#fluff in the end no worries!

[hitlikehammers]

The One Where Wayne Munson KNOWS BETTER Than to Lend Air to IDLE GOSSIP

(and does it anyway on accident and ends up thinking his 💕boy's boy💕 might be ✖️stepping out) ——(1/3)

Wayne Munson’s lived his life mostly free from the hubbub of small town gossip. Some was unavoidable in his tiny holler as a boy; more was part and parcel to the service, and plain keeping half-sane in war—anything for a distraction. After all that though, Wayne’d had more’n his fill of even a teaspoon of hearsay, and compared to where he came from? Hawkins, Indiana was small potatoes for keepin’ his nose clear out of it.

Which is all to say he don’t mean to collect any of the latest scuttlebutt on his way just to town after he gets off his shift with the sun barely a glimmer, just past 5 for Leah’s to be open for a better cup-o-joe than the sludge he gets on the floor. All he wants is a hot nightcap because he knows damn well his boy didn’t pick up more grounds before Melvald’s closed last night, and Wayne doesn’t want to see his bed until he’s had a full mug of fair-to-middling coffee.

And honest: he don’t think that’s more than he’s earned to ask.

But it is more than he bargained for signing’ up to, when he sees the only other people in the diner at this hour on a Saturday.

Because the only other people are a girl he don’t know, though he can’t see her real well from the back, which only really means he sees her coffee date full-on and much too well in exchange because they’re leaned in and they’re being all touchy across the table, voices low but not too low—he don’t think they even noticed him come in, let alone come to wait close enough to hear ‘em while he insists on saving the lovely Leah herself the trip to a table when he can damn well carry his own drink, thanks kindly.

“You’re gonna have a coronary if you keep hiding this.”

The girl sounds…she sounds the way Wayne remembers his Mamaw sounding when she was about to hit his Grampy up the head over some harebrained such-and-such. Exasperated, but all from a deep well of unshakable loving.

Which is what perks up Wayne’s attention, and then churns his insides quick right-next, because—

Well. The boy this young lady’s being all over-fond at for his antics is Steve Harrington.

Who, for all that Wayne understands, is meant to be his boy’s boy.

“No, no,” Steve’s shaking his head, tone bowstring-taut; “I’m gonna tell him.” Kid sounds resolved for all of half-a-second before he’s groaning, running hands over his face: “Or, I mean—”

The thunk of the boy’s head to the tabletop clatters the cutlery, and if Wayne weren’t already clued into their conversation, he’d be wholly absolved for dropping eaves given how the noise echoes through the mostly-empty establishment bar-to-door.

“Dingus,” the girl says, and it drips with concern, with affection, with a deep choler that, again, sings loud of married-couple.

Which twists Wayne’s guts all the more to hear.

Because she’s talking to Wayne’s boy’s boy.

“I’m gonna, I promise,” Steve sounds not unlike a man on his way to the gallows, even more when he sighs deep as anything and traces out his lips with his fingers, hands shaky even out the corner of Wayne’s eye for a distance as he hisses low:

“Fuck.”

And Wayne, see, he don’t like borrowing trouble. He meant it about keeping his nose clean of the gossip and the hearsay. So he makes sure he reminds himself good in his own head that he don’t know the facts here, and jumpin’ to conclusions don’t do no favors to nobody.

It don’t do nothing for the way that what he does know, what he sees and hears with his own god-given senses in the now, don’t add up too kindly for the Harrington boy.

Not least because it seems to be adding up poor indeed for Wayne’s boy.

“Do you think he’ll—”

“Steve,” the girl’s voice goes softer, but also frantic almost, as Wayne sees her reach across the way and gather Steve’s hands with a familiarity to the motion that wouldn’t make sense unless…

Unless they’re something special to each other.

Wayne’s watched Eddie reach out for Steve that way. He’s watch Steve do the same. So it…it just don’t make sense—

“You’re shaking,” the girl says, all kinda pitiful, and Wayne’d seen it before, but now he chances a look again and: oh.

Boy’s a leaf in a cyclone.

“It’s a big deal,” Steve rasps out near under Wayne’s ability to hear it.

But he does hear it.

“You need to just lay it out,” the girl tells him, earnest now and more of that than any irritation, any frustration put-upon or otherwise; “be up front with him.”

And it ain’t fair, yet, even if all the signs are pointing that direction; but Wayne likes Steve. He doesn’t want to think the worst of him. And he doesn’t, really, in his heart, think Steve could do or be the worst, from all he’s learned and seen—Wayne’d had uncharitable thoughts about it he kid, before he knew better, based on hearsay which one more time, he don’t countenance as a rule, and he’d been taught better and quick from the second he saw Steve at his nephew’s bedside, and heard the only thing he’s proud and happy to have dropped in upon uninvited:

You nearly fucking died yourself dragging him out, Steve, what the hell—

That Henderson squirt, scolding Steve something fierce.

So Wayne reminds himself this boy loved his boy enough to risk himself to bring Eddie home. Before they were anything to one another. And Wayne knows damn well they’re both something to each other, now. It don’t make sense that Steve wants to…be up front about a notion with Eddie that could hurt.

But then: care can look a lot of different ways, and can change over time. Ain’t nobody to fault for that. And much as Wayne can’t quite believe the Steve he’s gotten to know these past many-months could swallow hurting his Eddie…

Wayne’s been proven incorrect about people more than enough in his life to know better than to think it’s impossible to be wrong about a man’s heart.

“Oh, I’m sure that’ll go over fucking fantastic,” Steve’s huffing, rolling his eyes—apparently he don’t want to be up front with the person they’re talking about. Wayne tries to remind himself that they’ve not flat out said it’s Eddie yet. Wayne shouldn’t go making assumptions.

“Why not?” the girl’s pressing him. “Be honest, with him,” then her tone does go a little judgemental; “you can’t honestly think he doesn’t suspect—”

“I really don’t think he does,” and it’s a strange thing, because no matter the words themselves, it don’t sound like Steve’s meaning to be deceitful about a thing. Kinda sounds a little like he’s mourning, like he’s just in a kind of pain. “If he did, then at least maybe I’d have some kind of,” he waves his hand in the air, looks frantic, at loose ends all around; “heads-up for where his head’s at.”

And they’re both quiet for a spell, and Wayne looks for Leah in the back, knew she was getting food ready and was happy to wait—for better or worse with the conversation he’s been privy to without permission unspooling at his side—but he’s starting to feel antsy for all that he’s hearing, and the way he can’t quite tamp down associating it all with Eddie, with touchy things Steve might have to tell Eddie—

“Tell him by the end of the weekend.”

And now: think he might have to tell, encouraged so damn strong and single-minded by his lady friend with her hand on his arm.

“That’s fucking tomorrow!”

“End,” she’s narrowing her eyes sharp enough Wayne notices more in the shift of the room than to see it head-on; “of,” and then she’s smacking Steve’s arm to emphasize hard enough it rings out; “the weekend.”

Then Wayne notices how her posture shifts, and she leans closer again, so much affection, and easy with it, and welcome for it, no doubt about it:

“I don’t like seeing you like this,” she says low and earnest; “especially not when the thing you’re like this about is,” and then her tone shifts to something bright, near-on hopeful, even:

“It’s such a good thing, Steve.”

“I mean,” Steve mumbles, kind of miserable really; “of course you think so.”

And Wayne don’t like where his head goes for things the girl who’s watching Steve with such soft eyes might think to be good, might think while she’s touching him so close and —

“He’ll,” and she huffs a touch before going all heartfelt again: “Eddie is going to—”

And the moment his plausible deniability about the subject of the discussion is gone, Wayne gives up waiting for his coffee at the counter and…retreats to the corner by the door, far as he can get from whatever’s said next. He’d leave, honest, but the truth of the matter’s this:

He can’t be expected in good faith to figure out how to bring any of this up with Ed if he don’t have no caffeine in him.

☕ 👀 ☕

✨ part ii >>>

For @thefreakandthehair, who requested 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST—and since this is almost a YEAR LATE, could I possibly offer it as a normal-amounts-of-late birthday gift, more than as an egregiously-and-unforgivably-late prompt fill for you?

✨permanent tag list: OPEN (lmk if you want to be added/removed): @askitwithflours @awkwardgravity1 @bookworm0690 @bumblebeecuttlefishes @captain--low @depressed-freak13 @dragoon-ze-great @dreamercec @dreamwatch @estrellami-1 @finntheehumaneater @goodolefashionedloverboi @grtwdsmwhr @hiei-harringtonmunson @hbyrde36 @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @live-laugh-love-dietrich @mensch-anthropos-human @nerdyglassescheeseychick @notaqueenakhaleesi @pearynice @perseus-notjackson @pretend-theres-a-name-here @pukner @ravenfrog @sadisticaltarts @samsoble @sanctumdemunson @shrimply-a-menace @slashify @stealthysteveharrington @swimmingbirdrunningrock @theheadlessphilosopher @theintrovertedintrovert @themoonagainstmers @theohohmoment @tillystealeaves @tinyloonyteacups @tinyplanet95 @warlordess @wheneverfeasible @wordynerdygurl @wxrmland @yourmom-isgay @1-tehe-1

NOTE: it's important to me that you know that Wayne's accept belongs to nowhere, and is just the voice of someone I knew as a kid, who also sounded like a little of everywhere and then again nowhere. so if you think some turn of phrase doesn't fit what you think you're reading in terms of dialect? it's just that this way of stringing words together is—with intention—its own amalgam of places and times

divider credit here and here

[poppy-s-rampage]

Once a Hero.

-Prologue-

Danny Phantom fought with the knowledge that at any given time he could be stricken dead. With the knowledge that his own parents, the people who brought him into this world, could be the ones to take him out permanently. The Job was already half done after all.

But no matter what, no matter his adversaries, Danny held strong. Despite the constant threat of the GIW and his parents, despites his rogues’ shenanigans and Vlad’s scheming, despite the citizen’s ungratefulness, he held his ground. Always staying true to his beliefs.

Yes, he made mistakes ,terrible ones. Yes, he has done things he would forever be ashamed of. But he never let others take responsibility for his actions. The very proof being his existence as Phantom.

There is no denying it, Danny Phantom/Fenton is a hero.

An existence to whom every victory comes hand to hand with tragedy.

An existence favored by fate.

And fate is known to be a cruel mistress.

~~~

He should have known something was up. It was too good to be true. He should have trusted his instinct. But he ignored it, choosing hope instead of the very thing that kept him alive all these years. All it took was one mistake for everything to domino into a nuclear warhead that quite literally took his everything.

And now, there he is on all four in the middle of a crater of what once was Amity Park and its surroundings. His ears ringing only able to hear the sounds of his own screams.

The once menace, once protector of a city too soon departed wailed in agony. Clutching at his wounds with a strength that reopened his sloppily made stitches. His devastated wails, only interrupted by his sobbed breath and hiccups. His throat was ripped to shreds, tainted ectoplasm pooling into his mouth and lungs while some got projected out with each wail.

Rivers of tears cascaded down his face burning his already bloodshot eyes. His unstable form glitching from ghost to human to something in between.

His once healthy balanced core was now struggling to remain whole. Cracks appearing all over, life and death fighting to preserve their precious Halfa’s existence. Danny felt his body and core beginning to give out. His consciousness finally fading. His body slowly being engulfed into the cold familiar embrace of death.

He fell on his back. His wails dying to choked wet sobs and coughs. Through his tears, Danny could only vaguely see the smoke covered nightsky. Ash falling slowly around him like snowflakes.

He could feel the cold creeping up his limbs then gripping his chest. His already dying heart being embraced by a type of cold even his core couldn’t dream to reproduce. Phantom finally fell silent, his unseeing eyes staring at the starless sky above.

Danny in his last few coherent thoughts felt the pain of his core shattering and reforming itself. It felt like his entire being was set on fire before being melded back together. He felt familiar arms cradling him close to their unbeating heart. The familiar ticking of a clock luring him into a dreamless rest.

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

Masterpost!

Chapter 1!

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Author notes:

My brain vomiting this at 3 am. I am sorry for any catastrophic grammar and english, that would be my brain short circuiting from lack of sleep. I intend to hopefully continue this story wherever it may go. You’re welcome to suggest anything or add yourself something to it.

[annie-also-draws]

Hades Charmes brain rot dump

Domestic Charmes Modern Au for my needs bc there’s not enough art of them HNNNNG (bless you AO3 writers)

Some designs for Hermes. (Charon’s still in the backlog in my head rn). Hermes with glasses anyone??? 😭

I’m in the deep trenches of making my own Au where Hermes and Charon are finance bros (god of commerce and the god who collects gold, duh, ain’t no way they’re dirt poor).

There’s plenty of fics that display Hermes as the black sheep of the family who’s running his own life away from his family doing odd jobs and barely hangs on (no hate I love them!!!) but there’s not enough Rich! Hermes out there so I just gotta insert my own brain rot. Charon and Hermes working for rival finance companies (one deal with future investment and one deal with settlement money/clauses after one’s death (idk if it’s a real thing but meh)

Check the tags for the synopsis lol AO3 style

Bless Jen Zee for long hair Hermes bc all the hairstyle I can conjure from this 😩🙏

The glasses started as a goofy accessory and ended up staying. Longsighted-Hermes who can’t see things that are close to him and uses contact lenses at work 👁️👁️. Only wears glasses at home (with Charon). Grows very little beard and is perpetually tired bc overworked! Hermes is so canon.

[cult-of-the-eye]

No you guys don't understand. I may have ranted about this fic before but I'm fucking doing it again. Knowledge is Power (But Love Won't Hurt) by SupposedToBeWriting has fixed me. Trauma? Gone. I'm gonna call my therapist and tell them no need for any more sessions because I've found the answer. And that answer is Jonathan "single father to autistic little girl" Sims. Yeah you heard me right. Get ready for a 31 chapter, 156K words slow burn wherein Martin Kartin Blackwood dresses like the straightest gay man at the family barbecue, Finding Nemo is a really emotional plot point and Gerry Keay and Martin bond over Mommy Issues. Get your "Jon Is The Most Stressed Man Ever" fix here. It's got everything that tma is too cowardly to do - healthy communication, trans Jon and Martin and aroace Gerry. Please go read it, I promise it will change your fucking life.

[noicevibes]

𝐅𝐨𝐨𝐥'𝐬 𝐄𝐱𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐧𝐭, pt. i

In advance, I apologize to those who have already seen this post. I’ve had to transfer it to a new blog thanks to a seemingly permanent ban on my former main blog, @/niicevibe. So this is just copy & paste from there. Sorry!

masterlist | taglist pt. i | pt. ii | pt.iii

pairing -> albedo x fem!reader

warnings -> 18+ (minors & blank blogs dni), virgin!reader, virgin!albedo, pwp, vaginal fingering, handjob, oral (m. receiving), brief deepthroating (🙏🏼), safe experimentation (& unsafe piv sex lmao), creampie (multiple, implied), impregnation (?), cock warming, aftercare; brief convo of menstrual cycles & periods; mention of blood; uhhh it’s a bit comedic at times, lawls, but this is pretty vanillz, y’know?

character mentions -> klee, kaeya, traveler, paimon, lisa, sucrose, iris, timaeus

wc -> 14.5k

Most folks would argue that taking the advice of an explosives-loving ten-year-old over that of a time and experience-hardened adventure is idiotic; that accessing Dragonspine and braving its subzero temperatures from the route at Wyrmrest Valley rather than through the adventurer’s camp by the Snow-Covered Path was reckless— not just for you, but for those who would have to come up in the mountains and search for your body (to which you easily scoffed at; adventurers do have their penchant for dramatics, after all). Whatever she thought your goal had been when you initially asked Iris for directions with your map had been of no consequence, disregarding her noisy efforts of convincing you to go her mapped route.

“Look, I’m not some adventurer— I’ve got one destination and it’s right here, now tell me the fastest way of getting there, not the adventurer’s way.”

Before the ensuing argument could take another turn for the worst, a familiar face had appeared between you. Well, below you.

“Miss ______, Miss ______!” You’d flinched then, not expecting to see a child at your side so suddenly, but upon recognizing who it’d been, your heart settled.

“Ah, Klee!” You’d dropped onto a knee, grinning as you sweep her into your arms. “Just the sweet, helpful face I’d been hoping to run into!” She’d giggled at this, taking a second to cling to you just a little tighter before finally letting you go. “Say, do you think you could help me with a teensy little problem?”

“Of course!” she’d cheered. “Spark Knight Klee of the Knights of Favonius, at your service, Miss ______! How can Klee help!?”

Reaching behind you and snatching your map out of Iris’s hands, not forgetting to shoot the woman an obvious look of disdain, you’d turned back to Klee, your smile having returned instantly.

“Well, I’m trying to find your brother’s lab,” you’d explained, “but this is the first time I’ve ever been to Dragonspine. He once marked it for me on this map, but I’m having trouble figuring out the fastest route there. You must have the best route, right, Klee?”

“I do! It’s true!!” She’d immediately stuck her nose into the parchment, with you pointing at the small, inked on “X” sitting near one of the Waypoint markers. “Ooh, yes! If you go along this snowy beach, and up a biiiiiiig hill where this bright red light is! You’ll find big brother Albedo in his lab! Klee was just there!”

“Oh, I see! He wasn’t busy, was he?”

“Nuh-uh! He and I just ate lunch together! But now I have to go back to Mondstadt to see Grand Master Jean…” At this, she’d sighed.

You made a silly face at her, lip jutted into faux suspicion. “Did you blow something up again?”

“No!!” she’d been quick to argue, though just as quick to relent. “… yes... I went fish blasting again...”

You’d chuckled. “Atta girl, Klee. If you ask me, they deserve it. Those fish never bite.”

And so thanks to Klee’s quick guidance and no thanks to that useless, no fun Iris - Klee had agreed with this statement - you were on your way through Wyrmrest Valley, passing by a strange cave filled with the bright red light the young girl had mentioned (thanks to Albedo, you knew it to contain the heart of Durin from the old stories of Mondstadt) and trekking up a snowy hill with the hood of your coat pulled tight over your head. You don’t take much of a break until you reach one of the Waypoint markers, a ten minute standing siesta against it to catch your breath and absorb its warmth before heading due east toward the black “X” on your map.

The closer you get to the mouth of the cave, the thinner the layer of soft snow covering the ground beneath you gets, until eventually, your snowshoes sound against planks of wood bolted deep into the hard, bare earth. You heave a sigh of relief, your calves having been burning almost too fiercely for you to continue. Having received such a stroke of luck for having found where you were headed… you remind yourself to not to take it for granted.

Knocking the snow off your boots off as best you can before entering, you soon spot the person you'd climbed all this way for, standing with his back to the opening and before an easel. You decide to leave your arrival unannounced, suddenly rising onto the toes of your boots to lighten your steps on your way over to him, but even despite your best effort, he still greets you.

"Hello, ______. It's nice to see you today."

"Hi, Albedo," you reply, trying hard not to sound too disappointed. "Um... how did you know it was me? You didn't even turn around..."

"Not many people brave travelling up Dragonspine just to come and visit me," he explains. "Klee, Kaeya, the Traveler and Paimon whenever they return to Mondstadt, they all greet me normally-- but when you come and visit me in Mondstadt, it's usually without notice, and, you always try to sneak up on me."

You move around from behind him to see his face. His eyes flicker onto you, while his mouth quirks into a small smile in welcoming you before returning to the canvas.

"... do I really do that every time," you ask, your embarrassment showing through your awkward grin. He nods, another brush stroke leading up the canvas. "Oh... sorry about that."

"There's no need to apologize, ______. I look forward to your visits."

Despite the cold still managing to sting your cheeks, they're quickly warmed by his words.

"Are you able to stay for a while today? I'd like to show you the conclusion of that last experiment you saw me working on, but I'd also like to finish this painting and show you it, as well."

"I saved the entire day for our visit, so don't rush anything on my account, okay?"

"I don't want to keep you here too late," he says, dipping a new, smaller-tipped brush into his paint palette. "Dragonspine is less friendly at night."

Less friendly? you wonder, thinking back on how you had to run from a Frostarm Lawachurl only twenty minutes ago. I suppose from the perspective of someone with a Vision, this makes more sense.

"Worst case scenario, I could always sleep here," you reason. Off your shoulders, you slide off your pack of supplies, and attached to the bottom of it by a pair of two thick leather straps, "since I brought my sleeping pouch with me, just in case."

"I see. Well, that does bring me more comfort than having you hiking along this mountain in the dark. Which way did you come from, anyhow?"

"The path near the heart of Durin." He immediately sighs.

"Klee. Ever since she decided to wander around the base of the mountain, it's been through that route that she's come, rather than staying on the one the Adventurer's Guild paved out."

"But the map shows it to take twice as long to get up here?"

"That's because the other paths are twice as dangerous."

"In all seriousness, Klee bombs fish for fun, so I don't think her taking a Frostarm Lawachurl down with her Pyro Vision is much of a problem, nor is it one of her biggest concerns."

"Even though that isn't the point, and not exactly a fair comparison... I have to agree. After all, I've seen it done." Your eyes widen in awe of the girl. "______, please. If you come up here again, use the safe route. I don't want to hear of anything happening to you on account of you coming to see me."

"We've been friends for a long time now, Albedo, and I appreciate you always worrying about me, I do, but really," and you place your hand on his shoulder, "you don't have to. You deal with enough stressful things. I would never dream of burdening you with such an awful feeling."

"It's because we have been friends for so long that I worry, ______. It would bring me a peace of mind for you to stay safe, no matter where you go."

All the choice words you had to say die on your tongue, deciding against starting a meaningless argument. Besides, it goes the same for you, too. Even though he has a Vision and he's a skilled fighter, you always worry when he's alone up here. Especially after that incident with his imposter.

You sigh at him, taking your hand back and moving to collapse on the edge of his cot. You yank your thick, woollen coat off of you and lay it next to your pack on the floor. "Fine. I'll take the long way here next time. But if I freeze to death, that is on you."

"It's a deal, then," he says, and you instantly roll your eyes.

"Oh, before I forget," and you reach for your pack, "I brought you something."

You have to stifle a laugh when his head whips toward you. "By any chance, is it more sweets?"

"Don't sound too excited, Albedo," you say; "you might not like this one this time."

"Was it you who made them?" he inquires.

"Naturally."

"Then I will like these ones, too."

You decide to relish in the heat created by his flattering words for an extra second before pulling out the tin. Filled with soft, white gelatin balls rolled in coconut, and at the center, a sweet jam filling, "Supposedly, the idea of them came from Fontaine, but this one is an old recipe I found from cleaning out my relative's attic the other day. They are called "coconut macaroons”.”

Standing, you open the tin and present them to him, watching his eyebrows raise as he studies them.

"Would you mind holding it for me to eat?" he suddenly asks, and in raising his hands to where you can see them covered in paint, you nod, no other words needed from him.

"Of course," you say.

Tucking the lid beneath the tin, you use your other hand to pluck one of the balls out, and hold it closer to his mouth. He gives it a light sniff per his usual routine with the food you bring him, before parting his lips to bite into it. It seems to surprise him, just how soft and sweet the treat is. Up until now, or at least in the past six months, most of what you've made for him had been either a pastry of varying textures or different kinds of cakes or biscuits, though based on your description of the new dessert, he hadn’t been expecting such a moist sweetness to it.

“So? What do you think?” He spares you a glance before leaning forward. You bring it a little closer, having drawn back to give him room, and he takes the rest of it into his mouth, his lips grazing over the tip of your index finger. “O-Oh…”

You don’t miss this. As slight as the contact had been, it still managed to freeze you in place as it registered. It was just an overextension, you fool, you tell yourself, internally shaking your head. If it wasn’t for what happened earlier, you wouldn’t have even thought it to be anything but innocent. After all… it’s not just bringing him some sweets as to why you’re here… Get your head out of the proverbial gutter, ______!

“It’s delicious,” he tells you earnestly, his turquoise eyes seeming to be shining just a little brighter. “By comparison, I think this might be one of your best creations. Did you make the jam middle yourself, too?”

“Yes,” you say, thankful that he’d decided to ask about it so as to settle your heart down. “A seventy-thirty ratio of valberries to regular berries, and refined sugar from fresh sweet flowers. Not too sweet, but not too tart either, right?”

“The perfect balance,” he agrees with a small nod. Your gaze zeroes in on the skin next to his mouth. “Thank you for bringing these, ______. I’ll definitely be enjoying them.”

“… you’re welcome,” you murmur, your brain a little slow in responding properly.

If you hadn’t bothered to visit Timaeus by Mondstadt’s alchemy station in an attempt at hunting Albedo down for the purpose of giving him these sweets, you wouldn’t have overheard the conversation at all. But it would only appear that the gods are seeing fit to serve you reminders until you bother to ask him about it. Now, it simply seems like you’re only buttering him up with the treat in order to get an answer out of him.

Which isn’t true! you’re quick to remind yourself. B-But… maybe it’ll help?

“Um… you have a bit of coconut on your cheek,” you mumble, internally sighing at the fact that your tone still remained near that of a whisper.

“Oh, thank y—” he halts in raising his free hand to remove it, nearly having forgotten about his painted hands. “______, would you actually mind, again, removing it for me?”

You set the tin down in the empty space of a small wooden table. “S-Sure.” Truly, it doesn’t need much focus to simply reach out and brush the shaving away, but you can’t hold a steady enough hand that you might’ve risked dropping the tray of sweets.

What's with me all of a sudden?! you’d wondered.

For as long as you’ve known him, both you and Albedo held a mutually platonic relationship. Before, it barely teetered on the line of coworkers and friends, you being a simple records clerk for the Knights of Favonius, and him, being their chief alchemist, until you mustered up enough courage to send him a personal gift during one of Mondstadt’s winter holidays; touched by the gesture, he sent you a beautiful landscape painting of his of Dragonspine.

Normally, with how busy you’d always been with the Knights’ affairs, you wouldn’t have bothered to approach him in the first place, but after a short conversation about him with Kaeya, you learned that not being too hasty so as not to startle him - in this case, first sending him a gift as a greeting of sorts - was the smarter move.

It had been almost three years since then. And in those three years, you’d never felt so strangely behaved around him until now.

Damn those chatty women, you mentally curse. It’s all I can think about now! How stupid.

“______?”

You jump, not realizing you had zoned out. “Y-Yes.”

“You were shaking,” Albedo says, the slight drop of his brows almost barely noticeable. “Are you feeling alright? Are you cold?”

“Oh, n-no—” quickly and carefully, you brush away the coconut with a swipe of your thumb. “I’m not cold.”

Albedo goes silent, his eyes suddenly wandering across your face. As naturally as possible, you avert your own, and retake your seat at the edge of the mattress, knowing full well of his curiosity.

How would you even phrase it? It’s personal, isn’t it? Inappropriate? Er, invasive? Not only in regards to the relationship you had as both coworkers and as friends, but just in general— you just don’t really ask people this.

You groan, relenting to his wordless wondering. “… this might be a bit of an… awkward, personal question.”

Albedo has to hide his relief when you finally decide to speak again. He didn’t want to pry, despite that curiosity. You’d looked uncomfortable, after all. Or, “embarrassed” might be a more choice word to use.

“Inquiry is never awkward, ______. It’s an opportunity to learn more. What is it?”

You hold back a bated breath. No, really— it’s an awkward question. Maybe not for you it won’t be, but for me, yes.

“Right… well…” You clear your throat. “Earlier today, when I was speaking to Timaeus to find out where your laboratory was, the people who were behind me started a conversation that… involved your name.”

“I suppose that’s not uncommon, considering where you were.”

“W-While that is true, I assure you that it hadn’t nothing to do with the practices of alchemy.”

Albedo pauses, sparing a glance at you before finally setting the brush down into a somehow non-frozen glass of water. There were many things within the master alchemist’s laboratory that defied reason, this being of the few that genuinely shocks you the most considering how frigid his Dragonspine lab tends to be, even with multiple lanterns and a large fire always going. He turns to the basin of water and dips his hands in, the water quickly turning an off blue shade from the paint, and abandoning the canvas.

“Oh. Then, do tell. I’m rather curious to learn why I came up in their conversation, if not for that alchemy.”

“Ye— oh, boy.” An exhale leaves you sharply, an embarrassing heat suddenly spreading across the back of your neck. “O-Okay. So, you know how you were created as an artificial human, right? Wait, don’t answer that,” you interrupt yourself as he’d gone to speak; “of course, you know. Archons, that was stupid of me— well, i-it’s not common knowledge, naturally, but people have been making up their own theories since, obviously, you don’t age, and so I overheard some of the theories today, like you’re a secret god or a cursed human or a very well-designed, micro-versioned Ruin enemy with sentience, but then the talk about these theories got them to asking more personal, inappropriate-for-public-conversation questions, like—”

“________.” You gasp a little, out of breath from your tangent. “That was a very long sentence. Please, ask me your question before you go unconscious from poor oxygenation.”

You nod, cheeks hot.

“… a-are you able to reproduce?”

Albedo blinks at you. If he’s surprised by your question, he doesn’t show it— in fact, the only change he does show is one of inquisition. Curiosity. As if the thought of siring children had never once been a thought in his five hundred years of existence. Perhaps he could easily assume the answer is “no”, considering his “genetic make up”, for a lack of a more appropriate term— he hadn’t been nicknamed “the chalk prince” for simply his last name, after all.

But then, on the other hand, he retains identical biological functions to humans such as yourself— tear, saliva, and mucus production; urination and defecation; having the ability to bleed— so perhaps it stands to reason that his body contains the same chemical makeup in his ejaculate as any common male, too, no? Maybe, it might even be of a more concentrated design; a textbook definition of “virility”. And while he knows he’s quite capable of this type of fluid production, he’d only allowed himself to venture on that end of science (read: pleasure) once, and through a private venture. It hadn’t exactly been an experiment to perform in front of others, being frank.

Albedo has lost himself to thought, this much is easy for you to tell. His brilliant gemstone-like eyes have lost their shine and had gone out of focus, a hand has raised to hold his chin and ground him. You don’t bother to speak, waiting for him to exit his mind on his own. Eventually, his thoughts begin to spill out and off his tongue, his murmuring quick to join the crackling fire in filling his cliffside laboratory.

“… perhaps I should proceed with a plan to test this theory, though… a long term experiment of nine-plus months is slightly untenable in consideration to my main objective… There are numerous considerations… although… a willing, fertile participant would surely be necessary…” To your surprise, his concentration breaks, his gaze flitting toward and onto you.

You shiver, knowing full well it isn’t from the cold.

“A-And just what is that look for?” you ask, your voice having cracked with concern.

“… nothing in particular,” Albedo says. He has yet to blink, eyes seemingly stuck on you.

“In case you didn’t know, you were speaking out loud again, Albedo— I heard that last bit.”

“Oh. Perhaps I should explain, then,” he says. You instantly pale at his words. “Regarding your question, I can only partially answer it right now. I don’t know whether I am capable of reproduction. When Gold entrusted me with find the “truth and meaning of this world”, for many years, this had become my sole purpose and drive. After that, perhaps I might fully be free to investigate and experiment the rest that life has to offer. I see, however, that this has piqued your interest. In all honesty, I am curious about it, as well.”

“S-So then… what do you plan to do?” you ask, immediately wishing you hadn’t.

“Seeing as I don’t have any other experiments to tend to, I’m currently weighing the pros and cons on my decision to begin this one. The parameters and necessary criteria are relatively straightforward. Quite obviously, it wouldn’t take many, if not zero, tools or supplies. Really, there’s only one other factor necessary for investigation.”

“And that’s that “willing, fertile participant” you mentioned before,” you say, expression and tone both deadpan.

“Exactly.”

“You know, sometimes, you’re a little too honest, Albedo.”

“My apologies,” he says.

“I… didn’t mean it as a bad thing,” you mumble, looking away from him and at the opening to his lab, outside raging a sudden squall that could easily rival the old record in Dragonspine’s storm history. I guess I’ll be staying overnight here, after all. “I’m perfectly used to your honesty by now, considering how long we’ve known each other for.” What great timing. Comedic, even. Ha, ha, ha.

“I suppose so.” A pregnant silence has you shifting in your seat, suddenly favouring you putting your weight onto your hands while the waiting continues. You huff at him. “Based on the simple fact that you and I have been in close relations for as long as we have, _______, I have a proposition.”

You swallow, offering a small nod for him to continue, but before he does, he travels through his laboratory in search of something— a clipboard full of parchment that he brings along on his way back toward you.

“Firstly, am I correct in assuming that your menstrual cycle is regular, and you’re in decent health?”

“Albedo,” you start, tone unintentionally harsh. “Now it’s your turn to get to the point and ask your question.”

“… right, then.. Would you engage in coitus with me— for the sake of this experiment?”

“Archons alive,” you mutter with a shake of your head, “isn’t there some other way for you to figure it out?”

“Nothing so conducive. I’ve already had to eliminate the possibility of collecting a semen sample and examining it beneath the microscope as there’s a probability that the results would end up showing no evidence of impact; the samples may look textbook but may be inert. Even more, I sincerely doubt that the focal strength of the lens would be enough to see the sample’s cellular makeup on such a microscopic level.”

You instantly hate that he has such excusable, sound logic so readily available.

“I suppose I understand why you’re having doubts about committing to something like this. While I’m not privy to your stance on having children, nor can I fully understand the complexities that may stem from making the decision to go through with pregnancy, I can at least empathize from the standpoint of being one of Klee’s guardians— being a parent isn’t easy.”

“No, it’s not,” you agree. “Albedo, i-if we go through with this, and you do end up being able to reproduce, this is exactly what would happen. I would get pregnant. I would become a parent. I really don’t know if I’m ready to take this risk…”

To your surprise, when you sit up on the edge of his bed, you catch his sour expression in your peripheral vision— it’s not one that you see often.

“Are you under the impression that I would toss you aside when the experiment was done?”

You open your mouth to speak, but only single syllable, unintelligible sounds come out. “I—”

“At the very least, I understand what the end result would mean should it be a positive one. You and I would have created a life together.” Your skin prickles, eyes wide and trained on your lap. “It is not a short term commitment. I wouldn’t allow myself to be held any less responsible for that life than you, ______. In this case, I suppose the parameters need to be corrected— not “nine-plus months”… I should allot for two decades, give or take a few more years…”

“T-Two decades,” your fried brain finally allows you to say. He hums, the dejected look on his face slowly morphing into one of fondness.

“It’s strange, but… I find myself eager to get started.”

“I-I… haven’t even said “yes” yet,” you murmur, eyes daring to rise to meet his. Instead, your lips immediately part.

Being the kind of “person” he is, Albedo had been created with multiple human intricacies left behind. Most times, his expression is calm, complacent, untelling— that of a gambler’s dream. There have been few occasions that have drawn out those different, pocketed looks, but you have experienced of him things like anger when his friends and comrades were injured; joy when Klee or the other Mondstadt children are with him, or when he receives your gift of the week; frustration over a failed experiment or an unexpected result; and most recently, disappointment, when you assumed he would abandon you and the child you both might make. And you thought that one would be the most shocking.

But this… What he wears now… is purely desire; a resultant lust having overcome him by the multiple prospects dangling before him like a carrot on a string. Should the experiment be successful, he would learn that he, an artificial being, is capable of procreating with a pure human. Zygote squares dance before his eyes, hypotheticals of traits and genotypes spread across sheets and sheets of parchment— would they be born male or female? Would they look like him or like you? A thought he believes strange crosses his mind— he only hopes that the child would have your eyes.

You know him well enough to figure that he’s going over every possible outcome and theory, always so entranced by them that he would jot them all down later. Now, it seems there’s only one thing stopping him from being able to get to that stage in the experiment. You.

And so, you nod. Albedo’s lips part, relieved.

“I need verbal consent from you to begin this experiment, ______.”

“Yes, then,” you say, your voice trembling. “I give my consent. Let’s… try and make a baby.”

Your attempt at making the situation less stiff and formal somehow seems to work, the skin near Albedo’s eyes suddenly crinkling into a soft, appreciative smile.

“Thank you, ______. If it’s alright, I do have a few more questions for you before we begin.”

“Mm… hm.”

“Are there any physical restrictions I should know about? Present or past injuries that may affect you during intercourse?”

“Um, no, none that I can recall,” you say after a moment of consideration. He jots something onto the clipboard.

“And your last menstrual cycle,” he goes on, “when did it end?”

“I-I—” you blink rapidly, not expecting him to consider such a thing as necessary input, spluttering as you wrack your brain for an answer, “m-maybe… ah… It was… nine days ago, I-I think.”

Albedo nods, writing another set of words down. “Then that’ll put you in the fertile cusp…”

“… f-fertile cusp,” you repeat, watching him intently.

“Yes— from what I remember when I studied cellular anatomy, the first twelve days after the cycle ends is when fertility is at its peak.”

“No, I-I know that, it’s just…” And you can’t stop the small laugh that escapes you. “It’s all so formal and proper. I know it’s for the sake of collecting data for the experiment,” you quickly add, “but having intercourse… having sex… isn’t such a stiff affair.” But then you laugh again, apologizing under your wheezing breaths when you notice the unintentional pun you’d made, somehow made funnier as you know Albedo wouldn’t have caught it, himself.

He ponders your words, though it doesn’t take him long to acknowledge the truth in them. For as unknowledgeable as he is on these human intricacies, the colloquial term of “making love” surely didn’t involve note-taking or detailed inquiries— he’d figured this much. In exchange for you having become a willing participant in this fool’s experiment, you at least deserve a memorable experience.

“Ah, my apologies. You’re right. While I know of the act, engaging in coitus and its technicalities is something I’m unfamiliar with. “Making love”…” Your skin prickles at the sudden change in intonation. “It’s a romantic endeavour, isn’t it. Done between… loving partners.”

Even though it had been the first question to have asked you, he found himself pushing it further down the list, preferring to subject you the other eight questions ahead of it— have you had any other sexual partners recently? Why is it he couldn’t simply say the words?

“It can be, yes,” you say. “Some people have sex rather suddenly, too, and it’s not always between lovers. It’s not always romantic, either, but it deserves passion.”

It’s because you don’t want to know if she’s been involved with anyone else, he realizes, somehow brought to the conclusion without a second thought. Anyone else besides you.

Albedo sets the clipboard down next to the bed. How is it possible to have found yourself at such a conclusion, he wonders. But then he regards his memories, his past thoughts, managing to find your image dancing before his eyes and recall your words ringing in the space between his ears. He remembers the joy stemming from each of the many times you’d come to see him— out of the handful of people he’d bother to get involved with, get to know closely, you were the one whose company he enjoyed the most.

Never forcing himself into uncomfortable social settings, or into the public limelight whenever he achieved a new feat that might’ve deserved to be celebrated; always respecting his desire to keep his number of relationships to a bare minimum, aware of just how exhaustive maintaining them gets for the man— you made knowing you so much easier for him. Those same human emotions he’d have certain trouble in understanding were explained and shown to him just as naturally as it had been to breathe, yet the one bit of you he hadn’t yet seen a side of is love. Adoration. The same kind of fondness he feels deep down in his heart when he looks at you.

Be it for the sake of or borne through the results of this experiment… I’d like to experience it from you, if only once.

Now, standing before you, arms straight down at his sides, the tips of his fingers skim across the ends of his pant legs as if… suddenly shy.

Your eyes quickly dart over to the paper, and despite it being upside down, you can still make out some of the words of the unanswered first question. Realizing that he must’ve intentionally skipped it, you decidedly take one of his cold hands into your yours and force your fingers between his. Gaze lidded, he stares down at them, his thumb rising to rub into the fleshy part of it.

“I haven’t been with anyone else, Albedo,” you whisper, flexing your hand in a gentle squeeze. “You would be my first.” He swallows thickly. “And… I think this is why I’d been nervous to agree to this, but… this is your first time, too, right?”

“Yes,” he says, just as quiet. “It is.”

“Then…” You tug lightly on his hand, and with little resistance, he moves toward you, only a single, clumsy step necessary to find himself between your legs. Startled by the closeness, he raises his other hand to your shoulder to brace himself against you. “I’m glad. If it were anybody else, I don’t think I would have agreed.”

Albedo’s eyes wander, and the hand pressed against your collarbone travels in tandem, sliding to hold you by the underside of your jaw— something he’d seen while in the city of Mondstadt. He thought about it often. “And why is that?” Does it feel nice? He wishes he could read your mind, but it becomes telling in your warm gaze, in your sweet smile, in the way that under his cool touch, he witnesses your flesh turn feverish, made worse only by the thumb that caresses your cheek. You like it. You like him— he thanks the God who heard his wish.

You lean your weight into his palm, eyelashes fluttering. “Kiss me, Albedo. Let me show you why.”

He nods, a stiff gesture. Your warm hands drag him from his frigidity, placed on either side of the smooth porcelain of his face, and into you, your lips parting only far enough from each other that his may fit between them. It is almost a too perfect fit, he notes, even when you’re moving them.

You encourage him to move along with you, chin nudging his lightly enough that he gets the message, and his thin fingers shift to wind almost desperately through your hair, pulling himself closer into you that your chests nearly touch. For a moment, he sways, put off balance by his lilted stance between your thighs, but then you shuffle backwards on his mattress, leaving enough of a space opens that he’s able to kneel on it. You smile against his lips, taking in a soft breath through your nose.

Albedo, as someone who had only ever witnessed a proper kiss once during a walk through Mondstadt, and who had only ever read about them in the few romance novels he’d dared to borrow from Lisa out of pure curiosity, could only follow your lead. Sure, Klee had often given him a few pecks on his cheek here and there as she grew up, but in his almost five hundred years of existence, this had been his first kiss. So gentle, so warm, so plush— oh, your lips are so nice to feel, he thinks, his own cheeks slowly heating up.

A hand leaves him, lamely skirting down the curves in his shoulder and trailing over the heavily adorned end of his sleeve, only to jump to claim his waist by the material of his indigo shirt. Your fingers curl into the fabric, dragging him further onto the bed with you; he relents by swinging his other leg over yours, effectively straddling you.

Albedo feels light-headed. Oh, is the sound he makes when he finally realizes why. I need to breathe. A giggle finally has him pulling back, you, watching as he struggles to catch his breath with a slight smirk on your face.

“If you take smaller breaths through your nose, or, when we stop, you won’t lose your breath as fast,” you quietly explain.

“… I know that,” he murmurs, nudging into your lips with his. “But I don’t want to stop.” Your eyes widen in shock at his bold - for him - admission. “______… teach me how to make love to you.”

Truly, you wouldn’t have expected those words to come from him, not in a million years. It leaves you startled, hot, like one of the dying embers in the cave’s fire brought to life by the fierce wind. You take a moment, pulling your hands away from him to let out a deep, shuddering, embarrassed breath into your palms.

“… w-what makes you think I know much more than you,” you say, quieted and muffled by your own hands.

“I’m simply aware of how vast your capacity to show tenderness and appreciation to others is. That is a form of love, isn’t it?”

“A more innocent kind of love, maybe,” you answer, dropping your hands to rest on his knee. “That part is easy, since it can just come naturally… but this—? I haven’t… I only know a little of what to do…”

“Then, shall we keep learning, together? I’ve read that intercourse can be painful, and I don’t wish for you to experience that discomfort. Will you show me what you know?”

“O-Of course, j-just… don’t expect me to be good at it, okay? I… I’ve only read about these things.”

Gently, his lips press to the corners of yours, making you squirm restlessly beneath him. Naturally, the books you had read had been from Lisa’s personal collection, and were not of the safe-for-work variety. Hardly educational and deeply inappropriate, it certainly left an imprint on your mind’s eye— even more so considering you were about to do some of those things with him.

In steeling yourself, Albedo notes how the look in your eyes have changed. As if you’d remembered something important, “Albedo, switch places with me.”

He nods once, his hands shifting to settle at your waist. With surprising ease and a knee pressed into the mattress once more, he turns, spinning you atop him. You’re easily startled by the motion, grabbing at his shoulders to steady yourself until he settles.

“I think I quite like this,” Albedo admits, once he’d gotten comfortable. “You, sitting on my lap.” You kiss him chastely.

“… it’s one of the best seats I’ve ever sat in, that’s for sure,” you murmur, hands smoothing across the exposed skin on his arms. You pause, suddenly flushed with an embarrassed warmth. “Th-that came out too easily, I—”

“No,” he interrupts you, and the hands holding your sides offer you a gentle squeeze. “I liked that, too.”

A dry chuckle leaves you, but not at his expense— you’re nervous to start what you’d sought to do, your heart beating anxiously beneath your ribcage as you slide a hand back up to his shoulder. Keeping yourself balanced against him, you slip your free hand between the two of you to finally, finally address the obvious, growing bulge settled between his thighs.

Albedo chokes, elbows buckling from where they hold him upright when your palm, curved like a cup, rests against the dense tent of his black shorts.

“_-______, what—”

“If, maybe, you thought I never noticed…” you lean into him, and in pressing your lips to the shell of his ear, “of course, I noticed.” Pride swells in your chest when you feel him suddenly tremble underneath you, his eyes wide.

Your smiling lips find his one last time before you’re sliding off of his lap and onto the floor between his knees. Confused and slightly dazed, Albedo goes to grab your arm and stop you. “______, what are you doing now?”

“… do you trust me?” you ask, rather than providing him with an explanation.

“Of course I do, but—””Then,” you carefully pry his fingers away from your arm and set it back in his lap, “let me try something. Work with me, okay?”

After a moment’s hesitation, he finally relents in the form of a nod, and it takes but one more steeling breath for you to commit.

Once more, your hands slide up his torso, creeping along his chest until reaching the golden belt slung over his shoulder. After a minute of trying to figure out how to unlatch it, you sigh defeatedly. “Albedo…”

“You should’ve just asked in the first place,” he tuts, staring down at you through lidded eyes.

“I didn’t think a belt could be so complicated— what is it even for?” you rhetorically add in a murmur.

“It pins my coat shut,” he still replies. You refrain from making eye contact when he finally undoes the pin from the backside of the belt, and with a click, the two pieces around the flap of white fabric from his coat separate, slipping over Albedo’s shoulders and landing on the ruffled blanket behind him. “There.”

“Good. Now, take your coat off.” He complies, shrugging it off of his shoulders and letting it slip down his arms. Your hands lift from your lap and skirt across his, trailing up his clothed thighs and up his waist, and tucking beneath the hem of his indigo shirt to take the zipper of his shorts between two trembling fingers. “…a-and lift your hips up,” you mumble, upon pulling it down and unclasping its neighbouring button.

“Okay.” You’re quick to drag them away from his hips when his ass rises off of the bed, the clinking of his metal accessories jingling when they hit the floor before you. Your jaw falls open— with your eyes trained lower than where his knees sat parallel to the mattress, you hadn’t at all notice that you’d pulled down more than just his shorts. “______…”

“I-I didn’t mean to move that fast,” you swear, eyes wide and struggling to stay on his. He looks at you, waiting for your next move with his teeth pinching the inside of his cheek. “But, um…” You dare to glance down, and sigh. “… there really isn’t a point to me being nervous anymore. It’s… You… are right in front of me now.”

“That’s right,” Albedo says. You have to hide your surprise when he leans forward to touch your cheek with his cold, gloved fingertips; a supporting gesture, one with his own brand and level of comfort that he could muster. “You have me right here in front of you.”

Somehow, you find yourself being grateful in the silliest of ways, unable to help the way your mind takes you to the time of Albedo’s creation. Proportionate in every beautifully normal way, from the length of his torso to the expanse of each of his creamy white thighs; from the average length of his cock and its surprisingly wide girth, to how its head seemed to glow with rouge and how his balls hung before you in near perfect spheres— you almost ask him to undress the rest of himself, but as your gaze traveled even further downward to where his knee-high black boots both end and begin, squeezing the flesh of those same thighs you’d begun to adore, you stop yourself.

No, these should definitely stay on.

“You asked me to show you what I know, right?” Albedo blinks down at you, where your eyes rest on his twitching shaft almost too intently. You wet your lips, and finally wrap your warm fingers around his base; he flinches. “Then… what I know is that… supposedly… men really like this part,” you murmur against him, lips then pursing atop his blooming head.

Albedo involuntarily hisses, a hand rising to rest on the crown of his head in disbelief while the other fruitlessly clutches at the sheets beneath him. Having hoped to catch him off guard, you’d poked your tongue out and aimed it at the small slit in the centre, succeeding when his hips leap upward under your soft strokes.

“I-I’m beginning to understand… w-why — ahh…”

It tastes a little salty, you note. Gently, you curl your tongue beneath the head of his cock, and run it along its soft ridge, eliciting the softest of moans from the man sitting above you. In the corner of your eye, you watch his eyes flutter as the pleasure registers and his hands search for a new place to anchor themselves.

“You can touch me, too, Albedo,” you tell him, dropping your head a little lower to flatten your tongue against the base of his shaft. You drag up, sure to collect the small vein pulsing at his underside as you make your way to the top again, “I don’t bite, after all,” before collecting him into your mouth as far as it would let you, your mouth immediately hollowing around him following your words.

You smooth out your tongue beneath him as your cheeks puff out before contracting, a torturous set of suctioning squeezes that has Albedo squirming in place. You shift your hands to rest atop his thighs, only pressing down whenever he bucks just a little too much for you keep up with.

You draw back only slightly, the underside of his cockhead having quickly become the new target of your ministrations. Albedo’s hips roll, an automatic reaction he decided he didn’t care that he had no control over— your lips, your tongue, the heat of your mouth, the hot breaths you let out over his aching erection, oh— he wanted more of it.

Few things exist in this world that he desired as achingly so, if only the positive results of an experiment that led him closer to Gold’s expectations of him and the well-being of his friends. In the now, he simply desired you.

Albedo gasps, and as if on instinct, he lurches forward to hunch over you, almost throwing himself off of the edge of the mattress, and wind his fingers through your hair from behind. “-_____!!” For a moment, you panic, your hands flying up to brace yourself between his thighs, not having expected such a knee-jerk reaction from the alchemist that had him hitting the back of your throat. “Hngh!!”

As deeply as possible, you inhale around him, though very little air passes into your lungs. You shift higher onto your knees, your hands tapping against Albedo’s thighs in alarm the longer your throat remains constricted by his cock. But his head is thrown back, lips parted in pure awe and relishing at how tightly you’re able to wind around him, and how fast the strange burning sensation he’d only felt that one time before in his long life creeps up on him—!

Before he can warn you, and before he can even register what was about to happen, Albedo comes, his hot seed spurting heavily down the back of your throat. His groans are deep, filled with a vibrato that would almost tickle if not for the immense pressure. Lost in his pleasure, it takes him a moment to register that the strange flapping on his legs had been you, pleading for him to release your hair.

His hands fly up from you instantly, his groan sharp when you pull off of and away from him, swallowing thickly. “-_____—” your attempt at a proper first breath has you coughing a little, massaging your throat from the outside as if it would soothe what had just been done to the inside. “A… Are you alright? I’m sorry; I didn’t mean to…. do that.”

But you’re shaking your head, hand raised to wave him down.

“It’s… not your fault,” you tell him, your voice testing. “Honestly,” and you spare a chuckle, “that just meant I was doing something right.” Albedo frowns in his own confusion.

“Your pain was… a good thing?” he asks. “That’s slightly illogical.”

“I meant before that part. Your reaction… It felt good in my mouth, didn’t it? It must have… considering how quickly you came.” Hesitant, his concern for you still ever present in his expression, he nods. “I promise I’m okay, Albedo. But… we should keep going, hm?”

Albedo watches you, still knelt between him, his thoughts racing and unpinnable, most of them plaguing him with the guilt that he’s hurt you— but you only smile, your eyes squinted, and the tears collected along them threatening to spill. He enjoys it when you smile.

“Before,” he starts, his tone hopeful in his brand of emotion, “you said I can touch you.” You nod, your chest heaving with your breaths. “Does that permission still stand?”

“Wh— Y-Yes, of course, it does,” you answer, eyebrow raised in confusion. Albedo smooths his hand across your cheek, his thumb running along the soft skin beneath your one eye to clear away the bit of tears that finally fell.

“Then, I’d like to try touching you to get a similar reaction out of you,” he explains. “I’d like to make you feel as good as I just was.”

Lips parted, you consider his request. While a part of you desired nothing more than for him to reciprocate what you had just done to him, it’s difficult for you to attempt to escape the embarrassment it would bring you. Whether he would’ve been knelt before you, pushing your thighs apart whenever they might go to squeeze his head between them, or if he’d pull you to sit above his face, hold you in place, and—

No, no, no-no-no— either of those things are just too much to get him to do for his first time! you think, trying desperately to cast the details of Lisa’s personal collection out of your head to no avail. If your desire wasn’t showing before, it certainly should be now. So… i-if he wants to do this, if he’s really serious about it…

“… please, then, ‘bedo,” you murmur, leaning just a little deeper into his gloved palm. “Please touch me.”

Over and over, Albedo has managed to surprise you, though more than anything, it had been his astute eagerness that has thrown you for a loop. Despite his usual claims of lacking most human emotions, he seems to have no trouble displaying lust before you. Whether it’s expressed in regards to the promise of achieving positive results, or, as the potentially deluded area of your brain suggests, in regards to him harbouring a positive emotion, one aimed toward you, you weren’t privy.

This time, the surprise comes from him when he gently pulls you up onto your feet, him now standing with you, and spinning you on the spot to take his former place on the bed. You blink, slightly dizzied by the motion, and make to press your palms down flat to steady yourself, when Albedo leans into you, one of his own hands coming to rest next to yours. The other, however—

“Lift your hips up, ______,” he says, his thumb pressing forward to shove the button above the zipper to your trousers out through the hole, “and take off your jacket.”

You nod, swallow the lump in your sore throat, and shift your weight onto your hands that allows him to slide your thick, woollen tights down to your ankles, all in a single moment. Unlike you, however, he’s left your undergarment sitting askew around your hips— somehow, you manage to dub this even more embarrassing than if you were left half nude.

“I’m still right here in front of you,” he reminds you, once more leaning forward into your space, chin tilted toward his chest. You straighten your back, enough so that you’re able to meet his lips, and he gratefully obliges you, his own eyes shuttering closed upon contact. You part from him, grinning softly.

Albedo’s lips part to allow the tip of his glove’s middlemost finger to become pinched between his teeth— he pulls away, the dual-coloured leather falling against his chin before he discards it to the cave behind him, and reaches down between you. You catch his hesitation and decidedly remain silent until he finally moves, a curious hand coming to rest just above your pubic bone. Your breath barely hitches when his fingers curl to dig beneath the elastic banding on your underwear, only to pause with a single pad resting only an inch away from—

“I believe I asked you to remove your jacket,” he murmurs, eyes trained to where his hand waits.

“I— oh, I, o-okay, right…” Careful not to bump him, you begin shimmying out of your moisture-wicking sweater, tugging your arms and head from the holes, and tossing it behind Albedo, leaving you sitting in a half-as-thin turtleneck.

“Good. I’m going to begin now.”

You barely get a nod out when he’s already pressed down atop the flesh above your clit, your body jerking forward at the sudden burn of pleasure. In favour of helping Albedo chase his own release, you woefully chose to neglect the potential of your own, but this didn’t mean it hadn’t been sitting idle up until now, waiting for him to do something about it.

In all your time of knowing the man, you never would have thought you would see him make such an erotic expression, and having been blessed to, you still haven’t recovered from it. Brows knitted and eyes squeezed shut, teeth pinching his bottom lip through his failed self-restraint; you’d never seen a rosier red before than on those smooth porcelain cheeks of his— it sent waves of warmth to pool in your gut, a blindsiding strike against you as you became forced to wait your turn.

“From what I recall from my anatomy studies, the clitoris has over ten thousand nerve endings, so in a state of arousal…” He swirls his finger against it again and you jolt, your own hand rising from the bed to clutch at his wrist. “… the effect becomes heightened when it is physically stimulated.” His eyes flit up to watch your reaction when he moves lower, the tip of his soft digit catching under its hood; your trembling lips have parted, and your eyes are barely open to see him. You only feel when two of his fingers have dipped into you— your wide eyes snap up to him, cheeks flushed at the sudden squelch. “I see you didn’t even need physical stimulation for this— you’re quite wet, ______.”

Your grip on his wrist is shaky when it tightens; another indication of your arousal, Albedo notes. He doesn’t move his fingers as you had expected him to — they solicit themselves before your entrance, swimming in the slick that has gathered there, his reach managing to stretch far enough that it nudges your throbbing clit — and your mind immediately equates the emptiness within you to torture when you begin clenching around nothing.

“I-I don’t know if you’re teasing me on purpose, Albedo,” you start, your nails suddenly biting into the flesh of his hand, “but I’m begging you to stop.”

Your ears ring a little when the softest of chuckles fill them; you shoot a glare up at the alchemist. “No adverse effects to your cognition. If tempered, a high percentage persists, even under that same duress—” You whack his arm, at least hard enough that even he would feel it. “Ouch.”

“This isn’t a live anatomy study,” you joke at him, though the same bite you threw at him along with your knuckles are present in your tone. Albedo blinks, before his lips spread into a thin, almost apologetic, line.

“A habit,” he says with a shake of his head. “I’ll try to be more conscious of it.”

“J-Just… be less embarrassing about it,” you plead, turning your head away.

“Hm? Why is it embarrassing?” Albedo straightens, his back holding him upright instead of his other hand— he pinches your chin between two fingers, and turns you back toward him. “Sexual intercourse is an embodiment of what it means to be human, no? Without procreation, life would end.”

“Y-Yes, that’s all true, but… it’s not why I’m embarrassed. I-It’s not even you getting all technical while your fingers are—” as if cued, they slip into you once more, a gasp fleeing your wide open mouth in shock. “A-Albedo!?”

“So, is it me that you’re embarrassed over?” You wince, his fingers curling upwards as if searching. “Is it what I’m doing to you that’s made your body so warm?” His wrist turns, his other knuckles catching on your clit again and making you lurch into him. “Is it that my hand is so deep in your heat that’s making you look at me with such delirium?”

Your body spasms; you huff at him when he draws back.

“W… what are you even saying,” you pant, your hold on him faltering.

“I am only curious as to why you’ve been staring at me with such blatant adoration. I don’t believe I’ve done anything out of the ordinary to deserve it, and yet…” His own eyes move to meet yours. “I find myself enjoying having your attention on me.”

You could’ve quite literally melted on the spot, if not for the bitter chill filling the cave.

Albedo shifts before you, and seats himself to your right, his sole gloved hand curling around the underneath of your one knee to be thrown over his lap, the other remaining behind to slide up toward your hip. His fingers tug at the elastic of your underwear, collecting them around a knuckle and drawing them down your raised hips to your ankles, the wrinkled fabric pooling around the toes of your left foot.

“Keep your eyes on me, ______,” he says, barely audible. “Watch closely.”

You manage to amaze yourself at just how wet you’d truly become by his hand, the cloth surrounding your cunt and the blistering winds of the squall offering enough muffling that you hadn’t heard the squelching, and only felt it. You didn’t think it could get more embarrassing, but now, the sounds were out in the open, the progressively more intense smacks from his palm hitting resounding before you and belting between the stone walls. But you keep your eyes on him still, just as he’d asked you to, and let the heat continue to bloom.

His attention on you is somehow daunting— bottom lip caught between pearl-white teeth and brows furrowed; usually bright eyes darkened in his focus, occasionally flitting up to see the kind of expression you wear with each new ministration.

You shudder beneath him when the smooth skin of his thumb presses against your clit again, his fingers still curling and stirring your warm insides. An eyebrow raises, pleased by your reaction— Albedo rolls the pad of his finger against you in the hopes that you keep squirming beneath him, that your soft and barely controlled moans keep escaping you, all for him, all from him. Somehow it’s everything and not enough for you, though it shows when you roll your hips toward him and against his wetted wrist.

“I-It’s… how… can you can be… so… calm through this…!?” You pant, your fingers tightening at the breast of his shirt. Shivering beneath his languid touch, Albedo lets you keen against his smooth hand in a slow grind, his three middle fingers carefully pumping in and out of you, each draw pulling back more and more of your slick.

Eyes blown wide, Albedo takes his free hand and guides your lips back to his, tongue unhesitant in pushing past your gritted teeth to find your tongue. A moan escapes you when they curl together, your thighs instinctively trying to press together to curb the heat that starts pulsing between them. Albedo pushes them back open, eyes lazily shifting to the side in time to watch you begin to shake.

“Calm?” he repeats, having pulled away, and with a single stroke, you seize, both hands jumping to grasp at his wrist in an attempt to steady yourself through your first orgasm. “With you?” He presses his lips to the side of your head, a soft groan escaping him the tighter you manage to clench around his digits. “I’m not calm at all with you. Especially as you are now.”

“A-Al… bedo,” you whine, clutching at his shirt like a vice, nails barely digging through the fabric to reach him, but where you touch burns, only spurring him on to keep you sobbing until you reach the end of your high.

“Your voice is very pleasant when you orgasm, ______.” You seethe a harsh breath through your teeth when he retracts his fingers, and as if through a fogged lens, Albedo stares at his pale fingers coated in your release, watching it glisten under the glow of the fire as he turns them. “Hm.”

“… Albedo?” you call, voice hoarse but questioning.

“The viscosity is almost slime-like,” he notes— of course, he would, you think, biting back a chuckle. But then he does the unimaginable, though in his case, you’re surprised at yourself for not have expecting it— he tastes it, tastes you, his tongue poking out to lick up from his knuckle to the tip of his index.

“A-Albedo—””The hydrogen potential is rather acidic,” he goes on, completely disregarding your huff of impatience at being cut off, “but it’s more mild than I expected. It seems there isn’t enough here to collect as a proper sample, however. Before we continue, I’d like to—”

“A-Another time!” you half-heartedly promise, knowing exactly what he’d been about to ask you. Genuinely hoping he won’t actually hold you to your word, “P-Please, Albedo— I’m already exhausted from the trip here, and after all of this, I-I don’t know if I’ll last until the end if you were to do all of that again…”

“Oh. Was it that enjoyable?” he asks, and to your disbelief, he licks the rest of his fingers off before curving his head to better meet your gaze. Instantly, you’re scowling at his knowing glance. “Very well, then; I don’t mind postponing that until “another time”.”

You wheeze tiredly.

With a hand resting against your lower back, he places his other against your sternum and gently pushes you backwards and down into his mattress. Slipping his leg out from under you, he then straddles your one thigh and carefully lifts your other out in front of him. You instinctively flinch, your gaze quick to travel down to where Albedo’s erection sits atop your skin. As if testing, he shifts his hips forward, and drags his dick along your leg.

You barely catch the soft, wounded breath that passes through his parted lips, eyes squeezed shut once more as he ruts himself along you. Your own breathing is weak, both heart and mind stupefied by the scene before you— you can’t help yourself from reaching for him, for it, and cup your hand over its pretty curve.

Albedo gasps, instinctively reaching to steady himself against the bed when your thumb starts rubbing along his blushing cockhead.

“Albedo,” you call to him, voice thick with a sudden want the alchemist hadn’t been prepared to hear. “Albedo, please… I’m ready for you. I want you.”

In turn, you hadn’t been prepared for his eagerness— the way he helps you scooch further back on the mattress, and how easily he’d seemed to fit himself in between your warmed thighs; how sweetly he stares down at you, his pale pink lips curving into the slightest of smiles when you start uncontrollably grinning at him, and how soothing and gentle his touch is when he runs his cool hands along the burning flesh beneath your turtleneck. You shudder in your anticipation, a strong pulse beating from the center of your abdomen just wildly enough for him to feel it when his palm rests atop it. He maneuvers his knees beneath you, and in pressing his hips to meet your pelvis, his own arousal finally nudges into yours, the both of you flinching with a desperate keen.

A single hand comes down to rest on the bare skin of your midriff, hidden beneath your shirt, the other curled around the base of his erection to poise himself before you. “T-Then… I’ll deny you no longer.”

A strangled hiss passes through clenched teeth as Albedo rocks his hips forward, the head of his cock gently fitting just past your folds. You can’t help the shocked gasp that flees your parted lips; you take up the bedding in an iron grip to brace yourself as his own tightens around your hip, him pushing past each ring of muscle with a heavy breath and the smallest of grunts— he’s hot, and incredibly hard, and it sends a rippling ache through your core the longer he takes in fully sheathing himself within you, through no fault of his own. Your nerves have made you tense and tighten up, made you tremble around his throbbing girth so intensely that he’s forced to take pause with a choked breath—

“S-Sorry!” you gasp out, blinking rapidly between him and the ceiling. “S-Sorry, Albedo, I-I just—!”

“I know,” he interrupts, voice slightly haggard. “T-Take a moment. Breathe, ______.” You nod, likely too many times than necessary. “Does it hurt?”

“… y-yes, but…” You sniffle. “There’s pleasure with it, too. For my first time, i-it’s to be expected…” The alchemist stares down at you, unsure of his next move, but then you raise your shaky arms from your side to reach for him, hands taking the cool skin of his cheeks into your palms. “I-I need a distraction,” you murmur. “Kiss me, Albedo, a-at the same time.”

“… alright.”

Albedo lets you pull him down toward you, slowly so as not to hurt him, as well, allowing him to shift around you and reposition himself. At the last second, he leans forward out of your hands to claim your expectant lips on his own, immediately parting them with his tongue. The gesture had sent a rush of heat through you, miraculously allowing Albedo to thrust his hips into yours just a little more. Your moan is sharp into his open mouth, a whine more than anything else, and your shuddering has your legs threatening to either give out beneath him or curl around his slim waist— he notices this, and instead denies you from choosing on your own when he lets himself tip forward until fully sheathed, swallowing both your tongue and your voice when you cry out past his lips.

I-It hurts, you can only exclaim in your thoughts, your entire body lit up like an Inazuman firework when your legs kick out behind him— it hurts.

Willing yourself to focus on anything but where the pain pulses most, you search around the cave once more, chest heaving from a lack of air, mindlessly identifying the many small objects scattered about the laboratory— flasks and beakers, pencils of various lengths, jars of full and half-empty oil paints of all shades, piles upon piles of paper weighed down by miscellaneous paper weights— “______?”

You tear your gaze away from the inactive air gas burner sitting on the furthest table, and force it to meet that of the man’s lying above you. “H-Hm?”

“Are you alright?” Albedo asks. In the corner of your eye, you spot his one arm beginning to tremble. “You went quiet.” Shakily, you lift your arm to support it by his elbow; he spares it a glance before looking to you again. “______?”

“I-I’m… I’m okay,” you say before sighing, knowing you sound unconvincing. “Are you?” He hesitates in answering.

“… a human’s internal temperature is normally around thirty-seven degrees, but s-somehow—” Albedo exhales, and through squinted eyes of your own, you see one of his twitch in his struggle to adjust “— it feels much hotter i-inside you…” Despite your best effort not to, you laugh, your free hand rising quickly to try and cover it up, but it flies loose; somehow, Albedo finds himself displeased with your reaction. “______…”

“I-I’m sorry, I-I just wasn’t expecting that kind of answer, though maybe I should have…” You reach up to hold his face in your hand. “But you’re okay? You aren’t hurt at all, right? I know it’s a little… t-tight.”

“All the more reason why if either of us should be more in pain, it’s you,” he tries to reason, but you shake your head.

“I just… needed a moment to get used to you,” you tell him in earnest, “and I think laughing helped. You’re bigger than your fingers, after all.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he immediately says.

“It’s only n-natural that it would hurt a little— d-don’t worry, okay?” He nods, albeit reservedly. “C… Can you try moving now?”

“If you’re sure?” And you nod back, your hand still wrapped around his arm providing a squeeze of encouragement.

“Please.” With a nod, he gently forces his hips from yours before thrusting back into you. Your grip on his forearm falters, dropping in favour of holding his wrists, instead.

While he knows a human’s autonomic functions obviously accounted for it, Albedo still found it amazing how easily you’d seemed to swallow him back up. Maybe it had been your laughter— you just needed a moment to loosen up, and not just physically. Despite everything that had already happened, you’d still been in disbelief that it did happen in the first place, and with Mondstadt’s chief alchemist; your dear friend.

Your own hips shift, your joints twisting to give rise for your thighs to press against Albedo’s sides. Albedo groans softly, soft hands moving to curl his arms around them and pulling you even tighter against his pelvis. You jolt, a strange sensation suddenly blossoming where his cockhead presses upwards— you just knew that curve of his would mean some kind of trouble for you.

“… oh?” Looking away from his strained expression, you find him focused on your lower abdomen, where he decidedly places his hands over. He presses down around it, your soft flesh pooling beneath his thin fingers.

The smallest of gasps escapes him when he readjusts his stance to the edge of his mattress to push back into you, only for the imprint of his cock to, once again, reappear beneath your skin. He pauses to look to you, and though you look unharmed, you’ve bitten down so intently on your knuckles, your nose scrunched and eyebrows bunched toward each other, in an attempt to suppress the sounds threatening to leak from you.

“______,” Albedo calls. When your only reply is a weary glance and an overwhelmed huff, he leans over you, his hands taking yours from over your mouth to pin them at either side of your head against the mattress. But the movement hilts him deeper inside you, tearing a whine from your throat and sending a shiver through your body. “… are you alright?”

“I-I—” Albedo rolls his hips ever so slightly. “’m f-fine… It… jus’ feels… hngh… g-good.”

“I’m glad,” he pants, shoving his fingers between yours and pressing them further into the duvet. “I was worried you were in pain.” Drawing his hips back, he slowly drives back in, lips parted and jaw hung when the immense sensation of your engulfing warmth overtakes him.

“N-no pain,” you promise, giving his hands a light squeeze each and him, a curdling smile. “Y-You can… m-move faster, Albedo...”

“If you’re sure, then,” he murmurs.

He drops onto his elbows, hands still claiming yours and his lips only inches away from each other— it doesn’t take him long to decide to claim them, either, pressing into you and prying your willing mouth open with his tongue. You don’t try to contain the moan he bullies out of you when he begins sucking at your tongue, in the same moment he draws back once more and thrusts into you as if sheathing his sword. Your body tenses, eyes flying open when you feel the head of his cock reach the deepest part of you—oh, this part hurts, you think, squeezing his hands just a little harder, and once more, he stops, turquoise eyes joining yours in a panic.

“That hurt this time, didn’t it,” he says, eyebrows turned down in concern.

You nod a little, and take a deep breath in an attempt to slow down your pounding heart. “Y-Yes,” you say. “You just went a l-little too deep…”

“I’m sorry,” he immediately says. He lowers his head to rest his cheek against yours, his lips brushing against the shell of your ear when he kisses the side of your head, “I won’t make that mistake again.”

You whimper in response, and nod probably more times than you’d meant to. It takes a moment for the initial shock and discomfort to fade, but then you’re nodding again, this time, in encouragement. Albedo takes your words into account, supposing that he just might’ve underestimated his own length in contrast with your depth… He’s hesitant to move again, though he knows it comes down to the amount of self-restraint he can muster, wanting nothing more than to continue with you.

Albedo startles when you take matters into your own hands and roll your hips up, slowly sliding yourself up and down his length with your features still verily pinched, though certainly, they’re steadily masked by that same pleasure you’d mentioned feeling earlier; no longer a stranger to the sensation himself, he dares to thrust his hips once more, a little more controlled, yet with his expected inexperience; jerkish.

It doesn’t hurt you anymore, you realize when one of his strokes manages to pull a shaky moan out of you. No longer are your breaths coated with your discomfort; Albedo finally found a rhythm that kept him steady and you, painless— one that only draws out more and more of your whines and whimpers and his heavy breaths to be pressed into each other’s skin; one that has your arms wrapped around each other like vices while he continues rutting into you, your fingers digging into the flesh over his shoulder blades to ground yourself atop the creaking bed—

“Can… can we move?” Albedo suddenly asks in separate, laboured breaths, his arms uncurling from around you.

“M… ove?” you repeat, your head too occupied by him to register what he means— “We’re… already moving,” you jokingly manage to conjure. But you relent. “… ’kay.”

Huffing, Albedo slides his arms beneath your shoulders and sits you upright over his thighs. The non-exhausted part of you is startled when he rises onto his knees to crawl closer to the wall the length of the bed touches, finally sitting back down with his back now leaning against it. Still having been connected with you when he unfolds his legs to shove them beneath your ass in the other direction, the jostling finally tears a long groan out from you when he manages to nudge something especially sensitive within you. Albedo sighs deeply, his hands coming to rest at your hips to ground himself when you clench around him.

“Hold onto me, ______,” he instructs, giving you a gentle squeeze. Your limp arms give rise to wrap around Albedo’s shoulders, holding him tighter to you and burying your face into the crook of his neck. You press your lips against his porcelain skin, leaving slight nips behind until you feel him shiver, and his hands drop under you to lift you off the mattress.

A strangled cry spews up from your throat when he sheathes himself into you again, burrowing itself beneath Albedo’s ear and strangely sending a shiver down his spine— he’s already said it before, but he tells you once more just how beautiful you sound when you peak; tells you how good it feels when you squeeze and keep him trapped inside of you.

Golden strands slip through each of your trembling fingers when you run them through his loose hair, having untied the band around it, and Albedo groans almost appreciatively from the sensation of them skimming across his scalp. Your balance in your knees is barely there, and your thighs are just strong enough to remain lifted off Albedo’s lap while he bucks up into you, but you’re gasping, the world suddenly turned on its axis when he spins you back onto the mattress, empty.

Dizzied, you look to him, meet his half-lidded, glossed over turquoise gaze, and swallow thickly when he hovers over you, his tip carelessly twitching against your pelvis. Is he… trying to hold himself back? you wonder, watching his lower lip become bullied by his upper teeth biting into them. With hot, trembling fingers, you guide him back inside you before reaching up between his arms and cradling his face in your hands, pulling him down to meet your lips. You swallow his heavy breaths until they turn into moans, hips driving into you, unrelenting, and only then do you part from him.

“P… please,” you beg, thumbs sweeping across his warm cheeks. “Please don’t hold back from me.”

“… b-but you… you’ve gotten so… so t-tight—” he chokes on his words. “… s-something… something is — hahh… I-I don’t wan… want to finish so… fast…!”

A sudden tension twists through your gut like a fire had been ignited there; you stretch your arm out across the messy sheets, small gasps escaping you with each of his thrusts, reaching for any semblance of stability along the thick duvet of his bed. His movement is fast, a hand suddenly darting out to pin your hand down before you.

“I-It’s okay,” you call out, your voice turning an octave higher than normal when he anchors himself deeper into you with a single, sharp thrust. “… I-I’m there, t-too!” You pant through gritted teeth, sucking in little air as you try to orient yourself— “I wanna hear you, ‘bedo,” you gasp out at him, “you sound so… beautiful…! I wanna hear you when you… c-come…! haah…!!”

He gasps again when you’ve suddenly tightened around him, his erratic pistoning into your wet cunt slowed by your own incoming high.

“Really?” he bites out, brows furrowed in concentration. Your nods are frantic, your hips rising to meet his with each of his thrusts, hips battering into yours almost painfully. “T-Together, then?” he groans, and allows you to further wind yourself around him, arms curling around his back, legs hooking around his waist, cunt fluttering and pulsating almost cruelly until the tears of pleasure formed along your eyelids finally spill over and roll down your cheeks when you finally peak.

“I’m… c-coming… hngh!!”

“C-Coming!” Albedo cries out through his teeth and into your shoulder, fingers forcing yours deeper into the blanket, hips stuttering sharply into yours for a last time as euphoria claims him. “______!” He finally goes still, relishing in the relief the snapping coil in his gut brings him when he spills inside you. You wince through your own gracious release, the head of his pulsating dick rutting lightly against your cervix with each of his tremors and jerks— Archons, it’s so h-hot! you mentally whine, eyes squeezed shut and arms wrapped tight around his back, holding him ever closer to you.

He had never experienced such a strong release of emotion as intense as he just did. It’s startling to him, maddening, that he’d never bothered to seek out such a feeling after that first time all those years ago— but now that he’s gone ahead and done such a thing with you? It stopped being an experiment to him long ago.

“______, I…” Albedo pants against your fast-rising chest, your heart beating too quickly for your own breathing to keep up, and presses his lips to it. “That felt wonderful…” Your arms, weighty from your exhaustion, slip from behind him until your elbows hit the mattress beneath you, only the tips of your trembling fingers deigning to remain behind to drag across his ribcage.

Delirious and still swimming in what pleasure remained from your shared release, you give a jerky nod of agreement, and turn your head ever so slightly to him to press your own lips against his hairline. The softest of laughs hits his ears, a sound that might’ve gone unheard under the howling winds outside the laboratory, but the existence of the five senses and your presence meant his hypersensitivity exists only for you right now— it’s loud and clear enough and he relishes in the fact that he’d been the first to hear it in such a circumstance.

A small part of him can’t help but wonder what Gold would say if she saw him neglecting her final task; if she saw him laying here with you. “Show me the truth and the meaning of this world”— he’d yet to even create a footing deep enough in preparation for the assignment. Simple hypotheses existed tucked between leather bindings and were only disturbed on relevant occasions. Should another note be added inside those bindings after today? His chin tilts your way as he ponders this, cheek smushed against your bicep while you struggle to catch your breath.

“… ‘bedo…” Pulling himself onto his forearms, he watches your throat bob when you swallow in your contemplation. “… in keeping this experiment honest, I… I think I need to tell you that… it’s going to be hard for me to call this… just that. An “experiment”.”

He hums, a wordless urging for you to keep speaking. For a moment, your eyes keep on searching the ceiling above you, half-lidded but bright, trying to pick your next words out carefully.

“I… I think I’ve tried not to acknowledge it all this time… and those women today got me to thinking about much more than whether or not you’re… fertile. Our relationship as coworkers, as friends— have they been the only kinds, all this time? I’m well aware that me cooking and baking for you and my doting on you whenever you’re in the city has far extended past my duties as the Knights of Favonius’s Records Keeper. And, at least in my eyes, it tiptoed the line keeping me from seeing you as just my friend. I just didn’t wish to acknowledge it.”

“… may I ask why?” he murmurs.

“Either… it was because I knew I’d be embarrassed if my feelings and emotions for you weren’t able to be reciprocated. That it would likely change our dynamic. I wasn’t prepared… to experience that distance from you if that was the result.”

Albedo agrees wordlessly, when his gaze falls from yours.

How should he even begin to articulate what his thoughts and logic are telling him to say to you? Through all his years awake and existing in Teyvat, he’s never had to bother with or confront his emotions— other than pure investigative curiosity or wholesome fascination, before coming to Mondstadt, he never experienced the warmth that those who would grow close to him would feel. The love and appreciation from Klee for taking care of her as her “big brother”; the camaraderie shared by Kaeya and the other Knights he’s associated with; even the admittedly strange kinship he once shared with Gold before abandoning him to his own devices— and then, despite swearing himself to his reclusiveness to Dragonspine, his visits to his Mondstadt laboratory would have him encounter you.

In being as work oriented as you are, you still often found yourself frequenting his laboratory to deliver field reports from those same Knights, and in knowing his more reserved nature, you respected it, discreetly leaving small gifts of thanks on behalf of yourself and the others; treats, should he “fancy a snack break?”; offering to run errands for him and his assistants in your downtime— if not for you making the decision to appear before him, he likely wouldn’t have bothered to ever make conversation with you. Most of his other relationships within the Knights of Favonius had always been strictly work ones, which he had been satisfied with.

The two of you hadn’t bothered to separate, in all definitions of the word, keeping his seed plugged inside of you with his flaccid cock. Holding onto you, he rolls, pulling the bedding up from under him to pull over you— he’d seen you had begun to shiver. Seeing the appreciative smile you’d put on for such a simple gesture that needed no thanks, Albedo finds he’s thanking himself for not deciding to keep his distance, after all.

“Maybe in the beginning, this would’ve been the case,” he admits. You nod, as if you were expecting this response. “In the months you first imposed yourself in my life, I had been content on holding the same distance I did as with the others, with you. You made it… complicated, I’ll say, to want to hold that distance any longer when you made it quite easy to be around you.”

“I-I knew it sometimes made you uncomfortable to have to be around a lot of people at once,” you murmur, turning onto your right to see him. “I offered to Grand Master Jean to liaison for you and your team while you were all within headquarters and if I wasn’t busy… though, it was really so I could see you more… even if it’d been from a distance…”

The corner of Albedo’s mouth twitches. “I still have that first gift of yours.”

A bashful grin slowly replaces your attempt at a poker face. “I’d hung that painting you gave to me in return above my bed, you know. It… sounds very silly to say out loud, but… when I found myself missing you, I put it there in the hopes that I’d see you in my dreams during the times you were away.”

“It’s illogical, but no. It’s a… sweet gesture. Not silly at all.”

Your cheeks instantly grow warm. “I’m… relieved to hear you say that.”

It takes a while for you to warm yourself up again — as if sensing your sensitive state, Dragonspine saw to it to up the ante on the blizzard — before the two of you can clean yourselves up.

To say the process isn’t as embarrassing as everything else that had transpired would be a lie; feeling and seeing Albedo’s cum drip out of you — and onto a damned sample dish, by his request — had been mortifying. What you hadn’t expected, however, was that after he’d collected his sample, he’d sat you down on the edge of the mattress once more, rags and a newly warmed basin of water at his side to tend to you. And while he did, to distract yourself, you’d found your eyes stuck over on his incomplete painting and the supplies littered on the small table next to its easel.

Now, as the two of you lie facing the ceiling of the cliffside laboratory, you suddenly giggle, prompting Albedo to turn toward you.

“What is it?” he asks, breathlessness evident at the tail end of his words.

“It’s just… the water in your painting glass,” you say. “It still isn’t frozen, and here I am, carefully turning into a block of ice.”

A small chuckle escapes him, too. “Slime Condensate and Mist Flower Corolla extract. The condensate is viscous enough that the extract won’t freeze it completely. Because it tiptoes the line of a solid and a liquid, it won’t cross the threshold, even if I were to take it out into the harsh weather of this mountain.”

You hum in thought. “Is it… edible?”

“If the recipe was tweaked, I’m sure it could be. Why?”

“It could be patented and made for the adventurers that try to come up here. Their drinking water freezes, and they can’t eat the snow or it’ll change their internal temperature— if it could stay a singular temperature while they’re up here, it might make them last a little longer.”

Albedo’s gaze goes toward the glass. One of the two brushes sitting inside shifts from the stiff breeze that blows into the cave, clattering against the rim. He lets out a hum of his own, before looking back to you, eyes seemingly glittering.

“Want to run another experiment?”

masterlist | taglist pt. i | pt. ii | pt.iii

© noicevibes please don’t repost! reblogs & comments are always appreciated.

[osamusriceballs]

The Accident - Part XVII

Atsumu x fem reader

Warnings: Making out

Words: 1,5 k

About: Back to Onigiri Miya <3

Part I II -> Next Part

"Finally. Took ya long enough."

Osamu rolls his eyes when you both enter the shop. You apologetically smile and wave while uttering a greeting. "Hey, Osamu. Sorry for being late." Atsumu grins widely, simply ignoring Osamu's comment while you both move to the counter, where Osamu is working. You notice that he looks a bit tired after moving closer, the bags under his eyes proof that he probably only slept a few hours before he had to open up the shop again. Yet, he still professionally forms Onigiri with his hands, everything looking as flawless and clean as the last time you had been there.

Osamu finally looks up to you both when you reach him and suddenly raises his brows when he sees how tightly your hand is held by Atsumu's. His mouth opens slightly, as if to comment on it, but he closes it silently without saying anything before he diverts his attention back to the Onigiri in his hands, now with a small smile adorning his lips. Your face warms up and you mentally thank every deity for making Osamu the more tactful and considerate twin. You're quite certain that Atsumu would have commented on that, if he had been in Osamu's place. Such a tease.

You clear your throat and let go of Atsumu's hand, but his grip around yours is so tight that it doesn't make any visible difference. "Samu, I'm starvin'—could eat the whole menu today. Gimme that please." Atsumu points towards the filled plate in front of Osamu, who just groans as a response and rolls his eyes. "Yer only here for five seconds and I already wanna kick ya out."

You blink in surprise when Osamu simply pushes the plate towards Atsumu and then turns around to open the fridge. "I prepared somethin' for ya. Take it before I change my mind." He hands you another plate with dishes that you remember from the last time you had been there, and you hastily pull your hand out of Atsumu's death grip to take it. "That's—amazing! Thank you." Your stomach clenches at the sight of the food, and you become painfully aware of the fact that you haven't eaten anything since last night, and it's around 4 pm at this point.

"I'll make sure to tag ya in an Instagram post, Samu." Atsumu grins and places one hand at the small of your back to direct you towards a free table. "Here." He quickly places his plate on the table and moves back to the counter. "I'll get us something to drink." You smile and nod while you try to calm yourself down. Your heart starts beating faster when you think about what has just happened with him in his apartment. How he had kissed you and held you. How he was laying on top of you and grinding against you- so needily and desperate. How your hands had been buried into his hair, desperate for him to deepen the kiss—and he did.

But it all came to an end when you had moaned against his lips, the sound so breathless and lewd that your eyes shot open—and he pulled away with a curse. "God, y/n. I can't—we shouldn't—gosh, fuck. I want you so badly." You could see his clenched jaw, his flushed cheeks, and feel the hardness in his pants without a doubt. You knew he wants to go further- but the wetness between your legs was also evidence of how much you wanted him, and you were quite certain that he could feel your warmth and wetness through his pants at this point. But you knew it's not right. Not now, not so shortly after all that.

You had taken a deep breath and then untangled your legs around his body. "It's probably for the best if we stop right now." You smiled a bit strained, your body wanting nothing more but to stay here forever and let him have his way with you, but your mind told you to slow down. You didn't want to ruin this by starting something like this too soon. He had simply nodded but still leaned down to press a longing kiss against your lips. You had melted into the feeling of his lips against yours and reached out for him, only to have him grab your wrists a little clumsily while he pulled back from the kiss and pinned your hands to the bed. Your eyes widened at your vulnerable position under him—and a throb of need rushed through your body.

His eyebrows shot up and his lips curled into a smug grin at your reaction. "Oh? Ya like that? Seems like we're in for a good time then." You swore you could have exploded any second, especially if he kept looking at you like that, and you simply released a shallow huff at his words. "Yer really testin' me here, wifey." He closed his eyes for a second and then pulled back. "Imma take a quick shower and then we can grab somethin' to eat at Samu's. Is that alright with ya?" You had simply nodded, too flustered to form words, and he pecked your cheek one last time before he headed to the bathroom.

After that, you wobbly made it to the other bathroom, quickly washing your face and getting dressed again, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you were this close to giving in and begging him to sleep with you. You have never felt like this with someone else; Atsumu just elicits feelings and actions from your body that you would never have thought were possible. He's a great kisser, and judging from the way he had been grinding his hips against yours, you were quite certain that he will be equally as good in bed. Your face had heated up again at the thought of sleeping with him, and you had quickly grabbed your stuff and go back to the bedroom. You both quickly took your things and made your way towards Onigiri Miya, but not without making out heavily in the elevator.

"Here ya go." Atsumu places two drinks on the table, and you get pulled out of your thoughts. You try to look calm and composed with a smile and thank him while he takes his seat, shortly admiring him in his simple, yet very attractive outfit. A white shirt and a pair of jeans—nothing special, but when Atsumu wears it, it just looks that appealing.

"Don't worry, these are alcohol-free. I'll stop drinking for a while for sure." He scratches the back of his head bashfully, and you laugh softly. "I figured so. But aren't you training like crazy now? Isn't it bad for you to drink anyway?"

A faint pink hue covers his cheeks at your words. "True that. I'm gonna stay away from alcohol for a long time." He shakes his head and then looks away. "Can't believe it's just a few more weeks till the Olympics. Time is running but- oh, let's start with the food already. Can't wait any longer, I'm sorry." He takes an Onigiri off his plate and eagerly digs in, and you're quick to join him, amused by his cute expression while he's chewing. He must have been starving for sure.

"I feel so much better already." He grins, and you nod while you eat a spoonful of your meal, enjoying the taste of fried rice. "Me too. I love Osamu's food." Atsumu nods and pretends to think for a second and then smugly grins. "Seems like yer fallin' for all the Miya's. We're a talented family after all."

"I'm not falling for all the Miyas!" You weakly protest, but the food could definitely make you consider Osamu as a possible partner. "Just kiddin'." He chuckles but suddenly yawns while he reaches for another Onigiri. "I'll drive ya home after that. I'm way too tired for anything more." He does look exhausted now. You don't know how he manages to even hold a proper conversation in his state, his eyes closing every few seconds before he almost violently pulls them open again.

"That's okay." You smile sympathetically and reach for your drink. He got your favorite, and you feel a sudden warmth running though your body at this realization. "I'm also exhausted after last night. But uhm..." You hesitantly fish for your phone and unlock it. "Do you maybe want to give me your new number?" You feel a faint blush creeping up your cheeks, but you're too afraid that you'll forget about it later- especially when he can barely keep his eyes open. "Oh? Sure." His eyes light up, and he quickly wipes his fingers on his tissue before he takes your phone. "Here ya go. I'll make sure to text ya every day."

"You don't have to text me every day." You snort but smile at the thought of always waking up to messages of Atsumu. "I will. Don't worry." Something about the way he says that makes you believe him, and break the intense eye contact when you take the phone with slightly shaky hands and look at the screen.

There it is, your new contact:

Husband

[leapdayowo]

Welcome Home Goop!Wally au

First encounter

I’ve been debating the name I want for this au for a bit, but I’ll go with goop!wally au because that’s what he is! In this au, the Welcome Home neighbors are not puppets and Wally is a goop creature (with some powers,,). There will be a lot of focus on Barnaby and Wally as kids at first, but then the other neighbors will get pulled into the story :) I don’t know what else to say about it rn as I want to post art of the key points in the au

“Hello”

[cecedownbad]

Hold On

Summary: A missing child's case resurfaced so many memories you wished to keep buried. Sure enough, seeking comfort from the heavy feelings came by as a form of a person. [Spencer Reid X Fem!Reader] Part 2.

Warning: Child abduction, death of a child, angst, no Y/N, made up last name: Cyrus, made up case, light fluff, hurt/ comfort, not too romance-y but alluding to it, not proof read, I don't think the mystery/crime aspect is good but let me hear thoughts guys. Something extra in tags, read after the story.

Word Count: 4.1k

Part 1

I'm so sorry this took so long, my exams, mental health, projects, assignments allll just rolled in the past months, and I've been doing everything to stay on top of writing. It's rushed towards the end but with all that's going on I hope it's okay. If anyone is up for part 3, I'm all for it .

Enjoy

"Those who cannot remember the past, are condemned to repeat it."

-George Santayana

'Okay, let's see, Conrad Miller, 16 years old, went missing on June 12th, 2007. Last seen by the local church with one of the volunteers, she was questioned once but was never linked as she had a solid alibi, her name was Grace Cyrus.' Tara paused. 'So she took Conrad, no she definitely didn't just take him, poor kid is definitely not okay.'

'Right now Stephen is our priority, the anniversary of Steven's disappearance is in 4 days, so what does she want with him now?' You pace in the room, spinning a pen you grabbed in your hand. 'I think that's something only you can answer, what happened 4 days prior to Steven's disappearance?' Tara pondered, she sat down, looking at you, intent on finding answers. '4 days prior…that was the day my dad— Daniel had come to visit, they, Grace and him got into a fight and Stevie, Steven tried to "protect" Daniel in his own way, he thought Mom was going to hurt him…'

Was it then that this all weighed down on you? Words long lost had started pouring through the cracks of memories locked away. You were never in that station in that moment, no, now you were back there.

'Stevie, get back here! We can't stop them!'

'No! No let go! I don't want Dad to go, Mom's going to send him away!'

'Steven!'

No matter how hard you tried, he slipped from your tensed grasp, landing right between two enraged adults.

Pacing the floor helped gather your thoughts, a little better.

'What was the very last thing she said to you when you left?'

The thought of how it all ended passed through your minds, each time much like a bullet to the brain but you push it all down, now wasn't the right time for you. 'everything okay there?' Tara asked you, it's only been a few minutes since you and Tara confronted the idea that Grace might have done more than anyone could have put together.

'Yeah just a lot going on in my head, I think I need a breather.'

'Hold that thought, JJ and Luke are back with Daniel,'

Your hand now wrapped around the empty coffee mug, a dad you haven't spoken to for the last two decades, what would you have to say? or better yet, what would he say to you? This isn't an official reunion, it's an interrogation and who knows what will spill out of your mouth if you see the very first man in your life that disappointed you, taught you that having a person in your life was enough to make you fall apart.

'JJ and I will go in first, you sit tight.' Tara patted your shoulder giving it a good squeeze before heading out the conference room.

It was soon after that Rossi, Reid and Emily came back in, all three harnessing disappointment with their stride. 'Hey, what happened?'

'Well, Rosa was not in her home, we searched the house and by the looks of it, she hardly came back there.' Emily sat down with her legs crossed. 'but, her room had keepsakes, maybe from the time you lived with her?'

'What did she have?'

'She had pictures, some old folded drawings, and the weirdest one, an old juice box.' as Emily finished, you sat up from your chair, 'an old juice box? Do you remember what flavour?'

'I think it was Apple? Why? Does it have something to do with Steven?'

'…'

'Cyrus?'

'That, uh, it's nothing, I think sentimental feelings do surface no matter what kind of person you are.' You began fidgeting with your sleeves, your mind now slowly began recalling events that transpired long ago. 'Is there something else? It looks like you aren't sure about something.' Rossi eyed your movements, he knew something was keeping you. 'My mother, she'd never show any sign that she felt remorse, not even as far as I could remember.'

'Okay Reid, stay with her, I'm going to check in with JJ and the rest. Rossi? Do you mind?' soon after, Rossi and Emily exited the room, leaving you and Spencer in the conference room. 'Could you tell me what kind of person your mother is?' Spencer sat down right before you, urging you to take a seat right next to him and you did.

'She was an uptight woman, she loved to be in control of her life that meant being in control of mine too, it's why I left. She loved being seen.'

'Being seen? What do you mean?'

'She was always a respected figure no matter where she went, be it at work or in the neighborhood, she pushed for that at home too. When Steven had disappeared, I would always remember how she would tell me he was in a better place, and that if I do anything to disobey her or question her authority, I would be punished.' your head hung as you remembered more, 'I would study, day and night, that was the only life I knew, if my grades dropped by a mark, she'd lock me in my room, made sure I only had books on my desk.'

'Did Daniel ever drop by after what happened to Steven?' Spencer asked gently, 'No, I never saw him after that, I thought he finally got sick of mom and left, but I see now that wasn't the case.'

'Okay—'

'You know the one thing I can't seem to remember though?' you looked up at Spencer, his eyebrows now furrowed in question. 'My mother would always say how beautiful I am, and…and that I look just like her, her very own reflection but, Spencer, I can't…I can't remember her face.' your voice sounded shattered at what came out of it. You felt the tears fall, but you couldn't turn away or hide them, Spencer saw just how much this hurts you.

'You are your own person, no one can ever take that from you, no matter what, you are you.' He held your hand, rubbing his thumb over the back of your palm, that gave you a sign of comfort and you smiled at him. 'Alright, let's get back to the case.' quickly wiping away your tears and pasting on a smile, which you flash at Spencer, he in turn regained a more unmoving figure. 'When you said Rosa knew that Steven would never come back, what did you mean?'

'I was only a kid but to me it felt like she already knew that Steven had maybe...and all I could remember was a frown anytime I even remotely related to Steven.' You return with an answer. It was then the phone on the table went off.

'What is it Garcia?'

'So I dug into Daniel a bit more, and you aren't going to like this, so he was actually never in Bakersfield until a week ago, before that he was working as a cab driver in Nevada. He was in Nevada for a long time, but he touched base sometime in 2007, in the month of June. Looks like he tried several times to contact his ex wife but she never entertained any of it. What is concerning is that he was reported of stalking a young boy, said he mistook the boy for a boy he knew and he meant no harm but he was fired from his workplace and when was that? A little before coming over to Bakersfield.' Once Garcia had informed both of you, it was then JJ, Emily and Luke walked back in.

'What did the boy look like?' Spencer asked, 'I sent his picture to your phone.'

'Thank you Garcia.' You picked up your cell and scrolled through to find the image.

'No problemo.'

Upon quick inspection, you could tell at a glance the young boy and Steven shared a few similarities, nothing too obvious except hair colour and facial structure, age is the more obvious factor.

JJ walked in, arms crossed, she sighed but began asking what Garcia checked in for, 'Looks like Daniel was fired from his work place prior to coming to Bakersfield a week before Stephen's abduction.' You informed the three.

'If I didn't know any better, I'd say that's a trigger for him.' Emily began, 'Yeah, I agree.' and Luke followed suit.

'So he not only gets rejected by his ex-wife, but fired from his work place for stalking a boy that looks like his son, then he goes and kidnaps a boy that Rosa seemingly dotes on? Something doesn't add up.' JJ looked on with confusion. 'How did it go with him?' you asked finally.

'Said he had something vital for the case but he would only discuss it with you.' Emily sat down, her voice already etching with exhaustion. 'He's hiding something and my gut is saying it can't be good.'

'I'll go talk to him.' You were close to leaving the room, but Emily had halted your motions.

'Wait,'

'Yeah?'

'Reid will go with you, Tara might want to step out.' You gave a quick nod to Emily's order.

Every step to the interrogation room, you could hear the pained voices of yours, more precisely, from when you were a child. A young girl, alone in a room with nothing but her thoughts, you swallowed hard as you stood by the entrance of the viewing room. When you entered, you let Spencer call Tara from the interrogation room to the viewing room. 'No matter what, don't give in to his requests, you need to break him down, and if you ever want to leave, you can.' Tara gave you a small nudge and she stayed back in the room.

This was it, you let Spencer lead you into the interrogation room, allowing him to get there before you creeped on behind.

'How many times do I need to tell you people? Can't you bring my daug—you, your—'

'Let me be very clear, you have something vital for this case and I'm willing to hear you out, but say or do anything and you will be escorted out of the door by agents, understood?' the firm voice you let out hid every sorry cry that was wailing in you, having not seen your father for 20 years was a shock but not something that should be seen. 'Look at you, what it's been 15, 20 years, oh my beautiful little angel, I missed you.' honey coated words slipped from his mouth and every cell in you twisted in anger and contempt, 'Mr. Carter, the case.' Spencer stepped in this time.

'Always in such a hurry, well, since you brought my little girl. I know where the kid is being held.' He sat there with no remorse, no care that a child, close to the age of the son he lost years ago, was missing.

'Where might that be?'

'I can take you there, but I'll only go if she goes with me.'

After so long, he cares or at least that's what he's showing but you knew what he was playing at, he thought he could get away light just because his flesh and blood was in the justice system, what a sorry bastard.

'I think we're done here.' Spencer had got up from his chair but you stayed seated, deal or not you wanted to break the man in front of you and that was what was nailing you down to your chair. 'Mr. Carter, what good will it do if I went with you? Was it not enough that you came in here demanding to see your daughter about a case I know damn well you don't care about?' you pressed, choice of words were clearly targeted but your composure remained cool. 'What do you mean, you know what happened to Stevi—'

'Your son that you never bothered to report missing? I don't believe you have a right to bring that up, Sir.'

'Now listen here—'

'In the time Rosa had left you behind, you did nothing but fail to bring yourself together, I have a question for you, what were you doing on June 12th, 2007? Why did you come back to Bakersfield prior to that date?' you swiped through the tablet that Tara handed to you, it contained everything Garcia had found including some case files. 'I don't know why you're asking me that, don't you have the life of a boy to save?' He avoided it with such harshness, you only wanted to pry further but somehow it felt like you knew the answer, but the words never fell into place.

'Answer the question Daniel.' Spencer sat back down now jabbing at him as well. 'I just had someone to meet, is that really so important?'

'Why did you need to meet them? Did you coming back here have anything to do with Rosa Cyrus, your ex-wife?' Your slowly tapped at the desk, it was a timed beat. 'I did visit her once but that—'

'Were you aware that a teenager was reported missing around the same time you arrived here? His name was Conrad Miller, he was 16 years old.'

'W-what? I-I don't know anything about that.'

'Really? Because it says in the case files that Rosa was the last person to have seen Conrad, but you knew that didn't you?' He flinched at the response, at this point he wore a sign that screamed suspicious.

It was then that Daniel remained silent, you believed that any word that came out of him at that point would dig his grave deeper.

You stepped out of the room and walked into the room behind the mirror. 'Now he won't speak,' Rossi now stood there with his arms in his pocket.

'We need to find Rosa and Stephen soon, the man is hiding something and Rosa is the key to finding out why.' Rossi took the words right out of your mouth, looks you both knew what he was playing at.

'I think I can help with that, how much can you guys bet on a gut feeling?' You asked the three of them, weary of their answer, 'At this point? I'll take it.' Rossi let out, the two soon followed. 'Rosa will most likely be at the house we used to live in, which is not in this area, I'm hoping that she's keeping Stephen safe,'

'Safe? How come?' Tara asked you, 'Daniel here, came a week prior to Stephen's abduction, not only did he lose his job before coming here, he needed to have a reason to come here,' you deduce.

'His reason being Rosa? But wouldn't that not trigger Rosa?' Looks like you still needed to elaborate your theory, so you continued. 'It did, Rosa having heard that Daniel came here must have caused her protective instinct to kick in, call me crazy, but I think Rosa is keeping Stephen away from Daniel.' you finally let out a sigh, your palms clammed from sweat but if you were right, the little boy you came here for was safe.

'A mother's protective instinct, I'm guessing that something happened 20 years ago that she didn't agree on, which caused her to completely reject this guy, I'll have Garcia send the address of her prior location.' Rossi curtly exited the room, Tara followed along.

Spencer stood before you in silence, you didn't register any movement from him because all your focus was on the man, sitting on the other side of that glass.

'You can go on ahead, Reid, I need to talk to him.' 

'But I can't let you go in alone...'

You huffed, your eyes did what it could but meet his but looking away won't make what you want go away, 'Given the chance, I might punch the daylights out of him—'

'More of a reason for me to stay.' 

Spencer interrupted, you returned with a sharp look in your eyes before you relaxed, 'Let me finish, I would want to give him a piece of my mind but I need to know, I just, he's the only one that has got to know something about Steven, maybe I can finally put him to rest.' 

It was selfish, that's what you called it, asking for just one more clue when you couldn't do anything before. Maybe now that helpless little girl all those years ago, can see her brother off. 'I need to do this, alone...'

'...' 

You stood there, waiting for something, a sound from him in response, anything at all. 'I'll wait here, being short of another agent will not slow down the rest of the team.' He'd finished but his response ticked you, it poked at the idea of a child being monitored by their parents.

'I don't need you watching my every move, Reid.'

'I'm just following orders.'

'Following orders? Do I look like a child to you? Do I need a leash around my neck too? I can handle him, he's one man!' Your voice raised, and you stared up at your fellow colleague with a ray of contempt.

'A man you can't stand being around for long, you sounded just fine in there earlier to anyone that watched, but do you want to know what I saw? I saw that you were holding back, hard enough your hands curled at his answers, your feet apart was enough for me to know that you would have given Emily a reason for you to be dismissed from the case.' He'd stated what was right, but it wasn't right to you, not right now, you don't know when it would be. 'I'll wait here, you can go in alone.'

Your feet put you in place for a good moment, his words tore right through you. He was right, somewhere in your clouded judgement, you understood he was right, but just because you understood doesn't mean you accepted it.

With a second left to pass, you turned from Spencer. All in silence, it was accepted that you had a job to uphold, no matter the personal toll.

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

The dial ups in the station, voices of police officers, movement all around you had become void. Nothing, that's what you heard when you left the interrogation room, you couldn't even hear one Agent calling out to you when you had left. Something gathered, something rotten had formed in your stomach. Your body felt hot, your head on a swivel.

You felt the acid burn at your throat, the half conscious part of you managed to drag your feet to a bathroom stall for you to expel the choux pastry you ingested.

Standing before the mirror now, you washed your mouth, feeling the remnants of the expelled food at your throat.

Nothing felt right to you, not right then, not right now. Having no mind to lose any more time, Reid waited in the conference room as you begrudgingly walked yourself back into it. You said nothing.

You dialed in Emily immediately, hoping she hadn't reached the house yet. 'What have you got for me Cyrus?' 

'I spoke to Daniel.'

'What did he say?'

'He'd been sending frequent messages and calling my mother, they met once, 2007. There was an argument and Conrad had gotten in-between the two of them, it didn't end well.' you informed her, almost mechanically.

'What did he say about Steven?' JJ chimed in.

'Steven was, he said he was never meant to be hurt and Rosa in the mess of things, covered up for him. He told me where...I know where his body is.' Your voice strained, as it got to harsher details.

Nothing came out though, you tried filling in the rest of the details but your voice was overtaken. A pleading look carried over to Spencer and he took over. 'He said that you have to ask where he's sleeping, Rosa's delusion right at this moment is that Steven would come back.'

'Okay, we'll get back to you as soon as we're done here.' The line cut. If you'd carried a boulder on your shoulders, the weight of it might be the same as your conscience. All that was left was you see a family reunited and you get the closure you've been searching for.

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

The team was back, so was the little boy, he was safe. The Turner family could now go home with their son safe and sound in their grasp.

'Nothing beats seeing that.' you stood, satisfied in a way, the others agreed in unison to your words.

'Cyrus, I need to have a word with you.' Emily called you to a secluded corner of the station, but you had no fear built in you, in fact you felt rather empty, exhausted enough to be emotionally drained. 'We found Steven...' she said quietly.

'Where was he?' you met her in the eyes, having nothing left to tie you down. 'Remains were found in the wall of a small bedroom, it looked like he was initially buried but moved there later.' Every word had struck you, the smaller bedroom was your shared one, no doubt. 'Was he, uh, covered?' a crack sounded in your voice.

It took Emily a moment before answering, 'He was...' 

The last bit of remorse. You'd promised yourself for 20 years that he was found. Part of you wanted him to be alive, maybe he ran off and just found a better life or he was on the streets, alive at least. But you knew how far-fetched that sounded, hope was the one thing you were aware that could end you. '...Thank you, can I, um, I want to be alone.'

'Of course, take all the time you need, listen, once this is over I need to speak with you, but only when you're ready, okay?' She patted the side of your shoulders, adhering to your request, she left you alone.

You let out a wavered breath, trying to breathe in and out to calm yourself. What you needed now was to mourn, you knew that but having a hard cry at this moment would slow down everyone.

Not long after, Rosa and Daniel had gotten arrested. You couldn't catch a glimpse at her face, or more accurately, you refused to see the face you'd forgotten. That didn't bother you that much, as a mother she never cared to look out for you, there wasn't any good reason to remain adherent to the details.

Bakersfield PD would have no more reason to have you stay, for now at least but before you could leave it all behind, Steven deserved a proper burial.

The Funeral was small, no relatives, just few friends from school and the BAU were attending, with Chief Marks as well to pay respects.

You stood over the coffin, looking at how small it was, how it all came to an end, all in silence. Quietly you watched as the coffin was buried, soil tossed over it but before it was over, you had to have one last goodbye.

'I did what I promised, took you long enough to come back from playing, huh? You must be tired, rest well, Stevie.' The Carnation held in your hand had been placed on the coffin, a mark of innocence now put to rest. Once it was all over, you stood, not waiting or expecting anything but just, letting the weight gradually let go of you. This was what you needed yet, it didn't feel enough, something remained in you. 

Footsteps were heard behind you, and you took a peak at the intruder before lifting the corners of your mouth to him. 'He was a handful you know, always wanted my attention no matter what, saying that one day he'd make it to the moon just so he could get me some space rock.' Spencer said nothing to your bouts of reminiscence, 'He told me once, "I'm going to be no.1, so watch me!" I thought he was being silly, Dad left right after and we were alone, it was us against the world.' It all came back, then you knew what you hadn't let go, knew what it was that made you feel utterly at loss. 

'Hey, Spencer, you don't have to do this, but, um, I...' You wanted to ask just for a bit, that little comfort that you so desperately pushed away.

Without another word, he lightly turned to face you. Your mind was too caught up on other memories that when you felt his arms wrap around you, you didn't think for that second. All it took was this to let it all go, no longer in silence but in wailing agony.

He didn't need another word, he simply knew. It was like some crazed superpower of his but it's like he's always known.

He couldn't let go.

Tagging:

@treehouse-mouse

[coffee-writesthings]

so like months ago me and @lonewolfinthetardis came up with a sort of collaborative thing (we both write a fic with the same prompt and then share them) and then I basically didn't touch it for however long, until now! This is gonna come in 4 parts, with this as the first one (dw they'll all be connected to the same post lol)

Spy entered the meeting room, where Sniper and Miss Pauling were already waiting for him.

“Fashionably late,” said Sniper, “like always.”

He retorted, “At least I’m fashionable. You look like you crawled out of a dumpster.”

“And you wear 10,000$ suits to the bloodiest job on the planet.”

“Boys.” Miss Pauling snapped, there wasn’t enough coffee in the damn world to deal with these two. Once satisfied that they had stopped squabbling like siblings, she spoke again, “I have a job for the two of you.”

“Why just us?” Sniper asked.

“Think about it for a few seconds. You’re both the most efficient mercs here by a long shot.”

“Well thank you, Pauling. Though I think you’re mistaken. I’m efficient in killing, but he,” he stared daggers at the other man, “is efficient at taking shots. He doesn’t kill.”

“Look at me in my eyes, Spy. Just how much do you think I care about your banal, stupid differences? Does it match up, at all, with how much I want to smack you in the face right now?”

“I can help with that part.” Sniper interjected smugly, “She doesn’t care about how it gets done, just that it does.”

“Fine. What’s our mission?”

She pulled up a map with locations of both RED and BLU bases, the various battlefields for their fights, among various other things like the town of Tuefort. However, she ignored that, in favor of taking a massive red pen to circle one location in particular, far off to the east from their base. “There’s a gala going on here, and they have something we want. I can’t be more specific, just know it’s important to the Administrator-- if you fumble this operation, it’s your head, and Respawn won’t save you.”

“Please, there’s no way you’d be able to turn off Respawn. Right?”

“Do you really want to test that theory when I have a gun pointed at your face?”

“Understood ma’am.

Spy asked the question he usually asked when it came to missions, “What are our covers?”

“I’m so glad you asked!” she actually did seem a little glad, if not like she had a plan up her sleeves. Passing out a small pile of identifications and a sheet of paper to each man, she explained, “Your name, Sniper, is going to be Michael. You’re married to Spy. His temporary name is Samuel.”

“Like hell I’m going to marry the spook!” he looked at him, “Ugh, can’t even imagine kissing you.”

“I can imagine it,” he gagged, “You probably taste like the coffee you drink all day.”

“And you probably taste like week-old cigarettes.”

Before they could descend into stupidity, she pulled out a whistle, blowing on it hard, “Get yourselves together! You’re trained killers, not toddlers who can’t share a toy.”

They shared a look of disgust.

“Listen. It’s three days. You can get over yourselves for three days. It’s only 72 hours, probably less if you get there and back faster. And, once you’re back, you can go to town on each other all you want.”

Sniper took a deep breath, gathering himself. She had a point-- he was supposed to be polite, efficient. And, well, he could just get it over with and then he’d never have to think about it again. “I’ll do it. Sorry for the… outburst.”

“Thank you, for cooperating like an adult. Spy?”

“If I leave him to die, can I collect his paychecks?”

“Spy.”

“Sorry, sorry-- I jest. I’ll do it.”

~ Scene Break ~

So as not to arouse suspicion when they’re at the gala, Sniper plans to take his van, but leave it some ways away from the venue. Getting into it brings some comfort to the fact that he has to work with Spy for this mission.

What was it he hated so much about him, though? Was it the snobbishness, the way he was just an asshole to everyone, or something else?

“This is what we’re staying in for the next several days? I think I’d prefer death by fire to this.”

Ah, it was definitely the way he was a snobbish asshole.

“Get over yourself, Spy. Like it or not, this is where we’re gonna live together, for a bit.”

“I’ll do it, but I’m going to complain the whole time.”

“Do that and I gag you with that mask of yours.” Sniper got into the driver’s seat as Spy got into the Passenger’s.

“You might as well drive a mile away and shoot out my tongue at that point. It’s so typical of you to run away from your problems.”

“Well look who’s talking! Scout’s your damn kid and he doesn’t know-- you really think you’ve got legs to stand on here? You- you get too close, Spy.”

“And you’re too far away. I get up close because that's the only way for me to kill.

“These three days better pass fast.” he growled.

“That’s one thing we can agree on.”

A few hours passed, where Spy found that he had fallen asleep. He awoke to the sounds of Sniper humming to some quiet song, a smile on his face— the sunlight shone into his beautiful brown eyes. How could someone he never really liked have such a fairytale face?

He dismissed the thought, going back to sleep after his momentary - severe - lapse in judgement.

[hitlikehammers]

💫FINALLY✨ The One Where Wayne Munson Has to Carefully Try Not To Eavesdrop 100% COMMIT TO THE EAVESDROPPING When 💕HIS NEPHEW'S BOYFRIEND💕 Comes By To FACE THE MUSIC Reveal What That Coffee Date ☕ Was REALLY All About

(well: at least Wayne's just a willful fool about all this, rather than a witless one) ——(3/3)

<<< part two

~or~

<<< back to the beginning

Wayne’s the one who lets Steve in the next morning.

It’s his day off, and he only managed to get to bed for a couple hours anyway, so he’s just shaking off sleep when the knock comes.

And of course Steve’s as polite as ever, takes his shoes off like the upper crust kid he’ll always be but not with any of the snootiness Wayne’d expected in the beginning, just an ingrained—and eventually, grew to be downright upsetting—need to not be obtrusive, to step on no possible toes. Wayne’d been wishing for a while he’d go ahead and stomp on whatever toes he’d like to, save that today—

Today’s-Steve looks about ready to blow a gasket, and goddamn but Wayne hurts for him. He hurts more for his own boy, if what he fears despite his own good sense is what’s about to happen. But at the very same time he can’t wholly ignore the equal truth that Steve?

Steve’s grown to be his boy, too.

Wayne offers a cup from the coffee he’s about to brew but Steve turns him down with a tight smile, barely even worth being called such, which is telling for itself and more for rejecting the coffee—Steve only really does that when something’s wrong.

But Steve’s barely got to craning his neck around to look for Eddie when the man himself pops out from his room, all dimples and the kind of joy you can feel fill a room. Wayne aches for how it might be lookin’ to get dimmed, sniffed out at worst, if things are about to go sideways.

But Steve, who’s looked like he was ‘bout to be ill since he came in, takes a full breath and sheds the slightest sliver of the tension in him, just for meeting Eddie’s eyes across the way, and then Eddie’s closing the gap, arms out wide and grabbing Steve in tight and Steve’s grabbing right back, and they look for all intents like they’re trying real hard to pull so close they’ll break bones and mesh into one person, and Wayne tries to find comfort in the way people don’t do that sorta thing if they’re lookin’ to hurt one another.

They might well do that sorta thing as a kind of goodbye, though.

Eddie’s pulling them to the couch as Wayne stews over the thoughts he’s got, all at odds with each other and his own gut feeling too at that, because he’s up against the evidence he has against it turning out alright, versus the way he does believe he knows Steve to be a good man; the coffee’s burbling and draws his attention as a kindness until he hears voices from the living room:

“Eds,” and Steve’s leaning in to Eddie on the sofa and Wayne has to strain to hear and that alone should be enough to stop him. To make the more’n obvious point that he’s in the mess he’s in at all because he didn’t keep his ears to himself.

He don’t know if it makes it better or worse, that he’s not a witless fool, just a wilful one, to hold still where he’s got the dishes in hand to dry in the kitchen, so he can have a clean cup for his coffee. When he should move to the porch, have a smoke, take a walk.

“I gotta talk to you,” and Steve sounds grave with it, and Wayne tenses—he wants so bad to be wrong, because he can’t believe that Steve would do the things all the little clues add up to so easy. Not that sweet boy beat around by circumstance beneath the surface; and not done to his boy, neither.

Because Steve looks at his Eddie not so different from the moony cow-eyes his nephew don’t even try to tame.

But it’s…he sounds like there’s a death in the family he’s come to convey. He sounds like the world’s maybe ending.

Wayne don’t know if he holds his breath just to hear better, or because everything feels fragile. Maybe both things at once.

“What’s up, Stevie?” Eddie speaks so low, so sweet like he cherishes so damn much. “Are you okay, is everything—”

“Everything’s fine,” and Steve, hell: he sounds just the same, like there’s love coming out his ears. “Good, even, great, possibly,” but that sounds stilted, or maybe anxious, and Wayne don’t quite know what to make of it; “if you…”

And even Wayne can hear the labor in the breathe Steve’s taking, so he ain’t surprised when Eddie goes in all gentle and half whispers to his boy:

“Hey, Stevie.”

And Wayne don’t look, he’s pouring his coffee now, can’t take the chance of burnin’ himself and risk missing out hours for it, ‘course that’s why.

He don’t look, but he hears exactly what Ed’s words do to Steve when the reply comes out with the kind of relief you can feel with a weight in it, for what it sloughs off and makes light again:

“Hey.”

He can catch the way Eddie rubs hands up Steve’s arms, back and forth and back, foreheads leaned in together, and they sit there long enough for Wayne to lean in comfortable enough against the counter and test the heat of his drink.

“Whatcha got to talk to me about?” And it’s Eddie who broaches the elephant in the room, the soured thing at the base of Wayne’s throat churning for the past day and change. Wayne expects Steve to hold off, tiptoe a little.

He doesn’t, though; not even a little.

“I got the job.”

And that…that ain’t what Wayne was fearing at all, is it.

“Steve,” and Eddie does sound like it’s a good thing, a great thing, truly he does; “baby, that’s amazing!” And then the springs of the couch are creaking and Steve’s making a punched-out sorta sound that means only one thing: Eddie’s tackled him whole-body to the other side of the sofa.

“Fuck I’m so proud of you, sweetheart, holy shit,” Ed’s sayin’ a little breathy, punctuated by loud wet kissy sounds that Wayne usually takes as his cue to skedaddle but…he needs a minute to reconcile what he’d been thinking without believing it could be true, and the reality that it seems he’d been right deep-down about who Steve Harrington was.

“Wait, wait, wait,” Steve’s protesting through laughter, but once they both seem to catch back their breaths he likewise leans back to something serious, and Wayne sees into the living room how Eddie’s stretched on top of Steve, with Steve reaching up and holding him by the cheeks:

“I won’t take it if you,” and Steve’s clearin’ his throat, something Wayne’s noticed is like a squaring of shoulders, whether that part’s there at the same time or not; “I won’t take it, not if it means,” and it’s a painful thing the way Steve swallows, the click of it somethin’ Wayne can hear all the way in to kitchen:

“I won’t take it, and not be with you.”

And that…that Wayne don’t quite get, and he feels wrong-footed for more than just listening in, as if that weren’t enough on its own, plus the cause of the problems he’d been wrestling to start, but then: “What?”

Ed seems just as puzzled, which makes Wayne feel a little less bamboozled, but still not…still not settled with whatever’s causin’ any of it, because now that Wayne’s got real context, he thinks back a-ways, to how Steve had mentioned a promotion, but was then looking at something better all around, regional-sort of stuff; now that he’s got context, he thinks back to the morning-last, and tries to pick apart what he’d heard without an invitation, if it weren’t about the lady friend. Steve had still been so worried, with the banging of the head on the table—and how could he think Eddie’d be anything but as thrilled as he clearly is right now for his boy? Wayne’s never seen Eddie as proud of anyone or anything, so much as he is for Steve just breathing in the world at all—and damn it all if the sentiment hasn’t rubbed off a little, and sure Wayne knows Steve’s history’s made him gun-shy to celebrate the bright spots but…

“It’s in Indy,” Steve’s spelling out, and Wayne remembers that being tossed about, and well: regional. That’d make sense.

“And you,” Steve pauses, and the breath he takes in next is a shaky-echoing thing; “for now you’re here, but not for long, because you want to go and try doing music, right, and that means New York or L.A. or somewhere big, not the armpit of fucking Indiana, and—”

“Breathe, Stevie,” Eddie cuts in quick, adoring; coaches with such patience, the care in it—the love in it a tangible thing; “in, and out,” and all of a sudden from nowhere, save from everywhere and every moment leading into this—

Suddenly Wayne blinks, and out the clear blue he’s witnessing the man Eddie’s grown into.

Talk about bein’ proud.

“One more,” Eddie coaxes a gentle, and Steve listens, Wayne hears as he gulps in the air carefully and deep, sees them move in the corner of his eye as Eddie sits up proper now and folds forward into Steve’s chest where he muffles what he says, less for hiding and more maybe to press it firm into Steve’s chest so it can’t be denied, because it’ll be on the inside and settled there sure:

“Fuck, I love you.”

And Wayne has that feelin’ again like he ain’t supposed to be party to the particular degree of intimacy in the moment; maybe he lets the plates on the counter clank a little more’n necessary to remind them casually that they ain’t alone.

But discretion’s not what follows, more like the wet slip of mouths against each other and oh, well then: if the boys don’t seem to view Wayne’s presence in the next room as a deterrent then Wayne’s just gonna keep at feelin’ embarrassed, rather’n guilty to boot.

“Steve,” and Ed’s voice goes warm and low and Wayne tries to not feel bad for hearing, more focuses on bein’ happy, and grateful, for this thing his boy found in maybe the most unlikely of places, through the hardest round out of hell he could have met: he gets a thing here that Wayne wasn’t sure he still believed could even be, not with so much hate in the world as there is.

“Me and the boys, we’re good, but we’re not,” and Eddie huffs, a light thing that feels gentle and almost joyful, like he’s celebratin’ a thing that’s not inside the same words he speaks at all:

“We’re not that good.”

“Bullshit,” Steve’s quick to counter, like it means more than it reads on the label somehow, too, and still it’s said with his whole throat, at that: and at that, Wayne can’t help but grin a little himself.

He knew he wasn’t wrong about the heart of Steve Harrington. About how much this young man loves his boy.

“Steve,” and Wayne watches, don’t even make a secret of it now: watches over the lip of his mug because he’d only dared to hope for this kinda thing idly, and always feeling foolish for it, for his Eddie to find something even a smidgen close to what he’s got here; what they’ve got here as Ed reaches and tips Steve chin just a touch.

“I don’t want to waste years trying to fit a mold even by being a freak, trying to sell my brand of weird and hoping people get it,” Eddie tells him, clear-eyed like Wayne’s not sure he’s ever heard him. “I don’t want to put that much of my life into a maybe,” and then he’s tracing Steve’s jaw with a tenderness he was never taught, so it’s just something natural and pure inside him, brought out just so by this one man in his arms as he whispers so soft-hearted and with more love than feels possible even just to watch:

“Not when I’ve got what my whole heart wants most.”

And Wayne sees Steve’s jaw work under Eddie’s touch as he asks so low, and far too timid for a man Wayne’s seen live up to the monster-slaying he’s heard tell of.

“More than music?”

And it’s asked like he could never believe it; like he couldn’t expect it.

But Eddie’s back to the clear-eyed sureness, then. He has no doubts.

“More than fame,” is what he answers, flipping hands through Steve’s hair as he leans just to whisper:

“You’re the music,” and Wayne watches Steve still, his face scrunch like it does when he thinks he feels too much; “my music,” and Steve would be embarrassed to know Wayne hears the tiny little whimper that he gives when Eddie presses a kiss to the space between his eyebrows, and there’s part of him that’s embarrassed for himself in it, to have heard what’s not his, but if he’s honest he’s still stuck in that gratitude, that relief for this way it’s all shaken out, not to mention how Wayne’s little family that he never intended to start’s now feeling complete where he didn’t think there was anything left to add, to grow.

“And I have music with you as much as anywhere,” Eddie’s explaining with a wobbly little grin; “plus with you, even the music’s sweeter.”

Then he’s cupping Steve cheeks again and pressing forehead into forehead so that Wayne can only hear the barest whisper:

“Lead the way, baby, and I’ll follow with fucking bells on.”

And Steve, he’s quiet, leans back into the cushions a little and Wayne watches unabashed about it now as Steve studies Eddie, takes him in less like he’s weighing anything and more like he’s committing to memory a moment worth knowing everything about in full, and then he’s the one framing Eddie’s face in his hands and asking with a certainty he didn’t have before, and that fits him so much better:

“Move in with me? Leave here, and leave all the shit they say and the way they look at you and how they fucking treat you,” Steve damn near growls and Wayne feels all the more why he trusts Steve Harrington, and should never have even considered doubting, no matter if the mere suggestion was something he knew was pressing up against his better judgement from the start, because this is the man who loves his boy enough to take on the world, and tear it to shreds when the need rears its ugly head.

“Come with me?”

And that’s maybe a little more of the hesitance, and again, it sounds wrong as a rule, but Eddie’s quick as anything:

“It’ll take me less than a hour to pack.”

And he’s on his feet in a second and Wayne has to bite back a snort because that’ll give him away more’n anything else, but Steve’s pulling Eddie back to the sofa again in a heartbeat:

“Not that fast,” he laughs, a breathy little chuckle that’s got so much more to it even to Wayne’s ears, that’s disbelief and a little wondering joy and everything this boy deserves and has done his whole goddamn life, and heaven help his parents if Wayne ever sees them again face to face for all they ever did to make their son feel less; “got a couple months, I’ll drive up for training while the other guy’s wrapping up, then,” and he shrugs, Wayne hears it shuffle against the upholstery, then he sees Steve looking up from guarded lashes, just that little bit of uncertainty left—

“Then,” Eddie prods, meets him in that moment of waffling, of fear in trusting to feel all that they do, so visible you don’t even have to search it out. It just shines through, couldn’t deny it if you tried, and sure as hell not for how giddy, how overfull Eddie sounds then with…promise.

Ain’t no other word for it.

Ain’t no other thing Steve could latch to like he does, wholehearted and unfettered where before he was still fighting old chains.

Not no more.

“There’s a record store that needs a new manager,” Steve starts off; “a tattoo shop that’s taking apprentices, and they also need someone to watch the books,” and it’s a list, he’s listing opportunities, he’s counting out the promise; “a music store, like for instruments and stuff, that needs someone who can work but also maybe teach, because they want to start giving lessons, apparently people keep asking for them, and then there’s—”

Steve’s cut clear off, and Wayne don’t have to be in the room to know it’s for being kissed within an inch of his life.

“I love you,” Eddie’s saying again because it’s more’n a given, but it’s sounding like it’s shaping into something a little different, a little deeper, somehow a something that’s more.

“I love you so much, Steve Harrington,” and Eddie’s voice is rough with it, and Wayne ain’t gonna lie to himself that his eyes sting to hear it, even if no one can see and hold him to bein’ honest about it.

“You looked for jobs for me?” Eddie asks small, the first thing here that’s maybe overwhelmed him good and true, and in the best of all ways.

“Yeah?” Steve says it like it’s obvious, then goes back bashful nearly:

“For if you said yes.”

And then the springs of the couch are doin’ the heavy lifting again as Steve huffs and Eddie pounces.

“I fucking,” and there a pause that sounds a lot like more kissin’, which tracks along right, yeah: “I fuckin’ love you.”

And Steve chuckles, and Wayne just shakes his head, smiles down at his coffee while Eddie’s tone sobers, while he asks a little small:

“You thought there was a chance in hell that I’d say no?”

“I,” and Steve sounds chagrined, in that way that Wayne’s come to recognize means there’s an old hurt he’s covering, but one that might have a shot at makin’ a scab finally to close for good. “Robin thought I was being dumb, but I,” and he blows out a long breath, and Wayne glances to watch Eddie rub up and down Steve’s arms, waiting and being right there and oh, true as anything.

That’s the man his boy’s grown into.

“People don’t really,” Steve says slow, but measured, like he’s planning every letter out to land just so: ”people haven’t…stuck around, y’know?”

And Wayne can’t help but look to see how Eddie’s hands stop at Steve’s wrists, grounding and holding and keeping, sort of, or not sort of: absolutely that without room to misinterpret or think any bit less; same as Wayne won’t try to pretend away the bitterness at the back of his own throat that a boy as good as the one he’s learned Steve Harrington to be could think that of himself not just in passing, but as a preordained thing, an inflexible rule for always.

Makes him sick; makes him angrier than he tries to ever be these days, but good goddamn if this don’t warrant it.

“So asking someone to come with, to not just not leave but to chose to go, with m—”

And Steve’s saying things, and Eddie lets him but only to a point, and Wayne doesn’t see how he stops him, but he knows full well he’d stop still in the middle of a sound himself if the tone that comes out his boy were leveled his way: unshakable. Granite-strong, diamond-hard.

“Listen to me,” and oh, but for all the way it lands intense, the love in it’s a thing to behold and marvel at just to hear; he feels like it could undo a man to be under the gaze that tone comes alone with it, like Steve has to be sitting just now: “listen to me so fucking close right now.”

And maybe Wayne leans in, too, whether it’s meant for him or not:

“I will choose, with my whole goddamn chest, with every piece of me there is in the whole fucking world,” Eddie says, puts emphasis and feeling on each and every word; “to go anywhere, if it’s with you.”

And it’s silent for a minute, but then Wayne only just hears the sound of mouths parting and sharp intakes of breath ringing through the sill and Eddie hisses, a little hoarse, a little broken, entirely with all that he is, just like he said:

“Always.”

Then the couch goes about protestin’ again, but it’s Eddie who Wayne makes out for groaning on impact, and it makes sense that it’s Steve’s voice now breathing harsh through the vow of what comes next:

“Love you,” and there’s the kissing again; “love you so goddamn much.”

And Wayne figures he’s had more’n enough of overhearing what’s not quite his to hear, but here’s the thing.

These boys are gonna be at this for a bit, he reckons, and the coffee’s already half-gone and lukewarm besides. They’ve got money to be a little indulgent with these days, courtesy of Uncle Sam, plus Mary at the plant said the rhododendrons actually like coffee anyway.

So he figures he can justify brewing another pot, if for no other reason than to start the day off better than he’d been expecting by one helluva country mile and then some.

♥️

✨also on ao3

For @thefreakandthehair, who requested 'Whatever our souls are made of, his and mine are the same.' at my HOBBIT-STYLE BIRTHDAY MONTH PROMPT FEST

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divider credit here

[yourtearsaremyink]

It's Just This Once

Chapter 3

Author's note: Enjoy!

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Warnings: Not many. Bucky and his PTSD, my life choices to write this, nightmares, Bucky's regret and self hatred. Idk. There's not even language in this thing its mostly fluff.

Summary: Bucky opens up.

Chapter Word Count: 1,764

Chapter 3: As the Storm Rages

"Hey"

"Hi"

Y/N's heart broke the second she saw Bucky. He looked so tired, he was curled in on himself and a little pale. She tried to mask her sadness but didn't succeed very well. He eyed her carefully as she bent down to pick up one of the books she hadn't finished reading from the coffee table. She inched towards the couch and asked,

"Mind if I sit?"

Bucky sighed heavily,

"Free country." He nodded at the opposite side of the furniture. She sat down and stretched her legs towards Bucky, he tensed up a little as she got comfortable. Part of Bucky just wanted to sit in silence but also thought this would be a perfect time to eliminate some of the awkwardness that still lingered from earlier. He risked it and cleared his throat,

"How's Wanda?"

Y/N was confused as to why he was keeping up a conversation.

"She feels guilty." Bucky brought his fingers to the bridge of his nose.

"I didn't mean to scare her." His voice was quite and horse from screaming.

"She wasn't scared of you, she was scared for you. We both were."

"You should be scared of me."

"Why?"

"I almost hurt Sam," he put his book in his lap. "and if you and Wanda weren't careful you could have been hurt too."

"You as well, you know. Don't disregard your well-being for our safety, we can take care of ourselves."

Bucky looked away for a moment before replying.

"Did Sam send you in here to lecture me?" He said with a little more bite than he intended.

"Nope. I couldn't sleep so I came in here. Why? Do you want a lecture?" She said it with the same smile she had when she reminded him about his shirt.

"No..."

"Then I won't give you one." She went back to her book and moved her feet closer to him so they lied across his lap. Bucky was skeptical from the start, there was no way she came in here to not try and get him to open up, but what he didn't know is that Y/N really wanted to help him. She again felt obliged to heal his mind as well as his body, she'd be lying if she said she didn't think the nightmare was something of her doing. She wasn't going to push it so she thought it best if he came to her. She noticed how Bucky kept looking back and forth between her and his book.

"Bucky-"

"It was my arm." He interrupted. She immediately panicked thinking he was referring to when she healed him.

"My nightmare, it was about when Isaiah Bradley destroyed half of it."

She was shocked when it dawned on her that he was opening up to her. She put down her book and moved to sit closer on his right side. She gave him a look that said she wanted to hear the rest.

"After the fight in Goyang, I made it back to the Hydra base I was stationed on. To say they were unhappy with my failure would be an understatement, they were furious." He swallowed dryly and put his hands on his knees. Y/N put her hand on top of his and stroked his knuckles with her thumb, encouraging him to continue. She never broke eye contact.

"The handler assigned to me at the time was even more so. He had me tortured and then some. I got a new arm eventually and that was excruciatingly painful. After that they put me in the chair, being there for hours was not uncommon but I was there for days. Making me remember my failure by making me forget. In time I forgot my mistake, but never the punishment. I dreamed of the new arm getting installed, the chair, and the dozen ways they tortured me." He was shaking, "T-the chair used electric shocks to wipe my mind, it always reminded me of lightning, and with lightning comes thunder so... "

It clicked in Y/N's head, that's why he didn't like thunderstorms.

"Oh, Bucky..." She drew him into a hug and held tight, reluctantly he hugged back. She rubbed soothing circles in his back as his breathing shook, she could feel his heartbeat through his shirt. She finally let go as she saw that his eyes were brimming with tears.

"Why did you feel the need to tell me all this?" Bucky had never opened up to her like this before.

"I saw the look you gave me after I woke up, you looked guilty, as if it were your fault." He saw right through her, she tried not to express her inner thoughts when she had the idea it might have been her fault. She glanced away.

"It wasn't believe me, I just hated the thought of you blaming yourself. If anything you should be blaming my broken mind." He gave a sad smile.

"Not broken, hurt." She interlace her fingers with his.

"You are not broken, you're still healing from the things Hydra did to you."

"You're not going to tell me it's time to move on from all of that like everyone else does? "

"Everyone heals at a different pace." He looked down and place his head on her shoulder. She brought up her arms and held him tighter. Thunder once again rumbled outside and Bucky tensed. She moved to a position where they could lean on each other.

"You need to relax. Listen to me and not what's happening outside." She held his hand and they breathed together. She could feel his muscles loosen once again.

"Seems like you can heal more than just bodies, doll."

They sat there content before they both drifted off to sleep.

The two of them woke up to the sound of footsteps. Bucky was laying on his left side with Y/N curled up to his chest and his arm was around her shoulders. They both looked at each other confused until the realized what situation they were in. Their eyes went wide and they quickly moved to sit up. A little panicked, Y/N rolled off the couch and towards the ground. Bucky, in an attempt to catch her, just ended up tumbling onto the floor as well. At that moment they both had the exact same thought, now it's awkward again...

"Uh..." Bucky began but was interrupted.

"Good morning." Sam said walking into the room. They scrambled off the floor and back onto opposite sides of the couch. They looked at Sam as if nothing had happen.

"Good morning!" Y/N and Bucky said in unison. They didn't react other than just staring at Sam. He had a very confused look on his face and asked.

"I was gonna ask if you two wanted coffee."

"Yes please." Y/N said a little too cheerfully.

"Sure." Bucky said trying to play off the tension and not really succeeding.

"Something happen between you two?" Sam pointed between them.

"No." They both said again.

"Uh huh." He said not really believing them. "Don't forget about that 'in the morning' thing Bucky."

"Don't forget about that meeting with Rhodey Sam." Bucky replied in the same tone.

"Yeah, yeah I know." Sam said as he left the room. Bucky and Y/N each let out a breath.

"What meeting with Rhodey?" Y/N asked.

"I don't really know, neither does Sam, Rhodey was pretty vague when he talked about wanting to meet with him."

"We'll find out soon I guess. Come on let's eat breakfast." They made their way down to the kitchen to help Sam. Y/N took over the cooking so Sam could go down stairs and see Rhodey. Wanda even showed up but didn't speak much with Bucky still in the room. Sam came up with their guest and ate breakfast. When they were done, Sam and Rhodey left to talk and Wanda went back to her room. She said she was going to practice some magic but Y/N guessed she was just trying to avoid Bucky. After a while Sam came back to see Bucky and Y/N watching some TV.

"How'd it go?" Bucky asked. They were both curious as to why a meeting was called in the first place.

"Rhodes and I have a mission." Sam sighed as if he wasn't too happy about it.

"What's it for?" Bucky wanted further detail.

"Top secret Air Force assignment. Sorry man." Sam still looked pretty guilty.

"Oh okay. How long?"

"A couple weeks at least." Bucky's heart sunk at his words. His mind began to wonder. What if he had another nightmare like last night? What if he needed Sam to pull him out again and neither of the girls could do it? What if he hurt them?

"I can still be in touch with you guys so it's not like you won't hear from me."

"When are you leaving?" Y/N asked.

"As soon as I pack, which I should get started on now." Sam nodded and walked towards his room, Bucky quickly followed. As soon as they got there Bucky shut the door. Sam knew exactly what was going through his head.

"Are you going to be okay without me here?"

"Maybe, I don't know. I don't like the idea of Y/N or Wanda bringing me out of a nightmare."

"Not Y/N, really?" Sam knew what he saw that morning. "She looks like she can really help you Buck."

"I think she is actually, but I don't want to put her in danger because of me."

"Let her help you, accept that she cares about you and wants to see you happy. We all do." Bucky looked down still unhappy with the fact that Sam is going away for longer than he expected.

"Come here man." Sam said as he brought Bucky into a hug.

"So you gonna tell me what that was this morning?" Sam asked smiling.

"How about I tell you that 'in the morning' thing."

"Sounds good to me."

Bucky told him about his nightmare as he packed. After they were done, they made their way down stairs to see Sam and Rhodey off. Even Wanda arrived to say her fair well. They took off and left the rest of them alone at the Compound. As soon as Sam left Bucky felt a darkness shroud around him. At the same time, Y/N felt her intuition tell her something bad was stirring. They made their way inside as they expected the worst.

[hargrove-mayfields]

Happy Disability Pride month! Here’s a disabled Harringrove fic I’ve been slowly working on for quite a while now!

Also posted on ao3 and broken into chapters since it’s a bit longer.

warnings: canonical injury, graphic injury description, hospital setting, detailed child abuse, distress, medical anxiety.

-•-•-•-•-•-

At about one in the morning on the fourth of July, Hawkins Memorial Hospital is overrun with a group of banged up teenagers. A girl with an infected stab wound in her leg, a boy with bruises all over his face and drugs in his system, two kids with bruises and mild head injuries, the rest all with ringing ears and miscellaneous cuts and scrapes, but by far the worst was a boy who had been impaled straight through the center of his chest.

There was an explosion at the mall, and falling debris had done a real number on these kids, or at least that’s what they were told to say when they were given government clearance and all rushed into the emergency room.

They made for quite a sight, thirteen people rushing in all at once, but only two of them were in bad enough shape to be taken back immediately. El and Billy, the latter of which had already had to be resuscitated in the ambulance for the extent of the injury to his chest. They both went straight into surgery.

Everyone else had to sit and wait their turns, though some of them with the least severe damage opted out of their check ups, so the next to be admitted back were Steve and Robin.

The truth was a lot uglier than just an explosion, and, to say the very least, they were a little worse for wear.

Robin hadn’t actually been touched by the men who were torturing them, since the plan was to kill Steve first and then get to her. That, thank whatever being might possibly live in the clouds, had not happened. It was just that her head was still fuzzy and her knees unsteady from whatever they’d injected her with.

The thing is, they had probably been pretty damn close to killing Steve though. It hadn’t felt like it at first, the adrenaline from a million other things to worry about taking over the pain, but the longer he sat with his injuries, the more it felt like his brain was trying to come out through his nose, and the room had started spinning around him again, this time from the concussion, and he was pretty sure he was bleeding internally from somewhere.

A nurse whose name Steve forgot as soon as he learned it led them into a big room with two beds and an armchair in the corner. She had the both of them describe their symptoms, frowning at every detail Steve remembered about his condition until eventually she called in the doctor to do a better once over.

They were testing Robins blood or something while they did all kinds of poking and prodding at Steve. They made him do some consciousness checks, asking him who the president was and that sort of thing, and making him follow the end of a pen with his eyes.

Apparently he had something called hyphema in his eye, but to him it just felt like it was going to pop out. A lady smiled down at him and poked his eye with a fancy stick, another made him tilt his head back and put drops in it, then brought him a little patch, some sort of bandage to put over it.

Medicine was put in all the little cuts on his face and the doctor started scribbling something onto his clipboard. He sighed and said something, but to Steve’s ears, he just sounded like a teacher from the Peanuts holiday specials, not a single coherent syllable coming out of the man’s mouth.

To attempt to hear what that doctor was saying, Steve furrowed his eyebrows and tried his very best to focus on just his words, but it still just sounded like a bunch of jumbled up trumpet noises. Eventually he gave up and asked, “What?”

More incoherent mumbling.

For a brief moment, Steve felt his heart start to race with panic, the thought that he could be dying settling into his mind with dread, and that fear and confusion must’ve translated directly onto his face.

The doctor put a hand on his chin and tilted his head to the side again and turned on some little flashlight, then turned Steve’s back to face him, a grim look on his face. “We need to do a hearing test.”

One of the nurses from before left and came back with a big cart and wheeled it up beside him. He asked what it was, to his ears sounding clear and concise, but to Robin and the nurses it sounded more mushed together, like- “Whazat?”

She explained it to him, but he only caught about every other word when he looked up at her face. It was something to do with him having to wear these big chunky headphones and the little tray of buttons they put in front of him.

He gathered that he was supposed to press one when a sound came through the headphones, but he just kind of sat there for a few minutes. Everyone else in the room all had the same look on their face, an odd mixture of sympathy and seriousness, and Steve realized the silence was probably supposed to be full of sounds, he just couldn’t hear them.

It made his heart sink down to his stomach, and for a second he thought about just pressing the buttons whenever he wanted and pretending to hear something, but he knew they would see through it.

The good news was that eventually he could hear some of the beeps, but only when they were obviously too loud to be normal and in his right ear. Besides, the damage of the realization had already been done. Steve was basically deaf.

It made sense- a lot of sense really. Their torturers had done all kinds of shit to him that he could hardly even remember while they were trying to get him to talk, and he’d initially blamed the ringing in his ears on the drugs. After that, a hell of a lot of fireworks had gone off in the echoing space of the mall's lobby, so he thought his ears were just messed up from that.

He supposed it should’ve been a giveaway that everyone else who had also been exposed to the fireworks wasn’t having the same problem, but in their haste to get to the hospital, he hadn’t really been thinking about comparing their ailments.

The nurse signaled for him to take the headphones off and wheeled her little cart away, and the doctor put his hand on his shoulder. “We’re going to do another test to see how bad the damage is, okay?”

Without really knowing what he was agreeing to, Steve nodded, and for the first time looked over at Robin in the bed parallel to his. She gave him a little thumbs up, but her smile looked forced and just sad. Steve felt a tug of nervousness in his chest.

This time they put something inside of Steve’s ear, which hurt like hell when it apparently wasn’t supposed to, that would somehow, he missed the explanation part, check for damage to his eardrum. Not even five minutes after they put it in his ear they turned it off.

The doctor, all stern like, told him, “You need a CT scan. Immediately.”

Apparently his left eardrum had completely ruptured and the right was not far behind it. That meant to the doctors that he had some terrible head injury that could kill him if they didn’t catch it.

Steve was glad he was in the hospital, because it felt like he was having a heart attack now.

Growing up, his mother was something of a hypochondriac, every headache was a brain tumor and every flu season he had meningitis, an aching joint meant he had early onset arthritis, and mood swings, those obviously meant he was, in her words, “mentally unwell.”

Because of that, he’d always been sort of paranoid too, careful when he didn’t need to be and scared of nothing. The one time he worried for someone other than himself and suddenly he’s deaf and has traumatic brain injuries. Nice.

By the time he was done with all the tests they wanted to do on him he was shaking like a leaf. They said it was unlikely that there would turn out to be anything wrong, but he would have to wait an entire day to find out. Surviving all that he had just to die hours later was something that scared him immensely, and, even as they were being cleared for release, he was moments away from a panic attack.

Robin could read him like a book, and got him out of there as soon as possible once they signed him out. Everyone else was still lingering in the waiting room, and Steve wanted desperately to stay with them, but, even if he didn’t realize it just yet, Robin knew he needed to not be around people right now.

They said a quick goodbye to everyone else, and Robin had him in his bimmer and halfway back home before he knew what had happened. She’s not licensed, but since Steve’s place is only a few minutes away, and he really didn’t think he could handle being by himself right now, she just drove him.

Robin made herself right at home, trudging on up into his parents room and raiding his mother’s drawers for something to change into after spending the last two or so days in the same stiff, stained up work uniform.

Words couldn’t describe how relieved that made Steve feel, her just barging on in like she owned the place when he was so used to this house being empty. He was glad that, after everything they’d been through, the two of them came out of it as friends, something he was lacking before having met and been tortured alongside her.

Because really, he had Dustin, but it’s different when he’s younger. The only kids he knew who were his own age either hated his guts or only talked to him out of pity, so Robin was truly a breath of fresh air.

Still, the weight of learning that he had gotten truly and utterly fucked up was too much emotionally for him to bear. The whole time he was in the shower, scrubbing away the blood and the dirt caked into his nails and his hair and his ears apparently, he let tears drip off the end of his nose and ugly sobs out of his throat.

Robin was in another bathroom somewhere in that mansion of his probably doing the same thing, so he let himself go with the promise that there was no way she would hear him. He cried harder when he realized he couldn’t hear himself either.

Afterward, using the phone in the kitchen, Robin called her mom and told her the same practiced story about the ‘explosion’ at the mall, and got permission to stay at a friends while he waited for medical clearance, that part an unfortunate reality. If she left now, there was the chance, albeit a small one, that Steve wasn’t in the clear, and his brain could hemorrhage or something and he’d just die alone at home.

Reluctantly her mother agreed to let her stay, concerned for her daughter's safety and a random boy’s intentions with her, but she had eventually given up against Robin’s begging.

Once she was done, the conversation with Steve’s ima over the phone in the living room went completely different.

Overreacting was Ruth-Anne Harrington’s middle name, and the very moment she weaseled out of her bubbeleh that there’d been an accident and he’d been involved, she was practically packed and halfway back to Hawkins.

After that, he and Robin kind of just sat there until Ima Ruth got there. With what they’d seen and what had been done to them, there wasn’t really much else either of them would rather do but exactly that.

A few hours into reruns of some old sitcom Steve’s ima used to watch, Robin nudged him with her knee to let him know she was going to speak. “Should we try to get some sleep?”

Already knowing that his answer was a resounding no way, absolutely not, Steve shrugged his shoulders and acted casual instead, “Dunno.”

Robin sank further back into the couch and nodded, fiddling with the hem of the borrowed pajama shirt that she’a wearing, “You holding up okay, popeye?”

The little chuckle that Steve gave in response sounded kind of wet, and she could hear it in his voice that he was going to cry before either of them saw tears. “Not really.”

His lip trembled and Robin felt tears pricking in her own eyes, so she sat up straighter and pulled Steve close. It was kind of an awkward angle, with her folded legs pressing into his side, but it didn’t really matter to them right now. They needed to be there for eachother.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Only a few hours after sunrise, Ruth rang the doorbell like her life depended on it, immediately dropping her bags on the stoop to hug her son. If he had any more tears to shed he would’ve, but him and Robin had done pretty much nothing but cry all night.

Stephen Sr. had not been able to, or rather, willing to make the flight all the way back to Hawkins from where they had been staying for some meeting in Dayton, but Steve would rather have only seen his ima anyways.

Her manicured nails in his hair, her sweet perfume, and her slightly too tight hugs were much better than the scornful glances and backhanded comments he would’ve heard from his father from behind the newspaper anyways.

He helped her drag all of her luggage into the house, then he and Robin sat down at the kitchen island while Ruth made them some tea. Something she did always made it better than when Steve would try to, with the same tea bags and everything, but she would never tell him her secret.

Sliding them both identical mugs and wrapping her hands around one for herself, Ruth leaned forward with her elbows on the island so she was eye level with them. “So what happened?”

Knowing that Robin was probably super uncomfortable right now, Steve took the bullet for her, “There was an explosion at the mall after we closed up Scoops. A buncha’ kids got trapped in ‘ere. There was just like, debris everywhere a-and we just… yeah.”

Ruth could tell just from her son's voice something was off. His words were all running together, and his pronunciations sounded off. It reminded her of when he was a toddler and she had to send him to speech therapy to teach him how to talk in the ‘proper’ way that didn’t reflect his mothers accent. “And are you okay?”

“We, uh, don’t really know yet.” It’s the half truth. They don’t have all the results. But Steve is really just nervous to tell her something so big.

She gets closer, putting the pressure on, “Stefan. You can tell me anything.”

“I- um. I kinda sorta-“

“He’s deaf.” Robin cut him off and said the words for him, knowing he was too scared to tell Ruth, who she’d heard many not so lovely things about. Maybe it’s just because she knows what it’s like to have parents who don’t show up, but she doesn’t forgive Ruth for abandoning Steve, no matter the excuse. So she’s brutally honest, “His eardrums were blown out and there’s a chance he has a brain injury.”

“Oh, honey.” She picked up Steve’s hand in her own, rubbing her thumb across his knuckles. “When will we know?”

“Sometime later today.” Steve answers on his own.

It doesn’t erase the concern, or the irritated pursed lips, from Ruth’s face, “What do we have to do for you?”

“They just said they’d lemme know when they called me back.” For some reason, Steve feels guilty about not knowing. Like it’s his fault and not the systems. He feels dumb.

“Alright.” Is all Ruth says. It only cements in Robin's mind that this woman isn’t actually the best mom in the world. Steve needs comfort and support right now. Not a performance of concern. Not hollow questions asking if he needs anything while knowing he definitely does.

Still, Robin herself was in an okay enough place after spending all morning with Steve that she figured it was time to butt out. Her own mother is probably going to freak out on her for not going home last night, it’s best to go anyways.

Once Ruth turned her back to them again, she tapped the side of Steve’s mug to get him to look at her, “I think I’m gonna call my mom for a ride and skedaddle.”

Immediately Steve objects, “But you don’ have to go.”

“I can stay if you want me to.” Robin offers, instead of arguing, and Steve realizes she’d read him exactly right.

A guilty look on his face, Steve bit his lip and looked at his mum where she was bustling around in the kitchen around them. Robin knew that meant he wanted to be alone with his mom, and despite her reservations about Ruth from the stories she’d heard, she could understand that.

“I’m going to be fine Steve. Worry about yourself for a change.” Robin hugs him, gently so she doesn’t aggravate any of his injuries, “Call me if you need me though popeye.”

She called her mom and waited awkwardly by the front doors, and, despite how not-normal this situation was, it felt just like any other time leaving a friends house, with the awkward ‘I don’t really know what to say but I’m about to leave’ kind of vibe, and in a strange way it comforted her.

Steve would be okay. She would be fine. They both would be and so would everyone else.

-•-•-•-•-•-•-

The call had come and Steve was dealing with a severe concussion, but it wasn’t anything he would die from, not from an unexpected aneurysm or a stroke like he had convinced himself.

Except for the complete loss of his hearing and the fact that there was nothing he could do about it, he was feeling a little better.

Technically there actually was a solution. At the same time that the hospital told him his brain was fine, they’d offered to get him fitted for hearing aids, but two days later Stephen Sr. finally returned from the birthplace of aviation and the appointment was canceled.

Where Ruth reacted to everything that could possibly be wrong with Steve with the instinct to coddle him, his dad did the opposite. He was cold and harsh Steve’s entire childhood, like the time he was eight years old and broke his elbow playing soccer, but was cut out of the cast early on his fathers orders. Or when he lost his tooth in the dry steak at a fancy restaurant and got slapped for crying.

When they had told him the news of Steve’s disability, both Steve and his mother staring down at the wooden table and twiddling their thumbs, he had the audacity to laugh. He thought they were just making a mountain out of a mole hole, that Steve probably just had some congestion and would be fine in a few days.

Steve tried really, really hard to follow the rules and listen to what his father said to avoid conflict, but after a week he knew it was hopeless.

In just that one week alone, he had been through three phone calls with various people checking up on him that he didn’t hear more than a few words of. He’d discovered when a police officer showed up at the door to get a statement out of him about the mall that looking into other peoples faces was much harder than before thanks to the torture he’d been through, and suddenly it was next to impossible to hear what anyone was saying to him without the extra help of being able to read their lips.

Possibly worst of all, he kept getting whacks to the back of the head with the newspaper or his fathers hand for not answering when he was spoken to or missing out on conversation.

This just wasn’t going to work.

His ears were not going to just magically get better at hearing, and as hard as it was to realize that at 19 he’d have to wear hearing aids like his zeydee did, after an entire week of this icky feeling of being isolated with his head under water, he had to do it.

That morning, he sat down next to his ima on the couch and told her, as casually as possible, “I would be okay if you guys had to leave again.”

Ruth, keeping her eyes low and her face in her cup of tea, mumbled out her response, knowing he wouldn’t be able to hear it, “We wouldn’t just abandon you dear.”

Steve’s face scrunched up with the effort of trying to understand her. She gave a second, clearer answer to spare him the trouble, “Are you certain you’ll be fine Stefan?”

“Oh, yeah, for sure.” He nodded, probably making it even less believable, but as Ruth was between a rock and a hard fist, she accepted it as truth.

“Well, your father has a meeting in Pittsburgh tomorrow morning, and he’s been asking me to go with him..” It was clear in the look on her face that she wanted to turn away, but she remembered his current state and kept her face turned towards him. She’s implying things again, letting Steve do the heavy lifting so she doesn’t have to.

“You should go ima. I’m okay now.” An ingenuine smile to finish it off, and Ruth’s decision was made.

His parents were out of the house by that same afternoon in a slurry of excessive amounts of hugs and promises to call from Ruth, while he got another smack to the back of his head from Stephen Sr.

As soon as the Rolls Royce pulled out of the driveway he ran to get ready. There was an audiologist at the hospital, and he was determined to go there, even if his father had been awful to the staff about canceling the appointment.

See, Stephen Sr. had built up quite the reputation in Hawkins, but where most of the public, like his teachers and his neighbors, thought it was a case of tough love between the Harrington father and son, the doctors at the hospital knew it wasn’t really like that at all. It was all in his records, the suspicious amount of injuries and all the denied treatments for them.

Since he was about ten they’d been leaving him alone for all their business trips and whatnot, and ever since then he’d been taking himself to the doctor for things they deemed too trivial. Mostly it was for his allergies, like to get the epipen he was told he didn’t need or a breathing treatment that one time his mom used coconut perfume before date night, but there were quite a few of the occasional instances of injuries like concussions during off seasons and fingers slammed in car doors before he was old enough to drive.

The staff were pretty good about letting him in without an appointment, and this time was no different.

When he got there, a woman behind the desk signed him in with a sympathetic smile when she heard what happened, and said he’d only have to wait about a half hour.

He was called back and they did yet another hearing test on him, just to be extra sure it wasn’t a temporary effect from the ‘explosion’ and deemed that yeah, he was definitely still very deaf.

Piles of papers were thrown at him detailing all the different options and information for hearing aids, and they took some molds of his ears. The doctor told him it would take about a week, and then they’d call him back in and give him the hearing aids. Simple as that and he was being hurried back out of the room already.

It felt odd just walking out after that, maybe because he still couldn’t hear a damn thing and had to wait another week to get his hearing back, and he found himself lost in his thoughts and in the hallways of the hospital.

Eventually he ended up in the waiting room of an entrance he hadn’t even used, but all thoughts of how the hell to escape this labyrinth of a hospital were pushed out of his mind when he caught sight of a familiar redhead in one of the blue plastic chairs.

Max had been the only one of the kids he hadn’t talked to since that night, so he sat down next to her. It didn’t seem like she noticed him at first, just kept her head down to stare at the pages of a magazine she definitely wasn’t actually reading, until she sighed and slammed it shut, turning to face him.

“What're you doing here?” There was a bitterness in her tone that Steve definitely didn’t expect, and a hard set look on her face to go with it.

As if, with the fading bruises and cuts still all over his face and the blood still pooled around his iris, he didn’t look like he belonged in a hospital. Then again, he probably looks a lot better than Max’s brother.

“I needed to get my ears checked out again. Fireworks got me pretty messed up.”

Instantly her face softens, and she sits back in her chair. “Good. I thought you were here to tell me to go home.”

If Steve is guessing right, then she’s here to see Billy, since he had nearly died, but Steve couldn’t understand why anyone would tell her to leave her brother behind. “Why would I do that?”

“Because pretty much everyone else has.” She snaps then turns her face away, muttering, exasperated, under her breath. “They think I’m just wasting my time.”

Steve didn’t catch what she said at all. He feels bad about it, but has to clarify, “What?”

There’s tears in her eyes and a crack in her voice as she turns back and practically shouts in his face, misunderstanding his inability to hear as a lack of understanding, “They think Billy’s some kind of monster or something and they don’t want me to come see him!”

“Oh.” Blinking a few times, Steve tries to think of the right thing to say. “How.. is he?”

She shrugs her shoulders as a response, chewing her trembling lip to try to keep the angry tears from spilling over.

“Do you want me to go with you? To see him?” The feeling of going through something like this alone was all too familiar to him, so while he and Billy hadn’t exactly been friends, he couldn’t leave Max here alone, crying in the middle of the day, while all her friends isolated her for it. He figured it didn’t really matter who was in the hospital bed as long as he was doing it to support her.

All she manages is a nod, and a sob she’d been trying to contain rattled her shoulders. Of all the kids he was probably the least close with Max, but in that moment he decides it isn’t important, and he wraps his arm protectively over her trembling body.

Visiting hours had opened earlier that morning, but they were doing some sort of test on Billy now, so they would have to wait.

In the meantime, Steve decided to take Max down to the cafeteria for some cheap food. A cup of jello and a bagel sandwich for each of them later, she was leading Steve back upstairs and down the hall to see if Billy was done.

Max saw the nurse lingering in the lobby and rounded the corner like a bat out of hell, tennis shoes squeaking on the floor.

As if she had to say anything, the nurse announces, “Mr. Hargrove is ready for you.”

-•-•-•-•-•-•-•-

Whatever Steve had been expecting to see in room 212, it was not Billy Hargrove awake, bright-eyed and bushy-tailed.

Had Steve just been impaled through his chest, especially considering how crummy he feels from just his injuries, he doesn’t think he’d be half as alert or completely normal seeming as Billy was.

Other than the obscene amount of bandages around his torso and the oxygen tubes in his nose, he looked mostly just like he had before. Not even ‘before’ as in recently before being admitted to the hospital, he’d still looked pretty run down in the weeks leading up to the incident, but ‘before’ as in when he’d first moved to Hawkins.

Adorned with that playful glint in his eyes that Steve hadn’t seen since last November before they’d gotten into a fight, Billy’s gaze follows him into the room, “Didn’t expect to see you here, Harrington.”

And Steve can tell he’s on all kinds of pain meds, from how wide his smile goes, how light his voice is, and he wonders if Billy’s like him, doing better on the outside than underneath.

But he still thinks he should respond so, with hands shoved into his pockets, Steve leans against the wall by the window and shrugs his shoulders. “Wasn’t planning on being here, Hargrove.”

Max on the other hand, sat herself down on the foot of Billy’s bed, crossing her legs so the both of them would fit together, and launched into a story about her day. It was mostly just complaints about the other kids ditching her and Susan not staying like she said she would, but Steve wouldn’t know all that.

From where he's standing, he can’t see most of Max’s face, so he keeps his eyes downcast at the blue and white floor, counting flaws in the tiles and trying his best to focus hard on what she’s saying. Most of what he gathers is confusing nonsense and it’s sort of miserable.

While she talked, even though he was listening and offering his input, Billy finds his gaze drifting over to Steve in the corner instead. The way he’s concentrating so hard, the way he doesn’t startle or look up like both he and Max had when an announcement came on the overhead speakers, or how, even when his own name is brought up in the conversation he doesn’t respond. To him, it’s become obvious there is a problem.

Max got to the present in her story, where she told him why Steve was here too and, seeing an opportunity to test his theory, Billy asks, “That true, Harrington?”

A second or two too late the words, spoken loud enough that he could just barely hear them, try to register, and he gathers that he’d been addressed by name, but Steve doesn’t hear the rest.

Looking up at the two of them, he sees Max had turned around to stare at him with big eyes and Billy’s drowsy gaze fixed onto him, the pair of siblings waiting for an answer. Steve felt a little heat rise to his face instantly, “Huh?”

“You can’t hear a damn thing can you?” Billy looks curious, almost fascinated by Steve and his situation.

For some reason, despite the seemingly rude bluntness of a high Billy Hargrove, it makes him decide to tell the truth, “Not really, no.”

Taking it in, Billy nods slowly, and eventually asks him, “You know sign language?”

“I never learned it, no.” Steve had only taken French in highschool to help his once best friend Heather get back in touch with her roots since her parents wouldn’t teach her the language of the city she was born in.

His were the same way, but they didn’t offer Yiddish classes at Hawkins High, and definitely not any form of Sign Language either. If only.

What Steve isn’t expecting is for Billy to offer, with one hundred percent certainty, “I could teach you.”

That’s surprising for some reason. Not the fact that Billy would teach him, since he seems in such a cheerful mood anyways, but rather that he’d be able to. “Wait, you know it?”

Still bobbing his head in a rigid nod, so much it makes Steve almost dizzy to watch, Billy explains, “Yep. My momma was deaf. She taught me growing up.”

That explains how he caught on so quickly then. It’s actually not that unexpected with the way he’d noticed Billy staring at his lips instead of making eye contact, since even before their fight. Still, he’s shy about accepting the offer at first, “Oh. I mean, if you wanna teach me..”

Billy doesn’t need any more than that to confidently declare, “Your first lesson is tomorrow. Bring a notebook and some snacks. We have lots of work to do.”

Equal parts excitement and fear flutter in Steve’s chest. The idea of being taught by Billy isn’t the worst, he’s honestly pretty neutral about that. It’s more the idea of having to learn things in general that scares him. He’d done terribly back in school, skating past only with the help of a personal special ed tutor. Any subject where he has to write or read anything is going to be a disaster.

More vulnerable that he expected, Steve brings up those fears, “What if I can’t learn it?”

“We’ll keep trying. It’s not like it’s gonna kill you to mess up.” The question hadn’t even fazed Billy. He’s so confident, Steve feels like it’s contagious.

Being able to communicate better than his attempts at hearing sounds fun actually, and the way Billy has been so kind about everything, Steve’s maybe looking forward to it. “Yeah.. Yeah! I’ll come back tomorrow.”

With that arranged now, Steve decided it was time to go. Besides, he has to go to Robin and tell her absolutely everything. Maybe they’ll have a little sleepover since Steve’s parents are gone again, and then Robin can bring Steve to see Billy tomorrow. She’ll be happy for him. Anything to make life so soon after the disaster easier.

He stands up, and thanks Billy quickly, and with a few pats to Max’s head he’s on his way out the door.

“I’ll see you then, pretty boy.” Billy had said it more quietly, meaning it registered only as a low rumble, but from the pitch he could tell it was Billy saying something. Already he feels that familiar with his new friend, a good sign for their future.

Still, he’s curious about what he said, so he turns back around and asks, “Huh?”

“Just saying bye, Steve.” Billy smiles, in contrasts with a subtle flush on his face, and waves, the tubes in his IV coming up with his arm, a reminder that he’s still in recovery too. It’ll probably make a world of difference for him to have Steve visit, based on what Max was saying.

Steve returns a vibrant smile before he exits, “Oh. Bye!”

Once he’s gone, probably back in his car and driven off already, Max looks at her brother and scoffs, well aware of another reason he wants to get close to Steve; the crush he’s had on him since they met, for example. “God, you’re a dork.”

“I’m a man in love, Maxine. And I got a date with Steve.” The drugs are definitely making him a little loopy, but even he should realize that’s a bit of a stretch just for a couple of sign language lessons.

Max just rolls her eyes at him affectionately, “Yeah, yeah. Keep dreaming.”

[dailysonadowfanfics]

Reading every single Sonadow Fanfic (Ao3): 308/4.790

Title: i feel like I'm losing you

Author: infizero

Website: Ao3

Published: 25.08.2019

Word Count: 1.696 words

Language: English

Suited for minors? Yes

Warnings: No

Smut? No

Finished? Yes

Characters: Sonic the Hedgehog, Shadow the Hedgehog, Honey the Cat

Ships: Sonic/Shadow

Author Tags: Internalized Homophobia, Kinda, Misunderstandings, Implied/Referenced Cheating, neither of them are actually cheating don't worry, these two are dorks and in love, Shopping,,Established Relationship, by gays for gays, i know the title makes it sound all dramatic but this is very light-hearted i swear

Author Summary: While on a date, Shadow notices Sonic acting strangely. Calling him his "friend", shying away from affection... he begins to wonder if the blue hero is really serious about their relationship. And when Shadow learns of a mysterious "girlfriend", he demands answers. Does Sonic really love him? And who is this girlfriend?

My summary: Sonic is acting weird, and Shadow gets insecure and worries if Sonic really loves him.

You can read it here

[insaincat]

More Poltergeist AU!!

Sonic avoids contact with Shadow in fear he'll hurt him. He's a poltergeist after all. But Shadow is the Ultimate Lifeform and won't let some bullshit thing like death keep him from holding hands and comforting the (probably) dead hedgehog.

Now that Shadow knows the truth, he can finally see how close Sonic is to falling apart and becoming something horrific.

Kisses make wounds feel better, right? That's what Maria always told him.

[compacflt]

wip wednesday: boy you really would’ve thought I’d have posted these by now

[onceandfutureclotpoll]

Title: A Kiss To Remember

Author: clotpolesonly

Rating: General Audiences

Summary: It wasn’t until halfway through the knighting ceremony that Arthur realized that it hadn’t just been another idle fantasy.

He had actually kissed Merlin.

Shite.