hey everyone! i’ve been busy with life and a new job, but now that i have a bit of free time again i wanted to open up my requests for project hail mary and iron lung! i’m obsessed with simon and grace (and bloodymary) and i am very interested in writing some stuff for them, i just need some ideas!
i will write for both of them individually, and i will also write poly fics for bloodymary x reader if anyone is interested in that!
Daryl realises he has a crush on you, thanks to Carol, and immediately forgets how to function because he's never felt like this before.
The first sign something was wrong with Daryl Dixon was that he almost walked straight into a fence post.
“You plannin’ on introducin’ yourself to that post or marryin’ it?” Carol asked dryly from the porch.
Daryl jerked back with a muttered curse, glaring at her over his shoulder.
“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with me.”
Carol hummed in that irritating way she did whenever she knew something he didn’t.
The afternoon sun spread warm gold over Alexandria. Chickens clucked somewhere behind the houses. A few kids ran through the street laughing while someone hammered at one of the outer walls. Safe. Quiet.
Too quiet for Daryl’s liking most days.
Today, though, the quiet wasn’t the problem.
You were.
You, kneeling in the middle of the road with Judith beside you, helping her paint flowers onto a piece of scrap wood salvaged from a collapsed porch.
You had paint streaked across your cheek.
Daryl had been staring for long enough that Carol had apparently noticed.
Which meant he was probably doomed.
“She likes yellow,” Judith announced loudly.
You smiled. “Then we use yellow.”
Daryl’s stomach did something deeply unpleasant.
Not bad.
Just… strange.
Like stepping off a roof and realizing too late there wasn’t another floor underneath you.
Carol watched him carefully.
Then she smiled.
Slowly.
“Oh,” she said.
Daryl frowned. “Oh what?”
“Oh, this is bad.”
“Ain’t bad.”
“You have a crush.”
Daryl nearly choked on air.
“What?”
Carol looked delighted.
“You have a crush on her.”
“I ain’t—” He scoffed too hard and coughed. “The hell’s wrong with you?”
“You’re staring.”
“I ain’t.”
“You walked into a fence post.”
“Post jumped out at me.”
Carol folded her arms. “Daryl.”
He looked away immediately, which was apparently the wrong move because Carol’s expression turned positively smug.
“Oh my god,” she whispered. “You really do.”
Daryl felt heat crawl up his neck.
“No I don’t.”
“You’re blushing.”
“I am not.”
“You are.”
“Ain’t even possible.”
Carol laughed outright then, bright and warm and horribly entertained.
Daryl wished a walker would crash through the gates and end the conversation.
Instead, you looked up.
Your eyes found his instantly.
And smiled.
“Hey, Daryl.”
That smile hit him square in the chest like a goddamn baseball bat.
He forgot every word in the English language.
“…Hey.”
It came out rougher than usual.
You didn’t seem to mind.
Judith waved a paint-covered hand. “Daryl! We’re making signs!”
“Mhm.”
Carol watched the entire interaction like she was witnessing live theater.
You tilted your head slightly. “You okay?”
Daryl nodded too quickly.
“Yep.”
Carol snorted.
Daryl shot her a murderous look.
You glanced between them suspiciously. “What?”
“Nothin’,” Daryl said immediately.
“Daryl has a crush on—”
“Carol.”
The warning growl in his voice made Judith gasp dramatically.
“Ooooh, he used your full name.”
Carol looked entirely unbothered. “Relax. I wasn’t going to finish the sentence.”
Daryl wanted the earth to swallow him whole.
You were staring now.
Not laughing.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… looking at him with confusion and growing curiosity.
And somehow that was worse.
He cleared his throat awkwardly.
“Gonna go check traps.”
Then he practically fled.
After that, Daryl forgot how to behave like a human being.
It started small.
You’d speak to him and he’d answer three seconds too late because he’d been staring at your mouth.
You’d brush against his arm passing supplies and he’d nearly drop whatever he was holding.
Once, you smiled at him during dinner and he inhaled his drink wrong hard enough that Aaron had to smack his back while Carol laughed herself breathless.
“You’re pathetic,” Carol informed him kindly afterward.
Daryl glared at her from beneath the hood of his jacket.
“Used to think you were nice.”
“I am nice. I haven’t told her yet.”
His eyes widened in horror. “Don’t.”
Carol grinned.
That should have worried him more.
The problem was that Daryl had never had this.
Not really.
Not something soft.
Not something safe.
Wanting someone physically was easy enough to understand. He’d seen enough people hook up before and after the world ended to know how that worked.
But this?
This was different.
This was wanting to hear your voice first thing in the morning.
Wanting to bring you things because they reminded him of you.
Wanting to stand too close just to feel your shoulder brush his.
Wanting your smile directed at him specifically.
It made him feel unstable.
Like he’d built a house on rotten wood and didn’t know when the floor might cave in.
Because you were good.
Too good.
You laughed easily. You hugged people without hesitation. You patched wounds and sat with the sick and held crying children until they calmed down.
And Daryl—
Daryl was sharp edges and violence and survival instincts.
He knew what people saw when they looked at him.
A man too rough around the edges to fit cleanly into peace.
So he tried avoiding you.
That lasted two days.
On the second day, you cornered him outside the pantry.
“You’re avoiding me.”
“Ain’t.”
“You absolutely are.”
Daryl busied himself adjusting the strap of his crossbow.
You stepped closer.
“Did I do something?”
The genuine concern in your voice made guilt twist painfully in his chest.
“No.”
“Then why have you barely looked at me since Carol started acting weird?”
He froze.
Your eyes narrowed.
“Oh my god.”
Daryl closed his eyes briefly.
You blinked at him once.
Twice.
Then very softly:
“…Is this about me?”
The silence answered for him.
Heat flooded up his neck so violently he thought he might combust.
You stared.
Daryl stared at the wall behind you because looking directly at you felt life-threatening.
Then—
To his complete confusion—
you smiled.
Not mocking.
Not uncomfortable.
Warm.
Small.
Almost shy.
“Well,” you said gently, “that explains a lot.”
Daryl finally forced himself to look at you.
“What explains what?”
“The staring.”
He nearly died on the spot.
“I do not stare.”
“You do.”
“I don’t.”
“You once walked into a door because you were staring at me.”
His mouth opened.
Closed.
“…That door was crooked.”
You laughed.
God, that laugh.
It hit him right in the ribs every damn time.
You stepped closer again, enough that he could smell soap and sunshine and something floral lingering on your clothes.
Daryl’s brain immediately stopped working.
“You know,” you murmured, “you could’ve just talked to me.”
“Ain’t good at that.”
“I noticed.”
There was teasing in your voice, but softness too.
Careful softness.
Like you already knew he spooked easy.
Your hand brushed lightly against his wrist.
Daryl looked down at it like he’d never been touched before.
Maybe like this, he hadn’t.
Not gently.
Not with affection sitting openly inside the touch.
His breathing turned uneven.
You noticed.
Of course you noticed.
“You okay?”
“No,” he said honestly.
That surprised a laugh out of you.
And somehow that made him feel better.
Your thumb brushed once against his wrist.
Tiny movement.
Huge effect.
Daryl thought maybe he could live inside that feeling forever.
“You don’t have to be nervous around me,” you said quietly.
Easy for you to say.
You weren’t the one whose entire internal system shut down every time the other person smiled.
Daryl swallowed hard.
“You… you got no reason to want somethin’ like this.”
Your expression softened immediately.
“Like what?”
“Me.”
The answer came so fast he almost didn’t believe it.
“I do, though.”
Daryl looked at you sharply.
You held his gaze without hesitation.
“I like you too.”
Everything in him stopped.
The sounds outside faded.
The distant chatter.
The wind.
The clanging from the gates.
All gone.
Just you.
“You… what?”
You smiled a little nervously now yourself.
“I thought maybe you knew.”
He stared at you like you’d spoken another language.
“No.”
“Oh.”
“Thought you were just bein’ nice.”
“I was flirting with you.”
Daryl genuinely looked distressed by this revelation.
“When?”
You laughed again. “Daryl, I’ve been flirting with you for months.”
His brain tried to replay every interaction you’d ever had.
The extra food appearing on his plate.
The long conversations on watch duty.
The way you always sat beside him at meetings.
The touches.
The smiles.
The teasing.
“Oh,” he said faintly.
You grinned.
“Oh is right.”
He rubbed a hand over his face roughly.
“Jesus Christ.”
“You’re adorable, you know that?”
That word should not have applied to him.
And yet hearing it from you made warmth bloom helplessly through his chest.
Daryl looked at you carefully.
Suspiciously.
“You serious?”
“So serious.”
“You ain’t messin’ with me?”
Your expression immediately turned tender.
“No, Daryl.”
Something inside him cracked quietly at the sincerity in your voice.
Years of instinct told him this couldn’t be real.
That nobody looked at him the way you were looking at him now unless they wanted something.
But you just looked… fond.
Like caring about him was easy.
Natural.
His voice dropped rough and quiet.
“Don’t know what to do with this.”
“You don’t have to do anything.”
You stepped even closer until barely any space remained between you.
Daryl went completely still.
“I like you,” you said softly. “That’s all.”
His heart hammered so hard it hurt.
Your eyes flicked once to his mouth.
Then back up.
As if giving him time to pull away.
He didn’t.
Couldn’t.
Daryl had survived starvation, abuse, walkers, gunfights, torture.
None of it prepared him for you reaching up and touching his face gently.
His breath caught sharply.
“You’re really nervous,” you whispered.
“Ain’t never done this before.”
“Done what?”
“This.” He gestured helplessly between you. “Whatever the hell this is.”
Your smile turned impossibly soft.
“We can figure it out together.”
Together.
The word settled deep inside him.
Dangerously deep.
You moved slowly enough for him to stop you.
Your hand remained warm against his jaw.
Then your lips brushed his.
Soft.
Careful.
Daryl forgot how breathing worked.
The kiss lasted maybe two seconds.
Maybe ten years.
When you pulled back, he looked genuinely stunned.
You smiled nervously. “Too much?”
Instead of answering, Daryl grabbed your waist suddenly and kissed you back.
Clumsy at first.
Desperate second.
Like he’d been starving and had only just realized it.
You made a soft surprised sound against his mouth, hands sliding up into his hair.
That nearly killed him outright.
Daryl kissed like a man overwhelmed by feeling.
All rough edges and hidden tenderness finally breaking loose.
And you kissed him right back like you wanted every fractured piece.
When you finally separated, both of you breathing hard, Daryl rested his forehead against yours.
His hands still held your waist carefully.
Like he was afraid you might disappear.
“You’re real?” he muttered.
You laughed softly.
“Last I checked.”
“Think I hit my head.”
“You definitely walked into that fence post pretty hard.”
He groaned quietly while you laughed again.
Then he looked at you.
Really looked at you.
And the fear was still there.
But smaller now.
Overwhelmed by something bigger.
Hope.
“You really wanna be with me?”
Your answer was immediate.
“Yes.”
No hesitation.
No uncertainty.
Just yes.
Daryl’s chest tightened painfully.
Then your fingers threaded through his.
And something inside him settled for the first time in years.
Carol found the two of you sitting on Daryl’s porch later that night.
Your legs were thrown across Daryl’s lap while he absently traced circles against your ankle.
A position so domestic and comfortable that Carol nearly burst into applause.
Daryl spotted her first.
Immediately narrowed his eyes.
“Don’t.”
Carol grinned wickedly.
“Oh, I earned this.”
You looked between them curiously. “Earned what?”
“She’s smug ‘cause she figured out I liked you.”
Carol gasped dramatically. “Liked? Sweetheart, this man looked one smile away from cardiac arrest every time you entered a room.”
You burst into laughter.
Daryl groaned and buried his face in your shoulder.
To Carol’s immense satisfaction, you wrapped both arms around him automatically.
Protectively.
Affectionately.
Like it was already instinct.
Daryl stayed there a second longer than necessary.
Then another.
Carol’s expression softened.
Because there it was.
The thing she’d hoped he’d find someday.
Peace.
Not the fragile kind.
The real kind.
The kind built slowly with trust and tenderness and someone who looked at him like he was worth loving.
You pressed a kiss into Daryl’s hair.
He melted visibly.
Carol snorted. “Wow. He’s gone.”
Daryl lifted one hand without moving from your shoulder and flipped her off blindly.
You laughed harder.
And Daryl—
Daryl smiled.
Small.
Real.
Happy.
The kind of smile he only ever gave the people he loved most.
And when you looked at him afterward, eyes warm in the fading porch light, he realized something terrifying and wonderful all at once.
summary: silco wants only the best for his little girl.
warnings: vague threats, a smidge heated towards the end, ooc jinx (?)
word count: 2k
requested: yes (x)(x)
a/n: arcane requests are open! i combined two requests for this one. i’m also in the process of writing a smutty part two if anyone is interested??
you’d clocked jinx’s infatuation with you early on.
although, admittedly, she’d always been easy to read and didn’t seem to be trying to hide it.
whenever she came into the last drop, she’d excitedly wriggle around in her seat like a child waiting for permission to open a present while she watched you move with practiced fluidity behind the bar. she’d sip on the same drink she always ordered and tell you stories of the jobs silco had her doing, entertaining you when business was slow and grounding you during rushes.
her visits had a pattern to them that you soon recognized. so much so that you often found yourself waiting for her on those nights and quietly worrying on the few occasions she didn’t show up. by now, it was second nature to reach for that same bottle whenever you spotted her approaching the bar.
she took her time getting to know you, and you let her. you’d begun to thoroughly enjoy her presence, perking up whenever you caught a glimpse of her blue hair no matter how draining the day had been.
you watched patiently as she carefully danced around you over the course of a few months, occasionally testing the waters with a brazen line or an intentionally lingering graze of the fingertips that never failed to catch you off guard.
late one night, when all of your patrons had either stumbled home or were practically dragged out in a drunken stupor by your guards, jinx finally slinked into the last drop. she had that sour look on her face as she trodded towards the bar that told you everything you needed to know.
“long day?” you asked softly, reaching for the bottle under the counter and pouring her usual, complete with a bent straw.
she just huffed and plopped into the barstool across from you, propping her head up on her hand in such a way that made her cheek bunch up under her eye. she stirred her drink mindlessly with the straw, avoiding your gaze.
tilting your head down to get a better look at her, a small smile cracked on your lips. “hey.”
when her eyes eventually lifted, your heart seized up in your chest. she looked like a kicked puppy, with a spark of sharp frustration in her gaze.
“how about i put on some music?” you suggested, already moving to round the bar.
“yeah, okay,” she murmured glumly, her fuchsia eyes dropping back to her cup. you strode over to the jukebox and selected an upbeat rock tune, one you knew jinx liked to put on during some of her visits.
“may i have this dance?” you chirped in a posh accent. when jinx turned in the barstool, she found you bent slightly at the waist, an impish grin on your face and your hand extended out towards her invitingly.
“you’re ridiculous,” she scoffed, but you couldn’t help but notice the reluctant smile that wormed its way onto her lips, even as she tried to wrestle it down.
“you love me.” you definitely didn’t miss the crimson blush that bloomed under her skin at your words.
she hummed, stubbornly reasserting a pout onto her face with what looked to be no small amount of effort, and stared at your hand for a moment longer before slipping off her stool. your eyes flickered down to where her braids swayed around her ankles as she prowled around you in a half circle.
feeling bold, you reached out and snagged both of her hands from her sides, pushing and pulling her arms along with you as you swayed to the music.
you found yourself unable to dispel the proud grin that hooked your lips when her wild smile inevitably returned, feeling the rigidity melt from her joints. you guided her in a spin, laughing when she nearly lost her balance.
her hands never left yours as you led her in a loose dance, watching the life return to her bright eyes in real time. eventually the song faded to an end, leaving you breathless and rosy-cheeked, and nearly chest to chest with jinx.
her hands shifted in yours and for a moment she looked at you in a way that stole what little breath you had left in your lungs, tugging her lip between her teeth. another song started, a slower one, and jinx’s eyes changed.
before you even had the chance to suck in a new breath, her lips were on yours.
you made a muffled sound of surprise into her mouth, eyebrows raising even as your eyes fell shut. you lifted a hand to her cheek, thumb swiping over the soft skin there so tenderly that you heard her breath hitch.
she wasn’t gentle, but she wasn’t rough either. a sweet medium that you found you enjoyed beyond anything else. clumsy, and clearly inexperienced, but eager in a way that made your heart ache and your stomach flip.
she pulled away before you, uncertain eyes finding yours.
“about damn time,” you murmured, and kissed her again.
the two of you fell into a routine that felt easier, more natural than anything you’d ever experienced. jinx came into the last drop at the same time every night, slipped behind the bar with the familiarity of a seasoned barkeep, and clung to you all night like a baby koala.
in all honesty, you found the affection to be a bit of a nuisance at first. it was quite restrictive, trying to pour drinks while having a whole person practically attached to your hip. but eventually, you adjusted. suddenly her arms around your waist and her raspy voice in your ear became quite the calming presence.
you knew people were bound to talk. it started with the stares; the first night jinx had come in to visit, you’d gotten more bewildered and even sour looks from the patrons than you could keep track of. a few were courteous enough to pretend they didn’t notice. although even the bravest of them wouldn’t dare to speak out against jinx directly.
but word spreads fast in the lanes.
with jinx’s affection so publicly on display, it didn’t take very long for silco to find out.
you thought your grave was already dug when sevika strode into the last drop, eyes zeroed in on you.
“silco asked for you,” she rumbled, approaching the bar but not sitting.
you blinked at her. you’d known silco long enough to know that when he asked for something, it was hardly a request; but it was the middle of a rush, and there was no one to take over for you.
“the bar-“
“it’ll be handled,” sevika grunted, her expression tightening.
you nodded stiffly, slipped the towel from your shoulder and wiped your hands before dropping it limply onto the counter.
sevika turned on her heel and left, not even glancing back to see if you followed. you knew better than to disobey silco.
silco’s office felt miserably warm, almost as if to personally spite your already clammy hands. his chair was turned away from you, and you couldn’t help but clear your throat under the oppressive atmosphere.
“silco.”
your eyes flicked nervously towards sevika as she brought his attention to you. you straightened up, your expression an impressive attempt at neutral as silco’s chair slowly turned to face you.
you swallowed despite your facade, sweat beginning to gather under your collar as his penetrating orange and blue gaze found you.
“sir?”
“jinx has taken a liking to you,” he stated, leaving no room for argument and eyeing you blankly. “i cannot risk any… distractions.”
you lowered your head, futilely attempting to stamp out the emotion rising in your throat. “i understa-“
“however,” he drawled, the lift in his voice leading your hopeful gaze back up to him, “there is… an opportunity to be found in everything.”
he stood and rounded his desk.
“i know you think me callous. i couldn’t say i blame you,” silco rasped, taking slow steps in your direction. “but i care about her. more than you know.”
he stepped in close, his scarred eye inches from yours. you didn’t dare move, instead lifted your head to meet his gaze with more confidence than you had.
“know this: you hurt her, so much as speak to her in the wrong manner, and i will bring every terror upon you that you can imagine and more,” he said. “do you understand?”
his cool tone sent a shiver down your spine, but you managed to keep your head. “yes, sir. loud and clear.”
he straightened, the ghost of a satisfied smirk touching his lips. “good. you are dismissed.”
with that, he turned on his heel and sauntered back to his desk. sevika made to lead you out. she looked mildly surprised as she closed the door behind you.
“he let you off easy. thought for sure he was gonna rip your head off,” she snorted.
you huff out a laugh, the nerves giving way to relief. “yeah, me too.”
jinx was already waiting at the bar when you returned to the last drop, sitting sullenly on a barstool and watching the man behind the counter with sharp irritation, like he personally wronged her. you couldn’t help but chuckle at the sight.
“well, what’s a pretty girl like you doing here all alone?” you chimed over the loud chatter, sliding into the barstool next to jinx.
when she turned to you, her expression rapidly shifted from annoyed to excited. she squeaked out your name and grabbed your arm, pulling you close.
“where were you?” she asked, tilting her head like a curious puppy.
your eyes darted away from hers. “oh, uh… silco wanted to talk to me.”
“oh…” her expression turned suddenly serious and her fingertips dug into the skin of your arm. “what did he say?”
“oh, nothing, just some terrifyingly vague threats.” you grinned when she rolled her eyes and leaned in to leave a short kiss on her lips. she chased you when you pulled away, and you chuckled.
“shut up,” she mumbled, clinging to your arm as you stood to return to your work.
you felt eyes on you for the rest of the night, no doubt watchmen sent by silco. you paid them no mind.
jinx stayed with you until the end of the night, after everyone had left, including the handful of people who had been tracking your every move for the last half of your shift. she kneeled on a barstool, leaning over the bar and watching your hands wipe down a glass. you chuckled and subtly flexed your arms.
“enjoying the show, pretty girl?”
she flushed and glanced up at you, a small grin tugging on her features. “maybe.”
“just maybe?” you scoffed playfully, setting down the glass and rag and rounding the bar. you leaned in close as she turned in the barstool, pressing her back into the countertop. your hands slid around her waist, nose brushing hers. her lips parted. “i guess i’ll have to convince you.”
her hands flew into your hair when your lips pressed against hers, her knees parting around your hips. her back arched towards you, pressing her chest flush against yours. you sighed into the kiss, hands slipping to her hips to pull her into you.
a sharp gasp slipped from her tongue when you ghosted your lips along her jaw and left open-mouthed kisses down her neck. her grip in your hair tightened, and your fingertips pressed into the flesh of her thighs.
she pulled you away abruptly and tugged you along with her as she scampered out of the bar. her giddy giggles drifted on the cool night air and into your ears as she dragged you along, assuring you that this was the most right you’d felt in your life.
notes: y'all i'm so bad at endings😭 i'm sorry if it feels clunky. lmk if you're interested in a smutty part 2!
Jinx x Reader where Jinx has a habit of just showing up when Reader is working and just suddenly turning into an octopus.
Like, she doesn't do anything she just hugs Reader and clings to her for a long time. This has been going on long enough that it's seen as a mild inconvenience but dang Reader's coworkers can't get used it and still look at them funny.
Bonus if Reader works for Silco and she doesn't even fight it anymore. Just adjusts her stance so Jinx will be comfortable and continues with her work like nothing is happening
this idea is so cute! i expanded upon it a bit and combined it with another request. hope you don't mind! find it here
Silco giving Reader the shovel talk. Checking their intentions, having them followed, making sure they're okay for his little girl
thank you for requesting! i don't know if this is exactly what you wanted as i combined your request with another. hope you enjoy regardless! you can find it here
hey all, i’ve decided to open up requests for arcane! i’ll write for vi, jinx, vander, silco, and others if you have a specific idea.
i’m still working on a requested punch up fic but i’m experiencing horrible writers block so i’m turning to something i’m currently more inspired to write. thank you for your understanding!
Maybe Robert Robertson x reader, it’s pretty clear that man never exactly had a selfcare day or his whole spine could crack at a lil stretch.
Reader absolutely convinces him to get PTO (boy was so broke he never knew what PTO was) and spends the day helping him relax like a spa day or massage to the point he goes back looking more zoned out and alive (and smelling like lavender???).
i love this idea so much, thank you for the request!! i kinda took it and ran, added a few of my own touches, i hope you don’t mind!
i haven’t written a full fluff piece like this in a while and i really enjoyed it. i hope you do too! you can find it here :)
summary: ask anyone that knows robert even the slightest bit, and they would tell you the man has no idea how to take a break. you take it upon yourself to show him the beauty of self-care.
warnings: swearing (duh), secret relationship, z-team being nosy, no one gets cut au
word count: 2.2k
a/n: this was requested! if you want to request something, check out my guidelines for characters/fandoms i write for! also, reader’s hero name is zenith and they are able to manipulate gravity. i may reuse this for other fics? we’ll see!
“wow, you look like shit.”
malevola’s voice cuts through your peaceful morning routine. if sitting in the break room in the spare minutes before your shift, drinking the office’s shitty coffee and reading whatever romantasy book coupé recommended to you could be considered peaceful, that is.
your gaze is lazy when it drags up to the doorway, though you perk up almost imperceptibly when robert’s slumped form greets you, looking even more tired than you feel.
robert blinks slowly at malevola, his dress shoes shuffling across the linoleum towards where punch up is staring sullenly up at the dripping coffee machine. “gee, thanks.”
“did you get run over on the way here or something? seriously, you look like a corpse,” flambae adds from the corner, feet crossed unceremoniously on top of the white table in front of him. sonar snickers.
punch up pretends to consider robert thoughtfully for a moment, rubbing a hand across his stubbled chin. “no, he always looks like that.”
holding back laughter at the unimpressed look on robert’s sharp features, you pipe up. “c’mon, cut him some slack, guys.”
the break room fills with groans and protests, with one distinct “fuck you!” shouted over the noise right before a packet of twinkies is launched at your head. you dodge expertly, laughing at the way sonar is pouting like a five year old who just got scolded.
“i’m serious!” you continue as the chaos begins to die down. your gaze returns to robert, a sly grin pulling on your lips when you find his eyes already on you. “poor robbie already got hit by a car, give him a break.”
sonar and flambae howl with laughter to your left. your eyes are fixed on robert’s, his gaze narrowing at you despite the amusement fighting its way into his steely expression.
“you know what? fuck you, zenith.”
you turn back to your book with a smug grin and a dismissive hum. “you wish.”
robert rolls his eyes and turns to the coffee machine as it finally lets out a sad beep. punch up holds his mug out expectantly, and robert raises a brow.
“what? i can’t reach. help a lad out, will ya?”
the dispatcher sighs but obliges. punch up barks his thanks and thumps robert solidly in the thigh as he marches out of the room. everyone else follows shortly after, ready to prepare for the shift ahead.
the only sound left in the break room after the cluster of voices fades down the hall is the ticking of the clock and the careful clinking of a spoon stirring coffee. you turn to the next page.
“shouldn’t you be out there by now?” robert’s voice rumbles through your chest even from across the room, drawing your gaze to his back.
“i wanted to finish this chapter. but,” you respond, dog-earing your page and gliding across the floor towards him, “i also wanted to talk to you.”
“me? i’m flattered,” he murmurs monotonously, turning his head towards you. your gaze softens at the dark circles under his eyes.
“no offense, but you really do look like shit,” you chuckle, shifting closer to him but remaining painfully aware of the camera in the corner of the room. “might be about time for a self-care day.”
he turns away, the swirling coffee in his mug suddenly becoming very interesting. “not really my kind of thing.”
you sigh in exasperation, your hip planting itself against the counter. “you are so stubborn.”
“you love it.”
you roll your eyes despite the small grin molding your lips. “how about this: tomorrow, we’re both gonna take some pto and i’m gonna give you the best damn spa day you’ve ever had.”
he snorts. “the bar’s not very high.”
“robert.”
“right, yeah, sure. pto, spa day. sounds great.”
“i’ll hold you to that.” smiling affectionately, you press a discreet kiss into your palm and lay it on his back before strolling out of the break room.
the locker room is already empty when you get there.
you check the clock on the wall. five minutes until your shift starts. you change quickly — as quickly as one can when their suit is made out of what might as well be the tightest material known to man — and stuff your civilian clothes into your locker.
sonar, flambae, and coop are already out on the balcony when you get there, seemingly waiting for robert to send them assignments. you roll your eyes when sonar wolf whistles at you, pushing your earpiece into your ear.
“damn, zee, you look good in that suit.”
“it’s the same suit i wear every day, sonar.”
“still. damn!”
coop elbows him sharply.
“ow! what, can i not compliment my friend?”
“focus, team,” robert’s voice comes crackling through your earpiece, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he sounded more tense than usual.
jealous, much? you muse, chuckling to yourself.
“zee, there’s a robbery by the beach. i want you to go with sona- uh, waterboy.”
fighting back a smirk, you press on your earpiece. “sure thing, boss.”
launching from the balcony, you spot waterboy exiting the building below you, ready to leap into action. you focus on the younger man, the gravitational fields molding around him and pushing him into the air next to you. he yelps.
“i don’t think- i’ll never- won’t get used to that,” he breathes, gulping as he tries his best not to look down.
the rest of the day flies by. before you know it, the z-team is clocking out and heading to the closest villain bar. robert and waterboy decide not to join the group, and the former stops replying to your texts about an hour after he gets home. you smile slightly at the thought of him passed out on the new bed you’d practically forced him to buy for himself.
the night goes by relatively uneventfully, which, for the z team, means at least one person passed out drunk, another threw up in a trash can, and someone else tried to pick a fight with the bartender.
you manage to make it home unscathed, having left before a full blown brawl developed. quickly slipping into your sleep shorts and a comfy tank top, you shoot your boyfriend a goodnight text that you’re sure he won’t see until the morning and promptly fall asleep.
a series of knocks has your eyes trailing from the book in your hand up to your apartment door. you pull yourself up, mug of tea securely in your hand as you pad to the door.
robert smiles softly at you when you let him in, leaning in to press a gentle kiss to your lips. your free hand finds his waist as you hum and smile against him.
“i made you some tea,” you chime, gesturing with your own drink to the steaming mug of chamomile on the kitchen counter.
he parts from you to pick up the warm cup and you smile as he takes a slow sip. “this is…”
“amazing, right?” you hum. “much better than the shitty break room coffee.”
he chuckles warmly, seeming to melt around the mug nestled cozily into his hands. “you can say that again.”
you gently set your own tea down, rounding him and sliding your hands up to his shoulders. your fingers apply deft pressure to the muscles there, grinning triumphantly when he groans almost instantly at the touch.
swift hands reach around to unbutton his shirt as lips press chastely to the fabric over his spine, and robert shifts. you can practically hear the smirk in his voice when he speaks.
“if you want me naked that bad, sweetheart, all you have to do is ask.”
you pinch his side, eyes rolling. “oh, shut up.”
he chuckles, his own fingers leaving his mug on the counter and coming up to help you.
once his shirt is off, discarded next to the forgotten tea mugs, your fingertips trail across his exposed back, tracing every scar and mole with familiar precision. your thumbs find the base of his spine, just above his belt, pressing down firmly on either side of the vertebrae and working upwards.
robert grunts, the sound coming out strained as his muscles tense.
“try to relax,” you murmur, pressing another tender kiss to his shoulder blade. the tight muscles loosen slightly at your words, and you smile.
“why don’t you lay down?” you suggest softly, hands finding his waist as you crane your head around him to meet his dark brown gaze.
the smile he gives you has warmth blooming in your chest; the kind that has you smiling back without even realizing. you take his hand and lead him to your bed.
“on your stomach, please,” you instruct gently, watching as he obeys.
“yes ma’am,” he jokes through a groan as his weary bones settle into the mattress.
you straddle his thighs and pepper reverent kisses across his scarred skin, hands following the path of your lips. you don’t miss the goosebumps that rise on robert’s arms.
your eyes flicker down as you sit back. mischief shines in them, your hand reaching down to pinch the underside of his ass, just above his thigh. he jolts.
“hey!”
you cackle evilly and lean back down to press a kiss to the back of his neck. “sorry, couldn’t resist.”
he grumbles something inaudible as you reach for the lotion bottle on your nightstand. lavender fills your nostrils as you spread it across your hands and onto his back, massaging and working out knots as you go.
robert groans and sighs as you work. when you hit a particularly nasty knot, he jumps. “ah, what the fuck? that hurts. is it supposed to hurt?”
you grimace. “sorry, honey. it’ll feel better when i’m done, i promise.”
he grunts but doesn’t say anything when you keep working at the knot in his shoulder. when you finish, you glide your hands up and down the expanse of his back, caressing gently and rubbing in the excess lotion.
“feel good?” you murmur, leaning down to his notched ear, your chest against his back.
he does nothing but hum in response, eyes closed and face more relaxed than you’d seen in months.
you huff out a laugh, sliding off the bed. “i’ll take that as a yes.”
he lays there, motionless, while you retrieve some supplies from your en suite bathroom. for a moment, you wonder if he’s asleep.
“robert?” you whisper, thumb sliding across his cheekbone. his eye cracks open and he studies the materials in your hand.
“what’s that?” he grumbles, sitting up slowly. you grin and hold up the thin packages.
“face masks. can’t have a spa day without them.”
he sits like a statue while you put a ridiculous fluffy headband on him and apply the sheet to his face. you giggle.
“what?”
“nothing,” you lie, though the snort you let out betrays you as you stare at him, hair sticking up in every direction behind the bear-eared headband and a white sheet blanketing his features.
he rolls his eyes at you as you apply your own face mask and lay down next to him. you reach for the tv remote and flip to some shitty medical drama show that robert refuses to admit he’s invested in.
not too invested though, it seems.
he’s asleep within ten minutes, his head resting on top of yours where you’re curled into his side. his gentle snores have you smiling affectionately, the sound slowly lulling you to sleep along with him, face masks long forgotten.
the office is slow to wake up when you arrive the next morning, heroes and dispatchers lazily milling about as the first bits of sunlight crack through the slats on the windows. stretching your arms high above your head, you make a beeline for the break room. the rest of the team is already there, making their first coffees of the day and desperately trying to brush the warm weight of sleep off their shoulders.
you give a groggy smile and a low hum in greeting when prism shoots you a cheerful “hey, bitch!”. you briefly wonder where she got her energy from this early in the morning.
you don’t hear robert enter over the pouring of your coffee until malevola pipes up.
“you look chipper, robbie.”
you peek over at the dispatcher, who looks remarkably less dead than usual. you grin smugly.
flambae perks up. “holy shit, i think he got laid.”
“about damn time,” punch up deadpans, earning a disinterested eye roll from coupé.
sonar’s snout twitches. “is that… lavender?”
you freeze mid-stir. robert does his best not to look at you.
“uh, yeah. i’m… trying out a new lotion.” he grimaces slightly at the poor excuse. sonar eyes him suspiciously but shrugs.
“okay, dude.”
you let out the breath you didn’t know you were holding and turn away from the coffee machine. plopping into a chair next to prism, you pull out your book from your bag and begin to read. you don’t notice prism leaning over until she whispers in your ear, making you jump.
YALL ik i should be working on part 3 of twilight zone but i just finished watching sean’s playthrough of dispatch and i’m SO OBSESSED
i really wanna start writing for this fandom so please send in your dispatch requests! i’ll write for pretty much anyone, but i’m currently the most interested in writing for sonar, waterboy, punch up, and robert.
ok thanks i promise i’ll have twilight zone pt.3 up soon too!!
summary: when a fresh face is brought into the house, you must come to terms with the role you’ve been forced into.
warnings: intimidation, manipulation, aggression, mention of reader having hair long enough to be styled, descriptions of spiders
word count: 3.4k
a/n: this is part 2 of my twilight zone series. you can find part 1 here! thank you to the lovely @de-swampiest-rat for beta reading you’re the best ily <3 also, my requests are open, please feel free to send in your ideas!
“yes.”
the word is hardly there, swallowed by the rushing in your ears and the intense vertigo spinning the room on its clawed finger like a basketball.
it wasn’t much of a choice.
stay, or die.
accepting his sinister offer makes you want to vomit, but it has to be better than whatever fate awaits you back home, at the mercy of whatever primal force controls those creatures.
you need it to be better.
your eyes finally lift to henry’s face after a long, dizzying moment.
he’s smiling, as if he wasn’t horrifyingly comfortable with the idea of allowing you to be torn apart mere moments ago. you clench your jaw, caging in the scoff that threatens to fall from your lips.
“a wise choice,” he hums contentedly. “you will be well taken care of here. this is your home, too.”
he lifts a long, thin finger.
“there’s only one rule. do not, under any circumstances, go into the woods.”
your eyes flicker to the window. outside, the treeline seems to shift as if the roots of the massive trees are picking themselves up and shuffling around, as if even they can’t decide if they belong here. your head tilts, lips curling downward.
“do you understand?” your eyes snap back up to henry when he speaks again. you nod, and he frowns. his hand comes up just below your chin, hovering but not touching, as his voice lowers. “i need words, little dove.”
your lips part and the air seems to leave your lungs at his menacing command, body reacting despite your brain remaining in fight-or-flight. the contrast makes you feel lightheaded.
“yes, sir,” the whisper slips out of your mouth unchecked, your eyes going round.
you swear, for a moment, you see his pupils blow wide.
he straightens up suddenly, looking troubled but trying to hide it. “i have matters to attend to. the house is yours until i come back.”
he turns on his heel and marches to the door, pausing with one foot already over the threshold.
“remember: do not go into the woods.”
he leaves with that, the ornate door swinging gently shut behind him. you watch him through the window until he disappears down the street, hands clasped neatly behind his back like always.
your shoulders sag, a shaky sigh heaving your body.
“what have i gotten myself into?” you mutter, bringing a shaky hand to your forehead.
you sit like that for a while, knees to your chest and back pressed into the couch as if waiting for it to give way and swallow you whole.
finally, once the seconds start to drag into hours, you pull yourself up and find your footing.
the house is deafeningly quiet. impeccably and carefully decorated, nothing out of place, nothing chaotic.
wandering eyes find a picture hung perfectly level on the wall, the delicate frame filled with a small, smiling family. stepping closer, you recognize the man as henry. there’s a young girl standing next to him whom you can’t quite put a name to. on her other side, however, is…
you.
adorned in a light blue dress characteristic of the 50’s, you stand, smiling, with your hand rested affectionately on the girl’s shoulder. henry’s arm is looped familiarly around your waist.
your stomach churns.
you turn the corner slowly. another portrait of you hangs on the wall to the left of the stairs, along with several more of henry, the girl, and a handful of other children. they’re arranged carefully into a sloped line, seeming to guide you up the grand staircase.
the steps complain softly underneath you as you climb, following the trail of pictures. you turn at the top of the stairs, looking down the hall that stretches farther than the limits of the house. the pictures end abruptly down the distant length of the hallway, right below what looks like an attic hatch.
head tilting, you amble through the rows of doors, each of which has a name on it. standing below the hatch, the string dangles down above you, taunting you, daring you to pull it.
you swallow, reach up, tug on the string.
the hatch creaks slowly open, a ladder lowering with a groan that sounds almost like a question.
your curiosity shovels over your fear, compelling you to follow the path the house itself has thoughtfully laid out for you. clutching the wooden rungs, you heave yourself into the attic, the musty air coating your throat and laying over your skin like a blanket.
a glowing lamp stands an unwavering beacon in the center of the room, casting long shadows that radiate out towards the walls. it beckons you towards it, and you swear for a moment you hear… a faint whisper.
glass shines in the light, a collection of jars huddled together like a litter of newborn puppies at the foot of the wooden box on which the lamp rests.
kneeling in front of the light as if preparing for a prayer, you reach to pick up one of the jars. the lamp coats you in warmth as you lift the jar to your eyeline.
you gasp and drop the jar, the glass loudly clattering to the ground. the pair of small, inky spiders contained within scurry around, frightened by your drastic reaction.
your eyes narrow and you pick the jar back up, eyeing the spiders curiously. your fear dissolves as they seem to stop and stare at you.
it’s now that you realize the whispers are coming from the jar. you pull it closer to you, heart eerily steady despite your lifelong, crippling fear of arachnids.
one of the spiders lifts its front legs as if inspecting you, and you have a strange sense that they can see into you, and you into them. their thoughts drift softly into your ears, hissed just low enough that you can only make out a handful of words.
it’s her… henry chose… special… needs her… the kids…
you lift the jar to your ear, straining hard.
only now, instead of the whispers, you hear the front door click open faintly. henry’s voice echoes through the house, calling out for you.
you tense. something tells you you weren’t meant to see this place.
gingerly placing the jar back where you found it, you scramble down the ladder and swing the hatch shut just in time for henry to appear at the top of the stairs.
“there you are,” he smiles. “come, there’s someone i’d like you to meet.”
you follow him down the stairs, lost in thought. so lost, in fact, that you lose your footing and miss a step, yelping as you slip forward.
a firm hand finds your arm, holding you up. your heart hammers as your eyes find henry’s. if you didn’t know any better, you’d think he looks… concerned.
“are you alright?” he asks softly, staring into your wide eyes.
a breath leaves you.
“ye-“ you swallow. “yes.”
he releases you then, slowly, watching you carefully as if he’s assuring himself you’re steady. he offers you his arm, and you loop your own around it, the motion flowing oddly familiarly through your muscles.
“good. you’re too important to be getting hurt.” he smiles at you, and your heart flutters nervously in your chest like a caged bird. he leads you the rest of the way down the stairs.
your heart nearly stops when you see the young girl in the foyer.
it’s her. the girl in the picture.
“holly,” henry greets warmly, familiarly. “this is y/n. she’ll be taking care of you.”
you force a smile, the corners of your lips wobbling slightly. holly doesn’t seem to notice.
“nice to meet you,” she replies sweetly, shooting you a blinding, oblivious grin that makes your heart ache for her.
her family must be missing her.
a clock ticks away faintly in the living room, steady, yet patronizing in a way that only you seem to notice. you stay smiling anyway. something about holly’s innocent ignorance makes you want to protect her from any harm.
you step forward and kneel in front of her, reaching out to gently touch her blond pigtails.
“your hair is so pretty!” you gasp. “did you do it yourself?”
holly beams proudly as she nods, her chest puffing up.
you raise your eyebrows at her. “wow, you’re so talented! you have to do mine later.”
“i’d love to!” she agrees enthusiastically, gears visibly turning as she already starts to mentally plan out your hairstyle.
“holly, why don’t you go upstairs and get cleaned up?” henry suggests. “dinner will be ready shortly.”
your heart stutters and sinks like a flat rock thrown across a still lake as you watch her trot up the stairs, leaving you alone with henry.
“you’re good with her,” henry murmurs from behind you, making your muscles seize up. a thin breath slips from your nose. your lips feel as if they’ve been welded shut.
henry stares at you for a long moment. you can feel his gaze burning into the back of your head, a weight you can’t shake. he knows you heard him; he can see the hair rising on your arms.
you flinch when he reaches out and soothes the exposed skin with a warm hand, the gentleness juxtaposed with the way his ghostly touch leaves you colder than before. you shiver.
henry abruptly pulls his hand back. “would you mind making dinner for holly?”
it’s not a question. both of you know that, yet he presents the illusion of choice regardless. henry pauses for a breath, the weight of it hanging in the air, a sharp-eyed vulture ready to snatch you up the moment you falter.
without waiting for an answer, he continues, “you’ll find everything you need to make spaghetti in the pantry. holly’s favorite.” his voice softens at her name, sweet and playful, but only for a fleeting moment. “i have to leave again, but i’ll be back before dark.”
you hear his dress shoes click softly against the wooden floorboards as he makes his way to the door. you finally turn to face him. his hand is on the doorknob, and his head lifts.
then, he smiles at you. gentle, almost loving. your throat closes up.
“oh, and get the mail for me while i’m out, will you?” he dips his head quickly to put his hat on, shooting you a knowing smile.
your heart tugs in two directions.
and with that, he slips outside and is gone once more.
dinner is boiling gently when holly skips down the stairs, hair perfectly curled and wearing a neatly pressed blue dress, humming to herself as she approaches the stove.
“what are you making?” she asks, eyes flicking between you and the bubbling pots curiously.
“spaghetti and meatballs,” you hum in reply, tilting your head to look down at her. “i heard it’s your favorite.”
holly gasps softly and turns her big eyes to you. “how did you know?”
coy amusement curls on your lips. “just a hunch.”
she tilts her head at you but says nothing. you divert your eyes to the sauce in front of you, watching the liquid swirl lazily.
“would you mind getting the mail, please, holly?” you prompt gently, feeling as if the silence itself is resisting your disturbance.
“sure!” she seems to light up, appreciating the feeling of being useful and bounding towards the front door. it swings open, butting harshly against the doorstop as she practically leaps down the porch steps.
your eyes press shut for a moment, an invisible hand constricting your lungs. the clock still ticks dutifully away in the living room, accented by the quiet rumbling of the boiling water.
the door creaks shut, the sharp whine tearing you to attention.
“henry left you something,” holly murmurs absently, eyes fixed on a white slip of paper even as she slides a sealed box onto the laminate countertop.
you turn from the stove for just a moment to inspect the package. the brown paper wrapping is pleasantly warm to the touch from sitting outside, bound neatly with a length of twine. your name is written in flawless yet unembellished cursive on the top.
you pull at the thread curiously, missing the careful glance holly shoots in your direction before scurrying upstairs, the note clutched close to her chest.
you shake off a strange and sudden sense of being watched as you peel the paper away from the package. the box contained within is just as unassuming; unadorned and colored with a pink so pale you’d think it was white in different lighting. the lid slides off with little resistance, and beneath is a delicate layer of tissue paper, neat and flat like fresh snow.
a sigh of awe and something nervous falls from your parted lips as you slowly lift a silver necklace from the box. it catches the light and shines with a brilliance that assures you it’s nothing short of pure sterling silver.
something tells you the small diamonds sparkling along the length of the chain are also very real. they lead your eyes in a dazzling path down to the centerpiece of the necklace, a modest pendant with a distinct shape.
a spider.
a carbon copy of the exact arachnids you’d stumbled upon in the attic not an hour ago.
a jet black gem is set into the silver creature’s abdomen, glinting with a cold light that makes your heart feel swollen in your chest, like a bloated dead body left in water for too long.
even so, when you reach behind your neck to clip the jewelry into place, you feel an odd sense of warm comfort cradle you, like a mother holding her child. it lays perfectly high on your breastbone, as if it had been made for you.
the cool metal cradles your neck as you turn back to finish dinner and set the table with two bowls of steaming spaghetti.
“holly, dinner’s ready!” you call through the house. it echoes just a little too long.
silence.
“holly?” you try again, saliva catching in your throat and making your voice shake. you round the corner into the foyer, only to see the front door cracked open.
dread floods all the way into your toes as you rush to the door and rip it open, scanning the tree line for any sign of holly’s honey blonde hair. the trees still shift, as if nervous and unsure under your gaze. as if they’re hiding something.
do not, under any circumstances, go into the woods.
henry’s warning vibrates in your mind. if you break his rule, he’ll kill you. or worse, send you home and leave you to face those creatures alone.
the memory of holly’s innocent, admiring eyes flashes through your mind.
then, a steely determination.
holly needs to be safe.
even if i’m not.
spaghetti long forgotten on the dining table, you practically sprint out of the house and towards the woods, face set into hard intertwining lines.
passing between the trees feels freeing at first.
no stifling atmosphere or immaculate decorations. just the sound of birds and the smell of the leaves that makes your lungs feel truly full for the first time since you’d arrived at henry’s house.
you search for any trace of holly, any tracks or strands of hair that might allow you to follow in her footsteps.
nothing.
you call out her name over and over, instead doing your best to move in a straight line and mentally map out your path through the endless trees.
seconds drag out into minutes, your voice becomes scratchy from shouting out for holly, and before you know it, you can’t remember how long you’ve been stumbling around in these woods. you find yourself suddenly missing the steady tick of the living room clock, the sound that once drove you crazy now a much desired symbol of stability.
after a truly ambiguous amount of time, you try to give up, to turn back. but even the trees themselves don’t want you to leave. no matter what direction you go in, every tree, rock, and bush looks new, even through the overwhelmed tears that now threaten to spill from your lashes.
after what could have been either days or minutes — you wouldn’t be surprised by either — you collapse into the brush, pressing your back to the trunk of a tree so large you’re sure your arms couldn’t even fit halfway around it.
you stay curled up there like an armadillo hiding from a predator for what feels like another several hours, a constant flood of tears streaming from your eyes until there’s nothing left in you except sniffles and shivers.
a twig snaps to your right.
you leap up, though your feet keep you rooted against the wide tree.
“holly?” you croak, peeking around the tree towards the source of the noise.
henry’s there, frozen mid-step. his jacket and hat are missing; he seems to have left in a rush to find you. the look on his face says he’s just as surprised to see you as you are to see him.
you practically double over, forgetting your previous fears in favor of the intense relief at finally being found.
henry surges forward, seizing you by the shoulders with an aggression that has a gasp forcing its way through your lips.
“what are you doing out here?” he demands, brows arched and eyes wild in a way that has your own eyes widening in terror.
“i- i’m sorry, i-“ you swallow harshly, a lone tear slipping down your cheek. “holly-“
“-is in her room, reading.” he leans forward, pressing your back uncomfortably into the bark of the tree, hot breath fanning across your face. “safe.”
you whimper, babbling, “no, she- i swear! i called for her and she- she didn’t come! and the door was open, i just assumed-“
“you could’ve gotten yourself killed!” henry booms, craning over you like a predator cornering its prey.
your lip quivers.
his eyes soften immediately, a large hand coming up to hold your jaw as if that would fix the bruises already feathering along your spine.
“i’m sorry,” he murmurs, “i’m sorry, little dove.”
he leans in, gentler this time, and presses a kiss to your forehead, so fleeting and so natural you almost don’t notice.
he pulls you softly into his chest, and you find yourself lifting your arms to wrap around his waist. before you have the chance to think about what’s happening, fresh tears are falling from your puffy eyes, leaving a dark stain on the brown of his vest.
“i’m sorry,” he mumbles into your hair, over and over again, reverently cradling the base of your skull.
only when your sobs calm down into hiccups does he speak again.
“you scared me,” he confesses, softly, as if saying it too loud would make his feelings for you real. “i just want you to be safe. you understand, yes?”
a beat passes before you nod against him.
“good. i…” he takes in a careful breath, as if changing his mind mid-sentence. you hear his heart thump steadily under your ear. “i’m sorry if i’ve frightened you.”
you only hum in response. your mind is racing, horrified by how happy you were to see him even despite his outrage. you slip a hand between your bodies, unconsciously reaching for the spider pendant around your neck. it warms your palm and spreads inward towards your chest.
henry notices. he doesn’t say anything.
“are you ready to go home?” he asks.
home. it chills you how much you like the sound of that word.
a nod. “yes, please,” you rasp, letting your hands fall from him as he steps away.
a pleased smile molds his lips, though there’s a hint of something warmer, more affectionate.
your face heats up. you tell yourself it’s embarrassment.
he wordlessly leads the way with a gentle hand between your shoulder blades, softly warning you to watch your step every so often.
a snake of conflict wraps around your stomach and squeezes.
you’re more screwed than you thought.
a/n: i'm sorry this took me so much longer than i promised but i wanted it to be my best work or close to it, and i'm glad i took my time because i'm really proud of the final result! this is by far the longest fic i've written but it didn't feel forced or drawn out. anyways let me know if y'all wanna be added to the taglist, part 3 will be coming in an unknown amount of time LOL
hey all! part 2 of twilight zone is in the works i promise, i’ve been slowly chipping away at it since i put out part 1 but i’ve been super tied up with work and general life stuff and just lacking inspiration. but! i will have it out by the end of the week, and it will be a bit longer than part 1.
thank you all for showing my work so much love! i appreciate you all <3
never explained why the upside down in stuck in the date will went missing
never explained what happened to owen’s
bro how did max graduate at the same time as lucas when she was in a coma for two years of high school
nothing about rovickie
painting hate not explained
birthday gate not explained
melvalds doesnt have milkshakes. the duffers “forgot” wills birthday why the FUCK do the fans know the show better than the writers
the pacing sucked. WHERE WAS THE CLIMAX.
mike and wills reunion. yes girl give us nothing !!
maxs reaction to the dnd game was how i felt about the finale. i waited for this rushed plot hole ridden bullshit??
they did BUTTFUCK with mike the entire season. none of his past behavior was explained. they ruined his ENTIRE character and that’s my biggest vendetta.
if their goal wasn’t to queerbait why did they drag byler along for THIS LONG. SEASONS and YEARS without denying it. waited till the finale to show any explicit romantic scenes between eleven and mike. genuinely fuck the duffers.
