#it doesn’t really get any dubiouser

[autistic-katara]

anyone else have at least one mutual where over time you’ve both grown enough that you (dubiously) hit most of the marks on their dni but u never end up unmutualling eachother

[nerdy-novelist017]

A Date (Benny Cross x Shy!Reader Pt 3)

Thank you so much for all your kind words, likes and reblogs on my last two posts! You guys are keeping me so entertained with the comments!

Ugh I rewrote this like 3 times :( I just couldn't get it right and I'm still not sure how I feel about it OH WELL

Benny x Bunny Masterlist

Word Count- 2.2K

Summary- You were sure you'd never see Benny Cross again. . . you were wrong.

******

“Benny’s been asking for ya.”

Your heart skipped a beat and you nearly dropped the receiver into the bowl of cake batter. Kathy’s statement came out of left field, the two of you having been discussing the latest news on the block – what kind of lipstick Sheryl Dickie uses that somehow always lasts an entire night of bar hopping. “What?”

“Yeah, says he’s real desperate to ask you somethin’,” Kathy’s tone was flippant, but you’ve known her long enough to hear the excitement she’s hiding in her voice.

“What could he possibly have to talk to me about?” You asked as you set the whisk down and moved around the kitchen counter to peak down the hallway towards the living room where you knew your father sat in his large recliner, watching a rerun of Bonanza. 

“I dunno, maybe you should come to another meetin’ so you can find out.”

“No, I’m not going to anymore of those.” you declared firmly, yanking the cord so that the phone was up to your other ear. “I don’t know how you can stand being around those guys.”

Kathy laughed, the static spiking. “C’mon, they’re fun, and you know it. Did you tell your parents how you got to ride on the back of a Vandal’s bike, and not just any Vandal!”

“No!” you squeaked. “And they’re never going to know. It was a one-time thing.”

“It doesn’t have to be. They’re having another meetin’ tonight. I’m sure Benny could pick you up–”

“Well, I can’t tonight,” you cut her off. “I have plans.”

“What plans?”

“My date.”

“Date?” Kathy asked, voice lowering dubiously. “With who?”

“Pete,” you said quietly. 

“Who?” she asked again.

You sighed. “Pete? The guy from Mama’s church?” 

Pete was introduced to you last week by your mother who was introduced to him by his mother. It was a train of people who wanted to matchmake, to see young love blossom before their eyes, even if it was forced. Pete was nice enough and he had kind eyes that sat behind wide-rimmed glasses. You’d been on one other date with him. He was an engineering student in his first year and he talked a lot about his school. He liked school. And he liked to golf nearly every weekend (his family belonged to the country club on the upper side of town). And mostly – he talked a lot about himself. He seemed to really like himself too.

“Oh, okay.” Kathy sounded unimpressed.

“My family really likes him. My dad likes him.”

“Yeah?” 

At her unenthusiastic response, you added quickly, “And I’m excited!”

“Is that why you’re stress-baking?” Kathy inquired as if she could sense it.

You glance down at the bowl of cake batter. No, it wasn’t, actually. You weren’t nervous to go on your second date with Pete; he didn’t make her nervous, didn’t fill your belly with those pesky butterflies. Pete was . . . just Pete. No, you were stress-baking because of a certain blonde Bikerider whose ocean blue eyes wouldn’t leave your thoughts all night. You were up, tossing and turning, replaying every moment with him like a broken record. It was one ride, the logical side of your mind had to say, and you’ll never see him again. You allowed yourself the rest of the night to think about him, and then you wouldn’t set aside any more time. 

In theory, it was a nice strategy. But when you woke up today, your thoughts were absolutely clouded with him and his incredibly direct eye-contact and his deeply rich voice and his hand touching your thigh and his lips encasing the cigarette—

You were doing it again! It had been one ride! One ride and a few hours. One ride where your arms wrapped so tightly to his solid form. One ride where he showed you places you’d never seen before, from a point of view you’d never been before. One ride where you felt as though you were seeing the world in a whole new light. One ride that you couldn’t get out of your head.

“Yes, because of Pete,” you replied evenly. “And I’m going to have a good time with him tonight.”

There’s a smile in her voice when she says, “Okay, sure. Say, what restaurant did ya say he was takin’ you?”

********

Thanking the driver, you stepped out of the cab, your heels connecting softly with the concrete of the sidewalk. Taking a moment to smooth any wrinkles on your pink dress, your gaze fluttered across the street to the restaurant Pete told you to meet him at. 

Ricardo’s was one of the most expensive restaurants in town, somewhere you never found yourself frequenting, but Pete absolutely gushed about their food. Coming from old money, Pete had no hesitation picking here for your second date. Pete’s family was well off, that’s what your mother liked to point out. He was a good boy with good money. He would provide for you, buy you a nice house with a picket fence in the front yard. A safe bet for the same routine life that nearly all the women of your family had spanning back several generations.

You made your way across the street, eyes taking in the lineup of expensive cars parked out front: Mercedes, Rolls Royce, Cadillac . . . Harley-Davidson motorcycle. You did a double-take at the shiny metal glinting underneath the streetlamp, eyes traveling upwards to the figure leaning casually against it. He was looking at the restaurant, head turned to give a generous view of his profile, and he hadn’t noticed you yet. For a split second, you considered taking advantage of that and booking it into the front door before he had a chance to stop you. But some deeply intrinsic part of you yearned to memorize every detail of him and you simply couldn’t look away. As a moth drawn to flame, you were drawn to him, to the golden streaks of his hair, down to the strong slope of his nose, the curve where his top lip sat so perfectly against the bottom – even with the cigarette tucked between. He wore long sleeves under his club jacket and the same distressed jeans from your last encounter. Half shrouded in the darkness of night, with the orange glow of the streetlight nearest to him, he looked like a beacon of mystery. Abandoning your previous course, you turned and approached him.

“What are you doing here?” You asked once you were close enough for him to hear you. 

Benny turned and a smile broke out over his features, eyes sweeping down your figure. “Do you dress like that all the time or only when you’re gonna see me?” He asked, nodding to your dress and heels. 

You stopped about 6 feet away from him (a reasonable distance), hopping up onto the sidewalk. “I didn’t expect to see you here.” 

“What a chance encounter,” he proclaimed with a secretive wink that sent your stomach on a roller coaster ride. 

“Chance encounter, or Kathy’s loose lips?” you quipped and he rubbed a hand over his mouth to keep from smiling, fingers grazing through the blonde, recently-trimmed facial hair.  

“Why are you here?” You asked again, this time a touch quieter.  

“Well, I have a coupon,” he replied simply.

You couldn’t stop the smile from tugging at your lips, your brows raising incredulously. “A coupon? To Ricardo’s?”

“Mm-hm,” he nodded, straight-faced.

You rolled your eyes at his antics. He had a coupon, your ass. A well-dressed elderly couple walked past you both on the sidewalk, each shooting a look of disapproval toward the dirty young man leaning against his death machine. Benny seemed not to notice them, his gaze still on you. 

“Why are you here?” he questioned.

“I–I have a date,” you replied and desperately tried to ignore the heat rising to your face at the admission. “But something tells me you already know that.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, looking down to the ground for all of five seconds before his gaze flashed back up to you. “Wanna go for a ride, Little Bunny?”

“What? No.” You narrowed your eyes at him.

“Why not?”

“Well, I just told you I'm here for a date,” you replied with a tilt of your head. 

Benny shrugged. “So?”

You shook your head but he continued, “Why are you wastin’ your time with dates when we’re gonna be married anyway?”

Your mouth fell open in surprise. The nerve on this guy! Part of you was surprised that he still had it in his head of marrying you. You thought maybe he had a few too many beers last night or was just smooth-talking you so that you’d let him sleep with you. But here he was, showing up on the sidewalk, giving you those puppy eyes. You’d already denied him once. Could he not take a hint?

“I don’t recall you ever asking.” you pointed out, feeling emboldened by his casual attitude. 

He perked up at that, tossing the remainder of his cigarette to the ground. “You want me to ask?”

You fought to remain neutral-faced at his playfulness. “No, thank you. Now, if you’ll excuse me . . . I have a date.” One that you were excited about before you caught sight of Benny and your train of thoughts completely derailed.

Benny held his hands up in a conciliatory way and you turned on your heel, leaving him out on the streets as you made your way inside.

******

The clock on the far wall seemed to be mocking you, minutes ticking by mercilessly. You resisted looking at it, instead planting your chin in the palm of your hand as you watched the door, waiting for Pete’s familiar face to appear. It had been over an hour. He was over an hour late for your date. 

Each time the waitress returned to fill your glass of water, you told yourself a new lie. He was just stuck at work, he’ll be here soon. He was running behind getting ready, he’ll be here soon. There must have been an emergency, he’ll be here soon. He wouldn’t stand you up, he’ll be here soon. 

But as the seconds passed, you sunk further and further into your seat, humiliation forming a ball in your stomach. Surely, he had gotten his days mixed up? He really seemed to enjoy your first date, so why was he nowhere to be seen. Every time someone walked through the front door, the little bell chiming above, you glanced up, certain it would be him. But it never was. At first, you were angry. How could he have the audacity to leave you hanging without so much as calling you before he left if he knew he wouldn’t be able to make it. Then a bitter thought came to mind: what if he stood you up because he didn’t want to go out with you again. What if you weren't good enough for him. You had spent your whole life on the never ending hamster wheel of trying to be good enough for everyone else. Was your hard work even noticed?

Recognizing the sting of unshed tears, you looked down at the napkin folded neatly in your lap, blinking rapidly in an attempt to get control of yourself. The bell chimed over the front door, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look over at it, not wanting to feel the crushing disappointment of another wealthy customer walking inside and not your date. 

Then a flash of dark clothing popped across from you and you looked up just as Benny Cross slid into the empty seat. You opened your mouth, but no words came out. He leaned forward, elbows of his leather jacket propped over the tablecloth.

“Pete not show?” he asked, expression solemn. 

Your ears burned and you shook your head. Too preoccupied by your embarrassment, it didn’t even occur to you that you had never told him Pete’s name. 

He frowned and he genuinely appeared upset. Unable to maintain his direct gaze, you glanced away and caught the eyes of everyone else in the restaurant staring wide-eyed at the two of you. You realized that it was Benny who they were gawking at. And you didn’t seem to notice until now that he looked totally out of place with his worn clothes and dirty hands. As if sensing their not-so-subtle staring, Benny turned and looked about the room.

“What’s with all the stiff shirts in here?” he asked, sending you a conspiratorial glance. “I think they might be intimidated by you.”

“Me?” You furrowed your brow. It definitely wasn’t you they were looking at. In fact, the only person who was staring at you was Benny. 

“Yeah, I bet they’ve never seen anyone as pretty as you. Most people haven’t and they don't know how to act when they do.” He grinned and you had to look down at your lap as heat rose to your face.  

“I guess Pete wouldn’t agree,” you muttered quietly, feeling the anger in your heart fizzle out to meer disappointment. 

“Fuck Pete,” Benny said passionately, causing an elderly woman behind you to gasp and you giggled, shocked at his language. Benny was bad, he was trouble . . . but he was also fun, and you couldn’t hide your eagerness as he leaned his arms across the table, moving closer to address you privately. 

“You wanna get out of here, Bunny?” His question sent a gust of anticipation through your veins. 

“Yeah,” you admitted, smiling shyly. 

He stood quickly and you followed in suit. Then he did something that caused a wave of butterflies to roll through your stomach; he reached out and clasped his hand with you, interlocking fingers tightly. You grinned, excitement making you feel light and airy as he pulled you through the restaurant, past all the staring faces and harsh whispers and out the door into the night which felt alive with a whole new feeling of possibilities. 

*Tag List*

@imusicaddict @elizabeth916 @jaiuneamesolitaiire @dudii4love @ironmooncat @beebeechaos @astrogrande @pearlparty @themorriganisamonster @sillylittlethrowaway @ughdontbeboring @penwieldingdreamer @charmingballoon @eugene-emt-roe  @sunnbib @semperamans @groovyangelkisses @killerqueenfan

[astridthevalkyrie]

“By the way, here’s your jacket.”

You shrug it off and offer it up to him, but instead of taking it, Rafayel only raises a brow.

“You can keep it.” He shrugs. “I have like five more in that same style.”

“No.” Your voice is firm, and your eyes are trained on him so that he knows you’re serious. Shaking the jacket a little aggressively, you insist. “Take it.”

Now thoroughly weirded out, he takes it from you, giving it a little brush over as though to examine for any evidence of tampering. When he realizes there’s nothing, he looks back at you dubiously.

“You’ve had this for maybe a month now. Why the sudden change of heart to give it back?”

“No reason,” you huff quietly, trying to avoid his gaze. There has to be a level of pride preserved with this man, and it won’t be preserved if you simply tell him everything.

Rafayel checks the pockets now, turning them inside out and face brightening when he finds a little chocolate. Without even asking you if you would like it (it was your chocolate in the first place!) he unwraps it and pops it in his mouth.

“Something’s up. I don’t really like the idea that you consider this out of fashion.” A pouty little frown forms on his face. “Nothing I own is ugly, just so you know.”

“You’re so dramatic. It’s not ugly. Just…y’know, take it back, wear it a bit, and maybe I’ll borrow it again later.”

“Huh?” His brows crinkle. “So you do want it? Then why even give it back? I’ll telling you you can have it.”

“Ugh—“ You cut yourself off with a quiet growl, glaring at him and his stupid questioning eyes. Pretty boys are such a dangerous breed; they truly can make you do anything.

“It doesn’t smell like you anymore, okay?”

There’s a pause after you finally confess, but as soon as the words register, Rafayel grins.

“Shut up shut up shut up—“

He tosses the jacket to the floor, then takes your hands and tugs you to him, cutting you off with a soft kiss. With a defeated but happy sigh, you run your hands from his shoulders down to his chest, melting under his touch. He’s so very gentle with you, it would make you angry if it didn’t make you smitten. He tastes like the chocolate he stole from you.

“Meri jaan,” he mumbles into the kiss, apparently unable to break it even to speak properly, “you don’t have to wait for me to wear it. You can have any of my jackets. Any of my clothes—any item in my house.” He keeps smiling against your lips, while his hands circle around you to hold you close. “Everything I own is yours, as am I.”

And well, you have to kiss him a little more after a statement like that. A little more, a little deeper, a little closer, though you could never get close enough.

By the time you leave the house, there’s not a single part of you that doesn’t have his scent. And as much as you’d like to have complaints with that, you find that you’re too happily snuggled up in your new cardigan to be able to come up with any.

[moonstruckme]

our girl with the emt!marauders is constantly in pain lol. how would you feel maybe writing about one of the boys getting hurt for a change? she gets called to take whoever home! it can be funny cuz it’s usually her ass who needs saving. (only if it’s tickling that writin itch)

Thanks for requesting babe!

cw: back injury

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 708 words

Sirius is already hobbling out of the front door when you pull up at the curb, James hovering beside him like he’s about to keel over and Remus walking behind them both with a worried indent between his brows. 

“Hey.” Sympathy bends your voice as James opens the door for him. Sirius grimaces, slowly lowering himself into the passenger seat. “Wow, I didn’t expect it to be this bad. You can’t straighten up at all?” 

“Nope,” James answers for him. He comes around to your side of the car and leans through the open window for a kiss. “He’s strained a muscle in his lower back. Only thing to do right now is rest and ice it.” 

Remus passes Sirius his seatbelt before he can reach for it himself. “Try to keep still,” he murmurs, brushing a kiss across his temple before looking at you. “Please try to drive extra carefully so he doesn’t hurt himself, love. And don’t let him do anything at home.” 

“This has got to be the first time I’ve been asked not to help out around the house,” Sirius teases. “I’d like to use my current privileges to extend this dish-doing ban indefinitely, please.” 

You find yourself in agreement. Is Remus really worried about Sirius rushing home to do chores? Just last week you had to show him where you keep the broom. You’ve lived together for over a year. 

Your dubiousness must show on your face, because James laughs and says, “He’s already injured himself worse by trying to put the moves on Remus.” 

“Hardly my fault,” Sirius says dismissively. “He’s very tall, have you noticed? I don’t have the proper equipment for mountain climbing.” 

You snort, and he grins, a true show of resilience by a soldier down. 

“I won’t let him do anything,” you tell Remus solemnly. 

“Thanks, lovie.” James plants another kiss on your cheek, rounding the car to lead Remus back inside. “Rest and ice,” he reminds you. “Keep an eye on him!” 

“I twinge something in my back and suddenly it’s like I’m not even allowed to speak for myself,” Sirius gripes.

You laugh, putting the car into gear. “Welcome to my world.” 

You take Remus’ cautioning very seriously, drifting into all your stops and easing slowly around each turn. The drive takes about twice as long as it usually would, but there are no incidents. When you get home, you do your best to give Sirius the princess treatment the boys always give you when you’re injured or ailing; you insist on opening his door for him and helping him inside, you set up a mountain of pillows to support the ice pack behind his back, and you put the remote in his hand so he can choose something to watch while you make the both of you lunch. 

“I feel very lame,” Sirius says as you come back with sandwiches and drinks. It’s a repetition of the same complaint you heard every time you started to slow down for a turn or glanced over to check on him during the drive here. “But I will say, this luxury service is starting to make up for things.” 

“Really?” You grin at him. “You’re not experiencing any urges to get out the vacuum or lift heavy things?” 

“Oddly enough, no.” 

“Crazy.” You take a bite of your sandwich, cozying up on the other side of the couch to watch the film he’s chosen. 

“You know,” Sirius drawls, “I realize I’m making this all look very easy, but I wouldn’t reject a cuddle.” 

You turn, and your boyfriend is looking over at you with a raised brow. You smile sheepishly. “I don’t want to hurt you.” 

He scoffs. “Sweetheart, if I’m too injured to cuddle, they may as well put me down. C’mere.” 

You scoot to the other side of the couch, curling into your boyfriend’s side but covertly leaning your weight against the back cushion instead. 

“Better.” Sirius kisses the top of your head firmly. 

“We probably shouldn’t tell Rem and Jamie about this.” 

“Oh no. When they get home, the story is that I was miserable being laid up all day and didn’t enjoy it at all. God forbid I have to do it again tomorrow.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Part One TwentyFive

“What is that?” Eddie asks, leaning forward in his seat, trying to see where the noise is coming from.

“Oh, it’s an ambulance, probably.”

“Am-bu-lance,” Eddie sounds out carefully, “like on TV. Why?”

“Oh they’re...if someone is sick, or has an emergency, and they need to get the hospital really fast, you can call an ambulance on the phone and they come and save you.”

“Oh. People be okay?”

“Uhm. I don’t know, but I hope they’re okay.”

“I hope they’re okay,” Eddie repeats absently, then Eddie’s mouth pops open a little as he stares out of the window, “Stevie love?” he asks, pointing.

“Oh, that’s a florists, you want to go and look?” Steve figures that the weather is finally warm enough to display flowers outside again.

Steve pulls in when he can, and they walk the half block back to where the buckets of brightly colored flowers are in a neat line outside the store front; Steve has a dollar in change loose in his pocket, and he can see that the individual flowers start at a few cents, “here, you want to get something?”

Eddie takes the money, but then grips Steve’s arm, carefully he sounds out the, “help wan-ted,” sign displayed in the window, “work?” he asks quizzically.

“I-” and Steve really has run out of reasons to protest. Eddie never goes anywhere without Steve. The most he ever does is get to go to the grocery store and, sometimes, Hopper and Joyce’s places. Plus he sits in Family Video for some of Steve’s shifts and it just...Steve knows it isn’t fair. Eddie’s getting bored, Steve can tell. Eddie does more than his fair share of the housework now, simply because he gets left alone at home so much. His driving is getting way better, and he’s mastered a lot of kitchen skills and can produce some simple meals.

Steve can’t keep him caged up forever. Besides, Eddie probably wouldn’t even get the job, so there’s no harm in just asking, “okay. Lets try, at least.”

The little bell tinkles cheerily over the door as they go in, making Eddie smile up at it.

It smells almost sickly sweet inside the store, but there are a lot of flowers packed into the small space. And holy shit, Steve actually recognizes the girl behind the counter from school, “Chrissy?”

“Oh. Oh hey Steve,” she isn’t cold, but she’s not exactly warm either, “can I help?”

“I can help,” Eddie butts in, pointing at the sign in the window.

“Oh, well. Do you have any experience working in a florist?” She eyes Eddie not unkindly, but definitely a little bit dubiously.

Eddie looks at Steve, unsure, “no, he doesn’t. And English isn’t his first language, he’s over here learning so…”

“Oh. Right. Well I mean, it’s only a few hours a week on delivery days, or when there's something on...I just need an extra pair of hands.”

“Pair of hands,” Eddie holds his up to show her.

Chrissy laughs, and Steve can already tell she’s softening to Eddie, he really does seem to have that effect on people. And Steve figures...it’s just a few hours. He knows that Chrissy is good people, or at least, he’s pretty sure she’s nice; she was always kind at school. If Eddie’s going to start somewhere…Steve comes to a decision, “how about he comes and tries it one time, his English isn’t perfect yet, but honestly he picks stuff up really fast, you’ll only have to show him once.”

“Uhm...you know, okay, lets do a trial. I haven’t had any other interest any ways, just a couple hours at a time on random days is inconvenient for people I guess, but unpacking everything can get tricky if you also get customers, you know?”

Steve nods, he can see that, “sure.”

“Sure,” Eddie parrots.

“So…do you want to stay for a couple of hours now? I can show you the ropes.”

“It’s an expression, there’s no actual rope,” Steve tells Eddie before he even has a chance to be confused over that, “you want to try?”

Eddie nods, “I’ll try.”

Steve has to stop himself from taking a deep fortifying breath, because that would be weird, “okay, Eddie come and get your jacket from the car.”

“But-”

Steve shuffles Eddie out of the store before he can protest any further, smiling at Chrissy, even as she frowns at him.

Once safely inside the car, Steve checks, “okay, what’s your secret?”

“Must not tell about The Upside Down. Must not tell that I’m different. Keep hidden my not belly button and not nipples. Definitely keep my pants pulled up.”

“Okay, why?”

“People will...take me away. Lock me in tank, like Starcourt. I maybe get El in trouble.”

“And what’s our secret?”

“Not boyfriend. Good friend. People don’t like two boys...they think it wrong. But it not wrong.”

“Okay...okay. You’re sure about this?”

“I’ll try,” Eddie nods.

“Okay, so, I’ll come back around three?” Steve confirms, before leaving his phone number just in case.

And then he...leaves. He leaves Eddie with Chrissy Cunningham. Which is just...weird. Eddie. Alone, kind of, and out in public. And Steve...well. He holds it together pretty well, he thinks. Or at least, he tries too. It’s just...weird. And unexpected.

Going home to an empty house is even stranger, but realistically he can’t just sit in the car outside. As much as he would have rather done that, it is a bit weird and...well. Chrissy can’t exactly phone him if he’s not there to answer the phone.

Steve forces himself to be normal about this, even if on the inside he isn’t being at all normal. Not at all. Not even remotely. He spends two hours coming up with increasingly ridiculous and increasingly catastrophic scenarios that Eddie could be involved in, right this second.

By the time Steve can legitimately leave, he’s still going to be early, and the house is way cleaner and there’s a lasagna on the side, ready to go in the oven later.

Steve fully expects there to be ambulance, fire and police vehicles clustered around the florist. The army maybe. Navy seals. News crews with helicopters circling overhead. Steve has no idea, but he is incredibly relieved when there are none of those things.

He hops out of the beemer and heads in, only to find Chrissy behind the register, a customer just finishing up and paying, and in amongst the buckets of blooms, is Eddie, holding a broom. He looks up at the sign of the bell, smiling when he sees it’s Steve. He’s wearing a green apron with the store branding on the middle of the chest, “hello Stevie.”

Eddie finishes what he’s doing, carefully nudging a bucket into place with his toe and sweeping his little pile of leaves and dust to the doorway out to the back, where he gets it up with a little pan and brush. Steve holds the door for the customer, an older lady, and after she’s gone he asks, “how did that go?”

Eddie looks to Chrissy to answer, “yeah. Yeah he did really good, Eddie, you want to come back on Friday?” Eddie nods, “okay, go hang your apron where I showed you.”

Eddie disappears out the back, “really? All okay?” Steve checks.

“Yeah,” Chrissy smiles brightly, “I think he’s a good fit. Eddie says that you’re his ride, so Friday, midday would be ideal until… lets say three again?”

“Yeah. Yeah, no problem. I’m working a close so he can walk down to Family Video after.”

Before they leave, Chrissy pays Eddie seven dollars straight from the register, and Eddie holds it tight, like it’s precious cargo.

The second the car door closes Eddie is like an unleashed ball of energy, “Stevie? People in the moon?? The moon in the sky? People! In rock-ets!”

Steve snorts a laugh, “yeah, yeah that’s right. People have been to the moon. I think a dog and monkeys and stuff have been to space.”

“Space,” Eddie echoes, quietly astounded.

“We could get a book about it.”

“Yes. Book about it...that’s good.”

“Okay. I probably should have done this ages ago, but lets go get you a library card.”

Eddie stands next to Steve at the desk, and Steve has to nudge him to get him to shut his mouth. Eddie’s eyes are huge, and he stares around the room like he’s just found all the treasures of the world, hiding all along in Hawkins Public Library. “Right, sir,” says the very sensibly cardiganed and bespectacled lady from behind the desk, “there’s your identification back, and your library card. No more than six books at a time, and three weeks per book or you’ll incur a charge, okay?”

“Okay. Thank you,” Eddie says, taking his card and peering at where the lady has written his name out.

“Come on then, you want to get some books?”

It’s not long before they have an issue. Eddie’s first two slots are filled with books about NASA and space from the kids non fiction section. Three and four very quickly go to sciency looking books about animals that came from a shelf near the space bit, but then Eddie can’t seem to choose, overwhelmed with all the books.

“Okay...it’s not far to the library, just take those four, and then when you’ve read them, we can get more okay?”

Eddie frowns, mouth scrunching a little, but he agrees.

He watches carefully over the counter as the lady stamps the borrow date inside the covers, reminding Eddie of when they’re due back, “I’ll write on the calendar,” he tells her. Steve suppresses a smile.

Eddie gets into the car holding a bunch of flowers; he immediately presents them to Steve. They’re held together with a bit of twine, and they’re all varying shades of red and orange, “Chrissy says it’s too late to sell them. All open too long. Ger-be-ra.”

“I-oh. For me?”

“Yes.”

“I-thank you. No one’s ever got me flowers before.”

Eddie beams hugely, and then holds them for Steve while he’s driving, “practice later?”

“Yeah, want to go to the mall lot? You're really close, but you have to get this reversing thing down before you go on the road.”

Eddie nods, “I try.”

“I will try. I’ll try,” Steve reminds him gently; Eddie does know, he just forgets when he gets all excited.

“I’ll try.”

When they get home, Eddie stashes his crumpled dollar bills in a jar that he keeps on the top shelf of a kitchen cupboard.

“Here’s another one,” Steve calls. They’re just, well, saplings, Steve guesses. Glorified twigs with a couple of leaves on, but some of them come up as far as Steve’s knee. They only found one, at first, but the further they went, the easier it became to spot them. And then suddenly...Steve was finding them everywhere.

Eddie comes over to inspect it, clearly pleased, “small pear tree.”

“Yeah, how many does that make?”

“Twenty two,” Eddie says proudly.

Steve looks around, “we’re going to find loads aren’t we?”

Eddie nods, “tent now?”

Steve snorts a laugh, “you horn dog, but, yeah, sure, we can get that set back up, you done tree hunting?” Eddie nods again, “do you ever miss it?” Steve asks as they walk back through the trees and to the yard, “having a tail, I mean? Being in the pool?”

“No,” Eddie starts slow, “I don’t...think on tail? Very few time I remember.”

“Oh right,” Steve thinks for a second, about what El said, about Eddie living so much in the moment. It must still apply.

“Maybe...maybe little,” Eddie puts his finger and thumb close together, for little, “more good than The Upside Down, and found Stee,” Eddie grins.

“Yeah. Yeah you did.”

Eddie appears in the doorway of Family Video five minutes before Steve’s shift is due to finish. Steve is not at all surprised to note that Keith is not here yet. “Hello Stevie. Hello Robin.”

“Hey, Eddie,” they both chorus.

Eddie comes up to the counter, giving Steve the little bouquet of blue and white flowers he’s holding, “awwwwww,” Robin sinks to her elbows on the counter, “that’s so sweet. You two are sickening, really.”

Eddie frowns at her, so Steve tells him, “ignore her, I like them.”

Eddie nods, “I tell Chrissy you like them. She said,” Eddie looks around the store, clearly checking for people. He goes up on his toes to see over the shelves, “she definitely, definitely knows we not boyfriends. She promises. Also, she likes my en-gage-ment ring.”

Steve just stares at Eddie, blinking slowly as he processes that. Next to him, Robin Starts braying like a donkey. Eddie grins big, pleased with himself. “She said...she definitely knows that we’re not boyfriends?” Steve repeats slowly.

“Yeah. She say she definitely knows we’re not boyfriends. She promises, she said she definitely doesn’t like girls, too.” Eddie speaks in that slow, sure way he does when he’s repeating something exactly.

“Right.” Steve says, “right. Okay. Did she say anything...else?”

“She think you are a prick, before.” Robin had just about regained her composure, only to completely loose it again, folding to the ground, crying with laughter, “but now she say you’re nice,” Eddie frowns, looking at the ceiling for a second as he concentrates, “Chrissy...think you have good taste in not boyfriends.”

“Oh.” Steve sighs, “okay. At least there’s that.”

“I can’t believe Chrissy Cunnigham likes girls,” Robin sighs from somewhere down on the floor.

“No,” Eddie corrects, “she doesn’t. She said she doesn’t.”

Steve can, vaguely, feel a headache forming, “no. Eddie she says she doesn’t like girls. The way that you don’t like guys.”

“But I don’t like guys, I like Stevie- ooooohhhhh,” Eddie’s face dawns with understanding, “secret lie?”

“Secret lie,” Steve confirms.

“Do you think she’s single?” Robin asks weakly from behind the counter.

“Single?” Eddie asks.

“Does she have a girlfriend? Is she with someone, like we are?”

Eddie shakes his head, “no girlfriend. Chrissy says that she a bit sad...but better than Tommy. Steaming turd.”

Robin cackles.

“Stevie, what is ‘steaming turd’?”

Steve rubs his forehead, breathing deeply though his nose.

From the floor Robin asks, “I wonder if she still has the cheerleader outfit?”

“Eddie, do not repeat that to Chrissy.”

Eddie frowns, “why? Chrissy says it’s girl talk?” Eddie asks, clearly uncertain over the concept of ‘girl talk.’

“Since when are you a girl?” Robin finally clambers back up with the rest of them.

“Chrissy say I hon-or-rary girl. I bagged King Steve.”

Steve’s never been happier to see Keith walk into the store.

Part TwentySeven

[hp-hcs]

violent stalker mattheo riddle.... each guy and girl readers ever spoken to? damn wdym they showed up beaten up the next day and they dont even know who did it ????

i feel like he'd also get violent with reader and ykw .... im so insane id let him beat me bloody .

"i'm doing this because you're not listening to me, sweetheart. how else am i supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn't do?"

hey uh, future requesters: giving me a line of dialogue or smth to build around means i’ll finish your request WAY faster. tysm anon 😭

requests open

prometheus — yandere! insane! stalker! mattheo riddle x gn! reader

wow! there’s a fuck ton of really fucking dark violence, murder, torture, manipulation, abduction, and horrific domestic abuse in this! please be careful if you choose to read this!

1.5k words!

i jokingly took a sociopathy test with a couple of friends earlier today and i scored like really high so uh dunno how to feel about that

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Am I…am I in trouble or something, Professor…?”

Professor McGonagall’s lips thinned and she looked at you over the rim of her glasses. She folded her hands together neatly where they rested on her desk before speaking. “Not for now, no. Relax a bit, dear. The law states that you’re innocent until proven guilty.”

“That’s not- that doesn’t really make me less nervous.”

The professor opened her mouth to speak again when a chime alerted her to an incoming floo call.

With a wave of her wand, the flames flared green and a genial-looking man stepped out of the fireplace. He brushed soot off of his robes and grinned brightly as soon as he caught sight of the professor.

“Minerva! Lovely to see you again. I’m afraid Quincy isn’t going to make it. Corbett is sick, poor thing, so he’s staying home with him today,” the man gushed, evidently quite close with the professor.

“Oh, send them both my well wishes, Hez, dear. Anyway, this is the student you asked to see, Y/n L/n,” she motioned towards you.

The man gave you a cheery grin—far too cheerful for this early in the morning—and held out his hand for you to shake. “A pleasure to meet you, Mx. L/n. I’m Auror Hezekiah Ackerly. I’d just like to ask you a few questions if that’s alright?”

You dubiously shook his outstretched hand, a bit put off by his bright grin that never seemed to dim. “Sure.”

“Wonderful!” the Auror pulled the second office guest chair closer and sat down across from you. “Let’s get the easy questions out of the way. Do you have many friends? Or maybe a small, close-knit group of people you regularly hang out with?”

Your eyebrows furrowed. The fuck kind of question was this?

“Uh, I guess a close-knit group?”

Auror Ackerly summoned a notebook and quill, writing quickly. “Who belongs to this group?”

Seriously, this felt more like being at a psychiatrist’s office than being questioned by a government official.

“Er, Harry Potter, Ron Weasley, and Hermione Granger? And sometimes Neville Longbottom and Luna Lovegood?”

Seriously, what was going on?

“And do you have any…romantic relationships? Any troubles or issues there?”

Your eyes narrow. “What’re you playing at?”

“Cormac McLaggen was found dead in the Forbidden Forest this morning,” Professor McGonagall cut to the chase, interrupting Auror Ackerly. “You were the last known person to have spoken to him, and several of your peers attest that they heard an argument break out between the two of you last night after dinner.”

Your eyebrows shot up and your jaw dropped. “Dead? Wh- how?”

“That’s what we at the Ministry would like to know,” Auror Ackerly interjected smoothly. “You’re not in trouble, Mx. L/n, but I am here to escort you to the Ministry for questioning.”

Your jaw dropped.

They thought you did this?

~~~

You sat at a table, alone in some room deep inside the Ministry building.

You huffed, folding yet another paper crane from the stack of sticky notes Ackerly had oh-so-thoughtfully left for you after your interrogation.

You set the finished bird on the table, the small pile of origami cranes you’ve made while waiting slowly getting larger.

Peeling off another sticky note, you started folding another when a nice-looking man in well-pressed robes entered the barren room and stopped in front of your table. He looked down at you with mild bafflement.

“L/n, I presume?”

“That’d be me,” you mumbled, adding your newest crane to the pile.

The man smiled gently before waving a hand over your paper birds and enchanting them to fly.

You tried to hide your awe as you look up at the cranes that floated and soared around the room.

The man smiled at your reaction. “It’s quite nice to finally meet you, Mx. L/n. You’ve been the topic of many a discussion today.”

“I’d imagine so, yes,” you said dryly. “Not many teenagers accused of murder coming through the department, huh?”

He grinned. “Not really, no.”

The man pulled out the other chair at the table, sitting down across from you and rifling through the thick manila folder he held.

“Are you here to interrogate me some more?” You asked suspiciously. “Ask Ackerly, man. I already told him everything I know.”

He laughed. “No, I’m not here to interrogate you. I’m your lawyer, Mx. L/n.”

You blink. “I don’t have a lawyer. My family can’t afford that.”

“You always have the right to an attorney, Mx. L/n,” he said kindly as he held out his hand to you. “Octavian Foxglove, Esquire.”

“Y/n L/n, but you already knew that,” you greet, shaking his hand.

He smiled again.

He was a very smiley man.

He laid out the manila folder and turned it around on the table so that you would be able to see it.

The first paper on top was a copy of your school records, with a bright red PRIMARY SUSPECT stamped over the top of your picture.

You grimaced.

Your lawyer nodded sympathetically. “There’s a photo underneath that page, by the way. Supposedly the last photo we have of McLaggen still alive and, uh…it’s not looking great for you, in all honesty.”

You moved your school records page aside, finding a standard moving photograph paperclipped to the inside of the file.

It showed, quite clearly, you speaking with Cormac McLaggen in a hallway. Picture-Cormac angrily threw his arms up in the air and silently yelled at picture-you, while your body language in the photo loudly screamed ‘furious & upset’.

He was right. It wasn’t a great look.

“And there’s only one thing I need you to- oh, where is it?” He dug through the inside pockets of his robes, procuring a pen. “Aha! The next page has a simple contract. I just need a signature stating that you either accept me as your public defender, or would like to request someone else from the Ministry to handle your case.”

You nod, flipping the page to the contract he indicated. Mr. Foxglove smiled again and held the pen out to you.

As soon as your fingers made contact with the pen, you vanished.

~~~

You stumbled blindly, almost falling to the floor before a hand caught your elbow and steadied you.

“Easy, careful.”

You whirled around, surprised to see a different man in Mr. Foxglove’s clothes. He held his hands up in a non-threatening manner.

“Woah- slow down, kid. You’re fine.”

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m- was your lawyer,” he shrugged and smiled. “Augustus Rookwood, at your service.”

It dawned on you. “It was a portkey,” you breathed. “The pen. It was a portkey, wasn’t it?”

“Clever kid,” he sounded impressed. “Now c’mon. The boss wants to see you.”

You followed the man without complaint; half out of curiosity, half out of the knowledge that Augustus Rookwood was an Azkaban escapee charged with at least forty counts of first degree murder.

Pretty simple choice.

It looked like you were in a wealthy aristocrat’s house. Er, mansion, more accurately. The hallway you were walking down was old and stuffy and dusty, and the overall aura of Dark magic that permeated the very air of the house sent shivers down your spine.

Rookwood led you down a flight of rickety stairs to the first floor, and then down a narrow hallway and into a study, where he left you without another word.

The study itself was old. Everything was coated in a thick layer of dust except for the pristine and polished bureau right in the center.

(Obviously, ‘the boss’ was sitting at this desk.)

((Villains tend to be predictable like that.))

However, you were surprised to see that ‘the boss’ was-

“Riddle?”

He looked up at the sound of your voice, a wide grin spreading across his face as he hurriedly got up from his desk.

“Y/n, darling, hello!” He gushed, practically skipping over towards you before pulling you into a very uncomfortable hug. “Sweetheart- oh, I’m so glad you’ve made it here safely! Rookwood really is my only competent assistant; I must be sure to give him a raise.”

You froze up at the unexpected hug, your arms remaining stiffly by your sides. He let go after a moment, but remained just a bit too close for comfort.

“Hopefully the Ministry didn’t give you too hard of a time,” he rubbed the back of his neck with a guilty grin. “I promise Ackerly’s a good man. When he’s, y’know, in control of his own body.”

Your eyes widen and you take a step back. “What?”

“Just a little Imperius, darling, no worries. Did you like your gift?”

You blinked, thrown off by his rapid changes in subjects. “Uh- gift?”

He smiled proudly. “McLaggen? He won’t bother you anymore, see?”

All the color drained from your face.

“You killed Cormac?”

He nods, grinning. “Uh-huh. I heard what McLaggen said to you last night in the hall, and I don’t like when other people look at what’s mine.”

“Yours?” You repeat, your lip curling in disgust. “You’d better not be referring to me.”

Mattheo paused, looking at you in confusion. “What else would I be talking about?”

You scoff in shock, shaking your head. “Yeah, nope, I’m out.”

You turned around without further preamble, marching out of the room and towards the front door that you’d passed earlier. Mattheo laughed and followed you out of the study at a leisurely pace, seemingly unworried.

“Where are you going to go, darling? As far as the general public is concerned, you’re on the run after brutally murdering a classmate. You’re Wanted with a capital W, sweetheart.”

“I’ll figure it out,” you snarled, storming towards the front door.

“Y/n…” He warned, drawing his wand and pointing it at you. “Get back here. Now.”

“Fuck off.” You spat over your shoulder, not sparing him another glance.

That was clearly not the thing to say. As if in slow motion, you heard a dreaded word fall from his lips.

“Crucio!”

You were struck with pain that was so overwhelming, so blinding, so agonizing, that you were sure you were going to die.

You were only half aware that you’d fallen to the floor at some point as wave after wave of unbearable pain crashed over you. You could feel your bones creaking and grinding together, your skin splitting apart only to knit itself back together just to be torn apart again, like you were some fucked up wixen version of fucking Prometheus.

You were only vaguely aware that you were speaking, pleading. Pleading not for the Unforgivable to be lifted, but for him to just end it, end you, entirely.

“K-kill me! Kill m-me…please!” You begged, blood trailing down from the corner of your mouth and smeared across your chin. You must’ve bit your tongue hard for it to bleed like that, and the sting from that wound while you speak is just too overwhelming when combined with the pain from the Cruciatus Curse.

Then all at once, it stops.

You gasp for air, your entire body trembling and numb as you lay sprawled across the floor like a marionette with its strings cut.

Mattheo kneeled down by your side and cupped your face in his hands with a kind of tender gentleness that felt deeply wrong coming from him.

“See, I’m doing this because you’re not listening to me, sweetheart. How else am I supposed to show you that trying to leave me is what you shouldn’t do?” He cooed softly, gently wiping the blood from your chin with the sleeve of his shirt.

You flinched back at his touch. Your body—still wracked with uncontrollable quivers and trembles—tried in vain to crawl away from him.

“Oh no, honey- hey, honey- I promise it’s all over, okay? You were so so good for me. But you see now that you’ve got to stay with me, right?”

Your jaw quivered and your still-stinging tongue felt thick in your mouth, yet you managed to spit vicious hatred towards him.

“G-go to hell.”

A flurry of emotions crossed his face: surprise, anger, guilt, and disappointment; all of which were topped by the underlying aura of pure sadistic glee that exuded from him.

“Oh? Do you need another lesson or two before you learn?” He sighed and shook his head patronizingly. “Very well then, darling. Crucio!”

••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

taglist! @gayaristocrat @slytherinboysappreciation @lemonaderiddle @h-------n @yournogoodalone @knave-hearts @schaebickel @lexacantsleep @big-brother-problems @darkcharmx @cyberbl4de @amandajonhsson @megannxn @catz-80 @ghostiesen @fruityfrog505 @coysa @fruitypebblesstuff @mildlyuninformative @glittervame @cayaevans1 @lizeylavender @cloudydaysinmydreams @ironickarkatlover @ahead-fullofdreams @tachyon-girl @jaythes1mp @lovelyfandomqueen @ashisgreedy @mothermah3m @siuspider @ineedtogetalife11 @cherry-berry-ollie @cherriosxfish @a-hopeless-romantics-blog @fallingblackveils @ldrsog @linde0s @ghost-tyr @booksouflette @h0treader @maraudersforlife2005 @ahano @miah-macaroni @whatislifes-stuff @iara-ximena17 @goth-blackcat @dutifullyfuturisticwizard @docackerman @mizu-mc @tiacordelia02 @mingyuethesimp @luvlli @dracoshusband @verychaoticgay @thathogwartsjedi @lisbethpisbeth @remusily @daliah-xxo @rainy-darling @corinneeagles @sle1epy @averys-place @shibble @i-love-sirius-black7 @azu-202029 @artemismckinnon @lostboychimera @yukimaniac @annegrey

[suzukiblu]

WIP excerpt for tabetharasa behind the cut; alpha Jazz, a dark alley, and a very pretty omega. ( + non-chrono link for mobile users )

Jazz has no idea why Red Hood thinks he smells anything but delicious, but there’s a very reckless and dubiously-ethical part of her that would be willing to prove it to him. Not that she would, obviously, because that would be, again, incredibly unethical and highly inappropriate and also a total dick move. 

She just could, that’s all. Just if it came up or whatever. 

“Well, it’s not,” she says, mildly put out by whatever’s going on here, and Red Hood growls. His scent blockers continue to be useless. Just–absolutely useless, yes. 

Ancients, he smells so good. What is she even supposed to do about how good this omega smells? 

Maybe offer to walk him home, or at least offer him her jacket so he has enough alpha scent on him that no one bothers him on his way back to his den. Although he’s a crime lord–or a vigilante? one or the other, whatever–who’s built like a truck, so that probably isn’t really a concern, she supposes. 

Then again, some people seriously do have no sense of decorum. 

Or survival instincts. 

“Shut the fuck up!” Red Hood snaps. Jazz frowns. That seems like a disproportionate amount of anger in his tone. Maybe he's sensitive about his pheromones. Well, if people have been telling him he smells like death . . . 

Though “death” doesn't necessarily smell bad, in Jazz's opinion. 

Admittedly, that's a liminal's opinion and besides the point anyway. But still. 

“Alright,” she says. “But can you get to your den safely? Or . . . somewhere you can den down, anyway, I don't know. I assume you have a headquarters or a safehouse or two, something like that. Or at least can afford a heat hotel or know a decent clinic.” 

Red Hood hisses at her. It crackles through his modulator, but the sound of it still makes her jeans a little . . . uncomfortable, she'll just say. Sue her, she likes omegas with a bite to them. Johnny 13 definitely didn't win her over by being the sweet and polite type; he won her over by being a blunt asshole in a leather jacket who'd convinced her that he was a sincere and straight-up person. 

She wonders how “sincere” the average Gotham crime boss really is, but it’s a little difficult to concentrate on that question with the scent of old books and burning cedar filling up her nose. And also that note of lilac. That note of lilac is a problem. 

A serious problem. 

“I realize heat drop is probably imminent and you must be uncomfortable, but it’s a valid concern on my part, given your condition,” she says, which normally she’d make sound politely disapproving but really can’t make sound any kind of disapproving right now. Again: the lilac. “So can you?” 

“Fuck makes you think I'd let you anywhere near my den?” Red Hood snarls. Jazz blinks; tilts her head. 

“Nothing,” she says. “What makes you think I was asking to go anywhere near it?” 

Red Hood–stalls, briefly. Jazz tries to be polite about how incredibly obvious a tell that statement was. 

Flattering, but incredibly obvious. 

“I mean, I'd be happy to escort you if you’d like,” she says. “Or lend you my scent, if you need it. But I'm not trying to presume anything.” 

“Fuck off,” Red Hood snarls. “Nobody escorts an omega like me.” 

“Do you think maybe you have some self-esteem issues?” Jazz asks. Heat is almost definitely making him a bit more volatile and emotional than normal, considering the kinds of things he’s been saying to her, but it still seems like a valid question. Being on their cycle doesn’t make people different people; just makes it a bit harder for them to censor and control themselves. 

Or a lot harder, sometimes. 

Judging by how strong Red Hood’s pheromones smell right now . . . 

Well, he might be having a harder time than he’s used to having, so far as “controlling himself” goes. 

Jazz certainly is, all inappropriate knotheaded puns aside. 

Do Poison Ivy’s pollens make cycles hit harder, actually? Or does the suddenness of the effect disorient or throw people off, maybe? 

Well, that’s a worrying thought, since Red Hood seems to be out here alone. 

“‘Self-esteem issues’?” Red Hood repeats incredulously, his pheromones briefly sparking with bewilderment. Jazz decides not to press it, since he might be feeling a little vulnerable right now. 

“Yes,” she says. “Is there someone you can call, if you don’t want an escort or to borrow my scent? I could wait with you until they show. No offense, just Park Row’s not a very nice neighborhood.” 

Red Hood laughs. 

“No fucking shit!” he says, spreading his arms. “It’s Crime Alley!” 

“I know, sorry, I just keep accidentally calling it ‘Park Row’ in my head. Still new in town,” Jazz apologizes. She assumes a crime lord would prefer his territory be correctly referred to, anyway. Seems like a thing. She knows standard humans don’t actually have haunts–even most liminal ones don’t, including her–but sometimes she does . . . well, not forget, exactly, but just . . . expect them to anyway, she supposes? 

She spent way too long in Amity, yes. 

Even without Crime Alley being Red Hood’s actual haunt, though, it’s still disrespectful to call it the wrong name. It’s still his territory either way, and she imagines someone on their cycle especially wouldn’t appreciate the mistake. 

“What is your damage?” Red Hood snarls, his voice modulator crackling threateningly as he visibly bristles, and Jazz catches notes of that electric and unexpected edge in his pheromones again. Still vaguely familiar, but still not quite what it seems like it should be. Just . . . 

Really, if she didn’t know better . . . well, she’d think he was liminal. But that seems like a very unlikely coincidence for her first week in Gotham, so . . . 

Then again, her life is her life. 

It’s not really the time to be asking Red Hood about his levels of ecto exposure, though, and she’s pretty sure they’ve both got more important priorities right now. 

“We don’t really have time to unpack all that, to be honest. You really do need to get home,” she says. “Or at least call someone to pick you up. If you go into heat drop alone in Crime Alley, I can’t imagine it’s going to end well.” 

Red Hood hisses. That might’ve sounded like a threat, Jazz realizes belatedly. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she says, apologetic again. “But it’s not safe, is it?” 

“If anyone I don’t want near my ass tries to touch me, I’ll put a bullet up theirs,” Red Hood growls, low and crackling. 

“That seems like a lot of trouble when you’re on your cycle, though,” Jazz says. He’d have a body to deal with, and maybe someone would call the cops–well, she supposes it is Crime Alley, so maybe not . . .? But it’d be self-defense anyway, and if he is a crime lord, maybe he has people for that. 

Hm. 

She really needs to get familiar with this area as soon as possible, yeah. And just Gotham in general, really. Every city has its own idiosyncrasies, but Gotham is its idiosyncrasies. 

Well, so is Amity Park, of course. 

“I think you belong in Arkham, lady,” Red Hood says. Jazz feels like a Gothamite should be more understanding of someone taking supervillain attack side effects and hostile heated-up crime lords in stride, but apparently not. 

“Technically, you’re not wrong,” she says with a wry smile. She’d offer him a handshake, but that’s not really appropriate for an alpha to offer to an omega in heat. Especially not an unmated alpha, which Jazz very definitely is. “I start Monday. Jazz Fenton, psychiatric intern. At your service.”

Red Hood manages to very clearly stare at her without actually taking off the helmet. It's actually an impressive amount of expressiveness to get across, under the circumstances. 

Or there could be a touch of liminal empathy happening, admittedly. That's possible too. Especially with another liminal involved. 

Jazz briefly considers what knotting a liminal omega might actually be like if an empathy loop got established somewhere in the process, which is a lie, because what she’s actually imagining is picking up this liminal omega and showing him exactly how delicious she thinks he smells. 

Definitely inappropriate. 

“They will literally eat you alive,” Red Hood says. 

“I mean, there’s a risk of it,” Jazz allows, because nothing is a perfect guarantee. It’s just not a very large risk. Comparatively, she means. 

“You applied to Arkham on purpose, lady?” Red Hood says disbelievingly. 

“Oh, no,” Jazz says, shaking her head. “They made me an offer. Somebody read my thesis and liked it, apparently.” 

Well . . . “thought we should interview you for either a position or to have your file established for whenever the convictions start rolling in”, whichever. The interviewing psychiatrists had a range of reactions during her interview, she supposes is the best way to put it. 

Jazz really doesn’t think it’s fair to classify her parents as actual supervillains, but an increasingly long list of professionals has, admittedly, not agreed with that assessment. 

She can’t imagine what they would’ve thought if she’d told them about Danny, considering. 

Well, it’s not her problem if someone else is going to be close-minded about things like that. 

“I’m sorry, I’m really not trying to be pushy here, but are you sure you don’t want to call anyone? Or want my scent. Or . . . literally anything,” she says, gesturing a little awkwardly with her shopping bags. “I do get told my pheromones are pretty discouraging to unwanted attention, if that helps?” 

“Sure they are,” Red Hood snorts. Jazz tries not to look disapproving, given his compromised state. That kind of thing can bother omegas in heat, she knows. 

“That’s what people tell me,” is all she says. Obviously it’s not just the default parts of her scent that make it a strong deterrent, but as for the force of the emotions and claim she can put into it . . . 

Well. She just hears it’s “discouraging” to other alphas pretty regularly, that’s all. And also some betas, depending on their sexuality. And, um . . . well, a little closer to “catnip”, for omegas, but . . . 

“I’ll believe it when I smell it, knothead,” Red Hood snorts again. “Prove it.” 

Jazz isn’t sure that’s a good idea, considering–again–his compromised state, but, well . . . he’s clearly a strong omega himself, and maybe she’s a little miffed by him just assuming she’s lying about something like that, that’s all. She knows plenty of alphas do lie about their pheromones or even lay on fake ones, but . . . well, it’s hard not to wonder if he just thinks she’s a lesser alpha because she’s female, or because of how she’s dressed or looks or speaks, or just because. 

Her inner alpha doesn’t love the experience of one of the most gorgeous-smelling omegas she’s ever scented sneering at her worth as an alpha without even giving her a shot to prove it, either way. 

“Are you sure?” she asks.

[syllvane]

i’ll be the one if you want me to- kaz brekker x reader

“Is he still angry?” Jesper asked and you didn’t have to ask for clarification on who he was talking about, the events of last night still fresh in your mind.

“What do you think?”

Jesper didn’t say anything, taking another sip of the drink he was nursing.

“What is he so angry about anyways? I wasn’t aware that dancing with you was illegal.” Jesper complained and you swiped the drink away from him as soon as he put it down, taking a sip of it for yourself.

Your face scrunched, not expecting the alcohol to be that bitter, before sliding it back over to Jesper.

“I don’t understand how you can drink that shit this early.” 

Jesper shrugged.

“It’s a learned skill. Useful for when you piss off Kaz Brekker.”

“I should just talk to him, he’s being ridiculous.”

“I should just apologize, I shouldn’t drag this out any longer than necessary.”

“You’re not the one dragging it out, Jes. Besides, you did nothing wrong. I’m allowed to dance with who I want without him getting all pissy about it.”

“Yeah, well… you know. He does have a soft spot for you.”

You scoffed, shaking your head.

“He does not.” You said and Jesper gave you a look before the door to outside opened.

He turned around and grinned.

“Nina! True or false, Kaz has a soft spot for our good friend here.”

Nina appeared on Jesper’s side, looking dubiously at the alcoholic beverage he was nursing.

“Saints, you’re starting early today. True, obviously, why?”

“He does not! If you had danced with Jesper last night, Kaz would not have given the both of you the silent treatment for the last twelve hours.”

“Well, that’s because he’s in love with you. He was jealous. I would be jealous if I saw Matthias dancing with another girl.”

You fell silent.

“You and Matthias are dating.”

“And you’re going to tell me you and Kaz aren’t? That all of those longing looks are completely platonic?”

“I’m going to talk to him.”

Nina paused.

“Are you sure you’re in the best space of mind to do so?”

You didn’t respond as you stood up from your chair, heading back to the Slat, determined.

Kaz doesn’t look up as you open the door to his office without knocking, nor as you close the door behind you.

“You don’t get to be jealous, Kaz.”

He stopped working on whatever it was that he was writing, setting the pen down.

“I’ve never been jealous of anything.”

“Then what was last night?”

He didn’t say anything, shifting his jaw.

“It was nothing. It was… misplaced anger.”

You took a deep breathe, shaking your head.

“Don’t lie to me.”

“What do you want me to say?”

“The truth. For once.”

He stayed quiet, unable to meet your eyes.

“Tell me that you want me. Tell me to stay. And I will, and I will never ask you to say so again.”

Finally, he looked up.

“Is it not obvious?”

“It’s really not.” You said, your voice nearly breaking.

“I-” He started, his voice catching in his throat and breaking, unable to continue.

He looked down, his eyes closed.

You felt yourself deflate, tears in your eyes.

“Tell me to stay, Kaz, and I will. But when I exit this door, I’m gone.”

It feels like an eternity that you wait, that you stand there in his office foolishly, asking for something he can never give you, because these are the simple facts of the situation: Kaz Brekker will never ask for you to stay.

He will never pull you closer or grab your wrist while you’re walking out.

He will never ask you to stay because there is vulnerability in asking, in wanting.

He will watch you dance with Jesper, will watch you talk with Inej and giggle with Nina, will watch you look at him with inexplicable fondness and do nothing at all about it. 

You say nothing to him as you turn, speak nothing of the hope you still hold out for him.

The door shuts behind you and safely, behind the cover of wood and walls, his face contorts into anger and sadness and he hits his desk, slams his cane into a bookcase, does everything but rush out after you.

And you let him go.

[solarmorrigan]

“That’s it?” Steve asks. “You’re not going to go to prom because you don’t know how to dance?”

“I’m uncoordinated enough! I don’t need to be out there making even more of an idiot of myself in some floofy dress,” Robin insists.

“Rob, no one at prom knows how to dance. Everyone kind of looks like an idiot, that’s half the point,” Steve says.

“Oh yeah, Steve, you’re really selling me on the experience,” Robin drawls.

“No, listen, I’m not done,” Steve says, giving her a nudge. “The other half of the point is just… going and having the memories, y’know? You get to dress up and take the dumb picture with your date, and avoid the punch because someone probably spiked it, and you get to dance and be close to someone and just, like, be carefree for a night.”

Robin says nothing. She doesn’t agree that prom night is paramount to the teen experience, she doesn’t tease the shit out of him for having such stereotypical expectations of a dumb high school dance, she’s just… watching him. She’s turned sideways on the sofa, one leg drawn up to her chest, and she’s looking at him like he’s something between a fascinating puzzle and the saddest thing she’s seen all day, and he knows what she’s thinking.

Steve hadn’t gone to senior prom. He’d been planning to, of course, at the beginning of the year – he’d had Nancy then, and even as early as October, he’d been fantasizing about the flowers he’d bring her and the dinner they’d go to and the way they would sway slowly to whatever shitty songs the DJ put on. But by the time spring had rolled around, he not only hadn’t had Nancy, he hadn’t really had any friends in school at all—not real ones—and so he hadn’t seen the point in attending.

He'd gone to a movie with Dustin that night, instead (he’s at least eighty percent certain the little shit had set it up as some kind of pity outing, since he’d known Steve wasn’t going to prom, but it had been kind of nice that someone had cared enough to even try). It hadn’t been bad, but it hadn’t been exactly what he’d wanted.

Stiffly, Steve glances away from Robin and shrugs. “Or whatever. That’s what it’s like in the movies, right?”

Robin opens her mouth, but her eyes are still soft, and suddenly Steve doesn’t want to hear what she has to say. Instead, he levers himself up off the couch and turns to her, holding out a hand.

“C’mon, I’ll teach you,” he says, cracking a grin. “Then you won’t have an excuse not to go.”

“You… want to teach me how to dance,” Robin asks flatly.

Steve shrugs. “You got anything better to do tonight?”

Raising a sharp brow at Steve, Robin starts to smile, too. “You sure you wanna subject your feet to that?”

“I think I can handle it,” Steve shoots back, and then Robin is up off the couch and helping him push the coffee table out of the way.

They rifle through Steve’s collection of tapes until they find something he deems just the right tempo, pop the cassette in, and stand in the middle of the living room.

“Okay, give me your hand,” Steve says, taking her right hand in his left, “and your other goes on my shoulder.”

Robin does as he says, glancing dubiously down at her feet as Steve places his hand on her waist. “I’m not actually sure this is a good idea,” she says with a grimace. “I might be unteachable.”

“We haven’t even started yet,” Steve reminds her. “Seriously, relax, this is super easy. It’s just a box step waltz.”

Despite her uncertainty, Robin can’t help but smirk at him. “A waltz, huh?” she teases. “Did your parents make you take fancy-pants, rich kid dance lessons when you were younger, or something?”

Steve rolls his eyes. “No. My mom taught me,” he says, and then rushes on before Robin has anything to say about that. “So you’re gonna start by stepping back with your right foot when I step forward, alright?”

Brows furrowed, Robin nods and looks down at her feet again, and Steve squeezes her waist gently to get her attention.

“Look up at me, not at your feet. It’ll be easier, I promise.”

“How am I going to know what my feet are doing if I’m not looking at them?”

“You’re attached to them, Robin.”

“That’s debatable.”

Steve tries not to laugh. He really does. “Okay, you’re in marching band, right? This cannot be harder than following whatever steps that involves while also playing an instrument.”

“This is different!” Robin insists. “I can’t step on the French horn’s feet! The French horn isn’t gonna judge me if I fuck up! Like, the worst that’ll happen in marching band is that the drum major will yell at you, and the drum major is always yelling, so it doesn’t even make a difference anymore, and–”

“Hey,” Steve cuts in, squeezing Robin’s hand this time. “I’m not going to judge you if you fuck up, okay? I am literally the last person qualified to do that.”

Robin huffs out a little laugh. “Right. Two of a kind,” she says.

“Exactly.” Steve grins. “Now c’mon, Buckley, I know you’ve got this. On one, back with your right foot.”

Nodding, Robin glances down at her feet, but looks right back up at Steve. “Okay.”

“Okay. One–”

Steve steps forward with his left foot, and Robin immediately steps forward with her right and kicks him in the shin.

“Ow,” Steve says, dry and flat because it hadn’t really hurt.

“Sorry!” Robin ducks her head, laughing nervously.

Steve shakes his head. “Let’s try that again. Back with your right foot.”

“At least I had the right side?”

“Yep, now aim for the right direction, yeah?”

This time, when Steve counts off, Robin’s right foot goes back, and his left follows her.

“Okay, now what?” Robin asks, looking down again.

“Now, you’re gonna bring your left foot–” gently, Steve judges the top of her left foot with his right, “back,” as she begins to slide back, he moves and taps the inside of her ankle, “and to the left. Just like that.”

“No injuries this time,” Robin quips, and Steve smiles.

“Now move your right foot over next to your left.” He nods as Robin gets her feet back together. “Forward with your left foot – good,” he encourages as he steps back to mirror her. “And now forward and to the side with your right. Like you did with your left before, but opposite.”

“Uh.” Robin makes the move slowly, still staring down, but she looks back up at him when she gets her right foot planted. “Like that?”

“Yep. Now left foot over, and–” Steve follows her, bringing them back to the same position they started in, “that’s it!”

Robin blinks at him. “That’s it?”

“Easy, right?” Steve says.

“Yeah.” Robin nods hesitantly. “I think I can handle that.”

“Of course you can,” Steve insists. “Now let’s try it again. Back with your right foot. One–”

Robin steps forward with her right and kicks Steve in the shin.

“Sorry!”

Steve quickly becomes glad they’re both in their socks, or he’d be sporting much more serious bruises by the time they reach the end of the tape. Robin doesn’t have any trouble keeping the order of the steps in mind, but keeps moving in the opposite direction of where she’s supposed to be going, and Steve has been kicked and stepped on more times in the last half hour than he thinks he has been in his entire life.

“This is ridiculous,” Robin groans. “This is the literal definition of women having to do everything backwards and in heels!”

“You’re not wearing heels,” Steve points out.

“I would be at prom,” Robin says. “Why do I have to go backwards?”

“Because you’re following.”

“Well why can’t I lead?”

“Because you don’t even know how to follow!”

“Exactly! I’m starting from scratch either way!” Robin aims pleading eyes up at Steve. “Can’t we just try it in reverse? How much worse at it could I be?”

The thing is, Steve’s only ever led when dancing – he’s never had reason to learn how to do the follow part. But then, he’s already been reversing the steps in his head all night in order to instruct Robin; following couldn’t be that hard, could it?

“Fine,” Steve groans, letting his head hang back for a moment. “Fine. Trade me.”

“Yes! Trade!” Robin pumps her fist once in triumph, and Steve can’t help but laugh.

He lets go of her right hand and instead takes her left before putting his other hand on her shoulder.

“Hand on my waist.” Steve nods to his to his left side, and Robin moves into position. “Right, so you’re gonna step forward with your left this time, okay?”

Robin nods. “Forward with my left. Okay.”

“Okay. One–”

Steve steps back with his right foot. Robin steps back with her left.

They stand there, each half balanced on their back foot, staring at each other, before Robin bursts into laughter. Steve follows suit.

“I– I told you I was unteachable,” Robin giggles once they’ve caught their breath, her forehead resting on Steve’s shoulder.

“Nope, this is a personal challenge now,” Steve insists, still grinning. “I’m a lot of things, but I’m not a quitter. You’re going to learn to waltz if it kills me.”

“Shouldn’t it be ‘if it kills me’?” Robin draws back to ask.

“My death is looking a lot more likely at this point,” Steve says, and Robin snorts.

“God, you’re so dramatic.”

“Yeah, okay, Miss Unteachable. Ready to try again?”

Robin takes in a breath, wiggles her shoulders, and puts her hands back in position. “Ready.”

“Great. Just remember–”

“Forward with my left foot,” Robin echoes, overlapping Steve’s instruction perfectly.

Steve grins. “Okay, then. One–”

Somehow, Robin makes a better leader than a follower. Once she gets over the initial nerves, she manages the reverse order of steps just fine, even getting confident enough to stop looking at her feet after several sets.

(The fact that Steve has no trouble immediately reversing the steps himself and still instructing Robin receives no comment, though it does receive a brief glare, which gets a smug grin in return.)

They rewind the tape again and keep going. Steve lifts their joined hands to spin Robin around when they hit the second song and she follows with a laugh before insisting that, since she’s leading, she should be the one spinning Steve. He has to duck a little to get under her arm, but they feel the maneuver is quite successful.

Robin offers to try to dip him, but Steve declines, insisting he doesn’t feel like getting dropped on the floor today, earning a pinch at his waist even as Robin laughs.

As the evening wears on, they give up their carefully-held waltz positions and lean in close, until Robin’s head is resting on Steve’s shoulder again, her arms wrapped around his waist, while Steve drapes his arms over her shoulders and leans his head on top of hers.

“This is the kind of slow dancing I would’ve expected from Steve Harrington at prom,” Robin says as they sway in gentle circles to the beat of the music.

Steve hiccups out a little laugh. “Yeah, well, I had to make sure you knew how to do the real thing, first.”

“And?” Robin asks. “Do I pass?”

“I think you’ve got the hang of it,” Steve says. “Now you have no excuse not to go.”

“Steve,” Robin draws back a little, enough to look up at him without pulling away, “who the hell do you think I’m going to be dancing with at prom? It’s not like I can ask– anyone I’d be interested in.”

Steve’s heart sinks a little, the same way it always does when he’s reminded of how fucking unfair the world is to Robin and to other people like her. He shrugs a bit lamely. “You could go with friends?”

“I guess,” Robin says, staring at the front of Steve’s shirt, suddenly lost in thought.

Steve frowns. He doesn’t even remember what had gotten them onto the subject of prom—it’s January, the dance is months away—but what had started out as something fun is starting to make Robin feel bad, and he can’t have that.

“Hey, I didn’t mean–”

“You should go with me,” Robin cuts in, looking back up at him.

“What?”

“To prom,” Robin says. “You should be my big ol’ platonic date.”

“Right,” Steve drawls. “Because going to prom the year after you’ve graduated doesn’t scream that you haven’t moved on from high school at all. Definitely not sad, or anything.”

“Sure,” Robin agrees wryly. “About as un-sad as not going to your senior dance at all.”

Steve cuts a sharp look at Robin, who just smiles at him.

“I mean, I’m just saying: who better to give me the whole prom experience?” Robin shrugs, tone entirely too innocent to be trusted. “If you go with me, we can dress up and get the dumb picture together, and we can avoid the punch, and you can tell me all the gossip I know for a fact you still know about at least half the people there, we can dance… The whole shebang.”

When Steve had been imagining prom night with Nancy the year before, he’d imagined romance. He’d imagined meeting her eyes across the dinner table and sneaking kisses on the dance floor. He’d imagined going back to his place afterwards and making love, spending the rest of the night worshipping Nancy and making sure she knew how beautiful she’d looked and what a wonderful time he’d had with her.

But when he thinks about it now, he thinks about making jokes at dinner with Robin, about standing around in the tinsel-strewn gym and making catty remarks about who’s dressed terribly and whose dancing is even worse. He thinks about them dancing together, still, and maybe they’ll still go back to his place afterwards, where they can watch terrible movies for the rest of the night.

It doesn’t sound at all like what he’d wanted a year ago.

It sounds perfect, now.

“You’ll have to buy the tickets,” Steve finally says, and Robin’s face lights up. “And I expect my corsage to be very fancy.”

Robin laughs. “Should’ve known you wouldn’t be a cheap date, Harrington.”

“We can go Dutch on dinner, if you want,” Steve says.

“How generous,” Robin deadpans, and Steve doesn’t bother to hold back his own grin.

They both know he’s probably going to pay for dinner. He doesn’t mind.

“You’re serious, though?” Robin asks, looking up at him. “You really want to go to prom just to waltz with me?”

“Well, I went to all the trouble of teaching you.” Steve shrugs.

Robin bites her lip around a smile. “Do I get to lead?”

“For the sake of my shins, you’d better,” Steve says, and Robin laughs, leaning back in to cinch her arms around his waist again.

“You are my favorite person, you know that?” she says softly, just audible over music still crooning from the stereo.

“Yeah,” Steve says, pressing his cheek to the top of her head and closing his eyes. “You’re mine, too.”

[Prompt: Slow dancing]

[op-sys-chaos]

DPxDC Prompt: the Demon Twins were never separated

Most demon twins aus have them be separated, by circumstance or shenaniganery or death. But what if they were never separated?

Madeline Fenton has a secret. Her real name is Talia al Ghul, and she’s been undercover for years, trying to see if ectoplasm has any connection to the Lazarus Pits by studying it with a scientist she fell in love with along the way. Yes, Jasmine Fenton is really her kid. The red hair comes from a recessive gene from Jack’s side, though Talia’s red wig makes people think Jazz gets it from her. People assume that Maddie is just abnormally tan for a redhead, despite most redheads being pale af. However, when on a mission as Talia (framed as a girls trip with an old friend when telling Jack where she was going), she fell in love with Bruce and ended up getting pregnant with twins. Jack Fenton doesn’t know any better. In fact, he doesn’t even realize his son isn’t his son.

And he has no clue that his son is a twin.

Talia left one son with Ra’s for training and kept one for the Fentons, telling her father it was needed for her cover. However, she didn’t want either of her sons to fall behind on their socialization or their assassin training. So, every other month, they switched places.

Damian and Danny grew up constantly keeping in touch. Talia had given them secret communicators, so whichever one was in Amity reported back to the one in Nanda Parbat. This way, they both knew exactly what was going on in their shared life at all times. (Ra’s knew about the twins and just did the training sessions twice, once per kid, so they didn’t have to worry about pretending in Nanda Parbat.)

Eventually, Danny and Damian got sick of Nanda Parbat. They both loved having a civilian life. But they couldn’t do that in Amity, since a sudden appearance of a twin would raise all kinds of questions. So they had to decide. Which one would stay in Amity, and which one would go to Gotham to live with their father?

Before they could pick, the decision was made for them, when Danny died in the portal in front of Sam and Tucker. Damian couldn’t fake that no matter how hard he tried, and the experiment was not replicable.

(They didn’t tell Talia this, of course. She didn’t know about Phantom and between her dubiously ethical studies of ectoplasm and ghosts and her assassin background, she was not to be trusted with that information. They told her they decided it with rock paper scissors.)

And so, Damian went to Gotham, and Danny stayed in Amity. They kept in touch constantly. Danny was jealous he’d never get to meet his father and the rest of his siblings, and Damian very much missed his friends Sam and Tucker. So they constantly give each other updates on their lives on their secret communicators.

Eventually, after a few years apart, they reunite. The JL needs Phantom for something so Dami calls him in and Danny’s so hyped about finally getting to meet the heroes he’s heard so much about for years. After the problem is handled, since the cat’s out of the bag, Danny brings Jazz, Ellie, Sam, and Tucker with him to visit his brother at Wayne Manor. Jazz, the one person who’d always been able to tell the pair apart (even if she never mentioned it to her parents, she talked to her siblings about knowing which was which and helping them form their own individual wants and desires separately from each other), had been trying to get them to reunite for years and was ecstatic to see her other little brother again. Danny and Damian are of course thrilled to see each other. Ellie is excited to meet her template’s twin, having heard so much about him from Danny. And Sam and Tucker, who could always tell that something was different between the two but thought it was closer to a mood disorder rather than a secret twin swap, are shocked to realize that Damian is a different person but thrilled to see him nonetheless. Now that they know, it’s obvious in hindsight.

Meanwhile, the batfamily is losing their shit. How the hell did Damian keep an entire half of his life - and a whole twin that he talked to all time - from all of them? Weren’t they supposed to be detectives? How did they miss this??

Cue all kinds of place swapping shenanigans from the twins who spent their whole childhoods doing it. Further infuriating the bats when they can’t tell them apart and the Amity folks can, even if it’s a struggle. (Sam and Tucker guess right about 80% of the time because they’ve known them for so long, even if they didn’t know it was two separate people at the time. Jazz gets it right 100% of the time, she just knows her brothers so well. Ellie cheats and senses Danny with her ghost sense so she’s always right without guessing.) Bruce nearly has a mental breakdown upon learning that he has another son who he can’t tell apart from the son he knew about half the time. Tim’s the only bat who can pick up on which twin is which, and that’s mostly because Danny’s a lot more chill around him than Damian is. Damian, in order to better swap places with Danny, backs off the Tim murder plans. It’s a win win for Tim. (I should note that they’re not constantly swapping. They do it for fun and to cover for each other but they do it maybe 5% of their time in the manor. Most of the figuring out which is which happens at the start of the day when they all sit down for breakfast together. The bats are consistent with that. It’s the “have they swapped or not” incidents that get to them.)

Also, Danny comes to live with them half the time, splitting his time between Gotham and Amity. He always brings Jazz and Ellie with him so they’re just honorary Wayne kids now too, a bit like Steph. Damian also starts spending time in Amity every once in a while when Danny’s in Gotham. He does miss Talia and Jack, after all. He’s usually not there long, though, and most of his visits are spent with Sam and Tucker anyway. Yes, he sees them in Gotham all the time since Danny drags them over a lot, but it’s nice to hang out with them in his hometown. Their hometown. It’s fun to revisit his memories of his childhood with some of his best friends.

[tennessoui]

if/when Anakin finds out Quinlan tried to convince Obi-Wan to fall in love with him instead of Anakin (to save his life, but still), Vos is going to need to run for his life akjskajskjakjsghk

Quinlan: hey obi-wan so like. are you positive that you won’t tell Skywalker about who gave you the flowers that killed you?

obi-wan: absolutely. No one will tell him anything. I forbid it. and I’m dying so you have to listen to me.

Quinlan: right right. glad to hear you’re really getting mileage out of this dying thing. but I was thinking like, you know. After you’ve died, surely we could tell him.

Obi-Wan: out of the question. No way. Absolutely not.

Quinlan: right right. It’s just that you realize that he’s not gonna like….be normal about this right? like he’s going to want to exact dubiously logical revenge on whoever killed you by not loving you back, right, and if he doesn’t know who that it is, then he’s gonna just start going down the list of anyone who you’ve ever spoken to in front of him and killing them

Obi-Wan: he will be fine eventually. His wife can comfort him.

Quinlan: right right but like. I’m on that list, right, and it would be a shame if I had to kill your padawan in self defense. I mean, there would be some good moments, but overall I figure you’d be sort of upset about it.

Obi-Wan: yes I would be rather cross if you murdered my padawan

Quinlan: right right. so like. have you thought any harder about falling in love with me? Skywalker would still really hate that obviously but at least then you’d be alive and I could just like chuck you at him in a defensive maneuver whenever he comes at me

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

A theory i have is that the reason Malleus isn't able to find the group sometimes when they go to a different dream, is because his dream self doesn't EXIST in the said dream. Don't you find it weird, the whole time MC, Grim and Dia-boys where in Lilia dream, no Malleus appeared BUT when dream baby Malleus is born then POOF here he is ? Take the pomefiore dream for example, no dream Malleus so no IRL Malleus. His dream selves are probably like gps or something to naviguate in Dreams -sarah

That’s… not a theory though 😅 The game essentially confirms that the Malleus is likely not capable of manifesting in a dream unless the circumstances of the dream are something he is reasonably familiar with. This is because magic in Twisted Wonderland is reliant on the limits of one’s imagination.

Because Lilia’s dream largely takes place in a period of time Malleus himself is not informed about, Malleus is not able to imagine it, and thus cannot appear yntil his own egg hatches. With that birth, Malleus now has a presence (ie “an understanding”) that allows him to enter the dream. It should also be noted that Malleus was keeping a close eye on Lilia’s dream in particular, since that’s someone he is close with—so naturally, when Lilia begins to “wake”, Malleus barges in using his new opening (his freshly hatched self) to fix things.

How Malleus’s UM works exactly is really dubious, so we can only guess the details. However, Idia tells us that while the “real” Malleus may be the boss that oversees everything, there also are many dream versions of Malleus that manage each individual dreamer.

Doesn’t that imply that there has to be a Malleus for every dream (and if not all of them, then surely most of them)? We probably just don’t see them in all instances because he isn’t a relevant character for the happiness of most of the NRC students (or, in the case of Vil, Kalim, and Jamil), they’re not at NRC in their dream worlds. There must still be Malleuses lurking around making sure the dreams are okay, and perhaps to serve as a point of entry for the “real” one. (… Still, it’s sort of funny yet sad to think about how many NRC students’ perfectly happy ideal worlds do not involve Malleus in any way, shape, or form.)

There’s a bunch of hoops the wake up squad has to jump through to not alert Malleus of their dream hopping. Ortho has to project holograms of the dreamers to trick the Malleuses overseeing their dreams into believing everything is going smoothly. They have to limit how many students can dream hop at once, because too many bodies could also tip Malleus off. Etc, etc, etc—it’s a lot of contrivances and rules. It’s like tying to tiptoe through a field you know is rigged with tons of booby traps.

I think their strategy seems to be working…? Cuz none of the Malleuses seem to have noticed to the degree where they would alert the real one to come in and stomp out the pests. So to me, Malleus not showing up doesn’t feel like the result of there being no Malleuses in those dream worlds to connect through. It’s more like he never got told in the first place that there’s an issue to be resolved.

Arguably, it should be a easier for Malleus to pull up to these dreams since they mostly take place in the present, a time period he can more easily imagine than 500 years in the past (Lilia’s dream). Some of the dreams (Idia’s, Rook’s, Epel’s, Sebek’s) take place AT Night Raven College too, a location Malleus is very familiar with as a third year student. If you want to count events (even though technically they are not canon to the main story), Malleus has also already visited the Scalding Sands in A Firelit Sky. Thus, he shouldn’t have trouble visiting Jamil’s dream either. Malleus isn’t chasing them because the game reasons that Idia’s “let’s keep Malleus distracted/keep him from noticing us!” plan is working.

bfkwvwiwkw I hope that made sense! Talking about Malleus’s dubiously defined dream magic always makes me get confused since it’s juggling a lot of details 💦

[rpmemesbyarat]

This is an hour long, but I think it’s worth a watch. It goes into the craze about “narcissists” on the internet in general, the dubiousness of the way the term is used, the demonization (both figurative AND literal—wait til you get to the “Jezebel spirit” bits!) of people they claim to be “narcissists”, the very flawed “spot the narcissist” and “how to combat narcissists” shit, the idea that “well some people are just bad—but not you—and therefore it’s ok for you to treat them in any way no matter how horrible btw they can’t even feel it it” is SHOCKINGLY HARMFUL, the misogyny and transphobia and racism in how the concept is used and who gets diagnosed as what and why in the first place,  the varying reasons people buy into these narratives, and more. It may not be relevant to writing PER SE, but it could help with reference in writing, and in avoiding replicating this sort of thing in your works not just with stigmatized diagnoses but ANY group, real or imaginary. I know I always find it KEENLY disturbing when the writer decides “this type of person is the kind it’s ok for good people to harm, and anything my characters do to them is morally just and doesn’t reflect on them” Like, that’s been a discussion from a racial angle a lot in fantasy as it is, with orcs and such, but I think this is worth having too. Some of the bits here where people advise their followers on how to “torture” a “narcissist” really disturbed me. Also bonus points for going into what dangerous bullshit the “empath” stuff is.

[moonstruckme]

hi !! i saw that your requests were open and i'd really love if you wrote something with james (or poly!m !!) with a gn!reader taking up literature in uni who tends to get back pains from being hunched over reading and writing almost all hours of the day (definitely not projecting, hehe!)

i love the stuff you write and everythings just so sweetly written and portrayed so lovely !! thank you for keeping the marauders fandom alive lol

Thank you ml <3

modern au

poly!marauders x gn!reader ♡ 709 words

James plops down beside you on the couch, and when he pokes your spine you straighten reflexively. 

“Sorry,” you mumble, only half in the room as the rest of your brain continues working on your essay. 

“Are you really not done yet?” Sirius asks, putting a bag of popcorn in the microwave. You start typing faster. They’re going to want to start the movie soon, and then your laptop is going to be wrested away from you whether you’ve reached a stopping point or not. “I can’t remember the last time I spent more than a couple hours on an essay. You’ve been laboring over that thing all day.” 

“It’s a long one,” you admit, “but it’s hardly labor.” 

“Sure looks like it, when your back is hunched worse than a coal miner’s.” 

You give him a deadpan look. Sirius glances down at your fingers, still typing rapidly, and shudders. 

“Fucked how you can do that.” 

“Literature students might be the new coal miners,” says James.

You hum dubiously, looking back to your work. “Not sure that’s a super fair comparison.” 

“Yeah, I wouldn’t quite say that,” Remus agrees with you, “but it’s not like you’re not doing yourself any harm when you write all day like this, love. Your back is already hurting you—” 

“You’ll probably get carpal tunnel,” James adds. 

“—and I know looking at your laptop for this long gives you headaches.” Remus’ slow strides into the living room feel like a countdown clock. You manage to hammer out the end of your sentence just before he pulls your laptop out from under your fingers. “If you’re not careful, it’s gonna fuck up your sleep. That’s enough for tonight.” 

You sigh but don’t complain, rolling back your shoulders to ease some of the tautness there. Your spine crackles, quicker and louder than the popcorn popping in the kitchen, and James flinches away from you. 

“God, make it stop,” he pleads. 

You ignore him and roll your neck to the side, eliciting a series of cracks from there too. James makes a dramatically horrified sound and squeezes his eyes shut, and Remus grabs your head in both hands, restraining you. 

“Don’t,” he tells you severely. “We’ve been over this.” 

“Freak,” Sirius says lovingly as he pulls the bag of popcorn from the microwave. 

“It hurts,” you complain. 

“Sounds like it, fuck,” James agrees emphatically. Now the danger has passed, he leans towards you again, splaying a protective palm over your mid back. “Sirius, could you grab my icy hot from the fridge? Here, lovie, lie down.” 

Remus lets go of your face somewhat reluctantly, letting James help you lay across his lap. His hand smooths up and down your spine, pressing down lightly upon muscles rigid with tension. You sort of wish he’d just crush you. You’re sure he could, he doesn’t spend all that time at the gym for nothing. 

“I’m gonna get you a back brace,” Remus mutters, fondness under the veneer of resentment in his tone. 

“That'd be kind of hot.” Sirius lifts your feet, dropping down onto the couch before passing James the tube of cream. “Those are the strappy looking things, right? I’m for it.” 

“I do not consent,” you say clearly, then hiss as James applies the cool balm to your lower back. 

He and Sirius laugh. Remus reaches over to press your shoulders back down. 

“Easy, angel,” says James. “It’ll help.” 

“I didn’t know it’d be this cold,” you defend yourself, a little laugh tripping out of you as well. “You do this voluntarily?” 

“You’ll see why in a bit.”

“If I were spending all of my Saturday hunched over my laptop and a bunch of books,” Sirius says, “I think I’d at least use the right ‘your.’ What are they teaching you, babe?” 

You suppress a groan. You’d sent Sirius a grammatically incorrect text two days ago, and he’s yet to stop lording it over you. 

“That was autocorrect,” you tell him again. 

He hums noncommittally, tracing a path up your calf with his forefinger. “I’m just saying, can it really be worth it if we’re making those sorts of mistakes? Will they even still give you your degree?” 

“Sirius, their back is getting tense again. Knock it off.”

[alice-after-dark]

back at it again with my shitty fandom hottakes — if you’re still accepting asks about the whole “canon v. fanon” thing, that is — because i have ✨ opinions ✨ that have been ruminating in my head for a while now and i kind of wanted to throw them out into the void (i DO humbly apologise for the length — i have more than one talking point and am not known for my brevity lol)

(1) Alastor being sex-repulsed, or just sex negative in general.

yeah, we’re getting the controversial one out of the way first: probably should clarify that i personally AM a sex-repulsed aroace and therefore, i can See why people, including our fellow aces, naturally come to this conclusion — really, it’s only when people tote this statement as fact *specifically* to deter shipping that annoys the hell out of me. Alastor is a mysterious character: we REALLY don’t know much of anything about him in the grand scheme of things beyond what he *chooses* to reveal and that includes the matter of his sexuality — and frankly, he doesn’t reveal much of anything on that front, man doesn’t even know what an “asexual” *is*, XD. Most evidence I’ve seen citing his so-called sex repulsion that *isn’t* just dubiously canon at best supplemental material such as the Hunnicast or simply headcanon being repackaged as fact are the two scenes where Alastor turns down Angel Dust — a character who, especially at that point in the narrative, is VERY forward in his hypersexuality. The thing that i just don’t see a lot of people acknowledge, however, is: (1) Alastor turns him down, yes, but not in any way that would characterize him as being *particularly* sex negative (“Ha! *No.*”/“Haha! Never going to happen!”), he’s just bluntly rejecting Angel Specifically; and (2) Husk *also* rejected Angel and far more overtly before the two started to genuinely bond + is much more open about his discomfort with Niffty’s kinks, and yet he isn’t treated as sex-repulsed by the much of fandom — quite the opposite, in fact. Frankly, while i can *see* the reasoning behind portraying Alastor as sex-repulsed, the idea of him being this sex negative person who lashes out or faints at the notion of literally *anything* that can be perceived as sexual to be laughable when you consider his long-lived friendship with Mimzy — a *flapper* — and that he grew up in a period of great sex revolution in the United States: just because the 1920s is considered “prudish” by today’s standards doesn’t negate that fact; i can easily see Alastor as being repressed as a consequence of the time period and his unwillingness to adapt, but not to the extent that he’ll keel over seeing a fucking ankle getting flashed or while getting hit on — he *is* an adult, after all, and has had plenty of time to adjust to Hell’s general hedonism while not partaking in it himself.

(2) the infantilization of Charlie, Niffty, and Velvette. pretty self explanatory, i think: fandom in *general* has a pretty glaring issue of treating happy-go-lucky or just...short characters, especially women or neurodivergent characters, like children and it’s not *just* limited to hazbin fandom — it just makes me sad.

Charlie gets it slightly less *severely* compared to the other two, i believe, but i still see it crop of in some sects: yes, she’s clearly sheltered, and yes, she wears her heart on her sleeve to her detriment, but she’s also a grown ass woman (Faustisse — who i don’t personally consider a reliable source for most things relating to the current day show by virtue to them having left the project in 2020 — has stated that she is around 200 years old, so i’m going with the general assumption she’s older than MOST sinners here) and she *is* trying to run a business beyond feel good therapy exercises, however messily because, frankly, she isn’t particularly *good* at doing business: still, i see certain sects of the fandom treat and portray her as having the naivety of a child, reducing her to an “uwu smol bean” blindly trusting even the shadiest of fuckers like Alastor without any hesitation or critical thinking whatsoever under the notion of “well, EVERYONE can be redeemed” and relegating characters like Vaggie to be glorified babysitters at *best*: in canon, yes her ideas of redemption aren’t particularly well-rounded *yet* and it’s clear there’s a disconnect between her and other sinners due to her upbringing, but she *isn’t* an idiot — she’s well aware Alastor is shifty as fuck and doesn’t have her best interests at heart no matter how much she hopes he secretly *does* care, that’s *why* she held off on making any deals with him until she was driven into a corner, and she has no problem calling people out on their shittiness or showing her teeth just because she leans more towards pacifism compared to the rest of the cast.

Niffty, frankly, isn’t treated *much* better in canon compared to fandom, but that’s honestly a rant for a *different* day: it’s obvious she likely has SOME kind of disorder to explain much of her more eccentric behaviour, frankly we can speculate but we simply won’t know for sure until we know more about her in general, which *may* come in s2 considering where things left off with her. Oftentimes in fanon, she’s pigeonholed into simply being “Alastor’s hypomanic daughter” rather than her own individual character, which is a shame — it’s obvious the two have an amicable relationship despite her being his thrall, but it doesn’t read as particularly familial to me personally beyond him finding her antics amusing (and in a, frankly, patronizing way typical of Alastor) — and she’s regularly coddled, not allowed to have relationships with other characters *beyond* a parental dynamic with deerboi or husk: despite the actual show pointing to her having, at the very least, a friendly relationship with Mimzy and the rest of the hotel’s guests, and her being a former housewife who’s explicitly into hardcore kink/BDSM.

Velvette getting this treatment is the most egregious to me, tbh: i’ve frequently seen her be boiled down to being staticmoth’s glorified wingwoman/their daughter rather than their *equal* and business partner — frankly, i think people hear that she was the “youngest Overlord” and took that in the most literal way possible to portray her as a glorified teenager, her being a social media influencer not helping matters in that regard because people tend to subconsciously associate social media primarily with teenage girls due to bias. i can’t speak on *some* aspects of her infantilization in fandom that gives me a particular case of the “ick”, but I can’t help but be bothered by it showing up even in work I *enjoy*. Food for thought, all that jazz.

(3) Vox being portrayed as this overly flirtatious and horny 24/7 voyeur creep guy, *especially* around Alastor. this may just be my bisexuality speaking, but it just...*doesn’t* sit well with me when so far the only *confirmed* bisexual male character in the show is written with this sleazy behaviour he doesn’t exhibit in the show proper — yes, he’s suave and charismatic, and clearly not a prude considering his frenching with Val and...well, Val: “[which whore] could i be talking about?!” Vox: [points to self], and yes, he runs surveillance literally *everywhere*, but...[sighs] He Would Not Fucking Say That, guys — where at *best*, he’s a horndog, and at worst, an outright rapist, who’s *solely* driven by his obsession with Alastor and fuck the rest of his character, i guess. It just...makes me uncomfortable. but hey, that’s just me.

(christ on a stick this is a lot, i am so, so sorry :skull:)

Oh, MK, this was delicious. Do not apologize for the length, I am absolutely delighted. I am always interested in hearing peoples’ hot takes!

(1) Alastor being sex-repulsed, or just sex negative in general.

I totally get you on this one and honestly, I never thought about the Husk angle but you’re absolutely right. Husk rejects Angel way more often that Alastor and yet I have never seen Husk labeled as sex-repulsed, yet Alastor is labeled as that for…doing the exact same thing? What? I’m asexual and possibly aromantic myself, and this just rubs me the wrong way with people just assuming because he’s asexual that he doesn’t like sex full-stop. Not how it works.

I also really like how you point out the historical context of it. The 1920s were a time, man. This fic explores some of the crazy things that went down in the 1920s and it’s wild. But yeah, the idea that he would freak out over any little sexual thing (which…we actively see him not do?) is frustrating and kind of makes him out to be this delicate flower whose innocence must be protected.

Now, if people want to make him sex repulsed for various reasons, then go right ahead, but I definitely agree that it irks me when I see people trying to use it as an argument against literally any ship with Alastor.

(2) the infantilization of Charlie, Niffty, and Velvette.

Yeah, I definitely see this. Charlie is naive, but it gets ramped up a lot. People forget she is literally now an official war veteran and has actually led an army into battle. She is an overwhelmingly positive character, yes, but she’s not an infant. We even saw in the pilot that she was cautious and hesitant to even speak to Alastor, let alone make a deal with him (she slammed the door in his face twice). She is kind and emotional and optimistic, but she’s not stupid. She wants to see the best in everyone. This doesn’t make her a child. And like you said, we see her demon side come out when she’s angry. She’s not above getting pissed and letting it show when she really wants to.

I think people honestly forget that Niffty is not a child. She looks like one, but yeah no she’s an adult. Like you pointed out, this is done pretty frequently in canon and fanon. I honestly like her and Alastor more as friends than as a parental relationship, someone who entertains him and he genuinely enjoys the company of. I do hope we get to see a little bit more of her being an actual character in season 2 because I do love her and want to see better for her.

Velvette is complicated for me as the Instagram kind of did set her up as their daughter, so I think a lot of people got used to that concept. But honestly? I prefer them as equals. I can see Vox taking on more of a mentor role with her when they first started out while Valentino was more her creative BFF, but ultimately she is shown to be a capable character who can stand on her own two feet. I do think the whole social media thing and her being the youngest plays into her infantilization alongside her previous incarnation, but I definitely prefer her as an equal player in the game.

(3) Vox being portrayed as this overly flirtatious and horny 24/7 voyeur creep guy, especially around Alastor.

Fucking THIS. Okay, gonna just jump forward a bit here, but people calling him a creepy horny voyeur because of the cameras bothers me so much. HE. IS. A. CONTROL. FREAK. Those cameras aren’t for him to jack off to! They’re literally to siphon information and blackmail and anything else useful. He is a connoisseur of information. Literally every instance where we see him using his camera, HE IS INFO GATHERING. The one exception is when he is watching Alastor’s fight with Adam and that is clearly outside his norm. That being said, I think people take that scene and run with it, especially his comment about being “so hard right now,” which I think is ridiculous. He’s exaggerating, he’s having fun and joking around because the guy he hates is getting his ass handed to him. And the idea that his obsession with Alastor rules his brain 24/7 is a hard pass for me. The man is the CEO of a media and technological empire. He does not have the time to devote his every waking moment to obsessing over Alastor. In the scene where Pentious calls him, it’s pretty clear that Vox was busy doing other things both times he was called. He wasn’t sitting around with bated breath waiting for Sir Pentious to report in. He was just going about his day and getting his shit done.

Also hard agree as a fellow bisexual that it’s troubling that the only confirmed male bisexual character gets so hypersexualized in a way that he…doesn’t demonstrate at all? Literally the one time we see him get sexual is the fight with Adam. That’s it and yet suddenly it’s his entire personality. The flirtiest we ever see him act is during his part with Valentino in the finale and even that isn’t focused on sex or romance. It’s more them talking about being in power.

[2nd2ndalto]

Squeeze

I have written Solangelo smut. I’m sorry. If it makes you feel any better, everyone is eighteen, they keep all their clothes on, and I’ve tried to keep the language as clean as possible. If you’re familiar with my writing style, you’ll know I’ve done my best to keep it sweet, silly and in-character. So there’s that. Also I completely stole this premise from an X-Files fic.

Nico passes the last crate of supplies to Austin, who manages to jam it into the front seat of the camp van, next to Argus. Austin shuts the front passenger door, finally knocking his hip against it to get it to close properly. He scratches his head.

“Yeah, this is definitely more than I thought I ordered,” he says apologetically.

Will shrugs. “It’s fine, Austin. Just means we won’t have to stock up again for a while.”

They’ve made this six-hour trip to Pittsburgh to collect supplies for the infirmary - Kayla, Austin, Will and Nico. And Argus, of course. The drive out had been easy - Austin in the front with Argus, and plenty of room to stretch out in the back rows. The drive home is evidently going to be… less comfortable.

“Well, I think there’s enough room for me and Austin in the first row,” Kayla determines, rising on her toes to peer around a pile of boxes. She elbows Nico. “You and Will will have to make do in the back.”

Nico peers dubiously into the back of the van, pressing his face and hands to the smoked glass window. “There’s barely room for one of us back there.” There are boxes of supplies crammed into nearly every inch of the van's interior, packed up to the ceiling and covering most of the seating space.

Kayla shrugs. “You can sit on his lap, you’ll be fine.”

Nico grimaces. Not that he doesn’t enjoy sitting on his boyfriend’s lap, but it’s something they do occasionally when they’re short on seating at campfire or Will’s feeling particularly silly at mealtimes. Not something Nico really wants to do for six hours straight. Newly eighteen, Nico has managed to grow several inches since he first arrived at camp and he feels he’s mostly outgrown lap-sitting.

“I could just shadow-travel back…” he begins. But Will’s face falls, and Nico immediately backtracks. He agreed to come along on this trip to keep Will company, and he’d feel like a jerk backing out now.

Nico shakes his head. “You know what, it’s fine. Although you might change your mind once your legs fall asleep under my bony butt.”

“Pff. As if. You’re light as a feather,” Will grins, tugging him in by his waist for a warm kiss.

Nico can’t help the stupid smile that spreads over his face, despite the many kisses they’ve shared over the last months. He sees Kayla roll her eyes in his periphery, Austin lightly gagging.

It turns out there isn’t even any easy way into the back of the van, and as Kayla and Austin clamber over boxes into the first row of seats, Argus leads Nico and Will around to the back doors and they climb over the seat backs into the third row.

Nico settles himself on the taller boy’s lap, leaning back to allow Will to pull the seatbelt over both of them.

“Are you sure about this?” Nico asks his boyfriend. Because it can’t be comfortable for Will with those long legs of his. Those long legs and the… strong thighs Nico’s seated on. Gods. Nico swallows.

“Yup,” Will says easily, wrapping his arms around Nico’s middle. He drops his chin to Nico’s shoulder. “I have a chin rest and everything.”

Will nuzzles into his neck, his face scratchy against sensitive skin. Nico gasps and Will giggles.

“I guess I can put us both to sleep if we get too uncomfortable,” Nico muses. The sun is just dipping below the horizon, and Austin and Kayla had mentioned catching a nap on the way back to camp.

“Mmm. It’s fine,” Will says. “I like cuddling with you.”

Nico’s stomach flip-flops pleasantly. He likes it too, of course. It’s what they do with their time alone, mostly. Cuddling, and kissing. Talking. Then more cuddling and more kissing. Neither of them has been in any rush to venture into anything bolder. This, the two of them together has only spanned about six months. And it’s… really good. It’s been enough just to have the comfort of Will’s nearness. His sunny energy and easy touches. Will makes everything warmer, lighter.

They settle into the seat as best they can, chatting for a while before falling into a comfortable silence. Nico turns his head to Will’s, breathing him in, sinking into the heat that always seems to radiate off the boy behind him. He probably could actually sleep like this, he thinks. He shifts a bit, trying to find the most comfortable position for both of them in this tight space.

And that’s when he feels it.

For a moment he thinks it must be Will’s wallet. Maybe a pack of gum? A roll of gauze? He’s reached halfway back to adjust whatever it is that’s poking him in the ass when he freezes. Because that’s definitely not a wallet. That’s -

“I’m so sorry,” Will whispers, tense.

“Oh. That’s - it’s fine.” Nico huffs out a laugh, a little embarrassed as he realizes that’s his boyfriend’s dick. “It’s um. It’s not like you’re doing it on purpose.”

“I’m really, really not,” Will says in a rush. “I’m so sorry, I just -”

“Hey. Will.” Nico reaches back awkwardly to pat the other boy’s cheek. “It’s fine. Really. Don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal.”

Will sighs and Nico feels the tension in his body ease, marginally.

But the thing is… it kind of feels like a big deal, and Nico’s never really felt it before, except for maybe the occasional brush or bump during times their kissing has become particularly heated. But at those times, Will’s always taken things down a notch, pulled back, shifted away. And that’s not really an option at the moment.

Nico tries, though, carefully tilting his hips to the side and trying to shift his weight forward. But Will hisses, his hands shooting to Nico’s waist, fingers gripping painfully.

“Maybe don’t… move,” he grits out.

“Sorry, I was just trying to -”

“I know, but can you just - can you just hold still?”

Will sounds desperate, pained, and Nico nods, freezing so abruptly that his muscles begin to ache with the effort after only a moment. He tries to focus on the landscape flashing by outside the window, but there’s not much distraction there. It’s fully dark now, and the only thing to divert Nico from the bulge pressing insistently into his backside is the occasional flash of light from a passing car.

Nico’s trying, very hard, not to let his own body get too… interested… in their current predicament. It won’t help matters. Will’s already tense, and Nico doesn’t want to make things worse. And besides, he feels kind of awful being turned on when Will is clearly uncomfortable. Nico tries to turn his attention to the boxes stacked around them instead, resolutely reading the labels.

Wrapped tongue depressors. Medium alcohol swabs. Nonwoven sponges.

It’s just… there, though, hot and hard against his backside, and he can feel every inch of it.

No. Stop it.

Non-adherent pads. Conforming gauze.

It feels really hard. And... big. Is it big? Or is it just because he’s sitting on it? Sort of… against it. Whatever. How big is it, exactly?

Nico shakes his head, a twitch. This line of enquiry is not helping matters.

Cotton-tipped applicators.

The thing is, the two of them have done a lot of kissing, for months now. Even more, lately. And, inevitably, there are the thoughts that follow when Nico’s alone in his cabin. Not to mention the dreams that sometimes wake him - so much warmer and softer than the nightmares that have plagued him for years. If he’s being completely honest with himself, he’s more than ready to move things to the next level with Will, whatever that might mean for them.

Have you considered, Nico’s brain offers helpfully, what it would be like if you were both wearing far fewer clothes right now?

No.

Nico’s in jeans, but Will’s penchant for cargo shorts even now, in February… well it’s difficult not to be extraordinarily aware of just how thin that layer of fabric is -

No. No.

Nico swallows, determinedly ignoring the way his jeans are becoming uncomfortably snug. Will is still stiff as a board behind him. In more ways than one.

Nico’s learned, over the last few years, that when Will is relaxed, it’s much easier for him to relax, too. And unfortunately the opposite is also true. He’s never been sure whether this has something to do with Will’s powers or if it’s just the bond the two of them share, this bond that’s grown closer and more certain with each year that passes. The way they know each other instinctively, inside and out.

Nico’s shoulders are in knots and he really wants to lean back again, but he doesn’t want to make things any more difficult for Will. But a moment later the decision is made for him as Argus floors the gas. Luckily the walls of boxes around them are packed in so tightly that they don’t shift much, but Nico is thrown back against his boyfriend’s chest, his ass pressing firmly into… well.

Will whimpers softly.

Nico cringes in sympathy. He turns to press a kiss to Will’s jaw. “You okay?”

“The more I try not to think about it, the more I… can’t stop thinking about it,” Will mumbles. His eyes are squeezed shut, breath shallow.

“Sorry,” Nico murmurs. “I’ll try to stop being so hot.”

Will breathes out a laugh. “Yeah, could you?”

Nico feels a little rush of relief. Because, look. They’ve been in far, far worse predicaments together, right? This, by comparison, is honestly funny. Or maybe it will be later, at least.

Nico turns his head and cranes his neck, letting his breath brush Will’s ear. “Star Trek is far superior to Star Wars. True crime is the worst kind of crime,” he whispers.

Will laughs nervously. “What are you doing?”

“Shh, I’m trying to help you be repulsed by me,” Nico answers, right in his ear. Will giggles. It sounds a little tense, but Nico decides it still counts.

Nico keeps it up as long as he can (Golden Oreos are an abomination, your dad is the god of too many things, sometimes when you ask me if I’ve eaten any vegetables today - I lie.), until Will is shaking with laughter, Nico giggling in whispers against his head.

Finally he runs out of ideas and he settles back against his boyfriend, gently rocked by the last of their laughter, the rise and fall of Will’s breath. Will’s arms are looped loosely around him.

Nico shifts his hips cautiously and Will gasps, sharp.

“Sorry,” Nico grimaces. “That didn’t help?”

“Well. I feel better,” Will says softly, “so thanks for that. But I’m still um… you know.” He sighs. “I’m really -”

“Don’t be sorry,” Nico interrupts.

“I’ll try,” Will murmurs. He presses his nose to the place where Nico’s shoulder meets his neck, and Nico can tell the other boy is trying to settle his breathing. He reaches a hand up to twine in Will’s hair, a gentle tether. From what he can tell, Will’s… issue… hasn’t improved at all. But his body feels more relaxed in most of the places they’re pressed together.

“You know I wanna… do stuff. With you. Right?” Nico murmurs, after a few minutes have passed in silence.

“What stuff?”

“Like, this kind of stuff.” Nico rolls his hips in demonstration and Will’s breath hitches.

Nico pauses. “Do you… do you not want to do that kind of stuff with me?” he asks, as it suddenly occurs to him that maybe he should be worried about it.

“Nico, no.” Will shakes his head immediately, pressing a kiss to the side of Nico’s head. “Of course I want to do that stuff with you. Just - not like this. Not because - not because I can’t control myself. I want us to do it because we both want to. I want it to be special.”

Nico considers. “Will you tease me if I tell you that everything we do together is special?”

Will huffs out a laugh, warm on Nico’s neck. “Maybe a little. But… I feel that way too. Obviously.”

“What do we do, then?” Nico asks.

Because the thing is, Nico’s first impulse, always, is to help Will, in whatever form that might take - just as Will’s done for him a hundred times over. And if they’re forced to be pressed against each other for hours, still, with the evidence of Will’s arousal trapped between their bodies… Nico can’t think of many solutions. Really just the one, honestly.

“What do we… do? What do you mean?”

“Well,” Nico swallows, trying to summon as much courage as he can. “We’ve still got a long drive ahead of us. The way I see it, we can… take care of this,” he presses his hips back gently, “and then get some sleep. Or, we can wait it out for another…” Nico reaches for Will’s wrist, turning it to squint at his watch, “five hours and twelve minutes.” He presses his lips to Will’s palm, an apology.

Will groans weakly, pressing his face into Nico’s hair. After a long moment Nico feels him take in a deep breath. “Even if we did… like, how…”

Nico squeezes his arms around Will’s where they’re wound around his waist. “You said you wanted us both to want to, right? I want to,” he says softly. “If you don’t, that’s totally okay. But I want you to know that I’m ready whenever you are. Okay?”

“Okay,” Will whispers after a long moment.

“Okay?”

“Okay. I - I think I want to.”

“Yeah?” Nico feels a grin blooming across his face, butterflies erupting in his stomach.

Are they actually doing this?

“Yeah,” Will breathes. “But like… how would we - what do we even -”

“Like this?” Nico rolls his hips once, then again. Slow, careful, trying to concentrate pressure on the bulge pressing into his ass.

“Oh,” Will breathes against his neck. His hips jerk up, just the tiniest bit, and Nico’s face floods with warmth.

“Is that okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Would that… work?” Nico asks, hoping very much that Will understands his meaning and he won’t be forced to explain himself more explicitly.

“Um. Yeah,” Will breathes. “Yeah.”

“Want me to keep going?”

“Yes.” Will sounds certain about this, and it makes Nico’s breath catch.

“Tell me if you want to stop?”

Will nods.

They’re actually doing this.

Then - “wait.” Will’s hold tightens, and Nico freezes.

“Kayla and Austin?” Will whispers.

Nico blinks, taking a moment to register what his boyfriend is asking. “Oh - sleeping. Both of them.”

“Okay,” Will breathes. “Argus?”

“Um. Not sleeping. But that’s what you want in a driver, usually.”

Will giggles, nervous. Then he shifts just the slightest bit under Nico, an invitation. Nico takes a sharp inhale, resuming the measured rolling of his hips, a slow grind into his boyfriend’s erection. Will lets out a soft, desperate sound, then presses his face into Nico’s neck, hard, as if he’s trying to pretend he didn’t.

“Okay?” Nico whispers. He wishes he could properly see Will’s face, have a better gauge of how the other boy is feeling. Next time, he hopes. The thought makes his stomach flutter pleasantly.

“Mmm,” Will responds, almost as if the sound is being pushed out of him. Nico feels him swallow, hears his inhale and the parting of Will’s lips, like he wants to say something more.

“Yeah?” he asks, needing to know.

“Yeah,” Will breathes. “You’re really really good at that,” he whispers in a rush.

Nico chokes down a giggle. “I’ve literally never done this before in my life.” His voice comes out incredulous, a bit squeaky, and Will snorts, then dissolves into a fit of giggles, his arms tight around Nico’s middle, laughter huffed out into Nico’s hair. It’s contagious, and they press against each other, giddy, shaking with soft laughter.

Nico turns his head for a kiss and though the angle is awkward, Will responds eagerly. He always does.

They part, and Nico presses his head against Will’s, resuming the motion of his hips, pressing down and back, and Will lets out another soft sound, his hands hesitantly moving to Nico’s thighs. Nico rests his hands on the other boy’s, encouraging.

“I love you,” he whispers, and Will takes a long, shuddering breath.

Sometimes, when Will’s feeling anxious, he’ll tell Nico, “talk to me,” and Nico will murmur any soothing thing he can think of - you’re okay, I’m right here, everything’s fine, breathe. He does something similar now, grinding against his boyfriend in the back of a van - I love you so much, Will, you’re so beautiful, I love the way you kiss me.

The effect on the other boy is intoxicating, Will’s breath coming rougher against Nico’s skin, his body tensing, not with nerves this time, but with pleasure, anticipation. There’s a rush of heat through Nico’s body, too, but he does his best to put that aside. This isn’t about him. Apart from the arousal though, this feels… good. Right. It feels really nice to take care of Will this way.

Will takes a shaky little breath in, pressing a hot kiss to the back of Nico’s neck, then another, and another, nuzzling. Nico’s eyes flutter shut.

“Um,” Will whispers against his skin.

“Okay?” Nico pauses.

“Yeah. Could you um… could you do that… more?” Will asks. Soft, shy, breathless.

“More?”

“H-harder?” Will whispers, almost too soft to hear.

Nico feels a dizzy rush of heat to his lips, tingling down to his fingers.

“Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Nico shifts forward a bit, bracing a forearm on the seat back in front of them and grinding back, hard. Will lets out a quiet moan, his hips jerking up, involuntary. Electricity sparks through Nico’s body and he digs his heels into the floor of the van. Harder.

“Nico. Fuck,” Will breathes. Nico can feel every ounce of tension in the other boy’s body, coiled like a spring. He’s squirming a little, a bit more with each movement of Nico’s hips, and Nico abruptly registers that Will’s squeezing his thighs in a gentle rhythm, tugging him in with each motion of Nico’s hips, guiding him into the rhythm that Will needs to get off.

Gods.

“Tell me how?” Nico whispers, unsteady, mostly just wanting the reassurance that this is still okay, that Will’s not going to regret this.

“It’s - it’s good. That’s - you’re - it’s really good. It feels - fuck,” Will gasps, sounding as if he’s having difficulty piecing words together. Nico glances back to see Will’s head tilted against the seat, eyes squeezed shut, lips parted. And fuck. Will is always, always gorgeous. Breathtaking, luminous. But this - knowing it’s the two of them together making Will feel this way, that it’s Nico causing this… gods. He’s hooked, lost in it.

“Keep going?” Nico whispers.

“Yes. Please.”

Will’s grip on his thighs is hard enough to bruise now, and Nico’s struck rather violently by the thought that he hopes it will, that he wants to see the evidence of this, later. It sends a rush of heat to his groin. Is that… weird? Now is probably not the time to examine that, he decides.

Nico’s sweaty, dizzy, his back beginning to ache with the motion of his hips. He leans back, turns his head towards Will’s, pressing messy kisses and murmured words wherever he can reach; “you’re so gorgeous, Will, I love you, it’s okay, baby, I’ve got you.”

“Oh,” Will gasps, sharp, and his hands shoot to Nico’s waist, fingers curling around hip bones. He pulls Nico in hard, thrusting up once, twice, and then Will’s body is trembling, hips jerking helplessly, mouth pressed into Nico’s shoulder as he tries to stifle a moan.

He finally goes limp, sweaty and spent, and Nico flops back as Will’s arms wind around his waist, his chest heaving. Will drops his head heavily to Nico’s shoulder.

Nico strokes Will’s arm gently, warmth blooming in his chest, a slow smile spreading across his face.

“Wow,” he whispers, finally. He feels light, warm.

“Wow,” Will giggles. He presses kisses to Nico’s shoulder, then his neck, finally burying his nose in Nico’s hair.

“Um. I really like it when you call me baby,” Will mutters, sounding embarrassed.

Nico blinks. Then, “oh.”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll. Um. That’s - good to know.”

Will laughs, breathless.

Nico closes his eyes, still smiling, soothed by the sensation of Will’s breath rocking their bodies together as he floats back down. Just the two of them surrounded by the hum of the van and stacks of boxes and the night sky.

“I love you,” Will whispers, when he’s finally caught his breath.

“Love you too,” Nico murmurs, turning his head towards his boyfriend, pressing a clumsy kiss to his jaw. “That was - that was okay, right? We’re okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Will says. “Better than okay.” He turns his head towards Nico and they manage a few clumsy kisses, off-centre, messy.

“Um,” Will nuzzles against Nico’s face, sounding shy. “I um… I want it to be your turn. Next time.”

“Oh.” Nico’s stomach flip-flops pleasantly. “Yeah, that sounds… yeah. Okay,” he manages. “Not like - not now, though.”

Will laughs, soft. “Not now. I was thinking somewhere with a bit more privacy.”

Nico can only manage a nod, then a couple of deep breaths, trying valiantly to focus his attention anywhere other than next time and more privacy. Will’s back to nuzzling, which doesn’t especially help.

Will sighs, breath brushing Nico’s skin. “I feel all… dopey and cuddly.”

“So just like usual, then,” Nico teases.

Will giggles.

“Feel like you could nap now?” Nico asks finally, soft. He can feel tiredness pulling at his own body, and Will’s right there behind him like a favourite pillow.

“Yeah, probably.”

“I’ve got you, baby,” Nico murmurs again, squeezing Will’s arms.

Will giggles, the sound drifting into a contented hum. “I’ve got you, too.”

___

Notes:

1. Weirdly, the next thing I plan to post has nudity but no sex.

2. Look, I have no idea why they had to drive to Pittsburgh to pick up medical supplies. They didn't tell me.