#belatedly i am thinking that i should have posted this here instead

[laxmiree]

MLQC Season 2 Chapter 20 - Lucien’s part Translation (Part 2)

⚠️  SPOILER ALERT  ⚠️

This post contains a VERY HEAVY SPOILER for the chapter that has not been released in EN yet! Feel free to notify me if there are any mistakes in the translation!

IMPORTANT!!!  to fully understand the story, prior knowledge of previous S2 chapters are needed. Before, I made a short summary that explain those chapters. I hope this can help :D

ALSO, this chapter is tied with Sampling Error R&S so you might want to check that out before/after reading this chapter.

Previous part-> [Here]

[Chapter 20-17]

Under the researcher's guidance, I numbly changed into my own clothes.

Researcher: After Professor Lucien gives permission, you can leave.

MC: You are so funny. For those who don't know, they'd think I'm here for a medical check-up instead of being forcibly brought in by you guys to be a guinea pig.

The researcher ignored my cynicism and kept his gaze clear.

Probably he believes in things that I will never be able to understand.

After the researcher left, I sat quietly on my bed and stared at the white walls.

My chest shows almost no signs of having been injured.

This pain, which should only last for a moment, still continues to cause me a twinge of pain.

I knew it was not the wound itself, but because of something else.

The pain is repressed and withheld, as if the body is wrapped in enormous root, unmoving and kissing every inch of my skin, and then fiercely strangled.

Even with my eyes closed, I could still see the hand that raised the gun, and the fingertips that touched it gently.

Resolute and cold.

What was Lucien's expression at that moment?

I thought about it belatedly, but couldn't recall his face at that moment.

I always asked myself why I bothered to find excuses for Lucien.

He has his own reasons, he has something to do, he has no choice but to suffer, and he may be walking an impossible path.

However, the wounds that have healed but continue to bleed out are reminding me again and again-

For me, the most devastating thing is that he has never been honest with me.

The good guys in the story, sometimes always have to put on a helpless disguise; and the bad guy always have to pretend to be sincere.

The world is never black or white, and Lucien walks on a lighter shade of gray. But he never once delivers his heart.

Lucien probably working hard towards something.

But all this seems to have nothing to do with me anymore.

Although I don't know what force field they are talking about, I have been confirmed not to be a carrier of CORE.

But NW has always acted forcefully and unpredictably, and whatever they say is no longer worth believing.

I can't just wait any longer, passively waiting for an outcome.

Waiting may not exist at all, as explained from Lucien.

I don't know how much time has passed again, the door was pushed open and Lucien's indifferent figure appeared in my side of vision.

I didn't move my head or even turned it to look at him.

MC: Professor Lucien.

I heard my own voice as calm as water.

MC: The experiment is over, may I go, please?

He slowly approached me and leaned down to forcefully break into my line of sight.

Lucien: Do you have any physical discomfort?

MC: No.

I looked calmly at the pure white wall and felt Lucien's eyes resting on mine.

An endless and oppressive silence fills the air, like the ashes of something rotting away.

Lucien: You can ask me one question.

I blinked slowly and shifted my eyes to Lucien's indifferent face, his eyes seemed to be flooded with some emotion I couldn't understand.

Lucien: Whatever it is, I can answer it.

MC: Lucien.

I called out his name softly.

MC: Have you ever thought about telling me something yourself before I ask you?

Lucien's pupils unconsciously contracted for a moment.

All the "suspicion" and "distrust" will slowly melt out a chasm, and it will become deeper and wider.

To disappoint the good intentions of those who have not yet arrived.

MC: Lucien, in fact, I am very afraid.

MC: I'm afraid that I will have to judge every image I see of you in the future, every change in your behaviour, every change in your expression.

MC: To judge whether it is true, or not. Whether he is well-intentioned, or malicious. I was afraid that I would become like this.

MC: So, I wanted to stop everything right there.

MC: After all, we'll be enemies the next time we meet.

MC: Don't you think so? Professor Lucien?

I looked at the pen that was pinned to his chest, the "X" engraved on it was still clearly visible.

In a trance, my voice seemed to overlap with a very distant past.

This is probably a fate.

We always have to turn our backs to face all the lies and betrayals head on.

Only this time, I'm not the same fool who only cried and suffered in the past.

I've been brave.

Lucien laughed softly, somewhat ironically, and seemed to hide some regret.

Lucien: Is that the question you want to ask me?

MC: No. It's the answer.

I stood up and lightly traced the person in front of me with my sight.

I gestured my right hand in the handgun position and slowly placed my fingertips against his left chest.

MC: We are enemies, for then I will defeat you.

The narrow eyes narrowed slightly and his gaze became even deeper.

Lucien: How are you going to defeat me?

MC: At least… I’ll get out of here first.

In an instant, the sharp point had been placed against Lucien's neck.

I clutched the other end of the pen as my fingertips kept shaking.

Lucien: You could just have left.

MC: But I don't trust you.

Lucien's gaze was calm, but I seemed to hear the sound of something quietly collapsing.

Lucien: This is NW's institute, and it's guarded outside. I am just a newly appointed head and may not be that important to them. Are you sure you can leave without any problems?

MC: You're right. So please spread the barrier.

The transparent barrier was wrapped around us with a pale light, like a soft but firm barrier.

Lucien's fingertips gently pressed against the backs of my fingers that were clutching the pen, causing me to subconsciously tighten my slightly numb hand.

Lucien: A hand that’s holding hostage should be steady.

Researchers in white uniforms stood on either side of the corridor, watching as I walked down the corridors of the NW Institute, holding Lucien against me.

There are so many researchers here.

They are probably smart and impressive, and they are probably what their parents would call brilliant and proud.

They probably don't care about anything but the pursuit of an answer.

Lucien: Do you think they're wrong?

In the silence of the corridor Lucien looked at the side of his face while walking, as though he could read my expression at the moment.

My eyes swept over the faces of the researchers and finally fell back to Lucien's profile.

MC: I’m not a great person and in no position to judge you.

We walked through the hallway, leaving all those white figures behind us.

MC: I just think that the truth of the world will never be opened to you.

Lucien: That's a pretty brutal conclusion.

MC: I’m not going to expose you after I leave is already the greatest tolerance

At Lucien's slightly snarky words, we finally arrived in front of a black SUV in the parking lot.

MC: Car key.

He seemed to hesitate, but finally took the car key out of his pocket and placed it on my palm.

I picked it up and gave Lucien a firm push, opened the door sharply and got into the car.

Lucien: Don't get caught so easily next time.

Lucien's voice was nearly muffled by the sandy fog swirling up from the rapidly spinning tires.

I stepped on the gas and brushed past the standing figure.

The pen was still held tightly in my hand, so hard that I had to exert effort to even open my fingers.

I carefully took out my handkerchief and wrapped the pen up, like the last piece of luck I could keep.

My eyes unconsciously glanced at the rear-view mirror.

The white figure stood there; I was unable to see his expression clearly.

The gloomy sky hangs behind him, as if he is also caged in the shadows.

I finally leaving this place.

And leaving his side.

[Chapter 20-18]

Following the navigation in the car, I went as fast as I could to the highway.

As other passing cars slowly appeared in my field of vision, I had the real feeling of a successful escape.

I drove on the right side of the highway and slowed down the speed.

For a while I didn't know where I should go.

The days and nights at the institute were like a sudden nightmare, he ripped open a bloody wound and completely disturbed the pace of my life.

My mind was blank at this point, and my vision finally started to get blurry.

I rubbed my eyes hard with the back of my hand, my vision going from hazy to clear and back too hazy again and again.

Those bravado of toughness and camouflage finally dike the defense, and began to crumble and disintegrate.

I didn't want to acknowledge the tears, but they kept flowing.

Like the body's instinct, screaming its pain.

I slowly parked the car on the parking zone.

The renewed trajectory of the world meant that I was carrying more secrets from the beginning and had more complex puzzles to solve.

There are a lot of things and I have to go and get them back by myself.

Even so, I never wanted to give up.

But right now, I'm really exhausted.

I rested my head against the steering wheel and the cool, grassy scent enveloped me.

The sound of raindrops pattering on the glass and roof of the car came to my ears, instantly growing sharp and violent.

Autumn rainstorms always come very suddenly, yet they are so appropriate at this time of year.

I slowly lifted my head and leaned it against the back of my chair, tilting my chin slightly and looking at the storm with an empty heart.

Glancing at the rear-view mirror, I saw something vaguely leaning against the rear corner of the car.

My heart twitched subconsciously.

As if compelled, I opened the car door, ran to the trunk and pressed the open button.

My face was constantly wet with raindrops and my heart was beating fast.

The trunk slowly opened and a brand-new kite lay quietly there, the plastic protective cover outside hadn't even been unsealed.

I picked it up bluntly.

This kite is so heavy that I can barely breathe.

This is probably the most wordless thing that Lucien has to say.

(T/N: …that he’ll never forget their promise no matter what :””””)

MC: Lucien, it would be great if you truly forgot our promise.

I put that kite back in place as if it had never been found.

I stepped back into the driver's seat as the rain poured down, obscuring the road ahead into a chaotic and hazy mess.

And this time, how long will it take me and how far will I have to travel to reach Lucien?

The map shows that the fork in front of me turns right into the tunnel. I don't know where this tunnel leads, but I still turns to the right at the fork.

I should be far away by now.

With this in mind, a light suddenly lit up at the end of the tunnel.

A car came from the front and gave me a few beams of distant light.

MC: …?

I tried hard to see the person in the driver's seat, but I couldn't because of the dim light and could only see an outline.​

The car accelerated to my left, and the window of the car slowly fell when it passed by. When I saw the person coming, my eyebrows twitched.

MC: Lucien?! How could you...?

The whole world seems to stand still at this moment.

I tried to widen my swollen eyes, and there seemed to be a flash of sadness in his eyes.

But that was probably my delusion.

The sneer and provocative smile crept onto his face, the dark tide surging in it, like examining the prey that came to his door.

The wind lifted Lucien’s broken hair strand, at this time he changed into a light brown jacket.

I blinked, and the thoughts that had just calmed down became chaotic once again.

Why is he here?

Did he pass by here? Or... purposely chasing after me?

Is there another problem with the research and I have to be taken back?

Or did he come to explain something to me?

I shook my head hard to put these ridiculous thoughts behind me and pressed down hard on the gas pedal.

The only sound left in the empty tunnel was the sound of tires scraping against the ground.

The next second, his figure brushed past me.

I don't want to think about what's behind Lucien's actions, but in the end, I always find an excuse to convince myself.

My eyes moved to the rear-view mirror and was surprised to find him dropping a turn directly in the tunnel and chasing after me.

The sound of accelerating tires kept approaching, and before I knew it Lucien's car was rushing through the tunnel alongside me-

Immediately after that, he passed me instantly and drove in front of me, dropping his speed.

I was so distracted by him that I simply stopped.

I got out of the car angrily.

He was still sitting in his seat; I don't know what he was thinking.

MC: Lucien, you're insane!

He looked at me through the car window, then slowly opened the door and stepped out.

MC: What do you want? Take me back?

MC: Or… are you going to say something to me?

My heart spilled out that small emotion through my mouth earlier than my brain did.

Lucien: Miss Nox.

He spoke, his tone steady.

Lucien: You seem to have forgotten to return one thing to me.

Lucien slowly reached out his hand and spread his palm.

His eyes skimmed deliberately over his own left chest pocket, with a pen cap pinned to it.

I froze and clenched my hands bitterly.

Lucien: If you hold it that way, the pen will break.

Lucien: It is a symbol of luck, and I don't… want to lose that luck just yet.

His words were faint, and the always-flashing warning lights hit him in the face one after another.

I couldn't help but laugh when I looked at Lucien in front of me.

He can make me proud of who I am, or he can make me fall apart.

Only Lucien could do such a thing, right?

I took the pen, which had been carefully wrapped in a handkerchief, and gently placed it in his hand.

He wasn't annoyed, just took the pen, took out a card and my cell phone from his pocket, and handed them to me.

The card is all gold, the one I picked up at the Wish Club.

Lucien: We're even.

I took the card, looked at it, and calmly tucked it back into my pocket.

Lucien: NW now temporarily lifted its observation of you, but it does not mean that they will never be suspicious of you.

I tried to pull out a smile and forced myself to swallow the sourness in my throat.

MC: Thank you for your advice, Professor Lucien.

He smiled, put the pen securely on its cap, and pinned it back to his pocket.

Lucien: I hope you can be so lucky next time too.

With that, Lucien turned to leave.

MC: Wait a minute.

I called out to him as I once again took the car key he gave me out of my pocket.

MC: Since we are already out of the NW control area, there is no reason for me to continue driving your car. Let's just part here, Professor Lucien. Now we're really even.

Without waiting for a response from him, I passed him and stubbornly made my way to the front of the tunnel.

There was a delay in the voice of the vehicle starting behind me, and I gritted my teeth.

There was no turning back.

[Chapter 20-19]

My phone was fully charged.

I didn't want to think about the reason behind this, called a car on the side of the road and went back home.

The rain has been pouring down until now, and I'm soaked to the bone, with my sticky clothes clinging wetly to my body.

MC: It really sucks…

I sighed and entered the house in a muddle.

There is a feeling of being a world away.

I numbly took a hot shower, didn't blow my hair, and collapsed straight into bed.

I fell instantly into a drowsiness.

I don't know how long I slept, only that I felt groggy all the time and that I would fall into a deep sleep again when I turned over.

Finally, I was woken up by hunger.

My stomach was grumbling and my head was throbbing with pain.

I struggled to get up, dragging my tired body, and poured myself a cup of hot water.

There were sudden footsteps outside the door, and my hand hovered in mid-air.

That footstep was a little slow, and it seemed to linger for a moment before passing my door.

I subconsciously held my breath.

The footsteps sounded again, and it passed next door without stopping, and slowly disappeared at the end of the corridor.

Irritable and angry emotions inexplicably rushed to my mind; I suddenly do not want to stay here for a minute.

I don't want to be influenced by him all the time.

The memory goes back to a long time ago, our separation was also in a rainy night.

At that time, after he moved out of the place, I packed all his things together overnight and returned them all to him.

I don't know if it was out of anger, but I quickly packed a suitcase and a few bags.

Since I didn't want to trouble Anna and the others, I quickly contacted an agent and asked him to help me find a simple apartment near the company that I could move in at any time.

Caixia Residence.

I looked at the unfamiliar neighbourhood’s name and decided it didn't matter.

After doing this series of actions, I carried my luggage and left my house.

The corridor was quiet and there was not a single movement coming from next door.

Where did he go?

As soon as this thought popped up, I pinched myself hard.

Don't think about it.

I took a deep breath and carried my suitcase down the stairs.

I arrived at the garage, when I got into the car, When I inadvertently saw a very familiar car parked next to my parking space, I felt angry.

Lucien's car had actually driven back and parked next to my car as usual?

I can' t even begin to describe how I feel right now.

Finally, I was so angry that I gave a direct laugh, after putting the luggage first into the trunk of the car, took out a long nail from the toolbox, and flung the hammer in my hand-

-and stood in front of Lucien's car.

I looked around the area, at the CCTV that was pointed straight at me, and hesitated.

But only for a moment.

I lifted the hammer and poked the long nail into Lucien's tire, one at a time.

I stabbed Lucien's four tires all over with hatred, and finally patted the dust on my hands and drove away.

After the girl's car disappeared around the corner of the parking lot, a figure slowly stepped out of the shadows around the corner.

Lucien walked up to the car and looked at the four tires that were completely punctured, and smiled.

His hand stroked the roof of the car, and his tone was not the least bit resentful.

Lucien: Thank you for taking the pain for me.

At this moment, the phone rang, Lucien swept a glance at the screen, the softness in his eyes instantly coated with a layer of ice.

Lucien: It's me.

Lucien: That door hasn't opened since the last time was open for a split second. We still need more tests.

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Next Lucien’s Chapter-> S2 Chapter 24

[makeste]

if there is a timeskip, how far ahead do you think horikoshi will move along the story?

okay, so... I sat here for a while trying to work out how to phrase this less harshly lol, but I think I’m just gonna be blunt: I really, really hope that Horikoshi does not give us any kind of timeskip. there are precious few things that could potentially push me to quit this series, but a timeskip is one of them. I’m not saying that to be dramatic, I’m saying it just as a fact, because it’s happened to me multiple times before. in my experience, nothing else out there ruins a story as easily or effectively as a timeskip.

but let me try to break down and explain my loathing of them a bit more in depth.

1.) they make it so the audience misses out on character development. this is probably the thing I hate the most about timeskips. so here’s the thing; there are two different kinds of shounen timeskips. the type where the characters (mostly) stay together throughout the timeskip (think Naruto), and the type where the characters split apart during the timeskip (think One Piece). and I hate both of them equally, and let me explain.

I am reading the series because I am invested in the characters and their relationships. I want to see these relationships grow and evolve. timeskips make that impossible, because the whole point of a timeskip is that it skips right over everything so the audience doesn’t get to see it. and so, if the characters stay together during the timeskip, that’s a huge chunk of time during which their relationships are continuing to evolve, and the audience is missing out on all of that. that’s like starting a book and then finding that the entire middle section of it is blank. like, sorry about that, we decided this part wasn’t important enough to write down. if you’re lucky we might show you little bits and pieces of what happened during flashbacks, but otherwise you’ll just have to deal with it. boooo.

on the other hand, if the characters all go their separate ways to train on their own during the timeskip, then in a way that’s even worse. like yes, we’re technically not missing out on any relationship development, because no relationship development is even happening. those relationships are just put on hold for the duration of the timeskip. like, to use One Piece as an example, that means that the crew was together for like six months or however long, and then they all split apart for two whole years. they were apart for four times longer than they were ever together as a crew! like, you brought this found family together and bonded them so strongly only to rip them apart again?? for two years?? and for what! so that they could become boringly overpowered?? well, speaking of --

2.) they make fights predictable and/or disappointing. now for me, this one isn’t quite as bad as the character development one, but that’s mostly because I don’t care about fights as much. that said, post-timeskip fights are usually a dime a dozen, and I hate it. because here’s the thing: the whole purpose of the timeskip was to power up the character offscreen, so that they come back ready to kick more ass. which is great in theory, but in practice, post-timeskip fights tend to feature one of two brands of disappointment. either the protagonist character powered up so much that they easily win the fight, or else they still struggle even after all of that training and effort. the latter is just frustrating, because it’s like, so then what even was the point? but meanwhile, the former is also disappointing in its own way, because there’s no challenge anymore. yes it’s cool for like two seconds, but then what? if all I wanted was to watch someone reliably and effortlessly kick ass all day, I’d go become a fan of a bandwagon sports team. for me, the appeal of shounen is that the characters are learning and growing and struggling. if you make it easy for them then where’s the fun in that? if your character no longer faces any real obstacles then it stops being an interesting story.

and last but not least, 3.) they change the tone of the series (usually for the worse). so this one is interesting because this is one of the main reasons why a lot of people advocate for timeskips in the first place. ‘they help to make the series more mature’, or something along those lines. people are interested in seeing what kinds of storylines would open up with an older, more experienced cast of characters.

except that when people say more mature, what they usually mean is one of two things. either more romance, or else darker/grittier story content (read: more character deaths). which, just speaking personally, I have approximately zero interest in either of those things. if I wanted a grimdarker shounen series I’d be reading Attack on Titan instead. if I wanted more romance, I would read... well actually don’t really know what I’d read lol, because that’s kind of the point I’m trying to make here -- I don’t read romance, because I’m not interested in it (insert aromantic disclosure here). as an element of a more complex story, sure, that’s fine. but as a focus, I’d just as soon not. nine times out of ten I will lose interest in it. that’s 100% a personal preference there of course, but yeah.

anyways, but the point is, I started reading this coming of age story about teenagers at a superhero academy because I like coming of age stories! I like reading about younger characters and their adventures, learning about themselves and the world around them, making mistakes and getting stronger and the like. this is a specific genre that has a specific appeal to me. there’s an idealism and an optimism inherent in it, and I really don’t want the series to go changing that up. especially if there’s no need to change it up. which imo there really isn’t. as it stands, BnHA is already an unexpectedly mature story in a lot of ways, and it’s already exploring a lot of darker and more complex themes as it is, and doing an excellent job of it imo. basically, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. most of the time you’ll just end up ruining what was so appealing about the series to begin with.

so yeah! thus concludes my impromptu rant post about timeskips lol, and I’ll just belatedly add in a disclaimer as well that this is just my own opinion of course, and ymmv. but for me personally, I think that shounen series in particular rarely come out better after a timeskip (in fact I can’t think of any off the top of my head to tell the truth). also in BnHA’s case I really don’t think there’s any need for one at all. maybe if we get another short one, like the three-month timeskip that took place just before the start of this arc. but even then, there is just so much going on currently in the manga that it would feel weird to just fast-forward through it. TomurAFO is still on the loose. Dabi just blew up hero society as we know it. All Might is prophesized to die in the near future. the entire Billboard Top Ten was pretty much wiped out. and so on and so forth, and that’s not even getting into all of the character development that recently took place.

it just feels like things are too chaotic right now to skip ahead very far. I want to see what’s going to happen in the immediate aftermath of all this. and I don’t feel like the villains will leave the heroes alone to recover for very long. like, I can’t really figure out where someone would even put a timeskip, I guess is what I’m saying? there’s nowhere that feels natural. I could see them skipping a few weeks ahead maybe, but no more than that. anything more, and one has to assume that Tomura simply comes back to wipe out the rest of the heroes and/or the world lol. unless they shove him into another cryotube or something, I suppose.

so yeah, I think we’ll either get a very short timeskip or none at all. at least I am keeping my fingers crossed for as much. I don’t think it needs to happen or should happen. again, ymmv, but at any rate that’s my answer.

[blitzturtles]

Title: Darkness, Imprisoning Me

Rating: Mature (implied/past sexual abuse and other warnings in the notes)

Fandom: JoJo's Bizarre Adventure: Golden Wind

Pairing(s): (Platonic) Bruno Bucciarati & Pannacotta Fugo

Summary: He can’t breathe. Can’t think. The darkness reaches out for him, wrapping its fingers around his wrists and pulling him forward until he’s off balance, and all he can do is scream and beg for someone to come. They won’t; they never do. He’s going to die here, like this, suffering and alone.

Notes: Trigger Warnings: Past Child Sexual Abuse, Past Non-Con/Rape, Past Child Abuse, Trauma, PTSD/Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Pannacotta Fugo's Anime Backstory. Everything is alluded to, not detailed, but Panna is having a panic attack that could be highly triggering.

Fugo's abuse is heavily implied to have been more extensive than in the anime; Bruno shares a similar backstory from his early days with Passione.

I got the idea to write this after writing Bonding Experience, but the two stand alone.

-

He can’t breathe. Can’t think. The darkness reaches out for him, wrapping its fingers around his wrists and pulling him forward until he’s off balance, and all he can do is scream and beg for someone to come. They won’t; they never do. He’s going to die here, like this, suffering and alone.

Someone grabs him from behind, and the darkness retreats a little-- lets go of his wrists long enough for him to turn and swing on the newcomer. It’s now or never. He has to get away. He has to-

“Fugo,” the voice is firm, familiar, and it stops Fugo in his tracks. A pair of wide, blue eyes look down at him with alarm.

Fugo feels sick for making him worry, but he can’t fight the panic. The hand on his arm burns against his skin, and he needs to break free. To run and never look back.

“Pannacotta,” Bucciarati says, voice softer now.

It’s enough to take the fight right out of the teenager. He goes limp. Accepts the inevitable for what it is. He isn’t meant to know what it is to be safe. Isn’t meant to be free. It’s been one thing after another since he could form words (and chose not to for years. No one wants him when he’s difficult.)

Bucciarati is talking, Fugo realizes belatedly. His lips are moving, but the words fall short in the distance between them. There’s an odd, pained expression on the man’s(-- no, he’s only seventeen, not even legally able to drive yet--) face before he withdraws his hold on Fugo entirely.

Silence stretches out between them painfully. Bucciarati looks like he’s warring with himself internally, and it’s all Fugo has to focus on. If his eyes shift even the slightest, the darkness will return. It’ll drag him under faster than he can blink. Too fast for him to process, and too fast for him to fight. It never lets him get away twice.

“Okay,” Bucciarati says, seemingly startling the both of them. He looks almost as tired as Fugo feels now. “Let’s start with some water and a place to breathe, alright? I won’t touch you,” I promise. He doesn’t have to say it; Fugo can hear it in his tone. He nods, numbly, in response and allows himself to be led.

Bucciarati pours each of them a glass and slides Fugo’s across the counter toward him. He nurses on his own like it’s something much stronger.

“If you want to-”

“I don’t.”

Bucciarati presses his lips into a thin line, but he nods his head, “I understand.”

“Do you?” Fugo snarls out before he can stop himself. He reels back at his own words and curls inward. This is the one person-- aside from his grandmother-- that has offered him nothing but kindness, and here he is trying to chase him off like everyone else.

“I do,” Bucciarati says with a graveness to his tone that strikes Fugo to his core.

“Oh.”

Bucciarati hums in place of a response. It takes him another moment before he opens his mouth again, “I wish that I could offer you a solution, but I don’t have one… I do find that not being alone is surprisingly helpful, but I understand if you’d prefer it.”

“No,” Fugo says quickly. Too quickly. Please don’t leave. He can’t fight it alone. Something breathes down his neck. He jumps slightly, but there’s no one there when he turns. “I don’t think I can- I mean, I-”

“I understand,” Bucciarati repeats with a small smile; one that’s meant to be reassuring. Fugo thinks it is, if only slightly. “You should try to lie back down for a little while, even if you don’t sleep. I won’t leave.”

Fugo knows he must look awful. He feels it. His eyes burn from unshed tears and sleepless nights. He wants nothing more than to fall into a peaceful, dreamless sleep, but he hasn’t succeeded in that in what feels like weeks. The moment he closes his eyes, it all comes rushing back, and it’s only a matter of time then, before they find him.

He contemplates over his options for another moment-- Bucciarati never presses him; Fugo can barely comprehend his patience-- before he finally nods. It’s small, but enough.

“Good,” Bucciarati smiles, “I have a book I’ve been meaning to get into for awhile now. If you don’t mind a little light?”

“No, it’s-” welcome, really. It might chase away the worst of his thoughts. The hands-- the gripping, pulling-- Fugo shakes his head to rid himself of the thoughts (the memories, but admitting that’s what they are makes it too real.) “It’s fine.”

“You can come with me, if you’d like. It’ll only take me a second,” Bucciarati sets his glass down in the sink, evidently with the intention of cleaning it later.

Fugo makes no comment, only mirrors his actions and follows after Bucciarati. He’s aware that he’s being treated like a child. A fragile, traumatized child that can’t even handle sleeping in his own room. In the dark. Alone(; he’s never alone.) He’s thirteen and acting like he’s four. It would be humiliating if he had the energy to be humiliated.

Bucciarati retrieves his book and his clunky phone. He mutes it before he stuffs it into the pocket of his sleep pants, but it’s notable that he almost never goes without it. Ever at the whim of the mafiosi that stand above him. Fugo knows he’s lucky to have Bucciarati; to be shielded the way he’s starting to understand that Bucciarati isn’t. Or wasn’t. He hopes it’s wasn’t.

Fugo’s room is nothing to look twice at. There’s nothing about it that particularly stands out, despite Bucciarati’s many offers to buy whatever catches his eye. It’s all more places for the darkness to hide. Too much noise to process. He prefers the simplicity of a bed, a desk, something to keep his clothes in, and his mountain of school books.

Speaking of the bed, Fugo can’t help staring at it like it might open up in the middle and develop enough teeth to devour him. He stares at it from the doorway, fingers clenching against the frame. His last nightmare begins to filter into his thoughts, and he backpedals so fast that his back hits Bucciarati’s chest. Hands come out to steady him, then let go almost immediately.

“You can try mine,” Bucciarati offers without missing a beat.

“Okay,” Fugo manages to choke out. He all but darts past Bucciarati, having to duck partway to do so. He can’t be anywhere near that bed any longer, and it’s ridiculous. Nothing bad has ever happened in that bed. Not outside of his own head. He can’t keep running like this, yet here he is. Already halfway to Bucciarati’s room.

The older teen follows with quiet, yet deliberate steps. There’s enough noise to let Fugo know he’s there without sending him into a panic. It’s something for him to focus on. Bucciarati doesn’t make noise. He moves like a natural born killer: in absolute silence, yet he’s too compassionate to be just a killer. He thinks about the smallest things and sacrifices his own comfort for Fugo’s.

Fugo doesn’t get it. He’s nothing. There’s nothing he can offer that someone else can’t. He knows Bucciarati thinks that his anger is worth something, but Fugo thinks it’s worth about fifteen swats (if memory serves) and little else.

“Are you sure?” Fugo asks once he’s standing in front of Bucciarati’s bed and no longer has a path forward to focus on. He doesn’t want to invade Bucciarati’s space the way he’s already doing to his time.

“I am,” Bucciarati says easily. He drops himself into a nearby chair-- surprisingly large and fluffy looking. The man doesn’t seem the sort for unnecessary luxuries (when else could it possibly come into use?), yet here they are. He flicks on a small lamp sitting on the nearby desk. “I’m not using it right now, and, unless you’re particularly concerned about my germs, I don’t think it matters much where you sleep.”

“I’m- no, it’s not that,” Fugo frowns and rubs absently at his arm. He can live with whatever cross-contamination that he picks up. He spends too much time in close proximity to Bucciarati to really have to worry about that anyways. (Besides, Fugo’s the one that’s going to taint it.)

He crawls into bed after another moment of hesitation and pulls the blankets up to his ears, as if he can block out anything that might come after him. Bucciarati’s scent surrounds him, and he has to admit that it’s a welcomed distraction from his thoughts. He closes his eyes and tries to clear his thoughts, but that’s easier said than done, and he’s popping his eyes open less than a second later.

Bucciarati pretends to not be watching him from the top of his book. His eyes shift downwards slightly when Fugo’s red irises look up, but they both know he’s been caught.

“Can you-” Fugo licks his lips in response to the way his mouth runs dry. He opens his mouth again to try to finish his request, but his cheeks heat up and he chokes on his next words. “Never mind,” he says instead.

But Bucciarati is nothing if not perceptive, so he sets down his book and stands to his full height. He steps closer to the bed in long, slow strides. “I’ll stay above the blankets, alright?”

“No, that’s-” Fugo swallows. That’s hardly fair. He doesn’t want to make Bucciarati more uncomfortable than he already is. Why can’t he stop ruining things?

“It’s fine, Pannacotta,” Bucciarati slips onto the bed and settles himself next to Fugo, facing toward him. His knees press against Fugo’s legs, but their contact is otherwise limited. “I use to sleep on my papa’s boat,” there’s something glassy in his tone then, but he continues, “I assure you this isn’t nearly as uncomfortable.”

Fugo snorts a small sound that surprises the both of them. They settle into a more relaxed sort of silence. Exhaustion finally begins to outpace the memories, allowing for Fugo to close his eyes without flinching and immediately opening them again.

He presses closer to Bucciarati without realizing and doesn’t try to rip away when Bucciarati carefully hugs him closer. His limbs and eyelids grow equally heavy until sleep envelops him fully.

The next time he awakens, it’s to find Bucciarati unconscious, snoring quietly in the dimly lit room and looking more relaxed than Fugo thinks he’s ever seen him. It has a calming effect on his own nerves; one that allows him to slip seamlessly back into nothingness.

[slashscowboyboots]

The Stars Are a Part Of Us: The Brains Of This Outfit

This my “Almost Famous” inspired groupie fic, with appearances by @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands (Celestia/Alessia), @sexcoffeeandrockandroll (Absinthe/Amy) and @no-stone-no-bone (Velvet), plus yours truly as Karen.  This is a pretty dark fic, with VERY mature themes and smut.  Cross-posted on AO3

Tag list @izzysdenimjacket ​ @no-stone-no-bone ​ @sexcoffeeandrockandroll @awrestlinggirlwholoves80sbands ​ @smokeandmirrorz ​ @sodalitefully ​ @roger-taylors-car ​ @lost-in-the-80s @whisperess33 ​ @shawolat​ ​@80snikki @rumoured-whispers

Warnings: Underage sex, drug use, drinking, implied violence.  18+ ONLY

1987

This must be her.

Izzy sat up straighter, watching as a short blonde shuffled toward the back of the bus, a huge bag on her shoulder and carrying a pillow in her arms.  She didn’t notice him sitting in the next to the last seat, and she flopped down on the one behind him, setting down her pillow and leaning against it, then rifling through her purse till she found a book.

Bella Donna. The most beautiful one of all.  She certainly was pretty, he thought, with her long blonde waves and huge blue eyes.  She dressed like Stevie Nicks’ runaway progeny too, all ruffles and lace and faded jeans, although instead of Stevie’s platforms she wore a pair of snakeskin cowboy boots.  

I’ve never seen a groupie play hard to get, he chuckled to himself.  She must be something else.  Watching her turn a page, he noticed her full lips pursing as she read the text.  He couldn’t make out what the title was, but he could see a long-haired bare-chested hunk and a bosomy babe spilling out of her bodice in a passionate clinch on the cover.  

Oh, shit, she’s reading romance novels.  Probably wants me to seduce her.

 Izzy didn’t think he was quite up to that.  

87 had been rough on him so far.  Getting busted on a possessions charge (thankfully, it hadn’t included a “with an intent to sell,” although that had been exactly his intention), sentenced to rehab and now on probation, with orders he continue to be piss tested on the road.

It was a miracle he was allowed to leave the country, but his lawyer (who was far too good to be in his pay scale, Izzy noted) argued that his client’s ability to earn a living shouldn’t be hampered by his arrest.  (The fact that his paying profession had led to his arrest wasn’t lost on him either.)  To his amazement, the judge had agreed, and Geffen, desperate to recoup their investment and make a little scratch before the band killed themselves, sent them with The Cult on a tour of Canadian hockey rinks.  Woo hoo.  

Just before the tour started, he and Niv were approached in a shitty dive by a curvy brunette introducing herself as Absinthe and claiming she was one of the Road Wives.  

“Heard of us?” she asked, coyly batting her eyelashes.

Izzy took a sip from his Coke and nodded.  Yes, he’d heard of all of them.  The Flying Garter Girls, the GTO’s, the Road Wives.  All conglomerates of groupies who traveled with bands and made life on the road even more colorful and chaotic.

“Of course you have.  It’s an honor to travel with the Wives.”

Izzy rolled his eyes and lit a cigarette, blowing the smoke from his nose.  “And you’ve selected us, I suppose.”

Absinthe smiled, the contrast of her crimson pout with her white teeth and skin visible even in the dim light.  “We have.  Our leader Velvet has chosen Axl as her traveling companion.” 

Niven smirked, and Izzy raised his eyebrows.  “Has this already been decided?” he said quietly.

Those red lips formed a tight line.  “No.  Axl said to take this up with you.  ‘Izzy has the final word,’ he said.”

He took another drag, and she leaped at the opportunity to speak.  “There’s uhh, four of us, and Celestia has picked Slash, and I,” she smiled, and Izzy swore he saw devil horns poke out of her dark hair, “I settle down with no man, but I’ve spent time with your drummer and won’t mind repeating that experience.”

He flicked his ash from his cigarette, bored disinterest on his unsmiling face.  “And Duff is married.”

She swallowed, then nodded.  “Yes, Duff is engaged, and has cordially informed us he will not require our services.  Shame, there’s a tree I’d like to climb again and again.”

Izzy lit a new cigarette with the end of the first one and ground the butt out, then leaned forward on the table and said, “Shame, because I say no to the whole shooting match.”

The whites of her black-lined eyes became enormous.  “Wait, you haven’t heard who’s with you.”

“I don’t care who’s with me,” he said, in a quiet but firm voice.  “I’m on fucking probation and I don’t need any more headaches.  And I damn sure don’t need four chicks we have to babysit.”

“Hear her out,” Niven snickered.  “I gotta hear about the whore that wants you.”

Absinthe licked the front of her teeth.  “Bella Donna.  The most beautiful one of all,” she said softly.

Izzy shook his head.  “Nope.  I’m not traveling with anyone fucked up or underage.”

“She’s 21.  And she blows a gasket over drugs.”

Niven elbowed Izzy.  “She sounds right up your alley, mate.”

Izzy shifted in his seat, rolling the end of his cigarette in the ashtray as he chewed the inside of his cheek.  

“She and I went to school together, and we’re older than the other girls.  We keep them in line.  They will not cause you any problems on the road.  You have my word.”

Izzy slid his eyes to Alan, who shrugged.  “Canada’s cold, Izz.”

Absinthe smiled.  

He still wasn’t convinced.  “She doesn’t use?  Cause I’ve never heard of a groupie who didn’t.”

She shook her head.  “Reads us the riot act if we do.  She smokes weed every now and then, but I don’t even think she’s done that in the last six months.”  She batted her eyes, sensing his interest.  “Drinks the occasional beer, but she’s normally our DD.”

Izzy sighed, then downed the last of his Coke.  “All right.  One fuckup, and I don’t care what it is, if one of you broads even breaks a nail, your asses are heading home.  Put that in the tour budget Niv, four bus tickets back to LA if any of them get the hiccups.”  He stood up.  “I’m not joking.”

No, a seduction was not something he was up to.  Maybe a quick fuck when the bus got dark, if she loosened up a little.  Normally, groupies sucked you off as a way of saying hello, but this one had tromped on past him and buried her nose in a book.

Honey, is that any way to welcome your man?

He leaned over the bus seat, carefully studying her.  She wore a moonstone ring on one hand, a crystal ball set in a pair of hands ring on the other one, and gigantic sparkly hoop earrings.  He didn’t especially understand this Stevie Nicks fixation, but if memory served, she’d fucked her way through Fleetwood Mac and the Eagles, so as long as Rhiannon here didn’t wear a chastity belt, it was fine by him.

He tilted his head and asked, “Aren’t you going to say hi?”

Her eyes darted up from her page, then back down.  “Hi.”

He had another great view of the top of her head.  “Is this any way to act?”

She turned a page, her eyes not leaving her book.  “I wasn’t aware I was a bother.”

Since Izzy’s arrest, patience was not something he had large reserves of.  “Are you really going to do this?” he snapped.

Her eyes met his then, and he had a second to register how long her eyelashes were before he realized how irritated she was.  “Do WHAT, may I ask?” she growled, her voice hard.

Izzy was thrown, but he shrugged it off.  Maybe this is foreplay to her.  “Why aren’t you in my lap right now?  Daddy’s had a rough day.”

She went completely, utterly still, then asked, “What?”

A little voice in his head (something he heard much more frequently now that he was sober) told him something was off, but he blurted, “You’re my whore and I shouldn’t have to beg you to blow me.”

He watched her cheeks flush, then the sides of her neck, and he belatedly realized that this was someone you didn’t piss off.  To his relief, she didn’t reach into her purse, but instead slammed her book shut and gritted, “Who told you I was your whore?”

“Well, I see you two have met,” Absinthe said, smiling as she sat down next to her.

“She did,” Izzy said, tipping his chin up, not taking his eyes off the blonde.

“Amy Louise, do you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”  She glanced up at Izzy.  “Are you telling people I’m ‘Bella Donna the wonder groupie’ again?”  Closing her eyes, she muttered, “Because you know how much I hate that.”

“Ahh,” Absinthe answered, “well, possibly.   But you really should get to know Izzy.”

Her eyes darted back to him.  “I’m good,” she snapped.  “I think I know all I need to know.”

“What’s the hell’s that supposed to mean?” he growled.

“It means what you think it means.”  She turned to Absinthe.  “You are going to stop calling me ‘Bella Donna’ or I am going to make you stop.  You got that?”

“Yes.”  Shoulders slumping, Absinthe stood up and walked back to the front of the bus.

Izzy watched as the blonde laid her forehead on her palm, then reached into her bag and lit a cigarette with trembling hands.  She looked up at him.  “Did you get that, Hoss?” she said in a tired voice.  “I’m not ‘Bella Donna,’ and I’m definitely not your whore.”

He nodded, then a small voice said, “Sissy?  Is that my Sissy?” A younger girl with brown hair sat down next to her, and she immediately hugged her, then laid her head on her shoulder.

“I love you, Sis,” the younger girl said.

“I love you, too, Celly Belly.”

“Who’s that?”

“That’s Izzy.”

“Hi, Izzy, I’m Celestia.”

“Hi.”

“Izzy, this is my sister, Karen.”

“We’ve met,” Karen said icily.

“Why don’t you like him?  He’s cute.”

Karen looked at her sister in horror.  “He’s a drug dealer.”

“Former,” Izzy said.

“And a junkie.”

“Also former.”

“He has a girlfriend.”

“Nope, she left me when I went to rehab.  For another guitarist with better drugs.”

“He’s cute.  You should bang him.”

“Celestia.  That’s not why you sleep with people.”

“Yes, it is,” Celestia and Izzy said in unison.

Karen rolled her eyes.  “That’s not why I sleep with people.”

“Have you talked to Steve?” Celestia asked.

Karen breathed out a sigh.  “No, not since he took up with that model.  Catriona.”

“Steve is an idiot,” Celestia said, lighting up a cigarette.  “I heard their record is multi platinum.”

“Yeah, they brought Mutt back.”  Karen said.  “When you sell that many records, that’s when the models show up.”

“Yeah.”  Celestia blew out a plume of smoke.  “Did you bring your hat?”

Karen crossed her arms and slumped in her seat.  “Yeah.”

 “Yay!”  Celestia squeezed her.  “ I know you don’t want to be ‘Bella Donna’ anymore, but I love it when you are.”  She looked up at Izzy, who was still watching them.  “I bet he could make you forget Steve.”

“I’m good.”  Karen tightened her arms and scowled.

“Sissy, please be nice to Izzy.”

“Why?”

“Because I really like Slash.  And Izzy will make us go home if we don’t behave.”

Karen looked at Izzy, then Celestia.  “You really want to stay?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.”

“Celestia?” a voice called.  “Baby, where are you?”

Celestia said, “I gotta go.  I love you, Sis.”

“Here,” Karen said, reaching into her bag and pulling out a handful of condoms.  “Don’t fuck him without one.  I don’t want any more doctor’s visits.”

Celestia tucked them inside her waistband of her microshorts, then kissed Karen’s cheek.  “I’m not going to get in trouble again, I promise.”  As she stood up, she smiled at Izzy, then squealed, “Slashy!”

Izzy lit a cigarette and smirked at Karen.  “Well, that was just absolutely fucking touching, but you twats are hitting the pavement the first stop we make.”

“No, we’re not.”

“Oh, yes, you are.”

Karen narrowed her eyes.  “That girl is 16.  Velvet is 17.  And you’re planning to take them into another country to have sex with them, which the last time I looked was a criminal act.”

“Not if we dump your asses out before we hit the border.”

“I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

“Well, you’re not.  I’m on probation and I don’t need this bullshit.”

“Yes, let’s talk about that.  You do realize any of these girls, myself included, though I wouldn’t, can at any time say, ‘He raped me?’   ‘He hit me?’  Now for anyone else in this band, that would be any given Tuesday, but for you?  You have a lot more to lose.”

Izzy’s eyes widened.  

“I mean, Absinthe told you I was your whore, and obviously that’s not true.  We’re liable to say just anything.”

He shifted in his seat, feeling a chill run down his back.

“Where are we stopping anyway?  McDonald’s?  There’s always a cop there with nothing to do.  Maybe he’ll have time for a damsel in distress.”

Izzy swallowed.  “What do you want?” he gritted, knowing she had the upper hand.

“You can show us ‘twats’ a little respect, for starters.”

“That’s rich, coming from you,” he spat.  “Your ass is chapped because I was a dealer.”

“Hoss, don’t make me play my ace.  Cause I have four of them, and I ain’t on probation.”

He ground his molars together.  “What else?”

“We stay, and you provide us with basic human necessities.  A place to sleep, food, and shelter.”

“And?”

“Take us backstage.”

“That’s a given.”

She shrugged.

“Then what?”

“Then your band runs around with empty balls and everyone is happy happy happy.  ‘Cept you, you’re on your own with that.”  She crossed her arms.  “And I make sure no one is a headache.  You’ll never know we’re here.”

“Can I believe you?”

She directly met his gaze.  “Yes.”

“How do I know that?”

“I’m not a liar.  I’ve been honest about everything so far.”

Why didn’t I meet you first?  It would’ve saved a shitload of time.  “Why are you here?” he snapped.

“Because your band has a body count, Stradlin.”

“The fuck are you talking about?”

“Todd Crew.  Slash shot him up, did he not?”

Izzy took a deep breath.  “He says he didn’t.”

“Do you believe that?”

“What I believe is none of your fucking business.”

“I heard he did, and Todd died in his arms.”

Izzy lit a cigarette and looked away.  “We, ah, we were all gutted when he died.”

“Well, my baby sister is sleeping with Slash, and I want to make sure that is an isolated incident.”

Izzy took a drag.  “It is.  None of us are on smack anymore.  Slash just drinks now, and I can’t do fucking anything.”

Karen met his eyes.  “You’ll forgive me if I’m not entirely swayed by your testimony.”

He shrugged.  Even though she was judgmental and unforgiving, he could see where she was coming from.  If he had a sister, he’d shit himself if she took up with Slash.  Or any of them.

She must be the brains of this outfit.  She hates us all.

Karen shot him one final filthy look, then dug a Walkman out of her purse and closed her eyes, resolutely shutting him out.

Izzy sighed, then his eyes landed a few seats ahead of him.  Duff had pledged undying fidelity to his fiancee and planned on recreationally drinking instead of fucking, and had already passed out cold, snoring loudly against the window.

I don’t have that option, Izzy bitterly thought.  It wasn’t even that he wanted to drink or raise hell anymore.  His rehab stint had opened his eyes to how close he’d skated to the edge, and just when he felt like he’d finally made it back to the land of the living, Todd had fallen into the abyss.

There’d also been the unspoken question, Is Slash going to be charged with murder?  The band had closed ranks and called all the lawyers, and in the end, no one was indicted.  Guns was already on thin ice for Axl and Slash’s separate arrests for statutory rape, and Izzy’s incarceration was the final straw.  The brass at Geffen was adamant: One more strike, boys, and your asses are done.

He titled his chin up and blew out a plume of smoke.  He hadn’t had many plans for this tour, but he had expected to spend it in the arms of a submissive woman.  Sex hadn’t been forbidden by the terms of his probation, not yet anyway, and he’d been, well, enchanted by the idea of a babe who didn’t get fucked up and yet was enthusiastic to do his bidding in the sack.  He could slap himself now for believing such a creature even existed.

He stole a glance at Karen, whose head had slumped forward.  Even in her sleep, she looked weary, beautiful but worn out.  He realized now, if Absinthe’s description was right, she was just a nice girl looking after her sister, and Celestia’s taste in men must be exhausting if Slash was any indication.  Izzy felt his ears growing hot as he thought about how aggressively he’d approached her, even though he’d been promised she was a sure thing.  Demanding she immediately hop on his dick wasn’t what he considered finesse.

Fuck, how am I going to get laid now?  That thought was punctuated by a hushed moan from Slash, and Izzy wanted to pound his head against the seat in front of him.  He’d just have to hope that somehow Canadian groupies were very willing yet went to church frequently.

Damn, woman, you’re sure you won’t change your mind about me?  I can be romantic if you want me to.

Can’t do much about me being a dealer though.  That ship already sailed.

He heard Karen stirring behind him, and turned to watch her stretch out and cover herself with a blanket.  Since he expected to be wrapped in her arms, Izzy had packed away his own covers, so he buttoned his denim jacket and crossed his arms, sleep mercifully arriving quickly.

[cinnaminsvga]

🌸 social media au where y/n posts a fake boyfriend application on twitter as a dare but ends up seeking something real in the long run (aka how to fall in love the zillennial way) 🌸

A/N: This... fried my brain cells. I don’t know why it’s so hard for me to WRITE... I’m not sure if any of this flows properly but it’s 5AM right now, I am tired, I am jetlagged, I’ve forgotten how to speak English, but this is the best I can do and I guess that’s all that matters. Anyway, RIP Y/N you’re about to have a bad time. *megalovania intensifies* || W.C. 2.7K

prev // part 27 of ? // next masterlist here.

[updates every 6PM PST]

Despite the summer heat already dwindling as the cooler months start to settle in, the sun still shines strongly in Ilsan. Sweat drips down your back like a faucet, the shade of the trees doing little to protect you from the midday heat. Namjoon had offered to relocate to one of the small air-conditioned cafes just outside of the park, but you chose to bear the heat instead, more interested in enjoying the packed lunch his mother had prepared for the two of you and observe the people milling about.

“Your mom is a cooking goddess,” you say with a large grin, moaning unabashedly as you chowed down on her homemade kimchi. Completely immersed in the pleasure that is Mrs. Kim’s food, you forget all semblance of dignity as you make it your goal to get all the food into your body as quickly as you can. “God, her food is so fucking good. How can you even bear leaving home?”

Namjoon chuckles, eating at a significantly more humane and dignified pace. “Believe me, it was hard choosing to study in Seoul for university, but it was a sacrifice I had to make. I’m just lucky that I live relatively close, so I can visit them every once in a while.”

“Then you oughta invite me over again some time. The dinner last night? I dreamt about nothing but her galbitang,” you say with bits of food still in your mouth, but Namjoon doesn’t seem all that phased. He’s gotten used to it, or so you hope. Habits die hard when you’ve been stuck with animals (read: boys) as friends for the last ten years.

“You can come over anytime. Though I’m not sure if you would want to, since then you’ll have to keep pretending to be my girlfriend if we do…” Namjoon trails off, his gaze lowering back to his food. His lips purse, brow crumpling in that way you’ve come to realize was he was overthinking again. “N-not that you’d have to. Pretend to be my girlfriend, that is. I can p-probably just bring home some packed lunches to Seoul whenever I come over, or something then you could—“

“Namjoon,” you call out to him, snapping him out from his rambling. You place your container of food down on the grass, raising your hands up as if in surrender. Confused, Namjoon is about to ask what you’re doing before you promptly smack him (gently), grabbing his cheeks and squeezing them together until he looks like a cute (and incredibly bemused) pufferfish.

“Huwah?” Namjoon tries to speak, but your grip on his face prevents him from moving even an inch. “Y/N?”

“Namjoon, I know we’re fake dating and all and I did agree to go with you to see your parents just this one time, but is it that hard to get it through that thick skull of yours?”  you say, eyes boring into his as you try to communicate your feelings. After a few moments of staring, you sigh tiredly when the look of confusion refuses to leave his face, his eyebrows raised in both astonishment and uncertainty. This fucking idiot, you think tiredly to yourself, but it’s hard to stay annoyed at him, not when he looks so cute with his cheeks squished between your hands.

You continue, “Aren’t we friends? Doesn’t that mean I would do anything for you, even if that means pretending to be your fake girlfriend as many times as I have to?”

Realization finally dawns on Namjoon’s face, but it is quickly replaced by sheepishness. “Oh, I guesh sho…” he says dejectedly. “Showwy.”

“Good. Now stop being so insecure!” you huff, pinching his cheek for good measure before you release him. He rubs his jaw gingerly, pouting like a child who had just been scolded.

“Okay, I promise… Sorry,” he repeats, rubbing his neck in shame.

But even then… you aren’t satisfied. Not until he can really get over his insecurity, but you suppose this is going to have to suffice for now. You can tell that Namjoon still has some ongoing conflict happening inside of him that he doesn’t seem willing to share with you as of now. You desperately want to pry, but you know more than anyone how frustrating it can be when someone tries a little too hard to help you, even if getting into right up in your business comes from a place with good intentions. He deserves to set his own pace, and you are more than willing to be patient with him (most of the time, at least. Some pinching and prodding may be useful along the way.)

“I’m not gonna leave you, you know? You’re stuck with me for life unfortunately, so you’re going to have to deal with me for the rest of yours. That was my only condition when I agreed to be your fake girlfriend, remember?” you say, giggling lightly at his dumbfounded expression. “Unless you’re tired of me already? I can always leave,” you tease.

“No!” Namjoon exclaims suddenly, nearly slapping himself in the face when he brings his hand to his mouth. A few families also eating at the park look at the two of you in alarm, but Namjoon can only bow to them apologetically. When he turns back to you, his cheeks are reddened slightly, though that could also be from being under the sun for so long. He scratches his nose: another nervous tick of his. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scream like that. I just… No, I’m not tired of you. I don’t think that’s even possible. You’re one of the greatest people I know and I like hanging out with you.”

“I…” You’re shocked by his sudden proclamation, stuttering as you try to formulate a response. You cough in embarrassment, shifting your gaze elsewhere, anywhere, away from Namjoon’s earnest expression. It’s a complete 360 from the shy schoolboy persona he had just moments ago. “Thank you… I guess? I’m just… Wow, how do you do that?”

“Do what?”

“Switch modes so quickly like that? One moment you’re a bumbling buffoon and then the next second you’re saying sweet shit like it’s nothing!” You huff, hoping that your own cheeks aren’t heating up. “Seriously. Are you sure you don’t have a girlfriend?”

Namjoon lets out a short guffaw; the sound familiar to you as the one that he makes when he doesn’t know what to say. You don’t know how or when you had gotten so adept at differentiating his multiple ticks, but it makes you feel… special, for lack of a better word. You wonder if he notices things about you, too.

“I think I would be the first to know if I had a girlfriend. I suppose you’re the closest thing I have,” Namjoon says. When you look back at him, you can see that he’s smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Well, at least my parents think you’re the real deal. You were really good last night, by the way. My mom wouldn’t stop gushing about you when you went to bed.”

“Oh God, you guys talked about me when I went to bed?” You gasp in horror, worst-case scenarios flying through your head even though realistically, you know you had been perfectly normal during the entire evening. You had even practiced in front of the mirror the week before, rehearsing the lines you’d have to say should his parents ask the usual relationship questions. You memorized the story the two of you came up with: how the two of you had met, how you’d gotten together, how long you’d been dating… It was all so ingrained in your brain that it almost felt real, sometimes.

Namjoon rolls his eyes, poking you lightly on the nose. “No, it was nothing bad. You were perfect, like always. I doubt my parents could ever hate you even if they tried. You were wonderful.”

You nod slowly, still slightly unconvinced. “Okay… If you say so. I just don’t want to mess things up for you, you know?”

Namjoon slings an arm around your waist, inadvertently causing you to scoot closer to him until you could comfortably lay your head on his shoulder. You tilt your head upwards, your breath hitching when you realize how close your faces were to each other.

“I suppose we’re both dummies then, huh? I know this is hypocritical of me to say, but don’t be so insecure, okay? We got this. We’re fine.” Namjoon’s voice dips into a whisper, his forehead nearly touching yours. When he’s close like this, you can smell the kimchi in his breath; not an unpleasant scent by any means, but you do wonder if he’d taste good if you’d leaned in right now and kissed him—

“Y/N, you have rice on your chin,” Namjoon interrupts your train of thought, catching you off guard. You yelp, sitting straight up and separating from him like you had been shocked. Namjoon doesn’t seem to notice, as he seems more intent on wiping away the stray rice grains than anything else. When he flicks them away, he smiles at you endearingly, his dimples on display for your mortal eyes.

“Um,” you stammer, rubbing your chin belatedly. “T-thanks…”

“Y/N, are you okay? You’re getting kind of red. Maybe we should head back? We’ve been under the sun for a while.” He grabs his phone from his pocket, nearly dropping it as he fumbles with it before he finally manages to take a look at the time. “Oh, damn. It’s already almost 4. We better head out if you want to go look around the shopping district,” he says, packing up his mom’s containers. “Do you want to finish your food?”

You still had a bit of food left, but your appetite had strangely disappeared. So instead, you help him pack up, ready to get out of there and get your mind off of weird things. This is fine, you’re just being weird because of the bad week you had. Let’s try to relax, you remind yourself, but even you think your words sound weak.

Disgruntled and shaky, you trail after Namjoon in silence, content to just listen to him explain certain landmarks to you as you walk towards the nearby shopping street.

“I don’t know if I ever mentioned this, but if we have time, we could probably visit my old high school on our way back. There’s a small park near it where I used to hide whenever I didn’t want to go home,” Namjoon says, chuckling at the memory. “My life used to be a constant cycle of going to school and coming home to study some more, so my mom would throw an absolute fit whenever I came home late, but she could never figure out where my hiding spot was.”

You snort, smiling at the thought of a rebellious Namjoon. It’s hard to imagine, especially with how hardworking he is with all his side projects that you’ve caught glimpses of when he had shown you his workshop. “Are you sure you want to show me your spot? What if I tell your mom?”

Namjoon laughs, eyes crinkling from the sheer force of it. The sight of him laughing causes you to pause for a moment, caught off guard by how… good he looks, when he looks so honest, so vulnerable. Namjoon smiles a lot, but you’ve never seen him this cheery, like the sun had come down to earth for the day. You like it a lot; you want to be able to make him express himself honestly like that all the time.

“If you tell my mom, then she’ll know for sure that you’re the one for me,” he jokes, the remnants of his joy still present in his eyes. He winks cheekily at you, making the tips of your ears redden ever so slightly. “There are many nooks and crannies I’d love to show you around Ilsan, but we only have a weekend here, unfortunately. If you could stay another day, I could probably show you around more.”

“I mean… I could, if you want me to,” you mutter, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You inhale sharply, both yours and Namjoon’s eyes popping out when you realize what you had said.

“I just! I don’t mean to intrude, of course—“

“Y-you don’t have to stay! It was just wishful thinking, of course—“

You both speak at the same time, talking over the other as you both try to explain yourselves. You both stop speaking simultaneously as well, causing the two of you to burst into laughter. You’re doubled over, giggling as tears of mirth slide down your cheeks at the sheer ridiculousness of it all.

“God, why are we so awkward together? I thought I was bad, but I guess pairing two socially inept losers really has doubled our power, huh?” you say.

“I know. You’d think we only just met yesterday or something.” Namjoon scratches his nose bashfully, but the same honest smile is still on his face. “But if what you said was true, then… I’d love to have you around for another day, if you want to stay? Like I said, I love hanging out with you. This is honestly the most fun I’ve had in a long while,” he says shyly. He coughs into his fist, pupils shaking as he stares resolutely at your chin.

“Me… me too. I’m having a lot of fun too,” you admit, your cheeks heating up involuntarily. You both turn to look away, embarrassed by each other’s sudden confession. What is going on with me today? you wonder idly, forcing your rapidly beating heart to calm.

“Er, well. We’re almost at the shopping district,” Namjoon clears his throat, trying his best to wave off the suddenly awkward atmosphere. He points ahead, where you can see rows of shops and booths of all shapes and sizes, selling anything and everything you can imagine. “You’re the guest here, so you choose. What shop do you want to head to first?”

“That reminds me. Jimin had asked me to buy this skin product from some store around here. Let me check the brand; he texted me the photo before we left,” you say, rummaging for your phone in your bag. Admittedly, you haven’t been using your phone all day asides from taking and posting the occasional photo, keeping it on silent and do not disturb to stop unwanted text messages from disturbing your time with Namjoon. You know you had a few messages from your group chat that you’ve left to read for later, but it’s only now that you realize that you had another message waiting from a person you would rather not speak to at all.

“Oh geez, what does that whore want?” You sigh, going against your better judgment and opening it anyway. “I swear, if Seokjin is using me as a booty call now of all times, I’m going to rip his ass in two the next time I—“

“Y/N? You okay?” Namjoon asks when he notices you have suddenly stopped speaking. He had been walking continuously, assuming that you were following behind him only to find that you were frozen in place a few steps away, staring holes into your phone screen. He walks over back to you, concern flickering in his eyes when he approaches you. “Hey, what’s up? Did you get an important text or something?”

“No, it’s nothing important. It’s…” You sigh, not knowing what to say. Your lips begin to wobble as your senses are assaulted by confusion, pain, and heartache all at once—all because of a single text message. Your eyes start to well up, but you blink them away. You’re quick to wave off Namjoon’s slow growing panic at your sorry state, not wanting to ruin his day with your stupid emotional breakdown.

“Y/N. Who texted you? What is it? You can tell me, I promise I won’t judge you,” he whispers kindly, taking your free hand in his own. He rubs comforting circles into your palm, his brow scrunched up in worry as he watches you fight to keep your tears at bay. “Y/N?”

You take a shuddering breath.

[thatpinkbetch]

Bkdk Fic Rec

I’ve been inspired to write a fic rec! This one goes out to you @lonely-rabbit

At like, the end of 2018 and the beginning of 2019 I stayed up until 4am every night reading fics, and because I’m such a loser, I made a word doc to keep track of all of them so I wouldn’t forget them.... I tried organizing it by length but it got messy cause I’m ridiculous and cluttered, so sorry! (I’ll save my own for the end alskdjflsdkfj gotta self promote you know). This is going to get...really long, so I’ll put it under a read more! Also, just a heads up, these are all on ao3, in case that’s important to anyone!

Disclaimer: Any fics with mature or explicit content I will add a bolded warning for, even if it’s only a little bit. Normally most fics will be tagged as such, but some fics that are rated as teen I’ve found to be more suggestive than some of those rated as mature, so I will try to point it out where it feels necessary, for anyone who wishes to avoid it.

Fics under 1k:

Illuminate by TheQueen (269 words)

Summary: Bakugou watches the first firework launch and fights to keep his face neutral

Very short, plot is about a case of amnesia, also very cute and well written for that length! Not angsty at all imo

sweaty hands holding secrets - shounentwink (563 words)

Summary: Someone said Midoriya holds secrets in his hair.

It’s not true: He holds it tightly in his hands. Bakugou’s seen it.

I really like this writer! You’ll see quite a bit of them in this post alkdsjfalskdjf

Fics 1k - 10k:

Many sunflowers later - Jeka (2395 words)

Summary: Scholar Midoriya Izuku comes back to the person he left behind after his journey through the kingdom, the mighty dragon clan leader Bakugou Katsuki.

Day 1 of Twin Stars Week 2020: Fantasy AU.

First of all, fantasy au!!! Second of all, jeka!!! (I need to read more of your stuff!!) Anyways, so cute, such lovely, pretty writing, wonderful story telling, and they’re so in love TT_TT

Boom Badoom Boom - warschach (3429 words)

Summary: Izuku's working the kissing booth at the school fair, it just so happens Katsuki has been crushing on him since the first grade.

“Did you—“ Izuku parted his mouth with no sound leaving it, “Did you pay?”

“Yea.”

“For a kiss?”

This one’s a little silly but I love it still. It’s got a “kids in the 80′s over summer vacation” vibe, I think. I love warschach! I should read more of their writing... They have SUCH good bakudeku content! *It’s rated teen but there’s some suggestive content, just a heads up!

Hopeless Ramen-tic - lalazee (7155 words)

Summary:  Midoriya is a cute guy who works at a ramen stall and Bakugou is thirsty as hell, but has to hide it by being an asshat. Another love story.

Ah, so good TT_TT so much sass, such good plot development and story telling for a simple concept *It’s rated as teen but again, it can be suggestive at times!

I’ll share this with you, so leave it behind - yabakuboi (3508 words)

Suammry: For the sake of the story, All Might is never in need of a successor, and, when Izuku saves Katsuki from the sludge monster, encourages young Midoriya down a different path. Thus, Katsuki and Izuku part ways after junior high, as Katsuki enters U.A. and the Midoriyas move overseas. It’s later that Katsuki realizes that there’s something missing, that he drove that something away.

Years after, Katsuki finds him in the last place he looks, in the cereal aisle at the local grocery store of their childhood neighborhood.

So soft, so sweet, so good if you just want to curl up in a comfy blanket and drink hot cocoa and feel warm and cozy and a little in love

The Secret Deku Box - yabakuboi (2241 words)

Summary: “Y’know, Bakugou never, ever talks about girls,” Kaminari says, his voice thoughtful.

“And I wonder why that is.” Ashido rolls her eyes.

“I’m just curious!” Kaminari whines. Kirishima drags the box out, unlabeled and unassuming, the lid not even fully clasped over the edges. “The guy has to— Whoa, what’s that?”

Kirishima realizes a little belatedly that this is a serious breach of privacy, and Bakugou will actually murder all of them. “Nothing!” he cries, attempting to shove it back under the bed, but Ashido snatches it away.

“Please be his porn stash!” Kaminari whispers as she whips the lid off.

Cute, funny, in canon, in character, and a must read I would say! 

daisy bunches and heather branches - halcyonwhispers (5862 words)

Summary:  izuku falls in love with the foul-mouthed tattoo artist next door.

Not another flower/tattoo shop au.... aldskjflaskdjfd Okay but punk!Bakugou is ALWAYS a smart move imo

the best part of me (is the worst I can give) - halcyonwhispers (5668)

Summary: Whole sentences usually make up people’s Words, but Katsuki got stuck with a name instead.

Izuku’s name.

I am such a sucker for soulmate aus when it comes to these boys TT_TT *There is some mature content, just a heads up!

Hard to Say - halcyonwhispers (8390 words)

Summary: Izuku is a Halfling, born after his faerie father spirited away his mom and then left her behind. Never quite fitting in with the humans or any of the supernatural beings in his small town, Izuku hoped that going to a diverse college in the big city will help him finally make friends.

Katsuki’s family has been powerful witches for generations, and he’s no different. Talented and a proclaimed genius to boot, he knew he shouldn’t waste his time on this dumbass (disgustingly cute) half-blood.

Or,

two idiots fall in love and don’t get that the other’s awkward cues are just a result of romantic tension.

I am ALSO a sucker for fantasy/mythical creatures au and I LOVED this one - Bakugou absolutely unable to handle how cute Midoriya is? Perfection - but it’s unfinished, and I don’t think it ever will be continued, unfortunately TT_TT

lots to unpack (throw away the whole suitcase) - shounentwink (4315 words)

Summary: “How’d you know?” Midoriya asks.

There’s a hunch to his shoulders that wasn’t there three hours ago. Freckled shoulders are kissed sunburnt and red: he looks like someone ran him over and left him like roadkill in the sunlight. Bakugou’s working with insurance today, but he could see the sparks of green lightning even from his elevated position in their shared agency. Midoriya’s holding his thumb, cracking it over and over — it looks like he’s rubbed it raw.

“Dunno,” Bakugou says. “Maybe you’re just easy to read, nerd.”

I love this one so much, it was one of the first ones I read, it’s so good, and it’s another that really affected how I view their relationship! Idk this one just hit for me

hang the moon from us (it’s a no from me) - shounentwink (1200 words)

Summary: Midoriya’s gonna get sick of Bakugou one of these days, and then the whole ruse will be over, and the balance of power will tilt beyond salvation, but that day isn’t today and it looks like Bakugou knows it.

What an asshole.

Once again, I’m a sucker for the fantasy au... But even more, the diction, the details, the imagery...it’s absolutely all stunning here. I wish I could write this pretty

In Which Bakugou Finds His One Tru Luv - Erina (5862 words) This is the first one of a series called The Misadventures of Explodo-kill Agency!

Summary:  Welcome to the Explodo-kill agency! We can destroy your buildings, crash your cars, and help you solve one of the seven mysteries in life: who is Bakugou Katsuki's mysterious boyfriend?!

I’ll admit I’ve only read the first three but by god they are the funniest fics I’ve ever read in my life. I see that Erina has added more since the last time I checked it out! Tbh I was only interested in reading the purely bakudeku ones... (My favorite was the second one!! SO funny and cute!)

i still do - raeryn (9646 words)

Summary:  He’s losing him to pieces, but Izuku still tries to make them count. In which a battle leaves Bakugou Katsuki with amnesia, and Izuku finds himself picking up the pieces.

So, this one makes me cry. TT_TT

One Thing Straight - winningshot (9899 words)

Summary: They totally aren't.

Hints of their relationship is found in all of their friends’ social media accounts, but majority of their fans still think that Katsuki and Izuku are in relationships with anybody but each other.

It was amusing up until it became sad.

Lmao it’s a little salty but I guess I can be too. This is a social media fic! There’s multiple ships in this one, too

A Demolition Boy & his Cryptid BF - kewltie (8472 words)

Summary: Bakugou of the Demolition Squad is famous for running one of the most popular Youtube channels on the web that regularly blow shit up and jumped off a perfectly good building for shit and giggles. He's also famous for his Cryptid BF™, never appearing on camera except for a few bodyshots and all information on him is kept locked up tighter than Fort Knox, therefore drawing all sort of attention and curiosity toward his mysterious boyfriend.

Deku from Deku Explains is a hopeless chatterbox who is known for uploading 20-30 minutes video that talked about his favorite shows and comics and have one of the most devoted following on Youtube. He also can't seem to shut up about his boyfriend Kacchan, who regularly make his presence on the channel as a disembodied voice.

They should theoretically have nothing in common except a shared platform to host their content and an army of fans with an endless curiosity and devotion to their Youtubers. Vidcon is where we lay our scene and the internet is about to get a rude wake up call.

Okay kewltie is SO GOOD and very creative! The formatting is phenomenal, it’s like you’re actually experiencing a social media melt down in real time lol

be my good luck charm - writedeku (6785 words)

Summary: See, the thing is, Midoriya Izuku had been born with a curse. It’s not a curse that’s particularly visible. He doesn’t have horns, or a tortured face, and it’s not the kind of silly curse like a friend of his had way down south in Diagnor, wherein the girl had been born without the ability to say the word duck. Midoriya Izuku is just extremely unlucky.

(Or the AU in which Izuku's the world's unluckiest travelling merchant, and Katsuki is someone who may be able to help him. For a price, that is.)

Oh I adore this one! It’s so cute and such a good narrative! Nice and warm, and Bakugou trying his damnedest to be suave, and it somehow working because Midoriya is just as flustered. *Another one rated as teen but some suggestive content.

Smells Like Victory - majjale (2377 words)

Summary: Bakugou takes two steps into the room and stops, clapping a hand over his nose. “Ugh, what stinks like Deku in here?”

"Good afternoon, Bakugou. That would be the amortentia."

I must admit, not a fan of HP, but majjale...TT_TT majjale writes these two boys so well. This one is really, really good!

Cherish Me - Justaperson1718 (2376 words)

Summary: “What?”

Izuku looked back down at his menu and flipped the page, a small smile on his face. “Nothing.”

Katsuki glared at Izuku from across the table. “If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be staring at me.”

“It’s just a little funny watching you try to look your best for our date when you always look great anyway,” Izuku explained. He wouldn’t look up from his menu while he spoke, but his words remained ingrained with confidence nevertheless. He considered what he was saying to be fact, and nothing else. “Even when you’re not trying in front of the cameras, it’s still hard to take my eyes off of you.”

This is a sequel to a fic that’ll be in the next section, because it’s longer, called Manage Me. Please read that one first before this one! (Not part of a series, but they’re the same story line)

Fascinating - Justaperson1718 (1556 words)

Summary: “I’m not staring at you,” Izuku replied, his eyes focused intently on Katsuki. He’s still wearing his pajamas, sitting on his knees in their shared bed. He was awake moments before Katsuki, and waited eagerly for the other to awake.

Katsuki glanced over his shoulder after his shirt was on and glared. “You’re fucking staring at me right now.”

Izuku shook his head, humming his disapproval quietly. “I’m watching you.”

“That’s the same damn thing,” Katsuki said while searching for a pair of pants in the dresser. “Your eyes are fixated on me like I’m your life’s fucking goal or some shit.”

“I just like watching you get dressed.” Izuku tilted his head to the side and smiled softly at Katsuki’s confused stare. “I know, it’s weird. But I like it.”

*There is a little bit of implied mature content, but overall, it’s just so sweet and intimate, and I just simply adore this one.

in a place once filled with gold - dorenamryn (9226 words)

Summary: It felt strange to remember such details, for they were things a friend should know, and as far as Katsuki was concerned, he and Deku hadn’t been friends in a very, very long time. He could admit, with reluctance, that they were on the path there, now, even though they would never make it. Katsuki would die before they could get the chance.

or: There is a garden growing in Katsuki’s lungs, and he is helpless to stop it.

“Hanahaki disease” okay, I can explain myself. Okay, I can’t. In any case, you got angst with a happy ending if that’s what you’re into!

Kaleidoscope - DPRenFTW (5141 words)

Summary: Izuku is a witch. He just needs to find his familiar. Enter a boy that is a wolf, and a wolf that is a boy - with wild red eyes and sharp smiles.

And Izuku thinks:

"Oh, it's him."

Just as beautiful and fascinating as the name implies! I seriously recommend for the beautiful writing, the gorgeous world, the mythical creatures au, and the lovely bakudeku romance!

Learning Curve - sensiblysilly (4222 words)

Summary: Deku and Katsuki’s first kiss goes rather differently than planned.

And Katsuki’s quickly learning that relationships can be unpredictable - especially when taking into account the variable that is Midoriya Izuku.

This really is just a careful handling of a teenage romance where perhaps one of them may have shit they’re still working through. It’s really sweet, and a careful study at boundaries and the building of a relationship. I actually stumbled across this while looking for another with the same name and ended up pleasantly surprised. Kacchan can has a little validation, as a treat.

4/20 is a national holiday - Ereri_Garbage (

Summary: Izuku is a drug dealer that doesn't really accept the fact he's a drug dealer, Katsuki is hot as hell as shouldn't be allowed a facebook.

Happy (Late) birthday Katsuki and happy (late) 4/20. I actually half assed an edit on this one so it took longer to post than I thought it would.

Uummmm lmao yes I have a sense of humor. ;ALDSKJFLSKDJF Okay, I say that, but this is not a crack fic, it’s a good story that I enjoy with good writing, and *it has mature, content, obviously for multiple reasons here. It’s rated as mature but there are borderline explicit moments imo. It’s a fun fic and funny, too! And, ngl, it really does remind me of college... But forget about me, the bakudeku is wonderful too of course :)

Drinking Watermelon - warschach (8906 words)

Summary: For whatever reason, maybe divine fate, Izuku turned and looked over his shoulder and waved to them.

Katsuki’s heart full on stopped right then, and his fingers forgot their duty on the rails, and his body neglected its job to keep Katsuki balanced.

Izuku’s summer sweet smile fell into concern as Katsuki went airborne and cracked his skull on the porch.

or Katsuki works as a camp counselor, and Izuku is a boy made of summer heat and sunlight.

Love it when people have Bakugou as absolutely enamored with Midoriya; it’s so good and true. Anyways this one makes me like summer camp story lines. It’s funny and also cute and great writing! *It’s got explicit content, just a heads up. Warschach stories just have this youthful 80′s vibe, I don’t know how else to explain it.

there are listed buildings - semiautomatichearts (3309)

Summary: Katsuki first sees colors bloom when he is only three years old. It is timid Izuku, hiding behind the cover of his mother's leg who looks upon him with wide eyes, and Katsuki's world explodes in shades of greens and pinks and blues, and he is so startled, he begins to cry.

His life is then on defined in color, in shades his peers can't see, by the forlorn, timid stare in Izuku's eyes that always lets off more than he is willing to tell. There is a schism driven between himself and his fated other, and Katsuki strives to be better than fate, better than what is defined for him. He is more than the written pages of a book, to be cracked open and read by the gods.

He wonders if it is possible for colors to bloom for someone who will never love you back.

Ah...soulmates :) So interesting how bakudeku fits into soulmate aus like this one when they’ve known each other as kids! And when they’ve had this complex push and pull thing going on all their lives! The writing is beautiful, and so is the story!

Promise Ring - bkdkwritingsdump (3579)

Summary:  The midwest in the 1950′s is no place for boys who like kissing boys: something Izuku and Katsuki know all too well growing up there. However, the undeniable bond between the nervous science geek and the aloof delinquent will still find a way to blossom in such a desert.

Cute, sweet, makes my gay heart ache. Longing not just for the one you love, but just to feel right loving them. Very pretty story line, lovely story telling!

Fics 10k - 30k:

Fishy - warschach (19417 words)

Summary: Izuku’s convinced his hot co-worker/neighbor, Katsuki, is a mermaid-or merman- you gotta consider genders even with mythical creatures- and plans to prove it.

(or this is kinda like the show ‘Monster Quest’, except Izuku actually finds said monster, falls in love, and have sexy times.)

Another warschach! I love this one, I love how they write bakudeku, particularly as college students, their stories (at least, the ones that I’ve read) always feel so warm, like a summer’s day, but not a lazy one, one that’s playful? If that makes sense? *This one is explicit, another heads up!

Manage Me - Justaperson1718 (10756 words)

Summary: Izuku caught himself moving forward, his head tilted somewhat to the side, and his eyes shot wide open. His gaze met Katsuki’s half-lidded eyes now that he was no longer in a dreamlike state, and seeing the way Katsuki was looking at him—waiting for him—made him realize Katsuki would’ve let him do it. He might have even wanted him to do it.

“You’re both doing fabulous!” the photographer called out to them, packing his camera into his bag and getting ready to leave. “I just got word that what we have now should be good, so we’ll stop there. Thank you for your time! Lock the door on your way out after you change.”

The pair stayed frozen in place, with Izuku’s arms around Katsuki’s neck and Katsuki’s hands resting on Izuku’s waist, while the photographer and his supervisor left.

“Kacchan,” Izuku cooed once they were gone. “Did you want to…?”

Love the story, love the bakudeku! Very, very good bakudeku TT_TT very sweet *There is some mature content in here as well

point to a map (we’ve been there) - cosmicfuss (10589 words)

Summary: Serendipity / sĕr″ən-dĭp′ĭ-tē Serendipity is the occurrence of an unplanned fortunate discovery. Two men find themselves on a subway, hot coffee on one while the other is in the middle of a screaming match. After that they can't seem to stop finding each other, no matter how far they go.

I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again; this fic owns my entire soul. I love the story, the ease of their relationship, just how lovely they are together. It’s another kind of nice, fluffy fic you’d read on a bad day where you come home and curl up in a blanket and listen to a ten hour video of thunderstorm white noise. *Again, some more mature content in here

Partners - tsukithewolf (13619 words) Another series! Two parts to this one this time

Summary: It is said that in Musutafu there is a charm that one can buy at a temple that will lead you to your destined partner. They say that if the charm works, you would be able to follow the red string of fate to the person you were meant to be with. And if the person returns your feelings, they would be able to see the string as well, proving that both were meant to be.

Three-year-old Katsuki and Izuku misunderstand what the word "partner" means and discover the charm and the rumor behind it is not only true, but more than expected.

Gets a little heavy, depression, bullying, suicidal thoughts, etc. But it must get worse before it gets better, that kind of thing. I also just adore the second part (called Bond) - maybe because it’s much fluffier, what about it?

Learning Curve - iknewaman (10304 words)

Summary: “Izuku.” Uraraka repeats as she motions at the person stood next to her. Green curls, average height, and, well. Up close, not such a bad smile. Uraraka points a thumb at Bakugou and enunciates slowly, “This is Bakugou. He can speak sign language too.”

Wait. Sign language?

The stranger— well, Izuku— looks at him with a raised brow. Their free hand lifts up as they make a slight motion of the hand.‘

Really?’

*

Bored out of his mind at a house party one night Bakugou is introduced to Izuku, a deaf student who offers to help teach Bakugou sign language in exchange for a favour-- or well, is prompted into asking for a favour.

Ah, I really want to explain this one a little bit? I’d never been into fanfiction ever, only really getting into it with these boys. This was the second one I read, I remember, and it caught me off guard, and it intrigued me. It really surprised me as to what fanfiction could be. Ngl I had biased perceptions of fanfics - I used to be one of those people who thought fanfiction could never be good writing - and this one slapped me in the face with it’s subtle beauty and creative story and heart melting capabilities, and very, very real relationship and growth. Anyways it’s so cute how happy Deku is to teach Kacchan sign language TT_TT Make sure to read the tags!

The Keeper and the Sun God’s Heir - SurelyHeavenWaits (12746 words)

Summary:  The Titans' have stolen something important from Izuku, heir of the Sun God, and he wants it back.

This one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one, this one this one- Oh my god this one. Okay so what, I was a Percy Jackson kid, what about it? I love the mythical aus, particularly the god ones. But beyond that, the writing is so beautiful, just like the world, and the imagery. The bakudeku...absolutely stunning. The story itself? Incredible. Cannot recommend more. *There is explicit content in this, though I will say, it’s all in the last chapter, and all of the story is in the first two chapters. There’s also a second part as it’s a series and it’s short but it’s cute and sweet TT_TT

seven days - aaAAAaaahhhhHHHHH (10094 words)

Summary: There’s something about the green haired boy, an aura that just drew Katsuki in before he even knew his name.

[Sometimes your mind forgets, but your heart remembers]

Heed my warning: DON’T read this in front of other people. I bawl every time I read this one TT_TT I know I said I don’t like angst but AJLSKDFJALSKDFJ it has a hopeful ending! I mean yeah you’re gonna cry but...hope? :’) (that username really says it all tbh)

Fics 30k+

Notice me, nerd - useless_donut (40000 words)

Summary: Bakugou is in love with Midoriya. He doesn’t hide it, in fact it’s so painfully obvious that the entire class of 3-A has him figured out in a matter of months (days, in some cases). Too bad Midoriya is the most oblivious motherfucker out there, and Bakugou is too damn stubborn to actually ask him out.

Will the class of 3-A survive the sexual tension? Who will snap first? Someone put Bakugou out of his misery, please, before everyone else dies of second-hand embarrassment.

(a love story as witnessed by the class of 3-A)

Love the idea of Bakugou being brazen and brash, cause yeah, he is. So fucking funny though how that translates to him flirting. Gotta say, thought I was gonna cringe, but his “I’m gay af” outfit really ended up being A Look. Love the mutual pining, it really is strong in this one. *Okay, mature content in this one lads.

While You Were Sleeping - Belkacaramelka (71197 words)

Summary: The one where quirkless fanboy Midoriya Izuku rescues Pro Hero Todoroki Shouto, gets mistaken as his fiancé while he is in a coma, and gets caught up in the most unlikely fake engagement... until his childhood enemy and Todoroki's classmate Bakugou Katsuki tries to catch him out, and they both end up discovering a lot more about each other than they'd expected.

Quirkless AU based on the film; endgame BakuDeku. -- Katsuki didn’t know when the change had happened: how he had gone from asking why Todoroki chose Deku of all people, to wondering why it was Todoroki that Deku chose. Troublesome Deku, who cooed like an idiot at cats, tripped at a random catcall and sang badly. Who, despite everything, proved that it wasn’t the quirk that defined a person. Deku, who was too much, not his, and undeniably off limits to begin with.

Update: Epilogue added

*This one has mature content. If you can, please, for the love of god, read this fic. It’s like, tied with my favorite bkdk fic perhaps ever. It’s based on the movie of the same title, a nineties romcom with Sandra Bullock, but Belkacaramelka has so effortlessly made it into it’s own story, fit it so perfectly inside of the bnha world. I definitely stayed up until 6:30am reading this one. It’s got such good badass Midoriya, who is also sweet, and really really good reconciliation between bakudeku.

All Gifted - fitzefitcher (39129 words)

Summary: The thing about gifts is that they're meant to be given, they're meant to be shared; so Izuku will take his gifts, so freely given to him, and share them with all he holds dear.

Izuku is born without any gifts, as his kind often are, to a witch mother and salamander father, on one sweltering night in July.

This one is unfinished...and I highly doubt it will ever be. But what has been written is incredible. Once again, I’m a sucker for the magic/mythical creatures aus. But the relationship is great! The characterization is great! The found family trope that was building up is great!

under a hollow sun - umbrage (40572 words)

Summary: Midoriya is cursed with emptiness.

Misfortune leads him to a man of ancient magic and endless rage.

To stop an unfathomable evil, their mismatched halves must become whole.

Uuuggghhhh this was so good! I don’t think it’s going to be finished either :( Once again, fantasy au, more amazing writing, on point characterization, incredible pacing, makes you hungry for more story.

all the savage soul requires - majjale (58032 words)

Summary: Bakugou seems to have exhausted his patience for words and no longer acknowledges that Midoriya exists, so Midoriya crosses his legs, stares down at his hands limned in firelight, and makes a list of things he knows.

One. His name is Midoriya Izuku.

Two. He is a Godmarked, future god of life, heir to the divine throne.

Three. The gods have been fighting Death for eons, and now he's coming for recompense with everything he’s got.

This is majjale, so of course, the writing is more than beautiful; it’s absolutely breathtaking. This may be my favorite fic ever - unfortunately I don’t think it will ever be finished either TT_TT There’s the gods/fantasy au, which you know by now I love. But the characterization of our two boys is absolutely perfect, and I mean that as literally as possible. And the story being crafted between the two, the memory loss, the obvious history muddled by it all, it was so dense, and the PINING, so incredibly written, flowing so naturally. It wasn’t even close to being done, but it was wonderful, still is wonderful. 

My Writing: (You can skip this if you hate shameless self promotion)

You’re too damn flicking cute (1815 words)

Summary:  Bakugou is certain his shitty boyfriend is instigating kisses. Maybe it doesn't help that he keeps giving them away like it's a damn going out of business sale, but the stupid nerd is too fucking cute. Either way, like everything else, this is a competition, and he's going to win it.

Please don’t read this unless you’re going to the dentist afterwards! I’ve been told it’s so sweet it’ll give you instant cavities >_>;;;;

Bakugou Katsuki, you smooth motherfucker (10118 words)

Summary: Everyone around him knows that Bakugou Katsuki has a very special way with words. To the untrained ear he is loud and crass; to those that speak Kacchan, he is caring and inspiring. Yet there are rare moments, moments so fleeting you blink and you miss them, where Bakugou’s words pierce straight through Midoriya’s chest, and surprise everyone around him.

Goddammit, if only he would say them to Midoriya’s face.

Or, the five times Bakugou said something nice about Midoriya, and the one time he said something kind to him (but that was too long of a title).

I think most would consider this my best published fic; it’s one of those snapshot fics, “the five times where x did this, and the one time where they didn’t.” The recurring comment I get on this one is both of them being super in character, so I think that’s it’s defining characteristic! Bakugou and Midoriya have never known a life without the other, and in a perfect world, they never will.

Here, let me fix that (11247 words)

Summary: Bakugou honestly never thought he’d see Deku ever again. And now that they were together in this tiny compartment, alone for the next two and a half minutes, he had no clue what to say. He’d just apologized, right? So perhaps he could leave it at that and carry on with the original plan to never see the green-haired man that reminded him of dense forests, late night adventures, and tear-stained faces, ever again.

Ha! Who is he kidding? These bitches are soulmates.

I’ve gotten some critiques on this one, so sorry in advance if it’s not to your liking! Basically, what if Midoriya never got his quirk? Obviously, life would find a way to put them together because, as previously stated, these bitches are soulmates.

Plenty of Time (16654 words)

Summary: Bakugou found what little sleep he got restless and filled with nightmares that he forgot the second he opened his eyes. Tonight was the first time in a long time where he just had a normal dream - and it happened to be about Deku.

How fucking typical.

In other words, two dorks realize they have feelings for each other but don't know what to do about said feelings.

Ah, my first fic. Very simple, boys being boys, kinda like a slow burn? Idk how to explain this one, just boys figuring out their feelings and trying to figure out what to do about them. Been told these two are a little stupid but I think that’s valid.

We’re all time bombs waiting to explode (39223 words)

Summary: We have now entered the slipstream of time, into an alternate dimension where it neither is, nor isn’t, the 80’s. Two teenagers, burdened with the weight of adolescence in the modern world, find themselves struggling side by side, in part because of each other.

Bakugou, the most popular boy in school, has everything he could possibly want; status, power, and an unbreakable will. Having been dragged along behind him all the way to the top, Midoriya can’t help but wonder how (and why) he ended up standing beside his childhood friend-turned bully-turned friend again, weighed down by their complicated past and present. As the tension between them grows every day, and the arrival of a new, pretty face causes it to peak, it won’t be long before something - or someone - snaps.

I am...very bad at titles, and summaries apparently. This was my Heathers au, but it very quickly diverges from the original (I don’t do sad endings....) *This one has mature content, including implied sexual activity, drug use, and underage drinking, along with other heavy topics; please read the tags! Though tbh Midoriya is 17 for a couple weeks before it hits his birthday halfway through, so keep that in mind I guess? I kind of went heavy with this one, but I think the pay off was immense. This is the one with the most amount of comments stating it’s their favorite bkdk fic ever (and I cry). It’s a rough start, with a rough journey, but so is bakudeku! There’s a lot of petty drama, and then all of a sudden it’s Not That Petty and very much Far Too Real. Many have cried reading the ending, I cried writing it. My sister says it’s her favorite of mine. Now, I did kind of push this out without polishing it so much because I was losing my willpower, so if it feels lacking, that’s one hundred percent my fault.

Okay that was a lot! It took me a couple days...I hope I wasn’t too annoying with all my opinions! Please have a nice day. and enjoy some good reads, even if they aren’t the ones in this post!

[hardkinkbardkink]

My dude I am having the worst morning. I was getting take out for breakfast when I misstepped and sprained my ankle, so now I’m sitting in the urgent care waiting to make sure it isn’t broken. And I dropped my food :( But! From my disaster comes an idea! Jaskier injured himself, and took something to help with the pain. It makes him all loose limbed and easy,,, and Geralt can’t help but take advantage of his drugged state. I feel like I’ve submitted this before tho >_> ignore me if I have-🐼

i am. So Fucking Sorry it took so long to get a prompt fill up, and even more sorry it took so bloody long to answer an ask from my very favourite anon. honestly love it's been so long im sure you're fine now, fuck im awful

anyway i absolutely hate every word of this (just what i'd written, the prompt was lovely) but i invested so much time in it i ought to post it anyway oof

what's the opposite of aftercare? would it be called beforecare, if geralt takes care of jaskier and then proceeds to ride him hard and put him away wet? we'll go with that x

***

"Bard."

Jaskier turns to face him with an easy smile, though his eyes look somewhere beyond Geralt, fixed on a spot above his shoulder.

"Geralt," he says softly.

It's the little things that make Geralt frown in--worry worry worry--confusion. How Jaskier sits on the bed, slumped against the headboard as if he's a ragdoll thrown carelessly to the side, his usually immaculate posture forgone. How his eyes are only half-open, dull and unfocused. How Geralt's name on his lips doesn't sound quite right.

Geralt's nose itches at the faint, metallic scent of blood. It isn't as aggressive as it should be, had it been spilled on clothes or smeared over skin, but rather--

"What did you do."

He watches Jaskier's head roll from side to side against the wall before he sways forward, chin tucked to his chest. A muscle twitches in Geralt's jaw.

"Jaskier," he says sternly, barely masking his concern. Annoyance, that is.

"Got--got in a fight," Jaskier tells him, lips barely moving. "Think I--I'm broken? But you're here. Now. Geralt."

He smiles again, weak and unconvincing.

Broken. The word echos in Geralt's ears, bouncing around his brain, until he almost sees it spelled out, dripping red.

"Can I--hm. Can I see?" He gets his voice softer, now. Clearly Jaskier is in some sort of peril. Anger would be counterproductive, no matter how badly Geralt wants to put a fist through every one of the drunks downstairs, part their flesh with his blade.

"Y'don't--you. Don't have to." The way Jaskier grits his teeth and focuses on keeping the slur out of his speech is anything but reassuring. "Seen the--uh, the healer. Got me some--something. For pain."

This time, when Jaskier sways, he tips all the way to lay on his side, nearly hitting his head on a sharp edge of the low table pushed close to the bed. Geralt is next to him in a flash, leaning over his limp body, focusing for a moment on nothing but the steady, if somewhat slow, thud of his heart.

Geralt finds himself frantically undoing Jaskier's doublet before he can think about it. He doesn't like the way Jaskier winces when he pulls the thing off, so he keeps his touch gentle for the chemise underneath.

"Fuck. Fuck."

He didn't think--but then he did, maybe, because Jaskier always insists he doesn't need the healer, doesn't need help, doesn't need anything just so Geralt won't think he's weak. So he knew it had to be bad, this, but--

The sight of Jaskier's chest and abdomen stained ink-black with large, brooding bruises still makes his blood run cold. He touches one, finds it swollen and tender.

"Least they haven't--kicked in my teeth," Jaskier jokes, carrying the silly tune over his words.

One of the bruises seems to run low over Jaskier's hip, so Geralt unbuttons his breeches, too, slides them off revealing more injuries than he would ever think could fit on his bard.

He nearly reaches for his sword, ready to cut down every filthy bastard he can find in the inn.

Instead, he closes his eyes and gets a fucking grip.

Geralt's kit is stocked full with potions that could kill Jaskier if he as much as sniffed them, and an equal amount of mild to potent healing herbs that Geralt wouldn't admit he keeps just for Jaskier. He works quickly, picking the right ones, crushing them between his fingers rather than bother with a pestle. It feels good to crush something, frankly.

He overheats the water in his haste, makes it evaporate entirely and the clay mug shatter when he blasts it with too much Igni.

"Witcher magic," Jaskier slurs, moving slowly to lay flat on the bed.

Geralt steeps the herbs in some fresh water, keeps his calm even when he has to force it down Jaskier's throat. He exhales sharply, sitting down at the edge of the straw-stuffed mattress.

He should put Jaskier to sleep. It'd make the healing faster, entirely eliminate the pain that's merely dulled by whatever drug he'd taken.

Yet Geralt hesitates. It's a lot of bruising. A lot of internal bleeding. Some bone fractures, he wagers, though he'd have to feel to check. Privately, selfishly, Geralt thinks he doesn't want to forfeit the time with his bard if somehow this is the last of it.

It isn't.

It isn't.

Still, Jaskier's quiet humming is reassuring. Grounding.

Geralt spots a small pouch on the floor nearby, half-full of a fine, blonde powder. He sniffs it carefully, nods to himself, and dissolves some of it in more warm water. It won't mend broken bones, but perhaps they can get through most of the healing process without Jaskier feeling the brunt of it. This time, his bard drinks eagerly.

"Oh," he sighs after a minute. "Oh, 's nice."

Geralt almost huffs out a laugh. Of course it's nice when he's high out of his mind.

"Does it still hurt?"

Jaskier closes his eyes. Shakes his head.

"'s nice," he repeats.

Belatedly, Geralt realises it'd be the decent thing to do if he protected Jaskier's modesty in some way, no matter how little of it his bard possesses in the first place.

He reaches for a blanket, but his hand only hovers above it.

Seeing Jaskier's body like this still makes rage bubble hot and viscous in his chest, and yet--

Geralt breathes calmly, steadily, like he does when he meditates. Jaskier will be fine, because he has to be. Because Geralt's already failed him once, letting any harm come to him, and he won't do it again by letting the little bastard die. He'll be fine, and the brief, inexcusable panic retracts its claws from around Geralt's throat. Strangely, it leaves him with anything but the clarity he'd expect.

He blinks, and suddenly the bruises, the marks of violence seep away from Jaskier's skin. Suddenly, it's just Jaskier there, his bard; bare and pliant and so out of it he wouldn't notice anything amiss if Geralt were to--

There's a charge in the air that pops, crackles, fizzles. Grows and grows and thunders.

Geralt's palm rests gently on Jaskier's thigh, where the skin is still pale and unblemished.

Jaskier moans.

"Feels good."

It does feel good, is the thing. Something dark and shameful crawls up to the very back of Geralt's tongue, threatens to steal his voice and make it its own. Geralt stifles it, but only barely. He slides his hand up, in morbid curiosity, and presses his fingers into a bruise at Jaskier's hip. It gets him another moan, a happy sigh.

"Geralt."

And it's like a siren song when Jaskier calls for him, like he'd gripped Geralt's soul and torn it out to have for himself. It isn't as though he can't easily overpower the bard on any given day, hunt him and pin him down and take whatever pleases him in spite of any struggle. But there's something different about this, about the sheer helplessness that Jaskier's fallen into. About the lack of consequence if Geralt were to ravish him, ruin him. If he were to press his own marks into Jaskier's battered skin, fuck him as roughly as he'd ever wanted, not hold back--

Geralt lunges forward, hands roaming over soft, hot skin, lips messily against Jaskier's. It's barely a kiss, more a slide of wet, needy lips, but Geralt nearly goes mad even at that, at the feeling of Jaskier's open mouth letting him in.

"Does it hurt?" Geralt asks again dumbly, already knowing the answer. The beast inside him roars.

Jaskier keens, a faint smile never leaving his parted lips.

Geralt doesn't know, suddenly, how he finds himself holding Jaskier's legs spread, though perhaps it doesn't matter. He looks down at Jaskier's soft prick and lower, lower, lower, until he finds his slack, relaxed hole. Feverishly, he considers the fact that Jaskier doesn't seem to feel any pain, like this. He could--but he could--

When he lets go of Jaskier's thighs, they fall heavily on the bed, still apart enough for Geralt to see all of him, all of the hidden, filthy parts that Geralt aches to claim.

He wraps a hand tightly around Jaskier's prick and Jaskier whines long and high, his eyes half-open and unseeing. Geralt leans down, suddenly hungry for it, and puts his mouth on his bard with a need that borders on desperation. His cock stays soft and delicious on Geralt's tongue, and it's a sensation much more heady than he ever would've expected. Distantly, Geralt wonders if he could get Jaskier to come like this, without getting hard at all.

He massages the flesh with his tongue, stuffs himself silly as he can. Jaskier mumbles something when Geralt moans around him, feeling far too needy.

There's saliva pooling in Jaskier's lap, drying on Geralt's chin. He bobs his head faster, sneaks his hand down to rub circles behind Jaskier's delicate balls, until he feels him twitch and pulse and finally, blissfully, drool thick seed at the back of Geralt's throat.

Geralt pulls away swiftly so he can watch it spill, sticky-white on Jaskier's soft, bruised-black belly. It keeps throbbing in his hand for a long time, moans and whimpers falling from Jaskier's parted lips without restraint. Geralt presses his nose to the underside of Jaskier's jaw, catching his breath and catching his bard's scent. He drags his fingers through the spend slipping over Jaskier's skin, pooling in his navel, and he--

"Guh--G'ralt?"

And there isn't a hint of hurt in his voice, in his face, in his scent, and Geralt groans as he pushes two come-slick fingers into Jaskier's pliant body with no resistance.

Geralt's composure snaps in twain like a particularly fragile twig.

Later, Geralt won't recognise himself in the tremor that sets into his hands as he paws at Jaskier's skin, or the undignified way he pries open his own trousers, or the roar that rumbles in his chest when he presses forward, in, sinks into Jaskier deeper than he has any right to be.

It's a heady sensation, the way Jaskier's body parts around him, loose and relaxed and so very open. Geralt nearly comes on the spot, has to grit his teeth and suck in a harsh breath and even that stands barely a chance when Jaskier moans so prettily.

But a mad thought comes to him unbidden; that he doesn't need to slow, or hold back. Because it's hours before Jaskier becomes lucid; days, perhaps, and until then--

Well, until then he's nothing more than a warm body for Geralt to drain his balls into.

With a roar springing forth from his throat, Geralt snaps his hips forward, ruts into Jaskier with a single-minded fervour, his one purpose to fuck, come, breed. Stake his claim and have it stay.

"G--Geralt, Geralt--" Jaskier whimpers on a weak breath, though his eyes stay cloudy and unfocused. Geralt sees his hand twitch at his side, like he's trying to lift it but finds the weight too cumbersome.

Geralt bares his teeth and sets them in Jaskier's shoulder, harsher than he ever would normally. The skin gives beneath the sharp points of his canines.

It's less fucking and more a deep, desperate grind when Geralt doesn't want to leave the intoxicating heat of Jaskier's body even for a moment. He mouths at the stubble on Jaskier's jaw, hastens his pace and whines like a wounded pup when he spills so very deep inside his bard he's sure it could catch.

His cock doesn't get a chance to grow soft, though a delicious pain edges into his pleasure. Geralt sits back on his haunches, pulls Jaskier's hips into his lap with a strong grip. Keeps him spread open and filled to the brim and when he pounds his delicious little hole again, Geralt revels in the way his seed gets fucked even deeper. He wants to pump Jaskier so full he wakes up swollen and heavy with it, wants to watch the bruises fade from his taut stomach and see it rounded with Geralt's ownership.

Jaskier keeps mumbling quietly, every one of Geralt's thrusts knocking a moan, a sigh, a slurred word out of his chest. It's maddening, to finally have the thing he'd quietly, privately ached for without ever fully acknowledging it--and to have it so wholly, so--

"Fuck."

Realisation seems to come over him in waves, and suddenly Geralt wants. Wants so much, wants things he'd never given mind to before. Wants to have Jaskier and keep him, do horrible, unspeakable things to his bard. Beat him black and blue and nurse him tenderly back to health.

"Fuck."

Geralt strokes Jaskier's limp prick almost reverently, thinks about wrapping it up in ribbons and ropes and having Jaskier beg to come.

Another time.

Another time, because Geralt's had a taste of something beautiful and sick and forbidden, and he'll never let it slips through his fingers.

His pace grows erratic once more, and once more he finds his teeth wandering. They settle snugly at the side of Jaskier's throat, clamped so tightly he can feel the sluggish thud of his bard's subdued heartbeat.

Jaskier moans weakly and Geralt sees red when he spills again, his balls slapping heavily against Jaskier's body in a final thrust. He strips Jaskier's prick viciously, then, until his bard comes, his spasming hole milking Geralt's oversensitive cock in a raw shock of ecstasy.

There's blood on his teeth and a thrumming in his ears and Geralt collapses on top of Jaskier, still buried in him. He lays a gentle kiss to the top of Jaskier's head, but by then his bard is unconscious.

All the better, really.

[owl-with-a-pen]

This one has been on my mind for awhile. Perhaps one where brainy has to go away and he leaves Nia in charge of the D.E.O, I can imagine she wouldn’t be the best and crack under pressure haha. Love your stories 💜

- This might be a little different to what you imagined, but I thought I’d set this with Nia heading a mission instead of the whole of the DEO. To add even more tension, I’ve set this scene somewhere post 5x10, so Nia and Brainy are on rocky ground. Thanks for the prompt! x

When Brainy had first proposed Nia take charge of a DEO operation, she’d laughed it off pretty easily. 

It was only when his was response was to stare at her, one brow raised in confusion, that her face fell.

“Wait,” Nia said, clearing her throat awkwardly. “You’re serious?”

“Undoubtedly so,” Brainy said, narrowing his eyes. “Did I- did I phrase that in a comedic manner?”

Nia blinked. “No. No, you – you sounded serious. I just, I’m finding it hard to believe.” She gestured at herself. “Me? You want me to run a DEO mission? As in, control your agents?”

“That is what leading a mission pertains, yes.”

Okay, now he was being sarcastic. Although, Nia had to admit that it was becoming increasingly harder to tell ever since the whole inhibitor thing. Honestly, Nia hadn’t known what to think when Brainy had summoned her to the DEO that afternoon. On all accounts, he’d been doing everything in his power to evade her ever since their break-up.

A part of her hadn’t wanted to come. She was a vigilante, and though Supergirl had ties with the DEO, considering recent tensions, Dreamer tried to avoid the organisation where she could. There were people on the streets that didn’t trust the DEO for a variety of reasons, even in this new-Earth hellscape where everyone had been brainwashed into loving Lex Luthor. There were humans and aliens alike out there that were still dubious of Lex’s agenda and, who could blame them? They were right.

Nia could have pretended that was the only reason for her apprehension, but who was she kidding? Seeing that text from Brainy, asking her to see him after literal months of radio silence, didn’t sit well with her. She still got a lump in her throat anytime she saw his name pop up on her phone, and felt a crazy surge of butterflies in her stomach whenever he turned up in person after an alien altercation, even if it was alongside his legion of DEO personnel.

It shouldn’t have been this hard, but it was, and she knew why. Despite Brainy’s attempts at acting cold and detached around her, there was still something so incredibly warm behind his eyes, something he was fighting hard to keep hidden from her.

Why the hell he was doing it, Nia didn’t know, and she shouldn’t have cared. Letting it eat her alive like this wasn’t helping anyone. If he didn’t want to be with her after what had happened… then, she had to accept that.

Even though she hated it. Even though she couldn’t help but question whether encouraging Brainy to ditch his inhibitors had been the right call at all. She didn’t think she’d seen a real smile touch his lips since that night at Al’s bar. Didn’t think she’d seen anything other than a deadened exhaustion on his face since he’d stood inches from her in her apartment and torn her heart in two.

Now, whenever Brainy opened his mouth, it was only the Director of the DEO who spoke. Not her best friend. Not her-

No. Not her boyfriend. Not anymore.

She’d pushed that all aside to come here, but now she was really beginning to regret that decision.

“Why me?” Nia asked finally, folding her arms.

Brainy mirrored her stance, lifting his chin. “I calculated a ninety-six percent success rate with your leadership on this mission. The alien we are looking for has psychic abilities closely matching the signature of Naltorian dream energy. Thus – dreaming of our target should be incredibly easy for you.” He shrugged. “Your other powers will prove proficient in the field, too. You can protect and guide my agents better than anyone within this organisation.”

“Wow, Brainy,” Nia said stiffly. “That nearly sounded like a compliment.”

“It is a fact,” Brainy said, although for just a second, Nia was certain she could detect a tremble behind those words. Brainy swallowed quickly, as though to cover himself, before lowering his voice. “Will you do it?”

“Of course,” Nia said immediately. “If I can protect these people, then of course I’ll do it. I’ll always help you—the, um, the DEO, I mean. I- I’m happy to help.” Nia could feel her face beginning to warm all over again. She winced. “You know what I meant,” she muttered.

“I do,” Brainy said, although something in his tone suggested that he wasn’t referring to her promise about the DEO, either.

Nia elected to ignore it. Instead, she rolled her shoulders, straightening her back. “Okay, then,” she said, curling her hands into fists. “When do we start?”

                                                         ______

In the next thirty minutes, Nia found herself packed away in a DEO-issued  vehicle alongside half a dozen field agents. The rest of her team were in the van tailing directly behind them. Every agent was decked out in unmarked uniforms, bullet proof vests, helmets, plus a full inventory of energy guns shared out amongst them.

In her costume - no helmet, no vest and certainly no guns - Nia suddenly felt seriously underdressed. She flexed her hands a few times, staring down at her gloves. She had to remember why Brainy had asked her to do this. She didn’t need fancy energy guns. Her abilities were her energy, and they were necessary to bring this alien in safely. She could do this.

It didn’t matter that she didn’t remember any of these agents’ names, or that the sense of camaraderie in the small space was pretty much non-existent, she just had to be a leader.

If Kara could take charge in times of crisis, then so could she. The only thing stopping Nia was the anxious knot balling inside of her stomach.

You can protect and guide my agents, Brainy’s voice reminded her. It wasn’t exactly the motivational speech she’d been hoping for, but under the circumstances, she’d take what she could get. Even still, she couldn’t help but wish Brainy had come on this mission with her.

But, oh no, he was the Director now. And he had other matters to attend to.

At least, that was the excuse he’d given her.

“Did you hear me?”

Nia’s head jerked up, right into the no-nonsense, stone-faced expression of the DEO agent sat opposite her. She realised belatedly that the van had stopped some time ago, and that her fellow passengers sat closest to the door had already started climbing out.

“I said we’re here,” the agent said, jerking his chin towards the door.

“Oh,” Nia said, shifting from her seat. “Great.”

Yeah. Not exactly the all-powerful words of a full-fledged leader. She gritted her teeth, straightening up as soon as she’d jumped out of the car.

“Alright, Nia,” she muttered to herself. “Your time to shine. Don’t screw it up.”

She marched out to the agents grouping up outside the two stationary vehicles. They’d parked in what could be best described as a cement graveyard; nothing but dilapidated buildings for miles – perfect squatting grounds. It was exactly where Nia had dreamt that their target would be hiding out.

“Okay,” Nia said, trying to put as much power behind her voice that she could muster. She’d stopped just a few feet ahead of her audience. The moment that she spoke, every set of eyes had turned to her. Some of them… more dubiously than others. Mostly, though, they seemed to be waiting on her instruction.

Which… which would be great, if she even knew where to start.

Normally, Super Friend patrols were comprised of, like, three or four people at most. And even then, they usually ended up splitting up throughout the night.  But, there were so many agents in front of her now, all here for just one alien. If a dozen DEO agents went in there at once, there was no way they wouldn’t end up spooking their target.  

God, vigilante work was way stealthier than this.

“So,” Nia said, clenching her jaw. “Plan of action, we need to find this alien. So, um, split up?”

“Are you asking us or telling us?” one of the agents muttered. He was rewarded with a few smiles and poorly disguised snickers.

Frustration flooded Nia’ chest. She opened her mouth, more than prepared to snap out a remark of her own, when another agent raised their voice.

A young woman, maybe only a few years older than Nia. “Normally, we run recon first,” she said helpfully, gesturing out towards the buildings. “To get a lay of the land.”

The look in her eyes clearly expressed that she was less than thrilled about the other agents’ behaviour towards her. Nia’s jaw relaxed a little. “Sounds good,” she said, nearly offering a thumbs up before thinking better of it. Instead, she threw her hands hastily to her hips, offering an impromptu hero stance.

“Is this your first time doing this or something?” the same agent as before asked, this time loud enough to be heard by all of his peers.

Nia bit back the urge to respond.

Unfortunately, that didn’t stop the wash of murmurs that followed the agent’s insult.

“Great,” the agent at his side whispered. “No one said we were gonna get stuck with the side-kick.”

“Hey!” Nia snapped, taking a step forward. “I am no one’s side-kick, okay? In fact, I’m your best shot at fighting this enemy. Do you guys even know what you’re up against?” Nia lifted her hands out at her sides, feeling a powerful surge of dream energy crackle from her fingers, curling around her hands in vibrant shades of blue.

Immediately, the agents in front of her straightened their stances, their expressions sobering. Any chatter was cut off outright.

Nia grinned. “Exactly. Your enemy has powers like this.” She clenched her hands, allowing the power to simmer in the centre of her palms before petering out entirely. When she was confident she had everyone’s undivided attention, she narrowed her eyes. “Your Director asked for me to keep you all safe, and that’s exactly what I’m going to do. If anyone has a problem with that.” She threw her hand back towards the stationary vans. “Feel free to get your ass back to the DEO and tell Director Dox exactly why you left an active mission with your tail between your legs.”

When no one moved, Nia folded her arms, lifting her chin proudly. She caught the small smile of the female agent from before, and had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep a straight face.

“Right,” Nia continued. “Now you’ve got that out of your systems, let’s get to business. Recon.” She jerked her head towards the agent who had started the trouble in the first place, narrowing her eyes playfully. “You; take four of your team and go up ahead, scout the exterior of the building for any movement. Remember, there could be civilians out there, so we do this carefully. I expect all your guns to be on stun only and not to be used unless you’re completely certain you have our target in your sites. Got it?”

The agent, who had been gawking at Nia’s hands and very little else, nodded his head. He turned towards a few of his fellow agents, flashing a couple of fancy hand signals which they quickly responded to, flanking him on both sides.

As he brushed past Nia, he paused, glancing at her warily. “You – uh – didn’t get any bad dream senses about this, right?”

Nia rolled her eyes. Now he was taking her seriously. Better late than never. “Trust me,” she said sharply, “you’re fine. Like I said, I’m here to keep you safe.” She stared at him levelly. “All of you safe.”

“Right. Sorry, ma’am,” the agent said, ducking his head as he righted his gun. “It won’t- it won’t happen again.”

Nia only nodded, watching carefully as he headed out with his team to survey the area.

Once most of the agents were out of sight, only then did Nia allow herself a moment to smile.

Maybe she’d never run a DEO mission before, but maybe that didn’t matter. Brainy had said it himself, after all, this mission’s success depended on her.

But, this wasn’t about what Brainy thought. Besides, it certainly didn’t seem like he cared.

Although, maybe…

Nia shook herself. No. Thinking about what he’d said, the way he’d said it would have to wait for another day.

Today, she was gonna be the best team leader the DEO had ever seen.

[izaswritings]

genshin fic: goodbyes in advance

Title: goodbyes in advance

Synopsis: The evening before the end, Zhongli and Childe have one last dinner together. (Zhongli/Childe | Chili, 2.6k, gen.)

Fandom: Genshin Impact

Note: This fic was written and posted before the 1.1 update, so some aspects may be a bit outdated, especially concerning what Childe does-or-doesn’t know about Zhongli. That said, I hope you enjoy it anyway!

AO3 Link is here!

.

It is a shame, Zhongli finds himself thinking as the food comes to his table, that Ningguang has summoned the Traveler so soon. His friend is gone, albeit reluctantly, and Zhongli holds no ill-will to the interruption: but there is food now at his table, and no one to eat it with.

It is a fine spread of food, too—truly, this place comes well-recommended. Zhongli taps his finger on the table, thoughtful, trying to think of a solution. A memory strikes him; he tilts his head, thoughtful, and then turns to the street.

“Childe,” he says, raising his voice just a little bit. It is hard to see the other man, but he is there, somewhere in the shadows. He has been there, three paces back, for most of the day, sneaking close by for almost as long as Zhongli and the Traveler have been running about the city. “How fortunate. I don’t suppose you’ve eaten yet?” 

There is a silence, weighted. In the deep shadows of Childe’s hiding spot he is almost invisible, expression unreadable. Zhongli sits, patient, and meets Childe’s eyes without faltering. He waits.

After a long moment, Childe laughs. The sound is sudden and too abrupt, but Zhongli does not mind it. This is, he knows, simply how Childe is.

“Is this your way of inviting me to dinner, Zhongli?” Childe says, and at last steps out into the light. “You should have told me sooner! Or asked me out properly. I would have gotten dressed for the occasion.”

“There is no need for that,” Zhongli replies, simply. “This is not the tea house. There is no dress code that needs following.”

“Were you waiting for me?” Teasing, light; Zhongli pays no mind to the words, and instead watches as Childe sits beside him. Good: he has accepted the offer, and this food will not go to waste. Zhongli nods to himself.

“No,” he adds, belatedly, when he realizes Childe is waiting for an answer. What a strange question—but far be it for Zhongli to remark on another’s oddities, he supposes. “I had invited the Traveler out to a meal… but forces have conspired against us, it seems. For a moment I was worried I would have to eat alone. So it is good you are here.” He reaches for his chopsticks and then pauses at the look on Childe’s face. “Hmm. You look… have I said something strange?”

“No, no! Just… you are very blunt.” Childe laughs, though that doesn’t mean much. Childe is always laughing.

“I don’t know why you’re surprised,” Zhongli says. He takes some of the food, and takes a quick, neat bite; swallows, and adds: “You were watching us the whole day—surely you saw the Traveler leave just earlier?”

There is another silence, heavier now. Childe says, with that rare bite of coldness to his tongue: “Haha. So you noticed, huh?”

“Hm.” Zhongli tilts his head. “Was I not meant to?” 

“…And you have no thoughts on it at all?” Childe sounds skeptical.

“Thoughts?” Zhongli echoes, and smiles a little. He has many thoughts on it. None are of import. Childe will one day bare his blades and seek to rip the gnosis from Zhongli’s chest, and this is a certainty as unchangeable as the tide Childe is bound to—nothing Zhongli thinks or says will bear weight against it. Childe is a name tied to a contract, and if there is one thing Zhongli understands, it is contracts.

He is not angry. He is saddened, perhaps, by the inevitability of it, but just as Zhongli’s words will not sway him, neither will Childe’s betrayal give Zhongli pause.

“I suppose,” Zhongli says, after some thought, “that I think I am lucky, for now you are here and we can eat together.”

“That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

Childe laughs, a little disbelieving. “You’re bizarre.”

“That’s rather rude,” Zhongli replies, and takes another bite of his food.

He waits. Slowly, Childe reaches for his own chopsticks. He takes some food. He eats.

Zhongli smiles.

“Mm, this is good stuff,” Childe says, after a moment, and reaches for another plate. “Ooh! What’s this?”

“Ah, wine-fermented sweet rice balls. I ordered them for the Traveler, but…” He shrugs.

Childe snickers. “Aw, that’s right. They can’t drink alcohol, huh?”

“I have been informed they are, quote, ‘seventeen and three quarters, which is close enough.’ Unquote.”

“And instead you order them wine-fermented rice balls. That’s hilarious.”

Zhongli shrugs again and takes a sweet rice ball for himself. For a moment they sit in silence. The night air is biting with a coastal chill, and a low fog has started to drift out from the docks; their only warmth comes from the flickering glow of the restaurant lamps. It is a wonderful night. The crowds are thinning and the murmur of voices has gone soft. Childe’s eyes wander the streets, never settling—he takes in everything, the sky, the lanterns, the buildings and the people, the flowers blooming bright and blue. Zhongli watches him, in turn, watches the way Childe looks at this city, the way his eyes skim over it.

“Tell me,” Zhongli says, abruptly, “what do you think of Liyue?” At Childe’s startled and somewhat wary look, he adds, “Hold back no expense. I am truly curious.”

“What, where did this come from? Didn’t you ask the Traveler this already?”

“I have indeed. Their response was honest and heartfelt.” At Childe’s raised eyebrow, he hums. “They are fond of Liyue but Mondstadt holds their true affections.”

“You don’t sound upset at all.”

“No. It is not unsurprising, in hindsight, for a traveler to be drawn to a land of freedom.” He laughs, quietly. “I confess, I suspected it would be so—but I could not resist asking them. I have a friend in Mondstadt, and I suppose I hoped for something to tease him with for once… but it is no matter. I know their thoughts—now I am curious as to yours.”

Childe actually takes a moment to think about it, and Zhongli is grateful for it. He studies Childe’s face again as he waits, and frowns in sudden realization. There is the barest hint of shadows beneath Childe’s eyes; and the lantern light barely seems to catch in his iris at all. In this moment of silence Childe looks almost tired. 

But there is no time to react, nor for Zhongli to even start to consider what to do about it, because then Childe snaps his fingers, one hand framing his chin, and says, “Ah, well—I don’t dislike it.”

Zhongli considers this. “But you do not…”

“I don’t know it well enough to say, I suppose,” Childe remarks.

“You have been here a while, surely.”

“As long as you’ve known me. So, say… three weeks? A month? Give or take.” Childe shrugs at Zhongli’s raised eyebrow. “Hey, I know how it sounds. It’s just…” He pauses, a little. “I don’t know. I guess I’ve just been so focused on the job I forgot to take a look at the sights… haha. Pretty sure there’s a saying about that.”

Despite everything, Zhongli finds himself disappointed. “You are that eager to finish the job?” he says, quietly.

Childe looks, for once, actually uncomfortable. “I—it’s really more that I’m eager to go home.” He fumbles with his chopsticks, posture terrible as always, and says, almost under his breath, “Can’t even really look forward to the fight anymore. Ugh, such a chore.”

Zhongli pauses, considering that. It is… not what he had hoped for, admittedly, but all the same is more than he expected. It is a disheartening thought, to realize that for Childe, Liyue is little more than a means to an end—but at the same time, a touching notion, that despite everything something about Childe’s time here has soured the deed he must fulfill.

Zhongli is no fool; he knows it will change nothing in the end. Childe will strike for Zhongli’s heart and Zhongli has no mercy even for friends-turned-foes: he will strike back with the same deadly force. But it is… something. Something he takes and tucks away in his memory, to recall in brighter moments. That something here has stayed with Childe. That perhaps his time with Zhongli has not been meaningless.

“Sorry,” Childe is saying. “I can’t imagine that’s what you wanted to hear.”

“It is not,” Zhongli allows. He pauses. “But it is… thank you, Childe. For your honesty.”

“Honesty,” Childe echoes, and laughs, and then reaches for the food like his own reaction has startled him. Zhongli watches him, a little saddened. He will miss this. He will miss him. “Anyway, on a different note. I’ve been meaning to ask, why the spread?”

“Hm?” Zhongli blinks, taken out of his thoughts. “Ah. It is nothing grand, just… we have finished preparations for the rites. I thought to celebrate.”

Childe grins. “And then your friend was stolen.”

“Summoned,” Zhongli corrects, dryly. “It is no matter. They could not have foreseen it, and you are here, anyhow—I am not dining alone.”

“Company makes food taste better, or so I’ve heard it said.”

“It does seem to hold true.”

“Haha, is that so?”

“Mm.” He breathes in deep, taking in the atmosphere: the luring words of the storyteller, the star-dotted sky, the dark night and dim-lit lantern glow and the warm, spicy scent of their food. “It’s been some time,” Zhongli reflects, “since I have been able to do this.”

“What, eat?”

Haha. “Eat with a friend,” Zhongli corrects, amused. “It has been…” He makes the mistake of trying to think about it, and finds himself trailing off. For a moment there is an echo of a memory that he—that he had not intended to recall, and it quiets him.

“A while,” Zhongli says, at last, and he is no longer smiling. He closes his eyes.

“A while, huh?” But Childe has read the mood; his tone too is subdued. He is silent. Then he sighs, heavily, and leans back in his chair. “Well, I suppose we’re the same in that regard.”

Zhongli opens his eyes, curious and a little pleased. He is truly lucky this night. It is rare for Childe to offer anything about himself, let alone his true thoughts, and Zhongli takes a moment to treasure the honesty. “You, as well?”

“Ah, not with friends, per say, but…” For a moment Childe seems caught—torn between the secret and the lie and whatever truth he wants to say—and Zhongli sips at his drink to buy him time. The words finally come. “My—my family. Back home.”

Zhongli blinks. “Oh?”

Childe makes a face, but there is a twitch at his lips that might be a smile. Zhongli stares, fascinated—is it true? Is it genuine? It is unlike any expression he has seen from Childe before; it must be. “Mm. My dear, chaotic little siblings.” He snorts, and for a moment he seems… warm, in a true way. Zhongli puts down his cup. “I’d make them dinner every night and they’d try and thank me by burning down our house for dessert. I mean, nothing against Liyue, but sometimes the meals here just feel like they’re missing the chaos, you know?”

“You must miss them terribly,” Zhongli says, blankly, taking in the warmth on Childe’s face and the quiet fondness of his smile, the distant look in his eyes as he speaks of the family left behind—or held hostage?—and for a moment Childe’s smile flickers, startled, at the remark.

“…I do,” he says, after a long pause. “But it’s no matter. I’ll see them soon enough.”

Zhongli says nothing. It is a sweet sentiment, on its own. But the implication is unmistakable, and all it does is remind him. Once again, once more: Zhongli is out of time. After this night, events will begin to spiral out of motion. Soon, the charade will end—their weapons drawn—and one of them will not walk away. One of them is not going home.

Something of his thoughts must show in his face, or maybe it is that the mood has turned too somber for his liking, because Childe’s next words are cheery and bright, almost jarring after their previous topic of conversation. “Anyway, where were we? Dinner? Man, on second thought, how much was this? I suppose I’ll have to pay for us again.”

Crass though the subject change may be, Zhongli can play along. Besides, he’s actually rather proud of this. He straightens in his seat and holds out a hand. “No need,” he says, taking a deep breath against the previous thoughts. He digs in his pockets and after a moment he places his wallet down on the table, triumphant.

There is a long pause. “Gods,” Childe says, looking a little wide-eyed. “It exists.”

“It exists,” Zhongli agrees.

“You could sound a little more self-aware. Just a touch. A minute dash of shame.”

“I truly don’t intend to forget it.”

“Uh-huh.”

“In any case, I remembered it tonight.”

“A monumentus occasion.”

Zhongli laughs a little, unbothered by the ribbing. “It is indeed,” he says, and smiles at him. “So celebrate and eat your fill, my friend.”

Childe doesn’t answer right away; his eyes are on Zhongli’s face, and his expression is neutral. Zhongli blinks, his smile fading. Childe looks away.

“I think I will,” he says, thoughtful and loud and silencing whatever Zhongli plans to say, and the moment passes them by, too quick to catch.

The conversation tapers off after that, lulled to silence by the good food and the storyteller and the things the both of them cannot yet say aloud. In the silence, in the moment when Childe looks away and cannot see him, Zhongli closes his eyes and breathes out a quiet exhale. Is this truly how it ends? Is this where they say goodbye? How many more days do they have—how many more nights—until it ends? It could be that tomorrow the ruse is up, and Childe dons his mask; it could be as soon as the dawn that these quiet moments become their final.

Zhongli has lived too long with regrets, has learned painful lessons of the ache that echoes when there is no time to say goodbye. He is aware enough to know that this goodbye, too, is unlikely to make it hurt any less—but even so, Zhongli thinks, such things must be said. At least once. Even if only ever once.

“Thank you,” Zhongli says, into the silence. Childe looks up. “For your company.”

He does not say, tonight. It is not just about this night. It is not just about the other nights, either. Perhaps he is thanking him for all of it. He wonders if Childe understands.

Childe’s smile flickers and fades, but it is not a loss. The expression he wears—neutral, tired, duller than his smile—it is not warm, but it is his. The true name, the true face: the friend, the one Zhongli has been getting to know in bits and pieces, the person he thinks he will miss when all of this is over.

“Yeah,” this person says, this friend with a name Zhongli doesn’t know. “Yeah. You too.”

It will not last, he knows: soon, so very soon, this illusion will shatter and all their debts come to call. But for now they are together, and even if tomorrow brings back the blades of war at least for tonight there is peace.

And whatever happens, Zhongli thinks. Whatever may come—

He simply hopes that one day, in some distant future, he and Childe can be together like this once again.

[three--rings]

Temptation’s Mask part 14

This part is set right after part 13, the following day.  It is, for a change, not inspired by any prompt, but just because.  Thanks to all the folks who let me use their usernames in this and they are not at all liable for what I had their fictional alter-egos say to Wei Wuxian.  The ones that sound like obvious pornsite names I made up.  Not a lot of NSFW content in this part, but it is Adult in nature, so you might not want to actually read it at work, if you know what I mean.

All Previous Parts                            Read in Chronological Order at AO3

---

Wei Wuxian settles himself on his bed cross-legged in front of the camera lens and pulls his laptop into arm’s reach on his desk.  Readying his face, he starts the stream.

“Hey guys!”  He watches the chat reactions as people log in.  “So, as I mentioned last time, and posted about, I can’t do a full stream this weekend because I’ve got family stuff going on.  So instead, we’re gonna do this short Q&A session tonight before I take off.  I might do a second one on Sunday if there’s interest, but it just depends when I get home.”  

He waves at the camera and greets several regulars by name as he sees their messages scroll up his screen.  “So, some of you know how this goes, but for anyone new, the way these Q&A streams work is any tip lets you ask a question.  I’ll try to read them all but if I don’t want to answer, then I won’t.  Sorry, yunno, I’m a fickle bitch.  However, there’s a way to force me to do your bidding and answer whatever your wicked hearts desire, by submitting a gold tier question.  Then I promise I will answer truthfully.” He gives the camera an angelic smirk.  “Ok, so, figure out what you want to ask and get your questions in.  I’m just gonna go in order and try to get to as many as I can, okay?”

The bell tone that alerts him to tips begins chiming repeatedly and the questions start rolling in.  He grins as he begins to read them.

“Okay, first up, from bunnywuvspie, hi darling!  Ok, ‘Does your family know what you do?’”  His lips twist ironically.  “Uh, no, thank you very much.  They do not know how I pay the bills.”

“Next, ‘Are you single?’ from sparklemotioneer.  Uh,”  Wei Wuxian hesitates, biting his lip.  “I mean, yeah, technically, I’m single.”  Even if he’d kinda prefer not to be at this point.  Even if he would hesitate to accept a date from someone because of his thing with Lan Wangji.  But they weren’t, like, a couple or anything.  He didn’t have a boyfriend.  Some part of his mind couldn’t help but add the word ‘yet’ to the end of that thought.  He shook himself out of his thoughts and chuckled a bit under his breath.

“Anyway, moving on, intoxicatingimmediacy, (wow, that’s a name) wants to know, ‘are you really straight or just gay for pay?’  Uh, I think you mean am I secretly straight and only pretending to like men for the money?  Nope, I’m bi, I’ve always said that.  I like girls and guys.   Equal opportunity slut, right here.”  He winks at the camera and reaches down to open another button of his black, sheer button-up.  

“ ‘Are you really a size queen?’  That one’s from steampuppy77.”  He inhales, looking up at the ceiling and considering.  “We-ell, I dunno.  I mean, I’m not, like, faking it.  I like big toys (and I cannot lie!)”  He snickers at his own joke.  “But, uh, you know, I don’t really discriminate.  I mean, you know, I like people without any dicks at all, so, I guess I’m flexible.”

He looks back at the feed of questions. Several have come in now about his single status and, “Oh, hey, merinnan, thanks for the gold tier question.  And yeah, several other people have also asked basically the same thing, so, ‘what did you mean by you’re technically single?  Are you seeing anyone?’”   He smiles.  He should have known this was coming.  He takes a breath and wonders if Lan Zhan is out there, watching him.  He thinks he probably is.

Belatedly he remembers the night before, the feel of Lan Wangji’s cock in his mouth, stretching his jaw.  Now there was a dick a size queen would enjoy.  His cock twitched in his tight jeans.   “So, uh, I mean, I’m single, but…there is somebody…”  He is trying to hold onto his composure but he feels his lips curving up sharply and his checks getting warm.  “We’ve gone out a couple of times.  And, yanno, I like him.”  Oops, he should have said them to keep it vague.  Too late now, he glances over and sees chat exploding over what he’s said, people talking about how he’s blushing, etc.  He sighs to himself.  This is the danger of these talking streams.  He always ends up revealing more than he intends.  

“So, yeah, anyway…”  He looks back at the list of questions, trying to find one that isn’t about his dating life.  “Okay, ‘who’s your favorite chat member?’  Oh, paperwillowbee, that’s a good one. Hmm, well,” and here he looks up slyly directly into the camera. “I think my favorite viewer knows who they are.”  He can’t help smirking, wondering how many people out there think he’s talking about them.  How many of the ones who have paid for private streams?  And he also wonders if Lan Zhan knows Wei Wuxian means him.  

He moves on, trying to find his place in the confusing and fast-moving list of tip messages.  “Another gold tier, this one from gremlin-02 ‘So have you fucked this guy yet?’”  Wei Wuxian bites his bottom lip to hide his annoyed reaction.  “Well, it’s a gold tier question, so I have to answer it!  Uh, we haven’t exactly…fucked.  You know, I’m not that easy.”  He mimes shushing a noisy crowd.  “Yeah, yeah, I know, you guys know the truth.  Ok, maybe I am that easy, but we’ve, uh, fooled around a little.  No actual fucking yet.  And yeah, that’s an honest answer.”  He can feel himself blushing.  Normally he’s completely shameless in front of the camera, but he hadn’t foreseen this topic coming up and knowing that Lan Wangji is probably watching both excites and terrifies him.  He needs to be careful.  He doesn’t want Lan Zhan to get offended by him talking about him to his entire audience. That’s the last thing he wants right now.

“Okay, okay, settle down, kids.”  He gives up trying to read the general chat stream.  Instead he focuses on the paid messages.  “Ha, bigdickdisaster wants to know if I’ve ever had sex with someone for money.”  He pauses, his stomach fluttering as he realizes this question hits a little closer to home now than it would have a few weeks ago.  “No,” he says very firmly.  “Nope. Unless you somehow count, you know, this…but that would be like saying I’ve had sex with all of you, and, uh, well, let’s just not go there.”

“starfish6969 (niice) says, oh, ‘take off your clothes.’”  He gives a disapproving look at the camera.  “Starfish, nice try, but that’s not a question.”  He grins and scrolls down.  “Hmm, ‘when was the last time someone fucked that sweet ass right?’  Well, johndaddy2345 all I can say is…it’s been too long.”  The special sound for a gold tip sounds and he frowns down at it.  “Okay, valiant attempt starshipcaptainjojo but you realize I could just say ‘no’ to this and it would be an honest answer, right?”  He looks up.  “They said ‘Will you please get naked?’”

  He stops and reads chat for a minute, smiling as it fills with variations on ‘do it!’  “You guys are so predictable!  Is that all I am to you?  This is your one chance to find out about me, the person, but nooo, you just want to see my body?”  He’s laughing as he fakes outrage.  Smirking, he reaches for the buttons of his top, beginning to open them slowly, one by one.  Taking his time, he removes the shirt.  

Then he stands up, so that the camera’s right at his waist level.  He brings his hand to the button of his jeans and toys with the opening.  Then he cackles and sits back down, bouncing on the mattress.  “Nah!”  Chat fills with agonized moans and complaints.  “Thought you were gonna get it, huh?  But I told y’all, I have to go!  I’m leaving right after this. And besides, do you know how hard it is to get out of jeans this tight?”  He pops up again, this time turning his back to the camera to show off the skin-tight black denim.  He slowly bends forward, to emphasize the curve of his ass and thighs.  Then he wiggles his hips just for good measure before turning back and taking his seat again.  “Some of y’all are gonna be typing a lot worse now, huh?”  Abruptly he wonders if Lan Zhan enjoyed that, if he’s getting hard in his pants.  He has to consciously hold himself back from adjusting his cock as he feels it swell at the thought.  Damn, he does need to get laid.  Well you could have last night, if you weren’t an idiot, he tells himself.

“Anyway!  Who’s next?  Okay, bigtittygoth asks ‘do you jerk off between streams?’  And the answer is…sometimes.  But not that often.  I get most of my, yanno, needs met, I guess, from you guys.”  He shoots them a grin.  “Next, oh, here we go, ‘what’s your major?’  That one’s from fullmoon-rosesnake, thank you fullmoon.  Uh, but, well, that’s one of those questions I have to be careful about people using to track me down.  Or I would if I’d actually made a decision about my major.  Let’s just say there’s some…differences in opinion between me and my family on that one, ‘kay?  And if y’all want to help support me in following my own path and not just getting a boring business degree like my family wants…well keep those tips coming!”  

“‘Do you have any kinks. Besides the obvious,’ says knightofbreath. Well, I guess that depends on what’s obvious.  I mean, I think y’all all know about the big ones, probably, like I like to be dominated, and tied up, and told what to do.”  He shifts his position, stretching his legs out to the side and arching his back a little.  “You know, the normal ones for a sub.  I don’t have any really freaky kinks, really, but, well, it really depends on what my Daddy wants me to do.”  He blinks at the camera, putting on an innocent-yet-sinful look.  

“Oh, I hear a gold tier question!  Okay, so sloppyseconds asks ‘does your man know how big a slut you are yet?  Does he know you’re a camboy?’”  Wei Wuxian coughs a laugh.  “Well I guess by ‘my man’ you mean the guy I mentioned dating.  And yes, he knows.  Thanks for the question!”  

“’What would I have to do to get your to suck this fat dick?’  That from cockytwink226.  Well, Mr. Twink, uh, you’d have to meet me and, uh, take me out to dinner, and be very, very nice to me.  That or beg a whole lot and give me a fat wad of cash.”  He bursts into laughter.  “Kidding!  Kidding! Well, mostly.”

 He looks down at the laptop and checks the time.  “Well, guys, look, I don’t have a huge amount of time, so I can only do a couple more.  I’m sorry if I haven’t gotten to yours.  Let’s see if I can answer a bunch real fast.”  He holds up his hand, ticking off each answer as he gives it, “No, I’m not gonna get naked or do anything sexual for you right now, sorry.  Yes, I enjoy camming and talking with you guys.  Yes, I really get off on my streams.  No, I’m not going to tell you my real name or where I live or give you any other identifiable information.  No, it’s not likely I’m going to agree to sleep with you, even though I’m sure you’re all very lovely and sexy people.”  

He skims down the text window as quickly as he can.  “The weirdest place I ever had sex was, uh, the backseat of a car?  Which I know isn’t that weird, but I don’t have anything more for ya.  Uh, no I’ve never been in a threesome.  And, uh, thank you my ass loves you too.”  He laughs as he finishes, out of breath from how fast he’s been talking.

 “Thanks you guys for hanging out and I hope  you all have a wonderful rest of the night and weekend!  I’ll update the schedule if I’m going to be able to do this again on Sunday, so make sure you’re subscribed to updates!”  He waves at the camera.  ���Sorry, I really do have to hit the road, but thanks everyone!   Oh and, fine, rennskye, just for you!”  And in response to the request he turns around again and shows off his ass.  He wiggles it for a while and then turns back around and winks at the camera before leaning over and turning off the feed.  He watches the picture go black while chat continued to scroll, and a few more tips continue to trickle in.  

He takes a deep breath and falls back onto the bed.  These kinds of social streams aren’t as physically draining as his performances, but they still leave him feeling a little beat.  And also wired.  This one was more stressful than usual, with the topic of his relationship with Lan Wangji coming up.  He should have known better, but then again, it's kinda nice to talk about him.  It’s probably the same reason he’d told his sister about him.  He can’t say exactly what this <i>thing</i> between them is, but it makes it feel more real to talk about him like a normal boyfriend.  Or someone he’s dating.  Or whatever.  Speaking of which…  

He hesitates for a minute and then throws caution to the wind. He reaches for his phone on the nightstand and opens up his texts with Lan Zhan.  

Wei Wuxian:

…hey, so, did you see the stream tonight?

Lan Zhan: Yes.  I was watching.   You looked good.

Wei Wuxian smiles at the compliment, simple as it is.  There’s something about Lan Wangji that whenever he says something, Wei Wuxian believes him.  He speaks so carefully, is so restrained, that any time he offers something like this unprompted feels like a genuine gift.

Wei Wuxian: Cool.  Uh whatd you think?

Lan Zhan: It was entertaining.   You are good at handling the audience.

Well that wasn’t exactly what he’d been looking for.

Wei Wuxian: Hope you didn’t mind me talking about you.

There was a pause.  Lan Zhan was typing and then paused and typed again.  It took much longer than normal and Wei Wuxian was chewing on his lip.

Lan Zhan: No.  I didn’t mind.

Was that it?

Wei Wuxian: Oh, cool.  Just checking.  I didn’t mean to bring it up, just happened.

Lan Zhan: I wasn’t sure you were referring to me.

Oh.

Wei Wuxian: No, I was.  I mean, I’m not dating anyone else.

Shit.  He hadn’t meant to call whatever this was dating.  Shit. He started typing and then deleted it and tried again and then hit the back button in frustration.

Wei Wuxian:

Sorry I mean whatever you want to call it.  You’re the only one.  That I’m seeing. Just in case.  You wondered.

Great, great, smooth.

Lan Zhan: Good. I’m glad.

Oh, he wasn’t sure exactly what that meant, but it made his stomach do some kind of swooping maneuver.  

Wei Wuxian: K well I gotta go. Gotta take this make-up off and get over to Yanli’s place.  It’s her gender inclusive bachelorette party tonight.  

Lan Zhan: And put on a shirt.  

Wei Wuxian: 🤣🤣🤣

Lan Zhan: Have a good time.

[lisbonsteresa]

(@raylaswife, I don’t know if you actually wanted something written off that apartment post, but if you did I hope you like it.)

————

It’s not even that Callum’s luck was bad, not really. It was more...inconvenient. It had been inconvenient that he’d forgotten Soren “borrowing” the last of their milk for his protein shake and that he had to eat dry cornflakes for breakfast. It was inconvenient that he’d run to catch the bus to the art shop and gotten to the stop just as it was pulling away. And it was definitely inconvenient that he had forgotten both his keys and umbrella, which resulted in him dripping onto the doormat, still struggling with his bags, as he called to his brother through the door to their apartment.

He couldn’t blame his inconvenient luck for the silence from the other side of the door though. That was all him. “Ez?” he tried again, pressing his ear to the wood. “I know you’re in there bud; I can hear the tv”. A few quick shuffled steps were followed by the click of the remote, then nothing.

“Listen, Ezran....I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have yelled like that”. He really shouldn’t have, Callum knew. But when he’d found the last piece for his portfolio not drying on his desk like he left it, but instead lying facedown on the kitchen counter, jelly toad - and finger - prints covering the edges of the canvas, he’d snapped. “I’ve just been really stressed out about applying to art school, but I know that’s not a good excuse,” There was no response from the other side of the door, but he knew his brother was there. That was one of the many great things about Ezran - no matter how mad they got at each other, he was always willing to listen when Callum tried to explain himself. “and I shouldn’t have taken it out on you”.

“Or Bait”.

Callum couldn’t help but grin at that. “Or Bait. It’s just with...” his head dropped down to lean his forehead against the door as the full weight of finishing his portfolio while also cramming for community college finals; of suddenly finding himself as the main caretaker for his brother; of all the things with their dad that he was still trying to avoid dealing with - huh. Maybe he should try calling that therapist Claudia kept not-so-subtlety recommending - hit him again. “everything; it’s been....hard lately”.

There was a soft thump as Ezran let himself lean against the door. “Yeah, I know.” he said softly, his voice sounding like he knew exactly which ‘everything’ was weighing on Callum the most. They stood in silence for a moment, the door between them, before Ezran continued. “Okay then. I accept your apology.”

Callum straightened up and reminded himself for perhaps the millionth time how lucky he was to have a brother like Ezran. “Thanks Ez.” he smiled, before shuffling his bags into more manageable positions and reaching for the doorknob, “Now just unlock the door and we can -“

“But Bait does not”.

Callum froze, his hand stopping just before the doorknob, barely catching one of the bags as it threatened to slide off his arm and onto the floor. “Wait, what?”

“Bait has heard your apology,” Ezran was interrupted by a large snort, and Callum pictured his brother holding his pet toad’s big grumpy face up to scowl at him through the apartment’s peephole. “but he is not convinced that you deserve forgiveness”.

Callum resisted the urge to roll his eyes. He thought they had stopped playing along with the idea that his brother could understand Bait back when Ezran was in middle school. Then he heard a faint sniffle through the door and realized that maybe the toad wasn’t the only one who hadn’t fully forgiven him. “I see. And what would you recommend I do if I wanted to get back into Bait’s good graces?”

A beat. Then: “Bait says that if you’re really sorry....you have to do the thing”.

“I - wha- Ez, seriously? Out here?”

“Hey, Bait makes the rules. I am but his humble spokesperson”.

Barely containing a snort of laughter, Callum relented and carefully dropped his bags to the floor. “Alright, I’ll do it. But tell Bait that he might have one less jelly tart on his plate tonight.”

“Bait has decided that is an acceptable price to pay”.

Grinning, Callum rolled his shoulders out, stepped to the middle of the hallway, then spun around and bowed to the peephole he knew his brother was watching him through. “Very well. Let’s begin”. And then he danced.

Honestly, he didn’t ever really mind the dance once he got started. It was all high kicks and flailing arms and whatever weird or funny faces he could think to make; and it was actually kind of fun. It helped to let off some steam and just be goofy for a few minutes, Ezran’s laughter and clapping egging him on to throw in even sillier moves.

“Bait says knees higher! Knees higher!”

“Bait can’t even see my knees!” Callum called through a laugh.

“He can tell by your steps that your knees aren’t high enough!” Ezran shot back. “Come on, up up up!”

Once his arms started to burn, Callum knew it was time to bring out his big finishing move. “Get Bait ready!” he called in the direction of the apartment door, “this is gonna blow his mind!”. He launched himself into the air, spinning around with his arms wide, before coming down to land on one foot and kicking the other up in front of him. “Ta-“

“You planning on keeping this up all night,” an amused voice called from behind him, “or can I use the intermission to actually get into my apartment?”

Callum spun around so fast that the leg he was standing on nearly gave way, only just managing to grab onto the doorknob of Unit 4C before he dropped - very embarrassingly - onto his rear end in front of a total stranger. What a first impression.

To her credit, the stranger looked more entertained than annoyed. She looked about his age, maybe a year older, leaning against the wall with a reusable grocery bag slung over one shoulder and her hair - so blonde it almost looked white - tied up in a bun on top of her head. She was watching Callum with a small smirk lifting the corner of her mouth, and he realized belatedly that the keys dangling from her finger were in fact for Unit 4C. He also realized that he was still hanging off her doorknob. He should probably get up. Why wasn’t he getting up?

To his dismay, the smirk dropped into a frown and she pushed off the wall, crossing her arms over her chest while never taking her eyes off of him. “Is this something you do often?” she asked, a slight accent lifting the end of her sentence - Scottish, maybe? Welsh? - “Staring at strangers?”

Callum sprang up straight, face heating as he tried to find some way to save any part of this interaction. “No! No. No, of course not, no, because that would be a, um, really weird thing to do...” his thoughts trailed off as he finally looked the stranger dead-on. “...You have really pretty eyes.” Why would he say that?!

She did, in his defense. Bright violet eyes that popped open in surprise over his complete inability to keep his stupid foot out of his stupid mouth. “Thank you?” she replied, looking confused; the tips of her slightly pointed ears turning pink. And now he was embarrassing her on top of everything oh god this was a disaster.

“Anyway!” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together as if it might dissolve some of the awkward energy in the air. “Sorry about all the,” he waved his arms around in a bad imitation of his already bad dancing “...that. I don’t normally do that in that hallway. Or anywhere public if I can help it”. The stranger just kept standing there, watching his floundering with an at best bemused (and at worst annoyed) look on her face “It’s kind of this whole thing -“

“It’s Callum’s Famous Jerkface Dance!” Ezran’s voice called out from behind their door. Callum jumped - he had almost forgotten that Ez might still be within earshot - and the stranger whipped her head around looking for the source of the noise, pulling her bag closer to her as if she was preparing to defend it from an unexpected attacker.

“Sorry! Sorry.” Callum winced, rubbing the back of his neck and wondering how this conversation had gone so far off of normal. “That’s Ezran, my brother. He’s over in our apartment” he jerked a thumb behind him towards unit 4D “You can meet him later.” the stranger quirked an eyebrow. “Or not at all!” he continued in a rush. “Because why would you want to meet the brother of the guy who you saw doing the -“ he paused, risking a glance towards her, “um, how much of that did you see, by the way?”

The stranger’s smirk was back, but Callum couldn’t decide if he should take that as a victory or not. “Enough”.

Right. So he was never going to be able to talk to his new neighbor again. “Oh. Okay, cool, uh, yeah....” he stammered. “It’s just this thing that we agreed on when we were kids, that I do to apologize when I’m being -“

“A jerkface?”

“Yeah, see, you get it!” he was relieved to see that her smirk had softened. It seemed like she had decided he was in fact more entertaining than he was annoying. “Anyway, sorry you had to walk in on that. It’s pretty embarrassing”.

“Nah,” she replied, looking like she was barely holding back a laugh, “It was cute”.

Callum couldn’t really say for sure what happened after that. There was a roaring in his ears, and his grasp on the English language suddenly disappeared. He must have sputtered something though, because the next thing he knew the stranger actually was laughing at him. “Hey Ezran,” she called to the door behind him, her sparkling eyes never leaving his, “is your brother always this articulate?”

“Most of the time, yeah.” Ezran’s voice called out (sounding very amused by his brother’s suffering).

“Thank you for that Ez.” Callum hissed, his face burning red and hoping his brother could see the glare he was leveling at the peephole. He turned back to the stranger with an awkward laugh, praying they could both pretend he’d played this whole thing off much better than he had. “Family, right?” he chuckled, hoping to find some kind of ‘can’t live with ‘em’ commonality.

The stranger smiled back at him, but her eyes suddenly looked....almost sad. “Yeah, family...” she trailed off, twisting a braided string bracelet around her wrist for a moment before she blinked and seemed to come back to herself. “Well, anyway,” she lifted her grocery bag and avoiding his gaze “I’d better get this inside before my ice cream completely melts”. She spun around and started to unlock her apartment door, leaving Callum blindsided yet again. Had he said something wrong? Offended her? Should he apologize, or would that make things worse?

But before he could fall completely down that thought spiral, she turned back to him and her eyes were warm again. “But it was really nice to meet you, Callum. And you too, Ezran!” she called across the hall.

A happy “Mhmm!” came from behind the door of 4D; the sound of someone whose mouth was too full to actually speak. Callum couldn’t help but laugh: “He’s probably 6 jelly tarts in at this point, but take it from both of us that it was really nice to meet you too.....” he trailed off as he realized he’d never actually gotten her name.

“Rayla”. she supplied with a grin.

“Rayla.” he repeated, grinning back at her. It was a pretty name (though thankfully this time he kept the thought to himself). “So, I guess we’ll see you around then?”

She stepped into the doorway of her apartment and turned back to face him. “I hope so.” she replied, shooting a wink at him just before the door closed.

Callum stood frozen in the hallway for another moment before he could remember how to make his legs work. He walked as quickly as he could into his apartment and leaned up against the back of the door, trying very hard to ignore the urge to spend the rest of the day sketching his new neighbor’s pretty eyes.

(It was inconvenient to realize, half an hour later, that he had left his bags outside their door, but somehow he couldn’t find it in himself to complain.)

[relv07]

moonfire

I am so incredibly excited to be posting my fic for @noragamibigbang​ !!!! You can read it here on AO3. The first half is up now and the second half will be posted before Saturday.

Title: moonfire

Summary: Iki Hiyori discovers a guy passed out on her twelfth-story balcony one morning, and her life just gets stranger from there. AU, Yatori.

I had so much fun working on this piece; it’s my baby. It’s my first time writing anything this long (novella-length) and I’m super excited to share it with everyone! Huge thanks to my betas @puffkiine and Nightshade, who have been so supportive and patient. Also check out @lumiccu‘s INCREDIBLE art here !!

First chapter is under the cut!

In Tokyo, Yato thought, bars were secret places.

He became faceless and nameless when he entered; no one bothered him or tried to engage in conversation. They only cared if he could pay. He felt like a minnow, swimming against the pungent waves of sweat and alcohol-infused breath long enough to grab a seat at a booth in the corner. There were people everywhere; university students toasting with beer, worn-out salarymen with their ties loosened drowning their sorrows in sake, old men laughing at the bar. He watched, feeling detached from the scene even as he became part of it. He ordered some sake and tried not to wince at the price. He’d been spending a lot of his meagre savings on alcohol lately.

Especially after his birthday. After the fires had started.

After an hour or so he acquired some drinking buddies, two university students who couldn’t find anywhere else to sit. They were around his own age and seemed friendly enough. At the very least, even though they were both well put together, they didn’t give Yato strange looks for the clothes he knew were ratty and worn.

“What do you do for work, Yato-san?” one of them asked—he thought his name might be Hirano, but by then he’d had a couple beers and their names were becoming hazy memories.

“Odd jobs,” Yato answered easily, popping edamame into his mouth. He was drunk enough to not care about the reaction that telling the truth about his lack of steady work usually elicited, but it was still kind of Hirano to merely nod.

“We’re students at Keio,” he said. “I study political science, and Take studies business.”

Take—or as he’d been introduced, Arashi—gave a small grunt of acknowledgement from next to Hirano. He’d done four shots in quick succession about fifteen minutes ago despite Hirano’s suggestion that he space them out, and now seemed to be focusing most of his willpower on not puking.

“Do you know each other from university?” Yato asked, feigning polite interest.

Hirano smiled as he adjusted his glasses, seemingly pleased that Yato was engaging in his small talk. “Yes, we belong to the same club.”

Arashi snorted. He seemed to have recovered from his nausea and now appeared pleasantly buzzed. “He’s got a crush on the president,” he informed Yato conspiratorially.

“I do not,” Hirano retorted, the pink hue on his cheeks betraying him. Yato snickered.

As the night wore on and the noise of the bar became a fog in his head, the small talk faded away into the camaraderie of people who might have known each other for years instead of mere hours. Yato slowly began to forget his worries and gave into the pleasant haze of drunkenness. He hadn’t had work in weeks, friends to help him in Tokyo, or even a place to stay the night—but these things seemed suddenly inconsequential, like they were facts about someone else’s life. He was warm, safe, and everything else seemed to fade away, especially when somehow or another they started singing a drinking song.

“In July for Tanabata I’ll drink sake! I’ll drink, drink, drink, drink, I’ll drink some sake!”

Their voices raised together in a raucous symphony. They were attracting the annoyed attention of other bar patrons, but by this point they were all too drunk to care.

“In August it’s hot so I’ll drink sake! I’ll drink, drink, drink, drink, I’ll drink some sake!”

Yato’s voice was getting hoarse, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. It was the first time in weeks that he’d felt anything approaching happiness.

Abruptly, Arashi’s head fell on the table with a clunk. Yato and Hirano stopped singing, and Hirano shook his friend lightly.

“Are you okay?”

“Mmph,” Arashi moaned. “Head hurts.”

Hirano laughed and turned to Yato. “Looks like he’s done for the night. My apologies, but I think I’d better get him home.”

Yato offered him a companionable smile despite the disappointment settling in his gut. “‘Course! I’ll help you get him out.”

The three stumbled out of the bar and onto the street. The air was unseasonably cool for August, and he shivered at the feeling of the wind in contrast to the stifling air inside. Yato zipped up his jacket and cheerfully (if a bit woozily) turned to his companions. Hirano was supporting Arashi, who drooped against his right shoulder and mumbled incoherently as he waved around his bag of take-out.

“I’ll take him home,” Hirano said, offering a genuine smile. “It was nice to meet you, Yato-san.”

“You too,” Yato said, and meant it.

Hirano waved and set off towards the station, Arashi stumbling alongside him. Yato remained where he was, enjoying the night air. The moon was bright and near full, half hidden behind wisps of clouds, and it was late enough that passersby were dwindling in number. The Internet cafe where he was planning on crashing for the night wasn’t too far away, but since it was so pleasant outside, he decided to take a walk.

He didn’t know the area very well, so he picked a random direction and set off, feeling comfortable and content. It was incredible what a night of good company could do, he thought. He realized belatedly that he hadn’t asked for Hirano’s number, but it was probably for the best. He didn’t like to have ties to Tokyo. Even here in the Aoyama neighborhood, where he was easily two hours away from his childhood home, he couldn’t help but feel the urge to look over his shoulder, constantly feeling like somehow, his father’s eyes were on him.

He shivered. Tomorrow, he decided, he’d go to Yokohama. At least that way he could look for work—he never advertised in Tokyo, always tried to remain unseen and unheard, but his savings were starting to run dry. He kicked a stray pebble down the street and wondered ruefully why he had bothered to come back to Tokyo in the first place. Only bad things had happened since he’d arrived.

His mind wandered back to the night of his birthday and the charred bed he’d left behind in Ikebukuro. Even since that first time that he’d woken up in flames, he lived in constant fear of it happening again—which it did, six times in total since then. The very real possibility of spontaneously catching on fire certainly didn’t help much with his desire to stay hidden.

But the night air was cool on his feverish face, and he didn’t want to think about that.

He’d taken a turn onto a residential street, and the noise of the main streets faded away into a distant hum. It was quiet and dark, lit only by occasional street lights, any businesses having long been shuttered for the night. His footsteps echoed lightly down the street, accompanied by a faint chorus of crickets, and he glanced down the street to watch for cars as he stepped onto the road. He tilted his head up to meet the occasional gust of wind. His head felt fuzzy, but rather than being pleasant, it was starting to become uncomfortable.

He thought of the people who were sleeping in the homes he passed, safe and warm with their families and loved ones and, despite himself, felt a bit jealous.

Suddenly, it felt like someone had struck his head with a hammer, and he doubled over from the pain of it. He stumbled and managed to catch himself, but the pain was still there, pounding in his head, and he was soaked with sweat.

He was sick, he realized with sobering clarity. Dizzier than he should be, considering he hadn’t drank too much—at least, not relatively. Paranoid visions of someone slipping something into his drink danced at the edges of his vision, but in the haze he couldn’t tell if they were real or not. He spotted the familiar glow of a vending machine and stumbled towards it, reaching clumsily for his change purse—and then he dropped it, coins scattered everywhere, and suddenly he was vomiting in the bushes.

He coughed wetly and, wiping his mouth on his jersey sleeve, scooped up a handful of coins—but his fingers were shaking, his vision doubled, and the vending machine took coins only one at a time. He breathed a shaky sigh when the total finally reached 100 yen, and the cool water was a welcome reward for his efforts. Yato leaned against the vending machine and breathed in the night air.

He had to keep moving, he knew. Even if he was just drunk, he didn’t want to get arrested for sleeping on a vending machine (though the idea currently seemed very tempting) and worst case—if he was drugged—someone would be after him. The thought sent an unwelcome rush of blood pounding through his head, and with it a second wave of nausea that he managed to fight off. He finished off the water in three quick swigs, tossed it in the receptacle, and braced himself against the vending machine as he stood.

“Damn it,” he muttered. His head was pounding, and with the pain came paranoia. You just drank too much, he reassured his nerves. The sake was strong, or didn’t mix well with the beer, or something. It’s fine.

He was all turned around now. He was pretty sure the Internet cafe was somewhere to his right, and with it a place to sleep, maybe even a shower if he was lucky. He started down the road, then stopped, frowning. He turned around and went the opposite way.

He was getting deeper into the residential areas- and his headache was getting worse. Yato gripped the side of a streetlight and willed his vision to clear. He had a niggling feeling that he was going the wrong way. His head felt as though it was trapped in a vice, and he was so dizzy—he focused on his feet, putting one foot in front of the other in deliberate motions. The world was a foggy, painful mess of dark and light, and he squeezed his eyes shut even as he walked, delicate in his movements.

If he had been more aware, he might have noticed the unnatural sense of calm that had come over him. The pain was still there, but it was becoming lighter; freer. Like it was a part of him, like it had always been a part of him, like it had a purpose. He giggled. His head hurt. His feet were moving, but he wasn’t in control of them anymore, and he watched them, idly, like one might watch the pigeons peck at the sidewalk.

“In No-vem-ber no-thing hap-pens, but I’ll drink an-y-way,” he murmured, matching the syllables of the silly song to his steps. The blood was rushing in his ears and it was all suddenly very funny.

“I’ll dr-i-nk sake, drink, drink, drink, drink…” he trailed off. He was getting sleepy. His body felt very light all of a sudden, very floaty. He watched as one foot left the ground, and then as his other foot left the ground...and suddenly, he wasn’t on the ground at all. He smiled and let his eyes flutter halfway closed. He didn’t have to move anymore, he realized languidly. He’d just go where he needed to go. Up, up, up.

Someone was watching television in their apartment on a blue screen—the next was dark, and so were the next few, and then there were a group of people sitting together, their mouths stretched in laughter. He reached out and traced the line of the building, his fingers skimming against the cool brick—then there was a balcony with lots of plants, and a balcony with laundry still out, and a balcony with nothing but a single chair, and a balcony with nothing at all, and then, and then, and then he reached out, and he grabbed the edge of the guardrail, and gently hoisted himself over it. The concrete ground was cool under his face, and he felt a sense of total, faithful security, even as he fell into a dreamless sleep.

[revasserium]

hinata + 26

haikyuu requests currently: closed 

although, if you have a hinata-request. send it in bc. chances are i’ll write it because i am #biased 

26. the length of daylighthinata ; 2,651 words 

a/n: i know i never post authors notes usually, but wow uh – i really liked writing this? and i think this might be one of the best things I’ve written on this blog to date. idk man. i just. really really liked this. u__u pls give hinata some love he deserves the world. 

five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes – you hadn’t seen him in so long. it’d been three years – three times five hundred, twenty-five thousand, six hundred minutes – that’s way too many minutes, and yet here he is, standing on your doorstep with a smile that you’d be crazy not to remember. 

you stare at him, and wonder where to even begin – he’s taller, that’s for sure, and tanner, so much tanner – well obviously, brazil is a sunny place. 

“hey.” 

you open your mouth to speak, but no words come out. instead, you just stand and gape at him like he’d somehow stolen your voice from your chest (like ursula the sea-witch, and you don’t know how, after so long, he still seems to hold this kind of magic over you – can you call it a curse if you’ve missed it? the way it shifts the very fabric of your reality until you’re living in his). 

he scuffs his feet against the welcome mat and you can breathe again; he glances down at his shoes, scratching at the back of his head. 

“you’re… taller.” 

he laughs. the self-same open, melodious, uproarious thing you remember from three years before; he still laughs with his entire body, lets it shake him from core to shoulders, his eyes squinting shut. when he calms down enough to look back at you, there’s a pleased flush high in his cheeks. 

“yeah, guess so.” 

when you step aside to let him in, he grins wide enough to split his face, leaping over the half-step into your apartment, immediately crowding into your space till you’re pressed almost chest to chest. 

“oh-ho~!” he holds a hand up from the top of his head and moves it slowly over yours, “you’re right! i did get taller! maybe i even grew a little since i got back!” 

you lick your lips and try to swallow your heart back down your throat from where it’s beating against your voicebox. close, close, way too close. 

he smells nice, you realize – no, remember. but it’s different than before. he no longer smells of citrus shampoo and the slight dampness of sweat; now he smells vaguely of salt and suntan lotion. you allow yourself a grin as you look up, your eyes searching his face for the traces of him you still remember, are trying to hold onto. they’re still there – the light his eyes, the ease of his smile. 

freckles… that wasn’t there before. 

you stand there for a moment, chests almost pressed in your doorway, him now tall enough to tower (just a bit) over you, before he realizes and jumps back, almost stumbling over his own feet as his back meets the opposite wall, stuttering out something like an apology. 

at least that hasn’t changed. 

“s-sorry! i didn’t mean to – i mean – was that too close – it totally was – i just got so excited to see you again – it was like – mmm – that woooshhh feeling in my chest like – you know? i won’t do it again! i mean – not unless you want me to –” 

“shouyou.” 

he cuts clean off at the sound of his name on your lips. it’s different too, than what he remembers. he swallows, unsure of what’ll happen next. but you smile, leaning towards him (he notices that your hair is longer, way longer than when he left – right, three years is a really long time – he likes it longer; he wonders if it still smells just as nice as it did before; it probably does) with a spark in your eyes and he knows he’s gone. 

three years across the world, and you’d think it would’ve stamped out this childish crush of his, one that he has no idea you harbored for him as well (your friends all wonder when on earth the pair of you will realize). it hasn’t. if anything, distance really does make the heart grow fonder, and shit – you’re saying something and all he can focus on is the way your lips still look way too soft – and is that lipgloss you’re wearing? you didn’t used to do that before. 

“… not listening, are you?” 

“huh? ah – i – uh – no… sorry i zoned out –” 

he flashes you a sheepish grin, scratching at the back of his head as he pushes himself back up from where he’d fallen against the wall. you huff and flicking a strand of hair over your shoulder. 

“i asked if you wanted coffee or anything. i was about to make some anyway.” 

“sure! yeah! i love coffee – that sounds – that sounds great!” 

he follows you into the living room, looking around at all the things that had changed, but noticing all the things that stayed the same. you still had your graduation picture hung up, right next to the picture of the team. you had short hair then – he liked short hair on you too. hell, he figures, letting his eyes wander across the walls of your living room, he’d probably still like you bald. the thought almost makes him laugh; he shakes his head. nah, he likes you better with hair for sure. 

“milk? sugar?” 

“hm? yeah – uh – whatever you think is good.” 

you quirk an eyebrow and he realizes belatedly that he must’ve said something wrong. 

“uh… milk… and sugar, both – please!” he grins, settling into a chair at the table, “thank you!” 

so you make coffee, he tells you about brazil, about the stretches of beaches that never seem to end, about the skies so blue it hurts to look too hard, about the way there’s always something that smells delicious in the air, always chatter and music in the streets. you tell him about how you’ve been, how college is great because you could finally drop math classes, but how it’s also kind of a nightmare because morning lectures are the freaking worst. 

you tell him about the upperclassman who really liked you, and kept on asking you out till he graduated. 

“i never said yes, though,” you say, nursing your cooling coffee mug. 

hinata quirks his head, “why not? wasn’t he –” he waves a hand through the air, before saying rather dumbly, “nice?” 

you smile, “yeah, he was nice. but… he wasn’t really my type.” 

hinata licks his lips, “you… have a type now?” 

you roll your eyes, “i’ve always had a type.” and you don’t have to look up to hear the pout in his voice. 

“i never knew about it.” 

you toss a bit of crumpled napkin at him across the table, “you never asked.” 

“oh.” and then after a second, “so… what is your type?” 

you hum, tapping your lips in mock contemplation. a single glance tells you that he’s watching you, and the realization shouldn’t make your stomach twist the way it does, but – it does. he’s watching you with those eyes of his, almost completely devoid of light, like tiny black holes, depthless, with enough gravity to swallow the entire world whole – to swallow you whole. 

“someone tall,” he visibly deflates, “but not too tall,” you continue, and he brightens up again, almost immediately. you grin, leaning back in your chair, your eyes flickering over him, “someone who’s really good at one thing –” you cast about, “like an instrument,” he crinkles his nose to disguise a huff, “or a sport,” he grins to himself, nodding as if checking off mental boxes, you wonder how long you can drag this out for before he realizes you’re not talking so much about a type of person so much as one single person. 

“they should be really driven, and passionate about what they do, y’know?” you watch as he nods enthusiastically, hanging onto your every word. you grin. 

“and… hm, i like guys who speak more than one language. that’s a nice skill.” 

“yeah! uh-huh!” 

“and… hm… someone who’s good at making friends, that’s important too.” 

you watch as hintata considers this, mumbling to himself – i guess i’m not bad at that – i make friends alright – yeah. 

you prop your chin on the heel of your hand. 

“someone who plays volleyball,” you say, wondering if it’s about time to start giving proper hints. 

“uwah! yeah! cause i mean – you like volleyball, so it’d be nice, right?” 

you laugh, nodding along, “yeah – and y’know, and i kinda have a thing for gingers.” 

“yeah, yeah! it’s a nice hair colo –” he stops dead in his tracks as realization dawns over his face and his pleased smile morphs into an expression of sheer disbelief. 

you heave a loud sigh, pushing yourself up from the table, “yeah, if only a guy like that existed.” 

hintata opens his mouth, shooting to his feet, but even as he opens his mouth to say i do! i’m right here! another realization blooms in his chest. 

i’ve always had a type. 

oh. oh. 

he blinks at you from across the table, his own prolonged ignorance finally cracking over his shoulders – all those years – all of highschool. all these years too. 

“shit.” 

he collapses back into the chair, a helpless laugh on his lips as he cards a hand through his hair, mussing it up as he stares into the dregs of his now-cold coffee. 

“did you want another cup?” you ask casually from the sink, where you're rinsing out your own mug. once upon a time, you might’ve been angry, or upset, or any manner of things. but you’d realized somewhere along the way that loving hinata shouyou was never going to be a linear thing. and maybe it’ll take him a while to realize, but being best friends with him has taught you more than anything all the ways he says i love you – and it was a bit easier after that. 

“i – crap,” he chews on his lips, fumbling for words to say. 

you smile, “bathrooms down the hall to the right still. that hasn’t changed.” 

you turn just in time to see him flush to the roots of his hair, “that’s not what i meant.” 

“then…?” you lean back against the counter, watching as he struggles with his own tangle of emotions till he looks up again, his face a mask of determination. 

“go out with me.” 

you raise your eyebrows, a small smile playing at your lips, “sure, to where?” 

hinata groans, shaking his head, “i mean like – not outside – out like – like –” his cheeks are almost red enough to match his hair, “like – out!” 

you laugh, your entire body shaking with the sound, and it’s this more than anything that seems to ground hinata enough for him to stop stuttering. 

“properly – i mean. be – be my girlfriend.” 

you nod, biting down the swell of elation cresting in your chest, “okay.” 

“oh – okay?” he blinks. 

“yeah,” you say, “okay.” 

“oh – okay! yay! ah – this is great! waaaahhhh!” he leaps out of the chair, both hands raised over his head. it takes him all of three seconds to bound across the living room to the sink, both his hands raised as if asking for a high-ten. you laugh, raising your own hands. 

how entirely hinata-like – to high-five someone after asking them out. 

he claps his hands against yours, laughing, but his laughter fades as you don’t pull away, instead slipping your fingers between his. his eyes widen at the sensation of your pressed palms, and he almost hiccups at how his entire body shivers. 

and suddenly, he’s tugging you towards him, as if on raw instinct, as if all he wants is to be closer, just a bit closer, and you find yourself stumbling into his chest, gasping but never doubting that he’d catch you. so he does, his hands finding purchase around your waist, your hands against his chest – so solid from years and years of relentless workouts and practice. 

“uh – uhm – i uh –” he swallows, glancing from your eyes to your mouth, his mind seemingly short-circuiting somewhere between the two. 

“shouyou,” you say, leaning up onto your tip-toes (you remember when the pair of you used to be only two inches apart). 

he nods once. 

“kiss me.” 

he nods again, before leaning in, and the first kiss a little strange – the both of you still not quite sure of where your own lips are supposed to go, what the whole situation with the teeth is supposed to be like (credit where credit is due, both of you have watched enough romance – and the occasional porno – to know how it’s supposed to look but given everything that’s happened, practical application is still a bit rusty). the second kiss is better, and you can feel hinata’s confidence surge when he presses in closer, tilting his head to slot your lips better, the friction between you making you gasp. 

the third kiss, he’s already caught onto the rhythm. 

the fourth, you wonder if it’s quite fair for someone to be such a fast learner, your fingers fisting in the front of his shirt, all awkward, fumbling newness gone from his movements as he pushes you back against the counter, his hands coming up to cup your cheeks, thumb running along your jaw to tilt your head the way he likes. 

the fifth, you stop counting. you don’t have the capacity to anymore. 

after what feels like an eternity of kissing (and who knows, it might’ve been – maybe outside, years have already passed by, or maybe it was just a few, breath-stealing seconds), he pulls back, the both of you panting, eyes a little glazed over, lips slick and kiss-swollen. 

he grins, a wide, satisfied kind of thing, and you can almost imagine him purring in his chest. 

“hey.” 

you laugh, quirking your head as you watch him preen under this new truth – the two of you being together – finally, finally. 

“you really have gotten taller.” 

you push up to give him another peck. he whines in the back of his throat, leaning down to try and follow your lips but you twist your head so his mouth lands somewhere on your cheek, and he decides that that’s alright too. he gives you a loud, smacking kiss, grinning into your skin. 

you glance at the clock. 

“well. now that we’re going out-out. properly,” you tease, “do you wanna order in takeout for dinner?” 

hinata laughs, the sound perfect and warm, rumbling through his chest, resonating into yours. 

“yeah – you know i worked as a delivery boy in brazil?” 

you nod, “yeah, i remember – you texted me pictures of your bike, remember?” 

“oh! oh yeah,” he grins cheekily as you try to wriggle out of his grasp to reach your phone. he holds on tighter. you sigh, reaching into his back pocket for his phone and swiping it open only to find a picture of yourself smiling back at you from his lockscreen. 

“hey!” 

he tries to grab the phone from you, but you duck out of his grasp. 

“i’m just trying to seamless!” you laugh, dancing out of his reach as he tries half-heartedly to retrieve his phone. when finally, the both of you are laughing and collapsed on the couch, he hooks his chin over your shoulder. 

“next time, i’ll take you on a real date.” 

you smile, “sure. we can go to one of those fancy restaurants.” 

“uh-huh,” he nods, determined to meet your expectations. 

“and we can order all the most expensive things on the menu,” you tease, grinning wide. 

hinata sucks in a breath and you can almost feel him steeling himself not to deny you. 

“yeah – that’s fine – well, maybe we should look up the menu first, so we can see what we like.” 

you nod, “sounds like a plan.” 

“it’s a date.” 

you smile, letting your head fall back onto his shoulder. 

“yep, it sure will be.” 

[teaandatale]

HAPPY BIRTHDAY @geekynerddemon​

You asked for some of my long lost fic, so I dug around in my unpublished fic files to the first Steggy fic I ever wrote back in 2015. I never was able to finish it, and the writing didn’t ever feel quite up to snuff to post, so it’s sat shelved the past five year (wow, it’s been five years?). So enjoy a dusted off two excerpts from my first foray into all things Steggy. For some context, this means it was written prior to a lot of what we’ve come to know in the MCU, with mostly an emphasis on CATFA and season 1 of Agent Carter.

Untitled 1949 Steggy Fic

Premise: In the early days of SHIELD, recently moved to a D.C. headquarters, Steve Rogers is found, alive, four years after being presumed dead. Steve finds it difficult to transition back to the life of living. Peggy lives a busy life as a Director of SHIELD, and having said her goodbye to Steve on the Brooklyn Bridge some years past, she finds reconciling his return harder than she imagined. There’s a new power dynamic, the logistics of bringing back a presumed dead person, and enough emotions to cause anyone’s temper to boil.

In sum, Steve and Peggy are idiots at dealing with their feelings, when they should be rejoicing in having a second chance. And of course, it’s not the 1940s without Howard Stark causing some drama.

Keep Reading Below The Cut For Two Scenes

*Scene 1:

"I think I want to stay here for a while." Steve interrupts Howard's stream of plans.

"Rogers, you've been wanting fresh air. Come on, a nice restaurant, some drinks, some music, you'll feel much better."

"I want to talk to Peggy some more."

Howard sighs. "You might be waiting a while."

Steve didn't budge. "Not as long as I made her wait."

"Alright. Fine." Howard reaches in his pocket for a card and scribbles on the back of it. "Come by my place whenever you're ready. If you need a ride or can't get a hold of me call Jarvis at this number."

"Thanks Howard."

"Don't mention it. Good luck."

Steve stays down in one of Stark's labs for a while, reading some of the files and news articles about all the things he's missed since he went down in the plane. Stark's secretary is helpful, quiet, and kind about answering some of his pressing questions about SHIELD and as subtly as he can about Director Carter. It's about six when she informs him that Peggy's returned to her office, catching up on her paperwork. He thanks her for all her help and slips upstairs where the desks and workstations are quiet. Only a few Agents are left on shift but he sees the light on in Peggy's office, files sprawled atop her desk on both sides of her typewriter. Steve walks over and stands quietly in her open doorway as he waits for her to appear from behind the file she’s reading.

"Were the accommodations not to your liking?" Peggy asks without lifting her head from the file. When Steve doesn't answer right away she sets the file down and looks up at what she reads as surprise on Steve's face. "It's been a while I admit, but I quite remember the sound of your gait, Captain Rogers. I hope you don't expect you can easily sneak up on a Director of an intelligence agency.”

"I wasn't trying to sneak up on you." Steve says and takes a seat in a chair near the doorway, pushing it to the left enough so that Peggy is right in his line of sight. He revels in her brown eyes meeting his, willing her to not look away.

Peggy indulges him for a few moments before picking up her file and then a pen. "You didn't answer my question. Is Stark's offer not suitable? Other arrangements can be made."

"I appreciate Stark allowing me to stay with him." Steve replies.

Peggy raises an eyebrow. "And yet you are still here."

Steve shrugs with a small smile and bright blue eyes she so constantly reminisced over the years. "As are you Director."

 She snorts. "Yes, well some of us have paperwork to finish."

 "I can wait," he says and pulls out the day's newspaper from his back pocket and starts to read before Peggy can protest.

She bites her lip and watches him for a moment, studying the concentration in his eyes. He looked more comfortable now that he was in a more substantial outfit: khaki slacks and a plain white button up over his white undershirt. It made his presence in her office more real. Steve Rogers, alive from the dead, and refusing to vacate SHIELD to read a newspaper in her office. The itch she felt in the morning was eating her alive again.

Peggy had no desire to kick him out, even if she didn't particularly want him watching her fill out paperwork for the next several hours. She wanted to know exactly why he wasn't out enjoying his freedom with Howard. She wanted to punch him and hug him. And oh, how it made her heart tighten. Instead she continues working diligently in the quiet room, filled with only the occasional sound of him sifting through the paper and her pen scratching.

She makes it through another half an hour before she doesn’t have the heart or the will to keep him at arm's length anymore. He was clearly, for some unknown reason, determined to stay in her company.

She sets her pen down with a sign. "Have you at least had dinner yet?"

Steve immediately looks up at her. "No ma'am."

She purses her lips at his formal address but says nothing.

"Not quite ready for loud, showy fine dining with Howard?" Peggy muses.

"The last thing I can remember eating, outside of the food here, were rations," Steve replies while rubbing a hand at the back of his neck.

Peggy can’t help but smile. "I think you'll rather enjoy going back to a full menu. You'll finally be able to eat as much as your improved metabolism requires."

Steve blushes gently at that, realizing that she had been aware of his eating habits during the war. Thinking back, he can remember Peggy handing off extra rations whenever she possibly could. Peggy always did know him well.

"It was fine." Steve was never one to ask for more.

"Well we can't have you starve. Are you committed to staying in this office or just by my side?"

Steve flushes again but as she was looking directly at him he did not back down from accepting what she was offering. "Some place quiet?"

"Some place quiet," Peggy agreed with a nod. We'll need to find you a coat. Maybe a hat."

 *Scene 2:

Steve is lying in his bed the next day, moping, when Ana gently knocks at his door announcing that he has a dinner guest. He is surprised to see Peggy standing in the front room given their last interaction. He barged into her office and when he wasn't getting the response he wanted he was rude to Peggy. To Peggy. Who has always been his ally. His friend. The shame crept in again.

"Hello, Steve." Peggy is smiling. The confusion on his face must show because she continues. "I took the night off," she explains.

Ana suggests they head to the lounge in the guest wing and then rushes away to the kitchen for dinner. Steve leads the way, opening the door for her and then belatedly asking to take her coat. As she shrugs out of it he adds her blue and red dress to his mental inventory.

"I hear you came in rather late last night," Peggy says. "How far did you run?"

Steve shrugs. "I'm not sure. I think about fifteen miles out and fifteen back. I needed it though."

 "I understand." She’s still smiling easily.

They sit in armchairs across from each other.

"Peggy, I would like to apologize for my behavior last night. I was upset and I took it out on you. You did not deserve that."

Peggy shakes her head. "Steve, you've had one hell of a week. An actually life changing week. I know you're still adjusting." Her voice is just as he remembers its being. Strong and assuring.

"It's just- I'm so frustrated! And I don't mean to be.".

Ana knocks on the door and quietly places cups of tea on the table. And then they are alone. Peggy gestures to the table. Once they sit behind their plates Peggy reaches her hand out to touch Steve's arm. He feels the hair in the spot she touches shoot up, warmth spreading through him. "Steve, tell me what's been keeping you frustrated." He feels his eyes water but his heart lighten. And Peggy keeps her hand steady on him for a few long moments.

They talk long after their plates have emptied, Steve's for the second time. He vents his frustrations of feeling like a man out of place, not content to not being able to rely on his own resources. She listens raptly so he continues. They move back to the armchairs and Steve asks her a lot of questions and she answers all of them. He's been piecing together information from what he's read or overheard that it is nice to finally hear the full story from a reliable source.

The only thing Steve leaves untouched is Peggy herself. He can't get himself to ask about her personal life. Nor does it feel appropriate to bring up the date he missed, the one he was desperate for now. Besides how could he ask for more when his best girl is sitting so close to him right now.

It's hours later when Peggy stands suddenly from her chair but Steve doesn't even have a chance to be disappointed. "Oh, I brought you something. I'll be right back."

 "Can I bring you another cup of tea? Or a drink?"

She smiles at him so warmly. "Tea would be lovely, Steve."

Peggy is already back in the Lounge when Steve comes back with the tray of tea and dessert.

She arches an eyebrow. "Is that all for you or am I allowed a piece?"

Steve blushes. "I brought it for you."

She laughs, amusement filling her face. "I'm teasing Steve. Although I do remember you having a bit of a sweet tooth." She grabs an eclair and urges him to try one. He's mesmerized by the chocolate left at the edge of her lips and the way her tongue pokes out to clear it all in a flash.

She puts a plain box onto his lap and leans forward. "I'm sorry it took a while, but I finally managed to get most of your belongings back. We managed to save the contents of your footlocker, the Howlies and I, before they cleared it out, but then things like your dress uniform were sent back to the U.S. Army. Other than your suit and shield, which Howard has locked safe, I think I brought most of it."

Steve opens the lid careful, fingers gently carding over the top of his personal belongings as his eyes took inventory. A few photos, of him and Bucky. His dog tags. A makeshift sketchbook he flipped through, with a picture of a dancing monkey tucked inside. There's an old Captain America comic he only kept because Bucky and the boys wrote dumb jokes and sketches into the margins. He looks through it all until he comes to the compass he assumed had been lost. He flicks it open, glad to see the photo of Peggy was only a little worn, studies it for a moment and immediately put it in his pocket for safe keeping. Peggy herself had been drinking her tea looking resolutely away in some semblance of privacy.

[runawaymarbles]

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If you cut humanity to the quick, split it open, found its soul, it would have dark red hair and bright wild eyes.

So You Need To Get Into A.Z. Fell & Co.; Now What? (A Guide For Unfortunate Bookworms) by arkhamcycle | 1.8k | G

London’s antique enthusiasts and rare lit nerds alike know that if you’re looking for a specific vintage or antique book, you have a good chance of ending up in A.Z. Fell & Co. as a last resort. And if you’ve ever been in (or are currently in) this predicament, you know how much of an absolute nightmare it is trying to even get in the door. Luckily, this handy guide, the fruit of a months-long collaborative effort to create the perfect formula for gaming the A.Z. Fell system, will tell you everything you need to know, complete with a comprehensive breakdown of what, exactly, the opening hours are. Compiled by pageknight and inky of the Rare Antique Forums.

Quiet Light by drawlight | 2k | T |

There are rules. The trouble with hearts is that they play by none of them.

between the shadow and the soul by absopositivelutely | 2k | NR

(alternatively: it takes 6000 years for crowley to realize that aziraphale could love him too.)

i just happen to like apples (i am not afraid of snakes) by gyzym | 2k | Not Rated

Written for the following prompt: "Someone write me Crowley the bitter lesbian who only gave Eve the apple because she thought feminism should be there from day one." As such, please be warned that this story contains some fairly radical reinterpretations of Biblical stories and themes; if that sort of thing is not for you, please give this tale a pass.

Secret Agent Man by Emamel | 2.3k | G | 

Edward was very good at two things: noticing things, and not being noticed in return. It was the sort of qualities that made you a good spy. These two never got the memo.

Ten Fathoms Deep On the Road to Hell by BuggreAlleThis | 2.5k | G

Aziraphale is given an assignment as a Captain in the Royal Navy and finds life at sea miserable. Crowley, on the other hand, is having plenty of fun as the Captain of a motley pirate crew.

Untitled Goose Fic by rattatatosk | 3k | T

It's a lovely week in the South Downs, and Crowley is at war with a Horrible Goose.

Anthony J. Crowley, Retired Demon and Airbnb Superhost by TheOldAquarian | 3k | G 

What are you supposed to do when you've been fired from your sweet job in Hell for thwarting the schemes of Satan, you've got a swanky flat in Mayfair, and you're looking for an excuse to spend all your time in someone else's bookshop? Obviously, you turn to the dubious world of short-term vacation rentals. The resulting Airbnb property has been variously described as "an instagram trap," "a vampire den but make it botanical," and "the weirdest bed and breakfast in the shared history of beds and breakfasting."

Salinity (And Other Measurements of Brackish Water) by drawlight | 3k | T | 

It's an odd thing, getting on after the End of the World. Crowley takes to sea-watching.

Stopgap by RC_McLachlan | 3k | T | 

"Can you imagine ruining something so frustratingly perfect just to get a leg up with Management?" Crowley then remembers who he's talking to and why he's here in the first place. "Sorry, bad example, of course you can." A missing scene from Episode 6.

Wednesdays Are for This by magpiespirit | 3k | T

"D'you think we should have sex," he asks idly, pressing post on his addition to the exclusive How to Summon and Bind Demons forum. This one, he's sure, will both give Hell several annoying headaches and make a dent in the problem of demonology rising in the incel community. Bless, he loves having free time. "I think," Aziraphale replies frankly, giving Crowley a really, now look over the rims of his stupid glasses and the top of a first edition of something that probably uses a hundred words to say what could be said in five, "that should is a word best left to Heaven and Hell." And Crowley, who was only looking to fluster the angel a little, belatedly remembers that he's gotten commendations for Aziraphale's temptations.

build me a city, call it jerusalem by gyzym | 3.5k | T | 

Man begets man begets The Tales of Men, and there's nothing godly in that; Those Above and Them Below haven't any need for the stories humans have been hungry for since the snake and the Angel with the flaming sword.

The Plantom Menace by theinkwell33 | 3.6k | G 

There is an urban legend well known in this area regarding The Plant Man. Footage exists, blurry and ill-lit, of the trespassing fiend, but it never provides a good look at his face. He exists only as a rumor; a giggled whisper in someone’s ear at the pub, an inside joke at uni, and a viral sensation. None of these things mean he is not real. That being said, the only person who can corroborate the truth about the Plant Man is the man himself. And unfortunately, Anthony J. Crowley has no idea that it’s him.

get religion quick (cause you're looking divine) by brinnanza | 4k | G |

So it was fine. Even if Crowley couldn’t love him, he clearly liked him well enough, and that was almost the same thing. It no doubt would have continued to be fine, or at least fine-adjacent, were it not for a narrowly averted apocalypse and several bottles of a really quite nice Riesling Aziraphale had found in the back room of his newly restored bookshop.

to carthage then i came by Lvslie | 4k | T | 

‘You’re difficult to follow sometimes.’ ‘Difficult?’ Crowley echoes, feeling hollow. ‘Am I too fast? Am I going—’ And just like that, there’s something new in the silence between them, a tightening. The glass almost slips from his grasp, sliding from between languid fingers. His vision clouds. —too fast for you?’

Snakes and Stones (Never Broke My Bones) by DeerstalkerDeathFrisbee | 4.5k | G

No one wants to say it, but the residents of Dorm A, floor 3, are collectively convinced Aziraphale Fell’s boyfriend does not exist. This is their story.

as the poets say by nikkiRA | 4.6k | T

Crowley takes a long drink of his wine and then says, before he can chicken out, “Aziraphale, I have always been sure about you.”

Re-Recalled by Jennistar | 5k | T |

Halfway through an argument, Aziraphale gets accidentally discorporated and doesn't come back. Crowley does the sensible thing and panics.

the bookshop nemesis witch by FlipSpring | 5k | G

The life and times of Nicole Percival Castings, Witch. Featuring: her ongoing love/rivalry with a particular magical bookstore, an Eccentric(TM) shopkeeper who keeps a huge snake in aforementioned bookstore, finding oneself and one's magical power, the cyclicality of life.

your smile speaks books to me by laiqualaurelote | 5k | T 

Aziraphale's bookshop becomes accidentally famous on Instagram, to his great distress. Since Crowley invented Instagram, it's also his problem.

it's a new craze by attheborder | 5.5k | G | 

CROWLEY: I try not to make a habit of gratitude, but I must give our appreciation to everyone out there who’s been listening and subscribing to The Ineffable Plan. AZIRAPHALE: Ooh, yes, we’ve become quite popular, haven’t we?CROWLEY: Yeah, just hit number eight on the advice charts … No advertising at all.  AZIRAPHALE: Mm. How … miraculous. CROWLEY: … Aziraphale. You did not.

your apple-eating heathen by katarzi | G | 5.7k

History is written without them, and Crowley’s no lady.

the blues have run the game by indigostohelit | 6k | NC-17 (more of an M)

Halfway between the Beginning and the Apocalypse, Crowley visits the court of King Saul, and runs into a prince, a war camp, and a songbook. 

the earth has never felt this old by brawlite | 6k | T

Crowley has a long history with holy places.

TwoFish by Grindylowe | 6k | T | 

A love story about angels and demons. Also, fish

A Nice and Accurate Lesbian Herstory Archive by badwig | T | 6.6k

More or less just the opening montage from 'Hard Times' but they're lesbians - a series of vignettes from the Garden to now.

parable of shepherds by Lvslie | 6k | T |

‘Aziraphale, you need to stop telling that goddamned story to everyone we stumble upon,’ she hisses. ‘I’m serious. You keep it up much longer, everyone’s gonna think we’ve gone and murdered that alleged husband of mine. ‘Crowley,’ Aziraphale says blithely, a serene smile plastered to her face as a familiar-looking man passes by, ‘Dear. That’s what I want them to think.’

Nothing Like The Sun by mirawonderfulstar | 6k | T |

One tended to go through a number bodies in six thousand years, even if one was as cautious or sturdy as Aziraphale. Crowley, who was neither cautious nor sturdy, had gone through a large number. He’d changed appearance so many times that in Aziraphale’s memory he was often just his eyes, for no matter if Crowley was tall or short, lithe or stocky, blond or raven-haired, his eyes stayed the same. 

Blessed/Cursed Retirement by DictionaryWrites | 7k | T

Liam Buttersby, a very normal, nine-year-old boy, makes a friend in the retiree who has recently moved to his village in the South Downs. The retiree in question claims to hate it, and is a liar.

the technology is neutral by Deputychairman | 7k | NC-17 | 

“Stand up?” he echoed, incredulous but too undone by sensation to express the full force of his disbelief. “I can barely even remember my own name after that, and you want me to stand up?” “Your name is Anthony J Crowley, apparently, although you never did tell me what the J stood for so I can’t help you there,” he said, not hiding his smile. “Do stand up, I promise you’ll like it.”

Part of the Plan by HardlyFair | 7k | T |

In which things do not return to the exact way they were Before.

Where Thou Art by Mottlemoth | 7.5k | M | 

A late-night bus to London, a few human comforts, and a long overdue confession... nothing will ever be the same for an angel and his demon.

The Ark by rfsmiley | 7k | T 

We’ve all been assuming that it takes them 6,000 years to figure it out, but what if it takes 6,300?

Or: the ineffable husbands evacuate a dying Earth.

Ad Astra by drawlight | 8K | NC-17

Some things can only be said in the dark.

except you enthrall me, never shall be free by curtaincall | 8k | T

It's a classic story: Angel meets knight. Angel volunteers to get beheaded by knight. Knight turns out to be angel's demon frenemy. Somehow, there is kissing. Based on the Middle English ballad Sir Gawain and the Green Knight.

Falling Rain by Aria | 8k | T |

Once upon a time, an angel and a demon hitched a ride on the Ark.

such surpassing brightness by Handful_of_Silence | 8k | G | 

The revelation that Aziraphale might have been in love with him for thousands of years is surprising. The fact that literal books have been written on the subject comes as even more of a shock.

Without Creativity by htebazytook | 8k | NC-17 |

Another Crowley and Aziraphale through the ages fic, with some heavy symbolism thrown in for good measure.

Exit Wounds by racketghost | 8k | T

“At least they were together for a time,” Crowley says, staring at the lit end of his cigarette, “maybe that’s enough.”

On The Matter Of Touch by Somedrunkpirate | 9k | T

“On the matter of touch,” Crowley begins, waving his teaspoon in what he hopes passes for idle curiosity. “Thoughts?”

and, so on by PaintedVanilla | 9k | M | 

Crowley doesn’t remember heaven, but Aziraphale remembers him.

Going Home by Daegaer | 9k | G | 

Aziraphale is recalled to Heaven, Crowley isn't impressed.

The future's going to break through by nieded | 10k | T

My take on South Downs: Aziraphale and Crowley decide to become professors. This is inspired by the headcanon that Crowley has 20 different degrees. He is the Serpent of the Tree of Knowledge after all.

Wings and How to Hide Them by triedunture | M | 10k 

Crowley's been annoyingly in love for six thousand years. What's another lifetime between friends? Or: Aziraphale definitely fucks and isn't that just perfect?

The Gospel of Crowley by gutterandthestars | 10k | T

Crowley tempts Jesus in the wilderness! Turns out Jesus gives as good as he gets. Also Crowley pines over Aziraphale and has Big Gay Angsty Feelings because, well. Because Crowley.

A Nanny? In MY Summoning Circle? by pukner | 10k | Not Rated

(it's more likely than you think) Warlock "Lockie" Dowling summons a demon. Or, he buys a book off a suspiciously familiar bookseller and is convinced into demon summoning. It goes about as well as you'd expect.

damn.nation, now available on itunes by antistar_e (kaikamahine) | 10k | T

When lowly tempt-pusher Amphora (formerly of Stairwell 7B North, before she Fell,) gets the notice that end times are nigh, she gleefully quits her job and cancels her Netflix subscription and takes her place among the legions of hell. This, it turns out, was a bad plan.

Lie Back And Think Of Dinner by jessthereckless | 11k | M |

"Crowley, this is a disaster. This is everything I ever wanted. We’re in love. And there’s a picnic. And we don’t seem to be able to get…amorous without causing earthquakes.” Aziraphale attempts subterfuge. Crowley sees right through him.

Something to do with these sacred words by Solshine | 11k | T

Crowley confesses early, and Crowley confesses often. Aziraphale never knows quite what to say.

A Resurrection of Whales, and Other Omens of Varying Goodness by Margo_Kim | 11k | WIP | T

After the end of the world doesn't end anything, Heaven and Hell send replacements to Earth while the old representatives try to figure out their new normal.

Serpentine by sergeant_smudge | 11k | G |

Five ways in which Crowley is a snake. *And one more thing.

what's to come by PepperPrints, restlesslikeme | 11k | T 

Post-Apocalyptic AU. Even without the Antichrist, both Heaven and Hell insist on Armageddon. Aziraphale is missing and Crowley sets out to find him, driving through a scorched Earth with a witch in his passenger seat.

Basking by bomberqueen17 | 15k | NC-17

Crowley is extremely confused about how or whether celestial beings can experience physical sexual desire. He's also not fantastic at using his words. Things go all... snake-shaped.

Nanny Knows Best by DictionaryWrites | 17k | M

Being a nanny, that should be simple. Simple. Easy as pie. Crowley wished that were true.

One Night In Bangor (And the World's Your Oyster) by Atalan | 17k | NC-17

"All right, I know I'm going to regret asking this," Aziraphale says. "What exactly does this wager entail?” Crowley grins like the cat that not only got the cream but has absconded with the entire cow. He grabs the bottle and swigs straight from it despite Aziraphale's tut of disapproval. "The pot goes to whichever demon can get an angel into bed by the end of the evening."

Soft (A Love Story in Three Bites) by mia_ugly | 18.3k | NC-17

Crowley was an angel, once. Before she fell. Aziraphale was a warrior (she fell too. It just took a little longer.)

The Persephone Clause by Zetared | 20k | T |

When Crowley is forcibly recalled to home office, Aziraphale conspires with a denounced saint and strikes a deal with the agents of Hell to get him back.

in search of the wind by drawlight | 27k | NC-17

After the World Doesn't End, Aziraphale is not returned to his body. Crowley tries to find a way to get to Heaven's fast-shut gates. Aziraphale tries to find his way back from the sky (and back in time).

And So We Come Full Circle by Hekateras | 30k | T | 

"Angel. You know it's gonna be really bad, this time around," Crowley says slowly. "When the times comes, I want you to-"

Mirror, Mirror by ImprobableDreams900 | 44k | T

Adam, Eve, and Crawly flee Eden through the Western Gate, and it turns out that that simple decision makes all the difference in the world...

Slow Show by mia_ugly | 90k | NC-17

In which temptations are accomplished, grand romantic gestures are made, and two ineffable co-stars only take four seasons of an award-winning television program to realize they’re on their own side (at last, at last.)

Demonology and the Tri-Phasic Model of Trauma: An Integrative Approach by Nnm | 100k | T

What Aubrey Thyme, a professional, thought, upon first seeing her new client was: you’re going to be a fun one, aren’t you?

Eden!verse by ImprobableDreams900 | 550k | T-M

When Crowley gets captured by angels and dragged up to Heaven, Aziraphale knows he has to rescue him—no matter the consequences.

[archadianskies]

Whumptober Day 3

Forced to their Knees + Held at Gunpoint

Whumptober Masterlist | 03/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Robbery × Mugging × Stargazing × Pining × Mutual Pining × Post-Pacifist Best Ending (Detroit: Become Human) × Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings  × First Kiss × Gun Violence × Gunshot wounds

It is not often he accepts social invitations, but Simon has requested his company and there is very little he will not do for Simon. The Bell Isle Conservatory has a new Planetarium on the newly expanded land, adding yet another educational destination for school-aged children as well as internship opportunities for new graduates.

“Thanks for coming out with me.” Simon’s smile is slightly self-conscious, and Ronan shakes his head.

“Not at all, Simon. I am glad to be spending time with you.” He does not miss the faint lilac tinge across the bridge of his nose and the tops of his cheeks. “Our duties keep us increasingly busy, so it is a welcome reprieve.”

The PL600 ducks his head shyly, looping an arm through the crook of his arm as they make their way through the winding gardens passed the conservatory, towards the planetarium at a leisurely pace. It is a crisp Friday evening, early enough in Spring it is still on the shaper side. The building is open until late to accommodate those wishing to attend after usual business hours, for which Ronan is grateful.

“I accompanied the class of one of the girls I used to look after,” Simon begins and Ronan nods to encourage him. “The parent who was meant to be chaperone fell ill and with all the other parents working, she suggested I come along instead. Perhaps one of the only times in my life being a PL600 proved advantageous.” His smile is bittersweet, and Ronan does not like it. “Anyway I loved it. I had such a good time, perhaps even more than she did. I’m not-” he presses his lips in a hard line, and Ronan stops walking to give him a moment to compose himself. “Domestic ocular units are not anything special. We only have rudimentary scanning capabilities, and our eyesight is really just replicating human 20/20 vision.” Simon rubs his own upper arms, seemingly curling in on himself. “He- Markus once remarked how bright Venus looked one night. To me it just looked slightly brighter than a star but… He can see it, the night sky without the light pollution. He can filter it out somehow, something about specialised RK ocular units. I have to go to a planetarium to see such things.”

“No.” Ronan shakes his head. “You do not.” Looking around them, he finds a park bench not too far away, and guides Simon to sit beside him. “Look up, right there.” He points upward, before letting the skin recede from his hand and very gently resting it atop Simon’s. He feels Simon accept the connection, turning his hand palm side up so he can tangle their fingers together. Ronan looks up, adjusting his vision to filter out Detroit’s heavy light pollution. It takes a moment, but soon the Milky Way is stretched out above them and Simon gasps, mouth open in wonder as he sees through Ronan’s eyes. Simon turns his head this way and that, marvelling at the glittering lights splashed out like swathes of jewels twinkling in the inky sky.

He’s gripping Ronan’s hand tightly, and he wishes they could stay like this forever. He wishes his entire world could be reduced to this moment, right here on a bench on a chilly Friday evening, holding Simon’s hand while Simon looks up at the galaxy in childlike wonder. He wishes he could hold Simon’s hand outside of this situation too. That would certainly be nice.

“We can.” Simon whispers, and Ronan turns to blink at him in surprise.

“Pardon?”

“Hold hands.” He is blushing and smiling at the same time and Ronan belatedly realises they are still connected, and Simon has been privy to all those thoughts.

“Oh.” He says, because that is all he can manage right this moment because he has never seen Simon blush and smile at the same time and he thinks it might be the loveliest sight he has ever seen, Milky Way be damned.

“No, shh!” Simon laughs, clapping his hand over Ronan’s mouth even though he had not spoken those words aloud. “Stop! I can’t bear it!” He is giggling and Ronan thinks very hard that it is a lovely sound and Simon buries his face in his shoulder to hide his embarrassment. They are still holding hands, though, and Simon seems as equally reluctant to let go as he. Ronan brings their twined hands to his lips, and presses a kiss atop Simon’s fingers. 

“Shall we head inside? The show is due to start in fifteen minutes.” Ronan suggests.

“Are you sure it won’t bore you? You can see our galaxy splashed out above us, I'm not sure how much fun it’ll be for you.” Simon frowns.

“I will enjoy it because I will be spending time with you.” He says sincerely, and there is that lovely lilac tinge again blooming on his cheeks and yes, even the tips of his ears. 

“And then you can choose where we go next time.” Simon declares as they get back on their feet, Ronan closing the connection but still holding his hand. Next time, Simon says, next time, and though the night is far from over he is already looking forward to that too.

 *~*

As they resume their leisurely walk towards the planetarium, Ronan’s proximity sensors come alive, filling his screen with red warnings. He manages to jab his elbow into the throat of the closest assailant and break the left kneecap of another, but he freezes at the click of a gun and Simon’s startled yelp.

“Don’t. Move.” Human, but using a vocal modulator to prevent him running a voice sample through their database. Clever. “On your knees.” The man, guessing by his strength and build, presses the barrel of his gun harder against Simon’s LED, the PL600 wincing. Ronan slowly gets to his knees. “You’re one of ‘em fancy ones aren’t you? Yeah I seen you online.” The other two assailants slowly get back upright, though their injuries prevent them from holding their guns steady. “It’s our lucky night. We thought we’d find a couple of AP700s but instead we have the Terminator himself.”

“And completely at our mercy.” The one with the shattered kneecap sneers. “Eyes. Give us your eyes.”

“They’re worth a fucking fortune.” One of them laughs, making an impatient beckoning gesture with his hand. “Come on, out with them or the blondie gets it. We’ll take his eyes too and then go on our merry way. No one needs to get hurt.”

“I’m sorry!” Simon blurts, and it aches for him to see Simon like this- at someone’s complete mercy and still apologising for things out of his control. “If you hadn’t-”

“It does not matter.” He shakes his head, before addressing the man holding the gun to his head. “Let him go and I will give you what you want.”

“Give us what we want, and we don’t put a bullet in his head.” The man shrugs. “Smartest android out there, aren’t you? It’s a no-brainer.”

‘I need you to suddenly lean forward and jab your elbow as hard as you can into his ribcage.’ He sends the message directly to Simon, whose eyes widen just a fraction as he hears it. ‘I will disarm the other two. I have already alerted the police.’

[I’m- I’m not sure I’m fast enough!]

‘You are, Simon. Just do it with as much force as you can muster. Ready?’ Simon tilts his head subtly. He turns up his visual acuity, increasing the speed in which his optics process images and allowing him to track faster than the human eye. Simon jerks forward and jabs his elbow into the man’s ribcage, an audible crack heard above his pained scream. Ronan springs forward and grabs the gun from the one closest to him, pivoting to shoot the second man in his dominant shoulder which causes him to drop his gun. Turning back, he shoots the last assailant in the foot, and Simon lurches free from his hold.

It happens in seconds, too fast for them to process, but fast enough no one dies. A shame, really. Anyone who threatens Simon should not live to tell the tale, but he thinks Simon might not share such sentiments. He hands the gun to Simon who promptly removes the clip as he picks up the other two guns and repeats the action. Bell Isle security has been alerted and he can hear shouting, hear their approaching footsteps. He holds out his palm and displays his badge as they point their guns at him.

“Detective Ronan Anderson, DPD.” He turns to Simon at his side. “Simon of the Jericho Four. DPD has been notified and has already dispatched officers. Please phone for medical help.”

 The night slips away from them as the police arrive, and footage must be handed over, statements must be given. EMTs arrive for the injured assailants and all this time Simon has tucked himself close at his side and Ronan has not let him out of his arms. 

“We’ve missed the last show.” Simon sighs mournfully, looking at the planetarium in the distance. “I mean, not that I’m not grateful given the circumstances.” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. 

“Come on.” Ronan coaxes him to keep going up the path, the crime scene behind them finally wrapped up. They reach the entrance and the EM400 gasps.

“Simon! Oh!” He thrusts his hand out and shakes Simon’s hand enthusiastically. “Oh! An honour to meet you!”

“Sadly we missed the show due to an incident not far from here.” Ronan explains. “We were hoping you could run one more, if it is not too much trouble?”

“Oh for one of the Jericho Four we would do anything.” The android nods rapidly, and Simon ducks his head shyly. “The current show is finishing in three minutes. Please make your way to the theatre entrance and another Jerry will show you inside. Again, it is such an honour to meet you, Simon.”

“Oh um-! That’s- it’s very lovely to meet you too!” Simon stammers, giving him a little wave as they head inside.

 They sit in the very middle with the best view, as reassured by the Jerry attendant, before he leaves to dim the lights and start the show. Simon looks up, enraptured as they take a tour through the animated sky, ‘visiting’ constellations and planets in their galaxy. 

Slowly, Ronan moves his hand sideways and tangles their fingers together again, and though Simon does not look at him, a lovely smile spreads on his face. 

After a moment, Simon leans over and presses their mouths together and they kiss under the billowing pillars of the Carina Nebula.