’m not backing down.” “Great, I’m glad to hear that. Especially since you’re the first student I’ve ever advised for a Masters.” “Really?” you ask, a little surprised, “Then we’ll do this together.”

✦ Dr. Egan winks at that and dives into what research will be required for your first paper. The topic is based on the thesis statement of your final project, a little warm-up, as Dr. Egan called it- to the real deal at the end of your two years of studying. You go on to tell him that you want your thesis to be about the pilots of World War II, but you don’t elaborate on why.

✦ Dr. Egan tilts his head at you when you don’t explain why you chose that exact topic but let it go. He’s had to learn that everyone has skeletons in their closet, as well as personal things, and not just him.

✦ You can’t help but take in his appearance. His outfit consists of a brown tweed blazer and a white button-up with black slacks. His hair is curly and graying on the sides, and he has a faint stubble with a notable mustache on his upper lip. Dr. Egan held himself carefully but confidently, like he’d been hurt by something but still had an ego of sorts. It reminds you of your father and grandfather. You weren’t sure why. But you’re going to figure it out.

✦ Dr. Egan is in his 40s now and picked up college again after leaving the military due to PTSD. He eventually got his Ph.D. in History and is now a professor, and has been for a few years now. He enjoys his job. Dr. Egan (or Bucky, as we know him) loves that he can focus on American History without living through it, so he teaches it. Bucky tries to avoid WWII as a topic because he doesn’t want students and staff to know he served. He thinks it will hinder their outlook on him.

✦ Bucky has only known you through letters and now an hour of talking, but he already expects a lot from you. He knows you are skilled and passionate about history. When you look at him, though, he feels you can see right through him. Bucky doesn’t know how to gauge that quite yet.

✦ You bid farewell to Dr. Egan after about two hours of getting to know each other's basic info as well as what’s expected of your MA in History. You leave, letting out a deep breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding as you walked out of the office. You’re still nervous, but not about your Master’s anymore- it’s about how you’re going to manage the next two years with a man like Dr. Egan.

#john bucky egan x reader #john egan x reader #john bucky egan #john egan #mota #masters of the air #callum turner x reader #callum turner #headcanon #John Bucky Egan headcanons #mota headcanons #floralcyanide writes

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dawn-moths · 2 months

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"Till Death, What's Left"

CHAPTER 1

Tomura & Dabi x Female Reader

word count: 23,000+

part 1 * part 2 * ...

(A quirkless AU where after fleeing a treacherous incident, you find yourself caught up in the company of two strangers who also seem to have just narrowly escaped their own horrors. Unexpected events keep the three of you crossing paths. Maybe it’s twisted coincidence. Maybe it’s fate. And maybe, just maybe, the three of you could make the perfect trio to perform a string of robberies with payouts high enough to change your lives forever.)

disclaimer/content warning: 18+ content! minors dni! concept inspired by the music video for “365 Fresh” by triple h, title taken from the lyrics, drug mention, drinking, sexual harassment/assault, violence, blood/gore, suicidal thoughts/actions, angst and trauma, jealousy, love triangle.

*i'm reposting this fic in hopes that it reaches a wider audience this time given it originally went up back when i was sh*dowb*nned. also because chapter two will be coming out soon and i'll be putting in a lot more consistent work into it throughout this year.

*ao3 mirror*

***

The alleyway was narrow, cluttered with stray trash cans and empty produce crates and abandoned pieces of furniture that were littered with holes, serving as a metropolis for the vermin that scampered through the dirty, downtown streets.

The clouds covered the moon, another storm likely on its way based on the warnings grumbling from the distant, low rumble of thunder, the air thick with the humidity of the summer season. Suffocating, almost. Each breath taken was labored, the acrid tastes emanating from the city laying heavy on one’s tongue.

And, as painful as it was to draw in air under normal circumstances amidst this kind of weather, Dabi was running, his lungs burning every time he forced them to suck down more oxygen. His spiky black hair stuck to his forehead and back of his neck with a layer of building sweat, his old black boots nearly falling apart at the soles, brittle laces threatening to snap every time he got lucky enough to tie them up again.

He moved quickly through the obstacles of the alley, swiftly— like the stray cats that were spooked back into hiding with the sound of his fast falling footsteps coming near— but not nearly quick enough.

From behind him, the shouts were always right on his tail.

At the most, their angry voices were only ever the turn of a single corner away, at the least, close enough to grab his beat up old black denim jacket and yank him to the ground by the tattered collar.

If he could get to the abandoned apartment complexes further into the slums, he could lose his pursuers, weave his way through the crumbling buildings, his long, thin limbs slithering smoothly like snakes through the maze of gaps and holes that he knew so well— almost as if they were merely the halls of his childhood home.

Dabi wasn’t accustomed to getting caught. In fact, he’d only ever been sighted twice before, back when he’d first taken to this life after running away at the age of sixteen from the city that now loomed in the foggy distance. The beatings he’d sustained from the rival gangs back then, the near death experience of having his head kicked in by men twice his size and strength paired with the metallic taste of blood running down his throat had taught him to abide by one simple rule.

Don’t steal from someone you can’t outrun.

And Dabi was fast. Always had been, whether it be by wit or physical speed. But tonight, after enduring the beginnings of withdrawal from his beloved painkillers, his vision starting to sway, setting his balance off just enough, he wasn’t on his usual game.

The real kicker of it all is that he could see them come into view— the silhouette of the rundown, deserted apartments only a block or two away— just before his next step found a deep puddle and his feet slid out from under him, body slamming into the brick wall of the connecting alley before the back of his head smacked down on the grimy, cracked asphalt with a sickening thud.

It took his chasers four more strides to catch up, jumping on him immediately and snatching back the cash he’d swiped before beginning the third— and possibly final— beating that Dabi had ever experienced on these harsh streets.

His pale, tattoo covered skin was split with streaks of red, bruises blossoming in deep blue and violet shades across his face and body with every punch, every kick, every deadly impact from the gang as they told him— promised him— that they were going to kill him for this. The blood mixed with the sweat and ran in rivulets down his face, his teeth grit so hard with the pain that he feared they might crack.

But Dabi didn’t beg for mercy, didn’t even ask them to stop once.

He hadn’t the first time he’d been in this situation, or the second time, and now, he almost couldn’t help but laugh after his enemies left him to die lying in that alley.

They should’ve killed me, he thought through his sinister hysteria. They should’ve fucking killed me.

Because pain wasn’t something that Dabi feared.

Pain was like an old friend.

When he knew it was coming— and even when the visit was unexpected— Dabi welcomed the pain.

Because the pain meant he was still alive, even if just out of spite.

But he needed to get more of his pills.

The pills weren’t the farewell to his old friend, pain.

The pills were an “I’ll see you soon.”

He liked the painkillers at night, when he was trying to sleep. Couldn’t sleep without them these days. But after a big break a few weeks back, Dabi had found himself with some extra time on his hands. More time to kill. More time to sleep.

So his nighttime hobby bled into the day, accompanied him through his afternoons and mingled with his lonely evenings.

Before he knew it, he’d found himself in a full blown love affair with the little white pills. His cruel, addictive mistress.

And he needed more.

He desperately needed more.

He’d do anything— had risked his life once already that night— and showed no signs of stopping.

After a while, he sat up with a groan of suffering, clutching his side where he was sure at least two of his ribs were broken, and braced himself against the cold brick wall of the alley to get back on his own two feet.

He had a bloody nose, a split lip, several other cuts and bruises marking his person, one of the more notable ones being a black welt under one of his eyes, the sclera dyed with red where a blood vessel had burst, contrasting starkly against his cobalt blue irises.

Dabi had already looked like hell on a good day and now…

Well, at least he still had his boots, even if they were falling apart.

So he kept moving, preparing to chase the next opportunity for cash.

Because he needed this tonight.

He’d lose his goodman mind if he saw the sun come up and his limbs were still shaking and his blood felt icy hot in his veins.

He was only a few blocks away from the nightlife district. Could practically see the red neon and blinking lights from where he staggered in the darkness.

So he started walking— limping, more accurately— trying not to scrape one aching foot on the pavement behind him where one of the bastards had tried to snap his ankle, and slipped into a shitty looking bar where the light was low enough that the other patrons hopefully couldn’t see his severe state of appearance.

“Hello, ladies,” Dabi began smoothly after clearing some thick, blood infused salvia from his throat, slinking towards the main bar where he saw two lone women drinking with one empty seat between them. He slipped onto the vacant stool and draped his arms over both their shoulders, limbs heavy with fatigue and radiating heat from the fading adrenaline.

They gave him varying glares of disinterest and disgust, but Dabi didn’t mind that.

It wasn’t the girls he was after tonight, anyway.

It was the set of shiny car keys that were placed oh so naively on the counter next to one of the women, the black and silver of the key fob taunting him, begging to be swung around his long, boney, tattoo covered fingers, tossed up into the air, caught, and pocketed as he strolled out of the bar and towards his new ride.

That oughta sell for enough cash to fund his drugs.

“I couldn’t help but notice that you both seem to be alone tonight…” Dabi’s lithe grasp inched closer towards the keys, slow and steady so as to not raise suspicions, yet it was killing him inside not to just snatch them and run. If not for the recent beating, he would’ve. “Might I interest you in my company?”

“We’re good, thanks,” one of the women shot back as she aggressively shrugged Dabi’s arm off her shoulders.

“Awww, c’moooon…” Dabi cooed condescendingly, eyebrows pulled together and lifted with faked disappointment. “Don’t be like that.” His fingers were nearly at the keys now. Just a few more inches and then…

“Dude, are you deaf?” the other asked rhetorically, also irritated at the unwelcome advances. “We’re not interested. Now get lost.”

And…

Just a little closer…

A liiiiiiittle closer…

Bingo.

“Alright, alright…” Dabi stood from the barstool, slipping his hands into his jacket pockets and beginning to step away. “Just tryna be a gentleman, jeez…” And then, just as he’d played out in his fantasy, as he exited the bar and stepped back into the city streets, he twirled the keys around one finger, tossed them into the air, caught them, and headed towards the car whose headlights blinked from down the block as the unlock button from the keys was sensed.

“Dumb bitch,” he chuckled under his breath as he turned the keys in the ignition, hearing the engine start up as the radio turned on, pulling out of the poor excuse for a parallel parking job and speeding off back towards his part of town.

As the high of his success coursed through his veins, he caught onto what song was playing and cranked up the volume, the windows shaking with the bass as “Audi A4” by MISSIO blared through his stolen car.

“I know you’re watchin’!” he called out with the loud song, approaching an intersection where the light had just turned yellow, pressing down harder on the gas pedal. “My A-Team’s rockin’!” There was another vehicle approaching from the adjacent lane, their light soon to turn green. “And I’m not stoppin’!” He ran the red light as he sung along, laughing to himself when the other car slammed on their brakes and held down their horn at him. “One! Two! Three! Four!”

And with that, Dabi had officially crossed back into his part of town.

***

You were just closing up for the night, working the late shift at the privately owned salon and barber shop that you’d gotten a job at by a friend of a friend.

You fucking hated this place.

It always smelled like mold, especially after it rained, and the owner always gave you the jobs no one else wanted to do on top of the job you’d been hired to do, which had originally been to cut hair.

No, your misogynistic, ugly bastard of a boss didn’t even try to hide it. He made it plain as day what his real intentions were in hiring you.

You gotta get into all the cracks and crevices, he’d remind you with a sleazy smirk, watching you with hungry eyes as you got down on your hands and knees to scrub the floor. If you don’t do it this way, it’ll never get clean.

He complained about having to come in to “check on you” all the time, yet always found it in his “busy schedule” to watch you do something as degrading as scrubbing in between the mildew ridden linoleum with a toothbrush. Always had something to say about what you wore to work, no matter what it was, and had even slapped you on the ass a few times before as a “joke”.

Too bad you needed this job. Wouldn’t survive without it. Not unless you wanted to go work at the cheapest strip club in the red light district just to pay for some microwavable meals and barely scrape by on rent.

Yeah, you fucking hated this place. You often spent your time daydreaming about burning it down as you snipped the dead ends off of people’s hair, fantasizing about slitting your boss’s throat with a pair of scissors or straight razor as he hovered nearby and watched you blow dry and style your clients’ new looks.

But tonight, just about ready to walk out of this shithole that you still couldn’t believe anyone came back to, let alone could find in its hole in the wall location, you let out an exasperated sigh when you heard the cheap, rust-rotted bells— one of which was broken— jingle above the front door.

“We’re closed!” you called as you folded the last cloth poncho up and tossed it over one of the chairs. Then just to yourself you mumbled, “God, can’t anyone read the sign…”

But then you sucked in a gasp at the sight of the large, lumpy silhouette that belonged to your boss standing in the entrance to the salon, clutching your heart as he startled you.

“I’m just closing up,” you began as you caught your breath, wanting to get out of here even more now. “What? You forget something?”

“No,” your boss stated sternly as he stepped further into the salon and closer to you, you instinctively taking a step back towards the sinks. “You have one final customer.” He sat down in one of the three chairs and you felt your stomach sink.

This motherfucker.

“Well, are you gonna do your job or are you only good for sweeping and scrubbing floors?!” he snapped, shaking you from your creeping dread.

You grabbed your scissors and comb, trying to steady your shaking hands as you draped the poncho over him.

He was watching you from the mirror, beady eyes glued to the little bit of cleavage that showed from your button up shirt, only ever drifting to find your thighs that were exposed below your jean skirt.

Fucking pervert, you cursed him with distain, snipping away at his greasy, thinning hair as your rage began to boil.

“Oh, and I want a shave too, alright, sweetheart?” he added, mocking tone proving that he knew he was getting under your skin and enjoying every second of it.

Once you were done with his hair you grabbed the straight razor and shaving cream, trying to remain expressionless as you slathered his face with the white foam, refusing to meet the predatory gaze that he kept trained on you while you worked.

“You better not cut me,” he threatened with a leer, flashing the gaps in between his crooked, discolored teeth, some of which were missing entirely. You opened the straight razor, the metal gleaming sinisterly under the fluorescent lights. “If you do…” His hand found your thigh, sliding up to squeeze your ass over your skirt, making you flinch and grit your teeth, jaw flexing in venomous vexation. “You’re not gonna like the consequences.”

Yeah, well you’re not the one with a razor to my neck, motherfucker, you thought with burning malice.

You could see it so clearly, practically feel it as you sliced the blade across his fat neck, skin parting like a hot knife through butter as dark, dangerous red spilled out and drenched his pit-stained polo with gore.

You were sure that no one would miss him.

In the very least, you and your co-workers— the few of them that you had— would be free from his fucked up definition of flirting.

But what would you do with the body?

Surely you couldn’t lift him on your own and you’d probably expend more energy than you currently had available to drag him into the alley out back.

And what about the blood?

You could try to mop it up but…

“What’s the problem, hon?” he asked in that patronizing way you fucking hated when he noticed you hesitating. His hand began to worm its way up under your skirt, a few of his rough, thick fingers sliding under the waistband of your panties at your hip. “I hope you don’t take this long with regular customers.”

Your grip tightened around the straight razor, face scrunching up in disgust and discomfort.

“Hey!” he snapped when you didn’t give a reply, his grip tightening on you as well, making you hiss through clenched teeth and finally shoot your gaze down to meet his. His sharpness softened then, as if he’d won something, another revolting smirk spreading across his thin lips. “Do a good job and I’ll make sure and give you an extra good tip, ok?”

You let out a slow, only slightly shaky exhale, and then, with the blade pressed to his neck, you began to drag the razor along his stubbly skin, careful not to nick him.

He took his hand off you— for now, at least— but that did nothing to ease the fury that was expanding in your chest.

It’d be so easy, the idea whispered ominously. He’s in no position to run, no position to fight back. You have him exactly where you want him. Exactly where you need him.

Like a hot knife through butter.

Once you were done, using a warm towel to dab off the remaining shaving cream, your boss rolled himself from the chair with a grunt and went to inspect your work up close in one of the many mirrors.

“Not baaaaaad…” he praised in a rough, sing-songy tone, again making a lump of anxiety settle in your throat. You tried to swallow it down before you’d have to speak to him again, if he found a way to get another response out of you.

He turned to face you as you refolded the poncho and tossed it back over the chair, huffing out a breath of annoyance.

But just before you could turn around to hurry past him down the short hallway and exit the shop, one of his big hands found your shoulder, startling you yet again. “Now…” Your eyes went wide with terror as his expression morphed into something violent, something that spelled more than just unwarranted touching or sexist remarks. “How about I give you that tip I promised, hm?”

He was pressing you against the sink counter before you got the first syllable of your protest out, your hips digging painfully into the edge while his growing erection rubbed up against the back of you.

“Stop!” you shouted, fighting to break free. “Stop! Let go!”

The straight razor sat open next to the sink.

“C’mon now…” he growled, pushing into you harder as he tried to hold you still, pressing your chest flat to the counter as you twisted and writhed under his grip. “Don’t be difficult. That’ll just make things harder for the both of us.”

Your blood ran cold, causing you to struggle harder, screaming out loud and shrill.

He slapped a hand over your mouth and you bit into his skin, making him curse and then rake his fingers roughly through your hair, grabbing at the roots and forcefully slamming your head down onto the sink counter, making you body shudder with the pain and then still momentarily from the daze of the impact.

The straight razor still sat open next to the sink, the glint of light off the blade blurring in and out of your spinning vision.

“You think I keep you around here ‘cause you’re actually good at cutting hair?” your boss taunted through a short, curt chuckle, undoing his belt as he kept you pinned against the counter. “Yeah, guess you’re as dumb as you are pretty, hon.”

You reached out, movements sluggish at first, and grabbed the razor, sliding it towards you.

“Maybe you should work late more often,” he had the audacity to say next, tugging your panties down, the sounds of threads tearing making your heart hammer in your chest with panic and your stomach turn with nausea. “Maybe, if you’re good, I’ll give you a raise…”

You began to push up from the counter, spine trying to straighten, the razor gripped tight in your trembling first.

But it wasn’t fear that was making you shake right now.

No.

Now it was nothing but pure, white hot, blinding rage.

“Little slut. Always coming to work dressed like a whore. You can’t exactly blame me for—” But the next insult was cut short as the deadly end of the straight razor buried itself into the disgusting man’s throat, his sputtering gags filling the space where his words used to be as liquid red ribbons spurted from his jugular.

You yanked the blade from his neck, a spray of red speckling your face and front of your button up shirt as you winced and closed your eyes, more of the gore spilling from his neck from between his fingers as he stumbled back and tried to apply pressure to the wound.

You watched as he tripped over his own feet and almost fell back into the chair he’d just had you shave him in, but missed by a couple feet and instead smacked the back of his head against the metal arm rest before dropping like a bag of rocks to the linoleum floor.

The razor was still in your hand, blood dripping off the end of the blade that reflected the bastard’s final dying breaths.

He gaped at you with wide eyes, reaching out with his free hand and seeming to be attempting to plead, to beg for help or mercy or any of the other things he would never have shown you.

But you weren’t a monster like him.

You weren’t going to leave your prey to writhe and squirm in agony.

Because you weren’t a coward either.

No.

For better or for worse, you were going to finish the job.

Like a hot knife through butter, huh?

Let’s find out.

You approached him slowly, careful to stay out of reach from his grabbing hands that would likely pull you down to the floor by your ankle and try to get the one up on you again in his final moments. When you realized just how weak he was growing from the bloodloss, you straddled his fat body, probably giving him one last hard on before it all came to an end. Because the next thing you did was drive the razor into the base of his neck, right where there would’ve been a dip in his collar bones if they’d been visible, repeating the vicious motion until his struggling had finally stilled and he lay there unmoving, his blood covering you both, the light having left his squinting, rodent-like stare.

You stepped off of him then, watching the blood pool around him for a minute or two before the weight of it all came crashing down on you. The straight razor slipped out of your hands, which were trembling in fear now, all prior rage-fueled vengeance gone. And it was the metallic clang of the weapon hitting the floor that finally pulled you back down to earth.

“Fuck…” you exhaled through a shaky breath, looking down at the blood that covered your hands, hasilty wiping them on your jean skirt with splotches of red before rushing over to grab all the ponchos you’d just folded, throwing them down and trying to soak up all the blood that was continuing to pour from his person.

“Fuck… Fuck… Fuck!”

Thank god it was closing, but still. The night would only last so many hours. Would you have enough of them to get rid of the body and hide the evidence before tomorrow morning’s clients came knocking?

***

There was so much blood. Way more than you thought there’d be, that was for sure. All the ponchos were ruined with a dark, rusty red. Discarded thoughtlessly in the dumpster out back where you’d painstakingly dragged the body to slump alongside all the trash it belonged with.

Someone would find him. There was no doubt about that.

But by then, you’d be gone. The shop would be clean. Or clean enough to buy you a little more time, at the very least. And you’d most likely have packed the few belongings you had back at your dingy, cramped apartment and skipped town.

You didn’t know where you were going but the one thing you did know was that you couldn’t stay here.

It had to be nearly two in the morning when you finally stumbled out of the shop, not remembering if you locked up behind you but not giving a shit at this point, hurrying down the short span of alley that would lead you back out onto the hopefully abandoned main streets, when the blinding glare of oncoming headlights stopped you in your tracks, causing you to freeze in the middle of the narrow road where a car was barreling towards you.

If it killed you, at least you wouldn’t have to deal with the cops hunting you down.

But it stopped with a jolt and a screech only a few feet before colliding with you, the driver inside slamming back against the headrest with the force before you both just stared at each other through the windshield with wide-eyed, surprised and terrified expressions.

Dabi noticed the blotches of red that were freckled across your white shirt, the smudges of rust on the faded denim of your skirt, saw the bits of blood that had dried in your hair and on your face where you thought you’d wiped the evidence away.

He turned down the blaring music and opened the driver’s side door, stepping out and looking at you for a moment as the headlights continued to cause you to squint and shield your vision with one hand, only able to see the stranger’s silhouette— a tall, lanky shadow with spiky, wild hair.

What he’d meant to say was get out of the road, but instead what came out was, “Need a ride?”

You nodded, trying to gulp down the remnants of the trauma you’d just been through over the past couple of hours.

“Then get in.”

So you did, having no problem listening to this man without hesitation— well, you had minor hesitation, but still— though you supposed that this man hadn’t tried to assault and rape you.

If he did, you wouldn’t have your straight razor, but now that you’d done it once, you supposed you wouldn’t be afraid to kill again.

But he didn’t try to put his pale, tattoo covered hands on you. Just glanced down at the blood that stained your hands and asked with a sarcastically curious, “What happened?”

“Nothing…” you shook your head, trying to hide your hands by sitting on them, feeling the still drying blood sticking to the underside of your thighs, staring out the window and hoping that he would become more distracted by the road than your crime. “You can just drop me off near the train station.”

The man, who you now noticed had tattoos not just on his hands but pretty much everywhere— the ink trailing up his wrists and arms, his neck, even some migrating under his eyes— along with cuts and bruises of his own, and bright, clear, damn near entrancing blue eyes simply put the car into drive and continued down the narrow side street towards where you’d directed him.

***

Tomura Shigaraki had tried to kill himself numerous times before.

He’d tried suffocation, drowning, pills, leaning off the edge of a bridge and peering down at the drop that was sure to end him the moment his body hit the concrete.

He’d tried— and succeeded— at taking his own life numerous times before in the safety of his own mind. Took comfort in imagining his lifeless body lying still, undisturbed on a sidewalk somewhere or, better yet, in the comfort and familiarity of his own home.

And, a few times, he’d tied a plastic bag tight around his head and breathed until all the air was sucked out only to then panic and then tear it open, taking in big gulps of air and coughing out his impulsive stupidity.

He’d gotten into an overflowing bathtub completely clothed and submerged himself beneath the surface, tried to hold himself at the bottom until his body began to convulse and his chest tightened in pain, only to then break through the surface and yield the same result as when he’d failed previously.

But tonight, Tomura had found a fool proof plan.

There was always traffic downtown, especially on the weekend when the bars and clubs and general nightlife scene was at its most concentrated.

So as he walked along the sidewalk in his beat up old red converse, one of the laces untied and threatening to trip him with every step, he tried to imagine which one would take his life.

Would it be a standard yellow taxi cab? A family SUV?

Or maybe it would be a nice, expensive, spotless sports car.

Maybe it would be red or black or— better yet— white. That way his blood would show up bright against the hood.

Yeah, a white ferrari might be nice, Tomura thought with morbid glee.

But as he stood at the crosswalk, the glowing street sign above his head blinking with the WALK symbol of the little minimalistic figure taking a step forward, he found the one that he really wanted.

It wasn’t a ferrari, but it was white. A Mercedes-Maybach S Class with silver detailing.

And it was going fast.

Even after the light turned to yellow, the speeding car showed no signs of slowing.

Perfect, Tomura thought, bracing himself to step out in front of it at just the right moment.

The street was empty, aside from him and the car, the late hours of the night proving to be a little less optimal for his death than he would’ve originally liked, but if this was it then so be it. Tomura was ready to die.

He was ready to not have anything around to stop him this time.

So he did it.

He jumped in front of the speeding car, his body slamming into the hood just as Dabi slammed on the brakes and skid to a halt for the second time that night— the second time that hour— nearly killing another complete stranger.

Tomura’s body flung back and rolled out into the middle of the street, laying motionless under the glow of the red light.

“What the fuck?!” Dabi shouted as he stepped out of the car, trying to assess the damage but not stray too far as he was still seriously considering just driving off. But he’d already stolen a car. He didn’t exactly want to add hit and run to his list of crimes for the night, though it’s not like it would’ve been the first time. “Are you fucking kidding me?!”

“Should we help him?!” You were getting out of the car now, unsure of whether you should approach, seeming to be pulled towards the body and the car back and forth by an invisible line as you nervously shuffled on your feet. “God, what do we do?!”

“He threw himself in front of me!” Dabi snapped defensively, as if you hadn’t been sitting right next to him and seen the whole thing. “Fucking idiot! God…”

“Well, is he dead or…?” You now started towards the body as Dabi scanned the area, pulling on his hair with stress and frustration. No one was around but that didn’t mean the accident hadn’t been seen.

The scrawny stranger who lay in a heap of black clothing and shaggy, silvery hair wasn’t moving, but still, you couldn’t help but hold out hope.

“H-hello?” you asked once you were close enough that, if he was alive, he might be able to hear you. You knelt down to his level, leaning over him now, trembling hands hovering above his body like you were afraid even the gentlest of touches would shatter him, cause him to disintegrate to dust.

But then the young man groaned and flopped over onto his back, blinking bleary, scarlet eyes up at you. He had tired eyes, dark circles etched in deep, and a scar that ran over one side of his chapped lips.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed as the silver-haired stranger mumbled quiet, incoherent things under his breath. “Hey! Hey, he’s alive!” you called back towards the tattooed man who’d nearly killed you not long ago. “He’s alive!”

Dabi remained by the car, his body leaning against the inside of the open driver’s door with one foot perched on the floor mat, halfway to just abandoning the both of you here and saving his own ass. “Are you fucking kidding me…?” he asked again, though this time mainly to himself.

“Hey, can you hear me?” you asked the person laying on the road in front of you. “Are you ok?”

As Tomura’s vision began to refocus, his voice began to return to him too. As far as he could tell, he was mostly uninjured. His entire body felt like it was just run over by a truck— or, well, actually, it was a Mercedes-Mayback S Class— but other than the constant aching soreness that made it hard for him to move, he was otherwise alive.

Unless…

“Are you…” Tomura began. You leaned in closer to hear him better, his voice a raspy ghost of a whisper. “Are you an angel?”

When you smiled at him then, just a tiny, slightly amused yet relieved grin, Tomura’s eyes rolled back into his head and he let out an exhausted sigh. Or, well, perhaps he too should be holding out hope. Because if you really were an angel that meant that he’d finally succeeded in killing himself.

“Can you stand?” you asked him next. In response, Tomura tried to roll back over onto his side and push himself off the ground. Your hands tried to guide him, to steady his body until he was on his own two feet and had an arm slung over your shoulders while you helped him limp towards the car.

“Hey!” Dabi shouted angrily as the two of you approached. “No! Leave him on the fucking curb! I ain’t chauffeuring another person around!”

“He’s hurt!” you called back in protest, staring up at Dabi with a plea for mercy. “We can’t just leave him!”

“Listen. I said I’d drop you off,” Dabi sneered, glancing at the staggering stranger with revulsion. “Not you and some random guy who was dumb enough to step out into oncoming traffic!”

“Hey, where do you live?” you asked Tomura, who still seemed to be caught in a daze, his weight becoming a little heavier on you as his body began to slump. When he didn’t respond, you just looked back to Dabi and said, “Just drop him off with me. I’ll figure the rest out.”

Dabi stared at you both then, battling with himself on whether you were worth the trouble or not— as if you’d ever been worth the trouble— then gave a begrudging sigh, telling you to hurry up and get back in the car.

You opened the door to the backseat and helped Tomura slide in before running around and reclaiming your seat on the passenger’s side, Dabi taking off before you’d even finished closing your door and speeding recklessly down the darkened night streets once again, clearly not having learned his lesson the first time— or the second, for that matter.

You kept watch on the man in the backseat from the rearview mirror, who just had his head lazily rested against the seat, slouching down and not bothering to put a seatbelt on as he stared out the window with utter defeat. If it weren’t for the steady rise and fall of his chest, there were a few times you would’ve thought him to be dead with how still he was sitting.

“Hey…” you addressed him. He just shifted his crimson gaze to meet yours in the mirror. “What’s your name?”

He averted his eyes again, staring back out the window at the ghost town rushing by outside. “It’s Tomura…” he finally answered after a long, labored breath.

You introduced yourself in return, only getting a simple, barely detectable nod in response.

“And what about you?” you then asked the driver whose jaw was still clenched, back teeth grinding in agitation from the recent events.

“Who gives a shit…” he answered rudely, narrowing his gaze at the road before him, running another red light.

“Whatever,” you rolled your eyes. You didn’t particularly care either, you supposed.

“Ah, shit…” Dabi then said as he noticed the gas meter running empty. You were about to ask him what was wrong, but then he continued with, “Who the fuck goes out with their tank this low?”

While he was throwing a fit over the dwindling fuel, you were starting to recognize the area, only a few more blocks till your apartment complex, but you didn’t say anything as you could feel the driver’s stress filling the atmosphere of the car. And, with this guy, you felt like a simple statement of “hey, my turn is coming up” would be more than enough to set him off right now.

Dabi cut down another side street where he knew a gas station wasn’t far. It was just outside the city, which you’d already been on the outskirts of, but Dabi wouldn’t be able to pawn the thing off if it stopped rolling the moment he parked it in the shady, underground garage of the illegal stolen car salesman he knew, so he had no choice.

And god he needed his pills.

He needed the cash first though, and to get the cash he needed the car.

Fucking million step process just to get some fucking painkillers, he thought bitterly.

But he could complain and grumble all he wanted.

In the end, he’d do whatever it took, just like always.

“Stay in the car,” he’d said in a way that sounded nonchalant, but you knew was an order, slamming the door shut before you could answer and going over to fill the tank.

You looked back at Tomura, who was still gazing out the window in a daze. You couldn’t help but stare at him, tracing the lines of his scars with your eyes, following the way his wavy hair framed his face and the cool light of the street lamps illuminated his pale skin, making his scarlette eyes glow even brighter. A vibrant contrast against all the monochromatic shades that otherwise painted his person.

“Hey…” you began, speaking softer that time, as if trying to soothe him. “Why did you do that?”

He didn’t respond at first, the only indication that he’d heard you being the slight widening of his eyes, the expression reading as if something dire had just occurred to him before dissipating back to exhaustion.

“Do what?” he asked with a bored, tired drone.

“Try to kill yourself?”

Tomura looked at you now, only his eyes moving as if the rest of his body couldn’t be bothered. But he couldn’t hold your gaze for very long, the intensity of your sincerity killing him in a way he’d never considered.

“Dunno…” he lied, giving an awkward half shrug, wincing in pain halfway through and gripping his shoulder with one hand.

“Well it was a stupid thing to do,” you scolded him lightly, causing him to shoot you another one of those feral, wide-eyed glares, head turning a little more this time.

“Yeah, and what would you know about it?” he challenged with a scowl, raspy voice a little more sharp now. A little more dangerous.

“I know that if it were me, I wouldn’t try to drag someone else into it. Especially not complete strangers,” you answered, now wearing a scowl of your own.

But you weren’t actually mad at him, per se.

The way you saw it, even though you hadn’t been the one driving, you still would’ve felt responsible if you’d just left him there alone in the street.

Besides, you’d already taken a life that night and one was more than enough for you.

So you weren’t mad at him. Just concerned.

Because, maybe, at one point or another you’d been just like Tomura. And, possibly sometime in the very near future, you’d be more than willing to throw yourself into oncoming traffic or off a building or bridge or, in the very least, swallow a bunch of pills just to make it all stop.

Because the sight of all that blood— the smell of it, acidic copper mixed with the chemical burning of the bleach stinging your nose— and the sheer fact that, despite the circumstances, you were indeed a murderer as of a few hours ago, well…

The full weight of that was sure to settle over you eventually and, when it did, it just might be too much to bear.

“Whatever…” Tomura puffed out through an exhale of annoyance, looking away from you and back out the window.

Only, Tomura actually did want to answer you. He just didn’t have the right words at the moment to explain it all— that sinking, empty emotion that comes with feeling like you’re completely alone in the world, of having nothing and no one.

Though, a few seconds later, he perked up in the backseat, noticing something amiss as his skittish crimson gaze scanned the scene outside the window.

“Hey…” he said, causing you to glance over your shoulder. “Where’d that guy go?”

***

Dabi walked into the gas station’s convenience store with his hood up, his head down, and his hands shoved into his pockets.

First, he pretended to browse the chip aisle, strolling slowly as he read over all the brand names. Out of the corner of his gaze, he noticed a security camera. He wondered if it was actually on.

The cashier leaned over the counter and scrolled mindlessly on his phone, used to only a few sporadic customers coming in during the graveyard shift. He hadn’t even glanced towards Dabi when he’d entered, probably wouldn’t have cared even if he’d seen all the tattoos that covered his pale skin, that ran down his arms and up his chest and neck and face.

Maybe he wouldn’t care if Dabi tried to rob the place, if he took all the cash in the register and ran off either.

Because Dabi was even more shit out of luck than he had been at the start of the night.

He’d lost that bundle of cash he’d stolen when those guys had caught and beaten him in the alley and the gas station console wouldn’t let him fill his car until he had proof of payment first.

Well, here goes nothing, Dabi thought as he sighed and marched up to the register.

The kid was still scrolling through his phone and it was only when Dabi aggressively cleared his throat did he glance up, face going white when he registered the man standing before him.

“Uh… Can I—” the kid began, but was cut off as Dabi began one of his most ambitious bluffs in a long time.

“Open the register,” he ordered with a growl, voice quiet but stern, pushing one of the fists that were shoved in his pocket closer to the kid, pretending to conceal a gun. “And hurry it up.”

The cashier didn’t hesitate. He fumbled with the drawer and laid its entire contents out on the counter for Dabi to take, backing up and knocking down some of the cigarettes from where they were placed behind the counter while the tattooed thief stuffed the cash into his pockets.

When Dabi was done, he just nodded at the kid and said, “Oh, and gimme one a those,” eying one of the packs of marlboros that now lay scattered behind the counter. The cashier tossed him a pack with a shaky hand and then Dabi left, rushing towards the gas console, feeding in the bills, filling the tank, and then yanking the pump out the moment he heard it click, not bothering to place it back in its holder before jumping in the car and speeding away with a screech, both you and Tomura staring at him with wide-eyes, hands gripping the safety bars above the window as your bodies were jostled around with every veering turn.

“Uh… What ha—” you tried to ask.

“Don’t…” Dabi snapped, making both you and Tomura flinch. “Ask.”

So you didn’t. You remained silent for the rest of the drive aside from directing Dabi where to turn once you reentered the part of town you recognized. When you told him here was fine, he pulled over to the curb. “Um… Thank y—”

“Get out.” Dabi cut you off. He wouldn’t even look at you. You hesitated for a moment, once again wishing that you at least knew this mysterious man’s name despite how he’d treated you, then opened the door to exit. “And you,” Dabi glared at Tomura from the backseat, the silver-haired suicidal a little more alert now. “I ain’t drivin’ you around anymore either. Get out.”

Once Tomura was standing beside you on the sidewalk, Dabi just turned the music back up until it was so loud you could hear “Johnny Wants To Fight” by Badflower in a muffled blast from inside of the car and sped off again, feeling more on edge by the minute and needing to get the stolen car to his contact before the police had a chance to find him first.

And then it was just you and Tomura left in a perplexed daze in the middle of the night a few blocks from your apartment, everything that had happened up until this point feeling like some strange fever dream that you still hadn’t fully woken up from.

“So… uh…” you began, awkwardly eyeing Tomura who was staring at you like an inquisitive animal. “Do you live around here too or…?”

“I don’t live anywhere,” Tomura replied. “Not anymore, at least.”

It had to be three, maybe even close to four AM by now. Tomura looked tired. You were exhausted. You’d both had the same strange experience and just letting him walk away felt wrong, like you really would wake up tomorrow and forget everything, all the blood and black ink and silver-hair mixing together before fading away entirely.

“Do you… want to come in?” you hesitantly invited.

Tomura then seemed to snap out of his dead stare, blinking a few times before answering, “Sure.”

***

“This is it…” you said as you flipped up the switch by the door, the lights flickering a few times before illuminating the cramped studio. Tomura just stood in the doorway for a moment, eyes scanning what little there was to look at before stepping inside. Neither of you really knew what to say now. What to do. When an awkward silence began to fill the space, you asked, “So, um… Can I get you a glass of water or…?”

Tomura then seemed to snap out of whatever daze he was currently in, flinching as he registered that someone was speaking to him and responding with, “Oh, yeah, sure.”

As you took a hastily washed glass out of the sink where you’d left it this morning and filled it from the lukewarm tap, you kept an eye on your guest out of the corner of your vision and rinsed the dried blood from your hands.

He was standing in the middle of the room, honing in on specific details like what books you had scattered across the tiny, uneven coffee table you’d picked up for free from the curbside when you’d first moved here. He studied the dying houseplants that drooped by the fingerprint smudged windows, their leaves and vines having given up on reaching towards the sun long ago. But, one thing he noticed above all else was the single photo you kept on your scuffed up bedside table.

“Who are they?” he asked when you came over to hand him his drink. He took the glass carefully in his hands, as if he feared he might break it.

You took a seat on the end of your bed with your own glass of water, sipping at it as you glanced at the photo. “My family,” you admitted, though wore a sad expression where he would’ve expected one that was a little more, well…

Actually, he didn’t exactly have the fondest memories of his family either.

You thought he might ask you what happened to them, if they lived nearby or if you guys were close, but he didn’t. Instead, he just nodded like he understood and then sipped at his drink while standing a few feet across from you, both of you looking at each other and waiting for the other person to say something else.

You wondered just how long he’d been alone. How long he’d had to endure silence before almost getting killed— then saved, if you could call it that— by you and that tattooed guy in the middle of the street tonight. You almost asked. Would’ve, if not for him speaking first.

“Why did you let me in?” he asked, intentions unreadable in both his face and tone.

“Should I not have?” you inquired. Instinctively you reminded yourself where you’d hidden weapons throughout your apartment— a letter opener in the nightstand drawer, pocket knife underneath one of the couch cushions, multi-tool behind the vase near the front door— just in case things took a turn. Tomura just continued to stare at you, his gaze curious, as if he found you just as odd yet enticing as you found him. “I mean…” you then recovered, “You said you had nowhere to go, right?”

He nodded, bringing the glass to his lips but pausing before taking the next sip, saying, “Did you know the guy in the car?”

“Not until just before we ran into you,” you admitted.

Then Tomura asked “Did he do that to you?” nodding at all the blood on your clothes. You realized that maybe it wasn’t necessarily you he kept staring at with wild eyes, but all the evidence instead.

You’d already nearly forgotten about it.

“Oh…” you exhaled, plucking at your button up shirt and noticing that the bright red had gone rusty now. There was no way those stains were coming out. You’d have to throw your clothes away or, probably a better idea, burn them. “No, he didn’t. That was…”

But you couldn’t finish the sentence. Not even with an insult at your former boss. You just wanted to forget any of it had ever happened.

Tomura then sat on the end of your bed next to you, staring at where the beat up old sofa was pushed up against the wall and gulping down the rest of his water. It was then your turn to study him, decode his appearance as if that would answer all your unasked questions. But, unlike you, his situation was a lot harder to read. He kept it carefully concealed under long black sleeves and faded black jeans, shaggy tufts of hair falling in front of his eyes and hiding parts of his face from you.

Though, there was one thing you hadn’t noticed before, when the only light you’d had to view him by was the dim glow of passing streetlamps or traffic lights. His skin wasn’t just scarred, it was scratched, dry and patchy around his eyes and forehead, eyebrows sparse and chunks of his eyelashes missing as if he’d rubbed them off.

Instinctively, you raised a hand to touch him, wanting to care for whatever condition he had— wanting to understand it better so you could help— but when he saw it coming towards him in his peripheral vision he flinched back, grabbing your wrist to stop you.

You both stared at each other with gaping expressions, scared for different reasons.

“I’m sorry—” you went to say, the words caught in a gasp. But Tomura didn’t look angry. He didn’t look like he was going to hurt you. Instead, he looked at you as if he thought he’d just narrowly protected you from something horrible, like touching him was some kind of curse you might catch. “I didn’t mean—”

But then he let you go, giving you back your wrist, which you cradled in your other hand, and looked away from you. “Sorry…” he mumbled, vermillion stare stuck to the multicolored shag rug hiding the partially rotting hardwood floors. “It’s just… I’m not used to being touched and I…”

Similar to you, Tomura also had a hard time speaking the things he’d much rather forget.

Then, without thinking you blurted out, as if you had just suddenly decided it needed to be freed from the cage of your body, “I killed someone tonight.” Tomura didn’t flinch at that. Just looked back at you with a gaze that either said, “I’m sorry” or “I understand”. Maybe both.

And suddenly you had this fear of rejection, like you expected him to lash out and call you crazy, deride you for committing such a heinous act. But instead he just asked you, “Did they deserve it?”

You cracked a nervous smirk, the fever dream you felt like you were floating in becoming all that more unbelievable. “Yeah…” you said, a stifled, choking sound that was perhaps the dying embers of a sob catching in your throat. “Yeah, he did.”

“What are you gonna do?” he asked next. You felt like the scenery around you was beginning to blur, the walls closing in tighter and tighter until they’d press flat against you and trap you in a cube of claustrophobia.

Your eyes began to tear up. “I don’t know…” The heat that was building in the room was beginning to feel suffocating. You buried your face in one of your hands, the other one holding the half empty glass of water starting to tremble. “I don’t know…” The air conditioner had never worked and even your cheap convenience store fan had broken recently. “I really don’t know…”

Tomura was unsure what to say to you, but he was trying to find the words. Any words. Any words at all to convey to you that you’d figure it out. That you’d be alright but—

But why did he care?

Why did Tomura— someone who’d tried time and time again to end his own life because he was so convinced that nothing was ever going to be alright for him ever again— care whether you sorted out your problems or dug your own grave?

Because she doesn’t deserve that, he figured. She has far more to live for than someone like me.

You were just crying now, your glass of water sitting abandoned on the floor by your feet as you hid your sorrows in both of your palms, body shaking even more as another wave of tremors wracked through your bones, sharp inhales peppered throughout your otherwise silent sadness.

Tomura wished he hadn’t stopped you from touching him earlier. He wished he’d allowed you to reach over and run your careful fingertips over his skin, the scars and the dry patches that cracked and split in thin slashes across his face.

Though, maybe, perhaps, if he could reach out and touch you, you’d allow him to try and care for you the way you’d wanted to care for him. As much as one hollow stranger could care for another, that is.

“They’re gonna find me,” you muttered, words garbled by the thick coating of saliva clogging the back of your throat. “They’re gonna find me and then they’re gonna—”

You froze when you felt a hand— Tomura’s hand— resting on the small of your back, peeking out from your palms as if to confirm that it was actually him that was touching you and you weren’t just imagining it. And he was tense at first. Not gentle and comforting like he had a feeling you could be.

But he was trying.

You were making him want to try.

“What…?” you eventually asked, Tomura’s startled stare becoming too intense for you to hold.

He then mumbled something, his voice so quiet you didn’t catch it at first. So again, you asked him, “What?” and when he repeated himself you realized he’d said, “I want to kiss you.”

You blinked a few times, trying to clear the thin film of tears that still glossed over your eyes, lashes spiked and cheeks streaked with drying salt. Your ears were ringing, and suddenly all you could hear was the buzzing in your head. But you felt your mouth moving, felt the gentle vibration of your vocal chords when you said, “So kiss me then.”

Tomura leaned in halfway, the hand on your back clutching your shirt in his fist, trying to conceal just how terrified he was of his own desire— for you and this newfound realization that maybe he did actually want to live, even if only just a little bit. It was overwhelming.

And it was kind of nice, the fact that he wasn’t trying to feel you up right from the get go and pin you underneath him like most of your previous one night stands tended to do. So you kissed him, and he kissed you back, but it wasn’t romantic or sweet. It was rough and desperate, both of you trying to leave proof on each other that the other person existed, that you’d met, that you’d both almost died that night yet had somehow ended up alive at the end of it all, even if one of you hadn’t wanted to.

Tomura had shaky hands. And they were cold, like they had no blood in them, like he really had died back there on the street and was just a walking corpse. They sent a shiver through your body as his fingers brushed against your ribs under your shirt, pushing up until they found the clasp of your bra, fumbling with it absentmindedly as if he wasn’t aware of what his fingers were tangled up in.

You reached behind you and undid it for him, both of you breaking the kiss and pausing for a moment, lips still almost touching as you panted into each other’s mouths and wondered if this was really happening. If you wanted it to happen.

I killed someone, you remembered again. And then I almost watched him get killed.

It was fucked up.

All of it.

Your life.

His.

And definitely the guy who’d driven you two and then sped off without a word.

All of it was just so fucked up.

Has been for a long time, you thought, going back to kiss Tomura again, this time trying to be a little softer, letting him know that you needed things to slow down a bit. But when your tongues met this time, you realized something odd.

Tomura tasted like nothing.

Now that you thought about it, he didn’t smell like anything either.

Maybe he really is a ghost, you thought to yourself with much less concern than you probably should’ve. Either way, you wanted to feel his lips on yours again, kissing him over and over until you felt like some of his rigidness had melted away.

“Wait… Do you really wanna do this?” Tomura asked then, seeming to be second guessing himself now that his thoughts had actually caught up to his actions.

“Do you?” was all you answered in return. You think you wanted to, though, you weren’t exactly sure why.

Does there need to be a reason, you asked yourself. Does there need to be a reason when nothing makes any fucking sense anyway?

When Tomura’s hands started trailing up your body again, you took that as a maybe. When he kissed you again, also being a little softer this time, you took that as a yes.

So you let him have you, taking no issue when he squeezed at your ass or pulled your panties down. Because you could see it in his eyes— this void, empty space where maybe, at one point, his true self had been.

You had also lost your true self.

You couldn’t remember exactly when or how, but you often felt like you were nothing more than an empty vessel, just a body wandering aimlessly without a soul to occupy it.

And at one point, you too had wished for it all to end, having run out of options for escape, tired of scraping at the bottom of the barrel just to earn another day in the pathetic game of survival you supposed you called your life.

But here, now, with this silver-haired stranger who’s name you’d barely learned, you felt like the embers of your dwindling soul were being reignited in its hearth, the flames that maybe would grow into a steady fire coursing warm through your blood.

Tomura didn’t bother with much foreplay. Didn’t need to. You were wet enough already just from some simple touching and kissing. Maybe it was because you hadn’t been like this in a long time— lying underneath someone who you actually wanted to give yourself to, not just shutting out the sensations as you went through the motions when you were late on paying your rent. But Tomura still prepped you the best he could, slipping two of his slender fingers into your fluttering hole and pumping them in and out a few times, scissoring them inside to stretch you.

When you told him you were ready— that you wanted him now— Tomura sunk into you slowly, feeling you clench around him right away and letting out a groan as his crimson eyes rolled back in his head. As he rocked his hips rhythmically, your neck craned and your back arched, breathy little moans escaping your lips.

“Tomura…” you whined as he brought his chapped lips down to suck at your neck, leaving behind his own personal constellation of bruises, biting in sometimes and pulling a gasp or another moan from you.

His hips picked up the pace soon, thrusting into you and making your whimpers come out louder, sounds of pain and pleasure filling the formerly silent, small space of the apartment. You didn’t care if your neighbours heard you. It’s not like you knew your neighbours anyway. Besides, you were still planning on skipping town soon anyway.

“T-Tomura!” you were begging, but for what?

For more?

For him to slow down? To speed up?

Even you weren’t sure anymore.

You just let yourself get lost in the touch of the man you’d only known for a couple of hours yet felt you understood better than some people you’d known your entire life.

It was almost like you needed to prove to yourself that this was still ok after what had happened with your boss. You needed to know that you weren’t broken, that any scars you’d gained from that incident would heal and fade away. Maybe he could be the bandaid on the bullet hole that was the amalgamation of every horrible thing that had ever happened to you. With how good he felt inside you, it sure seemed that way.

And Tomura, well, he’d almost forgotten the last time he’d felt anything, let alone this much of a will to live.

Because every time his hips snapped against the inside of your thighs and your silky, pulsing walls clenched around his cock, or he pulled another one of those sweet little sounds from you, whenever your lips met his or his lips nipped at your neck, the strangest thought occurred to him.

Maybe I don’t want to die.

He wouldn’t trust that statement in the long run but for now, even if just one very strange, very ominous night, he’d allow himself to believe it.

And as the two of you curled up under the covers, soaking in each other’s body heat, Tomura’s long, thin arms wrapped around you like you were the only thing he’d ever had worth holding onto, he thought to himself…

Maybe with someone like her, life is worth living.

***

“Why do you want to die so bad?” you’d asked Tomura after you’d both woken up that morning, both your hair tousled with sex and sleep.

The two of you stayed in bed until nearly noon, the summer sunlight that poured in through the spotted windows giving you both a warm glow, sun dust visibly floating through the beams.

“I don’t know,” Tomura had answered, though that time he hadn’t just used the excuse as a filler for a question he didn’t feel like explaining. “I just… It’s been like that for a long time.”

You’d kissed him— a tender, soft kiss that made Tomura feel loved for the first time in, well, in forever— and he’d tried to kiss you back in the same way, hoping that you could understand through the gesture that you’d saved him— were still saving him— from the black abyss of his death wish one touch at a time.

“I was like you once,” you admitted then, wearing a sadness that Tomura was used to seeing in his own reflection, one that lived deep in someone’s eyes. And then it was his turn to ask you why. “Because,” you gave a short shrug. “I’m never getting out of here— out of this…” You then looked around your apartment as if that summed up the entire history of your life’s problems. You didn’t necessarily believe in heaven, though, if there really was an afterlife of some sort, you just hoped it really was a better place like people always said. Even if it were merely a plane of existence where you wouldn’t have to feel any more pain.

Tomura wanted to tell you that you were wrong, that someone as beautiful and kind and caring as you deserved so much more than this, deserved to live more than most people. Definitely more than someone like him and definitely more than someone like that guy who’d driven you both around so recklessly last night.

“I’m sorry,” was all Tomura could think to say as he held you closer to him, afraid to let you go, like if he did you’d turn to sun dust and disappear on the breeze that was seeping through the cracked window overhead.

“Don’t be,” you replied evenly, sounding tired. “Besides, I’m still alive.” You looked up at him, admiring the way the light hit his scarlet gaze. “That’s gotta count for something, right?”

Before either of you could say anything else, your phone began to buzz from the nightstand. You wriggled from Tomura’s grasp to see who it was, your blood freezing in your veins when you read one of your co-workers name’s pop up on the caller ID.

“What is it?” Tomura asked when he felt you tense.

A million different possibilities rushed through your brain at once.

Did they find the body?

Of course they did.

Do they know I did it?

Are the police already on their way?

No, they would’ve already gotten here.

Shit, where did I leave my shirt? It’s still got blood on it.

“Uh…” Your voice shook and you cleared your throat. “One second.”

You threw your legs over the side of the bed, reached down to pick up the nearest article of clothing, which just so happened to be Tomura’s black crewneck, and slipped it over your head, the oversized garment covering enough of you to feel decent as you picked up the phone and retreated to the bathroom, closing the door behind you, as if the walls were thick enough to keep even your low muttering from being overheard.

Just play dumb, you reminded yourself before accepting the call. You went home last, but not too late. Only a little bit after the hairdresser who finished up before you. You didn’t see your boss. Just went home.

“H-hello—?”

“Oh my god!” your co-worker boomed from the other side of the call, making you wince and pull the phone back from your ear for a moment. “Are you ok?! Did you hear?! I can’t believe this—!”

Yep. They’d definitely found the body. But, luckily for you, it didn’t sound like you were a suspect yet.

You tried to swallow down any evidence of your so-called “crime”, attempting to sound surprised and confused, but not so much so as to expose that it was all an act.

“Someone stabbed him and left him in the alley behind the shop!” your co-worked continued in disbelief after you asked what happened. “Thank god you got home before running into whoever it was. I can’t imagine!”

There would be a more thorough investigation soon enough, you knew. The police would search the shop and find traces of his blood and probably the straight razor with your fingerprints on it. You could just argue that you’d had a customer earlier that day who’d booked a shave, or better yet, someone else at the salon would use it and mark it with their touch too.

But you would become a suspect. It wasn’t a matter of if, only of when.

“Are you on the schedule for today?” she then asked, and you could hear the flipping of pages in the background, your co-worker already working on answering her own question.

You knew you were, but there was no way in hell you were planning on going in. Cops were probably crawling all over the alley. If they stopped you for questioning, you weren’t sure how well you could hide the dread that was sure to show on your face and shake in your voice.

“I’m not feeling well today,” you lied. “Can you do me a huge favor? Take me off the schedule, cancel my appointments. I didn’t have many…”

Your co-worker said she would. She was a good friend, if you’d considered her as such before. She was always willing to check in on you, help you out when you needed it, but you knew she definitely wouldn’t be willing to sink with you on the whole killing your horrible, misogynistic, rapist of a boss situation, even if she hated him too.

“I wonder if this means our next paychecks will be late…” she sighed after agreeing to help you, wishing for you to feel better.

You both told each other to stay safe, keep in touch, and as soon as you hung up you let out a quivering exhale, a weight of getting through that conversation free of suspicion lifting from your shoulders momentarily.

You’d almost forgotten about Tomura until you exited the bathroom and saw him sitting on the edge of your bed, half dressed— aside from his shirt that you were wearing, of course— and beginning to lace up one of his beat up red converse.

“Hey…” You blinked at him as you stopped in the doorway of the tiny bathroom. “Feel like breakfast?”

***

“That’s why I was covered in blood last night…” You recounted drearily as you picked at a stack of pancakes, twirling your fork and watching the spongy food tear apart easily. Then one of your thoughts from the previous night returned to you.

Like a hot knife through butter.

You were losing your appetite.

“Well, sounds like the fucker deserved it,” Tomura commented with a lazy shrug, taking a bite of his own stack of pancakes, his loaded with blueberries and chocolate chips. For a guy who’d tried to kill himself so often, he sure seemed to enjoy the simple things in life.

You glared down at your plate, silverware clenched in your fists. “Yeah, well, it won’t matter what he deserved once the cops find out…”

“Hey…” Tomura’s hand cautiously found yours, fingertips barely brushing against you and causing your gaze to snap back to him. “They won’t find out.” But you assured him that they would, sooner or later, if you stayed here. “Then let’s leave. Run away from here.”

Let’s leave?

Run away?

As in together?

You didn’t think strangers who were this easily willing to skip town with someone they’d just met existed outside of fables and fairy tales. And you were still working on figuring out if last night was fact or fiction.

“I don’t know…” You sighed. “I just—” But as you looked back to the front windows of the diner, you caught a face you recognized slinking by, the tall, lanky, tattooed figure pulling the door open and entering the establishment.

Dabi stopped as he looked up and saw you and Tomura sitting in the furthest corner, huddled close together in the otherwise empty restaurant.

He pulled the hood of the sweatshirt he wore under his black denim jacket down to expose his spiky black hair. “No shit,” he scoffed, heading straight towards you then, sitting in one of the empty chairs and laying both elbows on the table comfortably like he’d been invited and was simply running late.

“What are you two doing here?” he questioned in a bored drone, then glanced at your torn up, soggy pancakes with that cerulean half-lidded stare and asked, “You gonna eat that?” You slid your plate towards him without a word and he began to dig in, ravenous, silverware trembling slightly in his hands.

Neither you nor Tomura really knew what to say. After everything that had happened last night between the three of you, what more was there to say?

“Why the fuck did you put so much syrup on this?” Dabi complained through his next bite, though he didn’t seem to mind too much with the rate he was shoveling the food into his mouth. His bright, azure gaze hopped back and forth between you and Tomura, waiting for one of you to answer his first question.

“What?” Dabi then snapped, a scowl forming on his brow.

“Nothing,” Tomura answered then, trying to act natural as he took another bite of his own breakfast.

“What are you doing here?” you inquired next, a bad mood beginning to creep over you.

“Uh-uh,” Dabi shook his head as he pointed his fork— your fork— towards you accusingly. “I asked you first. And what are you still doing with him?” He shot a quick glare at Tomura, seeming to harbor some ill will towards the man who’d thrown himself in front of a speeding car.

Or perhaps it was more the jealousy that the scrawny, silver-haired, scarlet-eyed stranger had gotten to go home with you and, even more, that he’d made a good enough impression to be invited out for breakfast the next morning.

“Well we were having breakfast before you showed up,” you replied with disdain, crossing your arms and leaning back in your chair.

“Oh, were you now?” Dabi said with another sarcastic chuckle and a roll of his eyes. “Tell me, do you always prefer to dissect your food into a million pieces before you consume it, or is that just for special occasions?”

“What’s your problem, man?” Tomura then jumped in with a sneer, causing both you and Dabi to look at him with varying degrees of surprise. Dabi almost looked intrigued, like there was a challenge he knew he could win somewhere in Tomura’s question. And you, well…

You just weren’t used to people sticking up for you.

“Was I talking to you?” Dabi shot back through a low growl, his hand tightening into a white knuckled fist around the fork to try and hide his growing withdrawal symptoms, feeling his body temperature rise even higher, and not just from rage.

“Stop it!” you scolded, not wanting a scene to unfold. Now it was your turn to be on the receiving end of Dabi’s glare. “Just stop. What do you want anyway? If I’m remembering correctly, you told us to get out and then sped off. If you want money I’m not giving it to you.”

“Cute,” Dabi flashed his teeth at you in a mocking smile, shoving the plate, now nearly devoid of all its previous contents, into the center of the table. “But I don’t want your money.” He pushed his chair back and stood aggressively, shoving his hands into his hoodie pockets. “But it’s your loss,” he baited with calculated indifference. “I was actually about to invite you both to make some with me.”

Dabi began to stalk off then, but just before he could exit the diner, he spotted some faces that he recognized through the building’s front windows.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit…” he swore under his breath, whipping back around and pulling his hood up, returning to his seat at your table hastily, back facing the window. You and Tomura both just continued to watch him with an uncomfortable perplexity. “Tell me when they’re gone,” Dabi ordered in a hushed voice, but neither you nor Tomura knew what he was talking about.

That was, until two cops entered the diner, eyes scanning the empty room, sticking on the trio of you three for a moment and causing a dagger of panic to spike in your chest, before they moved on to take a seat at the main counter, calling to the waitress who was just coming out from the back and ordering two coffees.

“Of fucking course…” Dabi sighed, raising his eyebrows in lazy defeat as if to say, “this might as well happen to me today.”

“What did you do now?” you accused with a scowl, eyes darting from the cops back to the tattooed stranger. Though, again, after last night, it was sort of odd to think of him in those terms.

“Shut up!” Dabi ordered with a hiss, lowering his head a little more and trying to angle his face away from the cops. “Just shut up.”

“Whatever,” you murmured with irritation, now taking your fork back up and going to pick at what little remained of Tomura’s pancakes, your annoyance making some of your appetite return to you.

But the cops didn’t stay long. Just ordered their coffees, drank them while talking about bullshit, paid, and left. You and Dabi both let out a breath of relief once you found yourself alone in the diner again. Tomura had just watched the whole thing unfold with wide eyes and wavering interest.

“What did you do?” you pressed harder once it was just the three of again.

“Look, I’m in some trouble with the cops and some of the local gangs, alright!” Dabi shot back with simmering fury, though still kept his voice hushed to a hissed whisper. “And I need money fast or else, the next time they see me, I’m dead!”

“The next time who sees you?” Tomura asked, not sounding the least bit worried as he sipped at the orange juice you’d ordered and barely touched.

“Either of ‘em, dumbass,” Dabi retorted with a roll of his eyes, causing you to kick him in the shin from under the table which earned you the most feral look he’d flashed either of you yet. His hand was curling into a fist again and, for a moment, you really thought he was going to swing at you, but he just heaved out another exasperated sigh and said, “Y’know what, forget it,” before standing from the table, the metal legs of the chair scraping harshly against the splotchy floors. He grumbled to himself as he shoved his hands back in his pockets and prepared to turn and leave, “Should’a never stopped for you anyway…”

“Why don’t you just sell that stupid car?” you called to him when he was halfway to the door. He stopped and glanced at you over his shoulder, staring at you as if he was giving you a chance to continue. “If you need money that bad,” you clarified, nervously taking Tomura’s hand under the table. “Just sell your car.”

Dabi marched right back up to you, perching himself to lean forward with both hands lying flat on the tabletop. “You think I haven’t thought of that already?”

“Well?” you raised, squeezing Tomura’s hand a little harder and making him give you a slightly anxious side glance. “Why don’t you then?”

You and Dabi just stared at each other, searching each other’s eyes with matching scowls as if hoping to fish out some kind of weakness, see who would break first.

Finally, Dabi slumped back down in his seat again and sighed, tapping his foot relentlessly on the floor. “Because…” he admitted, partially with defeat. “I stole it. And my normal guy skipped town so now I’m shit outta luck with finding someone I can sell it to without alerting the cops.”

You were just about to say something like, “Well that sounds like a you problem then,” when all of a sudden Tomura cut in with, “I know someone who will buy it.”

Both you and Dabi gave him incredulous looks.

“It’s kinda far away…” he elaborated, leaning in a little closer to the huddle, “But I’ve done deals with the guy before and…” his words drifted off as if he was forgetting his sentence at the same time he was speaking it.

“And?” Dabi snapped.

“And he’s good with that kind of stuff,” Tomura continued. “Like, buying and selling illegal shit.”

You blinked twice, your hand still clutched in Tomura’s, who was holding onto you now more than you were to him.

Just who was this guy?

“If you’re bullshitting me,” Dabi warned, pointing a long, bony finger at Tomura, who’s crimson gaze widened even more, “then you’re gonna be the one who’s dead at the end of all this? Got it?”

Dabi should’ve known better. Should’ve known that, at least before coming home with you last night, Tomura would’ve wanted nothing more than for the tattooed criminal to follow through with that threat.

But Tomura was telling the truth.

Sure, he’d never bought or sold a stolen car to his contact, but he had obtained all kinds of drugs in the past, experimenting with what would bring him the closest to death without actually killing him before he’d made his mind up about actually wanting to die.

So Dabi agreed, all three of you leaving the diner— without paying, mind you— and piling back into the white and silver Mercedes-Maybach S Class, Dabi speeding outside of town towards the direction Tomura pointed him in, windows rolled down and music blasting all the way on account of him not wanting to have to hear either of you talk.

***

“Over there,” Tomura pointed out once a graffitied billboard of a crying woman warning against the dangers of drug addiction came into view. “Turn left at the next intersection.”

Dabi grumbled something under his breath before veering left and causing both you and Tomura to lean in the same direction with the sudden force. He then drove down a long, abandoned stretch of empty road for what felt like a long time. His agitation was growing, fingers tapping relentlessly on the wheel until finally he demanded, “Where the hell is this place?”

“Right up ahead,” Tomura kept promising. Your hand had inched closer to his in the backseat every time Dabi voiced one of his annoyances, feeling safer than before when you’d been in the passenger seat beside Dabi but still nervous since you were never sure what was gonna set the guy off. Finally, your hand found Tomura’s, his fingers intertwining with yours as he came to seek safety in your touch just the same. You gave his hand a little squeeze, the gesture becoming your unspoken sign for rising anxiety. To try and ease the tension that was building in the car, as he lightly stroked his thumb over the top of your hand, Tomura added, “Next turn that comes up. You can’t miss it.”

The next turn wasn’t for twenty more minutes, so you rested your head against Tomura’s shoulder in the meantime, his rigidness melting away after a little while, even allowing himself to rest his head against yours, his fluffy silvery hair tickling your cheek.

But finally, once the turn came up, you were able to calm down a little bit. Mostly because Dabi started to calm down a little bit. Though, as he pulled up to the place, it looked more like an old gas station than a place where someone would trade a stolen car.

“This really the place?” Dabi asked, glancing at you nuzzling up to Tomura in the backseat with…

What?

Jealousy?

He forced himself to glare back out the windshield as his grip on the wheel tightened.

“Yeah, pull in here. There’s a warehouse in the back,” Tomura instructed, lifting his head from yours and becoming more alert. “I’ll go and see if he’s here.”

“Right… you’ll see if he’s here…” Dabi rolled his eyes, veering off to the side and putting the car in park. “For how far we just fuckin’ drove, he better be here.”

“I’m coming with you,” you announced as you exited the car after Tomura, not wanting to be left alone with Dabi any longer than you had to. Tomura tried to tell you that it would be better if he went alone, that his contact could be a little skittish when it came to meeting unfamiliar faces, but you promised you’d be good. That you’d stay quiet and close to his side. You took his hand in yours again and then he agreed, informing you that it would be best if you didn’t touch anything, no matter how tempting.

“I mean, what does this guy deal?” you asked with a playful raise of your eyebrows and lilt in your tone. “Like, rare gems or something?”

Tomura hesitated, his eyes widening a fraction as he stared down at you. Then he looked away, giving a lazy half shrug and lightly scratching at his neck as he replied, “Sometimes. Depends…”

Before you could even think of a response, you were being pulled along by Tomura, who stepped up to the entrance of the warehouse and knocked on the metal door. “Hey! It’s me!” he called, waiting a moment before going to knock again, shouting louder that time, “Spinner! It’s Tomura! Got somethin’ for ya! Open up!”

Seconds later, a shady looking man answered the door with a disgruntled, “Jesus, Shigaraki, keep it down! You’ll upset the new arrivals… Already bad enough that all the semi-trucks come down these roads all the time.” The man, who you assumed was Spinner, looked you up and down and then back to Tomura with a slightly skeptical, “Uh… This isn’t what you brought me… is it?”

Tomura pulled you closer to him protectively before replying, “The car,” pointing a thumb behind him at where Dabi still sat behind the wheel.

Spinner glanced at you— well, the two of you, really— a little surprised to see Tomura so protective over anything, let alone a person, and one that he was touching so easily at that. Then he stared out at the Mercedes and nodded once, saying, “Tell ‘im to drive it ‘round back. I’ll open the garage and he can park it there. In the meantime…” He hesitated, then sighed to himself, the faintest smile detectable as he told his old friend, “I guess you guys can come in.”

“Thanks…” Tomura nodded, guiding you further into the warehouse which was…

Well…

The place was like a rat maze, each turn beholding another narrow hallway with an exhibit of luxury furs or designer handbags or power tools, all kinds of multi-colored pills stored in old gumball machines or clear plastic storage containers. There was one wall covered in vintage gameboys, playstations, old arcade units, some electronics that you couldn’t even place. But the part of the warehouse that you found the most strange yet intriguing was the room that Spinner led you to.

It was lit mostly in red on account of the many heat lamps placed in each of the several glass tanks which contained different exotic reptiles— snakes and geckos, poisonous frogs and iguanas. You were even pretty sure one of the animals was a baby crocodile.

“Still selling exotic animals, huh?” Tomura teased with an odd kind of fondness as he scanned the room, noting to himself the newest additions to Spinner’s collection from the last time he’d paid him a visit. “What? Tigers and Lions take up too much space?”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Spinner shot back, as if offended. “I wouldn’t trade these no matter what the price. They were all lab animals. Test subjects for this and that. But recently another friend of mine caught wind that they were gonna be confiscated by some kind of animal control, so I took ‘em instead.” Spinner reached in and grabbed up one of the lizards, which rested calmly along his wrist as he gently stroked the top of its head. “Poor little guys have been through a lot…”

“Right, so, the car?” Tomura redirected. “Will you buy it?”

The dealer’s affection for his reptiles faded back into an attitude of business as he placed his hand back into the tank, allowing the lizard to crawl down and scurry back into its little cave as he said, “Gotta check a few things and then I’ll let you know. Your friend should be around back by now. Guess I should go meet ‘im.”

“He’s not my friend,” Tomura finally admitted, pulling you a little closer to his side as you continued to gaze around the reptile room in awe.

“Who is ‘e then? Someone we can trust at least, right?”

Tomura bit his tongue to try and suppress a nervous smirk, one of his hands clenching into a fist as it threatened to dig into his skin as he lied, “Somethin’ like that…”

“It’s complicated,” you chimed in, both Tomura and Spinner’s gazes snapping towards you. Neither of them said anything so you went on a little more nervously with, “W-well… The three of us sort of just… ran into each other the other night and—”

“Ah, c’mon, Shigaraki…” Spinner sighed with irritation. “How many times have I told you to only bring people you know here. Need I remind you what happened that one time with that guy who ended up being an undercover cop?”

“Trust me, this guy’s definitely not a cop,” Tomura assured his friend, removing his touch from you and migrating closer to Spinner, pleading his case. “If anything, he’s a first rate asshole, but other than that…” Tomura shrugged. “Guy has his own reasons for needing the cash.”

“So you’re splitting it?” Spinner asked, seeming to warn Tomura with the raise of his eyebrows that that was a bad idea. Tomura gave a hand gesture that said something along the lines of sort of, not really, who knows and a wincing expression. “Does he know that?”

The two of them began to leave the room, and you were staring at Tomura as if he’d look back and tell you to sit tight until he returned, that everything was ok, but he just kept on walking, chatting away with his friend while you sought refuge on the tiny sofa in the center of the room and basked in the red glow and many slithering silhouettes of the snakes in the tanks.

It felt like a long time until you finally heard footsteps approaching down the way that Tomura and Spinner had gone off in. Though, instead of silvery tufts and crimson eyes rounding the corner, you were met with inky black and smoldering sapphire.

Dabi was smoking a cigarette. Must’ve just lit it with how he was fidgeting with the silver lighter, a soft metallic clang tapping out irregularly. “Well, it’s just one fuckin’ surprise after another in this place, ain’t it?” he remarked with a sarcastic scoff, plopping down on the couch next to you, stretching his arms out over the back and looking around at all the scaled creatures with carefully concealed awe. He blew out a cloud of thick smoke, the smell making your nose wrinkle as you scooted away a few inches. You wanted to tell him he probably shouldn’t smoke in here on account of all the animals but, who were you kidding, it’s not like he would’ve cared.

“Where’s Tomura?” you asked, a slight twinge of worry laced into your voice.

“Your Romeo’s out with that other guy inspecting the car,” he replied dismissively through a yawn. “They better hurry it up. I want my money…”

“I think you mean our money.” You’d meant it to come out sounding much stronger than it really had— more of a declaration than a timid reminder— and your confidence dwindled even more when Dabi shot you a narrowing glare.

“What are you talking about? I’m the one who stole it. Hell, I drove you two around in it all night. You guys owe me.” He scoffed to himself again, wearing a cold smirk and slightly adjusting his position on the couch. Under his breath he muttered, “Our money… Please.”

Perhaps it was the fact that you’d killed someone or just that you were getting really fed up with this guy, but something had suddenly possessed you to argue back, “Yeah, and without Tomura you never would’ve had somewhere to sell the car. Remember that?”

Dabi shifted his position to face you better now, rage lighting up being his eyes while his tone remained low and even, a volcano always on the verge of erupting. “And tell me, how do you come into all this? ‘Cause as far as I’m concerned, you’re just some bitch I found covered in blood wandering the streets in the middle of the night. What’d you do? Slash some guy who got a little too rough with you? Or, wait, maybe your story is that he tried to attack you first and somehow you got the upper hand.”

You felt an unpleasant burning in the back of your nose. The tightening of your throat. Tears prickling at the edges of your vision. But you weren’t about to cry because you were offended. You were about to cry because you were furious.

Because this guy didn’t know a goddamn thing.

And, even if he did— even if you told him the truth— he still wouldn’t care.

As long as he got his drugs at the end of all of this, why should he?

“You don’t know anything,” you growled, rage cutting through your trembling fear that yes, you were a indeed a murderer. And one soon to be at large once the cops did a little more investigating.

Dabi leaned in, pupils mere pinpricks as all that bright cerulean threatened to swallow you whole. “Then just fuckin’ tell me already.”

But you were leaning in too, you now realized, your shared trait of living hard, unfortunate lives pulling you together like two mistreated magnets, however resistant you tried to be.

And as Dabi stared you down that time, you realized that something had changed— or rather, was changing— behind that piercing cobalt stare of his. It made you reconsider that maybe, if you just filled in the gaps, he would understand. He would care.

Or maybe he’d just turn you over to the authorities for ransom and call it a day.

“My boss…” you swallowed, mouth coated in thick, sticky spit. “He tried to— He almost…” You let out a frustrated sigh, a shiver skittering through your bones as you replayed the events of less than twenty-four hours ago in your head. If you focused hard enough, you could still smell that pungent metallic tang of all the blood, feel his thick fingers digging into the flesh of your thighs. “I didn’t have a choice. If I didn’t kill him, he would’ve killed me, sooner or later.”

Dabi was slowly nodding his head. And, for a moment, you thought maybe he did understand. But when he opened his mouth and asked, “So, you are a whore or…?” you rolled your eyes and let out a frustrated groan.

“I’m a hairdresser!” You snapped, wiping more tears away as you sniffled, scowl deepening. “Or at least…” your gaze became far off, staring into the tank of a komodo dragon in a daze as you concluded, “I used to be.”

And then Dabi actually laughed.

He was trying to stifle a series of cruel, amused chuckles as you shot him a look of fiery resentment, about to say something horrible to him before he piped up with a teasing, “And to think, you had the worst crime out of all of us the entire time!”

“It’s not funny!” you scolded, both your raised voice and Dabi’s incessant cackling stirring the reptiles. “I was just defending myself! But now I’m probably going to jail! How do you think that feels, huh? How do you think it feels to not have anywhere to go or anyone to rely on right now?”

Dabi’s laughter suddenly ceased, as fast as a flame blown out by a quick, strong breath. His face became blanker than you’d ever seen it, completely serious as he replied, “Probably pretty fuckin’ shitty. But y’know what. That’s life, ain’t it? No one’s ever really there to save you.” He leaned in closer, looming over you, his shadow casting across your form and making you disappear into the darkness that filled the red room. “All you ever really have is yourself,” he went on, his simmering anger boiling hotter and hotter with each new sentence. “And that’s what happens to the weak ones. They can’t protect themselves when worse comes to worst. Because there’s never gonna be any grand hero to swoop in to your rescue. And the sooner we all realize that, the better. So quit your fuckin’ crying—” He was pointing a finger at you now, tears having started streaming down your face again without you even realizing it. “Grow the fuck up, and figure out what you’re gonna do about it. ‘Cause you’re all you got. Understand?”

Your entire body was shaking and, staring up at him in the eerie red light, a dangerous glint shining in his eyes, Dabi really looked like a monster. But you’d slayed one of those before. If you had a straight razor, you could do it again. Though, you didn’t really want to be a killer. Or rather, you didn’t want to get used to killing. Because you still believed that you were a good person, that you maybe even deserved good things.

You’d crossed a line, sure. One that, in the eyes of society, would spell irreversible damage.

But wasn’t that always the way these kinds of things played out? By showing you one atrocity only to prepare you for another, much more traumatizing one? Constantly reminding you, it could all be much worse?

“But don’t worry…” Dabi side eyed you as he said, “I won’t rat you out. People like you and me, we gotta do what we need to in order to survive.” He leaned forward to place his silver lighter on the coffee table, taking another long drag to calm his nerves.

“Thanks…” but there is no you and me, you wanted to say. Instead, you just scooted a few inches away from him, hoping Tomura would come back soon.

Until he and Spinner returned, however, you and Dabi opted for awkward silence. You were just trying not to think about the blood on your hands, even if the bastard had deserved it. Dabi though…

Dabi’s mind was in a much different place.

Because as he’d peered down at you in the redlight, the dim patch of fluorescent illumination directly above the couch that the room allowed shimmering in your big, terrified eyes…

He’d realized that what he’d felt spike in his chest when he’d glanced at you and Tomura cuddling in the backseat was indeed jealousy, the emotion slowly seething into his skin only to inevitably radiate from him if he didn’t find a way to cure it soon.

And the other night when he’d kicked you and Tomura out of the car and sped off. That had been a mistake, hadn’t it? What he should’ve done was dumped that silver-haired suicidal off on the curb and insisted on driving you home. Maybe then it could’ve been him sharing pancakes with you at the diner instead. Maybe then it would’ve just been the two of you splitting the money and not this useless third party who was going to spend it on who knows what useless shit.

Dabi clenched his jaw, trying to keep himself from sneaking another glance at you but, just like when it came to his addiction, he didn’t have much self control.

Whatever, he tried to convince himself. Once this deal is done, we’ll all go our separate ways and never have to see each other again.

Only, what if that wasn’t true. What if that was only true for him, and you and Tomura went back to your apartment or some motel or, fuck it, you’d have money, you could get a room somewhere nice, and fucked again.

Just the thought of that grungy loser’s hands all over you was making Dabi start to lose his cool. And you’d let Tomura kiss you too? Let him run his tongue all over the inside of your mouth and down your neck and inside your tight little pussy? Disgusting.

Bet I could make you feel better than he did, Dabi thought to himself as his leg began to bounce anxiously. Bet I could fuck you so good you’d forget you’d ever met him.

But then, before Dabi could start to really spin out of control from the jealousy and withdrawal, Spinner and Tomura reenerted the reptile room, both you and Dabi looking over and awaiting that fateful number.

“So, I took a look and…” Spinner began, pretending to hold you and Dabi in suspense while the smirk on Tomura’s face said he already knew the price you’d be splitting three ways. “It’s in pretty good condition. Whoever you stole it from must’ve just bought it and, based on the paper plates, it had to have been within the last thirty days. I’ll give you twenty thousand. Three ways that’s—”

“Over six thousand each…” you breathed out in sheer disbelief. That was more cash than you’d ever had in your bank account, let alone all at once.

You couldn’t fathom it. The thought of what you could do with that much money. The thought of getting out of that shitty apartment and moving to a better part of the city, one where you could get hired at a salon that was much more high end than the back alley one you’d been previously employed at…

If you hadn’t killed someone, that is.

If you weren’t soon to be a wanted criminal.

“That’s right,” Spinner confirmed, taking out a thick envelope and handing it off to Tomura who looked pretty proud of himself.

Dabi, however, was not as pleased…

“Twenty thousand?” he asked, standing and tossing his half finished cigarette down onto the concrete floor of the warehouse, stomping it out with his first stride towards the dealer. “Nah. No way. Things worth at least one hundred thousand new. Maybe even more than that.”

“Sorry,” Spinner shrugged. “That’s as high as I can go.”

Dabi’s hands clenched into fists by his sides and you were sure he was finally going to throw that punch he’d been holding back all this time. So you intervened again, saying, “That’s more than enough to get your drugs.” Dabi looked over his shoulder lightning fast, that vengeful and violent shine back in his eyes and honed in right on you. Meanwhile, Tomura was ready to jump between you two if Dabi really did lose his temper.

“Cute,” Dabi spit, whirling back towards Tomura and his friend before eying the envelope containing the cash. He could just steal it. Yeah. Once the three of you were out of here, Dabi could take it and run. “And you,” he nodded aggressively at Tomura. “What the hell do you need it for, huh?”

Tomura’s eyes widened a bit, his jaw clenched as he gripped the envelope tighter, Dabi taking a step towards him. He then opened his mouth to throw a hostile reply right back, but no words came.

In truth, he didn’t know.

Before meeting you, Tomura probably would’ve blown it all on one hell of a self-destructive night before finally pulling the trigger and ending it all. But now…

Well, he’d have to figure that out once he discovered what you were planning to do.

“What?” Dabi smirked, cruelty seeping back into his voice. “You gonna pay someone off to perform a hit on you or somethin’?”

Tomura warned with a growl, “Don’t test me…” his eyes going wide, though this time in a much more feral, dangerous way than before. Then, ever so slowly, he placed the cash in his back pocket. He could take it and run too, if he wanted. He just had to get past Dabi to grab you first.

“Guys…?” you spoke, sensing the growing tension and hoping to calm things before they really spiraled out of control. “C’mon. We got the money. Now let’s just go…”

Dabi ignored you, clearly occupied on setting Tomura off before calling it quits with the little ragtag trio the team of you had formed. And part of him, whether he realized it or not, wanted you to see that, just because Tomura had remained relatively calm during all the recent chaos, that didn’t mean that he wasn’t capable of flying off the hinges too.

Because what was that saying again?

Always watch out for the quiet ones?

“Y’know, I’m not really convinced that someone like you even deserves that kind of money,” Dabi went on. Spinner was getting fed up with this quarrel too, though his concern was more for the fact that all this bad energy swirling in the room was bound to upset his replies than if one of the boys left here with a black eye. “So why don’t you just do the right thing and give it to me and the girl so we can get on with our lives while you keep trying to end yours.”

“Just stop it!” you’d tried to shout out, but it was too late.

Tomura moved fast.

Too fast.

Just a blur of black and silver and crimson, a snarl echoing off the concrete and eyes flashing with ill intent as he lunged at Dabi, the force sending both of them falling to the ground.

It was clear to everyone in the room that Tomura had never been in a real fight before, the way he wildly and clumsily threw punches that Dabi blocked with mocking ease. It wasn’t long until Dabi gained the upper hand and flipped the scrawny, scraggly boy on his back, jumping on top of him and showing him what a real punch looked and felt like.

Spinner was shouting. You were crying, screaming at the two of them to “Please stop! Knock it off already!” and Tomura and Dabi were rolling and clawing and cursing at each other while fighting for possession of that damn envelope.

The three of you were once again plunged into connected chaos, though this time none of you seemed to know how to rescue each other.

Eventually, the envelope slid from both their gasps and landed right in front of you. In a moment of panic and impulse, you grabbed it up and then snatched the lighter Dabi had left on the coffee table, flicking it open and producing a flame, holding it dangerously close to the cash and bellowing out, “BOTH OF YOU STOP OR I— I’M BURNING IT!”

All of the oxygen in the room felt like it had been sucked out at once.

Even Spinner was holding his breath, as if he had something to lose.

“Are you fucking crazy?!” Dabi shouted, voice cracking with a shriek upturning at the end.

“Get off him or I swear I’ll do it!” And you weren’t bluffing, the flame kissing the edge of the envelope and beginning to toast the crinkled paper, causing Dabi to obey instantly, holding his hands up in surrender and stepping off Tomura, who was coughing from when Dabi had closed his hands around his throat.

And Dabi only hated Tomura more now.

He’d hated him from the very first moment his stolen car had nearly run the suicidal maniac over in the street. He’d hated him when he’d dropped you two off near your apartment and sped off with the music blaring, just knowing that the two of you were going to fuck. He’d hated him when he’d seen you sharing pancakes at the diner just earlier that morning. And he’d hated him when he’d seen him rest his head on top of yours in the rear view mirror like two lovesick puppies leeching warmth off each other.

He hated that you were willing to throw away life changing amounts of cash just to save Tomura from a black eye and some broken ribs. Hated that you cared more about the silver-haired freak than the bigger picture here— the picture that he was soon to be painted out of.

Because time after time, Dabi had lost in life. He’d lost, most times, because he fell in with bad company or couldn’t run fast enough when a job went south. He’d lost because he’d become a slave to his addiction and couldn’t give two shits about correcting it. And he’d had the perfect opportunity to be the one you’d invited back to your apartment, the one you’d shared shitty diner food with, and the one you’d curl up in the car with, but he’d blown it because he just couldn’t let himself have anything good without thinking there was going to be a catch.

“Just give me the lighter…” Dabi spoke softly to you now, as if talking you off a ledge, one hand extending for you to toss the zippo into, or, in another world, take hold of.

You hesitated, slowly but surely lowering the flame, dropping the lighter to the floor as you drew in frantic, uneven breaths. With one hand clutching his ribs, which were likely bruised after that altercation, Tomura pushed himself to his feet and came over to stand before you, saying something to you quiet enough that Dabi couldn’t hear. But you handed Tomura back the envelope and that’s all that really mattered in the end, right?

“Let’s just get out of here,” Tomura spoke louder now, turning to address Dabi as well. “It’s a long walk back into the city.”

And with that, the three of you left the odd maze of Spinner’s contraband castle and headed back down the long stretch of abandoned highway that you’d come, the sun already beginning to sink towards the horizon before you were halfway home.

***

All three of you were exhausted, mentally and physically, and exchanged minimal conversation throughout your trek back towards civilization before Dabi just couldn’t take it anymore.

“Does he know?” he asked, nodding his head from you to Tomura.

“Know what?” you asked, though you already had a pretty good idea about what he was alluding to.

“Oh, so he doesn’t know…”

“He does know,” you sighed, exasperated. Meanwhile, Tomura just made sure the envelope of cash was kept out of Dabi’s reach.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Dabi then asked Tomura directly, nudging him a little and causing him to flinch away.

“Cut it out, man,” Tomura rasped, a slight grimace flashing across his features before fatigue reclaimed them.

“Whatever…” Dabi rolled his eyes, a certain mischievous lilt to his tone, edging Tomura on and grasping at straws to find any reason to cause a rift between you two. “I just know that if I was gonna fuck some random girl, I’d wanna know whether I was stickin’ my dick in a murderer or n—”

Again, Tomura moved unexpectedly fast, a cloud of dust kicked up from under his beat up red converse as he whirled on Dabi, grabbing him by the collar of his shirt, spit flecked through gritted teeth as he puffed out a vicious breath.

Dabi raised his hands as if surrendering, yet still had the gall to say, “Hey, I’m just lookin’ out for ya. Your funeral, buddy. Though, maybe you’d like that.”

“Tomura, he’s not worth it…” you nearly whispered, too tired to burst out in fury like you had before. You placed a hand on Tomura’s back and pulled him from his blinding rage, slowly retracting to melt back into your gentle, understanding touch. “Please… Let’s just go home.”

You and Tomura each had an arm wrapped around one other, walking with slightly staggering steps as you guided him away and further down the road.

“Yeah…” Dabi scoffed to himself, clenching his fists at the sight of you two huddled together again. “Let’s go home.”

***

It took another two hours until the skyline of the city that had damned all three of you came into sight, another sixty painful minutes ticking by before you actually set foot back in the territory. And you should’ve known by now, especially in Dabi’s company, that you were never really home free.

Because the moment you thought you could breathe easy and part ways, enjoy the remainder of the stroll back to your apartment with Tomura to count your cash and make a plan, Dabi ran into an old friend.

Or rather, an old friend ran into Dabi.

“Pretty fuckin’ brave of you to show your face around here again!” a rough voice called from behind, causing all three of you to turn in unison, six eyes gone wide and bearing different breeds of fear.

“Shit,” Dabi hissed under his breath, pushing you two along and tacking on an urgent, “We gotta go. Now.”

“Not so fast, hot shot,” another big, burly, tattoo-covered man chuckled as he stepped out of the nearest alley, blocking your path with a crowbar in hand. “It’s time to pay up, Dabi.”

You and Tomura braced yourselves, scanning the group of men that were circling around you for any gaps big enough to slip through and make an escape. But the pack only tightened, more and more criminals emerging from the shadows armed with flashes of sharp silver or rusted iron.

“Hey, boys…” Dabi replied, trying to hide the quiver in his tone with an uncharacteristically friendly lilt. “Been a while, huh?” He was backing up towards you and Tomura, possibly trying to make a run for it himself, but there was no escape now. Not for any of you. Especially not for you, what with the hungry way the pack of men stared you down, nearly salivating at all their own disgusting thoughts.

“I sure hope you have our money,” the one who was presumably the leader of the gang went on, a smug grin plastered across his scarred face, tapping the weight of the crowbar in his palm with a steady beat. “‘Cause if ya don’t…” He swung the crowbar forward, causing all three of you to jolt as it pointed directly at Dabi. “Well, then we’re gonna have a biiiiiig problem, ain’t we?”

And he knew that Dabi didn’t have the money.

Or, at least, he normally wouldn’t have, if not for the cash he’d collected from selling the stolen car.

But still, even that wasn’t enough to pay off the entire debt and Dabi was too hell bent on securing more of his drugs before he’d even consider handing this man a single dollar.

And you and Tomura, well…

You still needed your cut.

None of you were too keen on going down without some kind of fight.

Not when you’d come this far through hell to finally catch a glimpse of the twisted heaven on the horizon.

“Yeah, well, about that…” Dabi chuckled nervously, scratching the back of his head and trying to stay calm. Meanwhile, you and Tomura noticed some of the rough and tumble facade melt away, leaving only a guy who had been way in over his head from the start.

And it happened so fast. The flash of metal. A silver streak appearing and disappearing before anyone could really see what it was. But left in its wake was a slash of red and a guttural howling, the scene growing smaller and smaller behind you until you realized that someone was dragging you along by your wrist, you nearly tripping over your own feet as you glanced over your shoulder with horror, blood turning to ice.

Maybe Dabi had shouted, “Run!”

Maybe he hadn’t.

But now all three of you were high tailing it down a series of narrow alleys, Tomura’s grip on you like a vice, desperate and unrelenting. At some point, you think you were telling him he was hurting you, trying to pull away when you felt the pressure growing over your bones, thorny pangs of pain peppered over your skin. But he didn’t hear you over the surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins. And even if he did, he didn’t care. He wasn’t going to let you go. Not until you were somewhere safe and warm with him and no one else.

“Fuck! Fuck!” Dabi shouted when he rounded the next corner and halted, you and Tomura nearly barreling into him as you skid to a stop and were faced with a dead end. “Uh… New plan!” He backed up, peering down the remaining stretch of straight path and seeing the silhouettes of even more enemies pop up to cage you in, a big dumpster wedged in the middle of the narrow alley slowing them down, but not for long.

Panicked, he started back down the dead end, spotting a fire escape ladder just out of reach, rushing over to jump up to try and grab hold and pull it down, but every attempt was met with no more than his fingers barely brushing against the first bar.

“What are we doing, guys?!” you shouted, your panic catching up with you as you stared down the alley and watched as your pursuers became dangerously closer by the second. Your heart was pounding, pulse beating so fast and hard that it hurt. Though, meanwhile, unbeknownst to you amongst the dread, Tomura had gone over to assist, Dabi lifting him to pull down the ladder.

You froze. Paralyzed with terror as a group of silhouettes were mere yards away. So close you could see the whites of their eyes. You’d meant to yell, to scream, anything to inform the boys that they were coming. But then that rough, scarred hand grabbed yours again and pulled you towards the ladder, practically pushing you up it even as you scrambled as fast as you could to climb.

Dabi was already at the top, extending a hand to you to pull you up to the landing.

And the only reason Tomura dared let go of you was because he thought that Dabi would just pull you up and then keep running on his own. So when the inky haired bastard locked his fist around your wrist and took off with you. Well…

Tomura saw red.

“Wait! Ow— Stop!” You tried to protest, fighting harder against his grip than you had on Tomura’s, digging your heels into the ground only to be yanked forward to nearly stumble over the next flight of stairs. You looked behind you for Tomura, not even having time to make sure he’d made it up the ladder before you’d been taken hostage again. You called his name, hoping— praying— that he’d call back. Let you know he was ok. That he’d made it—

But there was only silence.

“STOP!” you shrieked, reaching forward with your free hand to dig your nails into Dabi’s arm, clawing viciously at his inked skin until he had no choice but to let go, a few thin rivulets of blood welling up from the pale surface.

“Jesus— What the fuck is wrong with you?!” He scolded, sapphire eyes smoldering with white hot fury beneath a deep scowl.

“Tomura—!”

“Who fucking cares?!” Dabi shouted over your cries, which were quickly turning to sobs— fat, glistening tears welling in your eyes and streaking shimmering lines down your cheeks in pairs. Your chest was heaving with shallow breaths, suffocating yourself every time you tried to draw in more air, feeling like you were going to throw up. Like you were going to pass out. Like you were going to die.

“But he—!”

“Better him than us!” Dabi cut in with a snarl, approaching you with fists clenched. You winced when he came close enough that his shadow cast over you, shielding your face with your arms as if you expected a strike. “Now, unless you want those guys to rip you apart, then I suggest you stop your fucking crying and fucking run.”

His voice was icy hot. Searing into your heart like millions of barbed fish hooks, each one connected to a line that pulled in a different direction, intending to unravel you. To massacre you.

You felt your world sway and caught yourself on the railing of the staircase, peering down over the edge at the vast drop below.

And the thought did cross your mind. To jump. To end it all. But then from the landing below came, “Keep going!”

Both you and Dabi looked at each other with varying degrees of relief and confusion before you turned to see Tomura sprinting up the staircase, out of breath but still refusing to slow down. Immediately all your dread was replaced with a vibrant joy, a beaming, yet crooked smile lighting up your face and contrasting eerily with the tears that still spilled from your eyes.

“Tomura! You—”

“The ladder!” He huffed, coming to a stop and nearly doubling over once he joined you and Dabi on the next landing. An awful wheezing sound rattled in his chest with every inhale he took, bracing his hands on his knees for a moment before finding the will to stand and finishing his sentence with, “Tried to pull it up but it got stuck halfway… They’re probably… On their way…”

“Like I said—!” Dabi snapped, getting ready to run again. “We gotta go. Now.”

So the three of you took off— together this time— the top of the building but a landing away now, though you could hear the frantic clattering of heavy footsteps not far below.

“What happens once we get to the roof?” You called to Dabi, who was already on the final ladder.

“Just trust me!” he shouted back, extending a hand once again to pull you up, though you were careful not to hold on too tightly after what had just happened moments ago.

As Tomura climbed the ladder, he muttered to himself, “I don’t like those odds…”

But once you were on the roof, Dabi seemed to know the terrain better than he did on the ground. Because, up here, you could see the entire city laid out before you. All the narrow, intertwining streets appeared like an elaborate maze with the heart of the district shimmering like a mirage in the summer heat far, far in the distance.

“We’ll head towards the shopping district and lose ‘em there,” Dabi explained as you and Tomura followed behind him in a line, treading much more carefully than your surefooted, tattooed friend so as to avoid a deadly fall. “My place isn’t far. We’ll hide out there for a while till we can make sure the streets are clear.”

“Won’t they know where to find you?” you asked, nearly rolling your eyes as such an obvious flaw in his plan. “I mean, you can’t be telling me that these guys don’t know where you live.”

Dabi smirked to himself, eyes trained on where his next step would land upon the roof to avoid any loose shingles as he replied with an overconfident, “Well, that’s just one of the perks of this lifestyle, sweetheart. Anywhere can be your home when you don’t really have one of your own.”

You scoffed at his arrogance, not exactly finding it very funny to be making jokes at a time like this, but ultimately you let it go. It was a bridge you’d cross when you came to it, so long as you could get to the other end of the slanted path you were currently on.

But Dabi wasn’t joking.

He had a place. Several, in fact. A hideout in every corner of the outskirts. And every time one of them was discovered or raided, he’d just count his losses, retrieve what little he could, and forge a new hole to call home until the process inevitably repeated.

It was how he’d survived this long. How he’d evaded his enemies just long enough to extend his deadline or wrack up an even bigger debt.

Lucky for you, though, he was taking you back to his favorite hideout. It could almost pass for an actual place someone might be able to call home. Almost.

“Hey, I think we lost ‘em…” Tomura eventually remarked as you’d changed to your third rooftop, standing still and staring over the scenery behind you. Lo and behold, your pursuers were nowhere to be seen.

Dabi stopped to listen in, the whistling from a strong gust of wind the only sound to be heard up here other than the muffled traffic drifting over from a few streets down. “Yeah…” Dabi muttered, then clearing his throat to speak loud enough for you both to hear, “Yeah, I think we lost ‘em. C’mon. Let’s go.”

A few more unstable rooftops and several flights of rusted fire escape staircases later and the three of you were back on solid ground. And it was sort of strange, unexpectedly, being back among the maze of buildings and alleys after experiencing the view of the city from so high up. You felt so much smaller than you had before, gazing up through the gaps in the architecture at the sliver of sky which had just expanded all around you, painting over the muted greys and browns of your world with a serene shade of blue.

“Hey, c’mon…” Tomura urged quietly, taking your hand in his once more, though much more gently this time, and guiding you to follow after him, careful not to press into the bruises that were already beginning to blossom on your wrist from the abuse between him and Dabi forcing you along. ��We gotta go.”

But you just wanted to stay and stare up at the sky, unable to shake the feeling that perhaps that was the first time you’d ever truly seen it— a sprawling revelation expanding around you after you’d just been fearing for your life, the city never that quiet, never that still, the heat of summer not so stifling when there was so much fresh air swirling around you.

But your feet carried you after Tomura, drifting closer to where Dabi was checking to make sure the coast was clear from the opening in the alley that would merge back onto the main streets, waving you two forward in a wordless announcement that it was safe.

“Just a few more blocks,” Dabi sighed, careful cerulean gaze scanning the narrow horizon like prey expecting to find a predator lurking among the telephone poles and parked cars. But then he looked at you, noticed the tranquil daze that had overtaken your features, and asked with a skeptical squint, “You holdin’ up ok?”

It took a second for you to realize he was talking to you, snapping out of your daydream and becoming more alert as you looked up at him and replied with a shaky, “Y-yeah… I’m fine,” as you melted back into Tomura’s side.

And Dabi wished that Tomura wouldn’t have made it past the first ladder. That he’d been caught by those thugs and pulled down, beaten to death and left to suffer on the grimey concrete. Because then maybe he could be the one whose hand you were holding. Whose chest you were starting to lean against. He could take you the rest of the way to his little hole in the wall apartment and get you something to drink, sling an arm around you and pull you close until you stopped trembling and he’d convinced you that no one— not the cops or any backstreet criminals— was going to take you from him.

But the bastard who’d tried to kill himself by stepping in front of the car was the one who currently protected your heart, the one who was allowed to touch you and whisper how it isn’t much further, we’ll be there soon.

Dabi cursed himself for the man he’d been twenty-four hours ago. The man who was so hardened from this life that he’d fallen into that he was no longer able to recognize something that was good before he scorned it, scorched it, ruined it with harsh words and biting remarks.

Deep down, though…

Deep down he stoked the embers of hope in the hearth of his heart. Hope that maybe, if you could just get through this, he could convince you to be his.

“It’s right this way,” Dabi informed the two of you as you rounded the next corner, this street wider than most of the others you’d traveled down yet entirely abandoned. Only some littered newspaper scraps or empty cardboard boxes blown astray from overflowing dumpsters scuttling along the street when a breeze blew by.

“Where even are we?” you asked as you continued to survey the place, surprised not to find even a single parked car, taxi, moped, anything in sight.

“It’s better if you don’t know, actually,” Dabi mumbled, fishing a set of keys out of one of his pockets and flipping through them until he found the correct one.

It was only then, just as he swung open a heavy metal door and held it as if wanting you to enter first that it occurred to you. Such a chilling, stomach turning realization.

You stopped short halfway through your next step, giving Tomura’s hand a slight squeeze in warning like you had in the car on the way to Spinner’s.

What if this was a trap?

What if Dabi was planning on killing the two of you and claiming your shares of the cash for himself?

It wouldn’t be hard to do. Not once he shut that door behind you— one that might only open one way, for all you knew— and guided you further into an unfamiliar building. He’d been so quick with that switchblade before. Only, this time, instead of slashing an eye it would be you and Tomura’s throats.

“What’s the matter?” Tomura inquired with a concerned mutter, leaning down a little to keep the conversation private.

But then Dabi called over with an impatient, “Hurry it up! Can’t be out in the open for too long!”

You just shook your head, shuffling back a half step while your eyes remained stuck on Dabi holding open the door.

“C’mon, it’s ok. We’re fine now,” Tomura tried to urge you, gently tugging you along until you caved and your feet stumbled forward, heartbeat hammering as you squeezed Tomura’s hand even tighter. He could feel your entire body shaking, but he figured that was more from the trauma of the recent events than the possible fear of being murdered by the third member of your unlikely trio.

Once you were inside, the door shutting behind you with a high pitched creak whining from its rusted hinges, you were engulfed in complete darkness for longer than you were comfortable with, paranoia lacing through your veins with a jittery shiver until Dabi flicked on a light switch and the place was set ablaze with vivid blue— graffied flames painted along the floors and walls that glowed under the blacklight.

“It’s not much but…” Dabi shrugged. “They won’t find us here.”

And just like that, your mood flipped. You were in awe for the second time that day, unable to believe the sight before you was one that belonged to your usually bleak reality.

“Did you…” you breathed out with a sigh, a fresh wave of calm overtaking you as you and Tomura followed Dabi down the long hallway. “Did you do all this?”

Dabi hummed out a short chuckle. “Yeah, well, sometimes I find myself having to hide out for a little longer than usual, so…”

Beyond the tunnel of blue flames, behind the only door located in the expansive corridor, was a single floor, several makeshift walls and barriers constructed from cardboard boxes or mismatched, patchwork pieces of plastic creating little rooms among the warehouse-like expanse. The walls of this place were also decorated with the glowing blue flames, the inferno that ignited along the hall growing into a raging wildfire with some red accents for contrast.

Dabi flipped on the main lights and the art disappeared, plain concrete walls swallowing the fiery blaze and bathing the hideout in bright fluorescence, some of the lamps flickering every once in a while to remind you that this place was not a magical fantasyland, but a dilapidated, definitely not up to safety code concrete box that you could very well be calling home for the foreseeable future.

“You can take your shoes off,” Dabi began, already heading towards one of the little sectioned off rooms, “Or don’t. I don’t care. Sit wherever. Whatever.” Then, from the room that was most likely his makeshift kitchen, he called out, “Hey, either of you want a drink?!”

For a moment, you’d forgotten Tomura was even there, his hand locked with yours just feeling like second nature at this point. So when he called back, “Some water might be nice!” you nearly jolted at the sudden voice. He then guided you over to the tiny, scuffed up couch and sat beside you, searching your face— your eyes— for something.

“Hey…” he muttered, brushing some of your disheveled hair away from your sweat streaked face, eyes still a little puffy from crying on the fire escape. “You ok…?”

You started crying again, slowly at first, then sobbing uncontrollably as you buried your face into his shoulder, your wailing muffled by the flimsy fabric of his shirt. He pulled you in closer, protectively, as Dabi re-entered the main area carrying two bottles of water and one can of beer, stride only stuttering a fraction when he witnessed your current state, the way you were clinging to Tomura for dear life again, as if he was the only thing in this world holding you together.

His grip around the beer can tightened, pressing a few small dents into the aluminum.

“What’s wrong with ‘er now?” he asked, words coated in thick— yet forced— derision, rolling his eyes and tossing Tomura one of the water bottles before jumping over the back of the couch and landing on the thin cushions next to you, keeping a bit of a distance even if that wasn’t necessarily what he wanted to do right now.

Tomura unscrewed the cap of the water bottle, trying to coax you to catch your breath and take a sip as he rubbed a hand up and down your back. But you wouldn’t lift your head from his shoulder, only nuzzling into his body deeper.

Both Tomura and Dabi exchanged unsure glances, neither exactly sure what to do right now, that is, until they heard your sobs turn into laughter— a cold, cruel chuckle that hiccuped in your chest every time a lingering sob pried its way past your lungs.

When you finally pulled your face from its hiding place among Tomura’s person, your head flopped back and you slumped into the couch. You looked sort of terrifying— teeth bared in a too wide smile as your body shook from soundless amusement, tears continuing to stream down your face and collect under your chin before dripping down onto your shirt.

“Bitch is fuckin’ crazy…” Dabi mumbled under his breath as he raised the beer can to his lips, though he jumped when a particularly loud burst of laughter tore through your throat. Then he couldn’t take his eyes off you, usually half-lidded and unbothered stare going wide enough to rival Tomura’s as he sat there frozen and unblinking, beer can still lifted to his lips yet he didn’t dare take a single sip.

And Tomura, well…

Tomura knew the feeling.

“I just can’t believe…” you barely were able to get the words out, battling between the incessant urge to cry and laugh at the same time, chest beginning to burn from the lack of oxygen in your delirious and hysterical state. “I just can’t believe that we’re alive… We’re alive…”

Tomura swallowed hard, gulped down the past few hours and hoped the monster drowned in his stomach acid before it gained enough strength to crawl back up his throat. He uttered your name— a nervous, unsure set of syllables that felt wrong in his mouth, sounded wrong to your ears. But then Dabi started laughing, his sounding low and rough and downright sinful at the realization that, yes, you’d all made it back alive.

And there was still twenty thousand dollars to split between you. Six thousand each.

“Y’know what,” Dabi said, leaning forward and setting his beer down on the busted and scratched coffee table in front of the couch. “I think the three of us make a pretty alright team.” Both you and Tomura’s gazes snapped his way, your laughter slowly fading until even the smile was wiped from your face.

Finally, Tomura said, “We almost died back there.”

“Well then maybe you should be thanking me,” Dabi responded with a hint of cruelty mixed into his tone, still holding on tight to the grudge against the silver-haired boy for stepping in front of his stolen car. Though, at this point, it really wasn’t even about that anymore, was it?

“What do you mean team?” you then cut in, feeling the tension between the two of them growing and hoping to defuse the situation before it erupted again. Even so, some sarcasm couldn’t help but shine through your words, one of your eyebrows quirked up in some kind of dramatic confusion. “The way I remember it, you wanted to leave us for dead on more than one occasion.”

“Look, I’m not used to workin’ with other people, alright?” Dabi shot back, clearly feeling cornered now, both you and Tomura setting distrusting stares upon his inked skin and sapphire eyes. “So, sorry if things didn’t always go off without a hitch—” He leaned forward, tightening the huddle between you three. “But what I’m tryna say is…”

Dabi took a moment to search your eyes, studying them, memorizing their color and the way they looked in the light versus the dark. Then he shifted his gaze to Tomura, who’s bright scarlet was far less alluring. Dabi didn’t know what you saw in him— saw in his dry, cracked, scarred skin and all that shaggy silver hair that fell into his eyes. Because all Dabi saw was someone not worth the trouble. Someone who would bury him— bury the both of you— along with himself if he got the right chance.

Perhaps Tomura was a risk in all of this.

Perhaps Dabi would live to regret trusting him.

But Dabi knew that if he wanted you— and he most certainly did want you— then Tomura was going to have to be the stray that tagged along. At least, until he could think of a better way to get rid of him…

“What I’m tryna say is that I think the three of us could pull off some pretty decent jobs,” Dabi finally concluded.

You narrowed your eyes at him, thinking if you traced over the lines of his tattoos or dared to submerge yourself into the blue of his stare for long enough you’d figure out what angle he was working, what catch would be tacked on to the end of such an offer. Though, in your hesitation, Tomura seemed to have put some of the scattered pieces to this puzzle he could gather together in his own head. He held his stare with Dabi and asked, that raspy, dangerous darkness overtaking his tone as he lowered his voice and asked, “Like what?”

And that was it.

From that moment on, you were in, all three of you leaning in closer and closer to each other as Dabi detailed some robberies he’d been trying to plan— robberies that required more than one person who knew the streets like he did and would have each other’s backs if things took a turn— elaborating on the fact that they were mostly on his enemies, guys who’d either wronged him in the past or would in the very near future if someone didn’t remind them they weren’t untouchable.

“But that’s just the warm up,” Dabi smirked, wearing that arrogant grin as he gave a half shrug, rolling his eyes a bit as if to say, child’s play. “I say we test out just how well we work together on these guys, then move onto something a little less pedestrian and more, say… Corporate.”

You thought of your view standing upon those rooftops, the heart of the city that you’d been cast out of so long ago shimmering in the distant summer heat. Close enough to dream of but still too far away to touch.

Dabi chuckled to himself then, posing the question, “I mean, what do we really have to lose?”

You’d wondered that for a while now.

Maybe it was about time you found out.

For the remainder of the night, the three of you tunneled deeper and deeper into Dabi’s plans, exploring every nook and cranny of the scheme until you felt like enough of the holes had been filled and openings in the fences patched up. By the time the hands on the clock were beginning to run into the early hours of the next morning, your eyelids were growing too heavy for you to fight against anymore.

You were exhausted and both the boys saw it.

So Tomura took the envelope out of his pocket, counted out each of your shares, Dabi counting his twice just to make sure, and thus the alliance was set. After that, you guys called it quits for the day, got some rest and allowed yourselves to recharge before the first act of your ambitious new activities would commence. And as you fell asleep curled up close to Tomura on that narrow couch, half of your body draped over him and finding comfort in the slow rise and fall of his chest, Dabi’s words kept repeating in your head over and over, an endless, overlapping echo of, “What do we really have to lose?”

You found the answer just before slipping unconscious, you think, though by the time you’d wake up tomorrow you’d forget it.

What do we have to lose? Well, the only thing that’s really ever been ours to begin with.

Our lives.

***

(Hello and thank you so much for reading! I hope you enjoyed! Please do check out the MV this fic is based on if you get the chance, it’s one I’ve loved since it came out all the way back in 2017, though perhaps you ought to wait until the fic is finished since it’s likely you’ll be able to predict some spoilers haha.

Anyway, future chapters will feature more of the Dabi x Reader side of things so for those of you who prefer Dabi please be patient with me! There’s actually a scene that’s been in my head for a while that I’m really looking forward to writing when the time comes.

I originally planned to write this fic in three parts but given how much more involved it became the more I developed it, now it's likely going to end up being somewhere between five and ten depending. I'll probably end up breaking up the original "three parts" into slightly shorter (though still lengthy) chapters so I'm able to post updates more consistently throughout this year rather than only be able to put out one huge chapter every few years.

Anyway, I really appreciate everyone’s patience and hope that you look forward to the next chapter. With that being said, I’ll see you soon!

Byyyyye~)

39 notes · View notes

hairstevington · 7 months

Text

songs that voices never share

Deaf!Steve Harrington x Eddie Munson

Summary: Everything's felt a little off since the Fourth of July, and no one's talking about it. Of course, one part of Steve's summer is a bit hard to ignore - he's losing his hearing. As luck would have it, a friend of Dustin's ends up playing a key role in Steve's adjustment to his new normal.

WC: 4K

Warnings: Deaf!Steve, use of ASL, angst/references to events of season 1-3, this fic will disregard the events of season 4 because I said so, canon universe, hurt/comfort, angst, platonic Stobin forever, Steve and Will are buds, some sad stuff but overall it's a love story like come on it's me we're talking about

A/N: Hello! Everyone loved my drabble about Deaf Steve so I'm expanding it into a full fic. The plan is 7 chapters, and I'll probably post them all both here and on Ao3. Please note that ASL is written in all capitals when notated in English, and the grammar is a bit different.

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Chapter 1 - I'll take a quiet life

Steve was kind of prone to getting beat up. God knows Dustin never let him forget it.

After the fight with Jonathan, he felt more or less the same. Then, Billy beat the shit out of him, and Steve started getting migraines and hearing a ringing in his ears every so often.

But after being tortured by the Russians for a couple hours? That’s when the real damage was done.

Everything felt a little off since the Fourth of July, but no one talked about it. Even though so much had changed, Steve and the rest of the group all tried to get back to any normalcy they could find. Steve and Robin got a job together at Family Video and ultimately ignored everything they'd experienced together. It just felt like it was too big to talk about, so they didn't. They pretended like it didn't happen honestly - which might have been more successful had it not been for one fairly major thing.

The ringing became almost constant. Steve’s hearing was piss poor some days and kind of okay other days, but eventually the bad days were more frequent than the good. Steve knew he got beat up a lot, and he figured there were probably some consequences, but he never had time to think about it. Then, when he had trouble hearing one day, he figured he was just swollen and needed time to heal. And then he blamed it on allergies. And then he felt stupid for not taking it seriously, so he ignored it. And then, when he finally went to the doctor, he realized the full extent of it all.

They called it a perfect storm of injuries. At least, that’s what he thought they said. Apparently he’d had too much trauma to the area and not enough medical attention after multiple concussions and ruptured eardrums. He also apparently broke some of the bones in his ears??? They told him a lot of things that he couldn’t quite understand.

He wasn’t stupid. He just couldn’t hear so well anymore.

Steve had never been the smartest person in the first place. He wasn’t great at school, especially with English or history, and he never cared that much about it either. He breezed his way through high school and focused on sports and popularity.

So, when Steve couldn’t keep up in conversations with his friends, they didn’t really think anything was out of the ordinary. Classic Steve, always a few sentences behind.

He got away with it for much longer than he had any right to. Robin was the first to notice.

They worked together at Family Video most days that summer, and it was a good job because anyone could do it, really. They were never really that busy, so a lot of the time was just Steve and Robin getting paid to hang out.

A lot of times, Robin rambled at him about movies or music or how hot Molly Ringwald was, and he could just nod and smile and occasionally say something like, “yeah, totally,” and she would be none the wiser. If they were looking at each other, he could kind of tell what she was saying based on her lips, but only because he knew her well enough to do so. He couldn’t really understand anyone else, except maybe Dustin sometimes. Then again, Dustin used a lot of tech speak that went over Steve’s head even before his hearing deteriorated.

Steve was putting tapes back in the proper places, oblivious to Robin calling for him. He nearly jumped out of his skin when she tapped him on the shoulder.

“Shit! Hi!” he exclaimed, realizing he must have missed something again. “Sorry, I’m kind of out of it.”

Ah, his go-to excuse. It worked every time.

“Bullshit, Harrington,” she replied. Before Steve could defend himself, she continued. “You can’t hear very well anymore, can you?”

Huh. Okay, it worked every time, until now. Steve nodded, realizing he had no reason to hide it from Robin anymore.

“How’d you know?” he wondered. Usually, Robin paced back and forth and avoided eye contact during her rambles, but this time she stayed put and faced him head on.

“Steve,” she began. “You’ve always been a little oblivious, but recently it’s like you’re never listening to me at all. Plus, I’ve been throwing random things into conversation to see if you notice. Hey, Steve, just figured out that hamsters aren’t real. Dingus, I just got a tattoo of your face on my face. You know, things like that. You’ve never said anything about it, so at first I thought you were just stressed or depressed or - wait, shit. You can’t hear. Maybe I should write this down.” She went to search for a pen and paper, but he grabbed her arm to stop her.

“I think I got the gist,” he responded. Thankfully this was one of his better days, otherwise he never would have been able to follow. “Wait, hamsters are real though, right?” Robin’s face fell as she genuinely pondered whether Steve was being serious. “I’m kidding. Yes I know what you’re saying.”

“Okay, cool,” she replied, relieved. “Anyway, once I realized nothing was wrong with your psyche, I started doing other tests. But sometimes I’d stomp my feet and you’d react, so I worried I was making it all up. One time I snapped right by your ear, but then I accidentally flicked you on the temple.”

Steve remembered that. She said it was a bug.

He could hear some frequencies, and it also depended on the day and the season. It was best in quiet spaces where he only had to talk to one person. That’s how he got by so well at work, because it was a relatively quiet place.

Well, except for Robin and her constant rambling.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” she asked. Steve shrugged.

“I don’t know,” he said. “I didn’t wanna admit it, I guess, but I think it’s just gonna get worse.” The prospect of losing his hearing entirely and permanently was on the table, especially if he was to get punched again or something. Considering his group of friends and their history of getting into trouble, that didn’t seem unlikely. Robin put a caring hand on his shoulder and gave a comforting smile.

“Well, I talk too much for you to not understand me, so this means we’re both gonna have to learn sign language.”

“What?” Steve winced at the idea. “No way. I took three years of Spanish and I only know how to ask where the bathroom is.”

(He actually forgot how to say that, too.)

“Yeah, but maybe sign language will be different. I mean, it’s visual, right?” Robin put her elbows on the counter and continued. “Come on, you know I love languages, and I’m soooo booooored.” As she spoke, her body slowly sank onto the counter until she was face down.

Steve chuckled. He wasn’t surprised that she was the first to figure it all out, and her reaction was incredibly on brand.

“Yeah, okay,” he said. “Let’s give it a shot.”

Steve picked up the alphabet pretty quickly. He already knew most of it from Sunday School as a kid. Then, for about a week or so, Robin drilled him by practicing different signs during their shifts together. There were only a few weeks of summer vacation left before Robin went back to school for her senior year.

Steve was grateful he’d already graduated by the time his hearing got worse. He would never have had the courage to ask for accommodations. Although, Robin probably would have bugged him into asking for it anyway.

Whatever, He didn’t need to think about that.

MOVIE, Robin signed to Steve during a standard shift at Family Video.

“Uhhhhh…cheese?” Steve guessed. Robin shook her head.

“No, but close!” she countered. Steve groaned.

“How is it close, Robin? How?” he complained. She laughed, then showed him the sign for CHEESE versus MOVIE. They were honestly not that different. “Oh. Okay, yeah.”

W-O-R-K, she fingerspelled next. Steve’s eyes lit up.

“I know this one!!!” he exclaimed, hitting one of his fists on top of the other to sign WORK.

“Yes!” Robin cheered. She quickly corrected herself and signed YES. Steve smiled. CANDY TIME.

When Steve got a sign right, she’d throw an M&M his way so he could catch it in his mouth. It was something they’d started doing together at Scoops Ahoy with various toppings.

M&M’s were much less messy.

Sure, the study and reward method was a bit juvenile, but it worked. Steve practiced, and he learned some basic signs. THANK YOU. PLEASE. SORRY. I KNOW. I DON’T UNDERSTAND. WHAT? AGAIN. He also learned random ones. BIRD. BASKETBALL. VAMPIRE. SODA.

And then, of course, the two of them learned the other essentials - words that they usually just had shared glances for.

HOT, for when an attractive customer came in. COMPLAIN, for when an annoying customer came in. FINISH, when their shift was over.

It worked. They started signing to each other instead of talking whenever possible. Robin let him have all the tasks he could do in the back room or by himself, and she handled a lot of the customers to cover for him. The pressure and stress Steve had been feeling started to melt away, and his headaches got better since he didn't have to focus so much all the time.

His parents knew about his condition, but they never talked much in the first place, so nothing really changed at home. He’d go to work and make do, and then he’d go home, and everything was alright.

About a week of study sessions later, Robin had an idea.

YOUR FRIENDS, she began. Steve stared at her and waited for her to elaborate. She took a deep breath. TELL-THEM YOU CAN.

Steve continued to stare at her quizzically. She was learning all the grammar and shit, and he was still on vocabulary.

MY FRIENDS…YES? He guessed, trying to mimic the one sign he couldn’t remember the meaning to. She shook her head.

C-A-N, she clarified. Steve thought about it. YOUR FRIENDS LOVE YOU, she continued, slower this time. SHOULD KNOW.

Steve sighed. He’d been avoiding Dustin a lot more these last few weeks, because he knew the smartass would figure him out in seconds.

Steve sighed, knowing Robin was right.

O-K, he agreed.

Dustin took it well. He had a lot of questions, but most of them Steve didn’t know the answers to. He quickly decided he would also learn some signs to support Steve. The support made Steve feel so relieved, he told all of his other friends. Well, he told the kids. Max. El. Will. Mike. Lucas. El and Will were planning on moving to California pretty soon with Jonathan and Joyce, so El decided it would be good for her to practice writing letters to Steve, since she’d be doing long distance with Mike and all. Lucas and Mike also made an attempt at learning signs, but they were even shittier at it than Steve was - which honestly made Steve feel even better. They treated it like a secret code they all were learning - kind of like the weird phrases they insisted on saying whenever they used the walkie talkies.

It was all very cute.

Since Steve wasn’t in school, he ended up practicing sign language during most of his free time. It felt good to be doing something for himself. It made him feel smart, and he didn’t feel smart that often. Robin also picked it up pretty fast, which was to be expected.

But then, all of a sudden, school was starting again, and everyone was busy. Steve continued to work and study ASL, but he didn’t have as many shifts with Robin. He would drive the kids to school and to their clubs and stuff, but it was impossible to communicate with a bunch of kids in the car. He went on dates, but the talking part of it all didn’t really work out. He wasn’t connecting with anybody, and he couldn’t understand them half the time. Plus, most of his date spots required loud noises - movies, sports games, etc. He’d go out with women, and he’d have a decent albeit exhausting time trying to keep up, and then sometimes they’d have sex, but if he was being honest - he wasn’t even really enjoying sex as much anymore.

Crazy, right? He couldn’t believe it either.

He was isolated, but getting by. He kept spending down-time at work watching videos about sign language that he’d borrowed from the library, and everywhere he went he tried to think of the sign for what he saw. TREE. CAR. LIGHT. RESTAURANT. BICYCLE. HOUSE. BOOK. STORE.

Eventually, it all started coming together.

It was October - Halloween season. Considering what had happened last Halloween, Steve wasn’t too thrilled about it. Neither were some of the kids, primarily Will and El. Times had been tough for El especially after losing Hopper, and Steve knew that. It seemed like she had a decent support system though. Jonathan’s mom had taken her in, and she was dating Mike as well. She’d be okay, Steve hoped.

Then came the big moving day for the Byers and El. Steve had to admit he was a bit jealous. He’d wanted to get out of Hawkins forever, but now he had Dustin and Robin tying him there.

Jonathan got to escape this town and he was dating Nancy? Such bullshit.

Not that Steve was pining over Nancy anymore. He’d always love her, in a way, but he’d moved on. They didn’t work together, and that was that. Over and out, as the kids would say on their stupid walkie talkies.

Anyway, El may have been alright, but Steve had his doubts about Will. He didn’t really know how to broach the subject, but he noticed that when he picked the kids up, Will was usually pretty quiet.

An outsider, kind of like Steve.

So, when moving day arrived, Steve offered to help. He knew that Nancy and Jonathan would be there and their farewells would be a whole thing he had no interest in being around for, but he was pretty strong and he could carry boxes and help the kids, at least.

But when he showed up, he saw Will in the backyard by himself. Steve gave a small wave, then slowly approached the kid and sat down beside him.

WHAT’S-UP, Steve signed. It was one of the signs he taught all the kids. Will shrugged. Steve watched Will intently as he waited for his response.

“I don’t want to move,” Will said. “I like my house. And my friends.” Will caught himself, realizing he knew an applicable sign, then added FRIENDS. Steve smiled.

UNDERSTAND, he replied. That was another sign he taught the kids. “This sucks.”

“How do you sign that?” Will asked. “That it sucks.”

Steve knew that one, obviously. He knew a lot of signs now, but that was one he used a lot. He brought the tip of his pointer finger to his chin and frowned. Will repeated the action, then raised his eyebrows. Steve nodded in approval. Will’s hands dropped back into his lap, and the forlorn look on his face came back.

“I guess I just -” Will began, averting his eyes from Steve and staring in the distance. “They’re gonna forget about me here. They’re already -” He sighed. “It feels like I’m being left behind, even though I’m the one leaving.” Steve nodded gently, understanding the feeling all too well.

Will was the member of the party Steve had interacted with the least, probably because the other kids were a bit - uhhh - louder. Dustin and Steve were like brothers, Lucas and Steve could talk about basketball, El and Max were by no means close with Steve but he still felt like a surrogate older brother to them, and Mike was -

Okay, Mike and Steve didn’t really get along. That was to be expected, considering everything. They weren’t mean to each other or anything, they were just awkward and mildly annoyed with each other most of the time.

Will was different. Steve had been filled in on what happened to Will through Dustin, and it was - well, yeah. Will had it rough. And no one ever really talked about it. It was like, Will went through this whole traumatic thing, but he was back to “normal” now, so everything was fine. But it wasn’t fine, and he was getting sick and tired of pretending it was.

Whoops. Okay. Maybe Steve was connecting with Will more than he anticipated he would.

That was probably where a lot of the disconnect came from with everyone in Steve’s life except for Robin. The two of them had been tortured together for hours underground. Steve got the brunt of it. And they were drugged and threatened and nearly killed dozens of times. But they escaped and got out and then they were fighting a giant monster and fireworks were going off and then people died and there was no space for Steve to talk about what had happened to him.

He probably needed a therapist, but if he saw a shrink his dad would never let him hear the end of it. Besides, how could he explain any of his trauma to them? He couldn’t talk about it with anyone except his close group of friends, and he didn’t want to burden them with it, so he just…didn’t talk about it.

Steve wanted to say so many things to Will, but he also felt like he had no right to give any advice on friends or happiness. Steve had left the majority of his friends behind, willingly, and he didn’t regret it, but he also was sad about it. He missed it in some weird, fucked up way he couldn’t explain. Especially Tommy. God, all they did was argue and get in each other’s faces, but they knew each other better than anyone else. The best and the worst of it - mostly the worst, though.

“Well, I won’t forget you,” Steve said, hoping the reassurance would provide some kind of comfort.

“You don’t know me,” Will replied. “And don’t you hate my brother?”

Oof. Valid argument, but still. Steve’s thoughts on Jonathan were…complicated, to say the least.

“I don’t hate him,” Steve responded. “And your brother isn’t you.”

When Steve spoke, he tried to translate it in his head. It had become a habit. HATE DON’T. YOU, YOUR BROTHER, NOT-SAME.

He was getting pretty good at the sign language thing.

“I’m probably just going to sit out here and be sad,” Will said with a shrug.

“Okay,” Steve replied. “Is it okay if I sit here and be sad too?”

Will turned to Steve, confused at first, but then his face relaxed into something different. He nodded.

Everyone inside seemed to be doing just fine without them, anyway.

The Byers (and El) moved to California. Lucas, Dustin, and Mike joined Hellfire club, which they were really excited about. The first few times Dustin had told Steve about it, the dipshit was so excited Steve only got like half of what he was being told. For example, he thought the boys were getting ready to drink champagne for the first time or something, which was weird, but whatever. Kids are weird. And then later he realized they were preparing for a campaign.

They had shirts. Steve recognized the shirts. Then, it all made sense.

He’d heard of Hellfire before. They were kind of hard to miss. They were the exact opposite of cool, even though Dustin seemed to think that wasn’t the case. An underground sort of cool, he’d explained.

Yeah. Sure, buddy.

Steve knew from his years at Hawkins High that those guys were not treated with any sort of respect. The only popularity they had was the negative kind. People knew who they were, and they stayed away. They were weird.

At the same time, Steve wasn’t surprised the boys had joined. It was a Dungeons and Dragons club, after all - Of course, Steve didn’t actually make that connection until Dustin had made him aware. He wasn’t sure what he thought Hellfire did back when he was in school, but it certainly wasn’t a nerdy roleplaying game. They gave off a different vibe. Like, a chaotic anarchist kind of vibe. Most of Steve’s perception came from the guy who led it - Eddie Munson, the school freak. That’s what they called him. Steve and Eddie had never really interacted, because why would they have? They were both seniors when Steve graduated, but Eddie was a year older. And he still hadn’t graduated.

Tough deal.

Anyway, Dustin was obsessed with Eddie. He worshiped the guy, basically. And Steve couldn’t help but be a little jealous - not that he’d ever admit that, of course. But Dustin was around Eddie more often, and they could talk about things they enjoyed freely and without having to stop every ten seconds to repeat themselves.

So, yeah. Steve was bitter about it.

He usually picked the kids up from Hellfire after school, because the “champagnes” (no, they never let Steve live that one down) sometimes went pretty late. Plus, Steve was the wheels in most circumstances - he drove Robin to school every morning, too.

He was probably at Hawkins High more often than he had been when he attended the damn school.

Anyway, one night in particular, Steve waited outside the drama club room for Lucas, Mike, and Dustin to walk out and hop in the car like they always did, but they were running late.

Again. Oh, joy.

Steve parked the car and headed inside, only to find everything packed up (thankfully), but everyone was still absorbed in conversation.

Steve couldn’t follow. They were all talking over each other and about things that he didn’t really understand well in the first place. Plus, there was music playing in the background, which muddied everything else in his brain. So, he waited and watched them interact. And then everyone was looking at him, and he didn’t know why.

“What?” Steve asked, totally lost. He turned to the boys, who all tried to explain what Steve had missed in their own way. Steve caught them flashing a few signs his way. JOKE. IGNORE. HE DON’T-KNOW.

Ehh, Steve kind of pieced it together. Eddie probably made some sort of comment about how awkward Steve was being without knowing why. It was probably for the best that Steve didn’t hear it. Instead, he turned to Eddie so he could share what was going on.

But then, Eddie signed to him.

YOU DEAF?

Steve’s eyes nearly bugged out of his head. He nodded. YOU SIGN?!

MOM DEAF, Eddie explained. Before Steve had the chance to ask a follow-up question, Eddie answered one of them. MOM DEAD NOW. Eddie turned away to face the boys, then pivoted back to Steve. BEFORE, COULD HEAR. RIGHT? HAPPEN WHEN?

Eddie’s signing skills seemed almost natural. Clearly he’d been doing it for ages. Steve nodded.

NEW, he explained. He was blanking on the sign for “recent” due to the fact that he was so stunned. MY SIGNING… Oh, God. Steve couldn’t remember how to say anything. He wanted to say that he was still learning, so he wasn’t that good. Instead, he did the universal hand gesture for “iffy,” which worked well enough. The boys and the other club members all watched this interaction in awe as Eddie processed this with a small nod.

O-K, Eddie replied.

And that was it. Eddie went back to talking to the boys, and presumably dismissed them as they all scattered away to collect their bags. Eddie wasn’t even looking at Steve.

That was kind of a bummer.

Up until then, Steve hadn’t met anyone else who signed (except for Robin), so this was kind of huge. At the same time, it was Eddie. Like, Steve had come a long way from his King Steve days, but the dude was a loose cannon. He was always drawing attention to himself and jumping on tables and shit. They had nothing in common, originally, but now they had two gigantic things in common - Dustin and sign language.

Steve took the kids home as he usually did, but he didn’t even attempt to focus on what they were saying. Besides, he was still thinking about, well, everything.

A part of him was annoyed, because of course the other older brother figure for Dustin was cool enough to know sign language. Of course. The other part of him was over the moon. He had someone to talk to and practice with. Although, that was only if Eddie was interested, which he very well might not have been. Plus, it was also kind of against the rules of the school. The jock and the freak spending time together? It just didn’t happen.

Then again, Steve wasn’t going to Hawkins High anymore. He could make his own rules.

He couldn’t wait to tell Robin about all of this. She was going to lose her damn mind.

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

Check out my Masterlist!

@paintballkid711 @abraca-fxckyou @allbimyself26 @jellybabiesforall @allbymyselfexceptformycactus @justaloadofgarbage-blog @alliemunsonsstuff @undreamingnscatworld @hobbitnarwhal @calivanus @wreckmyplans-thatsmyman @antheia @goodolefashionedloverboi @lillemilly @missmagillicuddy @gamerdano @menamesniall @eyeslikewildflowers111 @callmesirkay @stringischeese @eds-trashmouth @mnl-enuh @redfreckledwolf @itsanarrum @soulsofstarsliveinyourveins @stevesbipanic @momotonescreaming @aryakanojiaa @wrenisflying @comicmadlover @lilacrobin @itch-my-b0nez @anonymousbandgirl @disastardly @dangdirtydemons @daisyellsong @val-from-lawrence @starryeyedpoet17 @taikawaiteatea @clumsiluni @hollysimone @swimmingbirdrunningrock @witchofhawkins @steddiegarbage @suddenlyinlove @ricekristytreaty @eddielives1986 @bunnyweasley23 @thefailcollection @ppunkpuppyy @bestwifehaver @httpsphynx @skjachukson @deadfromtheneckdown

#eddie munson #steve harrington #steddie #stranger things #robin buckley #writing #steddie fic #songs that voices never share #st fic #eddie munson x steve harrington #deaf steve harrington

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thebreakfastgenie · 2 years

Note

17, 19, 21 for the writing asks :)

I save yours for last because I wanted to see what else I had done already before I picked for 21!

17) Do you have any wips that you can tell us about? What are you most excited for in you wip?

I have so many WIPs :) The main one is the oft-discussed Ghost AU. I've probably explained it enough, but just in case: Hawkeye is killed at battalion aid under circumstances that are roughly "what if Where There's a Will, There's a War happened in season 8?" and becomes a ghost, following the example of the ghost in Follies of the Living--Concerns of the Dead. Unable to move on, he haunts the 4077th, and watches everyone grieve for him and slowly move on with their lives. It features a lot of material from episodes but repurposed as well a some totally original events. It covers multiple perspectives; both Hawkeye and everyone else reacting to his death and the consequences. In theory this is my main project right now but I'm bad at actually getting writing done so it's taking a long time. It's outlined at 13 chapters. I've never finished a multi-chapter that's more than 6 (you won't find that one AO3, it's older), so this is quite an undertaking. Ghost AU has a working title but I'm not allowed to use it until I get more writing done. A couple other WIPs I'm excited about: The supposedly quick oneshot I started two and a half weeks ago as a quick exercise to get some momentum before I went back to Ghost AU, lol. Expect to see this one pretty soon! I'm not sure what exactly to say about it, except the document title is "sailing accident." GFA time loop! Hawkeye relives July 4th, 1953 over and over again, trying to make things come out right. I'm not sure how much I should say about this one at this time, but I'll take questions (can't promise I'll answer them satisfactorily) if anyone is interested. This is going to be a long single chapter and since it' more manageable than ghost AU, if I start really feeling it there is a chance it could show up first. I've had some bumps envisioning the prose on this one, but I can picture it and I'm in love with the concept. The BJ/Peg/Hawkeye fic. Yes, I don't normally ship it, but this story ate my brain. I can't say a whole lot about it without really giving it away, and I don't know when I'll get around to writing it, because it would also be multi-chapter. BJ, accompanied by 12-year-old Erin, drives to Maine hoping he will get there in time to bring Hawkeye back with them. Along the way, they visit other people from the 4077th and BJ tells Erin stories about all of them, also cluing the reader into what the last ten years have looked like for BJ, Peg, and Hawkeye. The plot is inspired by [redacted].

19) What is some random info you happen to have that you used in a fic?

Ugh I used so many of these up.... In the WIP I wrote most of during psych class in college, I had Josh complain that his throat hurt after being intubated. This is because no one warned me about this when I was thirteen and it hurt like a bitch and I was cranky about it.

21) Writers choice - pick any of these questions that you want to answer.

I choose:

8) Do you take inspiration from real life? If so how do you incorporate it into your fics?

I do, and I try to transform it beyond recognition. That's the fun, for me! Chianti was based on real life. I was carrying a bottle of chianti and it was icy, and I had this thought of what would happen if I slipped. (I didn't.) The scene where Josh and Toby clean up the glass is also based on a time I held a flashlight while someone swept up a shattered bottle in a parking lot, but it was unrelated to the chianti. There are other examples but that's what came to mind first!

#thank you <3

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onthewaytosomewhere · 5 months

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New Years goals I guess

So, this is that time when everyone is all oh, I'm going to work out and do all these other things I don't normally do, and well - I'll do them this time because this year I mean it!

I genuinely applaud those who do take charge of their lives and do something to help out their health or some other aspect of their lives. I've been there and done that; it's not easy. While, yes, I will be getting my working out/walking back to where it needs to be as I struggled with it more after the move and loss of my workout area being close by and just the overall state of my mind at that time.

For me though the real thing I will be focussing on this year is

SELF AWARENESS!

(this is gonna get all sorts of personal and all that, but the goal parts are after the paragraphs)

I didn't realize that an event that happened early in 2023 affected me as much as it did for most of last year. The loss of my 19-year-old nephew was, of course, world-shattering when it happened, and I really was not aware of how much it was still affecting me later in the year until a month after the first time (since the funeral) we went back and visited family. We had gone through a bunch of other changes in the months surrounding that time: we moved, were gone for a month, and then came back to have to finish getting the new house ready - so it was a crazy time, and I did not realize until it was too late that the reminders of the loss from earlier in the year were slowly messing with me until it was too late.

From the time I was young, I have always been the person who wasn't really able to fall apart; while still a kid myself, I was practically raising my 3 siblings, and childhood abuse and crappy childhoods of all sorts really do stay with you forever - no matter how much you think you move past them. For me, that's always been evident in how I focus more on others than myself, which is how I was unable to truly see how I was doing; too much focus on how others were doing.

So, while working on my self-awareness, this will also be the first year in quite a bit of time where I am setting goals that are all about myself. These are goals that concern things I want to focus on for myself. Revolving around things that have always been significant in my life - even when I wasn't doing them as much. Some of them are things that I really just need to remind myself of or are a bit vague, and others are more defined. - but they're all for me!

READING WRITING AND WATCHING

Reading

Complete (or delete) marked for later on ao3 (some have been on there for lots of years At least 2 books from TBR a month Any additional reading that makes me happy DNF is ok – if a book is not doing it for ya ok to not finish

Writing

Complete a first draft of the book I'm currently working on – even if crappy Post a fanfic a month and share it on social places (well, the ones where I share fandom things) Any additional writing that makes me happy

Watching

Only enough TV - it doesn't have to be a distraction from other things don't want to deal with. If it doesn’t bring joy – you don’t need to finish watching it A movie in the theater monthly (as long as something is playing want to see)

So, putting this out here with unnecessary extra personal stuff, but the goals are at least partially fandom-based so they can go here - especially since this is most likely where I'll be talking about the things as I do them.

#new years goals #new years thoughts #things that make ya who you are #things to work on #self awa #self care #love yourself

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veliseraptor · 2 years

Text

FFN-to-AO3 Fic Transfer Project Stats

I told you this was going to happen!

So for the past...several weeks-ish I’ve been working on transferring the previously uncrossposted works on my old fanfiction.net account and my old livejournal onto AO3, for archival purposes, which came out to include, in all, moving 403 works (366 from FFN, 37 from Livejournal) from between roughly 2006-2012. Me being the person that I am, I went “oooh statistics” and decided to do some fun with numbers about it.

One caveat that this still does not as yet represent a complete record of my fic writing posted online from 2006-present - there is still a substantial gap of fic that’s only on Tumblr right now and thus unaccounted for in this analysis.

But with that set aside, here is Lise’s Fanfiction Output By Some Numbers:

Total Works Archived on AO3: 924

Total Words Archived on AO3: 4,360,945

Number of Distinct Fandoms Represented: 48 (counting the MCU, DC Comics, Marvel Comics, and Doctor Who/Torchwood each as one)

The first thing I was curious about was trends of how much I was posting year by year, which I decided to look at both in terms of word count and in terms of number of individual fics. Taking the first first:

It is important to note that AO3 only counts words in a multichapter fic posted over time in the year that it is completed; this is most noticeable in 2018, when Life in Reverse was finished and which therefore gets all 200,000+ words tallied to that year alone despite the fic itself actually being written over the course of six years. There’s no real way to compensate here but that is the most significant outlier; Tear My Castle Down and Steve Rogers’ Halfway House for Notorious Supervillains are also skewing 2020′s data higher.

However, even with that there’s been a clear overall increase in the words I’ve posted over the years since I started, particularly beginning in 2011. Tracking by life events, it’s sort of funny to me that I can track “college-first starting full-time work-pandemic in terms of spikes and dips.

Then, when it comes to the number of individual fics posted year over year:

This mapped onto the first graph tracked with what I expected, more or less, which was to say “early on the trend was a lot of shorter fics, later on fewer but longer.” Notice the 152 posted in 2009 still totaling less than 20,000 words over the year. I think those 2008-2009 years in particular also marked me doing a couple different fic challenges, most notably 50_darkfics but also a lot of short writing for the westerosorting Livejournal community. The sudden drop after 2012 to a level that’s stayed pretty consistent since I would guess marked the end, more or less, of me doing that kind of numbers-based work (where I was trying to write a lot of short things in a brief period of time, or trying to fulfill a challenge, rather than adhering more to my own schedule).

I tried - I am still trying - to work out a good way of visualizing the word count distribution by fic by year (i.e. in 2009 how many of those 152 fics were between 100-1000 words, etc.), but have been struggling, most likely because there is (a) a lot of data points that I’m trying to map and (b) a very wide range. What I currently have looks like:

which is not exactly a very coherent looking/readable graph, though it gives you a sense of how front-loaded the distribution really is (mostly between 144-7800). Out of curiosity I tried cutting out some of the earlier years to see how that might change the shape:

Overall, basically the same, but it does become more visible how the larger buckets only appear for the later years - there is 1 2012 fic above the 221-10133 word bracket. Underlining, then, the shift in my writing trends from “many short oneshots” to “fewer longer works,” which I knew but now I have numbers and also (roughly) a timeline.

Finally (at least for now) the other curiosity I had was about what I think of as “fandom-cycles” - the rate at which I’ve moved through fandoms over the years, producing works for them and then moving on. I was curious about if and how much they overlapped, and what was a “typical” runtime for a period of high production in a single fandom.

I cut this graph down to what I think of as my “major” fandoms.

This one looks a little crazed and is therefore harder to read, at least up until 2011-ish when I really started to become a “one fandom at a time” kind of gal - prior to that point there was a lot of overlap/simultaneity. One more than others, but multiple fandoms in activity at the same time (witness in 2009 the peaks for both A Song of Ice and Fire, The Silm, and Doctrine of Labyrinths). Black Jewels Trilogy had a shorter duration than I thought it would given the psychological influence it’s had on me; Wheel of Time shorter still, though it stuck around for a solid four years (compared to Death Note, which lasted about three).

My favorite thing about this graph is the way you can see the overlap of one fandom tapering as another takes off - most obviously, of course, with the MCU/Untamed overlap there in 2019, but it’s there with Supernatural and the MCU, and with A Song of Ice and Fire and Supernatural. It’s a visual representation of me moving out of one fandom and into another.

(Also love seeing that little spike of Doctrine of Labyrinths coming back as the MCU wanes in 2019. There’s the reread! And also me trying to get everyone else I know into it.)

In general my fandom lifetime heyday, historically, seems to have been about three years, prior to the MCU, which lasted far and away longer than anything other than the Silm, which, while I wasn’t writing a lot for it or consistently, has been a presence from 2009 to, irregularly, at least 2020. Interesting way of seeing a fandom that is, if not a main squeeze these days, a relatively consistent presence in my fanfiction life, even if just barely. The only other fandoms to show this kind of longevity (disappearing and then popping up again years later) are Doctrine of Labyrinths (disappears 2014, pops up again in 2018) and Wheel of Time (disappears in 2012, pops up again in 2017 and 2018). This kind of makes me wonder if, at least for me, book fandoms have a longer “shelf life” than their more visual counterparts. This would make a certain amount of sense, as I have more of a historical habit of rereading than I do of rewatching (The Untamed has been a major exception), but could also be an artifact of bias from the fact that for most of, I’d say, the front half of my fandom career, my fandoms were primarily book-based over movies or tv shows.

So that’s what I have so far when it comes to Fun With Numbers: Lise’s Hobbies Edition. I might poke around more (the most insane idea I’ve thought of is looking at word count distributions within fandoms, i.e. where have I been writing the longest/shortest fics, but that is...probably not something I need to spend the time manually gathering the data for) but at least on a preliminary basis...voila.

I don’t expect the Tumblr crossposting to make a huge difference in terms of overall trends, except perhaps in terms of the number of fics per year - I wonder if that number has been in any way artificially deflated for later years when I transitioned in posting methods - it used to be I always would have posted the short things I’ve put on here to FFN or Livejournal, and now I’m less likely to. So it may be that those latter year numbers are only actually lower because they are no longer accounting for the short works that used to be getting posted by default.

Perhaps will revisit once that stage of the project is completed! That sounds like something I will probably do.

#fun with numbers #i should have a tag for when i do this #fic transfer project 2k22 #confessions of a frustrated writer

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jungkook97 · 2 years

Text

something about us; namjikook | i.

pairing: jungkook x namjoon (namkook), jungkook x jimin (jikook) rating: 18+ genre/aus: romcom, friends to lovers, slice of life (?), college student!jungkook, drug dealer!namjoon, pastor son!jimin (featuring fuckboy roomie!taehyung) warnings: graphic depictions of recreational drug use (it’s weed tho), mentions of other illicit drugs in passing, existential crisis type of convos (not sure if this needs a warning but in case if y’all end up disassociating), koo is also coming out too so it’s A Lot

summary: very upright christian boy jeon jungkook decided to do his roommate kim taehyung a favor by stopping by his plug’s house to get his usual shit.

little did he know that taehyung’s plug was fucking hot.

notes: ya girl can write ship fics too!!! kind of based on real events that has either happened to me as a gay person or my gay friends. lowkey a luv letter to my old closeted self. i hope after this fic, y’all would find comfort in yourselves. 🫂

if you wanna be tagged for updates, please reply to the chapter or msg me!

CHAPTERS:

i. ✩

{wattpad | aff | ao3 | spotify playlist}

Jeon Jungkook, for as long as he could remember, grew up devoutly Christian. He was sheltered by his helicopter parents, who in turn, gave him all opportunities that they felt were the best for their son considering that they had a rebellious older one just “wasting his time away”. He was that kid in school who had to go to Bible school every Saturday and service every Sunday while his friends went out and partied, that kid who volunteered to be the leader of every Christian bootcamp possible. After years of being a camp counselor, Jungkook was this close to going through the minister program himself at the age of twenty-one, but his parents pushed him to go to university just to explore other options. And so, he chose social work.

Of course, the Lord had other plans for Jungkook.

His little bubble popped, and Jeon Jungkook found himself having the worst existential crisis and culture shock known to man when he started his collegiate career at a prestigious state university, surrounded by hot people making stupid decisions on the regular. His strategy navigating through college life was about as successful as using a fork to eat soup: not effective.

There was wild shit happening everywhere he went, and unlike Christian boot camp where the counselors will make sure one strays away from it and into the Light of the Lord, there was none of that parental control business going on. Poor Jungkook was thrown into the wolves the first day on campus as he was promptly invited to go to a frat party that night, only to be met at the house entrance of a freshman snorting a whole thick line of cocaine. Another step into the party revealed a young man stumbling past him, asking for some poppers before giving him a suggestive wink and very prolonged and unneccesary brush past his shoulders. What poppers was is something Jungkook has yet to figure out, and he didn’t want to know.

It was around that time in his freshman year of college when he met someone: the impressionable Kim Taehyung.

Kim Taehyung was everything that Jungkook was not. He smoked marijuana on the daily throughout his high school years and was a proclaimed stoner. Everyone could depend on Taehyung to come in clutch with a joint or a vape pen at any function, just baked out of his little mind. He was a huge fuckboy as well, earning a reputation that preceded him amongst the sorority girls and even the guys (straight or otherwise). No one would admit it if they were asked upfront, but everyone wanted a piece of him and he fucking loved it.

When the two ended up being dorm mates, it was like oil and water. Jungkook couldn’t stand Taehyung’s loud as fuck EDM music (and one time when he asked Taehyung to switch it, the man scoffed and jeered, “What you want me to do, play some hymns or some shit? Fuck off, dude.”), nor was he able to digest half of the conversations Taehyung had with his other fuckboy friends. Jungkook hated the guy and had requested to change roommates months ago, only for the staff to just completely ignore his request.

Taehyung, on the other hand, loved messing with his new dorm mate. There was something deeply and psychologically fucked up about how he wanted to taint this man the best way he knew how, but he refrained. He wasn’t a complete asshole, after all, and knew when to set boundaries. He wasn’t that messy, but if he ever got the chance, he would soil him.

The two college students were set on the belief that they would never ever get along, until one day…one fantastical Wednesday night, something incredible happened.

It was any other regular Wednesday evening, but this night the campus was teeming with late night activity. It was the week before spring semester drew to a close, and as people finished up their finals, Jungkook was of course, diligently in his room finishing up a paper that was due in roughly a couple of hours. Spreading his sociology books and notes all over the top bunk, Jungkook was hyper fixated on his work with his MacBook Pro sitting on his lap, writing about the pitfalls of late-stage capitalism. He was less than a hundred words away from finishing when his curly haired roommate burst into the room via kicking the door open with one foot, followed by his entrance was the now familiar scent of marijuana. They met each other’s gaze for a split second before Jungkook rolled his eyes, going back into his paper.

Taehyung scratched his head before shaking it, tsking.

“Bruh, it’s fucking 4/20,” Taehyung noted as he saundered his way onto the bottom bunk bed, plopping loudly onto it. The impact made the mattress elicit a distinct squeak that Jungkook became accustomed to sooner than he would have liked (Taehyung would often nights bring “guests” over, much to Jungkook’s dismay). With a smirk painted on his lips, Taehyung continued, “You shouldn’t be doing schoolwork on the Lord’s Day.”

Jungkook’s right eye twitched. Taehyung knew mocking his devout religious beliefs always annoyed the hell out of Jungkook, but after a while, the Christian schoolboy graduate learned how to pick his battles. He also started to miss a few services here and there due to his busy student life, but they were genuine.

For now, anyway.

“I got a paper due and no, I’m not interested in smoking anything from that gross pipe of yours,” Jungkook fired back, rolling his eyes as he typed away on his MacBook.

Taehyung shrunk a bit in embarrassment as he glanced over at his dick-shaped glass pipe pathetically leaning on the side of his bedside table. It was filled with charred weed and other gunk. He told himself weeks ago to get some rubbing alcohol and peroxide to clean it out, but he kept forgetting.

“Dude, fuck off, okay?” Taehyung folded one leg up to his chin to sit in a 4 shape as he continued to chew his gum, popping it loudly enough for his roommate to get irritated about it. “I don’t got time to clean shit because I’m too busy.”

Jungkook looked up from his laptop for a split second. He had the perfect comeback, and he was 100% going to use it.

“I don’t think eating two bags of Doritos and jerking off are actual legitimate errands,” he laughed to himself. Nailed it.

Taehyung clenched his jaw before popping his gum again.

“Fuck off.”

“Not out of wedlock,” Jungkook chuckled to himself, half-jokingly and half-serious at the same time.

They fell into a blissful lull in conversation, the only sound being Jungkook typing away at his keyboard and Taehyung’s obnoxious gum chewing. It didn’t take long before Jungkook finished his paper (it was flawless if he did say so himself). He submitted it, feeling proud, only for his good mood to plummet when Taehyung began to speak once more.

“So uh. I’m in a situation.”

Jungkook groaned, closing his laptop before he made his way down to the dorm floor.

“You got a girl pregnant again?” he deadpanned.

“No, you fucking asshole,” Taehyung rebutted, pulling himself up and crossing his legs together while holding his phone in both of his hands. “I need to do a weed pickup in twenty, but I got that stupid fucking group project thing right now.”

Jungkook’s shoulders moved up slowly in a shrug as he extended his hands out a bit.

“Why don’t you reschedule your pickup?”

Taehyung laughed. Actually, he cackled. It kind of scared Jungkook a little and he backed away slowly, wondering if his roommate had suddenly gone insane.

“Bruh, this isn’t just any pickup. It’s from Joon.”

“Joon?”

“Joon. Motherfucker got the top shelf shit.”

Jungkook stared blankly at his dorm mate as Taehyung rolled his eyes. What is there to expect from Jungkook truly? The man lived in a bubble his whole life and to him, all of this was pure gibberish. It had been cute at first, but now it was kind of depressing to see every single waking day.

“You’re not gonna get it…” Taehyung tapped away on his phone as he slowly stood up from his bed. “Fuck, how am I gonna pull this off?”

There was a moment of silence between the two of them before something brilliant came to Kim Taehyung’s mind.

“Can you pick it up for me, man? I’ll pay you thirty bucks.”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. Thirty bucks for a pickup? Is he serious? Taehyung was clearly desperate, and there must be something about this weed that he needed it badly. Did Jungkook understand it? Not at all. Christian Boy has never even touched the magical herb before with his bare hands, let alone had the desire to smoke it.

But what he knew for sure was that Taehyung would do anything, and like a sleazy car salesman, he added a market adjustment to his offer.

“Nah, give me fifty.”

“Ey, don’t be an asshole,” Taehyung clicked his tongue, licking his lips. He put his hands on his hips in thought as he did some silent calculations in his head. His phone continued to ring for his attention once more. He was late to his project group meeting, and he had no time left to negotiate.

Damn, is this weed that good? Jungkook thought. Thought all of it was the same.

The curly haired man sighed in resignation, putting his phone into his pocket.

“Fine, I’ll Venmo you.”

Nailed it again.

And so, Jungkook found himself donning a dark grey oversized hoodie, basketball shorts, and Gucci slides before leaving the room. Taehyung gave him very specific instructions to meet this Joon guy, and boy, by the way he described this soon-to-be interaction was like meeting with El Chapo in Jungkook’s little semi-corrupted mind.

The bite of the cold April air immediately brought a flush to his cheeks and the tip of his nose as his slides skidded through the pavement. He made to his location in no time, which was on the other side of campus near the main quad by the fountain. The dim street lights flickered but illuminated just enough for him to see where he was going, but not enough to fully articulate the shadows that were passing him by. To be fair, he was also blind as a bat, and in the midst of being excited over finessing fifty bucks for some stupid weed, he forgot to put on his prescription glasses to help him see better in the dark.

Now, Taehyung didn’t necessarily go into a lot of detail as to what this man looked like, but Jungkook was making his own conjectures: probably some scrawny and short guy in his mid thirties with at least two tattoo sleeves and ear plugs. Or alternatively, some geezer who was way too old to be hanging around campus with some college freshmen. The light sound of the recycled fountain water falling behind him calmed Jungkook down from his fears of being abducted and sold as a sex slave, something that was drilled into him as a child.

What he didn’t know was about to hit him like a ton of bricks.

“Yo, you Jungkook?” A voice called from behind him.

Jungkook turned around.

Holy shit.

What happened next to Jungkook was something he could not explain at that moment in time and still has yet to process even after the fact. As mentioned earlier, he was going through some serious shit as it was, adjusting roughly to college life. One of the other things he was grappling with was his long-standing fascination of male bodies, and particularly, taller older men. Before, it was to compare himself to them as he would flex his muscles to see if it was remotely close to the most well-toned dude at the gym. Everybody compares their bodies to others as a way to better themselves so it was natural for him.

Then, it became an appreciation of aesthetics where it was like, “Nice body, dude,” followed by a rather awkward high-five. If the guy was unapproachable or deep in the middle of a set, Jungkook would just blankly stare, watching the muscles jiggled before settling into their places. He would look away clumsily as these men would look over his way, whistling along to a song playing on the gym radio or talking to himself. It would not take long for men to start noticing his elongated gawking, and as they moved further away from him, Jungkook’s cheeks and nose would turn a rosy pink out of discomfiture.

Recently, as he did his daily workouts at the university gym, he found himself staring at other guys’ asses for a bit too long. After years of doing that subconsciously, he began to think to himself…

Am I a little gay?

Now, he wasn’t a homophobe by any means, nor was he completely closed off to the idea of him being gay. His parents were accepting to the extent that they could as the days where Asian parents being blatantly and aggressively homophobic passed. For fuck’s sake, it was 2022. Jungkook was, at best, just inept at figuring out his own sexual orientation as all of that was not taught to him in a private high school setting or in Bible class. All he learned was being gay was okay and that God was okay with the gays.

In fact, the church he frequents is perhaps one of the most open and diverse congregations out there, a rarity in and of its own. The pastor’s son was publicly gay and the church accepted him as he was, much to his surprise. Jungkook was close friends with that son, Park Jimin, as they’ve known each other for over a decade.

Jimin was his favorite guy in the world. Unfortunately, Jimin is not the brightest tool in the toolbox so he had no chance to go to the same school as Jungkook, but he did end up going to the community college a couple of miles away from the university majoring in, you guessed it, dance. The close proximity allowed them to meet up before going to Sunday service at a church nearby. It was not the same of course, but the two went anyway to ensure their connection with God was intact.

Of course, with the homosexual tendencies between these two men, it would be natural to wonder if there’s anything going on. It would be defaming to say that Jungkook and Jimin have hooked up, but it would be a straight up lie to say that Jungkook and Jimin did nothing together. Yes, they did watch porn together and, Lord forgive him, they may have mutually and consensually jerked off next to each other one time during one of those camping trips (since it always happens like that). But Jungkook swore he was only ever watching the girl getting pounded while Jimin was watching the man pounding her. That’s not gay, is it? It’s just bros being bros, respectfully.

Back to Joon.

Well, how does one describe Joon?

Tall. Six feet at least, a towering height over Jungkook himself.

Older. Joon was clearly older than him, but only by a few years compared to the ten to twenty years he was expecting at first.

He was adorned in a black leather jacket, a plain white tee and some dark wash jeans and black CDG Converse. The muscular man was wearing other designer items from what Jungkook could tell, which wasn’t entirely shocking. After all, this man probably made so much money he could shit it out. The clothes fitted him extremely well, accentuating his mile-wide built shoulders and for almost no reason other than really good genetics. He was a bit dark-skinned, but more so sun-kissed at best with platinum blonde hair styled back to be tucked in a grey beanie. He stood in front of Jungkook with absolute conviction and confidence as he extended his hand out for a handshake with the cheekiest of smiles, dimples present.

He was not what Jungkook was expecting to see, but it was something he needed to see.

The man was, in Jungkook’s little Christian doe eyes, very goddamn attractive.

And he was feeling some type of way about it.

“Uh, yeah…” Jungkook said dumbly. It was like a fist had wrapped around his vocal chords and squeezed, preventing him from saying something more profound. He felt wickedly small next to Joon and as he stared into this man’s large veiny hands, he stuck out his own to shake it, only to be greeted with a very firm handshake. That alone knocked the wind out of his lungs a little. It was then he wondered why Taehyung really wanted weed from this man, and if his looks had anything to do with it.

“Cool,” Joon replied with his deep voice. It led to Jungkook’s cheeks flushing a little as he hoped to God the man didn’t pick it up. As Joon passed the infamous and suspicious brown lunch bag over to Jungkook, he began to rant about Taehyung, much to Jungkook’s delight. “Motherfucker is trying it. I told him I don’t like it when people don’t show up, and he sends someone else over to me anyways.”

Jungkook accepted the bag a little too excitedly, gripping the bag and the contents of said bag in his hands tightly. As the freshly cut marijuana crunched lightly along with the brown paper, Jungkook could not stop staring at Joon while he spent the next five minutes complaining about his dorm mate, and he knew it was getting weird for him. There’s no way he doesn’t feel that way, Jungkook convinced himself. Every dude knows about my staring problem and he’s gonna figure it out quick and it’s gonna be that whole shit again where I just weird every guy out with my damn stares like what the hell is wrong with m—

“Like, I don’t mind driving far out for this fool, but like, can he give me a bit of his time though?” Joon concluded, heaving a big sigh. He had a cool swagger to his voice that Jungkook could not get enough of and he wanted to hear the man talk for days or forever if possible. His incredibly large chest rose and fell, and of course, Jungkook was hyper aware of every millisecond of it. Jungkook was under his spell at this point, only nodding to give off the impression that he was following what he said the whole time and not uh, stare at him like he’s a member of BTS.

“Yeaaaaah…” was all he could say again. Jesus fuck, can you sound any more of a stupid bitch? Get yourself together! “Uh…” Jungkook stupidly looked at the bag in his hand. “Do I…pay for this, or…”

Joon shook his head, lifting up his phone at Jungkook’s eye level to show a public Venmo payment from the missing guy himself. Addressed to “Kim Namjoon” or “@rkive”, it was a transaction of $50 with the note: “for my baby daddy 👨🏼‍🍼”.

Very on brand of Taehyung, and it made Jungkook gag a little.

“Anyway…” Namjoon put his phone away in his back pocket before doing a quick one second half-wave and turning around. Boy was his back muscles stretching the hell out of that jacket. “Tell that fucker to get his shit together. I’m not gonna accept this shit again unless he wants to pay more.”

“Will do,” Jungkook said feebly, waving back aggressively. He was not slick at all as Namjoon’s eyebrow lifted in confusion, sending him into a spiral. This was the worst day of his life. He’s so ruined.

Namjoon bid farewell with a cool “Ciao” and a peace sign, heading back into the shadows again. As Jungkook’s breath steadied after he held it out of nervousness, he lifted the little bag of marijuana up to his eyes before looking back to where Namjoon had stood. There was a ping from his phone perhaps from Taehyung to ask if the pickup went well, but Jungkook was too busy putting two and two together about that one creeping suspicion about himself that has been screaming at his face for years.

I’m gay, aren’t I?

Jungkook gulped.

“Fuck me.”

end of i.

#namkook #jikook #jungkook #namjoon #jimin #bts scenarios #bts fics #jungkook scenarios #namjoon scenarios #jimin scenarios #writing #mine #i am gay and i’m gonna write a good fic abt being gay!!!!#stuck with u did so well pls support this chaotic gay mess pls

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glitterytidalwavedragon · 2 years

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Seto Kaiba Fanfic Updates

So once more, making another post about some works I posted on AO3 but with life I haven't let my readers and followers on here know about it until just now. Sorry! So first things first!

Ignore the battery life..... So Lets get right into this!

Series:

TALES OF THE MUNDANE

Summary:

This is a mix and match/create your own headcannon relationship with Seto Kaiba. The goal is to have many shorts with as many cute, dramatic, and relationship scenes which the reader can just enjoy the ones they like the most or just enjoy them all. I try to stay as close to cannon as possible. Also there are many 'meet' 'before-dating' 'before-marriage' and 'after-marriage' scenarios which I plan to post here and the reader character is left mostly as vague as possible. I even have a few non-binary reader ones. I am trying to reach out as much as possible to make every Kaiba fan feel included. Even malexmale I am working on. So enjoy these mundane moments! As sometimes, this is just what we live for.

Current number of works: 7

For the link -> CLICK!

The next story, is really a short! Featuring my favorite pairing!

KaibaxKisara fanfic!

Aspirer

Summary:

Life is just a series of events which are out of your control until you can get the situation to best suit your strengths. Kisara went through the motions of life with this very mindset. Sooner or later, things would work out in her favor. Sooner or later she will be where she wishes and sooner or later she will have a life she can be proud of; she just needs to tell herself that and it will happen. She will make it happen. But what if...what if her only dream, her truest desire, that one thing she never dared hoped for, turned out to be real?

Will she still believe that one day she will have control? Or is this the situation she can best control?

For the link -> CLICK!

Then there is this one-shot which is based on Kaiba and him alone.

Gratitude

Summary:

Seto Kaiba knows who he is. Seto Kaiba is the teenage billionaire CEO global giant of the world's greatest technology and gaming company. Surely people remember the first thing he is when it comes to his actions, right? They will also remember who he is and they know he is a man of his word. When the time comes, being CEO will matter. Right?

Seto Kaiba is always right. So why shouldn't he be right about this.

For the link -> CLICK!

Lastly....

The Cluster

This story has been completed.

Summary:

Being married to one of the world’s most powerful men is something that shouldn’t be fantasized about. It can often feel like a dream, that is understandable. The parties, the finery, the social engagements, and nothing is worth wanting as you can have it in the snap of the fingers. Some really say it is the way the world should be for everyone.

But it really shouldn’t.

Being married to power means one thing. You must be willing to get your hands dirty for the man you love. Thankfully getting dirty is something of a fun pass time.

Decided to make it 4 chapters as I think the last chapter was enough.

For the link -> CLICK

And that is all of them!

#female reader #reader insert #reader x kaiba #fanfiction #fanfic #fanfic update #fanfiction update #seto kaiba #yugioh dm #yugioh fanart #yugioh seto kaiba #seto kaiba fanfic #seto kaiba fanart #kisara x seto #seto kaiba x reader #blueshipping

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hellisheuphoria · 4 years

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Chapter 1: Recluse.

In which the MC relives the memory of their death every night since it happened, followed by confusion of their feelings towards Belphegor and his brothers- and whether or not they will truly get over their hiraeth.

[I’m on mobile, so I apologise for weird formatting. Also, this chapter itself contains scenes depicting violence and trauma, so read at your own risk <3. I’m sorry for any mistakes, and I’ve also written this on my AO3, my username is ‘impendingcorruption’.]

”To think that I’d be saved by a human...!”

Belphegor snickered, a sort of amusement flowing through him at the thought of being rescued by you, a mere human.

He laughed again, practically drowning in his joy. “It really is ironic!” You shifted slightly, uncomfortable in his sudden happiness, which was rather quite suspicious.

He stopped and turned to you, his attention focused on you solely. Revisiting it now, it may have been the look of a predator looking down upon their prey.

”In any event, MC, all I can do is thank you.” He smiled brighter, “Now I can finally achieve what I set out to do!”

Then he opened his arms wide, signalling you for a hug. That very action diminished any flame of suspicion or doubt you had on him- a decision that you would soon come to regret.

Happily enough, you accepted his hug- feeling absolutely content and prideful at the fact that you had managed to let him out of the attic- whether it was really you or not.

He then sighed, his chin on your shoulder. “Ah... this really brings back memories. This feeling...” His body then went rigid slightly, as though he attempted to keep a sort of coldness to him. “I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve touched a human?”

The air shifted dramatically, your brain slowly gearing into fight or flight mode.

”So, MC...”

His attire changed completely. The air turned cold and frosty, replicating the aura coming off of him as he suddenly let go of you, slightly pushing you back- away from him. You cowered slightly at his dramatic change of personality.

His form shifted, horns protruded out of his head and his clothes resembled those of a cow, with a gold horseshoe on his right side and a cow design sporting his left. A tail violently blew behind him, as though he was ready to attack and agitated.

“...How can I express how I’m feeling right now? What can I do?” He looked at you with a look so cold that you swore you would have just froze over.

Then once again, he changed. He switched personalities. He laughed like a madman, like a sociopath- like someone who relished the look of you in fear, cowering and shaking. But he was, he definitely was. You could see it in his eyes, damn it.

And then, you were pinned to the wall, with one of his hands holding you in place by your throat, your toes barely touching the ground. A black, misty sort of aura became oh so visible around him, making itself violently clear to you.

“You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren’t you?” His head shook in a sort of disapproval, but you could tell he enjoyed it. He loved this feeling of empowerment. The air no longer reached your lungs and you feebly attempted to call for help.

“You’re so stupid that I can’t help but laugh. Don’t blame me for tricking you, blame yourself for falling for it.” His eyes because glassy and glazed over, like he wasn’t there anymore.

His claws dug deeply into your throat that you swore you could feel blood in your damn lungs. He gripped harder, only to throw you into the ground like a piece of trash.

Your head hit first, blood dripped from your forehead and breathing was so hard that you were gasping for it, begging in your mind for somebody to save you from this monster.

Your vision glazed over and tears gushed down your cheeks due to your helplessness and fear. You wanted to call for help, but your throat ached so bad that any attempt to talk felt like molten nails were being scraped down your throat.

You raised your head and feebly attempted to crawl away, but Belphegor clamped his shoe on your back and held you down, then he raised his leg and kicked your back hard enough to the point where he either severely bruised you or fractured your spine.

”If you die, the exchange program will be ruined, and Diavolo’s reputation will be in tatters.”

He didn’t consider you a person with feelings, he only considered you a pawn for him to break and cause havoc against the three realms with.

“I hate humans, you see. I hate them more than anything in the three worlds.”

He propped you up against the wall and kneeled in front of you as you moaned in absolute misery and pain. You swore that he was only a few seconds away from breaking your spine and rendering you unable to move.

He gripped your face tightly, his claws digging into your soft skin and copper dripped down your cheeks, mingling with your tears as you waited for him to put an end to you.

His hand wrapped around your shoulder, then smashed it against the wall as your arm lay limp and paralysed.

With both hands on each side of your face, he continued.

”Hehe, does it hurt? Finding it hard to breathe? I’m sure it must feel very unpleasant.”

He smacked the back of your head on the wall, a horrible feeling of liquid made your hair sticky and a strange shade of red.

“I have to say, seeing a human face twisted in pain like this...” He stared at you, a sadistic smile on his lips.

”...Why, it’s so much fun that I can barely stand it! I... I can’t contain the laughter!”

And with his horrible, amused laugh ringing in your ears, you succumbed to a dreamless sleep.

———————————————————————

You woke up with a start, your chest heaving and your heart felt as though it were in pain. It hurt to breathe and tears gushed out like waterworks. It was surprising you didn’t scream as you woke up.

Sobs barely escaped your lips as your body shook with the intensity of your dream- rather, nightmare. There was barely any light peeking in from your bare window so you assumed it was late into the night, probably midnight.

Tear stains were everywhere on your pillow and your bed was rough and tousled. Your hands shook violently as they touched all the parts you were brutally injured with in your dream.

It still felt as though you were choking, even if you really weren’t. The weight of your emotions made your chest feel heavier than it should have, and you pondered if putting up a facade for your emotions was really possible at this point.

After you came back to life and you found out about your heritage, all did seem right for a while. Belphegor never really did apologise, but back then you let it go for the sake his brothers. They had only just got him back.

But in the back of your mind, you still had a sort of fear of Belphegor brewing in your head. Even if that was a different version of you, you still had those horrible memories.

And a few weeks later, when all had calmed down, the nightmares began. It would all feel so real until you woke up violently and thrashing around, defending yourself from someone that wasn’t there.

Everything had changed, and it hurt. You missed waking up early in the mornings and enjoying breakfast. You missed the happiness and contentment you felt having a life with everyone. With Lucifer too, even though he scared you.

You mourned the loss of your old life, a sort of homesickness becoming ever so stronger in your everyday life.

You hadn’t noticed before, but things were just so much more tiring as of late.

The nightmares had such a toll on you that you just couldn’t wake up on time before. Dark circles positioned themselves under your eyes for what seems like forever. It was bad enough that even Belphegor winced seeing them.

Life felt so much more dreary and not worth it. Breakfast would not stay in your stomach, and you could barely look at Belphegor or even stay in the same room as him.

And yet, nobody noticed or cared. They didn’t care about how you felt from dying at the hands of Belphegor, or how it felt to just watch your other self disappear in Mammon’s arms.

Heck, Beel would probably have no problem with remaining oblivious as long as it meant that he’d have Belphegor back. Everyone seemed like that, too. Lucifer was even getting along with him a bit more than usual.

And you just didn’t have it in your heart to crush that for them. God, no. You loved them way too much.

So you tried to cry as silently as you could, gripping yourself with your head on your knees as you silently cried for the loss of yourself and the misery that became a part of your life from since then. Who were you to ruin that? Certainly not yourself, a mere human. They’d never understand anyway.

Human life spans were only a blip on their radar. They would live for thousands of more years to come, and you would be gone in a matter of decades.

A knock on your door shook you awake from your thoughts.

”Hey, MC? I’m coming in.”

In horror and complete surprise, you lay down on your bed and tried your best to make it look like you were sleeping.

The doorknob turned and a figure came in. Judging by the voice, you recognised him, Belphegor.

Still red eyed, with your nose sniffling and face a mess, you hid as much as you could and pretended to sleep as he came ever so closer to you.

He placed a gentle hand on your shoulder and shook you slightly, “I know you’re not asleep, cut the act.” Your heart lurched as you opened your eyes and could see him standing in front of you.

He was holding his signature pillow, the one with a cow based design on it, and a laptop with a CD.

”MC, if you can’t sleep, do you want to watch a movie with me? I could hear you moving around, even from my room!” He chuckled slightly, a smile on his face. He looked different than how he was from his dream. He looked calmer not, but you were still deathly afraid of him.

Speechless, you shook your head as your body shook from being in such close proximity to him. You didn’t wanna be near him, especially not now.

As cold and as not cold you could be, you replied, ”No, I- I don’t. Please just go, I’m tired.” You could barely push the words out as your voice was raspy and your throat hurt, looking away from him.

His eyes narrowed in observation, “You look like you’ve been crying. Are you okay?” He tried to hold your hand, but then realised just how shaky it was.

”MC, seriously, are you okay?” He tried again, but you snatched your hand away and moved back, as far away from him as you could.

”Just go! Leave me alone!” You sniffled, your eyes darting everywhere but not on him. “I just wanna be alone. I don’t want you here... please.”

He was shocked at your sudden outburst, still standing there in disbelief as he nodded his head and tried to get a better look at you, but all you did was turn away, hiding your face in your hands.

He walked away, still holding his belongings in either hand as he left the room, not speaking a word. He stood outside your door for a second but then walked away. Thank goodness.

But then you realised how awkward it would be when you would have to face him at breakfast tomorrow. And what if he told Beel? Oh no.

You slapped yourself slightly, ashamed of what you had done. You just had to go ahead and ruin it, didn’t you? Now they’ll be asking you if you’re okay, smothering you in affection that you didn’t want.

Scolding yourself, you lay down once more and anxiety built up in your chest as you thought of tomorrow. What if they all start ignoring you because you can’t get along with Belphegor? What if Beel became uncomfortable with you because of Belphegor? What if everyone did?

That would mean that.. that you would have no one. That everyone would leave you behind and you would be forgotten. No friends, no family. And in the devildom, where demons are constantly looking to take your soul, that’s a horrible situation, if you were ever to find yourself in there.

What if you just let them eat you? You wouldn’t be much of a burden or home wrecker as you are now. And they probably wouldn’t even bat an eye. But then again, Lucifer wouldn’t want to have Diavolo’s exchange program ruined. Imagine the atrocity!

The walls felt so much more constricting now, in your room. The air felt hard to breathe and your body refused to listen to you. You were just so... tired from everything.

With a final glance at the time, you closed your eyes. Only a few more hours until you would have school. And that would be all the time you would need to imagine yourself in your original timeline, living a happy life. If only.

The world disappeared, and so did you, clutching onto your dreams as the way out of your own living nightmare.

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anon-rebel-writes · 3 years

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Late Night Talks

Hello everyone! I hope you are having a wonderful day!

So this is a new story (yay!), and I wrote this for my girlfriend! She asked me not to tag her for privacy reasons, but I hope she loves this because this is actually based on a real event!

A quick background, we confessed through the phone and this story is heavily based on that. A lot of the feelings Luka feels are things that I actually felt! The dialogue is pretty similar too (obviously some things are cut out or edited to fit Luka and Mari lol)

My “just-a-friend” got me into MLB and we both love Lukanette, so I thought it’d be fitting to write her a story about Lukanette, based on us, for one of her gifts! Happy birthday, my love! I hope you (and everyone else reading this XD) enjoy it!

The story begins under the cut! <3 Ao3 Link

Soft light from his phone covered his face, forcing his eyes to squint in order to see clearly. His thumb unconsciously moved across the screen, opening up random apps before quickly closing them just to open them again.

The boat was fairly quiet. During the day, he could hear the different movements and various noises from his mother and sister, but this late at night merely left the sounds of waves from the Seine below him. The natural creaking of the boat usually left him relaxed and helped him fall asleep.

Although lately his nights had been occupied by other things, especially one girl.

Luka shifted in his bed, trying to engulf himself in more warmth from his blankets. Did his mattress always feel this stiff and uncomfortable? He never paid it much attention before, it never mattered before. Maybe it was just his mind trying to find something to think about.

He glanced at the time near the top of his screen and saw it was ten after midnight. Well at least it’s not too late yet, or maybe it wasn’t too early yet? She never texted him extremely late (or extremely early). Was it late? When did he care about time so much?

The only reason he thought about the time lately was because of her.

Luka shifted again, pulling up the blanket to cover the blush creeping up his cheeks. He continued to open apps just to close them again. He sighed and turned off the phone, letting the room dim and his eyes rest. Why did this feel so desperate? He used to see himself as a ‘go with the flow’ guy, but she had found a way into his heart and made him question his entire life.

When had he ever checked his phone this much? If she decided to text him tonight (as she had been doing for the past couple of nights), would immediately replying make him seem obsessed? He didn’t want to come off as overbearing. Didn't girls like when guys text fast? She hasn’t seemed to mind it so far. Then again, his only source of reference was his sister, and getting her to reply to him took years off his life.

His phone beeped and the screen lit up, showing a new text message. Luka quickly sat up and hurried to read the message.

‘SOS Can’t sleep again :( Think I might need a ~Luka~ to help (^-^)’

He covered his mouth with his palm, trying to hide the smile consuming his face. When did his nights become like this? Maybe it was desperate to wait for a text, but when the text came from Marinette, he couldn’t find a reason to be upset.

This girl seemed to bring him a whole new type of happiness, even if he was too nervous to text her first. He wanted to give her space and be comfortable around him, so waiting until midnight for a text never bothered him.

While seeing her throughout the day was always amazing, there was a different feeling that came with their late night talks. The fact that she needed to sleep and came to him for help gave him a warmth in his chest he never knew before. Although sometimes it made him feel selfish, seeing as she tended to talk to him when she was tired.

‘Luckily this Luka is always able to help :)’

And he really was always able to help, at least he tried to be. Luka helped everyone. Whether it was his family, friends, strangers, co-workers, he always lended a hand. But when it came to Marinette, he’d drop everything to run to her.

‘Yesss! Call me! Mama needs some Luka time!’

He tried to stifle a laugh and rolled his eyes at his phone. His body was hunched over the edge of the bed, watching his phone with intense eyes, as if the messages would disappear if he looked away.

In the mornings, he always found himself worried about that, as if the night before only existed in his mind. He’d hurry back to his phone to re-read the messages, making sure that Marinette Dupain-Cheng, the girl who chased off his nightmares and reinvented his dreams, really spent her night with him. Even if it was through a screen, even if it was for an hour, the messages were there to remind him that for a moment, she was his and he was hers. He was always hers, if she wanted him to be.

Luka slowly leaned back onto his bed, trying to get into a comfortable position. He put one hand behind his head and took a deep breath. His calm personality wasn’t an act, Luka was definitely a level-headed person, but he was still human. And as a human, a pretty girl talking to him late at night gave him lots of nerves.

He quickly shook off any tension he felt and pressed the call button. The phone only rang once before the sweetest voice he’d ever heard took over. “Hi Luka! Sorry, I know it’s late and everything, but I couldn’t sleep and… Oh wait, you told me I shouldn’t apologize, sorry! Or- wait, I just said sorry. Wow, I’m sorry- Shoot! I said it again-”

She was rambling, rotating between apologizing to him and trying to explain why she called him. As much as he loved (was that too serious of a word?) her, he also knew that if he didn’t reel her in, she’d spiral out of control.

“Don’t worry, Mari, you’re fine. But I gotta be honest, I didn’t expect this. I mean, calling a boy so late at night… not once, but multiple times in a row? How scandalous of you, Mel’.”

He heard a scoff through the phone and a lot of rustling. “Oh Luka, you should know I am the most scandalous of girls. In case you haven’t heard, I call lots of boys and girls at night.” Her voice took on a fake sounding ‘tough guy’ accent. He rolled his eyes and let out a chuckle. “Wow boys andgirls? I didn’t know I was talking to a criminal.”

Honestly at this point he wouldn’t put it past her to be a criminal, she seemed to have a habit of stealing people’s hearts. He’d never tell her that though. One, she seemed to have a strange distaste for bad jokes, two, that meant he’d have to admit that he liked her (but the word ‘like’ didn’t seem strong enough).

“What?! I wouldn’t take it that far! I’m a total supporter of the law!”

Luka moved the phone from his ear to his chest. His face pinched tightly, trying to hold back any laughter that formed. His body tensed up from holding it in, as much as Juleka definitely deserved some payback for the loud laughing she tended to do so late at night, he really didn’t want to deal with a cranky sister. He quickly moved the phone back to his ear and took a deep breath.

“Yeah, that’s true. It’s kinda funny how different we are, not that I don’t support the law. It’s just when you have a mom like mine, it’s kinda hard to keep it in mind.” Marinette laughed through the phone and his chest felt like it was on fire.

Everything about her was so sweet, her laugh, her personality, she was amazing. Even when the mornings came and his head throbbed from the lack of sleep, he would never change these moments with her for anything in the world.

Sounds of fabric and movement came through the speaker along with a small hum of agreement. “Yeah I am pretty amazing at following the law. It’s kinda like a job at this point… Not that I have a job with the law! I don’t do that. That would be weird. Uh- anyways! Your job! Wait, that's not exciting. Oh man I’m so nervous tonight, I’m sorry.”

“Melody, it’s fine. My job isn’t very exciting, but I’m sure your day was, right? Mind telling me about it? You know I love listening to you.”

A gasp came through the other end of the phone and then a very thorough retelling of the events from the day. He slowly closed his eyes and imagined everything she told him. She left the bakery this morning to hang out with Alya, she probably wore that new beret she made, along with some cute, pink shoes to match.

He imagined her sitting under a tree at the park to draw, it was sunny and hot today, so she probably took her jacket off to get comfortable. She told him how she went out to get orange juice with Kagami, he could practically hear her smile through the phone as she told him about it.

Everything with Marinette was simple, by no means easy, but simple. He knew her well enough to understand how she felt, and she was the same way with him. They just got each other. She didn’t need to tell him the details because she knew he would already know. When he tried to explain a decision he made in a new song, she didn’t have to know what he was saying to understand him. Luka found it easy to just ignore the details, because Marinette was talented enough to fill them in herself.

Luka stayed quiet as he processed her words, filling in the details himself. He loved spending his nights like this, he didn’t mind messing with his sleeping schedule (or lack thereof). He loved to replay every moment of sincerity and kindness she showed throughout her day. He loved to hear about new projects she worked on, because her talent went beyond anything he’d ever seen.

She was miraculous.

“-But yeah, I guess that was my day! Not super exciting, but I think it was okay? I hope it was, at least.” Exciting? That was just one of the many adjectives he could use to describe her. Talented, exciting, clumsy, but so intelligent. Even on her dull days, he got excited just hearing her about random thoughts she had throughout the day. “Marinette… you’re extraordinary, honestly. Your day sounds wonderful. You’re wonderful. I don't know- You make me feel wonderful.”

Was he oversharing? Probably. He was definitely bad with words, but he wasn’t lying. His hands fisted his shirt as he waited for a response. The other end of the phone call went strangely silent. He could faintly hear the hum of the phone and the waves of the water outside his window. Why did the phone get quiet?

The last thing he’d ever want to do was make her uncomfortable, maybe he shouldn’t have said anything. What if he told her too much? A soft squeal pulled him out of his thoughts and he focused back on the phone. “Um-! That’s...really sweet, Luka! You’re wonderful too… Or- Extraordinary I mean! You make me feel extraordinary, all the time. So- I don’t know, thank you?” His chest tightened. How much longer could he keep up with this act?

Pretending to be ‘just a friend’ might be easier for some people, but it was torture for him. Did she have these late night talks with other people? Did she ever hold anyone else’s hands when hers feels cold? Did she ever kiss them on the cheek to say goodbye? Luka was never one to push his luck, despite protests from his sister and mom, but nights like tonight made it hard.

“Don’t thank me, it’s just the truth, Mari. I should be thanking you, for making my nights a lot better, y’know?”

It was the truth. But there was so much more he could say. All of her quirks and amazing qualities always left his head feeling dizzy. He could write symphonies merely based on the person she was, let alone his feelings for her.

Yet he always kept those melodies to himself, even if he wanted to share them with the world, or share them with her. Nights like these make him feel like he could take on anything life throws at him. For Marinette, he probably could.

Another squeal came through the phone and a loud thud. He quickly sat up in a panic and pressed the phone even closer to his ear. “Marinette? Are you okay? Did you hurt yourself?” Loud thumping came through the receiver and more panicked sounds.

“S-sorry! That was just- I just- Ugh… I dropped my phone, sorry. You just- you should know that… This is gonna sound lame, but you make my nights better too… Heck, I even listen to your cover songs throughout the day, so I guess you make my days better too? Wait, that sounds weird, sorry! I don’t mean to say it in a weird way...”

Luka’s eyes widened and his heart felt as if it was trying to beat out of his chest. His hand unconsciously moved to his chest and grabbed tightly onto his shirt. The breath leaving him was shaky and weak. It felt like the world stopped spinning for a moment.

All at once, the feelings he tried to hide came boiling over and any sensible thought that told him to conceal his affections raced out of his mind. Before he could stop himself, Luka’s mouth moved on its own.

“Can we facetime? Or anything similar to that, please?”

Without getting an answer, his phone started ringing. He turned the phone to his face and saw himself staring back. As soon as Luka answered the call his eyes wandered across his screen, taking in Marinette’s face.

Her hair was still in pigtails, but different strands stuck out in an adorable way. The camera showed her snuggled into her bed as she laid on her side, with her pink comforter pulled over her lower face, covering her cheeks and nose. A large cat pillow rested just behind her head, unnervingly staring at him. Because most of her face was hidden, Luka noticed her eyes, and suddenly he felt very self aware of his position.

Quickly laying back down on his bed, Luka awkwardly raised one arm to lay behind his head, trying to feign an relaxed appearance. He tried to give her the closest thing to an easygoing smile as he could manage at the moment, which definitely felt a little forced seeing as how he was now (sort of) face to face with Marinette. Trying to hide any tension he was feeling, he cleared his throat, inwardly hoping she couldn’t read how nervous he was.

“Uh- Hey, Mar- Melody. Love the cat pillow. Totally don’t feel like it’s about to jump into your phone and attack me.”

She raised a hand to her mouth, attempting to cover her laughter. Her eyes scrunched, smile widened, and Luka’s heart soared. Marinette managed to roll onto her back letting the beautiful sound ring throughout the room. The blanket dropped and uncovered the entirety of her face.

After a moment of joy, she tried to quickly recollect herself. She turned her head back to the phone and stuck out her tongue. “Silly. Just so you know I’m banning you from making me laugh this late again. You’re gonna make my stomach hurt!”

Luka started laughing too, loosely covering his mouth, not caring about waking anyone up anymore. “That’s gonna be a problem, you should know that I’m kinda hilarious, so you should fully expect me to break that rule. Very quickly.”

They both joined in quiet giggling before Marinette covered her mouth with her hand again and gasped. “I just told you that you’re banned from making me laugh!”

“Hey, I warned you! You can’t be mad when I literally just warned you!”

The two teens burst into laughter once more. Luka calmed down quicker than Marinette did, so he saw her laughing face a second time. She was beautiful. Every time he saw her, he swore she wasn’t real. No real person could be as stunning as she was.

Whenever she worked on a new project and her hair flopped over her face, she was gorgeous. The times when she helps their friends out, her eyes are always so gentle, she’s divine. Even when she’s stressed out, the moments when she feels at her lowest, Luka can’t help but notice how angelic she looks.

She’s breathtaking without even trying.

Once Marinette collected herself, her eyes turned soft and precious as she looked back at the phone. Even through a screen, her stare set his soul on fire. His mind went blank for a second before he lost all sense of reason.

“Did you really mean it when you said I make your days and nights better?”

Her eyes widened slightly at his question, and he finally realized what just came out of his mouth. ‘Great job, Couffaine. You just made it weird!’Luka shook his head and moved the camera slightly away from his face, moving his gaze from the phone. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring it up again-”

“I mean it.”

His eyes shot back to her and saw how she snuggled back into her bed again. Her eyes were looking away, but the redness in her face showed him exactly where her mind was. “I meant what I said… Did- Well, did you mean it too? When you said I made your nights better?”

There it was again. The shaky breath, the longing look in his eyes, the fuzziness in his chest. With a simple answer, she turned him into putty and without even realizing it.

Luka moved his arm to rest on his eyes, attempting to hide any sign that would show how he felt, just in case she didn’t mean her words the way he wanted her to mean them. He’d never blame her for not being too clear, even if it hurt him. Any affection, whether friendly or romantic, should’ve been fine with him.

“This is gonna sound bad, but my phone is full of screenshots from our FaceTime calls.” Luka lifted his arm up slightly to gauge a reaction from her. But her eyes were glued on him, he couldn’t pick up on a clear response, so he covered his eyes again and continued.

“I… this is so creepy- sometimes I look at pictures of you and… it makes my day better too? That sounds so weird. It sounded a lot cuter in my head-” A loud cackle interrupted him and his arm shot away from his eyes. He saw Marinette digging herself even deeper into her massive blanket (and creepy cat pillow), trying to hide her laughter.

She must’ve noticed his silence because her eyes popped out of the blanket to look back at her screen. “Sorry, that’s just… that’s so cute! You take screenshots from our facetime calls?”

Her lopsided smile made his cheeks burn. He tried to gain back his level-headedness by rolling his eyes at her. He brought the phone closer to stick his tongue out at her. “I wouldn’t call me ‘cute’ if you don’t want me to call you ‘adorable’ for listening to those covers.”

Marinette stuck her tongue out at him in retaliation and hid her face back into the blanket. He took a quick, deep breath, silently thanking himself for being able to play his awkwardness off.

“I can’t believe I actually admitted that to you- That’s cold-blooded, Luka! Teasing a girl’s love is mean!”

They both paused for a second, taking in her words. The cabin suddenly felt a lot smaller than it was. His blood felt boiling hot yet icy cold all at once. His face slacked and yet tensed in different places. Looking at her and seeing her eyes expand let him know she was probably feeling the same way.

“Love?”

It sounded so easy. When she said it, it felt right. Full of affection without being overbearing. But then Marinette’s gaze moved off screen. She sunk into herself, yet not playfully like before. The energy of the call changed into something else, something new. “I… shouldn’t say anymore. I’m… sorry, Luka. I’m so sorry; I feel so selfish. I call you so late just to ruin your night by making things weird, and I’m so sorry.”

He watched as she shifted in her bed; he saw the edge of her thumb on the screen, hovering over it, as if she was about to end the call. “That’s not-! Marinette, that’s not true. If you’re selfish… If you’re selfish, then I must be the most greedy guy in the world.”

Marinette swiftly stared at the screen, her mouth opened as if she was going to rebuttal his statement. Before she could, he spoke first.

“I’ve been staying up every night, hoping and begging that you’d text me, or call me, or give me any attention at all. And I do it, knowing that you message me when you’re tired and need to rest. I know that spending time with me only takes away time you need to sleep. So yes, I’m selfish, and I’m greedy,”

Luka slowly sat up as he stared into the screen, clutching it as if it was the most important thing in the world, and at this moment, it was. Marinette moved the blanket off her face slightly and he saw her face flush with color. His voice felt raw as his throat tightened and his face burned. He couldn’t even register the tear that raced down his cheek. When did he get so emotional?

“But Melody, Mari, Marinette Dupain-Cheng, I want your attention so bad. I want your affection and anything else you give me. I’ve been trying so hard to bite my tongue around you, to pretend like I think of you as my friend. But I love…”

He shut his mouth fast. What was he doing? He was destroying everything for these feelings. Why would she like him? She gives everyone affection. Marinette loved everyone, it was just who she was. What was he doing? He looked around his room and realized the situation he put himself in. He quickly put his phone on the bed next to him and pulled his knees to his chest.

Did he ruin their relationship? Would she stop having these late night talks with him? Would she still hold his hands when hers felt cold? Would she ever kiss his cheek to say goodbye again? What was he doing?

This wasn’t how tonight was supposed to go. It all happened so fast. He reached for his phone to apologize and to hopefully scavenge whatever was left of their friendship.

“I love you too, Luka.”

His hand stopped just above his phone and he waited. He listened to the small buzzing sound from his phone, the waves moving against the boat, gentle breathing coming from Marinette.

“I love you… and I wanna be selfish. I wanna be greedy and I wanna be with you.”

Luka found the courage to lift the phone to his face and stare back at her. Marinette now sat up, her face was bright red with tear stains down her cheeks. Her eyes were slightly puffy and he was sure his were too. The only light on her face was her phone and even with everything, she looked beautiful.

“I wanna be with you too, Marinette. Always, for as long as you’ll have me. Wake me up at three A.M. everynight for the rest of my life, I don’t care. I just wanna be with you too. I love you.”

It felt so right. It wasn’t too much when he said it. He meant it to be heavy and weighted. But it didn’t feel forced or extreme. It was just right. They stared at each other for a moment more. His eyes raced across every centimeter of the screen, taking in every aspect of her, her eyes doing the same. Smiles spread across her face as they both chuckled, their laughter laced with happy tears.

Luka wiped his eyes, trying to calm himself down (despite his teenage hormones telling him that he should continue to cry and sob from the utter euphoria he was feeling). Marinette tugged at her pigtails with one hand, seeking to find comfort.

“This wasn’t the way I thought we’d confess, y’know. I always thought you’d write me a song, or I’d make you a new jacket. Some big gesture instead of us sobbing,” she chuckled.

He stopped wiping his eyes to laugh again. His smile grew, even as he tasted his tears. “Yeah, sorry about that. I promise I have plenty of songs for you, and about you and everything. I can grab my guitar if you want, but you might hear Juleka complaining in the background.”

They shared one final laugh before the exhaustion of crying kicked in and they both laid back down. Marinette wrapped herself in blankets one final time, holding the dubious cat pillow tight against her. Luka found himself in a similar position, he laid on his side, his face squished against his pillow and the blanket pulled under his chin.

They stared at each other, making small conversation about their feelings. Luka could hardly remember all that happened after that, he felt such relief and happiness from everything that the rest of the night felt fuzzy.

He glanced at the time at the top of his screen and noticed it was now closer to three-thirty. Luka took a deep breath before sighing. He saw Marinette’s eyes getting smaller and smaller with each second.

He knew that they should hang up soon, but he really wanted to be selfish and keep her on the phone. “Luka…”

Marinette slowly opened an eye to look back at him. Their smiles grew once again. “Are you gonna take another screenshot of me?” Her smile turned sly and he rolled his eyes.

“That’s cold-blooded, Mel’. Teasing a guy’s love is mean,” he stuck out his tongue, just for good measure. But then he sneakily took one screenshot, to remind himself that tonight was real and not just a dream. Tonight, Marinette was his and he was hers, and hopefully it’ll stay like that for a long time.

Her eyes drifted back closed, but her smile never left. “...Love you… Luka….”

Warmth engulfed his chest, leaving him feeling light and airy. The mattress underneath him felt soft and perfect. The dryness on his cheeks from earlier tears didn’t bother him at all. He was content and full of love.

While the confession was unexpected, he wouldn’t change it for the world. As much as he loved her clothing and as many songs as he had for her, he knew nothing would’ve compared to tonight. As he looked back at her sleeping face, he had a feeling she felt the same.

“I love you too, Marinette.”

#pro lukamari #lukanette #luka couffaine #marinette dupain cheng #ao3 #fluff #love confessions #mlb #late night calls #late night #texting #calling #facetime

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scapegrace74-blog · 3 years

Text

Ginger Snap, Chapter 2

A/N I am breaking probably the only rule I gave myself when I started writing fanfic, which was Don’t Ever Post a WIP. But lord knows I’m not immune to peer pressure and the narcotic that is reader feedback, so here it is, the second chapter of what is now an open-ended modern AU story about Jamie the Chef and Claire the Kitchen Disaster. Still a first person Claire POV, so I apologize in advance for any stray pronouns.

For the first chapter, I recommend reading it on Ao3, since I’ve made some minor edits since I first posted it on Tumblr. See above re. not planning on posting a WIP.

Oh, and funny story. When I decided to check the location of the real Ginger Snap catering company in Edinburgh, it was squished between “FrazersOnline” and “McKenzie Flooring”. If that’s not kismet, I don’t know what is. The location I describe below, however, is based on a catering venue here in Ottawa called Urban Element, where I’ve attended a few team-building events. I have yet to set anything on fire, though.

I checked my phone for the third time, confirming I wasn’t lost.

Frank and I moved to Edinburgh over the summer, just in time for him to start his position as Associate Professor of History at the University of Edinburgh. Despite our years spent in America, neither of us cared overmuch for driving, so we chose a flat (or rather, Frank chose a flat and I concurred) not far from campus. Therefore, this was the first time I’d ventured as far afield as Leith, a maritime enclave just to the north of the capital that couldn’t seem to decide if it wanted to be grittily working class or artistically hip.

When I finally reached the address, I had to smile. No main street pretensions or non-descript commercial frontage for Ginger Snap Catering. Before me stood a two-story red brick fire station, still emblazoned with the crest of the Scottish Fire and Rescue Services. The two massive truck bays were now enclosed by see-through doors that could be drawn back on a sunny day. Through these a warm yellow light could be seen, spilling onto the grey, damp pavement.

A petite woman with dark hair manned the small reception area, a red-haired toddler clinging to her like a marsupial. She held a phone to one ear while simultaneously pacing the polished concrete floor. I stood as unobtrusively as possible near the door, but in such an open space it was impossible not to overhear her side of the conversation.

“... they willna take ‘im back until ‘is fever goes down... aye, an hour ago when I picked him up but it hasn’t... nay, i dinna think it’s... tis jus’ terrible timing with two weddings t’morrow... Could ye? Och, I owe ye Mrs. Fitz, a million times o’er... Anytime, we’ll be here. Alright, soon.”

The speaker turned to me, the harried look of a working mother sharpening her already honed features.

“I apologize fer keeping ye waiting. What can I do fer ye t’day?”

Before I could respond, the young boy, probably no older than two, began to fuss, rubbing his flushed cheek against his mother’s shoulder.

“Och, mo ghille, Mam kens ye’re poorly. Mrs. Fitz is coming as fast as she may.”

Unable to quell my instinct to diagnose and then cure, I spoke up.

“I couldn’t help overhearing your conversation. Based on his age and the way he’s holding his head, it may be an ear infection.” At the woman’s penetrating look, I hastened to explain: “I’m a doctor. Would you mind if I took a closer look?”

Permission granted, I carefully palpated the boy under the jaw and peered as best I could without an otoscope into the offending ear canal. Confident in my diagnosis, I recommended treatment with a warm compress, an over-the-counter analgesic ear drop, and children’s paracetamol to control his fever. If, after twenty-four hours the symptoms had not improved, they could consider seeing his pediatrician for antibiotics, but these were only truly necessary for a persistent infection.

“Och, ye ‘ave no idea what a relief it is tae hear ye say so, lass. He’s my first bairn, ye ken, an’ I can ne’er tell if I’m over-reacting or being negligent. Can ye say thank ye tae the nice doctor, Wee Jamie?”

My stomach jumped. “Wee Jamie? Is he related by chance to Jamie Fraser?”

“Aye, tis his nephew. I’m Jamie’s sister, Jenny. Ye ken my brother, then?”

The pieces fell into place, and my insides settled.

“We’ve spoken before,” I explained. “I’m Claire Beauchamp. You and your brother helped me with a dinner party emergency last Tuesday. I came to return your market bags, and to thank you again for coming to my aid during my hour of need.”

Jenny and I spoke for another ten minutes, sharing the superficial narratives of two strangers brought together by circumstance. She was warm and thistly by turns, and I felt a longing for the honesty of female friendship that I’d given up when we left Boston. Eventually a matronly woman arrived to collect Wee Jamie. I carefully wrote down the exact names and dosages of my prescribed remedy.

After Mrs. Fitz and Wee Jamie had left, it occurred to me that Jenny needed to get back to work. I’d accomplished what I’d set out to do, even if I hadn’t thanked Jamie himself. As I began to make my goodbyes, however, Jenny interjected. “If ye’re no’ in a rush, why dinna ye join our afternoon cooking class? My brother will be demonstrating how tae make quiche. Tis the least we can do, after ye helped Wee Jamie.”

Which was how I found myself standing behind one of six cooking stations arranged across the fire station’s main area, a bright red apron covering my black slacks and saffron turtleneck. My impetuous curls were slowly breaking ranks from where I’d slicked them into a bun that morning. I worried I looked like a human Pez dispenser.

I glanced at the workstation immediately to my left. A slight woman who I guessed to be roughly my own age was engrossed in her phone, a cheeky smirk playing on her berried lips. Her strawberry blond hair was swept into an effortless chignon that made me twitch with envy. She looked up from her screen and caught me looking her way.

“Geillis Duncan,” she said, offering a well-manicured hand.

“Claire Beauchamp. Pleased to meet you.”

“Is it yer first time taking a class, Claire?” At my nod, she leaned in and whispered conspiratorially: “Ye’re in for a treat.”

Before I could enquire what she meant, a murmur amongst the other students (all women, save one) was accompanied by the heavy tread of work boots on polished concrete and a familiar Scottish burr.

“Good afternoon, everyone. Thank ye fer joining me on this dreich Scottish day. I ken a few of ye are new, so let’s start with a brief overview of yer stations and some basic safety reminders, before we tackle the quiche.”

Today Jamie was wearing a pair of olive pants that tapered down his endless legs and a technical shirt that clung valiantly to his upper body. He looked like he’d just stepped off the nearest rock climbing pitch. I wondered if he owned anything that answered to the name of a professional wardrobe, but I couldn’t deny that he looked impressive, in an athleisure sort of way.

“See what I mean?” Geillis hissed at me as Jamie made his way to the front of the hall, speaking now about optimal burner temperatures. “That man is a dozen kinds of yes.”

I concentrated on each step of the ostensibly simple recipe. Pie crust had been the previous week’s assignment, so I had only to blind bake the prepared dough already at my workstation. Once I had the crust centered exactly in the pie pan, pierced with a fork in orderly rows and placed in the oven, I rushed to catch up with the others. I’d missed Jamie’s instructions regarding pan frying the bacon, so I increased the flame, thinking I could make up a little time. The fatty meat crackled pleasingly as I set it in the lightly greased pan. I was inordinately proud of myself.

Things went very badly, very fast. First, my eyes wouldn’t stop watering as I meticulously peeled then dissected the onion into near-transparent crescents. Tears obscured my vision and I tried to wipe them away without contaminating my hands. To my left I could make out Geillis skillfully cracking eggs into a glass bowl, her pie crust already elegantly filled with crispy morsels of bacon and caramelized onion bits.

A vague sense of having forgotten something important tickled my mind. My pie crust! Grabbing a silicone glove (I wasn’t making that mistake twice) I rushed to the wall oven and extracted the pan. Giddy with relief, I saw the dough was only a little dark around the edges.

Before I could return victorious to my station, Jamie uttered a Scottish noise of alarm from his vantage at the front of the class. We both rushed across the room to where my rashers of bacon now resembled blackened shoe laces obscured by a heavy veil of smoke. With practiced ease, Jamie lifted the entire skillet into the adjacent sink and turned on the cold water. A cloud of steam enveloped his head, highlighting his auburn curls. I bit my lip as he looked my way in amusement.

“I hope ye werena planning on serving quiche to yer faculty guests t’night, Ms. Beauchamp?”

I stood meekly next to Geillis for the remainder of the class, no longer trusted around open flame without adult supervision. She graciously allowed me to extract her quiche when it was done baking. It looked like a magazine cover. Meanwhile, my workstation looked like the scene of an industrial accident.

While we were waiting for her quiche to cook, Geillis and I got to know each other a little better. She was a Highland lass from up near Inverness. Married to a wealthy older man, her life sounded like an endless quest for diversion. Despite this, or because of it, she had a sharp-witted frankness that I appreciated. She was also a hard-core gossip.

“Wee besom,” she remarked with a nod towards a blond girl who was currently monopolizing Jamie’s attention with endless questions punctuated by manufactured giggles and flicks of her pin-straight hair. “Tha’s Laoghaire Mackenzie of the Mackenzie brewing dynasty. They’ve a live-in cook, so there’s only one reason she attends these classes, and it isna for the quiche.”

I watched Jamie laugh over something the girl said, mineral eyes alight and his perfect white teeth on display. I suppose I couldn’t blame her. I wasn’t here for the quiche either.

The interminable ninety minute lesson finally ended. I thanked Geillis profusely and we exchanged numbers before she rushed off for her reiki treatment. Gathering my trench coat and purse, I tried to slink away without calling any further attention to myself.

“Ms. Beauchamp!”

I cursed under my breath, then turned to face him.

“Please, call me Claire. After I nearly burned down your place of business, we should probably be on a first name basis.”

Jamie chuckled. It sounded more natural and lived-in than his earlier response to Laoghaire, but I was likely fooling myself.

“Och, wha’s a cooking demonstration wi’out a wee bit of drama. Will ye be joining us next week? We’ll be making ceviche, sae I willna need tae put the fire brigade on stand-by.”

“Bastard,” I replied to his cheeky smirk. “Alas, I don’t think I’m cut out to be a cook. It appears to be the one science I can’t master.”

“Cooking isna a science, Claire,” he explained with sincere intensity. “Tis an art. Perhaps tha’s the root of yer struggle.”

“Perhaps it is. But in that case, I may as well give up now. I haven’t an artistic bone in my body.”

His languorous perusal of said body lit a different kind of flame in my belly. Geillis was right; he really was a dozen kinds of yes.

“I canna say as I agree. Come back any time if ye’d like tae try again.”

I blushed, thoroughly discomfited by his blatant flirting. He knew about Frank. He’d fled from him onto my fire escape, for Christ’s sake! Maybe when you looked like James Fraser, every interaction with a woman was merely a chance to hone your craft. Or maybe he was truly ignorant of his effect.

“I’ll take that under advisement. Thank you again, Jamie.”

“Until the next time, Arsonist.”

#my writing #outlander #ginger snap

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yellowmagicalgirl · 3 years

Note

Hey, how do you and other Krexie shippers work around the age gap? I mean, I ship Krexie and have my own headcanons, but I'm curious to see what others have done.

I feel like I answered this before several months ago, but I don’t feel like finding that post so I’ll answer again. The full answer to your question is a short essay (and that’s without including the footnotes) so I’m gonna put it under a cut. This is based upon my own experience in the fandom, and the krexie circles I frequent are the ones on FFN, AO3, and of course, here on tumblr. Abuse and grooming (in the context of real people) will be talked about below the cut.

TL;DR I’ve seen three main ways of dealing with the age gap: ignoring it, aging Krel up, and aging Douxie down.

Ignore It

This one actually encompasses two different methods. The first of the two is to treat one or both of the boys’ ages as nebulous, with the maturity level of “teenager” and nothing more explicit since Douxie is about nine centuries old and Akiridion royals live for centuries Krel’s exact age is unknown. In this case, the age of one or both of the boys won’t be mentioned aside from being hundereds of years old. In addition, at least on Douxie’s end, this is somewhat canon. Fun fact: Douxie never calls himself a college student, and neither does Archie. Likewise, neither of them call Douxie 19. That was Steve, who deserved far better of a character arc than just to be the idiot that he is in Wizards. However, even though he deserved better Steve is not a reliable source of information on Douxie’s age, but Douxie and Archie are. In Wizards, the only information Douxie and Archie give on Douxie’s age is that he’s about nine centuries old.[1]

The other method of ignoring the ages is to treat Douxie as a 19-year-old (ignoring the immortality) and Krel as a 16-year-old, and to mention one or both of their ages. Their ages are ignored due to one or both of the following reasons: for one, in real life a three year gap between teenagers doesn’t automatically mean the older person is a predator. It’s something to be cautious about, and the younger person really needs to have people they can trust since if the relationship does turn toxic they would have less power and thus be in more danger (usually, though it is possible for the younger person to be more dangerous to the older one), but that doesn’t automatically mean something bad will happen. The other reason to ignore the boys’ ages is because honestly? If someone needs non-canon ships to tell them which relationships are healthy and which ones are dangerous, then their parents/guardians and teachers have failed them. Fanfic authors, fanartists, and other people creating/consuming fanworks on the internet are not responsible for educating random people on the internet. In fact, they and their content are not responsible for if a random person is abused, even if the abuser uses fanworks to groom the victim. It’s the fault of the abuser for being abusive.[2]

Out of these two methods, I’m pretty sure I’ve seen more using the former method of ignoring than the age gap than the latter.

Age Krel Up

This, again, has two different methods. The more common method is to have Krel (and the other Arcadia Oaks High students) age naturally, until they’re at an age that the fanwork creator is more comfortable with having krexie at. These types of fanworks take place years after the events of Wizards. The other method is to create an au where Krel (and likely the other Arcadia Oaks High students) were already the age the fanwork creator is more comfortable with when Douxie and Krel first met. I, personally, have created a lot of content for the first method, and I’ve seen other people use this method as well. My fake marriage au utilizes the latter method, and this method would also work for au’s where Douxie and Krel are both adults when they meet but the au does not follow canon.

Age Douxie Down

This one also has a basis in canon, though I haven’t seen any other krexie shipper use this method of dealing with the age gap. I, personally, use this whenever I want to make krexie content that’s compliant with Trollhunters and 3Below but also do not want to deal wit backwards time travel because I hate backwards time travel. However, someone should write an au where Douxie and Krel are human high schoolers whose biggest problem is being gay for the guy attending your rival school.

Now, while Douxie and Archie gave Douxie the vague age of about 900 years old and Steve made the assumption that Douxie was a 19-year-old college student, Trollhunters actually went out of its way to show that Douxie was a high school student.

In season two episode 10, Mary reveals that she was dating a student from Arcadia Oaks Academy, and Eli remarked that that was their rival school. I was in high school when Trollhunters was airing, and let me tell you: high schools do not have rivalries with colleges. Arcadia Oaks Academy would have to be a high school, or maybe a k-12 or 6-12. However, it’s far more likely that Arcadia Oaks Academy is a high school with the same age range of students as Arcadia Oaks High. In season three episode 1, Mary excitedly tells Claire that a student from Arcadia Oaks Academy is at Arcadia Oaks High. This student is Douxie, and unless I’m remembering wrong he also mentions attending the Academy. Unless Mary knew all along that Douxie was a wizard and was trying to give him a cover story for why he was hanging out at Arcadia Oaks High only for this information about Mary to be cut from Wizards due to time constraints, there is absolutely no reason for Mary to lie about Douxie’s age to Claire. The fact that Douxie was considered to be a high schooler by most of the fandom (some people had been on the train of “he’s a centuries old adult” for a long time) is why the krexie fanworks created pre-Wizards are all treating Douxie like a high schooler. (Yes, people shipped krexie (or at least consumed/produced fanworks for the ship) before Wizards came out. I have my fic on AO3/FFN and other people’s comments to prove it, as well as some fanart saved to my blog. Sadly, some of the people are now antis, and one them has now harassed at least one krexie shipper.)

Personally, when I age Douxie down, I age him down to 17. Only 17. Not 17-plus-several-centuries-without-aging. In-universe he may try to call himself 1492 years old, but he’s really just 17. However, as I mentioned before, if I’m aging him down to 17 then I’m also completely ignoring the backwards time travel aspects of Wizards. And, by doing that, I end up really changing the lore of Wizards. If you would like more information for the timeline I use when I age Douxie down, please refer to this ask.

In Conclusion

Thank you for reading this. These footnotes aren’t nearly as on topic and are more of a ramble.

[1] Re: Douxie having a really vague age of nine centuries. If you take enough chemistry and physics (but in my experience especially chemistry) courses, you will have it drilled into your head that 900 years old could really be anywhere from 850 to 949 years old. So, while 919 is definitely possible in the age range given by the age of “about 900″, it’s really a give-or-take number. However, if we truly want to be accurate, then if we choose to have Trollhunters take place in the 2016-2017 school year, choose to have had the moppet been between 16 and 19 years old at the Battle of Killahead Bridge, and we consider that the late 12th century (aka the time period of Wizards... supposedly, considering that it is not historically accurate) to be the latter half of that century, then Douxie would have to be somewhere between 834 and 886 years old. If we want a 16-year-old moppet and for the 900 years to be an accurate case of rounding, then the Battle of Killahead Bridge would have needed to be in 1183 at the earliest, which is accurate for the description of late twelfth century. If Douxie were to really be 919 in 2017, then the Battle of Killahead Bridge would have needed to take place somewhere from 1114 to 1117, aka the early twelfth century.

[2] Re: the argument that fanwork creators are not responsible for if an abuser uses their content to groom a victim. When I was a kid, the big scare was that strangers would lure off innocent children with candy. We were told not to go anywhere with a stranger, even if they had candy (or puppies, kittens, etc.) I don’t know how many kids have been hurt by strangers promising candy, nor do I know if this is something kids are still being warned about, but I do know that there isn’t some campaign against candy companies for daring to sell candy that an abuser would use against kids. This is because, as horrible as children being hurt is, it’s not the fault of the candy companies. It’s the fault of the abuser. And likewise, it’s not the fault of a fanwork creator if someone else uses their content to harm others.

PS: A side note since we’re discussing ages. I’ve been in this fandom for years, specifically on tumblr, AO3, and FFN as well as one of the discords. It wasn’t until the krexie discourse started that I started seeing people start calling Krel 14. I had seen people call him 15-16 in the past, because the fandom wasn’t sure if he and Aja were twins or had a minimum of a 9-month gap (assuming, of course, that Akiridions reproduce like humans do). That being said, before the discourse I never saw anyone treat Krel (or Aja, for that matter) like he had a canonical age. 14, however, seems to be something that stemmed from the wiki. You know, the same fan-run wiki that claims that Nomura’s full name is Zelda Nomura even though nowhere in the shows, books, games, or graphic novels is she ever called by that name. Yeah, the Arcadia Oaks-Pedia is not a reputable source. I’m going to give the wiki editors the benefit of Hanlon’s razor and hope that they were just going “well, since Krel is Aja’s younger brother and we’re assuming she’s 15-16 years old like the rest of the protagonists he must be 14-15 years old” and it was only after that that antis took the idea of Krel being 14 as canon and then ran off with it to be cruel and cause chaos.

#answered ask #anonymous #krexie #tales of arcadia #trollhunters #3below #toawizards #krel tarron #hisirdoux casperan #fandom discourse #child abuse #abuse tw #grooming #if i wake up to people being dicks about this i will be so mad

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aricazorel · 3 years

Text

OC Questionnaire

I was tagged by @enasallavellan Thank You! This was really fun!

Answering for my Dragon Age: Inquisition OC from my ongoing fanfic series on AO3.

(This got a little long so more below the cut)

THE BASICS:

Character’s name:

Anyssa McBride

Role in story:

Inquisition Historian from Earth (MGIT story; Anchor series on AO3)

Physical description:

5ft 6in, wavy honey blonde hair that currently reaches midway down her back (on Earth it was roughly shoulder length, ice blue eyes

Age:

She is 26 when she arrives in Thedas and currently is 29 in my story. (She will be 30 shortly after the events set in Trespasser)

MBTI/Enneagram Personality Type:

I took two different tests when I created Anyssa and both labeled her as ‘ENFJ’—the giver or mentor. (I would argue that while she tested as an extrovert she does appreciate introvertedness and the current situation dictates which she chooses to be)

INTERNAL LIFE:

What is their greatest fear?

Being used and taken for granted

Inner motivation:

To help others and support them, hoping to see them happy

Kryptonite:

Having her self-doubts realized

What is their misbelief about the world?

Anyssa believes that everyone wants help and they just do not know how to ask for it. Unfortunately she has found out that some people just don’t want help no matter how sincere you are.

Lesson they need to learn:

She needs to learn to trust herself. Those around her know of her past on Earth and have made efforts to help her learn that. But no matter what, she still struggles with it, sometimes to the point of questioning whether she deserves the life she now has.

What is the best thing in their life?

A group of people who love and care for her. In other words, Friends

What is the worst thing in their life?

A history on Earth of those that were supposed to care for her, using her instead…and abuse. After her parents died in a car crash during her junior in high school, she went to live with her aunt and uncle who proceeded to steal the money her parents had left her for college. Later she entered into a relationship with a seemingly charming man named Bryan who turned out to be emotionally and physically abusive towards her. After two years she worked up the courage to attempt to leave. After multiple tries, she finally succeeded only to end up in Thedas.

What do they most often look down on people for?

Taking advantage of others, being cruel/mean to others, judging other without taking into consideration what they have been through

What makes his/her/their heart feel alive?

Writing stories based on those around her, sharing her knowledge with people who appreciate it, learning about the cultures and people around her, horseback riding, rock climbing, exploring the tunnels under Skyhold

What makes them feel loved, and who was the last person to make them feel that way?

The people she had come to know as friends in Thedas. They have become her ‘found’ family—something she thought to never have again. The last person to make her feel that way is Cullen. He always knows the right thing to say or the right thing to do to let her know she is loved.

Top three things they value most in life?

Acceptance by others, support of others, friendship

EXTERNAL LIFE:

Is there an object they can’t bear to part with and why?

No personal items from Earth made it through the rift to Thedas with Anyssa. What she has come to cherish most is the small items her friends have given her in an effort to make she feel at home. Most notably is the Cullen’s coin she wears around her neck and a stuffed dragon named Puff he gave her before they ever began their relationship.

Describe a typical outfit for them from top to bottom.

For her normal duties as historian, she wears simple dresses common to Ferelden fashion as well as blouses and skirts. For more formal affaires she wears one the many dresses Vivienne had made for her that incorporates Orlesian, Fereldan, and Free Marcher styles. For when she explores the caverns below Skyhold or travels away from the keep, she prefers typical traveling clothes and pants over skirts.

Most of her clothes are shades of light blue which Cullen said matches her eyes. She also wears purple in various shades being as it is her favorite color.

What names or nicknames have they been called throughout their life?

Nyssa and Nys. Most of her friends have called her Nyssa at some point in her life. Nys is only used by Cullen. He has also been known to use the endearment “sweetling” after they began their relationship.

What is their method of manipulation?

Anyssa isn’t known for manipulating anyone out right. Most of the time, she will rephrase an argument point to make the other party believe they are making a choice freely. This is not something she employs with people she is friends with or allied with. It a trick she holds in reserve when dealing with unreasonable nobles, especially when she has been called on to aid Josephine.

However, she is not above manipulating Cullen to either ensure he does not take on too much or because she would like some private time with him. A bright smile and repeatedly saying ‘please’ usually works. The first time Cullen realized he could not say no to her was when she asked to see a real dragon. In the end, he gifted her a stuffed dragon she named Puff and then took her to Crestwood to see the dragon there (from a safe distance of course.)

Describe their daily routine.

Anyssa’s routine various from day to day depending on the work load and what other duties she’s been tasked with. Normally, she holds any meetings in the morning and she makes time to watch the sparring ring from the battlements (especially if Cullen is participating). After that she may conduct any research she can on historical items the Inquisition has acquired and writes any correspondence to allies that might have knowledge she does not. She frequently checks in with Dagna in the Undercroft and reports the archanist’s progress to those interested. (Most people tend to shy away from Dagna but Anyssa finds her fascinating and funny.) She often finds Cullen for lunch and reminds him to eat. Her afternoons might involve cataloging artfifacts and tomes recovered in the hopes of returning them to their proper owners. If time allows, she can be found exploring and mapping the caverns and tunnels below Skyhold much to Cullen’s dismay. Throughout her day though, Anyssa has learned to work in time for her friends as well as for herself (though it has been a struggle in learning to do so)

Their go-to cure for a bad day?

There a several different answers to this. One is Sera. Both Anyssa and the Red Jenny enjoy pranks. Frequently Anyssa may provide the idea or inspiration while Sera carries out the actual pranks itself.

Horseback riding alone or with Cullen.

Playing Wicked Grace with Varric and/or Bull, Blackwall, and the Chargers. (Drinking and storytelling maybe involved.)

Reading a book with Cullen.

GOALS:

How are they dissatisfied with their life?

Overall, Anyssa is exceedingly happy with her life in Thedas. It is something she never thought to have again after her parents death and the abusive relationship with her ex-boyfriend. She had friends, a family, a career, someone to love her (whom she loves with all her heart), and a new purpose in life. If there was one thing that she would be dissatisfied with, it would be the knowledge that despite all the good the Inquisition did there will still be people who still cling to the old ways. In other words, she wishes that everyone could find the acceptance and support she has found but knows that the old ways are easier for some to hold onto instead of embracing change.

What would bring them true happiness or contentment?

Finally realizing that she did nothing wrong and it was not her fault that anyone left her or treated her poorly. Those were decisions made by others and she is not responsible for that. Cullen has aided her greatly in making progress with this but it is a struggle she will always have. But then again she has found a support network and love, so in the end she is already happy/content.

What definitive step could they take to turn their dream into a reality?

This is something Anyssa initially struggled with. Cullen was the first to admit he loved her and it took seven months before she could say it back. After that, they talked circles around making concrete plans about their future. Finally, they decided to just make the plans as they went (making a list of things they wanted.) When Cullen decided to start a Templar sanctuary after retirement, that solidified things. Now all that remains to be done is see the Inquisition through to the end and then begin their future.

How has their fear kept them from taking this action already?

Her past relationship colored how she reacted to Cullen’s affections and made her question whether she could trust his words. (she learned to trust his actions first and then his words)

Haven and Skyhold were the places she first felt welcomed in Thedas, like she had a real home again.

She questioned whether she could be lead historian in a world she knew nothing of, questioning even the skills she had learned on Earth.

How do they feel they can accomplish their goal while still steering clear of the thing they are afraid of?

Anyssa has decided to focus on what she can do in the present and prepare for the future she wants. She has begun making plans for how to transfer her skills to a slightly different career path aft her the conclusion of the Inquisition and has told Cullen she will support his dream of a Templar sanctuary while pursuing her own path. To ensure that happens, she will more than likely rely on Cullen for reminders to believe in herself and trust that she knows what she is doing. In the end, it all comes down to trust for Anyssa and her Commander is the one she trusts the most.

Tagging @commanderadorkable, @shadoedseptmber, @raflesia65, @noire-pandora and anyone else who would like to play! No pressure, just fun!

#oc questions #dragon age #anyssa mcbride #anchor

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ruzek-halstead · 3 years

Text

relight that spark ✨

prologue

pairing: luke patterson x julie molina

a modern day adaptation of the classic ‘cinderella’ tale.

high school au based off ‘a cinderella story’.

series masterlist || masterlist || ao3

warnings: fluffery, swearing

join my taglist here (or leave a comment to be tagged for this story only :)

i want you all to bear with me because this chapter isn't very exciting (with the exception of juke's text messages) but i think it's very necessary for background information. especially if you haven't watched the original movie!!

as you all know, this story is based off the 2004 classic 'a cinderella story' featuring hilary duff and chad michael murray. this is one of my favourite films, so i do urge you all to give it a watch! this fic is obviously not going to be exact to the movie, but it will follow generally the same storyline, but in a more modern sense.

✨

Julie Molina was a simple girl. All she really wanted was to get accepted into the Berklee College of Music, graduate high school and make enough money to move out and afford tuition. It wasn't an easy feat, but it's what she had been working for since her father passed away eight years ago. Her life used to be fantastic. Julie was still young when her mom passed away from cancer, and the memories she did have of her were slightly clouded and slowly fading away. But she remembered that she was one of the most gentle souls ever. She remembered her soft voice when she sang her to sleep every night, but one night, she wasn't there anymore. Julie never heard her mom's voice again. But her dad never let her forget anything. The memory of Rose Molina was alive and well in the Molina household, and at the family diner Ray owned, Mel's. He had inherited it from his father, and every day, he worked tirelessly to turn it into a feel-good family diner where everyone felt welcome and at home. After Rose passed, it was where Julie spent most of her time. Her dad was always busy with work, so she tagged along, but she never minded because the staff was her family. Her Tia Victoria worked there as the boss behind the boss, and she always made time to help Julie with her homework. Julie did everything at the diner. Holidays, birthdays, you name it. It was her home away from home; a place where she felt utterly safe and accepted. Until one day, she didn't. Mel's provided her the warmth and familiarity she lacked in her true home ever since her mom passed away. But the day Karen Fields walked through the door, slipped on a puddle and fell into Ray Molina's arms, that feeling was stripped away and never returned. Her father and Karen dated for a few months, and before Julie knew it, they were booking venues, cake tasting and dress shopping. Her father was getting married. Julie had never gotten the warmest of vibes from Karen, only when her father was around. But she was young, and she didn't know any better, and she couldn't tell her father that this was a terrible decision. She saw him happy, she saw him smiling, and she couldn't take that away from him. So, they got married, and shortly thereafter, Karen and her two twin daughters were moving into their Los Angeles home. Karen's daughters, Jade and Sophia, were not friendly in the slightest. They never went out of their way to include Julie in any activities, and completely ignored her at school, even though they were in the same grade. Julie didn't care much about that. She couldn't be bothered with mean girls like them, and plus, she already had the only friend she'd ever need. Julie met Flynn Anderson on the first day of kindergarten. It was quite hard to not notice the five-year-old yelling at another five-year-old because he had stepped on her brand new white sneakers. Even though her screaming was driving everyone away, Julie thought it was funny, so she went to join her at the sandbox. Ever since that day, the two had been inseparable. It also wasn't the last time Flynn yelled at obnoxious boys who unnerved her. Flynn kept Julie sane throughout the death of her mom, the transition with Karen and her family, and the worst event of all; the unexpected death of her father. She didn't see it coming, none of them did. One night Julie's dad was tucking her in and reading her a bedtime story, but then the ground started shaking and everything fell off the shelves. Her dad pulled her into the corner for safety, but Karen's screaming caught his attention and he had to leave her. She still had nightmares of their last few moments together, when he squeezed her hand before running out of the room. That was the last time she ever saw her father. Her young life only went downhill from there. According to the lawyers, there was no will left behind. This meant everything her father ever owned was left to Karen; that included his house, his money, his diner and Julie. If Julie thought Karen didn't like her before, she knew with one-hundred percent certainty that her presence was more like a burden now. Tia Victoria tried to fight for custody, because she never believed her brother-in-law would leave Julie in the hands of anyone else, but the courts disagreed and there was nothing else she could do about it. Julie was banished to the attic, and all house-duties were dumped on her. She was in charge of dishes, laundry, cleaning the entire house. On top of that, as soon as she was of legal age to work, Karen demanded she work at the diner to cover her expenses. Julie really had no other option, and although she hated it at the beginning, she realized the silver lining. Working at the diner meant she would spend time with her Tia Victoria and the rest of the staff that she loved, and she could also make her own money so she could move out, pay tuition and leave this life behind. That was what her life consisted of for now. She had her mind set on the music school of her dreams and she was working day and night so she could afford it. She went to school throughout the day, worked at the diner after school, and finished household chores after her shift. It didn't leave her much time to focus on her music, which at the end of the day was okay, because she didn't like to work on her music around her step-mother and step-sisters. They didn't understand, and they were cruel, so the less they knew about it, the better. It was also okay because Julie hadn't been able to publicly perform since her father passed away. When her mom passed, she left dozens of songs for Julie so she wouldn't give up music; it was her father that encouraged her to keep going, even at a young age. But with him gone, a piece of her went with him and she couldn't find it in herself to sing in front of others when he wasn't here to watch her. She kept her musical talents on the down low; only her Mel's family and Flynn truly knew what she was capable of with a piano and a microphone. That was until one day she received a text message from an unknown number. It started out innocent, crossed wires based on a flyer she put up three years ago to make some extra money. She didn't think any of those flyers were still around; they were unbelievably basic, with just her phone number and rate for piano lessons. Even though she didn't know this stranger and their first conversation was a tad bit rocky, for some reason, she felt comfortable talking to them. One day they started, and it just didn't stop.

That was how they met. She was expecting the conversation to end after she told them she wasn’t offering lessons anymore (she can’t even begin to explain how they found one of her flyers in the first place), but whoever they were, they were incredibly persistent. They were slightly charming, and for some reason, Julie found herself opening up and revealing things about herself only a limited number of people knew about her. She couldn’t explain the instant connection. She would honestly sound crazy if she tried. And even after she spilled her guts out, and it was well into the night, she was surprised to see another message the following morning. So, they kept talking; night and day, they talked about anything and everything. Julie never asked who they were; she never asked for their identity because the mystery was intriguing, and she really didn’t want to reveal her own. All she knew is that they were a senior at her high school and identified as male; she knew he was in a band and he played many instruments and sang a bit. Julie only told him the same amount of information; that she was also a senior and identified as female. Throughout their constant virtual interactions, they started revealing more and more about themselves. From their first conversation, Julie told him all about the death of her mom, and how that influenced her music career. She decided not to tell him about her father's death right away, because she did remember he was a total stranger and who knew if she could even trust him? She revealed that something traumatic had happened and her music was temporarily put on hold as she worked on herself. But through time, he opened up to her as well, and eventually, she let him into to all the details. He revealed to her that his parents were dead set on him pursuing other endeavours, including a full scholarship to Stanford University. However, that wasn't what he wanted to do. He wanted to purse his music and his band, and when he mentioned Berklee College of Music, Julie knew there was no forgetting they had ever met. She was locked in. Their conversations started simple, more like venting sessions. But overtime, they became random, about anything and everything. And to a certain extent, they became a tad flirty. Julie was no expert in the romance department, by any means. With all the tragic events in her life, romantic partners had been the furthest thing from her mind. But sometimes she got a real flirty vibe that she couldn't deny. And even when she wasn't sure, she'd show the messages to Flynn, who, with an eye roll, assured her he was definitely trying to flirt. It made her extremely nervous at first, but then she realized, she had nothing to lose. This was all virtual, they didn't know each other's identities; he couldn't hurt her. But Julie didn't like to refer to him as some random number in her contacts. As much as she didn't necessarily want to put a face to the number, she needed at least a name, or even a pseudonym. When he asked for an example, Julie suggested he refer to her as 'Dahlia' as that was her mother's favourite flower and she had an emotional attachment to it. He had made a lame joke about being able to top that but ultimately he chose 'Charming'. Julie had made the mistake of telling him he was charming once, and he still hadn't let it go. This was the ultimate power move to make sure she never forgot it; but secretly, she loved it.

And so, that's how it went. Sometimes they talked about serious things, like their future at university, and sometimes it was simpler things. Julie liked to argue because her sassiness would have it no other way; Charming could give it right back to her, ensuring it was never a dull conversation.

When Julie wasn't working, studying, or working on her music, she was talking to Charming. It was enough for her, for now. She was just trying to get through senior year quietly, by doing what was expected of her and making as much money as she could to get the hell out of there. But she should have expected that things wouldn't go that smoothly; they never had for her before. This is the story of Julie Molina and her Prince Charming, and everything in between.

✨

i was super unsure about this chapter because it wasn't that exciting and then i realized i could probably just use it as an prologue or something for some background information, so i hope it was enough.

i'm really excited to get into the nitty gritty of this story, so i really hope you all enjoyed this enough to follow along! i'm not sure how many chapters this will be yet, i'm thinking at least four/five with everything i have planned???

stay safe, thanks for reading!!

tagging: @grootsgillespie || @jayhalsteadcpd || @moreflowersthanweeds || @well-hes-just-too-cute || @echocharm17618 || @leopard-print-slippers || @jandthephantoms || @scribblingfangirl || @n0wornever || @simpformolina || @only-trust-fictional-characters || @snowmione18 || @tellurphantoms || @knitsessed || @carriewilsons || @elitharavenclaw || @wakeupfantoms || @uselessnerdnherblahg || @anotheronechicagobog || @katie-navarro

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duelistkingdom · 3 years

Text

you’d come back to me

chapter sixteen: therapy

[first chapter] [previous chapter] [master list] [next chapter] [read on ao3]

Summary: Seto Kaiba has been presumed dead for four years after the events of Dark Side of Dimensions. His return causes both unresolved feelings of grief to be brought to the surface and the past to be dragged right back up. In hopes of helping Seto move on and reintegrate back into society at large, Mokuba asks Yugi to work on Spherium II with Seto. Never one to leave a friend hanging, Yugi agrees. Over the course of the project, Seto and Yugi both come to terms with their mutual grief and grow towards a better understanding of each other.

Rating: T

Ships: Yugi Mutou/Seto Kaiba, Mokuba Kaiba/Rebecca Hopkins, Katusya Jonouchi/Mai Kujaku

Warnings: aged up characters, grief, references to suicide

consider supporting me on kofi / battle city tiers & above get first access to chapters!

“You’ve made impressive strides in these past two years, Seto.” Dr. Reiki examined his notes from the previous sessions. “You know it’s okay to celebrate that, right?”

Seto shrugged as he picked at the skin on his fingers. He felt that he didn’t deserve any sense of praise for simply growing up. Dr. Reiki often acted like it was a huge step any time Seto admitted to anything and it made him feel strange. “I don’t think I’ve truly made it up to everyone, though,” Seto said softly, hating the way these sessions often made him feel pricked raw. “I just… I keep thinking that Mokuba grew up without me because of my own recklessness. That doesn’t seem right. And I don’t think… I don’t think there’s any way I can make that up to him.”

“Have you asked him?”

Kaiba blinked, trying to understand the question and looking at it from every angle. Eventually, he gave up trying to understand. “Asked him what?”

The doctor sighed and once again Seto felt like he was being scolded. “Seto, what you tend to struggle the most in is communication,” the doctor remarked as he looked through his notes. This was not the first time that the doctor had told him this. “In everything you’ve told me, you do not ask other people what they’re thinking. You assume you know their inner workings based on your own thought process. So I ask you: have you asked Mokuba if there’s any way you can make up for missing four years of his life?”

Seto recoiled at the suggestion of asking Mokuba point blank about the missing four years. For the most part, the both of them had avoided the discussion. It was something that both of them danced around, ignoring the very fall out of that. “I,” Seto started, ready to ask the doctor a bunch of questions that died on his lips. “No,” he admitted. “But how do I even approach the topic, anyway?”

“You seem to be the master of putting things bluntly,” Dr. Reiki remarked and the smile he gave wasn’t unkind. However, Seto still had a hard time believing this therapist truly cared about him. This was clearly purely transactional. So why did he keep wind up saying more than he wanted to say? “I’m sure you’d find a way to broach the topic. And I know you hate this question, but I have to ask it. Are you contemplating going back to this other dimension that the Pharaoh resides in?”

“If you know I hate it, then why do you keep asking it,” Seto snapped. He hated that as always, Dr. Reiki did not react to him with any fear. He didn’t recoil away. Instead, the doctor’s eyes seemed to bear right into Seto’s soul. Perhaps that was why Seto wound up sighing and shaking his head, almost as if he was admitting defeat. “No. He made it extremely clear that I was not welcome.”

“You do understand why he did not want you there, correct?”

“Unfortunately,” Seto admitted, crossing his arms and closing himself off. It wouldn’t help but at least he could attempt to make it clear that he did not enjoy coming back to this conversation. Every single time, it was treated as if Seto had attempted to off himself. Or he assumed that was the case. “You make it seem like I’m suicidal.”

“Not by design,” the doctor said as he took another note and Seto hated it when he did that. What Seto wouldn’t give to know what he was taking down. “You know,” he remarked with a frown, “It’s been a while since you mentioned Yugi. How is that going?”

Seto went rigid. He’d avoided discussing his feelings towards Yugi and the complicated nature with his therapist for so long. The last time he mentioned it was before Yugi and him had made it official. There was a spark of fear in admitting it to his therapist. As if admitting it made it real. “It’s,” Seto started as he thought of the last time he saw Yugi, which had ended with Seto in a rather compromising position on his knees. He willed the flush across his cheeks at the memory to go away as he stiffly said, “It’s fine.”

“Really,” the doctor remarked and Seto resented the surprise in his voice. Was it really any of his business how Seto was relating to Yugi? Again, Seto found himself wanting to scream at Reiki to leave him alone. As always, he did not. “Because the last time you mentioned him, you were angry that he’d beaten you again. How did you come to terms with it?”

Seto glared and was livid that Dr. Reiki did not back down from the question. Instead, he had an amused twinkle in his eye - as if he already knew the answer. Seto had the odd feeling that he’d been cracked apart and his entire thought process was on display. As if he was a clock and Dr. Reiki had opened him up to reveal the inner workings. Worse yet, it was as if his therapist knew how those parts worked together. “Yugi took me out on a date,” Seto blurted out, almost unwillingly. It came spilling out and once he started, it couldn’t stop. “He took me out on a date and then he took control and from there... I realized my problem was that I love him, okay? It’s whatever, it’s not a big deal, so what? I’m gay, okay?”

Dr. Reiki leaned back and Seto had a distaste for how smug the doctor looked. “That’s good,” the doctor said, as if he was commenting on Seto finally coming up with a name for an emotion. “I know emotions are hard for you to figure out. I’m glad you understand your emotions towards Yugi now. Do you feel like this relationship has the potential to help you grow?”

It was strange. Out of all the reactions Seto expected to this declaration, he wasn’t expecting that one. It disarmed him enough to nod. “Yeah,” Seto admitted as he thought about the dinner with Yugi’s parents and how it felt nice to be welcomed into their home like that. “I think it could.”

The first question Mokuba asked upon seeing Seto was, “How was therapy?”

Mokuba had been distracted by the work he’d brought home to distract from the fact that Rebecca was busy studying for finals. He’d merely heard the door open and knew that it had to be Seto who entered. When Seto didn’t answer right away, Mokuba looked up to truly look at Seto. When Seto had finally come back to him, Seto had looked exactly as he had four years ago. That was no longer the case. Seto actually looked older now. There were lines upon his face that hadn’t been there before. “I was told I have to address the missing four years,” Seto said, brushing past the question. “I… I wanted to know how I could make up for what I did to you.”

It was like Seto had punched Mokuba right in the gut. At once, he immediately had flashes of the three miserable years. When the last words he’d heard was that he was in charge and then Seto was gone . There hadn’t even been a body. For the first two months, Mokuba had attempted to find Seto in the sands of Egypt. He’d poured millions into the search efforts and they found nothing. Not even a trace of the technology that he’d been in. Mokuba remembered that everyone had told him to give up after six months - that it was a waste of Kaiba Corp resources to continue to search for Seto. He remembered the many conversations with Rebecca.

Rebecca had traced out the last moments before Seto’s disappearance and the look of devastation on her face as she told him that Seto had vanished. She clearly had wanted to be able to tell Mokuba it would be possible to find Seto. That he didn’t have to worry, that she could make it okay. It made sense now that it involved leaving this dimension. Rebecca could’ve never fixed that. That didn’t change the fact that Mokuba was told he was no longer just the acting president and now was fully president of Kaiba Corp.

Mokuba had never wanted to be president. That was always Seto’s job. Even now he was doing the work that was supposed to be Seto’s. The only reason he hadn’t handed the job back was fear that Seto might crack again. He’d wanted so badly to just hand the position back to Seto, to shift things back to normal. He’d also known that it would’ve been the wrong call to make. How could Seto make it up?

Seto couldn’t return those four years of Mokuba’s childhood that had vanished when he had. He couldn’t change that Mokuba had spent years crying at night and having nightmares that Rebecca tried her best to soothe. He couldn’t take any of that away, no matter how much he might want to. The past had happened and they had to move forward with that knowledge. “There’s nothing that can change what happened, Seto,” Mokuba said, an edge to his voice that he knew Seto would take the wrong way. He couldn’t help it, though. He was trying his best, after all. “What happened, happened.”

Mokuba noted the steel edge in Seto’s eyes and the way he stiffened overall. Usually that meant that Seto had gotten an answer he didn’t like. And yet Mokuba held his ground. He’d gotten used to being the one to deliver the news that people didn’t like. “I know,” Seto finally said as he relaxed. “I merely meant… if there was a way that…” Seto was clearly out of his element and Mokuba hated that he couldn’t truly understand where his brother was going with this. Maybe once he understood Seto… or maybe he never had. Maybe he’d only ever known an idealized version of his brother that never existed. “That I could properly apologize. I… hurt you. And I never meant for that to happen, Mokuba.”

“What does it matter what you meant,” Mokuba said before he could stop himself, standing up and tears sprung to his eyes. He’d been holding them back for so long and now they just wouldn’t go away. It demanded to be felt. “You left me alone to take care of this company! And you come back, four years later, after we��d just started to heal! Seto, you were dead and now you’re here again and you ask me how to make it up? What hurt me was grieving you and having to be an adult when I was barely sixteen. I was a kid, Seto. You did to me what Gozubora did to you and you ask how you can make it up?”

Seto recoiled away and Mokuba regretted his words instantly. “I’m sorry,” Mokuba said after a moment, the instinct to keep Seto from doing something stupid still there despite everything. “That was cruel of me. I just… Seto, I wanted to focus on the fact that you’re alive. Not on holding that over your head.”

“That’s not how this is supposed to work,” Seto said, a frown on his face. “I’m… I’m supposed to protect you. I promised you that and I broke it. And I don’t know how to fix it.”

“You said you were going to be a dad to me,” Mokuba remarked. “And you were. You left, just like a father.”

Seto flinched yet again and Mokuba regretted his words yet again. They were cruel and unnecessary. He almost felt the urge to attempt to take it back, but he didn’t. “I know I’m sorry doesn’t fix it,” Seto said, an almost pleading edge to his voice as he stepped forward with his hand outstretched to Mokuba. Mokuba stared at the outstretched hand. “I just… I’m trying, Mokuba. If there was any one person on this whole Earth worth coming back for, it was you. You’re my duty of care.”

“I don’t want to be a responsibility,” Mokuba said, meeting Seto halfway as he willingly took his brother’s hand. It was clammy, like all the times he’d held Seto’s hands whenever they had to walk across a busy street. At the time, Seto had always angled them so his body would be hit first if a car didn’t see them. Mokuba hadn’t thought much of it at the time but now it stuck out in his memories. Seto had always placed himself in the line of danger, never once thinking how it might impact Mokuba should the worst happen. “I’m not a kid anymore. I don’t need a parent anymore. I need my brother back.”

The next thing he knew, he’d flung himself at Seto, his arms wrapped tight around Seto’s core as they’d used to. It wasn’t like before. Seto no longer was soft and squishy - everything about him was like hugging an iron pipe. And still he held his brother and then Seto’s hand moved to ruffle his hair, in that old familiar way. “I’m here,” Seto said softly as an arm wrapped around Mokuba. “I’m here.”

“I thought of how you can make it up to me,” Mokuba said, his voice wavering through his tears. “Don’t you dare leave me again.”

When it came to the cycles of grief, Kaiba had little experience with it. He hated that the one person who might know what they felt like would be Pegasus. For the first time, he reached out to Pegasus on his own and Pegasus agreed to meet Kaiba on his own terms. Kaiba had tried to pad himself out, trying to make himself seem bigger. Seto didn’t want it to be immediately obvious that he was rubbed raw over the past month now. Something kept nagging that it was time to release the past and yet the past had clawed itself deep into Seto’s back. It carried him and dropped him so many times that Seto didn’t know how to approach it anymore.

Pegasus, for his part, was still taller than Seto. He took up so much more space than Seto could ever hope to be. There was an easy going grin on Pegasus’s face, as if this was a catch up with old friends and not a conversation that Seto dreaded. Pegasus took a seat across from Seto with Seto’s desk between the two of them. It wasn’t enough. Seto still felt the raw humiliation from the first Duel they’d ever had, still pushing up. “Kaiba-boy,” Pegasus said with a tilt of his head. “I’m grateful for the social call, however… I know you well enough to know this isn’t purely social. What’s going on?”

The itchy reminder that Pegasus had somehow bore into his head and seen everything that Kaiba ever thought. He now accepted that this had to do with the Millennium Eye. Despite Pegasus not owning it anymore, it still felt like Pegasus knew more than he had any right to. “You got me,” Seto said, stiffening his spine and sitting up as straight as possible in an attempt to take up as much space as possible. “I wanted to know… when did…”

He couldn’t bring himself to say it and yet Pegasus seemed aware of what he was asking. “When did it get easier after losing Cyndia,” Pegasus asked and Seto hated that for once Pegasus sounded gentle. “It.. never got easier, Kaiba-boy. It still hurts. It’s just now I think of it less. I’ve had a lot of time to accept that my desperate plan to bring her back was never going to work. Once I did that… I knew I had to start moving forward.”

“But you don’t date.”

Seto regretted that statement that just blurted out of him. Pegasus nodded thoughtfully. “I found it hard to find someone new after Cyndia,” Pegasus admitted. “I do, however, date. Simply… nothing has ever clicked for the long term.” Pegasus’s remaining eye examined Seto. “Though I have heard through the grapevine that Yugi-boy has been helping you with your broken heart.”

This was why Seto hated being around Pegasus even without his eye. Pegasus had a way of just knowing things. Seto wasn’t sure of his source of information now, however. “What makes you think that I was broken-hearted,” Seto asked, defensively. “And you should know better than to believe rumors, Pegasus.”

“Should, but don’t, Kaiba-boy,” Pegasus replied with a cheshire cat grin. Seto felt like he was a mouse being circled by a cat, close to being caught. “You know, Yugi-boy and you would make a fine power couple. I bet that almost anyone could agree that the two of you are the it boys in Dueling. Could do wonders for business, Kaiba-boy.”

“My relationship with Yugi is no one’s business,” Kaiba snapped, well aware that wasn’t exactly the case. Almost every magazine related to Dueling loved to do long stories on their storied rivalry and speculate on their personal lives. It made Kaiba uncomfortable with how many people were acutely aware that Yugi was intertwined with his life. “Mind if we get back to the original discussion?”

“I know, I know, Kaiba-boy,” Pegasus drawled out, looking as if Kaiba had fallen right into a trap that he didn’t know about. As always, Kaiba hated that Pegasus held all the cards. Even on his own terms, Pegasus had managed to obtain the upper hand. At least Kaiba held that Pegasus attempted to take over Kaiba Corp once. However, at this point… what would that card matter, anymore? It was a new landscape that Seto was still navigating. “Are you ready to move past Atem?”

Seto flinched at the name of the Pharaoh being mentioned so casually. Of course Pegasus would know his true name. And even now, Seto felt like he was finally distancing from what the Pharaoh had originally meant to him. “I don’t think I’ll forget the impact he had on me,” Seto admitted, surprised that he’d let that out. “However… Mokuba is here… and I have a future here. A life.”

Pegasus shrugged. “That’s closure,” Pegasus said. “Closure is about accepting that you have a life here and that there’s a future after someone you care about dying. You can’t remain caught up in the dead, Kaiba-boy. You have to move forward.”

As much as Seto still hated Pegasus… he was willing to admit that perhaps Pegasus had a point. He had a life here. It was beyond time to embrace it.

#rivalshipping #rivalshipping fanfic #rivalshipping fanfiction #myfanfic #fic: you'd come back to me #literally the second to last chapter

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