#I swear it will end up ao3 when I have an acceptable amount of it

[whisper-my-serenade]

revelations

a hypothetical chapter in the life of neil perry (featuring a concerning amount of james dean references)

word count: 4512

cw: emotional abuse/manipulation, implied self harm

It wasn’t until Neil Perry arrived at Welton Academy that he realized his family was painfully middle-class. All the boys in his class had summer homes, trust funds, Roman numerals tacked onto the ends of their names, and not one of them, to Neil’s knowledge, had gone to public school. He was twelve years old, had more brains than he knew what to do with, and, for the first time in his short life, he was alone.

It hadn’t been his idea, of course—his father’s detractors were quick to call him a “social climber”, a name his father detested, and yet he had no hesitation sending his only child to boarding school and inundating him with schoolwork just for the chance to say he had a son who was a Harvard-graduate doctor. Neil didn’t understand the appeal of the whole scheme—it was costly, time-consuming, and had put his mother in tears on multiple occasions—but according to his father, he wasn’t supposed to. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” was the chorus that came every time Neil tried to ask why he had to leave his friends and go to a school so far away. He was not, though, too young to understand the sacrifices his father was making to send him there, and thus why it was imperative that he be the best student possible. 

Neil was not much one to question what his father said. His mother had taught him that from the time he was old enough to comprehend it: his father was the man of the house and his authority was not to be questioned. It was better for everyone involved to just give in. There were incentives to being good, too—Neil always remembered the pride on his father’s face when he was told that he was the smartest kid in his elementary school, how they’d all gone out for milkshakes after, how the story was repeated at Thanksgiving and Christmas and Easter to the never-ending praise of his relatives. By the time sixth grade was done and the course of his life was suddenly set in stone, Neil figured the whole Harvard thing had to be pretty easy, seeing as he was doing so well with the plan so far. 

And then Welton actually happened, Neil began to mature, and it was no longer so simple. 

As it turned out, it took a lot more than brains to make it in a place like that—there was a whole new social code to learn, much higher standards than he was used to, and not a familiar face to guide him. He called his mother every day that first week, feeling desperately homesick and missing her kind, soft voice, her cooking, the way she held him when he was upset. She repeatedly assured him that everything would work itself out, but he was nearly inconsolable. He was surrounded by boys he didn’t understand, teachers who were no longer impressed by his every movement, all to reach a goal that was as mysterious to him as the distant planets. “You’ll understand when you’re older,” she said, parroting his father’s words, when he asked why he was sent away. He didn’t understand why he couldn’t just know now. ‘Older’ seemed a very long way away.

By the time he was fifteen, and two years into Welton, things were better. As it turned out, he was not the only outcast at the school, and it didn’t take long for him to form an inviting, if not close-knit, group of friends to lighten the weight of the constant pressure on him. His father’s expectations were as high as ever, but he was on track to make it through. His future was some vague, shiny thing that was still just a little too far away to touch, and he was okay with that.

The summer of 1957 came barreling in, Neil waving goodbye to his Welton friends and retreating back to the cold air-conditioned walls of his house, enveloped in a sense of solitude his home used to be respite from. But he was Neil—could not stand to be alone—and he sought company wherever it could be found.

Most of his friends from elementary school were still around, going to the local public school and planning on becoming electricians, construction workers, maybe working at a bank if they were real high achievers—a far cry from Neil’s Ivy League destiny. Little kids could get along with anyone, really; you pretend to be dragons with someone on the playground once and suddenly your mom is driving you to their house or you’re playing little league together. But Neil had grown since then, the others had grown too, and now he felt it was like meeting whole new people, a whole new self to introduce them to.

That summer, it was a boy named Henry who taught Neil how to smoke cigarettes and sneak into the movies and play spin-the-bottle and kiss the girls it landed on. Neil remembered him as a kid, spinning wild tales that no one ever quite believed but were all ravenous for anyways, and he still carried himself with the same bravado, the eagerness to prove his manliness, and thus, his worth. Neil sometimes felt like he was a little pet to Henry—the dandy going to a fancy boarding school who would not understand the habits of the lower class, even though they’d grown up in the same neighborhood—and the other boy would have him around for show-and-tell purposes while the rest of them play-pretended maturity. It was a summer of drinking root beers on the sidewalk in front of the corner store, pretending they were real, watching little kids kick a ball down the street and acting like you were superior while secretly wishing to be among them, to be young again. Neil felt like James Dean. It was wonderful. 

☽ ☼ ☾

“You and your fucking James Dean,” Henry hissed, spitting on the ground like he was chewing tobacco. “What’s so special about him, anyways?”

Neil laughed, flicking a bottle cap over and over off his thumb. “I don’t know, I just think he’s great. You’ve seen Rebel, you’ve got to admit he looks cool as all get-out.” 

That was not the full truth. Neil was, in fact, quite obsessed with James Dean, a matter he kept deeply hidden out of embarrassment. There was something alluring about the man’s smile, the gleam of mischief and discontent in his eye, the flawlessness of his slicked-back hair and the messiness of his personality. To Neil he was magical—Rebel Without a Cause had flipped his twelve-year-old self’s worldview upside down, sneaking out of Welton for the very first time to see it, then doing it twice more. He couldn’t explain the fascination, it just was what it was. His death was colossally tragic, but even the grave could not keep that man out of Neil’s head. 

“‘Get-out’, what the hell is wrong with you?” Henry laughed, poking fun, as he often did, at Neil for his verbal piety. What could he say, it was the way he was raised—every time he swore, he could hear his mother’s voice in his head, telling him God didn’t like it. His friend Charlie from school said it was a Catholic thing.

Neil laughed too, not really thinking it was funny, kicking a pebble along the ground. 

“I think he looked cool,” said Mary-Ellen, Henry’s girlfriend of an astonishing (for their age, and for Henry,) two months, who was the only other movie buff of the group and the closest thing to what Neil would call a true friend. 

“Oh, of course you do, Mary-Ellen,” Henry said, standing and taking out a carton of cigarettes and a pack of matches, putting one white stick in his mouth and discreetly glancing at the street around them, making sure no one was watching, before he struck the match and lit it. He breathed out, gray ashy smoke filling the air. “You’re just as bad, swooning over all the hunks in Photoplay.”

Mary-Ellen shrugged, scooting closer to Neil on the curb to fill in Henry’s empty space. “They’re interesting, though, aren’t they, Neil?” That was Neil’s other guilty pleasure—reading Hollywood tabloid magazines. Movies had always been an escape for him, and dammit if he wasn’t going to try and make the magic last long after the credits finished rolling. Mary-Ellen was the only person he knew who would read them with him (and provide them—Lord knew what his father would do if he caught Neil buying thay stuff).

“Ha, Neil probably only likes them for the Jayne Masfield spreads,” Henry said, taking another hit of the cigarette and blowing the smoke to the wind. Neil had to admit, it was attractive. He couldn’t quite see whatever Mary-Ellen saw in Henry, but there was something about the easy way he carried his masculinity on his shoulders that Neil admired, his own always feeling a bit like Atlas carrying the weight of the heavens. 

☽ ☼ ☾

Neil knew why his dad was the way he was. His own father died when he was only nine, killed in action somewhere in the French countryside, a closed-casket funeral. His mother had spiraled, instilling her two surviving sons with religious fervor and the willpower to defy the tragedy of their father. But then there was the Depression, Thomas Perry’s college degree doing him little good in finding stability for himself and his new wife (and the children they were supposed to be having, that kept not appearing). Several miscarriages and a New Deal government job later, Neil was born into a somewhat-satisfied middle-class family. But Thomas wanted more, more, wanted Neil to inherit the opportunities he felt he’d missed. He was their only child, their only chance—he had to be perfect. 

There were things his parents didn’t talk about—Neil assumed that was the case with every family. His grandfather was not brought up; Neil assumed there was embarrassment there, bitterness about his wasted life and early death. His parent’s troubles conceiving was another sore subject—it was only brought up when Neil was being scolded, when he needed reminding about how he was lucky to be alive, how hard his parents had worked to even bring him into the world. It was his father saying those things, forcing his wife to leave the room in tears. He called her “sensitive” behind her back. “Typical woman,” he’d say to Neil with a short, clipped laugh. And then he’d glare when Neil didn’t find it funny, too.

☽ ☼ ☾

“Oh, Natalie Wood’s so pretty,” Mary-Ellen said with a sigh, staring at the cover photo of the woman in question, wearing a wide-brimmed hat with a striped scarf wrapped around it. They were both on their stomachs on the dark wooden floor of Neil’s bedroom, elbows propping them up. Neil’s small portable radio bubbled in the background, playing Young Love by Tab Hunter. “I’d give anything to look like her,” Mary-Ellen went on, stroking a finger over Natalie’s pale printed cheek. Neil loved Natalie, too, remembered her from Rebel lying in James Dean’s well-built arms.

Neil gave her a little laugh. “Come on, you’re plenty pretty already.” 

Mary-Ellen blushed heavily, glancing at him. “You think so?”

“‘Course. All the guys are after you for a reason.” It was true一she was really pretty, in the way Neil found most girls pretty, like looking at a painting. When he tried to think about it, he often saw girls in the same way he saw God—unearthly, distant, untouchable. Being near them, kissing them, made them tangible for a moment, but then they pulled back and the moment, the feeling, was gone. Neil never quite got the hang of religion, and he never quite got girls. 

“Well, I’m not a glamorous Hollywood star yet, so I think she’s still got me beat.” The two laughed as Mary-Ellen began flipping through the magazine, looking for interesting articles or photos. Something about a musical starring Doris Day that was coming out soon, a write-up about Jayne Mansfield (Neil internally groaned, remembering Henry’s comment), and, “Oh, what's this?”

Mary-Ellen laid the magazine in front of him, revealing a full-page photo of a handsome man amid some greenery, the opposite side showing photos of him doing various manual labor tasks. “Oh, that’s George Nader,” Neil said, still studying the photos. “He was in Congo Crossing—Henry and I snuck out to see it last year.”

“Well isn’t he a dreamboat,” she said, both their eyes transfixed on the page.

“Yeah,” was all Neil could think to say.

Because he was a dreamboat. Neil figured he wasn’t supposed to say it, being a guy and all, but he’d been thinking it since he first saw the man. Dark hair perfectly slicked back, thick biceps visible below the his cut-off shirt sleeves, a playful grin on his well-carved face. He was the perfect masculine man, and yet there was something in the way he was looking into the camera that twisted something in Neil’s gut. 

“Here, ‘article continued on page ninety-three,’” Mary-Ellen read, picking up the magazine and flipping to the indicated page. For a split second, Neil wanted to tell her to stop and stay on the pictures, but he retracted the thought before it could leave his mouth. 

☽ ☼ ☾

Mary-Ellen left the magazine there that night, surely by accident. They got caught up in conversation (they always did) and then her mother came around asking for her home, and his mother came up asking for her to oblige, and she did, and Neil was alone again. His father wouldn’t be home from work for another few hours, and he had some algebra he knew the man would insist he start studying to give him an edge for the next upcoming school year, but Neil couldn’t bring himself to do it. Instead, he picked up the magazine, flipped it to the page he had admittedly been thinking about all afternoon, and stared and stared and stared until his brain started to rot. 

☽ ☼ ☾

“Dirty Commies, back at it again. Problem’s just been getting worse, ever since McCarthy died,” Mr. Perry said, frowning at the newspaper in front of him. It was after dinner, and the Perrys were completing their nightly ritual of sitting in the same room, fulfilling completely different tasks. Mr. Perry was reading the newspaper articles—he only read the headlines in the morning, so he could make comments at work. Mrs. Perry was mending one of her son’s shirts, the repeated motion of her hand and needle a smooth wave. “Boys will be boys,” she had said fondly when he told her of the tear. Neil was on the other end of the couch, a copy of Moby Dick in his hand but his mind making no attempt to comprehend it. Still thinking about the stupid magazine.

Mrs. Perry sighed, as she always did when her husband brought up politics. She didn’t like the subject, she’d tell her son when he was out of the room. Men making messes out of things, as per usual. She didn’t like how partisan it was—couldn’t they all learn to get along?

“Do you have something to say, honey?” Mr. Perry asked sarcastically, and Neil froze up in his seat. He hated when his dad was like this, picking fights because he knew he could win. 

“No, no,” his mother replied, as quickly and casually as she could. She hated Joe McCarthy, but only Neil knew that. 

His father scoffed, folding the paper and laying it on the end table next to him. “I can’t read any more of that crap. You should have gone into politics, Neil, maybe fixed a few things in this country.”

He shrugged. “Not too late,” he replied, half serious.

“Hm, no, you’re too much like your mother for that, too soft.” He smiled a little. It was not something he took pride in, his emotional hurricane of a son. But the words now were not said with malice, only a father’s fondness. All three of them smiled, because they knew it was true. 

☽ ☼ ☾

The next day, he found the magazine.

It was Neil’s fault, really—he was stupid enough to leave it lying on the floor, open to the only page he thought worth looking at, when his father came in to check on the state of his summer schoolwork. It had, predictably, sent him into a rage that Neil could have no reaction to other than sitting on his bed, eyes at the floor, nails digging into where he held his arm, eyes downcast, taking the beating. Thomas Perry never laid a hand on his son, but his tongue was much sharper than his fist ever could be, and was much better at finding Neil’s weak spots.

“...son of mine reading filthy, common trash like this?” he roared, ripping the magazine apart straight down the center. “Who at Harvard is going to let in some nancy who spends all his time off in Wonderland instead of studying, huh?”

Neil felt the anger and shame rise in him, tears pricking behind his eyes and, despite his better judgment, he bit back. “It’s just fun, it’s harmless, it’s—”

“Enough out of you! I don’t work my ass off every day to send you to that school just for you to come home and fill your brain with this garbage.” He threw the tattered pieces of glossy paper on the floor. “Let me guess, it’s those friends of yours, hm? They put you up to all this nonsense? Was it that girl?”

Neil’s mouth opened and closed again, gaping like a fish. He was helpless when it came to scoldings like this. 

“You stay away from her, hear me? She obviously likes you—don’t need you getting mixed up with types like that.”

Neil gulped. He knew his next line—it was practically scripted for him. “Yes, sir.”

“And I don’t want to see another glimpse of anything like that—”he pointed to the scraps on the hardwood, “—in my house ever again, understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

☽ ☼ ☾

That was not the first time Neil questioned his purpose in living. It came on him in waves every so often, binding him to wherever he sat, eyes wide with terror—sometimes filled with tears, sometimes dry as a desert. Couldn’t there be something more than school and college and work? Could something be greater outside the airtight walls his father had built around him? Wasn’t there someone who thought about things the way he did—wanting, hoping, praying to break free?

That night, he felt the wrong words ringing in his head. All the opportunities he’d been given, needed to get into Harvard, yeah, he’d heard that before. She obviously likes you. That was new.

Every time he’d hung out with Mary-Ellen flashed through his head like a movie, and he couldn’t shake the feeling that he’d missed something in their relationship. Was the whole thing much less uncomplicated than he’d gone through the years believing? He almost laughed at the thought that she could have a crush on him. There wasn’t anyone better to dream of than sad, soft, screwed-up Neil?

Neil stared at the scraps of the magazine. Somewhere in the pile, the warm eyes and keen grin of George Nader stared back. He knew that if this were a movie, this would be the point where he’d run back down the street calling Mary-Ellen’s name, or go to her house and try to sneak in her window, desperate to declare his love for her. If this were Rebel Without A Cause, he would whisk her away in his Mercury Coupe and take her to the old, run-down mansion to play family like small children, his father be damned. But this was not a movie, and Neil was no James Dean. Even if he was, there would be something missing—he had no Plato. The story wasn’t complete without Plato.

Why did it seem that everyone else around him was obsessed with boys and girls and relationships? Neil had never felt anything like that particularly strongly—was something wrong with him? It couldn’t be that he didn’t want any of that—he did—but why was it that every time he tried to picture it it seemed like a piece of the puzzle was always missing? And why did it hurt so much to think that? Why couldn’t he just want whatever his father wanted? Wouldn’t that be so much easier?

He thought about praying, asking the Lord for forgiveness (he wasn’t sure what for, it was just what you were supposed to do) and to iron out whatever was wrong with him so he could go on with his life and live out his father’s dreams. But the words didn’t come, and Neil begrudgingly thought that if God made everyone perfect, then this wasn’t something He could fix, was it? It was Neil’s fault, Neil was the mistake, and Neil was the one who had to find that missing piece. Maybe if he found Mary-Ellen, got his Hollywood ending, he could solve it. Maybe he would take her to that old mansion and there would be no Plato and that would be fine and no one would have to die and he would go home to his parents and they could all just go on living. Maybe if he kissed her until he couldn’t breathe he would find himself enjoying it and realize it had all been a fluke. But when he tried to picture the moment, it was James Dean’s face in his head. 

He curled up on the floor, back to his bed frame, shoving the ruins of the magazine out of his sight. He couldn’t stand to look at it. He couldn’t stand himself. He kept driving his nails into his arm, coating the freckled skin until it was covered in bruised half-moons. He tried to breathe, doing his best to keep the tears from falling—and failing, like everything else he’d ever done. 

☽ ☼ ☾

It must have been late at night when his mother came in, wrapped in her robe and with her hair bound in rollers. She forced open his window—the room was very stuffy, he realized—then sat down on the bed next to him, mattress spring creaking under the weight of her. 

Neil loved his mother—loved her soft voice, her clear blue eyes, the softness of her wrinkled hands. She had crow’s feet from the way she smiled with her eyes, and the same dimples Neil had. The two of them were more similar than they were different, always had been. He felt more relaxed around her than he ever did his father, her expectations lighter and her words gentler. How many nights had an argument broken out between father and son and it was her arms he crawled into, that caressed his hair while he cried, told him everything would be okay?

Sometimes he wished she would speak out—stand up against the mistreatment of her son, speak her true beliefs. But how could he blame her for her cowardice when he was the same way?

He was too big to be held now—they both knew it—but that didn’t stop her from putting an arm around him, gently rubbing his neck as he buried his head into her shoulder blade. 

“Did he tell you?” he asked in little more than a whisper.

“Yes,” she said quietly in return.

“I didn’t think it was that big of a deal,” he said, shifting slightly to lay his head against her.

“It’s not, darling, it will pass. These things always do.”

“But he was so mad. I don’t get it.”

“You’re different from him,” she said, staring off into some unknown distance. “You always have been.”

Neil sat up, not moving her hand from his shoulder but using his own to cover his face, sinking into his knees. “Why can’t I ever be good enough for him? What does he want from me?”

“Neil, you are good enough,” she responded tenderly. “He wants a family he can be proud of, and you make him proud.”

“But it’s not ever enough—there’s always more, more, more that I have to do, something else I have to be. What if I can’t do all of it?”

“You can, love. I know you can.”

“I can’t.” A bitter silence consumed them. 

After a long minute, his mother took a deep breath, taking his face in her hands and turning him to look at her. “He loves you. No matter what you can or can’t do, he loves you.”

Neil was silent for a moment, his jaw tightening.“He doesn’t act like that’s the case.”

His mother sighed, releasing him, taking his hands instead. “Don’t take it so hard, Neil. He’s not trying to hurt you—you’re just letting your emotions get the best of you. That’s a woman’s job,” she laughed, but he didn’t laugh with her. “Why don’t you go to bed, darling? You’ll feel better after some sleep.”

He sighed, shoulders sinking down. “Alright,” he said, mostly just to please her.

She stood up, leaning down quickly to give him a kiss on the forehead. “I love you, Neil.”

“Love you too,” he said, and watched her walk away.

☽ ☼ ☾

Life went on, as it always did. 

The local movie theater was still playing Giant, so Neil snuck out to see it for a third time. He ran into Mary-Ellen on the way there, and she decided to go see it with him, so it was the two of them side-by-side in the dark, cool theater. She asked if he was excited to go back to school, back to his far-off world of yachts and nepotism. He said yes, meant it mostly. About halfway through, she curled up against him, her head on his shoulder and he knew that, if he had been there, Henry would have been furious. He didn’t really care, though; didn’t care if his parents came home early and found him gone or if he didn’t get into Harvard or anything. He’d make it through. He always did.

He watched as James Dean stumbled drunkenly around the screen, bemoaning his lost love in his career’s eleventh hour. There was something bitter in the performance, some prophetic knowledge that his actions—ironically, the very same he was portraying—would mean he’d never see this film to completion, that audiences would flood its theaters to mourn him. How unhappy had he been, Neil wondered. Was his success not all it had been cracked up to be? Had there been a part of him that maybe wanted to be crushed in the metal shell of that car?

Mary-Ellen moved her hand to rest on top of his. Neil made no motion in return. When it ended, they both sat in their seats, completely still, the brightening house lights glinting off the tear tracks on Neil’s face. He felt incredibly, fantastically alone.

(tagging folks who commented on the companion piece to this! @noblerinthemind @cowboylexapro )

[poisonous-honey]

Red In Stones

Who’s Here! Reader/Player, Paimon, Aether, Bennett, Zhongli

Contains: SAGAU (Not the Cult), nothing else really, there’s like 2 curse words idk, Player sucks at redstone, Player is only referred to with “you”

You can read on AO3!

Note: Holy moly. I have no memory of writing this despite it sitting in my docs for quite a while lol. Looked it over and thought it was simply dumb fun so here it is :)

It's been a while since you've been transported to Teyvat, your Teyvat, and even longer since you've learned they were all self aware. Travelling the world of Teyvat first hand with characters people you adore has been the best thing you could've ever hoped for. Though the longer you stay here and the more you get used to the place, the more you start to wonder, What would it have been like to land in another one of your games? To travel the land of Hyrule with Link, solve crimes with Phoenix Wright and Maya, steal hearts with the Phantom Thieves, hang out with Papyrus and Alphys if Sans and Undyne don’t kill you first… beat the shit out of a certain purple guy. The possibilities were endless!

Everyone had caught you daydreaming about it at this point, but no one had made any attempt to bring it up in conversation. That is until Aether offhandedly said that they could enter other parts of your device. Including all of your video games.

After a lot of begging and promises of farming (and swearing to a few you wouldn’t just up and abandon them the first opportunity you got), they finally agreed to let you explore other game worlds. As long as a few of them came with you and you had to start with a simpler game within your library. Not that you were complaining.

Now you’ve been having a blast in Minecraft for a few days with a handful of other people who were willing to join you for your journey. Unfortunately, you broke your only way to communicate with the others so you've been forced to stay at base.

You feel like your head is spinning as you look up from the vague instructions you wrote on your piece of paper (that very much just amounted to a couple of scribbled squares with red lines and the words “GOOD LUCK” off to the side) to the mess of a contraption you have sitting in front of you. A tower strategically placed dirt and heaps of redstone dust lay in the middle of the main hall, taking up a majority of the space in the room. The rest of the place filled with discarded blocks of various redstone uses and an excess amount of redstone itself litters the floor. 

Walking over to the other side of the room and jumping over a tripwire you still haven’t picked up off the floor, you grab what you hoped was a repeater. Lifting it you notice a third torch attached to the stone slate and realise it’s actually a comparator. At this you get lost in your own head, trying to remember what it did and if you could use it instead of looking for the repeater, when the front door bursts open behind you.

“Hey have you seen- HUH!? What happened here? Why is everything such a mess!”

The sudden shrill from Paimon startles you as you nearly fling the comparator across the room. Unfortunately you end up tripping over the wire on the floor and falling into the rest of your test, making the dirt tumble over and breaking all the redstone connections you spent the last few minutes trying to figure out.

“OH, Paimon is so sorry! Paimon didn’t mean to freak you out, are you okay?”

Looking up you see Aether lending you a hand to help you out of the pile of contraptions you’ve ended up in. You gladly accept his help and take his hand, letting him pull you up from the wreckage. Once you're standing to your full height you start to dust yourself off as you reply to Paimon.

“Yeah I’m fine. I was using more redstone than necessary, so that ended up cushioning my fall.”

Thinking about it now, you don’t think a heaping pile of redstone is a good idea anyway. If you powered it, would it explode or would it act like a regular block of redstone? You huff, it was probably for the best that the idea was destroyed, that’s a test for outside the house.

“Well at least you’re okay, but this wouldn’t have happened at all if you kept the room orderly! There’s a ton of blocks in random places and so much of our decorations are missing and there’s redstone everywhere! It’s even on the ceiling! How did you even get it up there!?”

Hearing that you look up and see Paimon is actually correct. Splotches of red dust cover sections of the ceiling and slowly fall back to the floor as small red particles. It almost makes the room look like a redstone sand cave or like a tornado came through here. You have no idea how you managed that.

You shrug and give Paimon a halfhearted smile, “I couldn’t tell you. I wish I could though, that’d actually allow for a lot of possibilities-”

“That’s not the point! What were you doing to cause such a disaster in the main hall?”

Paimon questions as she interrupts you, causing you to drop the attempt at a smile to sulk instead. You look away from them to the mess you’ve made of the whole room. It’s now hitting you how long it’s going to take to clean all of this up.

“I was trying to remember how to use redstone.”

Paimon looks absolutely flabbergasted at your response and Aether tries and fails to keep his giggling to himself. You glare in his general direction which gets him to try a little harder to not laugh in your face. 

Paimon starts waving her arms around to bring your attention back to her,  “And you were doing this inside why???”

You shrug again, not able to think of an answer. At least not a satisfying one when all you can think of is ‘the old man thinks i’ll freeze to death’ as a reply.

Zhongli had asked you not to leave the house when he received news of your communicator breaking and left a while ago to fix it. It was the only way to send messages and receive updates from everyone else in this world, as well as checking coordinates, so not having one put you at risk. Especially since you often walked off on your own at any slightly interesting thing you saw in the distance. He feared you’d get lost without it and end up stuck in a snowy peaks biome… somehow.

You would’ve just burrowed under the floor to explore the lush cave nearby, but he grew wise to that after you created a bit too many hidden exits for the fun of it. He ended up layering a ton of obsidian underneath the floor.

(You: Yo Zhongli what the fuck??

Zhongli: It’s an attempt to stop you from creating pitfalls in the house. There has been one to many occasions where Bennett has fallen into one of the many holes you’ve produced.

You: Okay fair, but where’d you even get the obsidian from? Only the Traveller has a diamond pickaxe at the moment.

Zhongli: :)

You: HELLO!?)

“No one can find me if I wander off on my own, so until my communicator gets fixed I’m stuck here.”

Paimon shakes her head, “Paimon guesses that makes sense, but that still doesn’t explain how trying to learn would cause such a mess!”

You pull out the page with your instructions and wave it around, “I was trying to recreate my magnum opus!”

“No offence, but your ‘magnum opus’ currently looks like a blood bath.”

That was the last straw to break Aether’s self control as he starts laughing. He bends over with a hand on his knee and a hand covering his mouth. You scowl at the both of them and cross your arms, “Laugh it up why don’t you.”

Aether quickly stands up straight and waves one of his hands in front of him as the other stays rested on his chest, “No no no I’m not laughing at you. This is just such a bizarre situation to witness.”

You sigh, guess you can’t argue with that. It’s not like this could happen in Teyvat. Well, you guess it’s more like they wouldn’t allow this to happen in Teyvat. Some of them go above and beyond to make sure you know you can talk to them whenever you want and always have the means to do so.

Aether calms down soon after, though you can still see a bit of mirth in his eyes, “Back to why we originally came back, have you seen Bennett anywhere?”

Paimon's eyes light up as she also remembers their original purpose coming back and swiftly turns bashful, “Oh yeah, we were supposed to ask for Bennett’s whereabouts.”

You shrug for the third time in this conversation. In the back of your mind you hear someone threaten to chop your shoulders off, but you wave it away. If they wanted a better answer they should’ve asked a better question.

“The last time I saw Bennett he ran out of the house before I could stop him. I assume he went to find a cave, or a swamp.”

They look at each other in confusion for a second before Paimon asks another question, “Why would he want to go to either location? Paimon gets wanting to go mining, but what does a cave and a swamp have in common that both will do?”

Aether speaks up right after, “We did find a swamp not too long ago, but it’s pretty far away. I don’t see why he’d want to go there either.”

He looks at you curiously, probably also wanting to hear your answer for Paimon’s question. You sigh and turn away from them to dig through one of the many chests you’ve laid next to the walls. You don’t exactly need anything at the moment, but just standing there talking to them surrounded by dirt and redstone was making you restless.

“Slimes. Slimes can either spawn in a swamp or in a slime chunk underground. Seeing as there’s no way for us to see if an area is a slime chunk or not, and you guys actually found a swamp already, I imagine he went there.”

Paimon, “Okay that’s one question answered, but that just raises another! Why does he even need to find slimes?”

You have a feeling someone is not going to like your response. At least now they're asking questions you know the answer to.

“I was complaining about not having enough slimeballs to make the number of sticky pistons I wanted and having to wait for Zhongli to get back, when Bennett suddenly said he’d be glad to get them and ran out the front door.”

As you predicted, Paimon instantly starts to get aggressive again. Before she can go on a tirade again you turn to them and raise your hands, trying to defend yourself.

“I didn't ask him to go! I didn't even know he was there until he was gone! Believe me I would not have asked him to go look for slimes, especially on his own. They’re such a pain to find, I'd have at least wanted to be there with him so it wasn’t so unbearable.”

You’re suddenly struck with a thought and go to reach for your communicator, only to groan when you remember Zhongli still hasn’t come back with it yet. Instead you turn back towards the two who are still standing near the doorway to the house.

“Now that I think about it, he hasn’t died yet has he? Cause I haven’t heard anything around the house. I think I’ve been the only person here since he left.”

Paimon shakes her head and Aether pulls out his own communicator to check the chat messages. He scrolls for a bit before shaking his head too. Paimon is about to comment on how strange it was to not hear anything from him for so long, when the door slams open behind them and they both immediately jump out of the way. 

Bennett himself comes barreling through the doorway, a bunch of slimeballs bundled in his arms as he laughs triumphantly.

“Hey! I got your-”

As quickly as he came in, his smile drops just as fast. Without missing a beat Bennett ends up tripping over the wire that was still left on the floor and plummets. He falls face first into the floor, promptly getting covered by the piles of redstone on the floor, before vanishing in a puff of smoke. Everything that was in his inventory scatters across the already cluttered room, and the slimeballs he was holding bounce in your direction. Once they get close enough, they’re absorbed into your own inventory, showing you he ended up collecting 5 stacks of them.

“Well… that was probably a record for him, right?”

Both Aether and Paimon stare at you, which you elect to ignore, and that’s when you realise Zhongli is standing in the doorway. One of his arms crossed over his torso while the other is covering his face in what you assume is disappointment. Maybe he’s the reason why Bennett lasted this long. It would be a bit of a shame, since that would null his new record, but at least he didn’t die hundreds of blocks away from the base.

Ignoring both the looks being given towards you from the peanut gallery and the slight disappointment radiating from Zhongli, you try to be as pleasant as possible. You hope that a little bit of him at least finds this situation amusing.

Clasping your hands behind your back you try to radiate the perfect image of innocence, “Why hello Mr. Zhongli! What a pleasant surprise. I wasn’t expecting to see you back so soon!”

You notice his lips quirk a little, but his eyes still glance around the room and come to a stop at Bennett’s items still hovering on the floor.

“I haven’t been gone for long and yet you’ve still managed to make a mess of the place.”

You sigh and droop your head, “In my defence, I was left unsupervised and unable to leave to take my creative liberties elsewhere.”

Zhongli looked like he wanted to say something in response to that, but decides against it and hands over your fixed communicator instead. A small tired smile rests on his face as he lets out a sigh and steps closer to you, cutting the string on the floor with his spear in the process.

Finally with the communicator back in your possession, you skim through the messages you missed (noticing that Bennett indeed hadn’t died until now) and send a grateful smile towards Zhongli.

“Thank you Zhongli!”

He nods in acknowledgment, “It wasn't a problem. I’ve reinforced it, so It should not break on you again. Though…” He pauses to take in the full extent of the wreck you’ve turned the room into, “It appears you have much to fix before you can set off on another one of your journeys. I shall help you clean this mess.”

You deflate, but don’t argue since this whole thing is your fault in the first place, “Thanks Zhongli…”

You hear Paimon giggles at the predicament you’ve landed yourself in from behind you before speaking directly with Zhongli, “It’s a good thing you were actually with Bennett. Who knows what kind of trouble he could’ve landed himself in that far away from the base.”

Ah, so she was thinking the same as you.

Zhongli shakes his head at that thought though with a smile, “I only met him on the way back. Most of his voyage was done on his own. I saw him running away from a coven of witches with the bundles of slime already in his possession. I merely helped him escape the witches and escorted him the rest of the way.”

Both yours and Paimon's brows raise upon hearing that. You keep forgetting Bennett is still an experienced adventurer despite his luck. You need to remember to give him more credit. As you think that Bennett finally comes tumbling down the stairs. His face is beet red as he collects all his items that littered the floor. He ends up tripping again, on air this time, and yet again gets covered in redstone. He lives this time though and has to deal with it until he can wipe it all off.

You and Aether reach your hands for him to grab at the same time which has both of you chuckling. When Bennett looks up he grins wide and just grabs both of your hands. You and Aether end up using a bit more force than necessary to lift him up and he nearly crashes into you guys, but he rights himself pretty quickly.

“Are you alright?” “You good man?”

Bennett beams, his smile is so bright you think you’ll die, “Yeah I’m perfectly fine! Fantastic even! That was one of the best solo adventures I’ve ever been on and I ended up getting a lot of those slimeballs you wanted- Wait, where are they!?”

He starts to pat himself down and frantically looks everywhere on the floor for a hint of where they could be. You place a hand on his shoulder to stop him before he runs out of the house in a panic thinking he dropped them somewhere.

You hold up a stack of slimeballs for him to see, “Don’t worry man I got them. Thank you by the way. You really didn’t have to do that for me.”

He just looks at you again with another smile that you swear rivals the sun, “It wasn’t a problem! I’m glad I could be of help!”

Paimon puts her hands on her hips as she looks him over in concern, “That’s great and all, but isn’t the swamp super far away? Why didn’t you even tell anyone you were going?”

Bennett scratches the back of his head, “Yeah, it was a pretty far trip, but I got to see so many cool things on the way! Like, there was this one mountain I found and it was full of goats-”

He continues to ramble on about his adventure and all you can do is sigh. You know you need to give him more credit for all the effort he puts into his adventures, and you definitely will, but it really does feel like the world is out to kill him sometimes. Personally, you don't think getting punted off the side of a mountain, or getting spit on by llamas, or accidentally falling into the deep dark would make for a fun adventure. Knowing he went through all of this just to get you slimeballs makes you a tad guilty. They should be more concerned for Bennett's safety over yours cause this is ridiculous.

Then again the reason he even died wasn’t because of any of that, it was because he tripped on some string you left on the ground. You guess you won’t bring it up in fear of either Zhongli lecturing you or Paimon rattling off in your ear again.

It’s when Bennett finally gets to the part of his tale where he reaches the base he remembers the room is currently a disaster zone, “Oh yeah! Why is there so much redstone on the floor anyway? Does it have to do with what you needed the slimeballs for?”

You nod your head at his question and reply before you can think, “Yeah. I was trying to remember how to make an automatic door. I need sticky pistons for it.”

You didn’t have any time to react before Paimon was on you.

“Wait, WHAT!! That’s your magnum opus? An automatic door!?”

Groaning, you bang your head into the wall. It seems you didn’t get to escape a lecture afterall.

[starrypawz]

As an apology from the i love you prompts for the pairing of your choice 😊

The Way I Said I Love You Prompts AO3 So uh I think this is now the oldest prompt I've cleared out (December 2021) thanks for the wait? Also I thought I was done with the angst/hurt comfort but apparently not you can thank/blame @xblackxjackx for nudging me with the idea. I swear I'll be nice to these two again in short order. I think this also turned into a bit of a writing experiment style wise.

Will stick a content note on this for the aftermath of an argument, RSD and references to passive aggression/possible emotional abuse .

He’s close, so close. 

Nemo looks over in the dim light to where he’s asleep, socked feet sticking over the end of the sofa that he’s a bit too tall for and somehow despite everything that does make them smile slightly.

They could’ve sent him… not home… that’s not a home, but back there. But… they couldn’t do that to him, he doesn't deserve that. (And besides it was late anyway) 

 They could easily cross from one end of the universe to the other, curl themself against his tall frame and cocoon themself in his familiar warmth and wake up in his arms like all is well.

But all is not well. 

Nemo goes back to sleep softly cradled in regret. 

He, as he’s often found, is awake before they are. 

He sighs as he stares at the ceiling, a Sistine Chapel devoted to melancholy. 

And right now he’s staring into the face of the Archangel Molko, winged icon with a cigarette in his hand and he’s that tired enough he does find himself sending a silent prayer towards him. 

He turns to where Nemo sleeps, watched over by Saint Siouxsie. Where under her gaze he’d often tuck a black curl behind their ear before he presses a kiss to their freckled cheek to wake them up.

He sighs.

He needs a cigarette. 

The day opens with a silently offered mug of tea that Nemo accepts without hesitation. They drink it down and find it made with the right amount of milk and sugar (lots of both) and Nemo manages a soft smile over the top of the black mug.

Thankfully, Nemo’s housemates are largely absent for the day. But even so the house feels smaller than usual and “I need to go to the shop anyway”

They go together, but as they walk around bathed in the florescent light of Tesco Nemo doesn’t tuck themself under his arm as they often do. But he does notice Nemo slip a packet of Rolos (his favourite) into the basket and he feels their fingers brush the back of his hand and stay there just long enough they both have the feeling it wasn’t an accident. 

They still sleep at opposite ends of the universe that night.

And he silently prays this time to all of the assembled icons on the ceiling on the off chance one of them is listening.

Gerry’s used to tension, overly so, intimately so. But this feels… different. He’s uncomfortable, he can’t deny that one bit, quiet, harsh thoughts running through his mind that are becoming a distorted tangled mix like a stuck cassette tape. (Youfuckedupitsyourfaultnowaititstheirfaultnoit’syourfaultnotheystarteditnowitsyourfaultsomehowitsalwaysyourfault) That is threatening to spill into something incredibly unpleasant if this goes on for much longer. 

But there’s not that… sharpness to the tension. Not like when it comes from… her. 

Not that silence that manages to crack open bones and expose marrow and leaves him raw under her silent judgement. And has him panicking like a trapped rabbit as he tries to (often in vain) work out how to appease her. 

This is… softer. Not soft, it still hurts. It’s not being wielded like a knife dipped in a slow poison of passive aggression. It’s grains of uncertainty that scrape against his skin like sand. 

“I love you,” 

Gerry blinks.

That does something to smooth the surface. 

“I love you,” 

He’s still silent as he looks over at Nemo, sleep rumpled (And from what he could hear last night not a restful one)  as they sit on the edge of the bed, t-shirt (One of his) hanging loose off their freckled shoulders as they lean forward, those sad grey eyes somehow even sadder. 

He crosses the universe between them and their galaxies collide once again as he presses his forehead to theirs. 

[scarletwritesshit]

wuthering waves fanfic masterlist

Mortefi x F!Rover 🕯️The Rover and Her Red Cat Researcher

🕯️Cross posted on AO3🕯️

Mortefi was a curious researcher, not letting the unusual stand in the way of finding answers. And answers are what Rover needed most right now, from who she was, where she came from, the list goes on. Despite the fog that still clouded her mind, Rover could not shake the feeling that Mortefi reminded her of something she knew was so dearly beloved. He was calm, noble, intelligent, curious…he just as equally appeared to be a dragon as he was a cat.

-

Mortefi x F!Rover 🩺Lovesick

🩺Cross posted on AO3🩺

Mortefi is fine. He swears he is fine. He insists that it's just a sickness. Nothing a little bit of Baizhi's medication can't cure. And none of this has absolutely anything to do with Rover. The fact that he feels anxious and flustered around her is purely coincidental. He just has a cold. That's it.

-

Jiyan x F!Rover 🐉 Dragon's Faith

🐉Cross posted on AO3🐉

Rover has been with Jiyan for a fair amount of time now, and for the most part, she's grown to be rather comfortable around him. Once matters in Huanglong have settled and General Jiyan's troops returned to routine drills, she decided to join him to assist in supervision. After all of this time, why is she all of a sudden nervous around him?

-

Jiyan x F!Rover ✿ Forget-Me-Never

✿Cross posted on AO3✿

“Our flower has been growing quite well,” Rover said. “You’ve been watching over it this entire time?” Jiyan asked, somewhat surprised. “Of course. Raising one of your favorite flowers is like taking care a part of your soul, and I couldn’t possibly disregard something of that importance.”

-

F!Rover x Scar 🔪 Tattered Perception

🔪Cross posted on AO3🔪

No matter how pleasurable they may sound, perhaps it is best that daydreams do not become reality. Especially if the guy you have a crush on is a bit…deranged, to put things nicely.

-

Aalto x M!Rover🐑Matchmaker

🐑Cross posted on AO3🐑

Encore is tired of hearing Aalto daydream and drool over Rover. Encore must take things into her own hands. Encore has a plan.

-

Xiangli Yao x F!Rover 🌙 The Huanglong Moon is Beautiful, isn't it?

🌙Cross posted on AO3🌙

Even those who are most selfless have a wish that they hope to come true. The Huanglong wishing tree isn't all-knowing; it cannot discern one's wish unless it is voluntarily shared. Some wishes are better saved for the only one who can fulfill it, rather than shouting it at the moon and expecting the heavens to answer.

-

Baizhi x Xiangli Yao 🌙 Grim Stars

🌙Cross posted on AO3🌙

One arm. One last breath. One woman to bring his end.

-

Xiangli Yao x Xiangli Yao 🟪 Intoxication, Domination

🟪Cross posted on AO3🟪

When one refuses to seek the assistance of others, it is up to themselves to fulfill their desires, one way or another. Xiangli Yao was a people pleaser. Naturally, "people" included everyone but himself. A taste of his own medicine was the only way to get through to him.

-

Xiangli Yao x F!Rover 🥚 Two Eggs

🥚Cross posted on AO3🥚

A routine so perfected, that it was practically second nature to him. No disruptions, no room for error.

-

Mortefi x F!Rover 🛏️ Victorious Defeat

🛏️Cross posted on AO3🛏️

In which accepting a loss can ultimately be a victory for the self.

[blackcatruse]

𝔣𝔯𝔬𝔪 𝔞𝔰𝔥𝔢𝔰

«prev. ❃ next» ❃ first chapter ❃ m.list ❃ ao3 pairing: r. haitani/fem!reader ↳ she/her, fem descriptors, nickname ❃ chapter synopsis: a job is a job, even if it's a trap. we'll try to outmaneuver them, but nothing is guaranteed. word count: 4.9k chapter cw(s): swearing, possible ooc, a little violence, 3rd person POV a/n: we're in the endgame now folks! i was working on a rough outline for the end of ashes and it looks like we've got about 9 chapters to go. thank you for reading so far!

The abandoned bar smelled like stale piss, cigarette smoke, and old wood. Rindou was sure he was going to get some kind of disease by sitting on the flat cushions of this ratty sofa. Beside him Ran and Kakucho were looking equally uncomfortable. The only one unbothered by the biohazard of a meeting place was the client. The second job was finally being planned out, but with recent events, Kakucho thought it would be wise to speak to the client about it.

The stout man snuffed his cigarette in the ashtray on the bar. He spoke in fairly fluent Japanese, but the lilting accent he had made processing his words difficult. Several thick envelopes sat on the table between Rokuhara and the client. “Seems easy enough, no?”

“It does, but we do have some concerns,” Kakucho said. “There’s been a bit of trouble with rival gangs and many jobs have either been an attempted ambush or a lie. Surely you understand our hesitancy.”

The man lit another cigarette and took a long drag before he spoke. “That’s the first I’ve heard of it,” he said. “It’s a simple trade deal.”

A simple trade deal that was worth a significant amount of yen—enough that it made three of the top men of Rokuhara Tandai give pause. They were definitely trafficking something more than drugs, but the information wasn’t disclosed. A fact that didn’t go unmissed when the job was initially offered months ago.

From what Rindou understood, whatever was in the envelopes wasn’t money, and all they had to do was take it to the other party. It was valuable and sealed with tamper proof tape so peeking was dissuaded. The items had finally been paid for, and now the goods needed to be transported. Instead of risking his own beefy neck, the client decided to hire a local gang with a big presence. They would simply be intermediaries, but both this client and the recipient were paying handsomely for the job.

There was no guarantee that this job wasn’t a trap, and weighing the risks against the benefits proved to be a harder decision than Rindou wanted to think about. If they declined the job, then an enemy gang would be transporting goods through Minato ward. And that could start a war. Doing business through or in any place that wasn’t your home turf was just asking for a beating. And if the gang was close-knit, the chance of war avenging their injured member was much higher.

That was how they caught Lotus, after all. Yet Ran and Rindou didn’t know who Lotus was until they overheard a group talking about Wuxing. Until that night, Wuxing was just a whisper that rippled through the top gangs. Their members were at the top of their game and kept so far under the radar they were just rumors. But they existed. And Rindou was working with the best runner they had.

“You have a good runner don’t you?” the client asked. “The job should be a breeze then. Quick in and out.”

On the chance the opportunity was genuine, they’d be passing up a lot of money. It was enough for them to match Kanto Manji’s money-making genius Kokonoi. Did they risk it? Did they endanger themselves on the off chance these parties weren’t trying to overthrow one of the Three Deities? Rindou was glad he didn’t have to make the final call, and a quick glance at Ran showed that his brother didn’t either. Right now, tensions were too high and the consequences of accepting a fake job weren’t worth the risk. But was the money? Going toe-to-toe financially with Kanto Manji would be big news. Maybe enough to shatter the stalemate. Brahman could be left behind, but Rindou knew that Wuxing contributed heavily to their finances.

“I hope you understand that the safety of my men is my top priority,” Kakucho said. He fixed the man with a stony stare, but the man just shrugged and flicked his cigarette.

“You know how this world is,” the man said flippantly. He examined his nails to emphasize that he didn’t care what happened to the team that took the job. “You can’t make it without risk.”

“That’s easy to say when you’re not the one doing the job,” Rindou snapped. He hadn’t meant to vocalize the thought, but it got the attention of all the men in the room. Time to back up his words. “What happens if we end up arrested or worse? Then what do you do? The goods could be lost, and then where does that leave you? Wouldn’t you want to ensure that the team delivering this”—Rindou gestured to the envelopes on the table—“is safe? Or at least guaranteed to not get into too much trouble?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw Ran give him a long glance. Kakucho was nodding along, and the man tensed. A robust shade of red crept up the man’s neck and Rindou felt a small prick of pride. The client’s next words were going to have to be carefully chosen.

“I agree,” Ran piped up. His lazy arrogance bled through every word, presenting itself as a “speak when spoken to” air.

Rindou knew this tone well. He could see the client’s forehead break into a sweat. Were negotiations always like this? No wonder Lotus was bitter all the fucking time. This was annoying. These men were nothing but walking contradictions, willing to say anything and hope that their business partners were too stupid to notice the fluctuation in stance.

Pinned under the gaze of three men, the client actually took a small step back. Ran didn’t break eye contact with the man as he continued on, “If this deal doesn’t go through, it’s no loss to us.”

A lie, but Rindou knew Ran spilled lies disguised as truths all the time. His brother was convincing and quick on his feet. If it were a battle of words, very few people stood a chance of winning against the silver-tongued Ran Haitani.

“However, if we find anyone running goods through Minato ward, we won’t hesitate to take action. How many dead men are you willing to leave behind to claw your way to the top? Do you have that kind of conviction?”

“What do the lives of a few measly runners mean to me?” the man scoffed, trying to deflect. His voice wavered. Just a little more of a push and they’d have their answers.

“Wrong answer,” Ran chimed. He stood to his full height and stared down at the man. Somewhere in the transition, Ran’s baton had found its way into his hands. “Let’s try this again, shall we?”

A sickening crack sounded as Ran brought the baton down on the man’s wrist. The cigarette in his hands was dropped as the man yelped. The man cradled his injured arm and finally had the decency to look scared when Ran stepped forward, snuffing out the cigarette with his boot. “You aren’t in a position to be this haughty. You’re just a grunt worker aren’t you?” The warning tone in Ran’s voice was enough that Rindou’s instincts were telling him to run to the nearest bakery and get a mont blanc.

Tense, silent moments passed between the men before Ran took his seat again. He still maintained eye contact with the client. “Keep your wrist in mind when we ask these next questions. We don’t take kindly to being scorned.” A smug grin crossed Ran’s face. “So let’s be friends, yeah?”

Kakucho sighed. Rindou knew he was thinking about damage control now. This was not part of the plan for the night, but fear worked as a potent motivator.

Asking directly if the job was a set up wasn’t going to yield any useful answers. People like this man would lie and say anything to cover their asses. Disguising.

“Surely you understand our hesitancy given recent events?” Ran prompted again.

All it took was a slight motion from Ran and the man was blabbering a flurry of indiscernible words. Somewhere in there was an affirmation, because Ran leaned back and resumed lazing around like nothing happened.

“I-I swear I know nothing about the incidents you’re referring to,” the man stuttered. His voice was strained and weak. “I was just told to make sure these got delivered.”

All eyes flicked to the sealed envelopes on the table. Ran leaned forward and picked up an envelope with a gloved hand. The man let out a pathetic whimper. “Do you know what’s in these?” Ran asked, eyes flashing towards the man.

“N-no,” the man said quickly. “I-I was just told to—”

The resounding slam of the goods on the table cut the man off. Ran sat up straighter and mocked the man, “‘I-I was just told’—yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re just the messenger right? You got a way we can contact your boss?”

“I-I can try to,” the man said, fumbling his burner phone with trembling hands.

While the man dialed a number, Ran looked at Kakucho with a smirk. Kakucho sighed and dragged a hand down his face. Rindou nodded in his brother’s direction. Ran just smiled and whispered to his brother, “If he wasn’t going to comply, I was gonna ask you to do what you do best.”

Rindou stared at the sorry excuse of a man and shook his head. “No way, I’m not touching that greasy asshole.”

Ran chuckled. “Hmm, neither would I.”

“He-here,” the man said, putting the phone in the middle of the table. He pressed the speaker button and the grainy ringing filled the room.

If the boss didn’t pick up, negotiations would have to be restarted at a later time, which would be an inconvenience at best. Rindou didn’t know if he had it in him to sit and talk about this at another time. Especially not when it was probably well into the unholy hours of the night. The analog clock behind the bar was shattered and frozen, serving no real use. Kind of like the bumbling idiot in front of him.

A click, then a gruff voice answered, “What?”

Something about it was off, like the person on the other end was pretending to be someone else. What a weak persona this boss had.

“Boss, Rokuhara Tandai has some”—the man paused, flickering eyes going over the top three members of the gang—“concerns they’d like to address.”

The pause was heavy. “What concerns?” A hint of uncertainty underlaid the voice.

Rindou glanced at his brother, who nodded. Ran had picked up on it too.

It was time for Kakucho to be the diplomat. “There have been reports of fake deals, a handful of which we have experienced, that leave a trail of dead bodies. Our last job from an outside client was compromised, so we are cautious when approaching this one. Your subordinate did not take our concerns very seriously.”

“I see,” the voice mused. “You value your men, don’t you? That’s not common these days.” Another moment of contemplation passed before the voice spoke again. “I had also heard some rumors, so I understand where you’re coming from. You’d be smart to not believe me when I say this, but this job is the real deal. We can wire our half of the payment and I hope that will suffice as proof. The other party will wire theirs when the goods are delivered.”

Kakucho exchanged glances with the Haitani brothers. Silent communication was easy to the former Tenjiku members. Half of the promised payment was not a value to be disregarded. It seemed convincing, and if the boss had also heard of the fake deals… but the underground wasn’t known for its honesty. On the other hand, business was sacred between gangs. If a faction was known for lying, cheating, or stealing, they would usually die out in a few months. This wasn’t always the case, but any respectable gang would keep their side of the bargain.

There were too many things going on and it made Rindou glad he didn’t have to make any major decisions. He just followed what Kakucho or Ran asked him to do and occasionally voiced opinions. It got more complicated the more Rindou thought about it. There was someone out there trying to tip the scales, but Rokuhara had to find a way to stay a step ahead and come out on top.

Fuck it, Rindou wasn’t going to think about it anymore. Leave that to the others. Kakucho was going to make the final call anyway, so what Rindou thought didn’t ultimately matter.

Kakucho looked at both Rindou and Ran, and the subtle expression he gave them made the question abundantly clear, Do we risk it and trust them?

Rindou glanced at his older brother. Ran’s expression was contemplative and calculating. His eyes flashed as he nodded at Kakucho. They were taking the deal. They were risking it. Ran must’ve thought of something, or Rindou was mistakenly putting too much faith in his brother.

“We appreciate the gesture,” Kakucho said, clearing his throat. “We will continue with the deal.”

“Good, good,” the voice said, almost a bit too eagerly. “You’ve got a good team for the job, I’ve heard.”

“We’re still assembling a good team,” Kakucho said carefully. “But I place my trust in them to get the job done.”

“Yes, yes, of course. I have no doubts you will do your best with that pretty little runner on your side.”

Alarm bells immediately went off in Rindou’s head. He sat up a little straighter, but otherwise gave no indication to what he caught onto. Kakucho was equally straight faced and Ran just looked bored, but the men all exchanged rapid glances and they all knew. They said nothing, and carefully watched the fat man across from them. The bumbling idiot wasn’t even paying attention to how the Rokuhara Tandai executives were behaving. He was too busy dabbing sweat from his brow and staring at the phone.

“The money will be wired and we will send details of the handoff in the next few days,” the boss confirmed.

“Perfect,” Kakucho said, nodding in confirmation. “We will await your information.”

The call clicked and silence permeated throughout the room. The client snatched his phone off the table, but none of the men missed the shaking hands.

“If that is all that needs to be discussed,” Kakucho said diplomatically, “then we will be taking our leave.”

When the man said nothing, Kakucho bid him a goodnight and motioned for the Haitani brothers to follow Kakucho out. Ran lazily picked up the envelopes and tucked them in his pockets. Rindou felt a flash of amusement as the client paled when Ran made eye contact and produced a casual smile.

Once the trio emerged into the chill of the night air, they looked around and quickened their pace. They made it a few blocks down before Rindou decided to state the obvious, “So this is a trap, right?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Ran agreed. “I wouldn’t be surprised if their fumbles were intentional though. What’re we gonna try to do about it since we’re continuing with the job? They know Lotus is a part of it. Do we just let them take her?”

Rindou frowned, but Kakucho supplied an answer before he could. “No, if Lotus is a key player with whoever’s in the shadows, it would be advantageous to have her.”

“So we’re going to try to get the jump on these guys? Act like we don’t know anything and figure out our own trap?” Ran asked.

“Something like that,” Kakucho confirmed. “We need to meet with Lotus as soon as possible.” Both Kakucho and Ran looked at Rindou, who threw his hands up.

“Seriously? We’re still on this train?”

“You’re the only one who talks to her,” Kakucho pointed out.

Ran twirled one of his braids around a finger. “I don’t want to talk to her, so that only leaves you, Rin.”

Rindou rolled his eyes and sighed. “Fine. Whatever, I’ll—”

The vibration of his phone in his pocket stopped him mid-sentence. Who the hell was texting him at—he looked at the time on his phone screen—four in the fucking morning? It was an unsaved number, but he recognized it almost instantly. Speak of the devil and she shall appear.

Ignoring the confused glances from Ran and Kakucho, Rindou opened his messages to see what the fuck Lotus wanted. She was supposed to be waiting for them to contact her, and she had no reason to reach out otherwise. It was a picture message, which Rindou thought was weirder. What would she even have to send him? Once the picture loaded, he blinked once, then twice, and then frowned. It was a crudely drawn knot pattern, intricate and dizzying. The text read “does this look familiar to u?”

It did look a touch familiar. Why did she need to know about that? He wasn’t going to confront her about the reason until later, because she could easily just brush him off. Instead, he responded to her asking why the hell she was awake and that he would ask around.

As Rindou typed furiously in response, Ran walked over and peered at his screen. Not wanting to be left out, Kakucho also approached and all three men were standing, staring down at Rindou’s phone. Once Rindou sent the message he looked up at the others. “Can I help you?”

“What did she want?” Ran asked, his face subtly twitched like he was struggling to keep a straight face.

Rindou went back to the picture message and opened the attachment. “She wanted to know if we knew anything about this.”

Ran squinted and leaned in a little too close. Blind ass motherfucker and his disregard for personal space. “Oh,” he said, standing back up. “That’s the same as the tattoo on that dude in the alley.” Ran dug in his own pockets for his phone and opened the photo gallery. He showed the screen to Rindou. “They’re the same, aren’t they?”

Rindou looked back and forth between the pictures. They were the same image, but they had no idea what it meant. Lotus may have that information, and they needed to get it from her.

“So you’re asking me to walk right into a trap?” Lotus asked, leaning back with an irritating cockiness. “The last time I tried to get a leg up on these guys, I got a concussion. One that I’m still recovering from, mind you.”

There was no good response to her assessment. Yes, they were asking her to risk her safety again. She could say no, but she wasn’t in a good position to negotiate.

“We are,” Kakucho acknowledged.

Lotus slumped down in her seat, all traces of pride gone. Her eyes were closed as she tilted her face to the ceiling. “This is all bullshit,” she muttered. “Why don’t they just kill me? What’s the point of keeping me alive?”

Kakucho’s brow furrowed with concern, Ran’s eyes narrowed, and Rindou looked at her from the side of his eyes. If she noticed all of them staring, she didn’t give any indication. Rindou thought that she looked… tired. There were dark circles under her eyes that were only emphasized by the glaring overhead lights. Her tone wasn’t as sharp. Something was off.

“If you have any—” Lotus put up a hand, immediately cutting Kakucho off. Ran was glaring daggers at the Wuxing runner and Rindou just slightly shook his head.

“I know some things,” she said. “I don’t know if this information is going to help you. Nothing about this whole shitshow makes sense, nor do I know why I’m in the middle of it.” Lotus sat back up and opened her eyes. “Can you guarantee my safety if I do this for you?”

“We can’t promise that kind of—”

Lotus cut off Kakucho again. Her eyes burned with frustration and she looked at Kakucho directly. “You’re going to have to,” she said. “My own gang didn’t get to me until I was nearly out of their hands. Forgive me if I’m a bit hesitant.”

The bite in her tone was unfamiliar. Usually there was sarcasm dripping from each word, but this time the bitterness sharpened each syllable. This was a side of Lotus that Rindou had not seen before, and he could only wonder what pushed her this far. Rindou was unfortunately familiar with how Lotus operated. He’d seen her at a jubilant high. He’d seen her at an inescapable low. He’d seen how she dons arrogance like armor. But this pure frustration and exhaustion was new. How many breaking points could one girl have?

“I understand,” Kakucho said, nodding. His gentle tone was attempting to placate the edge in Lotus’s expression. “You’re not wrong for wanting to keep yourself safe. We will do our best.”

Lotus didn’t look convinced. “I guess that’s as good as it’s going to get,” she said with a resigned sigh. “Okay. What’s the details? What’s going on?”

Ran tossed the envelopes on the table between them and Lotus stared down at them. “The fuck are those?” she asked.

“We don’t know,” Ran answered. “The client just said we were supposed to deliver these.”

Lotus slowly looked up, her brows furrowed with concern. “That’s it? And they’re trying to get the jump on you using this?” She gestured to the envelopes. “Based on what they’re paying you, this is too simple a job. Either they’ve got the Prime Minister’s personal documents, or there’s nothing in these. Are they stupid?”

“They’re not exactly trying to be subtle,” Rindou muttered. “They let several things slip while we were meeting with the client. They’re either incredibly incompetent, or they’re geniuses.”

Lotus nodded in agreement. “Alright, so we’re going to play into their hands? You sure you want me around for that? Anyone in Rokuhara could see me, and let’s be real, that spells trouble for all of us. Especially since Wuxing is keeping me caged with all this fuckery around this other gang.”

That caught their attention. It was another gang. “What do you know?” Kakucho asked.

“Not much,” Lotus said, the edge of her voice defensive. “This gang has beef with Wuxing, so I don’t know why they’re messing with you. They haven’t targeted Brahman as a whole though, which I think is weird. Or the executive we’re in contact with is lying to us, which I wouldn’t be surprised about either. Nothing makes sense and knowing that this gang followed Wuxing here doesn’t add anything of value. They’re just pissed at Kirin about something being stolen.”

“And they’re targeting you, specifically, right?” Ran asked.

“Yeah,” Lotus confirmed. “I don’t get it either.”

“You think you were the thing stolen?” Ran asked.

“I considered it,” Lotus answered almost hesitantly. “But it doesn’t add up because I didn’t know about Wuxing until my brother got tangled up with them. If I was taken, wouldn’t Wuxing want to keep a closer eye on me?”

“Who’s to say they weren’t?”

The statement gave Lotus pause, and Rindou was impressed that Ran could actually get her to stop talking. Rindou could see the gears turning in her head as she mulled it over.

“Fuck,” she hissed. “It’s not impossible for that to be true. Shika was right, we need a corkboard and string.”

“You look like you need a drink,” Ran commented lightly. The snide undertone did not go unmissed.

Lotus glared at him. “No thanks. Alcohol and I don’t get along.” Ran opened his mouth to say something, but Lotus immediately shut him up with, “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I’ve heard it all before. If I were drunk it’d be easier right? I wouldn’t be such a bitch?”

Rindou stared at the way Ran shut his mouth and frowned. It was impressive that Lotus was able to get Ran to shut up and match his snark, but Rindou needed a drink if these two assholes were going to keep bickering. Just the thought of them escalating the insults was enough to give him a headache, and judging by Kakucho’s irritated expression, Rindou knew he felt the exact same.

“Knock it off, you two,” Kakucho snapped. “Be civil.”

Lotus crossed her arms and Ran scowled, but neither said anything else. They were glaring daggers at each other throughout the rest of the meeting. The conversation went over Rindou’s head while the others discussed logistics and plans. He really had to stop zoning out during these briefs, because now everyone was staring at him.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you just let your brain leave whenever we talk strategy?” Lotus asked, annoyed. She rolled her eyes and Ran’s eyes narrowed at her as she went on. “Okay, so, long story short, it’s us as a team again to drop off the envelopes. The others are going to be waiting off to the side to see if they can get the jump on the culprits.”

“Are you just going to let yourself be seen? Don’t you have an issue with that?” Rindou asked.

“I changed my mind because at this point does it matter? Damned if I do, damned if I don’t.” Lotus shrugged with indifference. “Besides, you’re not going to be able to barter for my freedom with all this shit going down. Wuxing won’t let me walk while this other gang’s whereabouts are unknown. If my life is always gonna be in danger, at least I could do something cool while endangering it.”

Kakucho’s disappointed stare just made Lotus grin and shoot finger guns at him. She dropped the act after a few moments and sighed. “We’re teamed up because we need someone from Rokuhara to vouch for me as the runner. Meanwhile Ran and Kakucho will be sweeping the area with other members. We make the trade and book it.”

Rindou groaned. Lotus simply nodded without saying anything. The tiredness in her expression seemed to multiply the longer the silence stretched on. How much shit was she dealing with? She’s not telling them something and Rindou had half a mind to start prying. She probably wouldn’t even tell him what was going on. The information she’d already told them was the extent of what she was willing to share.

Lotus caught him staring and raised a brow at him. “Can I help you?” she asked, voice flat.

“Uh, no,” Rindou said, tearing his eyes from her.

Lotus muttered under her breath, just barely loud enough for Rindou to catch it, “I know I look like shit but you don’t have to gawk.”

The amused snort Rindou let out was automatic. Yeah, she did look bad, but he was trying to avoid commenting on how she looked. It was a pattern Lotus pointed out to him and now Rindou was extra aware of what he said to her.

“You said it, not me,” Rindou practically whispered back.

Lotus’s head snapped towards Rindou. He gave no indication that he noticed or cared, but he could feel her stare burning through him.

Finally fed up, Kakucho called for Lotus’s attention. The runner looked over and tilted her head. “What else do you need?” she asked innocently.

“Nothing. We’ll be in touch for the date of the job,” Kakucho said, dismissing her.

“You say ‘we’, but you really mean Rindou don’t you? He’s the only one who texts me anyway,” she pointed out. She stood up from her chair and stretched her arms. “Alright I’ll be waiting. Not like I’ve got anywhere to go. See ya round boys.”

With that, Lotus left the three men sitting at the table. She turned back around once to blow a kiss in Rindou’s direction. His annoyance was overrun by the sudden embarrassment that made his face hot. She shouldn’t get to him that much! Ran had planted the dumb idea of Lotus in Rindou’s head. That’s exactly what was happening. He didn’t even remotely like her.

However, when it came to antagonizing Rindou, his brother would stop at nothing. Ran’s gaze tracked Lotus until she was out of sight and then he turned his attention to Rindou. “Stop looking at me like that,” Rindou snapped, trying not to stumble over the words.

“Looking at you like what?” Ran asked, his tone too sweet for the mocking grin on his face.

Rindou was not going to play into Ran’s hands. He knew what his brother was trying to set up, so Rindou had to choose his next words carefully. Luckily Kakucho intervened before Rindou could say anything stupid.

“There’s something she’s not telling us,” Kakucho said, pointing out the obvious.

“Oh yeah, absolutely,” Ran chimed in. “Should we try and figure it out?” He rested his chin on his hands and looked at Rindou. “Think you can sweet talk her?”

“No,” Rindou deadpanned immediately. “I’m not being friendly with her.”

“But you show concern for her wellbeing?” Ran raised a brow.

Rindou threw his hands up in the air. “Because she was a vital part of the last job! She wasn’t at the top of her game, and we needed things to go as smoothly as possible—which could only be done if she recovered some.”

It was sound logic. Practically unbreakable, but somehow Ran poked holes right through the thin explanation. “And the rescue mission?”

“Didn’t wanna owe her anything after saving my ass,” Rindou muttered. “Also if she were kidnapped, we wouldn’t have the skilled personnel for this job. The assignment was unknown, but had I known how simple the job would be, I probably would’ve made peace with letting her be an idiot.”

Rindou thought his explanations were sufficient enough, but he knew somehow, deep down, he didn’t quite believe what he said.

Please do not reupload, translate, or steal my work! If it isn't here or on my ao3, it's not me! Likes & reblogs appreciated! <3 Dividers courtesy of @/cafekitsune & @/firefly-graphics

[elwenyere]

Fic Writer 20 Questions

I was tagged by my beloved @frostbitebakery: thank you so much, my friend!!!

1.) How many works do you have on ao3

56

2.) What's your ao3 word count?

301,664 words

3.) What fandoms do you write for?

So far, the MCU, Star Wars, and Top Gun.

4.) What are your top five fics by kudos?

Call Me By Your (Pet) Name (MCU, Sambucky)

Tactical Engagements (Star Wars, Codywan)

Citation Needed (MCU, Stony)

Helps to Relieve My Mind (MCU, Sambucky)

Good Soldiers (Star Wars, Codywan)

5.) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I do, yes! Sometimes it takes me a little while to write back if things in real life are hectic, but eventually I do, because I love chatting with readers about what they noticed in a story and what I was thinking about/working on while writing.

6.) What's the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

I have never written what I would call an unhappy ending. But sometimes what we know about the canon ending can still make the ending of a fic bittersweet, and that's true of a fair number of fics I've written. I think the two fics that leave canon angst most fully on the table are my MCU ficlet A Stitch in Time, which is about what else Steve might have done while returning those stones, and my wee Star Wars piece Yes, It Feels Like That, which is a moment with Leia's grief during ANH.

7.) What's the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

I swear: I used to write plenty of fics that were happy all the way through! That happens a lot less frequently now. But Right on Time is just about the happiest ending I could give to a post-war Codywan, and my Sambucky fic Pumpkin Spice and Everything Nice is (to me) maybe the funniest fic I've written.

8.) Do you get hate on fics?

I've been very lucky with readers who are largely very generous.

9.) Do you write smut? If so what kind?

I am a relative newcomer to writing smut, but I have dabbled, yes. I'm not sure what kind of smut it is. Feelings-forward, I guess?

10.) Do you write crossovers? What's the craziest one you've written?

I think the only thing I've written that could come close to being classified as a crossover was my very first multi-chapter fic, Should You Choose to Accept It, which included characters from both the mainstream Avengers and Agents of SHIELD and mashed up the plots of Iron Man 3, CA: TWS, AOS Season One, and Mission Impossible 3.

11.) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

Not that I'm aware of.

12.) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Not yet!

13.) Have you ever cowritten a fic before?

Yes! The Stony identity porn/professor AU fic Citation Needed was a collaboration with the incredible @festiveferret, and it is the most fun I've had writing fic.

14.) What's your all time favorite ship?

Cannot pick a favorite, but my first OTP was Mulder/Scully, and they will always have a special place in my heart.

15.) What's a WIP you'd like to finish, but doubt you ever will?

God what a painful question. 😅 I am a stubborn bastard, and I don't know if I've fully admitted defeat on any of my WIPs, even the ones I've neglected the most. But the WIP that's probably been waiting for my attention the longest is the sequel to my Stony fic Three Little Words; or, Five Times Steve and Tony Didn’t Actually Apologize + One Time They Did, which I cannot abandon or scrap for parts because I'm really attached to the bits that I have written, but which I haven't been able to make progress on for a long time. Bug me for snips about it if you like: I would love to be able to share what I have so far.

16.) What are your writing strengths?

A borderline aggressive amount of figurative language, narrative beats that feel layered, and I think I have a decent ear for dialogue.

17.) What are your writing weaknesses?

I'm so, so, so inexpressibly slow, and I also build up increasing levels of anxiety about WIPs when I'm not getting outside perspectives about them, so I find it nearly impossible to write anything longer than 20k.

18.) Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language for a fic?

I have experimented with this a little bit in the past, and I'm currently trying it again in a WIP in a language I'm not deeply familiar with, which is nerve-wracking. But I think it can be so effective when done well, and I'm excited to keep growing in that area.

19.) First fandom you wrote for?

Stony in the MCU: a missing-scene fic from Endgame

20.) Favorite fic you've ever written?

I love all my children equally, but my Codywan fic Recollection is probably the fic that felt most ambitious to me at the time that I wrote it: memory-related temporal shenanigans, surreal scene changes, some heavy psychic territory, and my very first smut scenes. I'm proud of how many new things I tried.

----

Open tags for anyone who would like to play!!! This was very fun: @ me with your answers if you'd like to join. <3<3<3

[drhighhopess]

Deep Wounds

Ada Wong x Leon Kennedy (re2r)

Ada x Leon fanfic on ao3 (Throughout the fic there will be another ship momentarily)

Word count : 1.8k

Chapter : 1 / ?

Type : sfw

a/n : hello! this fic is a collab with one of my friends. After the 13th, you'd be able to find her ao3 user on the fiction itself. At the moment, her account is being accepted right now. Any recommendations or comments are always appreciated <3

“Every step I’ve left upon the track has led me here.”

In her song, I Want You to Love Me, Fiona Apple reflects on how her different actions and experiences have brought her to be in the current position she is in. She explains how she feels she was brought towards the person who she wants to love her back, but also understands that it is ultimately hopeless when it comes to anything long term or permanent. Apple compares this fleeting feeling of love to how fleeting the feeling of life and being alive is, and how quickly you go from thriving to simply rejoining the universe, becoming strangers with the sensation of life you once knew. The song tells a tragic story, but one that truly fascinates me, nonetheless.

“Life just isn’t fair”

Are the whispers you here at a funeral you were far to young to be attending. 6 ½ years old, your parents mercilessly slaughtered in front of you. Sole survivor. Your parents had moved to the United States for a fresh start, and quickly met their end.

“Oh, look at him, he’s handling it so well, poor thing.”

More whispers in a language you hardly understand. No one cares to come up to you, you’re not the dead one. You lived. And you definitely weren’t supposed too. Closed casket, bodies beyond repair. But you saw them. You witnessed all of it.

“Life isn’t fair.”

Is what the social worker opens with as she takes your hand in the overly-cheery colored room. You’ve just been told you’re an orphan, and will be put into the system. The family you live with is nothing like what you came from. No one at school will talk to you or look at you because of your story. You’re socially ostracized, and left at a loss of what to do. Your foster parents aren’t good, they skip your meals and have cruel punishments for little things. You want to reinvent yourself, become a new person.

“You will never amount to anything. Your parents’ sacrifice was in vain.”

They tell you, after your latest infraction. You slipped on the playground at school and twisted your ankle. You’ll need surgery of some kind and it will always bother you. Chronic pain. You get in trouble for the strangest things. The language barrier sets you apart at school. So, you strive to be the best. Have the best scores, learn the language and speak it without an accent. Maybe then you’ll have friends, and loving parents. At 8 years old you’re diagnosed with PTSD. You relive the traumatic night another time in your head, and right then and there make a promise to yourself. To help as many people as you can. In a man eat man world, everyone needs to have each other’s backs, right? You vow to be the one who people can rely on. And you swear to help take down those who hunt and hurt people, for no given reason.

…

The way fate and destiny work is something that has frustrated mankind through the ages. Why do our lives end up the way they do? Why doesn’t everything always make sense? Why isn’t life fair? Unfortunately there is no answer to his, other than a passive aggressive, yet infamous answer of ‘life isn’t fair.’ from the adult you’d just asked. They’d usually be leaning back in a wooden chair in the sorry little corner you called a home, smoking some sort of makeshift cigarette and gazing beyond you. Contemplating what their life could’ve been if you hadn’t been born, if they hadn’t made the mistake of getting involved in your sorry fucking excuse of a in a father’s life.

“I was beautiful. I was free.”

your mother says, looking at you with a kind of hate you’ve only ever seen from her. You’ve only ever known hurt. You dream of a life with a two parent household, stability, love. And the worst part about it is you know that it’s possible, because you see it happening to others. You look at the bruises on your knees and arms and vow at an early age to never have children of your own, knowing that the life that awaits you will only be hurting yourself and others. You were too young to be making these kinds of choices. You will never allow yourself to love another human being, to empathize or even think about them. In a man eat man world, the only person whose back you can watch is your own. You grow to hate your parents, your mother especially, for her weakness. Her vulnerability got her in this situation in the first place. If only she hadn’t been spineless, then you wouldn’t exist. It seems to be a better alternative than the depressing life you currently live.

SEPTEMBER 29th, 1998

“Ada, you look like your mother when you give me that look.” snapped Ada back to reality. Raindrops drooled down the plexiglass windows of the car she sat in, the leather seats leaving impressions on the bottoms of her thighs. She glanced up at the rear view mirror, some distant relative whose name she didn’t care enough to remember looked at her. They’d moved up in the world, their connections to dangerous people with good threats becoming highly useful to certain people in high places of authority and influence. Now she was working for a corrupt police leader of some sorts, gathering intel on a virus that had been in the works for years. She’d heard updates about it as she grew, the facts she knew now lining up with the rumors she knew in her teenage years. Her cold gaze could’ve cut the glass of the mirror, her almond shaped eyes accentuated with red makeup to add to her femme fatale persona.

“Don’t compare me to that spineless whore.” Ada snapped, shifting her gaze back to outside the tinted windows. She was sore from her rigorous training, her head was pounding with a migraine and quite frankly if she had gotten in a car crash in that moment she wouldn’t of minded. Just another day in her life.

“Have you been debriefed on your job and position?”

“I have, countless times.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.”

The dry conversation ended there. Ada was to collect intel on the virus and report back to A.W. ‘Ironic, same initials as her’, Ada thought to herself, licking the tip of finger as she thumbed through her mission outline. Bioweapons would be deployed, she could very possibly die, her arsenal would be half decent, overriders and a decent pistol and such. Ada was a dead shot. She’d make due with what she had. Her coverup was an FBI agent, a plastic bag with the fake I.D. was enclosed in the file. ‘Convincing, who’s never heard this before?’ She scoffed in her head.

Before every mission she went on, she had to prepare herself to die, and to kill. She felt little remorse for those she hurt, after she’d accepted her mantra of ‘you can only save yourself’ when she was 7. They were merely in her way. Any empathy she felt she immediately suppressed, and bottled. She was due for a psychotic break any day now. Deep down, she felt bad for everything she did. She was terrified for every new mission, and piece of her genuinely hoped she’d die on one simply to put her out of her misery. All she was doing was setting more people up for a shit life like hers. She was only 23. She should’ve been in college, or dating someone. But she got a fucked hand of cards in the shit game of life.

They pulled up to her drop off point, and she climbed out of the car and shut the door without a second thought. The car sped off, and Ada began her walk. She was wearing a tan trench coat, sheer black tights, and black heels with a red outsole. They matched the dress she had on underneath. She had belts of storage and weapons stored in the extensive pockets of her coat, which she’d put on if she had to get her hands dirty. Ada flipped through the file about three more times before she took what she needed and tossed it in a nearby trash can. She struck a match and dropped it in, striding away carelessly. She tucked her scarf in gently and continued to move, seeing her final destination in the distance. A few yards later, she reached it, and pushed the door open gently, as to not cause a disturbance and slip in unnoticed.

The room dimly lit, the smell of alcohol filling the whole place. Soft whispers, but loud ones as well. Some people came here for a nice drink or two, other faces more recognizable. Depends on who you asked, and some answers weren't so urgent to hear. Regardless, the woman in red found herself here, her eyes roamed around the space in front of her. There was a good while before she’d get to Raccoon. There was a policy put in place where agents, or more in Ada’s case spies had to get dropped off a certain amount of miles. Mainly to not bring suspicion, but knowing Umbrella whatever reason put in place was no one's business to question. The room already looked darker than needed by the coverage her glasses supplied. The woman made her way over to the bar, as each time one of her feet hit the hardwood floor a click would fill the room. Being drowned with the music flowing throughout. Taking a guess the heels would have to be at least 4 inches.

Such fitting attire for an FBI agent after all.

“I’ll like a whiskey, neat”

The woman's voice didn't indicate much, her charm was apparent no matter how you wanted to phrase it. There was one thing clear, she wasn’t here for anything else. Nothing more, but surely not less. Dressed in clothes that made it hard to tell the type of lady she was. Other than the sound of heels on the floor the bartender had nothing to go off of. Just turning around to give the alcoholic beverage. The woman's eyes looked around the space surrounding herself. Catching onto a few things like where the music was playing from. Making a mental note inside her head. Before her eyes moved back to the bartender, noticing how he poured the drink into the glass. Before picking up her glass. Taking small sips, the sound of the TV catching her attention. Usually she’d pay no attention. Ada had no reason to care, the woman had only one task at hand. But, this time it was different. Raccoon was completely fucked. In short terms she knew there wasn't a possibility she could finish the mission. They dropped her off too late, where she was at now there wouldn't be enough time to get to her extraction point within a timely manner.

Her thoughts roaming all over the place, as she knew this meant death. They’d have no choice but to kill her. Until, seeing a blonde man enter the building.

[itsohh]

It’s Always the Shy Ones

A/N: Female reader, I’m like really not good at doing anything shy or innocent reader BUT I like cav a lot.

Word count: 3980

Warnings: NSFT, smut, sub/dom

AO3 Masterlist

Operatives at Rainbow were always getting hurt. It was an undeniable fact that you had long since accepted. Sometimes on a mission, sometimes in training. Regardless of the cause, you were there to help. There with Gustave along every case, you were lucky enough not to have as big bags as he had. Just as the pair of you were looking to retire for the night there was a rapid knock on the door. You watched as the doctor's face visually deflated and he opened it.

"-fucking put me down I swear to god-" Taina's voice was cut off as the two of you started at her. She was slumped over Alexsandr's shoulder, secured by one arm. Her eyes darted from yours to Gustaves before Gustave gestured to the table.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"She refused to come see you." Alexsandr walked over to the table.

"It's a small scrape, children get worse than this. I will be fine." She hissed right before Alexsandr leaned forward and gently placed her on it. With her now in place, you were able to see the blood that streamed down her leg. It certainly wasn't too deep but it would still be important to disinfect and patch up.

"I can handle this, doctor." Your voice small, especially in comparison to Alexsandr's. Gustave's eyes flashed to yours and he nodded.

"So long as there's no other injury?" Gustave prompted the pair of them.

"I'm fine." Taina's shoulders dropped as she sighed. "Really." Her eyes landed on you, you had already started to prepare to treat her. "Besides, I'm in good hands." At her reminder, Gustave nodded and patted Alexsandr on the side of his shoulder. It was a sign for the pair of them to leave. And they did.

After the two men left, the door closed behind them and you were left in silence. Up on the table, it was easy to treat her on your lowered office chair. You started to clean her up where her blood had dried with disinfectant wipes.

"How did this happen?" It was the first thing you had said to her all night. There was a light red tint to her cheeks and you presumed the cause was something embarrassing.

"I slipped exiting the showers and scraped myself on the concrete." Her eyes were set on yours.

"That's okay I can take care of you." Your eyes met hers at your soft-spoken voice. The redness had increased and her mouth gaped partially. You pulled back to dump the now bloody wipes in the disposal before you started to cut her a decently sized plaster. Her eyes were set on you while you gently applied it. With a smile, you leaned back in your seat. “See, not too scary. No need to be afraid of coming to the infirmary. No matter the injury.”

“I’m not afraid.” Her eyes tore away from yours. “It’s just unnecessary. I don’t need someone taking care of me for something so small.”

“It’s okay Taina. So long as your a good girl I’ll take care of you no matter the size of the problem.” Her brows rose in interest before you quickly looked away.

“Thank you, nurse.”

“No problem, anytime.” You stood up from your chair and started to pack your things away, but Taina wasn’t finished with you. A spark had been ignited inside of her, one she had spent a decent amount of time putting out. Now that you had reignited it, she was going to act upon it.

“Have you had dinner yet?” Her question caught you off guard and you nearly dropped the items in your hand.

“Huh?” She seemed slightly amused by your off-guard state.

“Dinner, you know, food. Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I uh, was going to when you and Alexsandr came in."

"Come with me."

"Oh sure, just give me a couple of minutes I need to fill out this paperwork. It won't take long." Your voice was small and at the end of your sentence, the pair of you settled into silence.

"I told Alexsandr that I didn't need to come here. Now you have to file paperwork." Taina eventually huffed in her chair and gestured to you. You had been at your desk typing away and eventually looked up.

"Caveira it's fine really. Nothing to be worried about." You closed her file and stood up. "How does it feel? The pasture not too annoying or tight?"

"You did a good job. Let's go get dinner." At her words, she stood up and lead you out of the door. On the way, you grabbed your coat and flipped off the light.

You didn't say much as the pair of you walked through the hallways of the base. "Oh, it's pretty late huh." You eventually spoke up when the pair of you went past some large windows that took up the entire wall.

"You're just as bad as Gustave at overworking." Taina huffed but slapped her hand on your shoulder. "I was actually a little surprised the pair of you were still there. Everyone's well since retired for the night."

"Ah, sorry." She paused at your apology and wrapped an arm around your shoulders.

"Yeah, you should be, take better care of yourself, nurse. Or else I'll do it for you." Her voice was light, flirty and different from the way she usually spoke.

Heat consumed your face in a flush and you couldn't help but look away from her, wanting to hide your face. Too focused on Taina, you hadn't realised that the pair of you had arrived at the admittedly pretty flash cafeteria and kitchen. The lights were mostly off aside from one. That one light hosted Grace who had been rummaging in the fridge.

The woman physically jumped a little when Taina flipped on the lights for both. She whipped around a small container in her hand and kimchi partially in her mouth.

"Grace, a bit late isn't it?" Taina cocked her brow as she lead you into the kitchen.

"I was hungry. You just missed Gustave if you were looking for him." Determined to change both the subject and focus off herself, she directed the comment to you.

"Thanks, but I'm just getting dinner." Grace's eyes darted from yours to Tainas before she closed the door with her arm.

"Ah, I'll, uh, leave it to you then." Grace's eyes fell back to Tainas not so subtle glare and pretty much bolted out of the room with her kimchi.

When it was just the pair of you, Taina eventually turned to you. "Do what do you feel like?"

"Oh I don't mind, I can help if you like."

"No need, I won't make anything complicated or long."

"I honestly didn't think you were going to cook for me, I just normally get instant noodles when it's this late." You laughed a little before you scratched the back of your neck.

"Tsk, you should always have proper meals." Taina spoke while she washed the rice thoroughly until the water was no longer murky.

"Sometimes I'm just tired. Don't have the energy to do anything." You watched her back while she went to grab the chicken she had left to marinate in the fridge. Mass dinners were normally prepared each night but there were a couple of operatives who prefer to cook their own meals. It seemed Taina was in the latter group.

"I'll make dinner for you then." The stove had heated up her pan with olive oil in it.

"It's really no fuss-"

"I don't care how late it is, I would rather you ate a proper meal." Her word was law as she put all the chicken into it. It sizzled loudly at first but quickly died down in sound.

"Besides, I love any opportunity to have a date with you." She turned around to lean on the counter, still keeping a half-eye on the chicken. At her words you coughed out and had you been drinking at that moment you were sure you would have choked.

"Date?" She laughed a little at your surprise.

"Yes, this is a date. Unless you don't want it to be?" Her eyes examined your reactions, searching for any discomfort.

"No, a date is… date is good." You squeaked out. A thought flashed across your face and she slowly approached you. Her hand leaned on the table and towered over you.

"Can I kiss you?" You gaped at her question before you finally nodded, unable to speak.

Her soft lips met yours ever so slowly. Her tongue swiped against your bottom lip before she leaned into you. The woman had expected you to bend with the kiss but what she hadn't expected was for you to bend forward. Your hand found her cheek as you pushed into the kiss, escalating it. Your lips moved expertly against her. Hard pressed, your tongue slipped into her mouth in a fight for dominance which you ultimately won.

Taina eventually pulled back, lips slightly red and swollen with her hair a bit messier than usual. Her eyes were wide, obviously caught off guard by your actions. "I need to check up on the chicken." There was hesitation to leave you but the threat of burning dinner had her leave.

A brief increase of sizzling came as she put in garlic and onion, filling the air with a nice aroma.

"Not your first time hm?" Tania eventually teased, hair still messy. Heat consumed your cheeks and your eye line broke away from hers. "Mmm don't worry I quite enjoyed it. A little unexpected that's all." A few moments later she added in the rice alongside some water and what looked like capsicum and a tomato paste. There was a small clink when she covered the pan and turned down the heat a little. She headed over to the fridge and pulled out a small container with peas in it.

"You have all this already prepared?" You asked and she hummed.

"I try to plan out my meals at the beginning of the week. I'll normally keep my prep in the walk-in fridge and then move them here every couple of days." She hummed. "I'll start planning to make some for you as well if you're scared of disturbing me I can leave some leftovers in the fridge."

"Oh I wouldn't bother, my leftovers always get eaten." You waved her off with a hand. Her face went deadpan for a moment and she walked over to the fridge and pulled out a Tupperware with food in it. It had writing on top of it.

Caveria's lunch. If you touch, I will kill you.

At the end of the note was a little skull face she had drawn. "No one would dare to eat my food." She put the container away and went to stir the rice before she put in the peas. "Max did once, on a dare."

"And he's still alive?" She laughed at your joke, a grin spread across her face.

"Of course, I take care of my team. I just happened to focus a little more on Max specifically in training for a couple of days."

"I think I remember that. Didn't Gustave have a go at you because of that?"

"Mmm, had to make an example." She kept an eye on the rice as it came close to being ready.

"Just like you made an example of Masaru?" You asked and she cocked a brow.

"What happened to Masaru?"

"He broke the base rice cooker like two days ago. Tina was telling me about it." Silence came in between the pair of you as you both stared at each other.

"Filho da puta, that's who broke it?" She growled out to your surprise.

"If you didn't then who… oh I guess Tina was meaning Yumiko when she said 'who do you think?'"

"Probably. Raios me fodam." She swore out again. "I should chew him out. How did he break it?"

"Dropped it from what I heard." Taina stirred the rice a little before she grabbed a pair of plates from the nearby cupboard.

"We used to have two but one of them one day went missing. It was a little red one."

"Oh like the one Tina has in her room?" Taina stared at you as she put the plates down at the island you had been sitting at.

"She has what in her room?"

"Oh god don't tell her I told you that I guess it was supposed to be a secret. She's always had it. Maybe she just has one like that one that she bought." You rushed to get the words out as Taina sat down next to you. Taking pity on you, she let out a small laugh.

"Don't worry I'll sort things out. Promise you won't get into trouble." She gave you a wink before she started to eat, a motion you followed.

"This is really good. I didn't know you cooked."

"I used to do it a lot for my younger siblings when I was young. My grandmother and my brother taught me. I enjoy it. After a long day's work, it can be relaxing. Familiar. It's nice to sometimes let go and not have the worry of my team's lives on my mind."

"I get what you mean."

"Don't tell me that Gustave has you stressed all the time." Taina disapproved and hummed.

"Mm I mean I work very closely with Gustave all the time. Normally his worries are my own worries. If he goes into surgery, I go into surgery. Nothing I can't handle. I like playing video games a lot after work. Having a sense of control. In the medical field, there are just so many things that I can't control, it feels nice to be able to have control for one."

"Two sides of the same coin huh?"

"Yeah." The pair of you finished your meals and put away the dishes in the dishwasher before Taina put the rest of the rice in a container.

Touch and die. - Cav

She had written on top of it before she put it into the fridge. "You can have the rest tomorrow for lunch if you like."

"Might steal it for dinner." She flipped the lights off and the pair of you started to head back to your dorm room.

"No."

"No?" You asked slightly confused.

"I'm making you dinner tomorrow. I hope you like empanadas."

"Taina, really it's no big deal you don't have to."

"I want to." She gave you a look, one that told you she had already decided and no arguing would change that.

"Okay." You surrendered with a nod. She had already made up her mind.

Eventually, the pair of you got to your room."Thanks for dinner Taina. It's been a while since I had a cooked meal like that." You gave her a warm smile.

"Hmm, how long have you been living on instant noodles?"

"Um, next question?" You shrugged and she rolled her eyes in return.

"Fine then. How about, can I kiss you again."

"Okay."

"Okay? That's not a yes darling."

"Please kiss me." In a second of the words leaving your mouth, her lips were on yours once again. All stress and tension left your body while she pressed you against your door. In that one act something activated in you and your hand found the back of her neck. You pulled her firmly towards you while your other hand fumbled to open the door behind you.

Taina's hands had settled around your waist. The door behind you flew open and you quickly swivelled around in a swift motion. Taina's grip grew but ultimately failed when you let go of her neck and gave her a decent shove on her shoulders. The impact had her fall on your bed while you slowly stalked over to her with a devilish smile on your face.

"You work so hard Caveria. Let me take care of you." Her callsign rolled off your tongue while she stared at you from the bed. A complete 180 of your personality as you stalked towards her. Taina was rather interested to see where this would lean while she propped herself up on her elbows. At the foot of your bed, you stood between her legs which draped off the end. “You were so good for me earlier, you can be good for me now hm?” Taina stared at you for a moment. “I’m talking to you Taina. Don’t make me repeat myself.”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes ma’am.” She managed to get out. Your hands ran up the side of her thighs, feeling her muscle through her pants. Your hands trail down to the bottom of her legs and found a grip on her shoes, humming as you undid them. Your eyes made contact with hers as you trailed back up her legs to her thighs before you reached for her zip. To tease the woman, you undid it but didn’t remove her pants right away. Instead, you found the corner of her shirt and started to slowly lift it up her body. Your hands felt up your sides as you did slow, mounting her legs. Her arms lifted for you to remove her shirt and you were left with her in a sports bra.

A crack ripped through the air as you swiftly removed the velcro and tossed the bra aside. Taina let out a gap when the cool hair suddenly hit her all at once. Hands on her breasts, she let out a light moan through her teeth as you grabbed the flesh, your thumbs rolling over her nipples.

You gave Taina little time to adjust before your lips were on hers. Like a fly trap, her arms were around you, pulling you flat against her while your ground yourself down against her. Your name fell from your lips and you found yourself pulling away from her with disapproval written on your face. “So greedy, I thought you were going to be a good girl for me?” Tainas face tinted red and she looked away. “Ah ah ahh, eyes on me. I want to see those pretty brown eyes of yours. Your thumb pushed on her chin to keep eye contact with you. You retreated off the bed and fell to your knees. A perfect angle to rip off her pants and underwear.

A curse left her mouth when your hands quickly found a good grip on her thighs and pulled them apart. Immetly you dove in, swiping kitten licks against her entrance. One of her hands found your hair and pulled on it to direct it slightly higher. Your tongue swirled her clit with the direction. Something you originally were going to take your time with but it was obvious that the woman was in a rather impatient mood. A mood you didn’t blame her for, you weren’t quite sure how long you would take your time. Now the cat was out of the bag, your desperation for the woman had taken control of you.

Nose pressed into her hair, you ate her out like a starved woman. Sloppy wet sounds echoed with her lights moans. Your fingers dove into her and you started to finger fuck the woman while you continued to swirl your tongue on her clit. “Just like that.” She breathed out, thighs twitching while she bucked against her. Her thighs were lethal, a fact she knew and it took all her control not to snap them close on your head. Your fingers curled inside of her and she let out a sound you swore you had never heard before. A squeak sort of sound mixed with a whimper. Eyes wide you quickly adapted and repeated the motion over and over until she was quite literally shivering against you.

Taina grabbed one of your pillows and pushed it over her face, giving her something to scream into right when her body let go. Liquid filled your mouth and drenched the lower half of your body. It gushed out and wet your top while her muffled moans vibrated against your pillow. You pulled back as your quivering legs fell uselessly onto the bed and her body relaxed.

For a moment you gave her a rest. Just enough time for you to leave her side and grab something from your side table. Any thought Taina had was soon interrupted by your manhandling. You flipped the woman onto her front and pushed her face down. With the light slap of your hands, you made sure her ass was in the air. A perfect angle for your to get a good grip on it. “Good girl.” Your purred out and shoved the toy into her dripping cunt.

“Fuck.” Her voice was drawn out and muffled into the bed. The glass cock didn’t stay inside of her for long before you started to fuck her with the toy. One you usually used on yourself.

“Does that feel good my dear?” Her response to your question was nothing more of a moan and you kept up the hard pace, the glass almost completely going inside of her. The curvature of it would be hitting that perfect sweet spot inside of her. “So good for me. So, so good for me.” You started to kiss the underside of her thighs as you praised her. “You take care of me so well, you deserve this. If I had more prep time, mm the things I could make you feel.” A light bite on her ass drew a significantly louder moan while she fisted your sheets.

Tainas face moved to the side, just long enough to speak for a second. “Please.” She begged out, something unheard of by her.

“Do you want to cum again?”

“Yes! Yes… please. Ma’am…” She begged to your much delight.

“How could I refuse such a request.: Your hand kept up your pace. “Go on then, cum for me.” A moment later she pushed against the toy, preventing you from pulling it out. Slowly her ass sunk down with the toy still inside. Her body once tense become soft like jelly and melted down into your partially wet bed. With a pop, you pulled the dildo out of her and she let out a groan before she flopped on her back.

You disappeared into your bathroom for a moment and Taina stared at your ceiling, trying to figure out what just happened exactly. Flashes of your quiet personality danced across her eyes. She wasn’t complaining, not far from it. This was an unexpected but welcomed discovery. When you walked back into the room, you had a bottle of water and a towel. That and a slightly sheepish look on your face.  

“Ah, I didn’t go too hard on you? Sometimes I get carried away.” You handed her the bottle and she looked at your body, still drenched from her liquids.

“You're going to have to try harder than that to break me. This was just a warm-up.” Taina challenged, her slightly breathless voice did make it a little harder to take seriously. Yet it was exactly what you needed to hear to spark that dominant side of you once again.

“In that case, let me show you how it's done.”

[savetooru]

lightship

finally back from braving the white cotton sea — on my flight home from tokyo i was lucky enough to be assigned a window seat and the view was surreal. staring out the porthole was looking at proof of concept: we taught ourselves how to fly. i don't have the energy to directly address why that was so important for me to accept but let's just say being in a different city does inexplicable things to the brain. the wonder of travel is that ideally, you have less time to get in your own head: wake up early, see the sights, eat your fill, stumble back to your lodging; exhale. after all, you could be anybody. you aren't anybody. god. doesn't it irk you how who we are in anonymity often feels like the truest version of ourselves? when you're sitting alone on the cosmo clock — somewhere close to the summit of rotation — it's easy not to worry about the length of the shadow you cast. the whole ride takes about fifteen minutes, so for those fifteen minutes you get to be a blur of probability. you've just crossed off number nineteen on your clumsily, carelessly-crafted bucketlist; for the moment you are every bit schrödinger's glorious, humble outline. the tough part is always in embracing a graceful aftermath. the return from liminal spaces and eyes-of-the-storms where choice is a pointless notion to turn over. the doors must open, the wheel's carriage emptied for its next passenger; nothing but indecipherable scrawl on fogged up glass left behind. you alight the metal box and you know the act has defined you in some profound way, but there's nothing you can show anybody to prove this. (the cat lives! now what?) all this to say yokohama's toasty 8°C gets you frigid clarity right up until the second it's time to punch back into discernible reality. go figure. so far my genius plan to best the mortal coil amounts to the following five precepts: brush before bed, take your meds early, drink less caffeine, figure out what you like, invest in more hugging. *shakes head* *grins self-deprecatingly* totally inspired, i know. a little sorry to end off on a [pensive acoustic guitar cover] note. i have photos from the trip! i took some neat ones and would like to share them soon. any other week i swear i'd be the type to wage war with melancholy, but for now? 以上です。 p.s. i'd be remiss if i didn't share how upon landing back in manila i finally gave in to reading running on air because i wish i caved earlier. ao3 user eleventy7 somehow just puts it all so succinctly, no? see — "going away is easy. coming home is hard."

[eyndr-stories]

Across The World C3 - The Second Place

Summary:

The gods of this world are ancient, most of them forgotten, or nearly so. Nomen has been taught not to make deals with any old gods, should they be unlucky enough to come across one. However, when their little brother Maribus stumbles into mortal peril, they find they have no real choice but to accept the trials of one such god in order to save him.

This is an original story written by yours truly! I started writing this back at the very start of 2021 when I had a particularly wild and extremely vivid dream. This story is heavily based on said dream! This dream is also why I strongly distrust bunny mascots / anthro rabbits lmao but anyhoo, I think i've improved as a writer since this so the quality may or may not be quite on par with my other stories. I also had some help from my cool aunt Kerry with editing this, so if there's anything amiss here we can totally blame her lmao

That all being said, I do still like this story, and I hope you will too!! Enjoy <3

Things To Know:

major character death (its okay though, they live lol)

blood and violence

happy ending

protag (Noman) is nonbinary and referred to with they / them pronouns

first person POV

8 chapters in total, about 13,000 words in total. So roughly 1600 words a chapter. Lil bite sized chappys!

No swear words used, somehow

(lmk if i should add anything, i can't think of anything else)

Ao3 link here

Chapter 1 here

Chapter 2 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

C3 - The Second Place

     My boots immediately sank into mud. Instead of a beautiful green forest, I was being drenched by a heavy downpour of rain.

     "Ah. Drat." Pulling up the hood of my poncho, I began the trek up to the top. The rain made everything slick and when I wasn't sliding backwards, I was listening to the sucking noise every time I pulled a boot out of the mud to take a step forward. I sighed and wiped raindrops out of my eyes. I wasn't about to be done in by a stupid hill, so I dug in and trudged upwards.

     Finally, I made it to the top, and could see down into a wide field.

     The field, to my surprise, was the setting of a horrible battle. One side wore armor and flung balls of fire at a line of huts. The other side fought with shovels and pitchforks and no small amount of desperation. They appeared to be outnumbered, but they weren't backing down.

     Beyond the battle, across a river, was a collection of tightly packed grey buildings, mostly in ruin. Walls had crumbled, leaving exposed corridors and half-gone arches.

     I got the feeling my door was in the ruins, and I'd have to pass through the battle to get there.

     I stood and deliberated, apprehensive about my chances. Maybe if I was quick enough, I could make it through the chaos fast enough to slip into the ruins and loose whoever might be chasing me in those labyrinthine grey corridors.

     I took one step, and promptly slipped in the mud. I tumbled and slid down the hill, finally rolling to a stop at the bottom. Luckily I hadn't hurt myself in the tumble, but I was absolutely covered in mud. This was no time for wallowing though, I was at the edge of the battle now. I moved to get to my feet, and my hand bumped something laying next to me.

     The blue handle of the shovel reminded me of the birds from my town's parade for the hero. It seemed so long ago now. My baby brother had been so excited and happy… and I'd see him happy again. I grabbed the shovel, and just in time, too. Someone from the armored side had seen me and a small fireball whizzed past my arm, burning a streak across my poncho.

     I sprinted across the field. An armored man ran at me screaming, raising his sword above his head. I wound back my shovel with both hands, and slammed it as hard as I could against his head. Stunned, he fell back, and I continued pushing my way through the battle.

     As I crossed the arched bridge over the creek, I looked back through the smoke and splattered blood to make sure I wasn't being pursued. Assured the coast was clear, I turned away and kept running until I reached the buildings. Once I was up close, I reconsidered entering the ruins after all. These walls were dilapidated and crumbling and definitely no longer structurally sound.

     I looked back again, wondering if I was in the clear to at least take a short break. Instantly I noticed four figures amidst the battle, all of them standing out starkly. The four large figures were unfazed by the battle raging around them. They didn't seem to fit the scene, and the soldiers around them seemed to be keeping a respectable distance, like they knew it too. There was something mechanical about the way the four all moved together in a line, each pair of their glowing red eyes fixed right on me. Even at this distance I could make out lethal hands and large teeth. I didn't think I could take them with just my shovel. I wasn't even sure what they were.

     I rushed into a random corridor and almost into a group of armored fighters. Thankfully, I saw them in time to hide behind a half-decayed wall. I could hear more armored stomping farther into the ruins. I felt trapped. It was only a matter of time before those mechanical things caught up to me, and yet I couldn't move any faster if I wanted to avoid the fighters.

     Given the options, standing there was guaranteed to get me nowhere, so I opted to move. I knew I was getting lost turning down different corridors, but I didn't have time to work through this place methodically. I strained my ears for both soldiers and robots alike. I hit another dead end and almost screamed in frustration.

     I turned to find another way out and nearly stumbled when I saw someone blocking my way out. I gripped my shovel as we stared at each other, until I realized this stranger was just a kid who barely looked older than my brother.

     "You aren't supposed to be here."

     "What gave you that idea?" I relaxed slightly, figuring this kid would have already tried something while my back had been turned if he'd meant me harm. "You haven't happened to see a… door... anywhere around here, have you?"

     The kid looked at me warily. "What kind of door?“

      "One that doesn't belong. Like me."

      "I can show you, but you have to take me with you."

     I was already shaking my head. "Trust me kid, you don't want to go where I'm going."

     “Anywhere is better than here!" He looked much older for a moment. “I can't do this anymore. I'm done fighting.”

     “You’re a soldier?” I asked, surprised.

     "Not anymore... if you help me. Please, just take me through the door."

     I could feel my time running out. I didn't know the way, and he did. Or at least, he said he did. Besides, from what I'd seen of his world so far, I didn't blame him for trying to leave. "Fine, but we gotta move fast."

     The kid grinned, and it almost broke my heart how much he reminded me of Maribus. He said, "The name's Amicus."

     “Nice to meet you. I'm Nomen. Now let's go."

     He nodded and began leading me down a hall and through several rooms, each wall threatening to crumble over us at any minute. This whole place was falling apart. It made me think of the nameless god, and I wondered just how ancient these worlds were. If these worlds were even real, or just momentary fabrications that would vanish once my time here was up. These people seemed of this time, but those robots, they didn't belong. What was their purpose in all this?

     The sounds of battle were far behind, but the dusty grey walls expanded ever onwards.

     "Are you sure you know the way?" I asked.

     Amicus nodded confidently. "I know this place really well. Trust me."

     I supposed I didn't have much other choice. Well, I could ditch Amicus and try to find the door myself I guess, but… I had a gut feeling about this kid. I wasn't sure if it was just because he reminded me a lot of my brother, but I felt like I could trust him.

     We kept walking and sure enough, we came to a wide open area lined with crumbling pillars, leading right up to the door.

     "Hey, we're here! Nice job, kid." I pat Amicus's shoulder. "Ready?"

     He smiled and gave me a nod, and we stepped through the door.

[strangerthingfanfic]

Chapter 3 is live!!!

Find it on AO3 Here

Or scroll down beyond the picture to read it

Chapter 3: New Life

A giggling sound made the two of them jump and look in the direction it came from.

Steve laughed when he saw the baby monitor sitting on the table next to Billy.

Steve looked over at Billy, grinned, and said, “I guess they approve”.

“I'm sorry,” was all Billy said as he dashed past Steve and out the front door. The sound of the door closing heavily behind him echoed in Steve's soul.

The night wind howled in Billy's ears as he searched for a place to hide, to breathe, to disappear. “You're useless, dumb, and loving a man is wrong and you will never amount to anything and your children will hate you,” his father's voice whispered inside his head.

Inside, Steve was left alone, feeling confused and hurt. Sitting down, he took a deep breath and watched the door, wondering why he always scared off the people that meant the most to him.

When Billy hadn't come back home even after a couple of hours, he was beginning to fear the worst, so he called Joyce.

“Hey Steve, how are you darling?” Joyce asked when she answered.

“Not well. Billy took off after we kissed and now I don't know what to do. Should I call Hopper to search for him? Should I get a sitter so I can go look for him, or should I just stay put?” he asked, his voice breaking.

Before she could answer, the front door opened and Billy was in the doorway, then in front of him and then his lips were on his. He melted into Billy's kiss, allowing the phone to drop from his hand and leaving Joyce asking if he was ok. After a few minutes, to Steve's disappointment, they parted, and that's when he remembered he was on the phone.

“I’m ok, Billy came back,” he quickly texted Joyce. When he got an “I'm glad” text, he put his phone down and looked at Billy.

“Where the hell did you go? And just because I accepted your kiss, I don't forgive you for just taking off,” he said as he wrapped his arms around himself and turned his back to Billy.

“I'm sorry. I heard my father's voice in my head, but as I walked in the cold air alone, I realized something. He was old and bitter, and I am allowed to be happy in whatever form that comes in. I hope you won't give up on me,” Billy replied.

Turning around slowly, Steve said, “Your honesty makes it hard to stay mad at you. I forgive you this time. But if it happens again I’m not promising anything,” and found his space within Billy’s arms.

The next couple of months were filled with end-of-school activities and homework, along with counseling sessions with their therapist.

“I can't wait for summer so we can have time to spend with the girls and each other,” Billy said as they were putting away dishes.

“Be careful what you wish for, Hargrove. Sometimes it isn't what you think,” Steve replied and pecked him on the cheek.

When summer break finally arrived, Billy was excited. But that didn't last.

“Two weeks. That's all it's been, and the girls are driving me nuts,” Billy said as he picked up Max and moved her away from the flowerpot she was trying to climb into.

Steve laughed and quipped, “You were so excited summer break was here, and we could have the girls home all the time.”

Flipping Steve off, Billy put Max in the playpen, then pried Mary from Steve's arms, whom she hadn't let go of all day except to eat, and placed her in as well.

Going back to where Steve was seated on the floor, he wrapped his arms around Steve and kissed him. “You're mine for a few minutes,” he said as he bit the edge of Steve's ear. Looking up to check on the girls, he could swear Mary was giving him a death glare for touching Steve. “I don't think Mary wants to share you with me,” he said, laughing.

“She knows she has me wrapped around her tiny finger,” Steve said as he turned his head and kissed Billy softly.

The girls played in their playpen while Steve and Billy watched TV. A commercial came on for a vacation package to San Diego. Steve saw a longing on Billy's face and said casually, “The two of us should take a nice vacation”.

The smile that crossed Billy's face said he agreed, but he said, “I don't think I'm ready to be away from Mary and Max for that long.”

Right then and there, Steve swore to himself he would get Billy to get away and relax somehow.

****

It was the last week of June when they flew out to San Diego for a five-day vacation at a beachside resort.

A scared deer was the only way Steve could explain the look on Billy's face. He had finally talked Billy into taking the vacation they had talked about.

“Don't worry, you pumped enough milk for them until next June and Joyce loves the girls, so everything will be just fine. Plus, we can FaceTime them every night,” he said as he physically sat Billy down on the bed.

“And what about Jonathan and Will? What if they go off and tell everyone about the girls and… and us?” Billy asked.

Sitting down next to Billy, Steve cupped Billy's face and said, “Stop worrying so much about other people. So what if everyone in town found out? It just might mean more babysitters. And the ‘us’ part, no one is going to care. Hawkins may be a small town, but it also has a lot of really loving people. Hell, even Tommy has a soft spot for kids, and I think he already thinks we are hiding something.”

Taking a deep breath and cracking half a smile, Billy nodded and laid on his back on the bed. “I guess this isn't so bad. I can teach you how to surf and you can finally get a tan on you.”

The next day, Billy showed Steve how to stand on a surfboard and was excited when Steve survived his first wave. They had a video chat with Joyce and the girls that night.

“Hope the girls are being good,” Steve asked as the girls waved at the camera, testing Joyce's ability to hold both of them.

“They're great and I'm enjoying having girls for a while,” Joyce said with a laugh.

They said their goodbyes and headed to bed.

As the third day became the third night, Billy was sitting on the bed while Steve was in the shower when there was a knock at the door.

Billy slowly got up and went to the door and looked out the peephole. He was taken aback by the woman with blonde hair with purple streaks and piercing blue eyes, much like his own, staring back at him from the hallway.

He undid the lock, and the woman wrapped her arms around Billy. “Long time no see little brother”.

“How did you know I was here?” he asked. He heard the shower turn off. “Give me a second,” he said before she could answer and went to the bathroom, letting Steve know they had company and he would need more than the towel. When he turned around, his sister was sitting in a chair by the desk and he asked again as he sat on the bed, “How did you know I was here?”

“My friend works here, and she told me she saw you. She even gave me your room number,” his sister replied as Steve came into the room.

“What's going on, Billy?” Steve asked, sitting next to him.

“This is Crystal, my older sister,” Billy said, trying to keep his voice steady despite the anger and confusion he was feeling.

“Mom and dad have been worried sick about you ever since your disappearing act almost two years ago,” Crystal said.

“I didn't know Satan knew how to worry about others,” Billy replied, not holding back the venom in his tone.

“Grow up already, Billy. Yeah, dad was an ass at times, but he loves us and mom. His old way of thinking made life hard, but your vanishing has really been tough on him since he blames himself. Couldn’t you at least stop by and let them know you are alive,” Crystal said, her eyes locked on Billy.

“Maybe you should, Billy. I will be right there with you,” Steve said softly, placing a hand on Billy's shoulder. Billy just nodded. Both Steve and Crystal took that as a win.

Giving both Steve and Billy a hug, Crystal took her leave.

“She seems nice,” Steve said as they got comfortable in bed.

“She is a good person and a great sister,” Billy said, turning to face Steve. “Are you sure you want to be involved in my family drama?” Billy asked as he moved a piece of hair from Steve's eyes.

“Of course I do. Plus, I'm interested in meeting Satan himself,” Steve said, causing them both to laugh.

The next morning, they headed over to Billy's old house. It looked exactly the same as when Billy left, which made him even more nervous. It subsided a bit when Steve placed his hand on his. Taking a deep breath, he got out of the car and Steve followed suit. Hand in hand, they went to the front door and Billy knocked.

They heard Billy's dad grumbling as he approached the front door. When he opened it, his face went from frustrated to disbelief in seconds. “Marianne! Billy's home!” the man yelled and motioned for them both to enter.

A woman wearing a red night robe came running into the room and when she saw Billy she ran straight for him, wrapping her arms around him. “I've missed you so much, my son,” she said as the tears streamed down her face.

“I've missed you too, mom,” Billy said softly.

Once she let Billy go, she motioned for him and Steve to have a seat. When she got back with coffee for everyone, Billy introduced Steve and told them about what he had been going through the last year and a half.

When he was done, neither one of his parents said a word. Suddenly, his mom burst into tears and wrapped her arms around him again. “I'm just glad you're alive and safe,” she said over and over. Even his dad had tears threatening to fall as he tried to keep his composure. It was a side of his dad Billy had never seen.

They spent the afternoon talking about Mary and Max and Steve. As the sun started to set, Billy hugged his mom and shook hands with his dad. It was a start.

“If I could get your email, I would like to send you tickets to join us for Thanksgiving dinner. If it goes well, I will also bring you out for Christmas, but I warn you if you hurt Billy or the girls in any way, I will make sure you never see them again,” Steve said, surprising Billy's parents and making Billy grin.

“I like this one,” his dad said as he wrote his email for Steve.

When they got back in the car Steve said with a laugh, “Satan isn't that bad”.

“Yeah, I guess we can graduate to Neil,” Billy said with a smile and started up the car.

As they were heading back to the hotel, Steve asked, “Where did that come from? I'm so proud of you but the fact you were so open was a shock.”

“The reason is you,” was all Billy said.

Steve knew not to push Billy to talk, so he turned on the radio. California Girls by Katy Perry was playing. “I have my own California girl,” Steve teased, pleased, as he watched the red stain on Billy's cheeks.

That night, they cuddled together.

“You know, I'm glad you dragged me out here,” Billy said as he kissed Steve's neck.

“Me too. We both needed this break,” Steve replied as he rolled onto Billy, smiling, and reached over and flipped the light off.

The next morning, they sadly had to head to the airport. They were excited to see the girls and give them the gifts they got for them, but they would miss the alone time.

When they landed in Indianapolis, they claimed their baggage and headed out to the front of the terminal, where they found Joyce and the girls waiting for them. As they walked through the arrivals door, the most amazing thing happened. Max said, “mama” and reached for Billy while Mary said, “dada” and reached for Billy, too. Both Steve and Billy gasped, dropped their luggage, ran over and picked up the girls, hugging and kissing them and then switching babies.

“Wow, you're like an old married couple,” Joyce said with a laugh as she wiped away her own tears, making them both blush.

The girls repeated mama and dada for the next hour on the trip back to Hawkins.

A couple of days later, a blanket was spread out on the grass in the backyard. On it was a picnic basket, Steve and Billy cuddling together, and two baby girls waiting for the Independence day celebrations to begin.

When the sky faded to black, bright stripes of light rose from the Hawkins fair.

As the fireworks exploded one by one, the two girls clapped and cooed while the young me shared a deep kiss.

“You know this means that school isn't that far off,” Billy said as they cleaned up the picnic.

“I know, but hey we still have over a month, so let's make the most of it.”

And they did.

They spent a lot of time in the pool, taking road trips to look at the farms surrounding Hawkins and, of course, visiting Joyce.

***

“Dammit, going back to school came way too fast,” Billy complained as he put together his school stuff for the next day.

Steve didn’t want to go back either. All the girls' firsts they had witnessed were a blessing, and he knew that both of them were not ready to miss anything.

Billy had spent the last week mentioning everything new the girls had done down to Max and Mary sticking their fingers in each other's noses. As the day to start classes got closer, Billy’s attitude got worse, and he complained about everything, cursing out anything that dared to get in his way.

“The nice thing is that we only have classes until noon except for Fridays when we have basketball practice,” Steve said, trying to calm the Goliath down.

Billy looked over at him, a look of fear mixed with pride on his face. He asked, “So are we still taking separate cars and shit”?

“No,” Steve answered and left the room, leaving a confused and worried Billy behind. He came back in with a small piece of paper and put it on the table where Billy could read it: ‘Hawkins High parking pass for Steve Harrington and Billy Hargrove, good for the 23/24 school year.’

“One car, one team. I also thought we could bring our friends to meet Mary and Max tomorrow morning since tomorrow is orientation and school starts on Monday,” Steve said. He tried not to laugh as Billy groaned and threw his backpack onto the floor, collapsing onto the bed. Laying on top of Billy, Steve kissed Billy’s nose. “It will all be ok, you will see,” he said and kissed him.

The next day didn’t feel alright. Mary and Max were crying because of having their first teeth coming in and nothing was soothing them. Billy and Steve finally decided that Steve would go to orientation and hopefully could pick up Billy's class list.

When Steve left, Mary screamed and made Max scream louder, too. Billy looked at the clock and hoped that the orientation wouldn’t take too long.

After an hour, some cold teething rings, and a good feeding, Mary and Max finally fell asleep in their playpen. Billy went to the couch and ended up falling asleep.

Multiple voices in the room awakened him. Keeping his eyes closed, he listened to the conversation.

“Oh my, he’s so adorable when he's sleeping,” a female voice said.

Billy recognized it as Nancy Wheeler.

“I just want to grab his ass.”

That was definitely Carol Perkins.

“He isn’t that good looking,” chided Tommy Hagan.

“Can we hold them?” asked Robin Buckley.

Jonathan Byers said, “I wouldn't wake them. They are as cranky as I suspect their father is when you wake them.”

“And right now, I’m majorly cranky,” Billy said as he sat up, making everyone in the room jump. “Why the fuck are you all here?” he asked quietly, trying not to wake the terror twins.

“I asked them to come so you could tell them about things in a more relaxed setting,” Steve answered, kissing him on the cheek and sitting next to him.

Billy relaxed and motioned for the others to take a seat. He gave them a basic rundown, leaving out most of what happened because he emotionally couldn’t go through it again right then. When he finished, he showed them the scar, at the request of Tommy.

“Damn Hargrove, guess you’re the mom, and Stevie here is head of the household,” Tommy said with a chuckle.

“I do love my sugar daddy,” Billy said as he ran a hand up Steve’s thigh, making everyone laugh because Steve was visibly turned on. And right on cue, Mary started crying loudly, and Billy said, “I’ve got competition, though.”

Steve got up and picked Mary up and she immediately stopped crying and started saying “dada”, reaching for his face.

“I would be careful Hargrove, you have a competitor, and she really does have a cuteness advantage,” Tommy said as he fell over in a laughing fit.

Jonathan went over to the playpen when Max started making a noise, as she realized Mary wasn’t there. Picking her up, Jonathan held her in his arms and started humming a soft melody, which made Max calm down.

Within ten minutes, everyone was surrounding the girls and showering them with attention. As long as girls could see Steve or Billy, they loved it.

Robin kept looking over at Billy.

“Can I help you, Robin?” he asked.

Blushing, Robin asked, “Can we watch when you feed them? I know it's weird but none of us have seen a guy feed babies and it would be educational.”

The look on Billy’s face was meme-worthy, but he actually agreed to it more out of necessity than anything else, since both girls started their lunchtime cry. Taking off his shirt, he collected Max from Jonathan and was glad when Steve brought Mary to him and set them up for their lunch.

The silence in the room was deafening, mixed with the fact that he felt like a sideshow. It was sending his anxiety through the roof. He kept his cool for the sake of the girls.

When they were done, he laid them in the playpen and rubbed their tummies until they were asleep. Replacing his shirt, he asked, “Who wants a sandwich?” as he went towards the kitchen.

When lunch was done and everyone had left, Steve watched as Billy slumped onto the couch, looking broken. “What's the matter, babe?” he asked, sitting down on Billy’s lap.

“I'm just worn out. Between the girls teething and knowing not only the loudmouth of Hawkins knows everything, but so do my parents, my head is just spinning,” Billy said, pulling Steve in close to him.

Steve wrapped his arms around Billy’s neck and said softly, “Together we will get through this” and kissed him.

“I can't believe the girls will be one in a week,” Billy said once he calmed down. He started to flip through his phone.

Steve looked over his shoulder and noticed Billy looking at party gifts and ideas. “Can I plan it?” Steve asked excitedly.

Billy looked at him and nodded because he was too exhausted to fight.

***

Balloons filled the living room like it was a circus. A banner hung above the fireplace that read “Happy First Birthday Mary and Max”. ‘The Party’ was there as well, along with Joyce and Hopper, and Billy’s and Steve’s friends from school.

The birthday girls were in their playpen, loving the balloons and bubbles from the bubble maker.

Steve's eyes watered when it came time to cut the cake.

“Wow Steve, you're really invested in those girls aren’t you,” Tommy said as he took his piece.

“I love them like my own,” Steve replied as he continued to hand out cake.

Billy came over and wrapped his arms around Steve and whispered, “The girls are hungry and since we plan to wean them soon, it might be nice to have a small family feeding.”

This made Steve full-out cry. Joyce thankfully took the knife from him and motioned for both of them to scamper off.

They each went and got one girl and headed up to the nursery.

Billy handed Steve Max and got comfortable in the rocking chair as he removed his shirt. Steve then handed him one kid at a time and then sat in the chair next to Billy’s, resting a hand on his arm.

When they were done, Billy put the girls on the play mat on the floor.

Nothing in the world could make this moment for either of them any better until both Max and Mary both stood up and took a couple steps before falling on their bottoms, destroying both of them emotionally in a good way.

***

Between on the move one-year-olds and senior-level school work, both Steve and Billy were exhausted.

Their saving grace was that all their friends wanted to help with the girls. They could go out two nights a week for a dinner date, which most of the time meant grabbing some fast food and sitting in the Camaro, just enjoying each other's company.

September slowly faded into October. As Halloween approached, Billy would’ve liked to take part in the seniors’ Halloween party, but it was on Halloween night and the girls’ first real Halloween, and that was much more important.

When the day came, Billy found out that Steve had gone out of his way to get their costumes and had made sure it was a group thing. Billy ended up in a tan dog outfit while Steve had on a blue one and the girls were each in a onesie, one blue and one tan, with matching dog ear headbands.

“I feel ridiculous in this,” Billy said as Steve got the stroller ready.

“Well, I wasn’t going to let you dress like I imagined you would’ve had,” Steve said as he placed the girls in their stroller.

“What does that mean?” Billy asked, caught off guard.

“You would probably go shirtless with tight leather pants with a bad 80s wig and go as some old rocker,” Steve said.

Honestly, Billy couldn't argue, so he gave in.

The girls were asleep by the time they got back from trick-or-treating, so they let them sleep in their costumes.

When Steve and Billy finally got out of theirs, they put the candy bags in the cupboard and then went and laid down.

“That was an amazing night. Now we have the family Thanksgiving and Christmas to deal with,” Billy said as he cuddled against Steve.

“We will get through this. I mean, how bad could it be having both of our parents in one place?” Steve said.

Both of them couldn’t help but laugh.

“Let's just hope it doesn't become a bloodbath,” Billy said as they drifted off to sleep.

***

November in Indiana meant snow. The girls got super excited from the first snowfall of the year.

Billy was just astonished at how much snow could really be in one place.

They spent weekends making and destroying snowmen and Steve showed the girls how to make snow angels.

Thanksgiving came faster than either of them imagined or really wanted. Billy surprised Steve by cooking dinner while Steve set the table up for their impending guests. The girls had fun practicing walking within the safety gates they had set up.

Right at 3:00 pm, the front door opened, and Billy met Mr. and Mrs. Harrington for the first time. Steve's mom had on a very elegant dress while his dad had on a sharp black suit.

“Billy, this is my mom Caroline and my father David,” Steve said and went to greet them.

Caroline gave her son a hug while David shook his hand.

Billy shyly came out of the kitchen and followed behind.

“So, you're the young man my son called in the army for. I’m glad he has someone here. We are so busy with work we don’t get to spend enough time with him,” Caroline said, giving Billy a hug. After an awkward handshake with Steve’s dad, the Harringtons went over to dote on Max and Mary.

That’s when there was a knock at the door, making Billy freeze in his tracks. Knowing he should be the one to open the door, he headed over to let his parents in.

When he opened the door, he was taken aback by how beautiful his mom’s dress was and how handsome his dad was when he was clean shaven and in a suit.

“Mom, you look absolutely beautiful,” he said as he motioned for them to come in. He hugged his mom and shook his dad's hand. “Everyone, this is my mother Maryanne and my father Neil,” he said and moved aside so they could meet Steve’s parents and the girls. He went over to where Steve was and took his hand.

Steve squeezed his hand in response. “We will get through this together,” he whispered.

Dinner went remarkably well. The girls loved the mashed potatoes and mashed yams, and the rest of them enjoyed the amazingly moist and perfectly cooked turkey.

Beaming with pride, Steve said, “Billy cooked everything.”

“Wow, Billy, you’re an amazing cook,” Caroline said.

“Thank you, Mrs. Harrington. I have my mom to thank for that. I was always watching her in the kitchen,” Billy said, smiling at his mom.

“Mrs. Hargrove, you have an amazing son. And please, everyone, can call me Caroline,” Caroline said.

“Please call me Maryanne,” Billy's mom added, ignoring the compliment Caroline gave to Billy.

After dinner, Steve showed the Hargroves to the guest bedroom. His parents called it a night and headed upstairs as well.

Billy cleaned the girls up, gave them each their bottles, and held them until they fell asleep.

When Steve reappeared, he kissed the girls goodnight and Billy laid them in the playpen until they were ready to go upstairs, still not completely trusting the other adults he barely knew not to run off with the girls. He knew it was ridiculous, but he couldn’t seem to shake it off.

The two of them cleaned the kitchen and dining room before taking the girls up to the nursery. Only then were they able to head into their room to lie down.

Cuddling up close Steve said softly, “It could’ve been worse”.

Billy nodded and said, “You're right, but they’re here for two more days. Think it will last?”

Steve closed his eyes and replied, “Hopefully. This is nice.”

“I couldn’t agree more,” Billy said, kissing Steve’s cheek as the two fell asleep.

The next two days went by quickly, with no major issues. Billy showed his parents around Hawkins, and Steve took care of the girls while catching up with his parents.

When Sunday rolled around, Steve’s dad surprised everyone by inviting Neil and Maryanne to fly home with them on Harringtons’ private jet. David and Caroline had business to take care of in California before they headed back to their house in London, their home most of the time when they worked in Europe.

As they were leaving, Billy was in for another shock: his dad came over and hugged him, telling him he was proud.

His mom then came over and hugged him and told him the same thing and that he is a wonderful cook. Then she went over to Steve and said, “Thank you for taking great care of our son when we were too blind to do so. I hope we will see you at Christmas.”

“Of course. We can’t wait to see you then,” Steve replied.

Steve's dad even hugged Steve, apologizing for being away so long and saying he couldn't wait for Christmas and that he had a huge gift for him.

Steve hugged him back and then hugged his mom.

“I'm sorry, son, that we haven’t been here. We will try harder,” Caroline said as she held Steve tighter.

“I forgive you, mom. Let's move forward from here,” Steve replied, hugging her more.

As they made final moves towards the door, the girls walked over and said “Bye nana, bye papa” making eyes tear up. The four grandparents hugged Mary and Max goodbye, promising to see them at Christmas.

After the last goodbyes, the two sets of parents got into David's rented car and headed off.

“Well, I’m glad they get along,” Billy said as he pulled Steve to the couch and onto his lap, both facing the girls so they could watch them.

Steve laughed and watched as Max and Mary walked over and reached to be picked up. He picked them up and sat them on his lap.

They stayed that way until the girls fell asleep and then gently took them upstairs, placed them in their crib and then laid down themselves.

“Think things will go well this Christmas?” Billy asked as he wrapped himself around Steve.

“I think so, I’ve heard grandkids can make people change. I’m glad how my parents responded to them,” Steve said with a yawn.

Billy kissed the back of Steve’s head and they fell asleep.

***

One day, while Steve was out, Billy turned the house into a Christmas wonderland. The girls, with Billy's help, made paper ring garlands for the tree.

When Steve walked in, he was in awe. As he placed a small box on the table, he heard Mary say, “Paper dada paper dada,” as she pointed at the tree. Steve looked over and with tears said, “That's a beautiful garland, Mary,” picking her up and hugging her. Max walked over and said “up” and so Steve had both girls in his arms when he went over to Billy. “This is beautiful. It’s the first time in a long time the house looks like Christmas,” Steve said as he laid his head on Billy’s shoulder.

Setting the girls down, he whispered something to them, and they walked towards the table and picked up the box Steve had put down when he came in. They brought it to Steve, who went over to Billy and got down on one knee, making Billy squirm.

Billy knew what was next.

“You and the girls came into my life in the most chaotic way possible, but it’s what I needed. Billy Hargrove, will you give me the pleasure of being my partner in life?” Steve asked, opening the box.

Inside it was a beautiful engagement ring.

Billy just stared and then he heard two little voices saying, “Yes, yes, yes.” Looking directly into Steve's eyes, he nodded.

They embraced, and Steve put the ring on his finger.

Suddenly there were screams of congratulation causing Billy to jump and look around. He noticed Steve must’ve started a live chat with their friends and parents on the TV.

The girls had forgotten all about them and went to the TV and were kissing the nana and papa boxes, making Billy and Steve laugh.

“I have one more surprise, but that waits until Christmas,” Steve said with a grin.

Raising an eyebrow, Billy smiled and kissed him, which got an aww from the TV. “That's creepy,” he said. He had a smile on the outside but inside he was freaking out because he didn’t have any money to get Steve a gift that measured what he got him. At that moment, his cell phone rang, and he answered.

“Hello Billy, it's Caroline. I have never seen my son so excited. I have created a bank account for you and have placed $10k in it to give you some financial freedom. Plus, you're going to be my son-in-law and I will be here whenever you need anything. Your parents were going to surprise you with the same thing, but I thought I would step up early,” she said.

“I don’t know what to say. How did you know I was worried?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral.

“I could see it in your face over the chat. I’m sure your parents could as well. Just say thank you and you accept and all will be good,” she replied.

“Thank you, and I accept it. I can’t wait to see everyone at Christmas,” he said. After goodbyes, he went to the kitchen and broke down, sliding down to his knees on the floor.

Suddenly he felt arms around him. Looking up, he saw Steve and tried to collect himself. “I'm ok,” he said, but knew immediately Steve didn't buy it for one minute.

“What's wrong, babe? Don’t worry, the live stream is off and the girls are safe in their playpen,” Steve said as he stood up, hands on hips, staring down at Billy.

“I'm not used to all this. My parents are supportive, people are helping me financially without repayment and now… You and the girls are literally the only things that make sense at this point,” he said.

Steve took a deep breath and said, “I’m just as lost, but we will get through this, I promise, but you have to get off the kitchen floor.”

Standing up, Billy looked at Steve and said, “I’m beyond embarrassed. You planned this wonderful proposal and I break down on the kitchen floor.”

Steve kissed his cheek and said, “We all have breakdowns,” as they went to check on the girls.

The next few weeks before Christmas break, Billy had many people offering to help with the wedding. Robin wanted to do decorations while Nancy was willing to help with catering ideas.

When Christmas arrived, their house was full of presents and grandparents, who upon arriving, sprung it on them they would stay over the New year.

Steve recorded the girls opening their gifts first so they could go down to their nap since they had been up since daybreak to make sure Santa had come.

As soon as they were down and out, the adults opened their gifts. It would be the last gift though that pulled heartstrings.

Steve handed Billy an envelope.

Billy eyed it, and then carefully opened it up. When he pulled out the documents, he couldn’t hold back his emotions.

Inside were two birth certificates, one for Mary and one for Max, and on the line for parents was Steve Hargrove-Harrington for Father and Billy Hargrove-Harrington for Father.

“They are official documents. Now all we need is that marriage license and this family is complete in the eyes of the law,” Steve said, holding back his own tears.

“I love you, Steve Harrington,” Billy said for the first time out loud in front of other people, making Steve lose it emotionally and they kissed right under some mistletoe.

“We aren’t done,” David said, handing his son his own envelope.

Steve cautiously opened it. His eyes widened as he saw the deed to the house and the card to his trust fund. It wasn’t until he saw the paperwork for a trust fund both sets of grandparents had started for each of the girls that brought him to tears. “Are you sure about this, dad?” he asked.

“This house was your grandfather’s and when I married your mother, it became mine. Now I am passing it on to you,” David said, wiping tears from his own eyes.

The two men hugged.

When everyone thought their heartstrings were safe, Maryanne stood up and went over to Billy. “Billy, I want you to have this locket. It was my grandmother’s and now it is yours. I know it’s not a house or trust fund, but it's my most valuable possession, except for you.”

Billy put the locket around his neck and held onto his mom, saying, “This is amazing, Mom. I will treasure it forever.”

By noon, there wasn’t a dry eye in the room.

Between playing in the snow and hanging out with friends and family, New Year's Eve came quickly.

Billy and Steve planned on spending their first New Year's Eve together as a full family, but their parents had other plans.

“We heard about the party the seniors are having and you boys are going to go. We have the grandkids,” Neil said, handing Steve and Billy jackets.

“But it’s the girl's first New Year celebration,” Steve argued. Neil quickly shut him down. “They're one. They will be asleep by the time the ball drops and if not, they can hang out with us and have some apple juice. Now, go.”

Steve and Billy looked at each other and, not wanting to cause a scene, headed to the school gym in the Camaro.

They found their little group of friends at the party and found themselves enjoying being out and socializing again.

As the clock ticked closer to midnight, the music slowed down. When the bell rang, indicating it was midnight, Steve and Billy shared a long kiss, both of them excited and scared of what the future holds.

[denim-mixtapes]

All I Ever Wanted Pairing: Eddie Munson/Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.8K Tags: Best friends to lovers, minor hurt/comfort, half-joking marriage proposals, VERY BRIEF fatphobic comment and general bad-date-behavior, really stupidly soft fluff, pet names instead of y/n.

Summary: Eddie has always been your best friend, the person you'd much rather spend your time with than going out on dates, but he swears he never wants to get married and likes to play the wingman for you, so you've come to terms with the fact that things will always just be platonic between you...or will they?

[AO3]

As the man in front of you chews his steak, open mouthed, and over-explains the American football scoring system you can’t stop your mind from wandering. Your fork pokes at your risotto absent-mindedly as you give your date a blank nod. Before this date, you were confident that a touchdown was worth six points, but the tone with which he’s speaking to you has you doubting yourself on a subject you honestly couldn’t care less about. 

Another nod and a soft “mhm,” prompts him to continue, however, so you figure you have another five to ten minutes of daydreaming before he decides to ask you another rhetorical question and speak over your answer.

Your date drones on, and you can’t help but wonder what you would be doing if you turned down this dinner to hang out with your best friend (like you originally wanted to). 

Sure, you shouldn’t be thinking about another man when you’re on a date, but Eddie Munson isn’t just some other man. He never has been. From the moment you joined Hellfire club in your freshman year, the man has been nothing less than a best friend to you. Even now, well into your twenties, he’s the only constant in your life. Dates come and go, but you’ll always have Eddie. 

Of course, you’ve always wondered if there could be something more there. After all, not a day goes by that you don’t speak. 

There’s a level of comfort between you two that you don’t think you’ve ever experienced even within your long term relationships. Hands that always seem to find each other, whispers passed across the small expanse of a shared bed during movie nights that went on for just a little too long. His shoulder felt like the comfiest pillow whenever you sat next to him on the couch, and he swears up and down that nobody is allowed to touch his hair, but he’s always begging you to braid it for him. Smiles passed over cocktail glasses and beer bottles after his band plays a show, his hand on your knee when he accompanies you to the latest play you’ve been dying to see. Every outing with your best friend feels more like a date than the last…but then he urges you to accept the drinks from strangers at the bar and convinces you to go on dates when other people ask, which is how you ended up here. Plus, he’s vehemently anti-marriage and laughs whenever you bring up your dream wedding, claiming he never wants to be tied down, so you know even if you did try to pursue something more than friendship with him, it wouldn’t lead anywhere.

Still, you wouldn’t trade him for the world.

Yeah, you think as a bit of mashed potato flies from your date’s mouth, landing on the rim of your glass, you’d take a lifetime of platonic dates with Eddie over this any day. Even if platonic is all it will ever be.  

You manage to make it through dinner with a forced pleasant smile and a neck ache from nodding so much, but politely decline dessert in hopes to get out of the restaurant as soon as possible. 

“Atta girl,” the creep actually snorts, nose turned up and eyes pointed at your backside as you stand to leave. You also notice that the amount of cash he threw on the table would only account for a $0.47 tip on a nearly $30 bill, but that’s hardly relevant as he finishes his comment. “Gotta keep it tight, right? The chocolate cake really isn’t worth the risk.” 

His hand on your lower back feels slimy as he guides you out of the restaurant and you bite your tongue to hold back a venomous reply. 

When you stop in front of your car, you’re thanking every deity possible that you decided to meet him here rather than accepting his offer to drive you. The air is tense, thick with humidity and the impending horror that is the kiss he surely feels entitled to, but before he gets too close your hand flies out between you, stopping him in his tracks with an awkward grin. Reluctantly, he shakes your hand, still leaning in and hoping he might still get at least a little bit lucky. His smarmy smile raises the hair on the back of your neck when he promises to call you. 

You severely hope that he doesn’t. 

It isn’t until you take your keys out of the ignition ten minutes later that you realize in your skeeved out haze, your auto-pilot has brought you to Eddie’s driveway rather than your apartment complex. 

The lights inside are out, but a faint blue television glow in the living room window tells you that he’s home and more than likely awake. With a huff, you kick off your heels and throw them into the back seat, more interested in braving the rocks in the driveway than going another minute wearing the damn things, and make your way to the front door. You let yourself in with your spare key, but announce your arrival with a boisterous shout so you don’t startle him. 

“Hey! Just me!” You call, hanging your purse off of the barstool nearest the door and shedding your jacket. 

There’s a muffled greeting from the couch, and you look up to find Eddie waving and smiling around a mouthful of popcorn. After an exaggerated swallow, he repeats, “wasn’t expecting you tonight.” 

“Yeah,” you say with another dramatic huff, padding down the length of the trailer to his bedroom. He watches with amusement as you strut around his home as if it were your own, never once does he stop you, though. Already digging in his dresser drawers, you call out to him, “can I borrow some pajamas? I need to get out of these damn pantyhose.” 

His only response is a gentle laugh and a soft, “‘Course, doll.” 

There’s an electronic fizzle from beyond the door, and the blue light goes dark, followed soon enough by a light rapping of Eddie’s knuckles against the door left slightly ajar. You’ve just pulled on your favorite tee shirt of his (a threadbare tour shirt from Ozzy Osbourne’s Ultimate Sin concert, the tickets were his present from you for finally graduating) and a clean pair of boxers, so you wrench open the door to find him leaning casually on the frame, innocent smile fixed on his face. 

“Wanna talk about it?” He asks. 

Of course, he doesn’t really want to listen to you talk about your date. He never does, though he’d never admit it to you, but he’s gotten used to this particular kind of torture, and he’d rather hear you huff about the bad ones than gush about the good ones anyway. 

A heavy sigh hangs in the air between you, and you shrug as you flop ungracefully onto his bed, scooting higher to rest your feet on the headboard and flinging your arms out beside you haphazardly. The mattress dips beside you as Eddie lays down as well, head next to yours, feet dangling off the foot of the bed. His hair tickles at your ear where it fans out beside him, and you giggle as you reach up to tuck it away, turning your head to face him as best you can. 

“I don’t know,” you sigh one more time, “there isn’t much to say that couldn’t be said about the last one.”

“Did this one at least remember his wallet?” He asks, a bite in his tone that he usually reserves only for the men who treat you poorly.

You hum, hand still tangled in his hair. “Yeah, but the poor waitress deserved a much better tip than he gave her so I couldn’t leave without slipping a fiver on the table.” 

“You’re a saint, sweetheart.” He chides with a sole, warm ‘hmph’ of a laugh.

“Yeah well,” your own laugh is bitter, “he practically grabbed her ass and called mine too fat in the same breath, so I felt like I owed her something to apologize for his behavior.” 

“You’re fucking kidding me.” 

For all the anger in his words, his voice is soft. The air between you crackles with warmth, comfort. Eddie turns to face you, reaching up to hold onto your wrist as you continue to play with his hair thoughtlessly. His thumb strokes at the soft skin he finds there, warm brown eyes searching your own as you continue. 

“I wish.” You don’t want to admit what comes next, but the words flow on their own, damning you before you could even try to stop them. “...You know, I sometimes wonder why I even bother with these men when here you are, being absolutely perfect.” 

He beams with pride, eyes wrinkling at the corners like they always do when you catch him off guard with a compliment. He looks like sunshine and it makes your heart ache. 

“Well, I try my best.” The silence in his pause is familiar, not uncomfortable, both of you teetering on the edge of a giggle that you won’t fully let out. After another beat, he groans dramatically as he sits up, using his feet for momentum to stand fully. You watch as he stands in front of the mirror on his dresser and piles his hair atop his head, pulling a scrunched sort of face as he can’t get it to sit just right. “Anyway, you deserve it, you know.” He says, making eye contact with you in the reflection. “The best, that is.” 

You roll your eyes and sit up, scooting to the end of the bed and patting the spot in front of you. “Come here, before you make it worse.” 

He manages a sheepish smile and sits cross legged on the floor in front of you. As you finger comb out the tangles in his hair, slowly, and with quite a bit of resistance, you keep ranting, foolishly. You don’t notice that he preens at your touch, that he’s practically melting under your ministrations. He swears he’ll be a puddle of a man before you’re finished with the braid you’re working on, too focused on your playing in his hair that he zones out for a moment until your hands come to a stop, tying off the braid and patting his shoulders with one final, pathetic mumble. 

“I don’t know, maybe I’m just not meant to ever get married.” 

Eddie’s heart cracks along with the crack in your voice. 

He laughs, not maliciously, but dry and in disbelief, and he turns in place. Kneeling now, he wraps his arms around your waist and scratches absent-mindedly at your lower back. Eyebrows knit together with concern as he studies your face and realizes, while a little misguided, you’re serious. Eddie wants to argue, he wants to explain at great lengths how very untrue that is, how you’re still young and you’ll still find your person and that maybe you’ve already met your person and maybe he’s right here already on his knees in front of you…

…but all that comes out is a harsh, hissed, “fuck that.” 

Something unidentifiable in his eyes – hurt, maybe? – claws at your chest, constricting your heart in the same way that his arms squeeze your sides. 

Suddenly, eye contact with your best friend becomes the hardest thing you’ve ever had to do. Your eyes drop to where your hands fiddle with the hem of your shirt, the tiniest shake to your head that you aren’t even sure he could detect. 

“Hey,” he says, voice tight but stern. Hands splay open on your back, and he ducks lower to meet your gaze. “Look at me.” 

Down the line, if anyone were to ask Eddie what made him say what he says next, he wouldn’t have a straight answer. Maybe it’s the tears pooling in your eyes that he desperately wants to stop from falling, or the way you reach out to hold his cheek when your eyes meet again. Maybe it’s the sick churning in his stomach, an uneasy, uncomfortable sort of feeling that he thinks might only go away if he tells you how he feels. Maybe some combination of the three. 

Whatever it is that makes him say it doesn’t matter, because he says it, and he says it with all the confidence in the world. 

“Shit, I’ll marry you,” he says softly, “just say the word.” 

A laugh bubbles from your lips, a tinny, wet little giggle, but it stops the tears from falling and it’s music to Eddie’s ears. You clear your throat, heart swelling at his words, and laugh again. 

At first you aren’t sure how to take the comment. Though his words are ripe with sincerity, it's clearly a joke. It has to be. He’s just trying to make you feel better. 

You wrinkle your nose and stroke his rosy cheekbone with your thumb, letting out another laugh. “What,” you say, dropping your hand to rest on his shoulder. “You wanna make one of those marriage pacts?” 

“Mariage what?” 

Eyes rolling, you squeeze his shoulder before scooting back up the bed to lay down. “You know,” you chuckle, working your way under the covers while Eddie stands to turn off the light. “If neither of us are married – which I know you won’t be – in ten years, we’ll marry each other.

“Nah,” he brushes off casually. The way he lands on the mattress beside you makes your whole body bounce and you giggle, he must have launched himself from the doorway to land like that. He props himself up on his elbow, one hand on his own cheek and the other reaching out to tuck a wayward strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean, if that’s what you want. But I’d marry you tomorrow. Shit,” this time when he laughs, you can hear the nervous energy behind it. Your eyes search his face for any hint of a joke or tease, but all you find are deep, sincere eyes and a wrinkle between his worried brow. “I’d take you to the courthouse tonight in my Ozzy tee shirt if they were open.” 

“Eddie,” you scoff, pushing his shoulder playfully, but hiding your blush behind the covers. You’re not about to let yourself get excited, not yet, you’re still positive he’s just trying to cheer you up. “You hate the concept of marriage.”

“Maybe,” he mumbles, tongue darting out to wet his suddenly dry lips, smile widening, “but I love you.” 

You roll your eyes, certain at this point he must be messing with you. “I love you too, weirdo, but I’ll be fine. You don’t have to pity-marry me.” 

“Jesus Christ,” he breathes, falling to his back with almost manic laughter and scrubs his hands down his face. “You’re ridiculous.” 

“What!?” You ask incredulously, propping yourself up so now you’re the one leaning over him, fixing him with a squint and another shake of your head. 

He peers up at you through soft lashes, those damn round eyes roaming your face as he contemplates how much he wants to admit. There’s another rosy hint to his cheeks, and a darker one to the tips of his ears exposed by his pulled back hair. You have to stop yourself from reaching out to palm his cheek again. 

Your breath is shallow as you wait for his response, replaying the conversation over and over in your head and trying to piece it together. You fear he can hear your heart beating in your chest as it hammers against your ribs, but if he can he doesn’t show it. He only shows his own nerves, the pinch between his brows and stuttering breath.

Shit– is he really as nervous as he seems? Is this conversation really headed where you think? 

“I just –” he shakes his head, tearing his eyes from your face in lieu of looking at the ceiling. Eye contact seems to be hard for the both of you, now. “I just told you that I love you and that I would fuckin’ marry you tomorrow, and you think it was just pity. Sweetheart, you may be a little dense sometimes but I know you’re not stupid.” 

“Well, I-” 

“Don’t argue with me,” he sits up, elbows to his knees and looks over his shoulder at you. You think it’s an attempt to hide the way he blushes further, but his ears give him away as always. “Listen. Use the brain in that pretty little head, come on, up.” He reaches out his hand for yours and pulls you up to sit beside him when you take it. You instinctively hug your legs to your chest for some sort of comfort and rest your cheek on your knee, looking at him. He smiles gently and mirrors you, both of you laughing when he trips up trying to cross his ankles. He’s a little too tall to be pulling this position but he’s determined. 

You’re both still hanging on the edge of giggles when he speaks up again. “Do you realize how much I just love this?” He asks, nudging your shoulder with his own. “I may not like – or even fully understand why or you have to bring the government into a relationship, but if it means I get to spend the rest of my life doing stupid shit with you, or doing nothing at all with you…doing everything with you? Sign me up.” 

“I’m not going anywhere, Eddie,” you admit, smiling and hiding your face in your knees, suddenly shy. “You don’t have to marry me just to keep me around.”

Again he mumbles, “maybe not.” A slow smile spreads on his cheeks as he reaches out to cradle your cheek in his hand, turning your face back toward him so you could no longer hide from his affection. Your cheeks burn, a hot mix of your flushed skin and this new, suddenly more intimate way of Eddie touching you. It doesn’t feel quite as platonic as it used to. “But I don’t want you to just stick around.” He’s the one to look away, just briefly, at his admission. Like saying it out loud was just too much pressure. With a stroke of his thumb over your bottom lip, he locks back on your eyes. “Don’t wanna send you off on dates with creeps and pick up the pieces after, or smile and nod when someone wants to buy you a drink when we’re out together. I wanna take you on dates and make sure they’re damn good from the get-go…I want to call you mine.” 

You lean into his touch, grinning from ear to ear. “How come you never said anything before?” 

“I didn’t think I had to,” he laughs suddenly, throwing his hands up in self defense. You’d never admit it out loud, but you already miss the warmth of his palm when they drop back into his lap. “I thought I was pretty obvious, always takin’ you out on date-like-outings and telling you how stunning you look and…I dunno, I thought I’ve been flirting with you for quite some time now.” 

There’s no stopping the giggle that you let out in response, “Eddie, you flirt with everyone.” 

“Fair point.” 

Reaching out, you take his hand and fold it between both of yours, staring at them while you think over your next response. “So then…why did you encourage me to go on so many dates? Play the wingman? Even when I told you all I wanted to do was hang out with you?” 

His skin flushes crimson, and he worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “All I ever wanted was for you to be happy.” 

Despite the way your chest tightens at his words and the way they leave you breathless, you can’t help but reply, “you dumbass.” He’s taken aback by your words but you’re both laughing still, “I’m happy with you.” 

“Well don’t we make an odd, oblivious couple.” 

There’s a beat of comfortable silence between you, and then it happens the way everything does between you and Eddie: naturally. One moment you’re laughing about how blind you’ve both been, and the next his lips are on yours. He kisses you slow, lazy, and without urgency, like he has all the time in the world to show you how he feels, his lips working yours open while you hold onto a fistful of his shirt. 

This kiss is the perfect punctuation to a conversation that neither of you were prepared for. It’s the start to something new, but it feels so right that it hardly feels like the start of anything, like this is how it’s always been. 

When he first breaks the kiss, you’re immediately drawn back to him, almost magnetically. The second you take a shaky breath, inhaling his familiar scent and lingering smoke in the air, you pull him back in by the collar to return his kiss fervently, deeper than the last. Without breaking your embrace, Eddie guides you down onto the bed and hovers over you, swallowing your sigh when he grips your waist tightly. His lips are softer than you’d imagined, but heavenly velvety against yours, and you can’t stop yourself from taking his bottom lip between your teeth and tugging with a coy smile. 

He hums, holding your face in place and peppering you with a few, smaller, chaste pecks before dropping a single kiss to the tip of your nose and then your forehead. 

There’s a twinkle in his eye when he asks, “so are we gettin’ married tomorrow, or what?” 

“Hmm,” your fingernails scratch at the nape of his neck gently as you dramatically  ponder his proposal and his eyes flutter shut at the sensation. “How about I start as your girlfriend for a little bit? And then maybe save marriage for…the third date.” You giggle, and you pause, the sincerity of your next comment choking you up before it even leaves your lips. “I love you, too, Eds. I just realized I never said it back, not really.” 

There’s a rumble of laughter in his chest where your head now rests, “yeah, you deserve that big dream wedding, anyway. None of that courthouse shit. When it comes time, you’re getting the works.” Another kiss dropped to the crown of your head, his lips lingering there and fingers drawing little circles in the skin of your shoulder. “But that takes time to plan, so…third date it is.”

[elidereads]

You Came For Me (NSFW Elriel Fanfic)

image source

Summary: The night after Azriel rescues Elain from Hybern Elain goes to his tent to make sure he's okay.

Word Count: 5,800

Warnings: NSFW

Notes: This is my first fanfic. Any feedback would be greatly appreciated it. 🖤

AO3

She couldn’t sleep. Every time she closed her eyes she shivered remembering the things she was trying to forget, the feelings she wanted to scrub away. She couldn’t make herself trust that she was safe. She tried to focus on Nesta’s steady breathing and failed. Sounds that had once assured her of her safety now felt meaningless. Nesta had always been her safe haven, the only person who wouldn’t fail her or leave her. But the last time they had slept in this tent Elain learned that she was not safe. The cauldron could find her anywhere.

Not that it was Nesta’s fault, really she only had her own stupidity to blame. Her heart and mind warred with themselves, trying to decide what feeling made her cringe more, fear or shame. If she had allowed herself to see what everyone else saw, that Graysen now detested her, then she could not have been so easily lured. But last night she hadn’t wanted to accept that his affection could be anything but true. Even now a part of her brain defended him, reminding her that Graysen had been the one to lead her to the cauldron, is was the cauldron acting alone. She felt an internal embarrassment for continuing to defend Graysen to herself, that she allowed her stupid heart to create some hope that wasn’t there. She was pathetic.

Everyone in her village had grown up hearing terrifying stories of the Fae above the wall. She had always believed them to have godlike strength. Nothing could, or would, break them. Often she envied them. She was always the meekest of her sisters. Everyone assumed she lacked an opinion on anything, just doing whatever her sisters, mostly Nesta, wanted. In reality she lacked confidence in herself, she always told herself that letting her sisters lead made them happy, why should she push back. But she could imagine herself gaining everyone’s respect by becoming Fae or revealing some secret magic. Now, that secret dream made her feel even more pathetic. She had become Fae and had gained no one’s respect. She was still told what to do more often than she was asked her opinion. The lack of any transformation into the strong female she had imagined she truly was only added to her shame. No, even as Fae she was pathetic and boring. Perhaps Graysen had tired of her before her transformation, he just now had an easy excuse to end their engagement.

How many times did she need to suffer embarrassment in front of these people she barely knew? Starting with Graysen making the very public proclamation that he did not want her. Then, she made herself a further fool by wandering off and getting herself captured. In some ways it would’ve been easier if she had died in captivity. Then she could have been spared everyone’s pity that was so palpable she could almost see it hovering over them as they looked at her. But no, because of her stupidity she had to be rescued forcing Feyre and Azriel to risk their lives to save her.

Azriel.

Although now she thought very courageously about her death she had to acknowledge that that had been a very real fear just a few hours ago. She would swear she felt the world shift when she saw Azriel appear in the tent in Hybern’s camp. She had never felt relief like that. His presence had a way of making her feel like the person she imagined herself to be, certain, fearless. He looked at her as if he knew her. Well maybe not her, not the her that everyone saw, but the her she wanted to be, the heroine in her daydreams.

She exhaled loudly and rolled over, trying again to fall asleep. Mother, she was pathetic, creating some romantic scenario in her head where Azriel was the one person who saw her. He was probably the angriest with her. He suffered the most injuries attempting to rescue her. Would he resent the fact that he was injured before the battles had even begun? All because Elain couldn’t let go of her fiancé. What if Azriel’s injuries hindered him in the battle? What if because of Elain’s rescue he couldn’t fight as well and he …

Elain sat up quickly.

No she couldn’t think this way. She would have to speak to him, ensure he was fully healed before he could be allowed to fight. Surely the others had thought of this but if they hadn’t, she wouldn’t allow that to happen, couldn’t allow it. If there was a time for Elain to speak up it would be now. Well not now, not in the middle of the night with everyone sleeping, but now in there proverbial sense. Would he be angry with her if she was the reason he couldn’t fight? It didn’t matter. She was sure he was angry with her anyways.

Maybe that was why she couldn’t sleep.

She slowly pulled back her blankets and set her feet on the ground. Keeping her eyes on Nesta the whole time, making sure she didn’t stir. She pulled a blanket off her bed and wrapped it around herself as she moved towards the entrance of her tent. A part of her brain was warning this was a very bad idea. If she was worried about everyone being mad at her then she should definitely not make it worse by wandering the camp at night. Again. But another part of her brain, likely the sleep deprived part, was urging her on. Telling her a conversation with Azriel was the only way she would be able to calm down and get any sleep. She slowly pulled back the tent flaps and, with one more glance at Nesta, Elain slipped out.

She was almost positive Azriel’s tent was to the left of theirs and Cassian’s to the right. Too soon she and began to doubt herself. Was he sharing a tent with Cassian? Or Mor? Possibly even both. This was a bad idea. She couldn’t even knock and announce herself because how did you knock on a tent. She would just need to go right in.

She began to turn back to her own tent suddenly Azriel was there at the opening, catching her off guard and leaving her standing there speechless, like an idiot.

“Elain?” Azriel seemed to exhale her name after a few seconds of silence.

“How did you know I was here?” A perfectly appropriate greeting.

“My shadows. They patrol while I sleep. They told me you were outside my tent but I didn’t … are you okay?” Azriel’s eyes narrowed as he ran his gaze over her, looking for a source of harm.

“Yes. I’m okay. I just … I wanted to see you. To apologize.” Azriel gave her a look of surprise as a wind whipped through the camp causing Elain to pull the blanket tighter around her shoulders.

“Come in. Please.” Azriel quickly opened the tent further and stepped to the side so that Elain could get out of the cold.

At first his tent seemed smaller than hers, but she saw that was due to the amount of things he had inside. Not that he was messy, but he had a desk covered in neat piles of paperwork. Armor on a dummy in the corner and an impressive display of knives lied out on a small table top. A fire burned near the middle of the tent, immediately warming Elain as the tent flaps closed.

“Are you okay?” Azriel asked again.

Elain turned away from his things scattered throughout the tent to look at him. “Yes. I promise you I am okay. I couldn’t sleep and I wanted to … I hope I didn’t wake you. Were you asleep?”

“No I wasn’t asleep. I was reading.” He motioned to his desk of papers and Elain caught him wince as he lifted his arm.

“Please sit down. I’m sorry I made you get up. Are you okay?” Everything came out in a rush. Gods. What was she thinking coming here and bothering him in the middle of the night. She touched his arm, gently guided him to a chair and sitting herself down across from him.

“I’m fine. You don’t need to worry.” She noticed how he slowly lowered himself into the chair.

“You’re not okay you’re hurt.” Elain reached to touch his bandage before catching herself, leaving her hand hovering between them. “Is there anything I can get you? Maybe some tea?”

“I’m fine. You don’t have to get me anything.”

“Please. I would like to help.”

Azriel paused, ready to repeat his no, before seeing that accepting the tea from Elain would help her more than himself.

“Some tea would be great. Thank you.”

Elain busied herself bringing water to a boil over the fire and, after Azriel’s shadows brought her the dried tea leaves, making a pot for the two of them.

“Cups?”

“Over there. There are drawers under the table with the knives. They should be in there.”

“Thank you.” She located the cups as the tea steeped in the pot. As she poured the tea she realized how calm her body not felt. Perhaps she shouldn’t have come here. She suddenly felt exhausted and very ready to sleep.

“Here.” She set Azriel’s cup on the table in front of him. She blew on her own and began to take a sip before thinking better of it and setting it down. Finally, with nothing else to busy herself with, she looked at Azriel. He was already looking at her.

She wasn’t sure where to start.

“I’m sorry.” She decided to lead with the phrase she couldn’t stop repeating. “My foolishness put Feyre and you in danger. I will never forget myself for that.”

Azriel closed his eyes, as if steeling himself for what he was about to say. “You have nothing to apologize for. It isn’t your fault the Cauldron tricked you.”

“If I hadn’t been such a fool about Graysen it wouldn’t have been able to trick me so easily.”

Azriel shook his head. “It is not foolish to believe the best about the person you love.”

Elain grimaced. “I don’t love him.”

“You don’t?” He responded, slightly tilting his head to the side.

“Well,” she blushed. “Perhaps a part of me does but no … not anymore. I see the situation for how it is. How everyone else sees it.”

Something in that statement made Azriel pause. He looked away from her, as if considering something. “Does it matter how everyone sees it?”

“A few weeks, even days ago I would have said no. It only matters what we, or I, felt but …” She gestured in a direction that she believed was south. “Before today I thought everyone was wrong and didn’t understand what we had. Now it appears I was the only one wrong. When the majority of the people in your life disagree with you, at some point you have to admit it’s probably you who’s wrong. Don’t you?”

Azriel didn’t say anything from a few seconds, continuing to stare at something on the ground, before responding. “That logic makes sense.”

They lapsed into a brief silence where Elain attempted to drink her tea again. This time only slightly burning her tongue before turning back to her next question for Azriel.

“How bad are your injuries?”

“They are fine.”

“I could see you grimacing as you sat down. Please Azriel, be honest with me.”

He raised his head when she said his name and met her eyes. “They are bad, but I have had worse. Rhys, however, has already implied that he doesn’t want me in the battle if it starts tomorrow.”

Elain started to apologize again but he waved her off.

“It’s fine. I don’t plan to listen to him. I will be fine.”

That caused her to gasp. “You cannot fight tomorrow. Not if it’s not safe.”

He offered her a grim smile. “I don’t think battles are ever considered safe.”

Elain did not return the smile. “You know what I mean. You are already injured from rescuing me. You’re already vulnerable. If you were to hurt yourself more, I couldn’t…” She trailed off, not being sure what it was she “couldn’t”.

“I will be fine. I have seen many battles and survived.”

She felt her anger grow, both with herself and his casualness. “You shouldn’t have rescued me. You are more valuable than me. Your life means more than mine.”

His grim smile quickly changed to something close to a glare. “My life means nothing compared to yours.”

Instinctually she reached out to touch his arm, wanting to offer him comfort in any way she could. “How could you say…” But when her arm touched his she was too overwhelmed with images to speak.

They reminded her of the dreams she had been having. Ever since she was Made every night she dreamed like she never had before. Dreams that were as vivid as Feyre’s paintings. Sometimes that how they started. She would be looking at one of Feyre’s paintings and not realize she was dream until it came to life or pulled her into it. Some of the dreams were filled with light, the warmth of the sun, the feeling of a new day. Some filled with shadows and whispers, hidden objects that she could never find clearly.

Surprisingly the dreams of the sun were the ones that preceded her worse days. Days filled with anxiety and unease that made her long to go back to sleep but also made her afraid to. These are the days she spent her time in the garden. Dedicating complete focus to her plants and flowers, working through meal times and until the night was so dark she could no longer see the roots. It wasn’t until day turned to night that her heart stopped racing.

But now she was sure she was not asleep. She could feel Azriel’s arm and hear the crackling of the fire in his tent. Smell a combination of musk and sweat that she noticed whenever he was close. But what she saw was out of place with the war time tent.

Golden, barely-there sunlight coming in through the windows. Another fire in a different hearth. Windows left open, light grey curtains blowing in the breeze. A garden could be glimpsed through the windows full of red roses. A soft moan that sounded vaguely familiar. Was it her own? She looked around to see white sheets were gripped in her hands. She felt a heat climbing through her body starting at her core. She felt something between her legs. She moved her gaze down her body. Heavy breathing moved her peaked breasts up and down as she tried to find air. Scarred hands on her hips. A head of dark hair between her legs. Another moan. She couldn’t help but move her hips in time with his tongue.

Her dreams had never felt this real.

“Elain?” She heard someone call her name, but she wasn’t sure who. She could still feel a tongue moving between her legs, bringing her to the edge of something she had never felt before. Her body began to shake at the feeling, getting closer and closer to a feeling that wasn’t familiar with but was desperate for.

Then her body was truly being shaken.

“Elain!’

Her eyes fluttered. Had she closed them? She tried to focus on why she was shaking.

“Elain? Are you okay?” The scarred hands were no longer on her hips but on her arms. Holding her firmly, shaking her gently. Azriel’s head was no longer between her legs but looking her earnestly in the eyes.

“I … yes. I think. I’m okay.”

“Did you have another vision?”

“Yes. I think so.”

“Have you been having many?”

“I’m not sure. I have dreams every night, but I’m not sure if they are visions. They aren’t like this.” She motioned to the air as Azriel lowered his hands.

“What was this one of?”

She hesitated.

“Even if it doesn’t make sense it may be important, for the war.”

“It was of us.” She couldn’t help but answer.

Azriel gave a brief pause, concentrating on keeping his face neutral. “Who do you mean by ‘us’? You and me?”

Elain nodded.

“What were we doing?”

A description of the images flowed out of her. “We were in a house, I’m not sure where. It was peaceful and beautiful. There was a garden outside. We were in bed.” She could feel a blush creeping up her chest to her cheeks. Why did she answer his question. She could have deflected. She must not be fully awake.

Azriel’s cheeks began to blush as he sat up straighter. “Oh. And what were we doing in bed?”

Was it a repercussion of the visions that they had to be spoken whether she willed it or not?

“We … your head was between my legs and you were…”

Azriel stood up suddenly, effectively cutting her off. “I got it Elain. Thank you.” He quickly walked over to the fire and angled himself away from her.

After a few moments of taut silence Elain braced herself and stood. “I don’t know why I said all that. I’m sorry I’ve made things uncomfortable for you. I will go now. I’m glad you’re okay.”

But before she could make it more than a few steps Azriel was behind her. Placing his hand gently on her arm, quickly dropping it as she turned around to face him.

“It’s okay. I know what it’s like being a seer. Some visions must be spoken.”

Elain raised her eyebrows. “Are you a …”

“No.” Azriel cut her off. “But my mother is, I know what it’s like.”

“Did all of her visions come true?” Elain asked, pink staining her cheeks again.

“I cannot remember if all of them did, but I believe most. Although, not often in the way she suspected.”

“Oh.” Elain breathed. The air filling with tension and words left unsaid, until Elain had to say something.

“I would not be upset, if this one came true.” She surprised herself speaking so boldly, but she supposed the vision of the possible future gave her courage that her feelings would be reciprocated.

“Elain.” Azriel repeated her name in a rough tone she hadn’t heard him speak before.

She wasn’t sure who moved first.

His scarred hands were on either side of her cheek, pulling her towards him.

Her hands found his shoulder blades, pulling him to her.

A few touches they had shared before. His hand on her elbow. Her hand on his shoulder. Their fingers brushing. Always they had been gentle, reverent even.

This time their lips clashed. A different kind of reverence, as if their bodies were made to worship one another’s.

The line between sin and sanctification had never been so thin.

With Graysen Elain had been always been demure, unsure of herself. She had rarely felt much pleasure of her own and had the vague impression that he didn’t expect her to have any.

With Azriel she felt uninhibited, she could be herself with him. Elain Archeron, the naive, mortal girl and Elain Archeron, the high fae, the seer. Either way Azriel knew her and accepted her. It drove her confidence now.

Her hands moved to his chest, broad and firm. She had been held against it many times when he winnowed her, but she would never forget how it felt earlier today when he rescued her from Hybern’s camp. Now she allowed herself to give into the temptation she had felt so many times before and ran her hands over it. Unbuttoning the top of his tunic.

His tongue ran across the seam of her lips, urging her to open them for him. She did so eagerly and when their tongues met they both exhaled quiet moans. His hands moved down her hips, over her ass, gently squeezing before moving further down to the backs of her thighs. He bent slightly to get a hold of them and life her up. Pulling her closer to himself, so that their bodies were perfectly aligned. Her hands moved from his chest to circle his neck, one hand threading through his hair.

She felt his pause. His uncertainty in what she wanted next. She pulled his mouth away from his only far enough to speak. “Take me to bed.” Azriel emitted a louder groan before moving his mouth back to hers as if to claim her. After a few steps he was gently lowering her to the bed before positioning himself on his elbows above her, ensuring no weight was put on her. But she didn’t want to be treated so gently. She wasn’t afraid of the weight of him, of this. She pulled his neck down towards her as she lifted her hips up to his. Her body responding on it’s own.

Azriel shifted to one elbow so that he could move a hand to her cheek, gently, down to her neck. His hand circled her neck and he squeezed, lightly. Now it was Elain’s turn the moan, the idea of being at his mercy making her come undone. He squeezed harder before releasing and moving his hand down her body, pushing down her loose nightgown until her breasts were exposed. He broke their kiss to look at them.

“Gods.” He muttered before moving his mouth to her neck. Kissing and nipping until he reached her breasts. She arched her back, begging him to take them into his mouth. He looked up at her as his mouth hovered over her right nipple. His breath causing it to tighten, nearing pain. He kept eye contact as his tongue darted out. Barely licking the peak. Elain trembled and moaned his name.

“Azriel.”

It was his undoing. His mouth covering her nipple, a hand moving to the other. He sucked and bit until she couldn’t stop writhing beneath him, then he moved to her other breast and repeated his worshipping. She felt ready to explode from the feeling on her breasts alone, not to mention the hard length she could feel through his pants when she rubbed against every time his teeth closed around her nipple and she couldn’t help but rub against him.

“Take off your clothes.” She managed between breaths. She knew she was shaking too much to manage removing them herself, not to mention she wasn’t sure how to remove them from his wings.

He removed his mouth from her breast and lifted his head up so that he could look down on her and meet her eyes. He paused, as if he wanted to capture the moment like he was afraid that when he moved to take off her clothes she would suddenly disappear. She gently placed her hand on his cheek, hoping to offer reassurance through her touch. He lowered his head to place a gentle kiss on her lips but raising himself to stand at the end of the bed.

He made quick work of his clothes and she pushed her own night gown the rest of the way off her body. The soft blues of her gown melting into the dark greys of his clothes at the end of the bed. She barely had an opportunity to take in his hard length, standing straight at attention.

Then he was on her again. Without the barrier of clothes every inch of their skin is touching. Elain had never felt so alive. Like her skinning is on fire and freezing at the same time. Every inch of her taut and screaming for more of Azriel. In any way. In all ways.

He leaned forward to leave another kiss on her lips before moving down her body, leaving a trail of kisses between her breasts, her stomach, above her sex. When he was between her legs he looked up at her. “Is this what you saw in your vision?” He didn’t wait for her reply before his mouth was on her. He wasted no time kissing her legs, her thighs. Suddenly his lips and his tongue were between her legs, her sex, exploring her, feasting on all her. “Gods Elain.” Azriel moaned into her, causing her to write more. “What do I taste like?” She had to ask, had always been curious. Her question caused Azriel to moan again, she felt the vibrations in her core. His tongue dove into her, as if he was trying to distinguish her taste. “Sugar.” She laughed gently at his general assessment. Something, anything, sweet. She wondered how he would taste.

His tongue was unrelenting. Licking her up and down. Moving between her folds. Pushing into her. There wasn’t a spot of skin between her legs that his tongue didn’t touch. Over and over. Her hands moved to his hair, gripping it hard enough that she was sure he must be in pain. But he didn’t relented. She couldn’t help as her hips began moving on his mouth, riding his tongue. He brought one of his hands to her ass, helping to lift herself onto him. She didn’t spare a thought for the fact that they were only in a tent, did not stifle her shouts with the fear of being overheard. She became overwhelmed with the feeling that she was about the explode. Her body barreled towards some kind of release, but there was some a part of her mind that seemed to hesitate, fearing there was something she wasn’t doing right, that her sounds were too loud or her writhing too much.

As if sensing her hesitation Azriel moved his hand from her ass to her clit, rubbing it while his tongue moved inside her.

She saw stars.

Her hips bucking into him as he helped her ride out her orgasm. He continued to lick and suck her until she had all but stopped moving. Once he saw that she was exhausted he left one chaste kiss on her before moving back up her body until they were eye to eye. They held their eye contact until Elain lifted herself up to kiss him on the mouth, tasting herself as she did. “You’re right, like sugar.” She offered, surprised that her own voice was deeper and scratchier than usual. Hopefully that wasn’t an indication of how much she had been screaming.

Her declaration pulled another groan from Azriel as he moved to kiss her more deeply. After a few tangles with their tongues she pulled away, bringing her palm to rest on his cheek. “I’ve never felt like that before.”

“Never?” He asked with a slight raise of his eyebrows.

She laughed softly. “No. Never.”

He kissed her again, at first gently, before she was lifting herself to deepen the kiss. To take more of him in. She wasn’t done devouring him, having him. Tension began to find it’s way back into her body, her veins. The satiated bliss she felt just moments ago being replaced with the need for more. One hand remained on the back of Azriel’s neck, gently holding his mouth to hers while her other moved down his body. Over the planes of his broad chest, down to his solid stomach, further down until she could feel course hairs and then her hand found what she had been looking for, had been so curious about. The touch of her hand caused Azriel to hiss.

“Are you okay?” She began to feel embarrassed that her inexperience had somehow hurt him. She and Graysen had had sex yes, but there was no extra touching aside from what was needed. She had been content with what it was, but the orgasm Azriel had already given shattered all illusions of satisfaction she had had with Graysen. She now knew how much she had been missing.

Azriel moved his hips so that his hard length was again touching her hand. “With you I am always okay.”

Her lips turned up in a smile as she kissed him again, capturing his moans with her mouth and she touched his length with her fingers, her hands. Running them up and down him. Marveling at how hard he was, with skin smooth as silk. She wrapped her hand around as much of him as she could and squeezed, pulling another moan out of Azriel. He bucked into her hand once, twice. “Fuck Elain. Fuck.” He moved his mouth to her neck and bit down on the skin between her neck and shoulder, causing her to gasp as the pain and squeeze him harder.

Suddenly he was pulling her hand away from him. “If you keep doing that I’m going to explode.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” She went to move her hand back to him, but he caught her wrist.

“It just depends on what you want.” Azriel didn’t make it a question, not wanting to push her in any direction she didn’t want to go. He wanted to be sure it was completely her decision, her call.

“I want this. I want you.” She had felt that draw towards him, that longing, ever since he first showed up at her father’s estate. Cassian had been the Illyrian who had caused her paused, caused her palms to sweat and her legs to tremble with fear at his presence. But upon seeing Azriel in the doorway she had felt a calm wash over her and had somehow known that if Azriel was with Cassian, then she had nothing to fear.

“Have you ever?”

“Yes. With … yes I have.” She didn’t want to ruin this by speaking Graysen’s name. She didn’t want any thoughts of him in her mind ever, much less in this moment.

Azriel nodded, understanding, before lowering himself, lining himself up with her.

“Stop me if it hurts.” She nodded but he before he moved he looked her in the eyes and repeated himself. “Ask me to stop.”

“You won’t hurt me in any way I don’t want you to.”

He kissed her as he pushed into her, slowly, only a inch but still causing her to gasp. He pulled out slightly before pushing in further. Her gasps mingling with his moans. On the next push her eyes fluttered close, a pain mixing with the pleasure. He moved his left hand to where they were joined, his right staying by her head where is elbow was propped. He moved his thumb between her legs, above where they were joined, he rubbed her until she began moving on him, arching into him, wanting more.

Then he gave her more.

He pulled out nearly all of the way before sheathing himself inside her fully. Pushing her legs wider to accompany his hips. Her hips arching up further to meet his as she let out a loud moan. When he had allowed himself to picture this with Elain he had imagined going slowly. It was an image he had tried to stop himself from thinking but one what often came to him in the time between waking and dreams, when he didn’t have full control of his consciousness. But now that he was inside her, her perfect tightness surrounding him, all rational thoughts were gone and every instinct he had took over. He kept himself from unleashing completely, but only barely.

He squeezed her breast as he moved inside her. She pulled his hair. The sounds coming from her mouth were better than anything he could have imagined. No matter how much he wanted this to last all night he knew he would not last much longer. He raised one of her legs slightly, so that he could push deeper into to her and also be closer to her. He kissed her mouth, her jaw, her neck. Grazing his teeth down to her pulse point, he bit down, claiming her in all the ways he knew how.

The sudden pain of his bite mixing with the wild pleasure she felt every time he reached a spot deeper inside her pushed her over the edge. She clenched around him, bucking wildly to ride out that final explosion of pleasure, moaning her first coherent words.

“Azriel.”

The feeling of her coming around him, the sound of her moaning his name, brought Azriel over his own the edge. He spilled himself inside her, glad for her clenching walls milking him till he was thoroughly spent.

He stayed on top of her after, catching his breath. Hearing her labored breathing in his ear, feeling her breaths gently moving his hair. He gently kissed her cheek, ending their passionate fucking with something so sweet she struggled to catch her breath.

Then he moved, pulling himself out her. She groaned at the absence of him. He got up and walked over to his wash basin. Dipping a cloth into the water before returning to her and gently wiping her between her legs. After he was finished he tossed the cloth back towards the bin. It landed on the floor near by and he didn’t bother picking it up. Instead he turned back towards her, taking her in as she lay bare in his bed, starting at her toes and ending with her eyes, as if committing her to memory. Then he brought his hand to his face, as if wiping at the shadow of hair covering his jaw. Finally he sighed, seeming to reach some internal decision, and picked up her nightgown from the floor and holding it out to her.

She frowned as she took it from him, hoping that he would lie down next to her instead.

But he caught her disappointment, as he seemed to catch all of the emotions written on her face.

“I don’t want you to leave. Never that. But if Nesta wake and you aren’t there, there would be hell to pay.”

She smiled at that truth. “Do you think I can get in without waking her?”

“I will put you in your bed with my shadows. She will never know.”

Elain pulled on her nightgown and picked up the blanket she had wrapped herself in to come to his tent before turning to face him.

For a moment they both looked at each other. Trying to read each other.

Finally Azriel broke the silence.

“Was that like your vision?”

She blushed. “Yes. Well. It was similar but we weren’t in this tent, we were somewhere else and I didn’t see us do everything.”

He offered one of his rare smiles. “Good. So we don’t have to be worried this was the last time.”

“No.” She agreed, returning his smile. “We certainly don’t need to worry about that.”

[redrobin-detective]

all is well

Death is nothing at all, I have only slipped into the next room I am I and you are you Whatever we were to each other, that we are still. ~ Henry Scott Hollard

AO3 link

______________

He hadn’t meant to say it, that much was clear. As much as she wanted to hate him for it, claim it was some sort of cruel manipulation; she knew he was just as distressed as she was. The ghost boy had covered his mouth, bright green eyes wide with panic as his misspoken words brought their battle to a screeching halt. Even the ghost the three hunters had been fighting stopped and stared before flying off. No one moved to stop them. Phantom looked at her fearfully, then over at her companion before vanishing without a trace.

It was a slip of the tongue, an accident, so why did the ghost boy calling her Mom make her blood run so cold?

“I’ve knew a kid who called the teacher Mom one time but I’ve never heard it from a ghost,” the Red Huntress said with a sarcastic chuckle. But her shoulders were tense and it was clear the situation made her uncomfortable too. “You okay, Mrs. Fenton?”

“My son isn’t dead,” Maddie said quietly. She would admit there were times where she’d look at Phantom and see Danny overlaid on top of him but those moments were becoming more and more rare. Maddie liked to think it’s because she could find more differences than similarities between the two but honestly, she couldn’t say who her son was anymore. She saw this damned ghost more than she saw the child living in her own house.

“I know, I’ve seen him around,” Huntress said with steady conviction. It made Maddie pause, as it always did, to wonder just how old Amity’s other human ghost hunter really was. Or how young rather. “It was a mistake, he’ll probably avoid you for a bit out of embarrassment but then things will go back to normal.”

“Yeah, a mistake,” Maddie muttered to herself, finally lowering the gun even though the fighting had ended several minutes ago. Why was this whole thing so unsettling to her? Phantom had said much worse things to her, called her a fake scientist and more obsessive than a ghost. He’d even called her a bad mother once when he’d been particularly riled up. She remembered how offended and angry his unnatural eyes had been as they’d glared accusingly into her.  

“You know his parents are still alive,” Huntress said suddenly. “I found out by accident a little while ago.” She was still standing on her hoverboard about 3 feet off the ground, her gaze was trained away from Maddie. “They don’t know that he’s a ghost, that he’s Phantom,” the girl’s head was still turned away from Maddie but she had a feeling she was being watched none the less. “Maybe you remind him of his mother.”

Maddie felt liked she’d been slapped.

“And why does that matter to you?” she questioned defensively to cover how much the conversation was shaking her - they didn’t know how could they not know, how could they not miss - “I thought you hated him as much as we did.”

“I don’t like him,” the Huntress said vehemently. “He’s annoying and acts like he’s the only hunter in this town who can actually do the job. But I,” she paused, “I think I understand him, just a little bit. Enough that I’ve been combing through Amity’s missing children files in my spare time. Of course, it’s no good if no one reported him missing in the first place. Phantom doesn’t want me prying but it’s not right for a kid to die and no one to care.”

“He’s just a ghost,” Maddie said, her words weak even to her ears. Was that why Phantom was stuck here? Because he died forgotten and unmourned? The thought of one of her children, her babies, dying without her knowing... she was going to be sick.

“Yeah, he is,” Huntress nodded, “but he wasn’t always. And humans deserve to be remembered, even if they don’t want to be.” That said, the girl sped off into the setting sun, the varying shades of orange glinting off of her suit. Maddie stood in the middle of the street for a little while longer, gun pointed limply at the ground as her whole world spun.

She drove home slowly, taking the long way around to try and put her conflicting feelings into words before she talked to her husband. When she and Jack first began their research into ghosts, they told themselves that they had to divorce themselves from the people the ghosts had been before. If you focused on the lingering traces of humanity in every monster then they would never be put in their place. But she was human and she had kids around the ghost boy’s age, despite her attempts to stick to logic her heart ached with sympathy.

“And you call yourself a mother,” the Phantom in her memory spat at her, filled with hatred but underneath it all was grief. “Where are your kids now? All you care about is the dead but when are you going to care for the living?” Maddie tightened her grip on the steering wheel to keep her hands from shaking.

“Mads! You’re home!” Jack grinned enthusiastically as she quietly entered the house. “Jazzy has her nose in her books and you know Danny, in and up to his room without a word so I made us grilled cheese!” He held her a plate with a flourish, “they’re ghost shaped!” The world tilted itself a little more onto it’s proper axis, no matter how crazy things got, Jack would always be her true north.

“Gracias,” she said accepting the plate. “Can we talk, privately?” She gestured her head down to the basement. Conversations from the kitchen could easily be heard upstairs and she really didn’t want her children to overhear her asking if she was a bad mom. She didn’t want their confirmation that she was right.

Jack’s goofy grinned smoothed out into something softer and he put one hand gently on her back as they walked down to basement. He kicked her usual stool her way and they sat in silence while they ate their dinners, staring at the swirling vortex of the portal.

“You remember that time Phantom called me a neglectful mother?” Maddie asked quietly after a few minutes.

“Mads, you can’t let that sneaky spook get to you. Everyone knows you’re a great-”

“Jack,” she interrupted harsher than she needed to but she didn’t need comfort from a husband but the unbiased opinion of a fellow scientist. “He accidentally called me Mom while we were fighting today, I don’t - I don’t think he meant it, he looked more scared then I’ve ever seen him before he ran off. Huntress was there too, she said.” Maddie gripped her plate tightly in her hands. “She said that Phantom’s family is still alive, that they don’t know about him.”

“Not know? You mean about him being-”

“Apparently,” Maddie squeezed her eyes shut to fight off the unwanted sympathy she felt. “He’s always been the Ghost Boy, the Ghost Kid. I never - I never fully absorbed what that meant. He looks,” Maddie set the plate aside and dropped her head into her hands. “He’s about Danny’s age.”

“Maddie,” Jack said softly, setting aside his own plate and wheeling himself closer. “Whoever that boy was, he’s gone now and all that’s left is an echo, an obnoxious and powerful echo but he’s not... he’s not a child. Not anymore.”

“But he remembers,” Maddie gasped, angry she was letting herself get all worked up over a stupid ghost. “He called me Mom, Jack. Huntress, she said maybe I reminded him of her and,” her eyes filled with tears now. “He’s comparing me to someone who didn’t even notice that he’d died. What does that say about me? About my relationship with our children? I feel like all I do is argue with Jazz these days and god knows where Danny goes to half the time-”

“Maddie, don’t do that to yourself,” Jack said softly, tilting her face up towards him with a gloved hand. “Once you go down that rabbit hole, there’s no digging yourself out. I think it’s just part of being a parent, always worrying that you’re not doing things right. Sometimes,” Jack gaze dropped, troubled. “Sometimes I enter the room and Danny looks at me and freezes like he expects me to do something terrible... He’s just easily startled but it still hurts.”

“Phantom is an echo, not a child,” Maddie nodded quietly to herself, trying to fall back on her usual logic but it tasted wrong in her mouth. He was a ghost... but also a child. “I wonder what he was like when he was alive? His personality seems remarkably preserved, he must have been a vibrant young man.”

“Or his death was particularly traumatic,” Jack mumbled. “Painful deaths usually leave powerful ghosts. And most healthy teens don’t just drop dead for nothing.”  A chill fell over the lab.

“How could they not notice?” Maddie whispered with horror. “What sort of parent wouldn’t see that their child was dead, what? Now two years in?”

“Not everyone is as good a mom as you are, Mads,” Jack said, pulling her into his chest. “Neglectful parents are a dime a dozen sadly. He could’ve been a runaway too, ran off and died leaving his folks still holding out hope that he’d come home. Or maybe...” he frowned, “maybe he’s pretending he’s still alive.”

“No, he couldn’t keep the charade for this long,” Maddie gasped but the horrible idea had been planted none the less. Phantom always seemed in such a hurry, like he had somewhere else to be. Was another woman tapping her feet as she waited for her boy to return like Maddie often did, not knowing her child was long gone?

“He’s a wily one, incredibly solid for a spirit. Sometimes I look at him and swear I see his chest moving like he’s breathing. Dampen his glow, dye the hair, change his clothes, he could probably pass as human so long as you didn’t look too close.”

“Jack,” she pulled back and looked at her husband in a panic. “Jack, if he’s pretending to be human when he’s not fighting then there’s a good chance he goes to Casper.” Her and Jack’s eyes widened with realization at the same time.

Their children’s high school has had an unprecedented amount of ghost attacks since the portal opened. They could never figure out why the ghosts targeted that school and ignored the other elementary, middle or even the other public high, Wendy. “What are we going to do, should we pull out Danny and Jazz? Even just until we figure this out.”

“That might tip the ghost off,” Jack said evenly but his teeth were biting into his cheek with worry. “We don’t want to set him off, who knows what he’d do if his cover was blown.” He might look like a harmless teen but Maddie had seen first hand how devastating Phantom could be when threatened. “I think we should tell the kids.”

“What? Why? You know they’re supportive of him!” Well Jazz certainly was, differing opinion on Phantom seemed to be the cause of half their arguments. Danny, truthfully, she didn’t really know his opinions on the ghost boy. He always looked so uncomfortable talking about ghosts with them so they just didn’t.

“Supportive maybe but they’re smart and observant,” Jack countered. “They could be our eyes and ears inside the school. They know better than to provoke a dangerous ghost,” Jack let his eyes drift over to the portal. “Besides, if the worst comes to pass, I want them to be prepared.”

“I don’t like it but you’re probably right,” Maddie grumbled. “If it keeps them safe then I’d do just about anything.” Jack smiled and leaned forward to kiss her gently, his lips a perfect match for her own.

“And this is why you could never be a bad mother,” he said. “Come on, let’s talk to them before they go to sleep.”

“Or Danny sneaks out again,” Maddie said to herself as she followed her husband up the stairs and heard him call for a Fenton family meeting.

It went about as well as Maddie had expected. Jazz alternated between being angry and anxious, telling them emphatically that Phantom wasn’t hiding among them at school and wasn’t a bad ghost to begin with. Maddie didn’t know what had come over her but she hardly recognized this irrational and emotional young lady as her daughter. She hoped it was just Senior year stress and hormones and not some ghostly influenced. Danny, as usual, sat there like he was a piece of the furniture and didn’t say much at all.

“Danno,” Jack said gently as he interrupted Jazz’s rant to engage their youngest. “You would tell us if you noticed anything unusual with one of your classmates, right? You know we’re telling you kids this because we trust you, love you and want to keep you safe.”

“Have you considered that keeping guns around the house, threatening to hunt and torture ghosts doesn’t make me feel very safe?” Danny said quietly, looking down at the table. “So what if he sometimes goes to school, maybe he wants to have something normal in his life. All I know is that if I was Phantom, maybe I would want to hide too. So people like you didn’t find me.” For the second time that night, the words of a teenage boy stopped her cold.

“Danny, what do you-” Danny didn’t elaborate and instead pushed his chair back and headed towards the door.

“Young Man, where are you going? It’s almost curfew and we’re not done here,” Maddie scolded even though she knew that neither her or Jack were in the control of the situation. Danny opened the door and didn’t look back.

“I won’t be long, just a lap around the block. I just, I just need some air, okay?” The house became quiet, no one quite knowing what to say. Jazz excused herself a moment later and walked back up to her room. She slammed her door shut. The ticking of the clock was the only sound to be heard in the suddenly silent kitchen.

“Is that how he sees us?” Jack asked quietly, looking down at his large hands. “Danny used to think what we did was so cool, when did that change?” When did he change? was the silent, unasked question. Or maybe they'd all changed, grown apart so slowly that no one had really noticed. Maddie stood up abruptly and stalked towards the door, strapping an ectogun to her hip as she went.

“Mads, maybe you should give him-”

“You know as well as I do that this is the peak time for ghosts. Danny, he might not trust us but I won’t let a disagreement get him killed.” It was full dark outside and she was halfway down the block before she realized she didn’t know which direction Danny had gone in. The night air was chill for mid-April as it shook off the last dregs of winter. She was feeling cold in her protective hazmat; Danny had left in short sleeves. Maybe she should run back and get his jacket for when she found him.

“Nice night for a walk,” Maddie jumped at the voice to find Phantom lazily floating in the air above her. His posture was casual but his eyes were sharp, searching as he always was. Green eyes glanced at her gun before meeting her eyes. “Looking for someone? Perhaps chasing someone who doesn’t want to found?” No way was she going to let him know her son was out here, alone and vulnerable.

“You actually,” she lied. He raised a disbelieving eyebrow but didn’t call her out. How could he be so expressive and so hard to read all at once? Against her better judgement, she thought again about the ghost as a human. “You called me Mom earlier, I want to know why.”

“What, you’ve never called someone something dumb by mistake?” Phantom flinched, crossing his arms defensively. “It was an accident, I’m just as upset as you are, believe me. Now if you don’t mind, I was trying to have a nice flight to clear my mind. Good luck finding whoever you were really looking for.”

“My husband thinks you’re pretending to be alive, that you’re lying to the town, going to school.” She searched his face for some sign that she was wrong but his expression was still as stone. “You’re putting people in jeopardy, I thought you wanted to play the hero!”

“I’m not doing anything,” He growled, his eyes flashing ominously in the dark. “I’m just doing the best I can, okay? If I go to the Nasty Burger or sit in on English Poetry when there’s no ghosts to fight then who’s hurt? Only me for trying to hang onto something real, something normal!”

“But the ghosts-”

“News flash! The ghosts would be here with or without me because of your stupid portal! I can’t even legally drive and yet you blame me for everything.” He scoffed and looked away, “you really are just like my mother.”

“So I do remind you of her,” she stated. “Your mother.”

“That’s a great thing to say to some kid you shoot at regularly,” Phantom said, icily, his green gaze boring into her over his shoulder. “What do you want me to say? Yeah, you do. It’s not just your voice or your face but the way you look at me like I’m nothing but a disappointment. How you make me feel like I’m some damaged child you need to hammer into shape.”

“You can’t - I’m not disappointed,” she said before she could think otherwise because how else could she react to such a charged statement? What kind of abusive, miserable home had he come from? Her heart clenched again to be compared to this woman.

“Yeah, I can tell,” Phantom snapped at her sarcastically but, like the time when he’d called her a bad mother, underneath the anger was sadness. “None of this matters, we’re both going to keep doing our own thing without each other’s approval. We’re enemies so let’s just forget this all happened and go back to you shooting at me while I beg for you just stop and listen for one second-”

“Alright, I’m listening!” Maddie shouted back, frustrated and sympathetic against her better judgement. “What is it you want to tell me so bad?” Phantom froze, like he hadn’t expected her to just stop like that. His shoulders hunched and his eyes were wide and he looked so much like a lost teenager that it pulled painfully at her heart. God, why did this one ghost bring out so many contradictory feelings in her?

“I want,” he stopped, swallowed and floated to the ground so they were near eye level. Sometime in the last year, he’d gotten taller than her. She hadn’t realized ghosts could grow, could age. Phantom was always the exception to every rule they had. “I want the same thing you want. I don’t like seeing ghosts coming through and hurting people. Before I was Phantom, I was nobody, I couldn’t help anyone. I can now and keeping people safe, it gives me a purpose I didn’t even have when I was human. Ghosts might just be the untethered remnants of dead people but we still love and feel and value things, just differently than you do. I want to keep ghosts from attacking people but without damaging them, we’re not all evil just... trying to find our own way to the finish line. If you’d just, not attack on sight, I could show you.”

It was perhaps the most she’d heard Phantom say all at once. He was rubbing his gloved fingers anxiously against his thigh and there was a desperate bit of want in his tragically young face. He wanted her to believe him, like a child looking to their mother for approval. As more time stretched on without her speaking, his hopeful look fell into a kind of sad acceptance. He looked like Danny had at the kitchen table not 15 minutes before.

“Okay,” she said finally. “We can give it a try for a bit. It’s not a truce exactly but so long as you’re not causing harm, Jack and I won’t shoot at you.” It wasn’t much but the boy looked like he’d handed her the moon and then some. He floated up a little, his boots jittered with excitement. She gaped when he reached forward and grasped her hand only to shake it enthusiastically. His hand was chilled but solid in her own.

“Yeah, you got a deal! Don’t worry, Mo- Ma’am you won’t have to worry about me, I’ll be a good little ghost, scouts honor! not that I was, uh, ever in the scouts. If things go well, I’d be happy to tell you more about ghosts and the Zone. I’ll even give you a tour if you’d like.” His smile was infectious and she bit her lip to resist the natural urge to smile back.

Maybe Phantom was a ghost, a sad child who’d died far too young but he was also someone’s son. That woman, however, hadn’t been able to protect him, to support him. Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to give the ghost boy a chance and maybe Maddie could fill in something his other mother couldn’t. Perhaps she could even learn how to give her own children what they needed too.

“We’ll see,” Maddie hummed. “Now, you were going to go flying and I need to find my son before he catches his death, that is, if he’ll even talk to me.”

“He will,” Phantom said softly. “My mom messed up, hurt me sometimes but I knew she loved me and I love her. I don’t know your son but I do know what it’s like to be a son and your mom is... whether you’re living, dead or in-between, she’s always your mom. Maybe he’s worried you won’t love him, the things he’s done or believes in.” He looked away and rubbed the back of his neck, “Of course, I don’t really know you and your family. Usually try and avoid you guys, being ghost hunters and all. Even your daughter is pretty scary.”

“That would be pretty weird, a ghost surrounded by hunters,” her lips twitched upwards despite herself as she imagined Phantom chatting with Jack and Jazz in the living room. The image wasn’t quite as strange as she’d initially thought. Who knows where this shaky truce would lead them? Phantom took that as his excuse to leave and flew off into the night. Maddie watched him go, she started up the block when she got a series of texts a few minutes later.

Danny: I’m home, sorry for running off like that Danny: I don’t like the way you talk about ghosts the way some people talk about race or gender. I want to make opinions based on facts and understanding, not half baked theories Danny: I’d be willing to talk more, if you’d stop being so stubbornly certain you’re right and just listened for a change Danny: I love you, Mom I don’t think I say that enough. Sometimes I feel scared to, like you won’t understand Danny: Jazz came down and Dad brought out the special fudge Danny: Come home, its cold out

Maddie brought her phone to her lips, looking up in the sky as if she might see Phantom still flying around. That boy still loved his mother, the mother who’d hurt him. She didn’t want to be like Phantom’s mom: distant, cruel, unwilling to listen. If she could hold out an olive branch for her enemy, then she certainly could for her son.

Mom: I love you too, baby, never doubt that. I think I'm ready to listen now. Mom: I’m on my way home, save some fudge for me.

I am waiting for you, for an interval, somewhere very near, Just around the corner. All is well.

[simplyclockwork]

I know you have a lot of prompts, but I can be patient! This thought just won’t leave me alone. John and Sherlock in a new relationship and John discovers Sherlock snores terribly. At first John suffers in silence but when he tells Sherlock, Sherlock is horrified and disbelieving and embarrassed. Can be funny or fluffy or smutty (even a bit angsty if you like). Happy ending please. I’m well over 18.

Hey anon! Thank you so much for your patience. I finally filled your prompt. Thank you for sending it and feel free to send any others you might think of in the future.

Hope you are well!

You can read your prompt below the page break or on Ao3 here.

------

It has taken them far too long to get to this point. To get past all the blind moments, the obliviousness shared by them both. Ages to traverse the awkwardness that is the process of shifting their dynamic from friends to flatmates to partners to… more.

But they get there. They get there together, in fits and in starts, in uncertain kisses and stolen moments between the insane, case-driven chaos of their lives. Their first time is a little clumsy, kind of sloppy, but enjoyable, leaving them both satisfied in the end. So satisfied that John can’t even find it in himself to complain when Sherlock flits off to peruse that new case file Lestrade dropped by earlier in the day. It’s fine. Sherlock is Sherlock. John would never expect him to change simply because they’ve gone from just sharing a flat to snogging one another on every available surface.

They are still them, and it’s all fine.

Rolling over, John stretches, tugs the blankets over his cooling body, and settles into a blissful sleep.

The roaring sound of a chainsaw, inexplicable and horrific, shocks him awake. Shooting upright, John blinks blearily in the darkened room. A glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table tells him it’s just shy of four am, as good a time as any, John gathers, for him to be murdered by a chainsaw-wielding maniac. He shakes his head, bemused at his own groggy response to imminent death, and squints into the gloom. But there is no sign of a maniac — chainsaw-wielding or otherwise — at the end of Sherlock’s bed. Just an open armoire filled with suits that cost more than all of the clothing John has ever owned put together.

Maybe he dreamt the noise? John blinks. He shakes his head again and startles violently when the ripping, awful sound comes again. John jerks towards the noise, spots mussed curls on the pillow next to his, and freezes. As he stares, the sound comes again, loud and rough enough that John swears it must resonate within his very bones.

No. No way.

Refusing to accept the truth before his very eyes, John reaches out and flicks the blanket down to reveal Sherlock’s face. His sleep-softened face, his closed eyes and open mouth. As John watches, the most horrible noise emerges from that mouth. The same one that, only earlier, had sunk down the length of John’s eager cock, and had parted around the most deliciously lewd sighs. Now, that mouth is a channel for evil, Sherlock’s sleeping throat doing its best — and horribly accurate — impression of a freight train.

“Bloody hell,” John mutters as dismay dawns. The sinking sensation in his stomach only deepens as Sherlock releases another monstrous snore, loud enough that John swears he can feel the walls vibrate. This can’t be happening. Surely, John would have noticed this before. They’ve shared rooms before, even shared beds… Haven’t they?

Thinking it over, John is forced to admit that while they’ve often found themselves sharing a room, they’ve never actually slept in it at the same time. Typically, John does the sleeping, while Sherlock stays up at all hours working on cases, traversing the countryside for clues, or buggering off to who knew where to do who knew what. This is, John realizes, the first time they have slept together in the same place at the same time. The fact boggles John’s mind, who then silently applauds the amount of soundproofing that must exist within the walls of 221B to have kept this little — more like deafening — secret from him.

Another ripping snore escapes Sherlock, making John’s ears ring and his nose scrunch up in despair.

Bloody hell, he’ll have to come up with a plan.

“No, he doesn’t.” Lestrade sets his pint down on the counter and raises two disbelieving eyebrows at John across the sticky top of their table. “Sherlock, snore? Nah, that’s not true.”

Arms folded over his chest, John cocks his head to one side. “Do you really think I would lie about something like this?”

Lestrade opens his mouth to reply, then seems to think better. He shrugs. “Alright, you’ve got me there. As far as pranks go, that would be a pathetic one.” He frowns. “Sherlock used to crash at mine all the time when he first started consulting. He’d run himself ragged, come running to fill me in, and would always end up passing out mid-sentence on my sofa. I never heard him snore.”

“That was a while ago, though, yeah?” John receives a nod. “Okay, well, he snores now.”

Lestrade looks sympathetic. “That bad, huh?”

John grimaces into his beer. “It’s like sleeping next to the train tracks, but I think even that might be better.”

“Bloody hell.”

Sighing, John takes a large swallow of bitter brew. “You have no idea.”

A week goes by. John wonders if he should mention the snoring to Sherlock. But every time he thinks of broaching the subject, something sidetracks him. A case, a last-minute call-in for a shift at the clinic, Sherlock’s hand slipping into his pants under the table as he’s eating breakfast… There is always something.

In the end, John lets it slide. After all, he and Sherlock rarely share the bed. There is almost always a case to be solved, during which Sherlock pinballs around the sitting room and kitchen like a human-shaped balloon let go mid-inflation. And, when he’s not doing that, he’s terrorizing Mrs Hudson about her scratchers. Or sprawled in a flouncing pout over his armchair. Or tormenting his violin until it sounds like a cat is being murdered in their flat.

So John doesn’t bring it up. Sherlock seems blissfully unaware of his ability to produce chainsaw noises while asleep, and John doesn’t want to disturb the peace. Aside from the snoring, John treasures the few and rare times when Sherlock actually does curl up with him in the bed and is loathe to jeopardize them with even the slightest complaint.

A year into their relationship, he discreetly purchases a pair of reusable silicone earplugs. He keeps them inside the bedside table and wears them only once he’s sure Sherlock is asleep, in those few and far between times when Sherlock actually deigns to sleep in their now-shared bed.

But the peace does not last. John is eventually busted despite his success in keeping a secret from the world’s nosiest — and noisiest —man. It happens when he least expects it, just like when he first discovered the snoring: in a deep sleep.

A sudden touch on his earlobe has John stirring from dreamland, then wide awake as long fingers tug the earplug gently from his ear. John opens his eyes and sits up at once, staring with confusion at Sherlock, who stares back at him from the next pillow.

Gripped between finger and thumb, the earplug is offered up in silent accusation.

“John,” Sherlock says in a bemused voice, “why are you wearing earplugs?”

John’s mind races. Here it is, the moment he’s avoided for so long. But it seems his chickens have come home to roost as Sherlock waits for his answer with an expectant expression on his pillow-lined face.

“Um,” John says cleverly. “Well. I, uh.” Inspiration strikes. “It’s for the neighbour’s dogs. Always barking, you know how it is.”

Sherlock favours him with a long, silent stare. Then, “John, our neighbours don’t have dogs. No one within five flats has any kind of pet. Well, Mrs Gladly’s daughter has a fish, but that really doesn’t count.”

“Fish are pets.”

“Fish don’t bark, John.”

John swallows, his smile nervous. “Right. Of course they don’t.” He purses his lips. He’s not nearly at his best. He’s exhausted, his brain still half-asleep. Dogs? Really, Watson? Dogs? Do better.

He tries to do better.

“It’s… an experiment?” Dammit, he hadn’t meant for it to sound like a question.

Sherlock arches one perfectly groomed eyebrow. “An experiment.”

“Yes,” John says, nodding, hoping desperately that Sherlock will buy it. “That. One of those. Yes.”

Pale eyes narrow. Sherlock doesn’t buy it. “What kind of experiment?”

“What kind?” John asks, swallowing again. “You want to know what kind?”

“Yes, John. What kind of experiment.”

Is the heat on? Blimey, it’s hot in their bedroom. Why is it so hot? Quick, Watson, come up with an answer!

“A… secret one?”

Sherlock’s lips flatten into a thin line. “A secret experiment,” he echoes, disbelieving.

John tries to smile. It feels like a grimace. “Yes.”

“John Watson, you are a terrible liar,” Sherlock says dryly.

Wincing, John spreads his hands. “Never said I was a good one.” Good, this is good. A change of topic is just what he needs. Bold, hoping to redirect Sherlock’s focus, John reaches between them and strokes the inside of Sherlock’s naked thigh with one teasing finger. “I’m very good at other things, though. Maybe I should show you?” He shifts closer, that single finger turning into a palm cupping Sherlock’s soft cock through his pants.

Sherlock jerks his hips away from the contact with a scowl. “Are you trying to distract me with sex?”

Teeth pressing into his bottom lip, his expression desperate, John asks, “That depends… Is it working?”

Sherlock’s eyes narrow again, his mouth turning down at the corners. “No.” But his cock twitches under John’s searching hand, betraying him as a liar as well.

“Someone begs to differ,” John says, giving Sherlock’s growing erection a pointed squeeze.

A flush rises in Sherlock’s cheek. His head rocks back briefly, but he refuses to be swayed. “John Watson,” he snaps, batting John’s hand away, “you tell me the truth right now!” Brandishing the earplug, he holds it right in John’s face. “Explain this! Explain yourself. Now.”

Looks like the jig is up. With a sigh, John rescues the earplug from Sherlock’s furious grip and says, “You snore. I didn’t want to say anything because I figured you already knew. I thought I’d just deal with it on my own, hence this.” He gestures with the earplug. “Anyways, I…” John’s voice trails off. Sherlock’s expression is strange. “Sherlock?”

There is a long moment of silence before Sherlock blinks and replies. “I don’t snore.”

John goes still. “Um… yes. Yes, you do. Really loudly, actually. It’s awful.”

Sherlock’s eyebrows do something interesting, shooting upward before dropping again into a scowl. “I certainly do not, John.” He is insistent. “I’m sure someone would have said something by now if I did.”

“Maybe it’s new,” John says with a shrug. “You did break your nose a year and a half ago during that forgery case. Maybe it started then.” He peers closer at Sherlock, focusing on his nose. “I bet you have a deviated septum. It’s very common.”

But Sherlock seems determined to deny his snoring until his dying breath. “I. Do. Not. Snore.”

John sighs. Thankfully for his sanity, he has a video on his phone. After Lestrade refused to believe him, he’d recorded one of the worst nights and showed it to him with triumphant smugness. Now, it stands as evidence to back his case. After rising to find his phone in the sitting room, John returns and plays the video.

Sherlock stares at the phone in perturbed silence, not saying a word until the damning clip ends. Then, his face dangerously red, he snaps, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Well,” John says, setting his phone aside and gesturing at his irate bed partner, “because I kind of worried you might react like this.”

That shuts Sherlock up. His mouth closes with a snap. Then, haughty and offended, he shoves the blankets aside and rises. “If that’s the case, then I’ll remove myself — and my horrible snoring — from the vicinity.” His mouth twists down at the corners. “I wouldn’t want to disturb your precious sleep, Doctor Watson.”

“Oh, no, you don’t,” John sighs.

His Nibs makes it two steps toward the door before John snags his arm and hauls him back. The backs of his knees strike the edge of the bed, sending Sherlock tumbling onto the mattress. Sprawled on his back, he blinks up at the ceiling with a bemused expression.

John doesn’t give him the chance to recover.

He takes advantage of Sherlock’s stunned moment to straddle his thighs, trapping him on the bed. Perched, refusing to budge, John captures Sherlock’s wrists and pins them over his head. “None of that, now,” he says in a crisp tone. “It’s almost three in the morning, and I am in no mood for dramatic theatrics when we both know you’re just embarrassed.” Leaning down, John noses at the side of Sherlock’s neck. “I’ll give you two options. Well, three. Either talk to me, go back to sleep, or I’ll have no choice but to seduce you.”

Sherlock, scowling, turns his head away and refuses to look at him. Chuckling, John shakes his head.

“Not going to talk to me, huh?” Silence. John grins. “Fine. Guess we're going with the third option. I don’t need to talk.” He demonstrates his commitment to a non-verbal attack with a pointed roll of his hips. Even pouting, glaring at the wall, Sherlock can’t control his body’s reaction to John’s teasing. A shiver ripples through him, and colour floods into his cheeks again, this time from something other than embarrassment. John repeats the attack, his grin widening as Sherlock’s teeth sink into his bottom lip hard enough to turn the flesh white.

Leaning down, John mouths at the side of Sherlock’s neck and nibbles his earlobe, whispering, “I bought the earplugs so I could sleep with you. Are you really going to pretend you’re offended by that?”

A huff escapes Sherlock, but he turns his head and meets John’s eyes again. He opens his mouth to speak, but John captures his lips in a searing kiss, leaving him panting and breathless when their mouths finally part.

Sherlock looks up at him and gasps for air with a dazed look in his eyes. Feeling rather smug about the effect he’s having on his stroppy detective, John says, “Remind me to try that tactic next time you’re in one of your sulks.”

Sherlock just huffs at him again before freeing his wrists from John’s grip. Looping his arms around John’s neck, he tugs him down into another kiss. He bites at John’s lips with more force than usual before gentling his mouth and slipping his tongue over the roof of John’s mouth. Then, breaking the kiss, he says, “I do not snore.”

Still grinning, John presses a sloppy, wet kiss to Sherlock’s cheek that makes him pretend to grimace and replies, “Whatever you say, Mister Holmes.”

[zeplerfer]

All I Want for Christmas is...

Summary: America is bad at giving gifts, and England is bad at receiving them. Most of the time, anyway. USUKUS.

Rating: T for swearing and one smutty (but not explicit) paragraph.

[Read it on AO3]

As usual, America arrived on England’s doorstep on Christmas Eve wearing a festive Santa hat and holding a poorly wrapped present. England gave his lover a peck on the lips and then took the present with a long-suffering sigh.

“You really didn’t have to get me anything, you know,” England remarked as America hung up his coat in the entryway, revealing a ‘Meowy Christmas’ cat-themed sweater underneath. Like most of America’s Christmas clothing, it was adorably tacky.

“Of course, I did!” America insisted as he followed England into the living room and watched England place the present beneath his tastefully-decorated tree. The fire crackled merrily while Bing Cosby music played softly in the background. Once England’s hands were empty, America leaned in for a deep, lingering kiss.

England felt a pleasant warmth coil in the base of his stomach that had nothing to do with the fireplace. He favored America with a gentle smile. “I don’t need presents when I have your presence,” he said softly, indulging in a level of sentimental sappiness he would never admit to the other 364 days of the year.  

“Aw, Merry Christmas, sweetheart,” America replied as he held England in his arms and they swayed along to the nostalgic Christmas music.

Ever since Charles Dickens had put pen to paper, England had loved a classic Christmas. He adored the decorations and the tinsel. The stockings and the holly. The Christmas crackers and the carolers. Having an enthusiastic lover to share the holiday with was like extra frosting and gumdrops on a gingerbread house.

The only downside was that America insisted on giving England more gifts that just kept filling up England’s already jam-packed house. As with most things, America approached gift-giving with more enthusiasm than sense. His gifts ranged from the extravagant (a 70-inch television that England barely used) to fads (baby Yoda and beanie babies) to kitschy (a star-spangled tea pot) to the risqué (lingerie that England rightly noted was more of a present for America than for him). Somehow England’s lack of enthusiasm when he opened the gifts never stopped America from trying again the next year with something different.

When they finally took a break from swaying to the music, America relaxed on the couch while England prepared two mugs of hot chocolate. He added extra marshmallows to America’s mug and carried them into the living room. America brightened as soon as he saw the mugs. Each had two overlapping hearts—one with an America flag inside and the other with the Union Jack.

“I knew you liked last-year’s present!” America beamed as he accepted his hot chocolate. “That was a good one.”

“Mmm,” England replied noncommittally. Holding his mug carefully, he sat with his back against the armrest as he rested his feet on America’s lap. England sipped his hot chocolate and shook his head fondly. “You know, my brothers dug through my cabinets and wondered if you really thought you were dating the entire United Kingdom.”

America tilted his head to the side with adorable confusion. “What?”

“Scotland, Wales, and Northern Ireland are also part of the Union,” England reminded him.

“You have whales? That’s so awesome!”

England snorted. He was pretty sure America was joking. Still, if there was a competition between America’s lack of geographical knowledge and the obnoxiousness of England’s brothers, it was difficult to say who would win. Fortunately, America was talented and clever in other ways. England wiggled his toes and gave America a come-hither smile. “Would you mind, love?

America set his empty mug on the nearby end table and dedicated both hands to giving England a foot massage. His big, warm hands felt amazing as they kneaded England’s feet through his knit socks. America applied just the right amount of strength. “Ahh,” England sighed happily and melted into the couch.

“You’re too tense. You need to relax more,” America said as he continued his sensual ministrations. The warmth and tingles sent shivers up England’s spine.

“Mmm. Do you have a suggestion?” England purred.

“Yoga would probably help,” America replied before he caught England’s enticing expression. “Oooh, you mean sex!” He grinned. “Best Christmas present ever,” he declared happily, despite the fact that England gave him the same present every year.

England crawled into America’s lap and smothered him with kisses as he savored the taste of America’s lips and sun-kissed skin. They eagerly tore off each other’s clothes—all except for America’s Santa hat and England’s socks—and stumbled upstairs to England’s bedroom. Once England had America in bed, he proceeded to do all of the naughty things he’d been dreaming about since the last time he saw his lover. By the time England ran out of ideas and energy, they were both completely limp and satiated. As England drifted to sleep, America spooned him from behind and sighed happily. “You know, I’m not sure you need yoga. You’re already pretty flexible, sweetheart.”

~~~

The next morning, England woke to an empty bed. He wasn’t worried. Christmas was the one time of year when America happily rose before dawn. England padded downstairs and found America opening Finland’s Christmas presents, most of which were electronics and video games. “Look, an Oculus Quest 2!” America cried excitedly as he showed off one of the boxes to England.

“Wonderful,” England agreed, since he had no idea what America was talking about. He checked his own stocking and found a lovely supply of tea and a less enticing supply of salty liquorice.

America quickly pressed his own present into England’s hands and grinned like an eager puppy. “Open mine, next!”

England carefully undid the tape and opened the box to reveal a set of four rustic wooden coasters. They were slices of wood polished with oil to an orangish-red gleam. England faked a smile. “Ah, coasters. How practical!”

“They’re made of yew. English yew.” America grinned. “Get it?”

“I’m aware of the tree, yes.”

“No, because all I want for Christmas is yew,” America explained with a laugh.

England stared at the coasters. “You got me a pun-based gift?”

“Do you like it?”

“I love it,” England replied with a chuckle. He gave America a kiss. “Because I love yew.”