#just kidding just kidding he’s cool I like him

[soulrox]

DPxDC #21

Danny is a homeless kid in Gotham. He lives in Red Hoods' territory. His nickname is Numbers. A couple of kids learned he was good with numbers and quizzed him, and he got them all correct, hence Numbers. Danny loves living in Gotham, well as much as a 15-year-old homeless kid whose parents hate his existence can.

Danny is one of the kids who, when they find out info about people going against Red Hoods' rules, will report them to him. Tonight is one of those nights. Danny had learned someone sold drugs to a kid in the Alley. Danny made sure to retrieve the drugs from the kid, Stiches, and made sure the kids' friend, Patches, looked after him. cause even if Stitches wasn't able to take the drugs before Danny stepped in, the psychological damage of almost relapsing is tough, especially for a kid that couldn't be older than 12.

So Danny is on the lookout for Hood when he sees a group of people on top of a building, one of them being Batman. Danny knows that while not published Hood is connected to the Bat.

Danny scales the building and sees that its the Justice League and Batman.

Danny turns to the JL

Danny: do you have permission to be in Gotham?

Without giving them time to answer he turns to Batman

Danny: Did you give them permission? Or do you need help getting the Just Losers outta here?

Green Lantern (Hal): wha? huh, Kid?

Batman cracks a barely there smile, unnoticed by everyone, at the JL being called Just Losers.

Batman: they are allowed. Now kid what do you need?

Danny: I have info for Hood and I know you bats are all connected.

Batman gets Hood on coms.

Hood: *in Bruce's ear, but still heard by Danny* what do you want old man I'm busy.

Batman: hn a kid is here asking for you.

Danny: tell him it's Numbers

Hood: oh shit what's he got for me this time.

Danny: *tells Bats the situation* should I give the drugs to Batman?

JL in the background horrified to learn so much about Gothams' underground. (like this shit doesn't occur in their cities too)

Batman: yes I will make sure they get back to Hood so he can test and deal with them.

Danny: Cool cool

Danny does a drug deal with Batman.

Danny: so why are the Just Losers here?

Danny dislikes the JL, they never helped Amity. Dannys has gotten better with the bats thanks to Hood.

Danny: is it for the outsider setting up shop in the warehouse by the docks? With the sketchy af alien tech?

[no-144444]

the grid: when they admit they love you!

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featuring: Oscar Piastri, Lando Norris, Lewis Hamilton, George Russell, Alex Albon, Franco Colapinto, Logan Sargeant, Daniel Riccardo, Liam Lawson, Charles LeClerc, Carlos Sainz, Arthur LeClerc, Ollie Bearman, Max Verstappen, Paul Aron, Jack Doohan.

this is 18+ so mdni please! smut in some of them!

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Oscar Piastri: fumbling and scared 

You sat at the reception of McLaren, and every single day he was terrified of making a fool of himself. You were the cool, pretty receptionist he’d already gone on 3 dates with, and this Friday he was going to ask you to officially be his girlfriend. The conversation between you two flowed easily when it was just you two, but with other people there… he was less than smooth. Your desk mate, the other receptionist had a knack for gossip, and she was kind of scary, she he tried to steer clear of her when he could. 

“Morning,” you smiled as he walked in the door. 

“Morning,” he smiled back, leaning on your desk. “How are you?”

You started signing him into the building (he ‘lost’ his access card months ago, aka he threw it away and didn’t try to get a new one, just so he could have some reason to talk to you). “I’m good, looking forward to Friday,” you smiled. “You?”

He beamed, grinning like a kid. “Me too.”

“Oscar!” Chris (the guy who has the biggest crush on you ever) clapped a hand on his back, much too hard. “Buddy, I got you a new access-card! Now you can stop bothering the pretty lady here, right?”

“Chris, it’s no bother, I do it every morning-” you tried to diffuse the situation. You didn’t exactly want Osccar to have to deal with Chris, he was such an asshole.  

“Yeah, but it’s one less thing off your plate baby,” he winked at you and Oscar felt something twist in his stomach when you grimaced at the pet name. 

“Don’t call her that,” he told him. “She has a name, it’s Y/n. Use her name.” 

“Dude, I know you wouldn’t get it, but some people date other people,” Chris chuckled like a scumbag. “And me and her are together, so back off.”

Oscar laughed. He actually laughed in your co-workers face. “You’re funny, man.”

Chris laughed along. “I know right.” 

Oscar took the access card from him, leaned over the desk and pressed his lips to yours, like he’d done many times before, and carried on to his meetings. Chris stood there shocked, then walked back to his desk like a wounded puppy. 

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Friday rolled around and you were both sat on his couch watching Cars, when he turned to you. “I’m sorry about Monday,” he admitted. “I know it wasn’t the right thing to do and it probably made it worse but I just-”

“It worked,” you told him. “He hasn’t spoken to me all week, but he has been trying to report you to HR for me, but every time he does I just tell them I didn’t make the claim and then report Chris for being weird. It worked perfectly. He’s such a dick,” you chuckled. 

He watched you as you chuckled, the way your nose scrunched, the flyaway hairs on your forehead framing your face, your soft lips, you gorgeous eyes. “I love you,” he said, softly, but you looked up with wide-eyes all the same. He’d shocked himself too. “OHmygodIamsosorryIknowit’swaytooearlyand-”

You just started laughing, literally falling into his lap. You laughed against his chest and after a moment, he joined you. 

“You’re such a dork,” you smiled brightly as you ran a hand through his hair, then gently caressed his cheek. “I love you too.”

He beamed. “Can I be your boyfriend?” 

You nodded, then kissed him gently. Cars and a pretty girl as his girlfriend? Could his Friday night get any better? 

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Lando Norris: sweet and sincere (for once)

He watched as you walked from the edge of the water into it, splashing around with Mila. It was your first Norris family holiday, and yeah, maybe he had lied to you and told you it would just be you two to trick you into meeting his family only 5 months into your relationship. Maybe you were super mad at him to the point of barely speaking to him unless in the group. But also, maybe Lando was watching the love of his life play with his niece, and maybe he didn’t care that he’ just called you that. 

“Lala!” Mila called, running up to him. “I really like Y/n, can we keep her?” 

You came up behind her, chuckling lightly at her statement. He stared at you for a moment. You were sunkissed (and a little sunburn on your nose), with a bright smile, wet hair and a beautiful blue swimsuit on. You looked ethereal to him. So stunningly gorgeous that he barely knew what to say. 

“Come on kiddo, let’s grab you a snack,” you picked back up your smile and started to walk over to his sister, sitting under another umbrella with all the snacks and drinks in the world. Lando just stared at you when Mila asked. You’d thought that him inviting you on a family holiday would mean something, you must’ve thought wrong. 

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As dinner rolled around, the conversation flowed smoothly as the sun set on the horizon. 

“I’m going to go for a walk on the beach front,” you told the table once meals were finished. They waved you off and off you went. The beautiful sea and stars in the sky caught your attention as your red dress flowed in the wind. It was magical, the warm air, the magnificent views, all of it. The sand beneath your feet was warming your feet and you stopped to look out on the ocean. The soothing, calm waves with the scent of salt made you smile. You’d always loved the beach. 

“You look beautiful,” Lando’s voice made you jump, and you searched for him until you realised he was right beside you. 

“Thank you,” you smiled softly. He wrapped a hand around your waist and turned you to face him. 

He’d been quiet at dinner, too busy trying to think of how to get you to talk to him again, and how he could finally confess his love for you. It was almost overwhelming, the fact that he was in love. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that it was a family trip,” he sighed, pressing a kiss to your cheek. 

You sighed. “It was pretty shitty…” you reminded him. “But I’ve been having fun with them. You come from good people. Makes sense.”

He smiled brightly at your compliment and pressed his forehead against yours. “Thank you for not leaving once you found out.”

You chuckled. “No problem.”

“I adore you,” he admitted. “More than anything. I fucking love you.”

Your eyes widened and you stood there with your jaw dropped. “Holy shit,” you cursed under your breath and he giggled. 

“You don’t have to say it back or anything, I just wanted to tell you,” he clarified, once he’d stopped laughing. 

You smiled at him, chuckling. “I love you too, Lando, of course I do. Even when you do stupid shit like invite me to a family holiday.” 

He laughed, burying his face in your neck. “I already said ‘I’m sorry’!”

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George Russell: of course…

He smiled as he crossed the finish line, finally  winning another race. 

“Well done George!” his engineer cheered, congratulating him as the garage erupted into celebrations. 

When he was finally out of the car, all interviews were over, and all that was left was to take a few team photos, he was given a moment to seek you out. You’d hugged you at the barricade, but since then he hadn’t seen you. You were busy signing things for fans, little girls who wanted to be ‘just like you’ one day. You smiled and told them they would be, that their dreams of being olympic gymnasts weren’t far-fetched. He smiled, wrapping his arms around you from behind. He was covered in champagne, and you groaned, making the small group of girls laugh. 

“George!” you groaned, pushing him off.

“What?” he smirked, pulling you back in. He pressed a soft kiss to your forehead, as the group of girls moved on with a giggle and a wave. “You look stunning.”

“You’re wet,” you dead-panned. “Congratulations, winner.”

He grinned. “I love you.”

You stared at him for a moment, a gentle disbelief in your eyes. “Really?”

“More than anything.”

“Not just because you're drunk on champagne?”

“Nope, I genuinely love you,” he chuckled. “Sorry,” he shrugged, unapologetic. 

You beamed, then kissed him. “I love you more.”

He shook his head. “Not possible.” 

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Kimi Antonelli: nervous 

He smiled as he opened the door to his apartment and found you on the other side. 

“Ready?” you asked, holding up a very big paint can, and some rollers. He had asked you to help him decorate his new apartment, in Monaco, and you’d thankfully agreed. You, his girlfriend / race engineer, had also just moved to Monaco, next door, in fact.

He let you in and you both began to set up the room, tarping the hardwood floors, taping off the skirting boards, and enjoying the soft music and sunny weather outside the window. You finally opened the paint and got to work. He thought you looked adorable, actually wearing paint-splattered overalls (courtesy of you repainting your entire apartment just a week ago), with a concentrated face. His eyes followed you across the room, meticulously taping every inch of the skirting board, making sure that none of the blue paint would ruin the white. 

“What?” you asked, looking back at him. 

He blushed and shook his head, finally understanding the emotions he felt for you everyday. He loved you. “Nothing.”

You raised an eyebrow and walked over, wrapping your arms around his neck and pressing a kiss to his lips. “You sure?”

He nodded, much too nervous to tell you. He looked away, pretending to be engrossed in messing with your pockets. 

You shrugged, pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Alright,” you let go of him and walked back to the side of the room that you were working on. 

He’d tell you, one day. 

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Lewis Hamilton: smooth about it

He smirked as you walked out from your bedroom, clad in one of his shirts and some tiny sleep-shorts, excited about finally sitting down to watch the movie. It had been a difficult triple-header, and he hadn’t been around. But finally, the season was over, and he could invite you over to start enjoying the Christmas festivities. He loved this. He loved the casual, regular things you two did. He liked the way you cuddled up to him on the couch, he loved the way he knew you’d definitely fall asleep before the film ended, he loved you-

Oh.

He loved you. 

He chuckled and you looked at him confused. 

“You alright?” 

He chuckled. “All good baby,” he nodded, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek. 

“What was that about?” you questioned further, putting the remote down. He ran a hand through your hair, looking at you with all the love in the world. 

“Just love you,” he shrugged as your jaw dropped. He chuckled, watching a million emotions run through you. 

“You’re such a dick!” you playfully hit him on the shoulder. “I wanted to say it first!”

He laughed and pulled you into his arms, holding you closer. “I’m sorry baby.”

You scoffed. “No you’re not.”

He shook his head. “No I’m not.” 

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Alex Albon: oh… yah. 

He sighed as he opened the door to his driver’s room. He was exhausted, another race down, another weekend closer to the end of this. 

“Hey,” you smiled. 

His mood picked up, knowing you were there. His best friend. “Hey,” he smiled, pulling you into a hug. “I didn’t know you were here.”

“Surprise?” you shrugged. “I wanted to come see you.” 

He smiled, pressing his face into your neck inhaling the smell of your perfume, feeling much more at ease than he did before. “I thought you couldn’t make it today.”

“I did, but I won't be able to be in Qatar or Abu Dhabi,” you admitted, breaking the bad news. You could feel him frown. 

“Why not?”

“I'm busy for the next two weeks with work. Then I have the whole couples retreat thing and then-”

“Pardon? Couples retreat?”

“This guy I’m seeing is saying we should go, I think it’s a swinging thing though, I’m not exactly into it. But non refundable tickets and I would like a holiday before I have to deal with our families all Christmas,” you explained with a chuckle.

His world crumpled around him. “You’re seeing someone?”

You nodded. “Yeah, he’s… nice,” you smiled. “Don’t worry, you won’t be meeting him for a while, he’s not even my boyfriend yet-”

You stopped talking because he’d started kissing you. He hadn’t really connected the dots before. He liked how close your families were, he liked being your best friend, he liked being around you all the time. He liked being the person you’d come to about things. He didn’t like other people liking you. He’d been your personal bodyguard throughout your teenage years, and he had shooed off every guy, just because he was protecting you, right? It had nothing to do with the fact that he wanted both of you to wait and be each other's first kiss, like you’d promised when you were 10. 

Oh shit. He was in love with you. 

He pulled back with wide-eyes. “I’m in love with you.”

You broke out into a smile. “I love you too.”

He grinned like a little kid. 

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Franco Colapinto: shy? For once?

He froze as he heard your voice from behind. He hadn’t been home in months, too busy with racing to visit. But Christmas rolled around as it always did, and so did every single family friend. 

“Franco!” his mother’s voice rang out. “Come here!”

He turned and was met with your eyes. He felt himself blushing already.

“Y/n’s here!” she cheered. You offered a small wave and a smile, which he mirrored. 

“It’s good to see you again,” you  smiled. “Happy Holidays.”

He nodded. “You too.”

“How’s F1 going?”

“Good, well. I like it,” he scratched the back of his neck. 

“Well, we’ve all been cheering you on from here,” you smiled. “I can’t wait to see what you do next year.”

He smiled and nervously chuckled. “Thank you.”

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As he watched you over the coming days, enjoying your company, even when he wasn’t the centre of your attention, he found himself becoming even more shy, even more confused, and increasingly love-sick.

He just had to find a way to make himself tell you, easy, right? 

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Logan Sargeant: idek

Y’know how you’re told that when boys like you, they’ll bully you? That’s bullshit, they’re just bullies and their parents make excuses for them. 

You watched as Logan got into your car, getting ready to drive it, and you felt yourself tense up. You’d never gotten along with Logan, growing up in the same racing series, only you pivoted to Indycar and he went to F1. Now he was about to drive your car. You’d never been more nervous. You were the Indycar champion this year, the first women to do it, and you were proud. Giving your car over to Crash-Sargeant wasn’t exactly your choice, but you still had hope that he could drive it. 

You went up to him as he was about to get it, and grabbed his hand, holding him in place. “If you fucking car my car I will cut your balls off Sargeant. Don’t fuck with me, alright?” you whispered, getting close enough to feel his breath on your cheek. He smirked and nodded, ripping his hand out of your grasp.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

He was already hearing wedding bells. Utterly and totally in love with you. 

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Daniel Riccardo: nothing like a big gesture, right?

He dropped you off outside departures, a sad smile on his face. “Don’t want you to go,” he sighed.

You rolled your eyes, then wrapped your arms around his neck, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek as his hands circled your waist. “What’re you doing today?”

“Stuff for Enchanté,” he explained. 

“That’s why you can’t come this weekend? Not up to being my WAG in Haas?” you smirked, pressing small kisses to his cheeks as you spoke. 

“God no, I only go there for Nico,” he smirked. “And you’re replacing him today.”

You rolled your eyes, letting god of him. “Fuck you!” you called after you, trying to suppress a smile. He watched as you walked off, shaking your head and he thought about everything. Every night he went to sleep with you in his arms, every morning he woke up beside you, every smile he saw, every laugh he made happen, every hug or kiss he got from you. He smiled, realising the truth. 

He loved you. 

Therefore he ran after you, making a huge scene in the airport. When he finally made it up to you, there were 2 security guards chasing him, so he wrapped his arms around you and kissed you harshly, a bright smile on his face. “I love you,” he smiled when he pulled away. 

“You’re going to get fucking arrested!” you stressed, wide-eyed and shocked at his behavior. 

“For being in love?”

“No, you idiot, for bypassing security and running through an airport without a ticket! Go back!” you pushed him off of you with an exasperated and amused smile.

“I love you!” he called after himself as he was taken away by the security guards. 

“I love you too, you fucking idiot!” you scoffed. “You have a phone, y’know!” 

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Liam Lawson: will NOT speak to you at any cost

Being in love with one of his mechanics probably wasn’t the greatest idea, but the heart wants what the heart wants, and his wanted you. 

“Liam can I-?” you started, but he just walked away, his eyes glued to the floor. You followed behind him, trying again and again to get his attention, but he continued ignoring you, and you'd had enough. “Fuck’s sake- Liam! Stop being such a dick! I don’t know if you just don’t respect me, or if you don’t like me, but I’m a mechanic on your time, and I'm asking if there’s anything you want us to change about your car to make you more comfortable. Just answer me that simple question and I promise I won’t bother you again all weekend!” 

He froze on the spot. “I’m in love with you-” he blurted out, then clapped a hand over his mouth. “The car is fine, sorry. Thanks.”

Then he walked off, leaving you in a stunned silence. 

What the fuck had he just done?

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Charles LeClerc: weirdly calm about it

You two sat on (one of)  his (many) yacht(s), overlooking the gorgeous Monaco bay. He had an arm around you, both of you dressed in comfortable clothes with nothing to do for the entire weekend. Oh, how he adored the off-season. You were too busy reading a book to notice the way he was looking at you. In the simple, silent moment it hit him suddenly that he was in fact, in love with you. And it didn’t scare him the way previous girlfriends confessing such things to him had. It felt right, completely normal, even. 

“Do you want anything?” you yawned. 

“Pardon?” he asked, too busy in his own world. 

“I’m ordering food, do you want something?” 

“I’m alright, but let me get it,” he offered and you scoffed.

“Fuck off Percvél. I can pay for my own food,” you chuckled, getting up and walking further into the boat. 

He chuckled, watching after you. 

Wow, he was mature. And, in love. 

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Carlos Sainz: definitely not freaking out

“I love you,” you confessed as the two of you cosied up at the beach. It had been a brilliant holiday, the two of you actually getting to spend some time together. 

He looked at you with wide-eyes. 

“Sorry if that was too soon, or too much. I just… wanted you to know. You don’t have to say anything back- of course.” 

While you were catastrophising, he was freaking out. You loved him. You told him you loved him. Holy shit. 

He stuttered for a moment, making you grimace. You’d fucked it up, definitely. There was no way he felt the same, right? You were probably just a 7 month long hook-up to him, right? 

“I love you too,” he smiled, then pressed his lips to yours.

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Arthur LeClerc: accidental

“Arthur is so whipped!” his friend laughed, watching as Arthur helped you set the table for dinner. Arthur just laughed, whereas, you frowned. Did Arthur think you were too clingy? Too demanding? Too much? 

Throughout dinner, you were pretty quiet, and you didn’t even let Arthur help you clean up. You went to bed early as he entertained the guests alone, and when he came to bed, there was a pillow between either sides of your bed. He frowned. 

“Baby,” he cooed, wrapping his arms around you and placing your head in the crook of his neck. “What is the problem?”

You sniffled. “It’s nothing,” you shook your head. “I’m sorry.”

He felt his heart warm when you held on to him, revelling in the fact that you would choose him to comfort you. “It’s just what-”

“Please don’t tell me you took to heart the comment Harry made?” he scoffed. You were quiet. “My love, I love you, I like helping you, I like being there for you, I like kissing and hugging you. If he has a problem with that then he can fuck off,” he chuckled, then stopped when he realised what he’d said. 

“You love me?” you sniffled, raising your head to look at him. 

He smiled. “Of course I do,” he pressed a kiss to your forehead. “Always.” 

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Ollie Bearman: overwhelmed 

He smiled as he watched you dance on the dancefloor of the club. You looked so free and happy, smiling brightly with friends as the lights flashed and the music was loud enough to feel it in your entire body. 

“Dude, you two are so in love, it’s adorable,” Paul, his friend, pointed out. 

“I don’t- we’re not-”

“Haven’t said it yet?” Paul chuckled. “You should. I think she’d say it back.”

Ollie nodded, trying to pretend his entire world hadn’t been flipped upside down. You. Love. He wasn’t in love, right? All boyfriends wanted their girlfriends beside them at all times, right? All boyfriends missed their girlfriends so much that they flew them out to every race, right?  All boyfriends had begged their girlfriends to meet his parents, and vice versa only months into getting together, right?  All boyfriends felt suffocated when their girlfriends weren’t around, right? 

Oh shit, he was in love with you. He stepped outside to get some air.

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After a while of not seeing Ollie, you went outside to find him. You found him, leaning against the wall of the club, staring off into space. 

“Alright?” you asked, gently placing a hand on his cheek. 

He looked at you and smiled. “Alright,” he nodded, wrapping his hands around your waist. 

“Why’d you leave?” you asked. 

“Needed some air,” he admitted. It wasn’t untrue. 

“For 30 minutes?” you questioned and he knew he’d been caught. “Did Paul say something stupid? Need me to beat him up for you?” 

He chuckled, pulling you closer to him. “No, I’m alright. I was just… thinking.” 

“Dangerous pastime,” you teased and he chuckled. “What about?”

“You,” he confessed. 

“What about me?”

“I’m in love with you,” he answered nervously. 

“Oh yeah?” you smiled and he nodded. “Good thing I love you too.” 

Wow, Paul was right, for once. 

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Max Verstappen: strange man 

He watched from the other side of the plane as you played chess against his mother, bright smiles on both of your faces as the game progressed. He noticed the way your nose crinkled, the way your eyes shone, the comfortable position you sat in. He thought of every moment he got to share with you, and he almost teared up thinking of the best ones. He loved you. But he wouldn’t tell you, not yet. 

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He thrust into you, euphoria so close he could almost touch it. “Good girl, he groaned, feeling your nails in his back. “Taking me so well.” 

You just moaned against his skin, too cockdrunk to really notice what was going on around you. Max was a 4 time world champion. He’d done it. The first thing he’d wanted was to fuck you silly in his hotel room.

He was close, he slowed down his thrusts, much to your dismay, and slowly but firmly continued. 

“I,” thrust. “Love,” thrust. “You.” 

And he came inside you as you screamed into his shoulder, reaching your own peak. He hadn’t even meant to say it, it just came out (see what I did there? 😀). He stared down at you as you looked back up at him with wide eyes. 

“You love me?” you questioned. 

He nodded, his mouth dry. He was trying to focus on the softness of this moment, whilst also having to deal with your tight walls around his cock. Torture. 

“I love you too,” you smiled, flipping him over and straddling him. He groaned when he saw you on top of him and he was hard again. “Let me take care of you, yeah? My winner,” you smirked before starting to move on his cock. 

He was in for a long night. But a long night with the woman he loved. 

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Paul Aron: finally is a victim of humility 

“Paul, just tell her!” Ralf, his brother, argued. “She adores you, you’re in love with her, it’s alright!” 

“But… what if she doesn’t say it back?” He asked, much more insecure than he meant it to sound. He wasn’t used to being unsure when it came to romance. Paul had always been the type of guy to get any girl he wanted, with you it had been different. You’d hated his guts. He had to prove to you he was a good guy, then you’d finally gone out with him, and fast forward a year, he was trying to figure out how to tell you he loved you. He’d only realised it last night, when you were waiting in his apartment with dinner made for the two of you for the simple reason ‘just because’. In that moment he’d wrapped his arms around you and kissed you to stop himself from ruining the night and confessing right then and there. 

Ralf groaned. “You are impossible!” 

When did love become so complicated?

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Jack Doohan: so not casual 

Jack watched as you wiped out in the waves once again, a giggle on his lips. As you resurfaced, he saw the panic in your eyes and he swam over, his body taking over before his brain could say anything. 

“You alright?” he called, swimming over to you. You shook your head wildly, tears forming in your eyes. 

“M-my leg,” you whimpered out, trying to keep yourself above water. He grabbed your waist and held you bridal-style so he could swim back to shore, signalling to the lifeguards as finally got you to shore. He saw the issue when you two were out of the water, a huge gash on your left leg, so bad you could see the bone. The cracked bone.

What ensued for the next 9 hours was a flurry of an ambulance, hospital rooms, and surgery, but the only constant was Jack. he stayed there the entire time, and he was there when you woke up. 

He breathed a sigh of relief when your eyes opened. “Hey baby,” he smiled, easy as ever despite the worry he’d been under extreme stress all day. “You’re awake.”

You nodded, taking his hand. “I’m so sorry about today-”

“Don’t apologise. We all get hurt sometimes, it’s alright,” he reassured you. “Plus, it’s not like I can be mad at you.”

“Why not?” you asked. 

“Because I love you,” he shrugged. He’d realised in the 9 hours of  stress that he wouldn’t go to this extent for anyone else, and that he must be insane or in love (which were probably the same thing) to somehow be blindsighted into bringing you to the most dangerous part of the beach for surfing (we was persuaded by you kissing him lots) and then bringing you to the ER and staying with you the entire time. So, he chose the love one, it sounded better. 

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navigation for my blog :) (masterlist)

[nietzhat]

anyway if i was misty just saying i'd leave the group train on my own rejoin and watch ash's progress and pay attention to his fighting styles again and challenge him until i won and then i'd slit his throat i'm sorry

[alchemistc]

Harry twirls a lock of dark curls between his fingers. Tips his chin against Tommy's head and stares up at the ceiling. He considers not asking, this time.

The sex is good, and Tommy's funny, and if he closes his eyes he could imagine there could be something - Tommy twitches and shifts his hand lower like he might be gearing up for another round, and it breaks the fantasy. That's new.

"Tell me about him," Harry says, and Tommy's eyes tip up to glare at Harry.

"Making an assumption, there," Tommy warns, but Harry just raises an eyebrow. Six years of this and Harry knows better than to expect Tommy would show up at his door for any reason other than to get his mind off of something - someone else.

"So we're both asses," Harry intones. He needs to call the super, see what they'll do about the water stain on his ceiling. "Tell me about him."

Tommy sighs. Twists, drifts away to the second pillow, and Harry's done this enough times not to mourn the loss, exactly. It's not like he's ever told Tommy -

"He's too young. Impulsive. New."

Harry fails to hold in his snort. "Okay."

Tommy at 34 had been a fucking hurricane. Newly out, no holds barred, he'd jumped right into the deep end and let the storm whirl him around. They'd been friends, for the first six months, Harry a watchful presence while Tommy made it his mission to be more than the guy in the dark corner getting a risky blowie fifteen minutes before last call. To be out - not loud, that wasn't Tommy's style - but to at least be himself.

He'd lasted two months in a real, actual relationship before he'd shown up at Harry's door with a six pack and a box of condoms.

"He looks at me and sees this - cool suave guy -" Harry shifts, nearly interrupts because that guy is exactly what Tommy projects, even if he doesn't mean to. Fucking Scorpios. "- and I was falling for him."

Yeah. Harry can extrapolate from that. Tommy fell ass over tea kettle and then got spooked.

"He's just so fucking open with himself. No brainworm goes untouched, and he can't hide his emotions for shit, and he's so goddamn stubborn and so goddamn ready to bulldoze through every hurdle ahead without looking back at the damage, and..." Tommy trails off. One hand shifts down to hitch the duvet up over his hips, and Harry adds the duvet cover to his list of laundry. "I gave him too many chances to slow down on his own."

"What, did the kid ask you to marry him or something?"

"He's the Himbo," Tommy retorts, and it takes Harry a moment to make the connection. He whistles through his teeth just to watch the scowl fall into place on Tommy's face. "And the connection freaked him out so much he asked me to move in. To his bachelor pad loft." Harry waits. "It has two balconies, Harry. Two."

"...he knows you have a mortgage, right?"

Tommy shoves at his shoulder. "It doesn't matter. We're just - the timing wasn't right."

"Did you want it to be?"

That's always the thing he ends up hung up on, in Harry's experience. Tommy's scared out of his mind to be the right person at the wrong time. Always has been. There's probably some mommy or daddy issues hidden in there somewhere he hasn't explored. Tommy's eyes drift up to the water stain. "Don't these apartments all have the same layout?"

This is the shove-off. This is his hint not to push. "Yes, and I really don't want to ask how the upstairs neighbor flooded their bedroom. Back to the guy." He's never been one for acknowledging unspoken cues.

"Buck," Tommy says, and the name sounds harsh in his mouth.

"Buck," Harry repeats, and pictures Tommy's usual type - tall, light-eyed, more smiles than common sense. There was always something distinctive, too - freckles, a scar, weird shaped ears.

"I miss him."

It doesn't hurt the way it had those first few years, when Harry was convinced that eventually Tommy would see him as more than a friend to blow off steam with. Still. There's a twinge there, beneath his rib cage.

"So stop missing him. That's an option, isn't it?"

And Tommy does that thing - that frustrating, enchanting thing, where his whole body seems to hold the emotion flickering across his face. "I walked out on him. I dug the damn knife in just to make sure he wouldn't try to convince me to stay."

"Would you have? Stayed?"

Tommy's quiet. The sweat has cooled on his skin, and the lights coming in through his window dance across the skin of his shoulder, his chest, that stupid thick neck of his.

The phone he left on the bedside table is dark, but that doesn't stop Tommy's gaze flicking to it.

"Cards on the table, Tommy?" Harry sucks in a breath. Blows it out through his nose. "Once upon a time, I convinced myself you were it for me. That I'd be satisfied with what you gave me, and I wouldn't ask for more. I cut you out of my life for eight months when I realized how fucking dumb that was."

Tommy frowns. Harry hadn't really ever expected him to notice.

"I've seen you through shitty relationships, and one sided ones. I've heard all the bullshit you and Greg put each other through. I've been there for every fucking heartache."

And he'd offered up his body like it was absolution for always being fucking thrilled when a relationship ended.

"You called me Evan," Harry murmurs, and Tommy's eyes go wide. That's never fucking happened before. This thing wouldn't have lasted nearly as long if he'd ever heard another man's name in his bed before. "You should shower. Go home. Take a day or two, if you need it. But I know for a fact you wait this shit out, justify coming to me with time and space from whatever guy has you strung out. I know it's been a minute already, and I know you've never sounded so unsure about cutting someone loose."

Tommy's gaze flicks to him.

"Whatever it is that's got you so scared of this guy, figure it the fuck out. Because it sounds to me like you fell fast and hard and hit a fucking wall before you ever thought to tap the brakes. That's not fair to you or him. Call him. Text him. Show up at his door with a bouquet or an industrial size bottle of lube and figure your shit out. Together."

Tommy stares at him for a long, long time in silence.

"Them's the brakes, huh?"

Harry hates that he knows exactly what Tommy means. Still, he clarifies. "This is your forever guy." Six years of watching him flail and learn and grow and hurt and love and fuck. He knows a thing or two about Tommy and his flights of romance. Knows this lonely man has never sounded quite so lonely before. "You don't need me, anymore."

He's quiet as his eyes drift back up to the stain. "I'm not his forever guy." Harry can't actually refute that, considering he's never met the guy. But he knows Tommy. Knows exactly how captivating he can be. Knows Tommy's a sucker for that starry-eyed look that so often has meant not love, as Tommy reads it, but idolization. "What if I'm not his forever guy?"

Harry digs toes into the spot in the duvet where Tommy's knees should be. He shifts Tommy about half a millimeter. "He has a nickname you don't call him except when you're punishing yourself. He dated Abby and that shared history didn't scare him off. You'd never let yourself fall for a guy that wasn't throwing clear signs that it was serious. I'd put my odds on him doing something weird and wholesome every time he thinks about you until his entire two balcony loft is filled with trinkets or treats and he still can't get you off his mind."

Harry's never seen Tommy's face do that before. Not in the throes of a honeymoon phase and not in the worst of a bad breakup. It's some awful mixture between unbridled hope and abject despair.

Harry thinks it's probably fair to hate him a little, for that face. He's earned the right.

"If he kicks you to the curb, I'll take you to one of those expensive wine tastings you pretend to hate, and I'll let you drink all my samples too." It's not an idle promise. Tommy may pretend to hate it but Harry fucking loves wine tastings. "If he doesn't..." Harry shoots him a fond look, "...knowing your type I'm not invited to the wedding anyway, so I guess then I'd been seeing you around."

Something shadows his gaze for a moment, but he's quick to hide it, to smack Harry on the chest like they've just had a good game, to shift out of bed and into his briefs before Harry can blink. He doesn't love Tommy. Not the way he'd have liked to, years and years ago. Still, when Tommy shoots him the dorkiest finger guns known to man and scoops up the rest of his clothes to take to the bathroom with him, Harry still wonders what it's like to have him enough to love him fully.

---

The name catches him off guard every time he hears it. 'Evan' isn't hard to filter - Evan had been a popular enough name to immediately write it off but Buck wasn't white noise of a name

Buck was a character in a movie, an old grizzled war vet, a dog. The name Buck wasn't popular enough not to hear it every time it was so much as whispered in his direction.

The coffee shop isn't crowded, but it's not dead either. When the girl at the counter calls out an order for Buck, sliding three cups down the counter, Harry can't help but look up.

A tall broad shouldered hulk of a man smiles a dimpled smile at the barista, and Harry watches him palm two cups and grab the third one in one practiced move. He's cute, Harry thinks. Maybe his grandpa ordered, Harry thinks, a little harder, and then caves, following his path through the three-tops littering the lobby.

Harry catches sight of him without being noticed. He's grinning, one of those rare earnest ones that make his ears rise and his face crinkle like a Shar Pei, hand spread out over something lying open on the table. The little girl on the seat to his right is a surprise, but Harry hasn't spoken to Tommy in two years. Maybe he's had enough time to get his mind around the idea that he's nothing like his father. The girl responds to something Tommy says by palming at as much of his face as she can reach and turning to the man now approaching their table.

"Uncle Buck!" he catches, another firm tug at the part of his brain that's been stuck on this for too long. The man barely gets all three drinks on the table before the girl is launching herself up into his arms, and it's too late for Harry to turn away without notice. Tommy's gaze shifts across the room and lands right on him.

He looks like he might wave Harry over, and Harry would rather die than know whether Tommy would introduce him as an old friend, or by name like Buck should know it. He tips a smile Tommy's way. Raises a brow at the man - Buck - and gets lips being sucked behind teeth in response, and then a slow, subtle head tilt.

Good. Good for him. Harry's never wanted anything for Tommy but to see him incandescently happy.

Witnessing it from a distance is better.

Buck twirls his - niece? - flops her back down on the bench seat next to Tommy and bends to say something that includes a pinky promise. He's got a wine-dark stain just above his brow, and Harry can't quite hide the tip of his smile.

Harry's name rings in his ears as he picks up his drink, and he's halfway to the door, feeling proud of himself for not turning back, when he hears the chorus of three laughs erupting from the corner where he'd taken his last good look.

He'd seen the ring on insta, a week and a half ago. Just an uncaptioned picture of two bands balanced one over the other on a rock, a killer sunset sky blurry behind them. No tags. 102 likes and counting.

Harry pushes through the doors and only glances through the window to watch Tommy tip his head back in laughter for a second, before he's cleared the coffee shop and rounded the corner back to his office.

[olive-main]

Hi, hope you’re well! Saw your request for angst ideas. If you’re interested: Reader has been part of the Inner Circle for years, like an og member. Post war she watches Az fall in love with Elaine or Gwyn. She’s known they’re mates, but he’s always told her he loves her as a friend, and nobody else knows they’re mates. She watches as his relationship grows, maybe they’re having a kid or whatever, this can be all the angst you see fit. She’s finally had enough and decides to leave (either for work as an emissary or for herself). Maybe as she starts to rebuild, Az and the IC realize how much her loss impacts them. But when they go see her, she’s thriving. Ending can be whatever floats your boat, maybe she’s with Eris or thriving in Day as Lucien’s advisor, or something else all together.

To Love and Let Go

Pairing: Azriel x Reader

Summary: An unrequited love, and a one sided mating bond. What will reader do when she can no longer watch Azriel fall for another female who isn’t her?

Wc: 2.9k (gah dayum)

A/N: ok, this is the longggest fic I've written to date, but I don't hate it...and I may be persuaded to write a part two with multiple endings bcs I'm indecisive asf. Requests are still open and highly encouraged since I'm on break and have a bunch of free time, clearly.

__

The stars are mocking tonight, their gleam far too bright for the storm brewing inside you. Velaris has always been beautiful, but tonight the city feels suffocating. The laughter of your family echoes around the River House’s dining room, filling the space with warmth and joy.

You sit at the edge of the long table, wine in hand, your smile carefully in place. Cassian is in the middle of one of his stories, something about Azriel and a drunken spar decades ago. The table erupts in laughter, and you can’t help but glance at him.

Azriel sits across from you, his shoulders relaxed, his shadows soft and relaxed as they curl lazily around him. He’s laughing—quiet and rare, but enough to tug at your chest in a way you’ve never been able to stop.

Beside him, Gwyn is radiant. She laughs, bright and genuine, her hand resting on his arm as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. His hand shifts, fingers brushing over hers in a way that’s intimate, tender. Simple. Devastating.

You lift your wine to your lips and down the rest of the glass in one burning gulp.

You’ve known for years that Azriel isn’t yours to have. When the Cauldron whispered of your bond, it hadn’t been the joyous revelation you’d dreamed of. Instead, it had been a curse.

You feel it even now—that golden thread tying your soul to his, pulling taut every time you see him. But Azriel never acknowledged it, not once. How could he when he didn't even know it existed?

“You’re my best friend,” he’d told you long ago, sitting beside you on a rooftop in Velaris, the two of you cloaked in silence and shadows. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

And you’d smiled. Smiled and tucked the truth deeper inside yourself, burying it so far down you almost convinced yourself it wasn’t real. Almost.

The conversation shifts around you, but the words blur together, distant and unimportant. You force yourself to stay, to laugh when you’re supposed to, to nod in all the right places.

Across the table, Gwyn leans closer to Azriel, whispering something in his ear. He smiles at her, that soft, secret smile you’ve seen so many times over the years. But it’s never been for you.

The ache in your chest spreads, sharp and relentless, until you can’t bear it any longer. You push your chair back, the legs scraping loudly against the floor.

“Everything okay?” Mor asks, her brows furrowing as she studies you.

You nod quickly, forcing a tight smile. “Just need some air.”

No one questions you, and you’re grateful for it. You slip out of the room and onto the balcony, the cool night air rushing to meet you. The stars stretch endlessly above, and for a moment, you close your eyes and pretend this life isn’t yours.

But the bond hums faintly in the back of your mind, tethering you to someone who will never feel the same way.

—

You grip the balcony railing, the cool metal grounding you as you draw in a shaky breath. The quiet should feel peaceful, but it doesn’t. Not with the sound of their laughter spilling through the open door behind you, not with the bond thrumming painfully in the back of your mind.

You’ve endured this for years. Watching Azriel laugh, fight, live, all while pretending your heart doesn’t shatter every time he smiles at someone who isn’t you. Gwyn. Elain before her, and Mor long before that. All the women who could never feel what you feel for him—but were lucky enough to have his attention anyway.

And then there’s you, his best friend. The one he trusts, confides in, leans on. Just never in the way you ache for. Even before the bond snapped, you’d been in love with the Shadowsinger. He was always the calm amongst the chaos of your family, the one you could seek refuge in.

The sound of footsteps interrupts your thoughts. You don’t need to look to know it’s him. His shadows reach you first, curling gently around your wrist, hesitant and curious. They always do that, as if they sense the things he doesn’t.

“Are you okay?” Azriel’s voice is soft, warm in a way that makes it harder to breathe.

You release the railing and turn to face him, your mask firmly in place. “I’m fine. Just needed a moment.”

His brows pull together, his hazel eyes studying you in that unrelenting way of his. “You’ve seemed… distracted tonight.”

You force a laugh, shaking your head. “I’m not distracted. Just tired, that’s all.” The lie was easy on your tongue, a lie you’ve repeated more times than you can count.

His shadows shift, curling tighter around you. “You can tell me if something’s wrong,” he says, his voice low, careful.

You want to laugh again. Wrong? Everything is wrong. Your mate is standing in front of you, looking at you with concern while his love sits inside, waiting for him. He doesn’t even feel the bond that’s been tearing you apart for years. How could you possibly tell him the truth?

“I’m fine, Az,” you say again, stepping back, putting distance between you. “Go back inside. Gwyn’s probably wondering where you are.”

Something flickers across his face, but it’s gone before you can place it. He hesitates, his shadows brushing against your hand one last time before retreating.

“All right,” he says quietly. But he doesn’t look convinced.

You watch him go, his wings casting long shadows across the balcony as he disappears into the house. The bond hums faintly, pulling at your heart even as you stand there alone.

—

A part of you wants to blame yourself for never telling him about the mating bond. It was known Azriel always longed for a mate, so much so he had made the bold claim of Elain being his mate once upon a time. Now, he's with Gwyn under that same notion. Unfortunately, your heart had wanted him to love you without the influence of the bond.

Your thoughts persist as you force your eyes shut, trying and failing to fall asleep.

Instead, you lie awake in your bed, staring at the ceiling as the weight of it all presses down on you. You’ve built your entire life around the Inner Circle, around him. And for what? To watch him build a life with someone else? To keep breaking your own heart over and over again?

No.

When dawn comes, the decision is already made.

—

“Are you sure about this?” Feyre asks, her hand resting lightly on your arm.

You stand in the foyer of the River House, your bags already packed and waiting by the door. The soft morning light filters through the windows, casting golden hues over everything. It should feel warm. Comforting. But all you feel is the ache of goodbye.

“I’m sure,” you say, and your voice doesn’t waver.

Rhysand stands a few paces away, arms crossed, his violet eyes sharp and assessing. You were like a sister to him, someone he’d protected and seen through every phase of life. “You don’t have to do this,” he says gently. “We can figure something out. If you need time off, time for yourself—”

“I need more than time, Rhys,” you interrupt, forcing a small smile to soften the blow. “I need space. A fresh start. This is the right move for me.”

You’d rehearsed this conversation a dozen times, carefully framing your departure as a professional opportunity. An emissary position in Day Court. Helion had been eager to accept your offer, praising your skills and promising a new challenge that you could sink your teeth into.

It wasn’t a lie. You would thrive in Day Court. But it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Feyre’s grip on your arm tightens, her lips pressing together as if she’s holding back an argument. “I just… I don’t want you to feel like you’re running away,” she says softly.

You glance past her, your eyes catching on the open archway leading to the dining room. You can feel him in there, his shadows faint even from this distance. The bond pulls, a sharp tug against your ribs.

“I’m not running away,” you tell her, even though part of you wonders if that’s exactly what this is. “I’m choosing myself for once.”

Rhys nods slowly, his expression unreadable. “If that’s what you need, then we support you. Always.”

A lump rises in your throat, but you swallow it down, turning to hug Feyre. “Thank you. For everything.”

—

Azriel watches from the shadows of the dining room as you leave. He doesn’t mean to linger there, doesn’t mean to eavesdrop—but he can’t help it.

He hears Feyre’s quiet goodbye, Rhys’s reassurances. He sees the way your shoulders straighten as you step out the door, as if you’re carrying a weight none of them can understand.

Something twists in his chest, sharp and unfamiliar.

He doesn’t understand it. You’ve left Velaris before, gone on missions and trips for weeks at a time. But this feels… different. Permanent.

For a moment, he almost steps forward, almost calls out to you. But then the door closes, and you’re gone.

—

The Day Court is a world apart from Velaris.

Here, the sun always seems to shine, casting a golden glow over Helion’s sprawling palace. It’s vibrant, full of life, and for the first time in years, you feel as though you can finally breathe.

Helion welcomes you with open arms, praising your work and throwing you headfirst into new projects. The days are busy, your nights peaceful, and slowly—very slowly—the ache in your chest begins to fade.

You make new allies and friends. Lucien, especially, becomes an unexpected source of comfort. He understands unspoken bonds, the pain of being tied to someone who doesn’t want you. For the first few weeks, most, if not all your time was spent by his side.

“You’re free now,” he tells you one evening, the two of you sitting on a balcony overlooking the Day Court gardens. His amber eyes glint in the fading sunlight. “It doesn’t feel like it yet, but it will. One day.”

You smile, a real smile, and let the words settle in your chest.

—

Back in Velaris, the Inner Circle feels the void you’ve left behind. Cassian complains loudly during training sessions about how things don’t run as smoothly without you. Mor keeps suggesting trips to Day Court, half-joking but half-serious. Even Feyre finds herself reaching for you during meetings, only to realize you’re no longer there.

And Azriel…

Azriel notices most of all.

He misses the quiet way you steadied him, the way you always seemed to know what he needed before he did. The balance you brought to the group. To him.

At first, he tells himself it’s just an adjustment. You’ll be back eventually. But as the weeks stretch into months, he begins to realize just how deeply your absence has cut into his life.

The shadow of the bond hums faintly in the back of his mind, but he doesn’t understand why.

Not yet.

—

It’s Feyre who suggests the trip.

“You’ve been working too hard,” she tells Azriel, shooting him with a look that leaves no room for argument. “We all have. A visit to Day Court will do us some good. Besides, it’s been too long since we’ve seen her.”

Azriel hesitates but eventually agrees. He tells himself it’s curiosity, that he just wants to see how you’re settling in. Since you’ve left his relationship with everyone, Gywn especially, has grown distant. He tries to find you in her, comparing the small things that shouldn’t matter—and every time it only makes his heart sink.

When they arrive, they find you in the Day Court gardens, laughing at something Lucien has said. The sunlight catches in your hair, your face glowing with a happiness Azriel hasn’t seen in years.

The gardens are breathtaking, a vibrant sprawl of golden blooms and gleaming fountains that seem to echo the brilliance of the sun overhead. But Azriel doesn’t see any of it.

His focus is entirely on you.

You look radiant, the golden hues of Day Court seeming to highlight the confidence you’ve gained in your time away.

Lucien leans closer, his expression soft yet intent, and the sight makes something dark and ugly twist in Azriel’s chest. It’s not the first time he’s seen Lucien or been jealous of the male, but this—this—feels different. He used to feel that pang of jealousy when he blindly pined for Elain, now with you it returned with a greater force.

He doesn’t understand why these feelings have suddenly spread through him. You’ve always been his friend. His anchor. But as Lucien reaches out to brush a stray hair from your face, Azriel feels like he’s watching something slip through his fingers.

“Az?” Feyre’s voice pulls him back. She’s watching him with careful eyes, her brow furrowing.

He shakes his head and straightens his posture, forcing his expression back into neutral territory. “I’m fine.” But he isn’t.

Before Feyre can press him further, Lucien notices their approach and gives a low whistle. “Well, well. Velaris sends its finest.” His tone is teasing, but there’s warmth in his amber eyes as they flick toward you.

You turn, and when your gaze lands on Azriel, your smile falters. It’s a subtle shift, but he sees it. Feels it.

“Rhysand. Feyre. Azriel,” you greet, inclining your head slightly, your voice polite but distant. As if they were strangers and not the family you chose all those centuries ago.

He hates it.

The reunion is cordial at first, filled with pleasantries and talk of work. Lucien stands close to you, his presence steady, his hand occasionally brushing yours in a way that grounds you. Azriel’s shadows stir restlessly, but he forces them into submission.

“You’ve done well here,” Feyre says warmly, her gaze sweeping over the garden. “It suits you.”

“Thank you.” Your smile is genuine, though it doesn’t quite reach Azriel. “Helion has been… generous with his trust.”

“And with his emissary’s time,” Lucien adds, grinning at you. “She’s a natural. Can’t imagine how Day Court managed before she arrived.”

The praise makes you duck your head slightly, a faint blush blooming across your cheeks. Azriel’s jaw tightens.

“Sounds like you’ve been keeping busy,” he says, his voice lower than usual.

Your eyes flick to him briefly before turning back to Lucien, but there’s something guarded in your expression. “I have. It’s been… fulfilling.”

The word stings more than it should.

—

Eventually, Feyre and Rhys drift away with Lucien, leaving you and Azriel alone amidst the golden flowers. The silence stretches between you, heavy with unspoken words.

“You’ve been… different,” he says finally, breaking the silence.

You glance at him, your arms folding across your chest. “Different how?”

He hesitates, searching for the right words. “Happier,” he admits.

The softness in his voice almost makes you falter, but you stand your ground. “I am,” you say simply.

His shadows curl around his feet, agitated. “You left so suddenly,” he says, his tone sharper now. “One day you were there, and the next you were… gone. No warning. No explanation.”

You raise an eyebrow, bitterness creeping into your voice. “I told you I needed space. I told all of you.” You pause for a second, staring at a cluster of white lilies. “Why does it matter now, Azriel?”

“Because I miss you,” he says, the words raw and unguarded. “We all do. But me… I—” He stops himself, jaw clenching.

You laugh softly, but it’s a hollow, bitter sound. “You miss me now? After I’ve finally started to find peace? After you’ve built a life with Gwyn?”

His shadows surge forward, brushing against your arm, but you shake them off. “Don’t do this, Azriel.”

“You’re my friend,” he says, and the words make your heart twist painfully.

You whirl to face him, your eyes blazing. “No. I was never just your friend, Azriel. I was your mate.”

The truth spills out before you can stop it, sharp and cutting. He freezes, his expression shifting from confusion to disbelief.

“What?” His voice is barely a whisper.

You laugh again, a broken sound. “The Cauldron tied us together centuries ago, but you never felt it, did you? You never even noticed.”

His shadows pull back, retreating like they’ve been burned. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because it didn’t matter!” you snap, your voice rising. “You didn’t want me that way, Azriel. You never did. And I wasn’t about to force something on you that you didn’t feel.”

He stares at you, his usually stoic face cracking with something raw and uncertain. “I—”

But you shake your head, cutting him off. “It doesn’t matter anymore. I’ve moved on.”

“You’ve moved on?” he echoes, his gaze flicking toward the direction Lucien went. His voice lowers, dangerous. “With him?”

“Yes,” you say firmly, though the word feels heavy. “Because he sees me, Azriel. He knows what it’s like to be unwanted. To feel second-best.”

The words are a dagger between you, and you can see the way they strike him, the way his shadows twist and writhe.

“Is that what you think?” he asks quietly, his voice breaking. “That you were second-best?”

Your throat tightens, but you refuse to back down. “I don’t think it. I know it.”

For a moment, neither of you speak. The bond hums faintly in your chest, but it’s different now—fading, unraveling as you finally let go of the male who could never love you the way you deserved.

“I’m happy here,” you say softly, your voice steady. “And you… you have Gwyn. You have your life in Velaris. Let that be enough.”

Azriel doesn’t argue. He just stands there, his shadows a chaotic storm around him, as you turn and walk away.

This time, you don’t look back.

Aaannd scene XOXO ~

[fibfoolingart]

i swear this was just supposed to be some fun aesthetic swap doodles, but then i started thinking about The Implications and now i have a wholeass story behind this au lol

any world where grace chasity isn’t a horny, homicidal prude, we lose the original plot, so this au would revolve more around the church of the starry children then max jägerman lol

solomon decides the best way to wield power in hatchetfield is through religion instead of government and he unites all the tiny denominational churches into his church, becoming the pastor (happening around the same time steph starts middle school.)

it works. almost everyone attends solomon’s church, and it becomes a required social event for anyone who’s anyone in hatchetfield.

but it’s all a manipulation for bigger purposes as solomon slowly incorporates text from the black book, pushing the church into culty territory.

as the preacher’s kid, steph is under constant scrutiny. she might have wanted to rebel as a kid, but the wrath of god is a much bigger threat than just breaking her phone and solomon uses fear and guilt to keep her in line, turning her into a model of godly behavior (at least on the surface).

the chasitys refuse to join solomon’s church, but their small congregation shuts down when there aren’t enough people left. 

grace’s parents encourage grace to pour all her free time into individual bible study to make up for the lack of church, church activities, and church outings, but grace starts treating the bible like a textbook instead of a spiritual guide.

without structured church activities, her obsession with rules and procedures shifts to the school system

grace unknowingly separates herself from spirituality when her bible obsession becomes academic. she’s still a christian, but she’s more likely to corner you in the library to infodump about angelic hierarchies than preach about purity.

travis coulson was ruth’s older cousin. it freaked her the hell out that someone could be bullied that bad that they have to transfer and their entire life is erased for a dumbass lie that everyone believes. so ruth vows that she and her friends will never be outcasts (or timberwolves) and drags pete and richie into a "popularity pact" in fifth grade, forcing them to get cool or else.

the trio spends their summer doing research and practicing social skills. (they basically spend their time practicing masking autism and refining their ability to camouflage.)

the trio starts researching what’s cool. their findings? football players, student council presidents, and school play leads are the pinnacle of popularity. so, they throw themselves into middle school tryouts and campaigns to fit these roles:

richie tries out for football but ends up as the mascot.

ruth auditions for the lead in the school play but gets relegated to lighting tech.

pete campaigns for class president but only gets elected secretary.

instead of quitting there, they regroup and try again in high school:

richie uses the athleticism he got as a mascot to land him a spot on the swim team.

ruth works her way up to the the student/assistant director for the school plays

pete works his way up the student council ranks, eventually becoming class president.

the trio is finally just cool enough that their quirks get rebranded as "quirky-cool" instead of "weird." they still bond over star wars and anime in secret, but their popularity ensures they’re never targets again.

[annasellheim]

So this was on the @writing-prompt-s site- so I'm treating it as a writing prompt. (I can't fucking draw right now due to a busted shoulder, so I'm doing a bunch of them because I'm alone, hurt, and sad, and they're fun).

Anyway, the story:

I sat down next to him. I looked at my former student, now an adult. A brilliant engineer. I remembered him. I had really liked this kid. The man in front of me was impressive as hell too. It didn't surprise me at all.

"I'm really, really sorry this hurt you. That I hurt you. What I was trying to do was show you some techniques. My goal was that, later, after you learned them, you could deviate from them and make your own thing.

We have a set of guidelines of things we need to teach. It's a mandatory curriculum, with national guidelines, just like math or science or whatever. But it varies from state to state. And who the hell knows what they do in private school. And the curriculum isn't focused on self expression as much as teaching you how to use fine motor skills and..."

Shit, stop it Anna. You don't need to keep justifying yourself.

I try to remember when he had moved away during the school year. I wonder if I hadn't gotten to the point in the spring semester where I gave my students more lee way, to experiment and deviate from the techniques I showed them. To let them decorate their dishes any way they wanted. To make trees and flowers for different seasons. I wondered if he had been part of one of my first classes, before I figured out how to create a really solid curriculum.

Regardless, I could have been clearer about it. I was new to teaching when I had him as a student, I know that much. I was overwhelmed, and honestly, barely keeping it together for the first, like, 4 years I taught. And there were 20-30 students in my classes. It took me a a while to figure out what works and what doesn't in the classroom.

The most important thing was this man in front of me. He was way quieter and more hesitant than the kid I remembered. I hope I didn't do that to him, but I'm was probably reading too much into it.

I took a sip of my coffee.

"You know what's cool tho? The shit you've been doing at work-"

He looked surprised and snorted.

"What?"

"You swore."

It was my turn to laugh. "Yeah, to be fair I'm not in classroom mode right now.

Anyway, the stuff you've been doing at work, it all sounds like it takes a ton of creativity to accomplish."

"I never thought of it that way..."

"Well, you've been on the forefront of a bunch of stuff because you think outside the box. I'm glad I didn't rob you of that."

We sat next to each other on the bench. He was thinking it over. I was trying to not dwell on the fact that he brought this up, that he had carried this pain with him for 20 years.

"Do you still make art?"

"No, not since elementary school, since my last-"

"Your last required art class. Got it."

I gave him a side eyed glance.

"You know you can get back into it at any time, right?"

He was taken aback, he obviously had never considered it.

I smiled. I've had this conversation before, many many times.

"It's not like a sport or something. You can start at literally any point in your life, you don't need to be young and in peak physical condition. Art ain't basketball.

The cool thing too is that you can choose what you want to make, you're an adult. Nothing in art is required for you to learn. You can pick any class you want, or no class at all."

I gave him my business card.

"If you shoot me an email, I can give you some books to read for you to get started. Not to teach techniques, but exercises that help get you back to the point where you just make stuff. I think a LOT of people stop making art for all kinds of reasons, not just because of a novice teacher. There's been a bunch of stuff that's come out recently to try to help adults make art again. y'know, to recapture the joy of it."

We said our goodbyes. I really hope he thinks it over and reaches out.

Once a little boy went to school. One morning The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. He liked to make all kinds; Lions and tigers, Chickens and cows, Trains and boats; And he took out his box of crayons And began to draw.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make flowers.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make beautiful ones With his pink and orange and blue crayons. But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And it was red, with a green stem. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at his teacher’s flower Then he looked at his own flower. He liked his flower better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just turned his paper over, And made a flower like the teacher’s. It was red, with a green stem.

On another day The teacher said: “Today we are going to make something with clay.” “Good!” thought the little boy; He liked clay. He could make all kinds of things with clay: Snakes and snowmen, Elephants and mice, Cars and trucks And he began to pull and pinch His ball of clay.

But the teacher said, “Wait!” “It is not time to begin!” And she waited until everyone looked ready. “Now,” said the teacher, “We are going to make a dish.” “Good!” thought the little boy, He liked to make dishes. And he began to make some That were all shapes and sizes.

But the teacher said “Wait!” “And I will show you how.” And she showed everyone how to make One deep dish. “There,” said the teacher, “Now you may begin.”

The little boy looked at the teacher’s dish; Then he looked at his own. He liked his better than the teacher’s But he did not say this. He just rolled his clay into a big ball again And made a dish like the teacher’s. It was a deep dish.

And pretty soon The little boy learned to wait, And to watch And to make things just like the teacher. And pretty soon He didn’t make things of his own anymore.

Then it happened That the little boy and his family Moved to another house, In another city, And the little boy Had to go to another school.

The teacher said: “Today we are going to make a picture.” “Good!” thought the little boy. And he waited for the teacher To tell what to do. But the teacher didn’t say anything. She just walked around the room.

When she came to the little boy She asked, “Don’t you want to make a picture?” “Yes,” said the little boy. “What are we going to make?” “I don’t know until you make it,” said the teacher. “How shall I make it?” asked the little boy. “Why, anyway you like,” said the teacher. “And any color?” asked the little boy. “Any color,” said the teacher. And he began to make a red flower with a green stem.

~Helen Buckley, The Little Boy

[ktownshizzle]

Friends & Fools | One-Shot

Pairing: Min Yoongi x female Reader

Summary: You and Yoongi have always been just friends—inseparable since childhood, roommates in the city, partners in navigating life’s chaos. At your high school reunion, the questions start: Are you two finally together? Uh, no. But as the night goes on, and Yoongi looks at you like that, hmm—has everyone else seen something you’ve been too scared to admit?

Genre: Fluff, Suggestive, non-idol!au, reunion!au, best friends & roommates to lovers, grumpy x grumpy, when reader is more yoongi than yoongi himself

Warnings: cursing, smoking cigarettes, kissing, allusion to sex

Word count: 2.8k

Posting date: November 26, 2024

Notes: This is a one-shot to celebrate my 500 followers milestone for the blog! Just a cute little something as a thank you making this writer happy. The story was inspired by two asks: 1) lovely anon who wanted to talk about Yoongi at Jimmy Fallon; 2) kookiewithluv who sent me the softest, smiliest, fluffiest d-day Yoongi photos that I just couldn’t help myself.

Enjoy, my lovelies~ 💕

Masterlist

MIN YOONGI 101 is a course you could’ve taught in school. It’s a subject matter you’ve mastered somewhere between the sandbox (when he was the kid hoarding plastic shovels in the playground) and the shoebox (the over-priced apartment that you both decided to rent together after uni).

It’s ‘cause you’ve always been good at watching him. You’ve picked up all his visual cues, his weird quirks, his tells.

Tonight is no different. From across the room, in the too-bright glare of your high school gym’s rented stage lights, you catch the tell-tale pinch of his brow, the mindless nodding that means he’s enduring yet another overly enthusiastic former classmate. Someone’s laughing too loud in his face, and he responds the same way he always does—with a small, polite smile and a glance at his drink like it’s his lifeline.

You’d know that look anywhere.

Yoongi catches your eye then, like he can feel your energy slicing through the crowd, and his lips twitch. The faintest ghost of a smirk, the kind he reserves just for you. He raises his glass, and you do the same from across the room. A silent message of we're too fucking sober to be in this joint.  He holds your gaze and you watch as he inadvertently inserts the straw up one nostril, giggling because that wouldn’t be the first time. He shakes his head and puts it back in his mouth for a sip.

It’s comforting, really. That tether between you and Yoongi.

Even if the two of you are apparently the only ones here who don’t see what everyone else does.

You are standing by the endlessly classy boxed wine on the buffet table, watching your old classmates get progressively tipsier under dim lighting. Yoongi stands next to you, unabashedly drinking whiskey straight from his flask. He looks real sharp in a tailored blazer, with a casual t-shirt underneath, mumbling earlier that day how he cannot be arsed to fiddle with a necktie, even though it’s always you who has been fixing it for job interviews, funerals, formal occasions etc. for him for the past years. Secretly you think he knew that wearing that t-shirt actually just made him look effortlessly cool.

Someone from across the room waves, and you recognize it to be Hyorin, your former lab partner who was also a cheerleader or something, making her way toward you. “Oh my God, you two!” she exclaims, beaming. “You finally got together, huh?”

Yoongi chokes on his drink, and you nearly drop your solo.

“Nooo,” Yoongi drawls, dragging the word out with a mix of disbelief and amusement.

Hyorin frowns, tilting her head. “Wait. You’re not a couple?”

You both shake your heads so emphatically it looked rehearsed. 

“Nope,” you say, popping the P.

“Not even fucking?”

The audacity of this chick, though?

“Not even close,” Yoongi answers, but his voice sounded oddly tight. 

Hyorin gives you both a skeptical once-over before laughing. “Okay, sure. Whatever you guys say.” She leaves, shaking her head like you’ve just told her the earth is flat, didn’t you know that?

They’re really starting to piss you off, ngl.

“Okay, but seriously,” Jihyo, who was in the band with you and one of the few people you’ve kept some form of contact with (hence can tolerate), hisses. “You’re really still not together?”

It was your turn to choke on your drink. “Hajimaaa! Why does everyone keep asking me that? Y’all wanna shoot your shot with Yoongi, go! I don’t give a fuck.”

Jihyo gives you a look like you’re the most oblivious person on earth. “This is exactly why I think you’re into him. Not everyone wants to date him, girl. We’re just curious about you two.”

“I—fuck you, actually. Give me one good reason why you think we’re a… thing.”

“Because you and Yoongi have been attached at the hip since we were all kids? Because you practically morphed into the same person? Because he’s literally looked at you the same way since he had that awful mushroom cut in fourth grade?”

“It wasn’t a mushroom cut. It was…” You cringe. “Yeah, it was a mushroom cut.”

You both giggle, then she asks, swirling the remains of her wine. “But seriously. Everyone thought you finally figured it out. You two moved in together a couple of months ago, no?”

“Yeah, because rent’s insane, I hate people, and he hates people, so we’re perfect roommates.”

Jihyo raises a skeptical eyebrow. “Mmhmm. Roommates. Sure.”

You roll your eyes, but the words stick with you as the night drags on, looping in your head as more classmates approach with the same comments. It’s exhausting. You’re about to grab your coat and drag Yoongi out of here when you feel a familiar figure at your side.

“You okay?” Yoongi asks, voice low, his shoulder brushing yours. 

“I’m fine,” you sigh. “Just… everyone keeps asking why we’re not dating.”

Yoongi scoffs, his tongue clicking against his teeth. “What’d you tell ‘em?”

“The truth.”

He smirks again, but it’s sharper this time, laced with something you can’t quite name. “And what’s that?”

“That you’re a chronically unavailable workaholic and are too emotionally constipated to be anyone’s boyfriend.”

He huffs a laugh, shoulders bobbing. “Ouch,” he says, but his eyes are soft, the way they get when he looks at you sometimes, warm and wistful.

You look away first, clearing your throat, suddenly remembering what Jihyo said about how he looks at you. “Well, you’re not exactly ideal boyfriend material.”

Yoongi shrugs, mouth forming a straight line. “Fair.”

Anyway, you know you’re no dream girl, either. He is just way too soft for you to say it to your face.

Between the two of you, your combined dating history looks like a collection of UN flags, except they’re all red. 

Him with his too-whiny, needy bitches, who have far too high expectations of him and he is just not the guy to validate their feelings 24 fucking 7. He has things to do (produce) and places to be (his studio).

And you, with your love bombers and commitment-phobes that have got you questioning if there’s something wrong with you because they always lose interest down the line. (Yoongi says they're all assholes btw, and you are inclined to believe him, despite lingering self-doubt.)

You always joked that no one else understood either of you the way you understood each other.

But aren’t jokes half-meant?

By the time the reunion starts winding down, you’re tipsy enough that the edges of the night feel soft and fuzzy. You’re outside, leaning against the brick wall of the building with Yoongi, his jacket draped over your shoulders because he’s simply gentlemanly like that. Raised well by his eomma who you equally adore.

“You didn’t have to stay this long,” he says, lighting a cigarette.

You watch the glow of it as he inhales, the faint tremble of his fingers in the cold. “Neither did you.”

He shrugs, exhaling a thin ribbon of smoke. “I wasn’t gonna let you suffer alone.”

Something warm pools in your chest. “Thanks. And, same.”

The quiet stretches between you, the kind of comfortable silence only Yoongi can manage. It’s strange how natural it feels, just existing with him like this. Like it’s enough.

You gesture to the stick, then he slowly brings it to your lips.

You exhale the smoke as you tilt your head back to look at the stars—or what few stars there are on this cloudy night—and ask the question that’s been sitting heavy on your tongue all night.

“Why do you think everyone assumes we’re together?”

Yoongi doesn’t answer right away, but you can feel the heaviness of his gaze on you like it’s settling on your shoulders.

“I dunno,” he says eventually, voice quiet. “Maybe because we act like we are.”

Hol’ up. “What do you mean?”

He takes another drag of his cigarette, exhaling slow. “I mean… we know each other better than anyone else. We live together. Spend all our time together. Maybe they think it just makes sense.”

Your heart stutters. “Does it?”

Yoongi stills, blinks like he’s trying to suss out where you’re going with this. “What’s up with you?”

“I don’t know,” you admit, your voice teeny-tiny. “Just… do you ever think maybe we’ve been—”

“Idiots?” he cuts in, a wry smile tugging at his lips.

You laugh, but it’s shaky. “Yeah. That.”

Yoongi looks at you then, really looks at you, and you feel like the ground might give out beneath you. There’s something in his expression, something raw and vulnerable and scared. Like he’s standing on the edge of something, just waiting for you to push him over.

“Sometimes,” he says finally, his voice rough.

It’s not an admission, not exactly, but it’s enough to make your pulse race.

“Yoongi,” you start, but the words catch in your throat.

He snuffs the cigarette against the wall and tosses it towards the can. Then, he steps closer, close enough that you can see the faint moles on his face, the curve of his lashes as he blinks down at you.

“You wanna go home?” he asks, his voice softer now, almost hesitant.

You know what he’s really asking.

You say yes.

The walk to the subway station is quiet. Tense.

The back of his hand brushes yours as you walk along the sidewalk, and neither of you moves away.

The subway ride back to your apartment is also quiet. Tense.

Yoongi doesn’t say much, but his knee brushes yours every time the train sways, and neither of you moves away. 

By the time you’re back in your apartment, your brain is mushy and your head feels like it’s about to explode as you keep rewinding and replaying the events of the night, every classmate that alluded to your relationship, his lingering glance, sharing the cigarette, every half-formed word between you... Fuck.

Yoongi kicks off his shoes by the door, pushing it under the rack. You stand there awkwardly, the weight of everything unsaid pressing down on you.

“Tea?” he asks, already moving toward the kitchen.

“No.” Your voice comes out too abrupt, too sharp, and he freezes.

He turns slowly, eyes searching yours. “You ok?”

“No.” You take a deep breath, your heart pounding. “I think we’ve been avoiding this for a long time.”

Yoongi blinks, but you know he is just pretending not to understand what you meant. “Avoiding what?”

“This,” you say, gesturing between you. “Us.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then— “Mm.”

Mm. That’s all he says, like you haven’t just dropped a bomb in the middle of your tiny living room.

“Yoongi,” you say, stepping closer. “Do you—”

“Yeah,” he interrupts, nodding as he bites down on his lower lip. “I do.”

The air shifts between you, and suddenly you’re not sure who moves first, but then his warm hands are on your face and your fingers are tangled in his shirt and his mouth is on yours, and—

Oh.

Damn.

His lips are softer than you imagined—not that you spent countless late nights pining, but if you had, this would surpass every hypothetical. He kisses like he does everything else: deliberate, unhurried, sure. His hands slide down from your face to rest on your waist.

The sigh that slips from your lips is involuntary, but it’s enough for him to push further. His tongue brushes against your bottom lip, coaxing you open, and when he deepens the kiss, tasting you, it uncoils the knot that’s been tight in your belly all night. Yoongi tastes faintly like whiskey, like cigarettes, and something else so distinctly him and you’re endlessly intoxicated.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, nails grazing the nape of his neck, and the low, guttural noise he makes in response sends a shockwave through you. Heat settles in your core, spreading with an intensity that takes you by surprise. Because omg–this is not some hot stranger you met at a bar. This is your goddamn best friend, whose hand is now dangerously encroaching on the swell of your ass.

You hadn’t expected this—not the kiss, not the pleasure, not the way he makes you feel like you’re in some version of paradise.

You’re melting with every curl of his tongue, every shift in the way his lips move against yours. It’s the kind of intimacy that makes the rest of the world fall away, until the only thing you’re aware of is the feel of him—his warmth, his certainty, the way he kisses like he already knows this is how it should’ve been in the first place–a sureness you hadn’t expected. 

It’s not just passion—it’s belonging, the sense that every piece of you slots perfectly into place with him. Like the years of laughter, arguments, and everything in between have all been leading here. His hands now circling your waist feel steady, like they’ve always known where to hold you even though this is the very first time. 

And in that moment, kissing Yoongi feels like coming home—warm, certain, complete. A place you hadn’t known you were searching for, because you’ve always been with him, and now you can’t imagine ever leaving.

When you finally pull away, his lips are swollen, and his eyes are a bit moist, blinking blankly like he can’t fathom what just happened. His arms loosen their hold on you, just a bit, and suddenly, you can see the flicker of uncertainty in his eyes.

And for a second, your stomach churns, worried that the wheels in his head are turning and it’s telling him that this was not it.

Finally he speaks. “Was that weird?” 

You huff out a breath, a cross between a chuckle and a sigh of relief, because God. Yoongi could be pressed against you, breathless and flushed, and he’d still overthink. You really belong together.

“Not weird,” you say softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. “Weirdly perfect, maybe.”

He exhales sharply, relief flooding his features. “Fuck, okay. Good. Because if it sucked for you, I’d have to move out. And in this economy???”

You swat his chest, laughing again, but then his arms tighten around you again, holding you close, and the teasing fades into something softer. It’s not lost on you that this is the longest you’ve ever touched each other. Two socially awkward fools who are secretly touch-starved now finally getting what they’ve been craving for but have been too shy to admit it.

“Seriously, though,” he says, a lopsided grin decorating his lips. “What happens next?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmm. You could still make tea if you want?”

He groans, his head dropping to your shoulder. “You’re the worst.”

"Or…" you say, sliding your hands across his chest, your fingers lingering just enough to feel his breath hitch beneath your touch. You push his blazer off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor with a soft thud. "We could… you know."

Yoongi lifts his head, and the look in his eyes makes your heart trip over itself. There’s heat there, sure, but beneath it lies something deeper, something that feels vulnerable. "Are we really doing this?"

And you know what he means. Because again, you know Min Yoongi inside out. And he’s known you. But now you’re ready to bare everything that’s left to discover.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything," you say, your voice steady in a way that surprises even you.

His tongue presses against the inside of his cheek, his last bit of hesitation melting away as he nods.

You step back, your movements slow, deliberate. Turning away from him, you reach for the straps of your dress and slide them down your shoulders, feeling the fabric loosen as you take a few steps toward his room. You glance back over your shoulder, a smirk tugging at your lips. "Are you coming?"

He grins, gummy and warm, and it’s so achingly Yoongi that your chest tightens. "I would hope so…"

You roll your eyes stifling a laugh, because he’s stupid, because he’s him. And because you’ve never loved (wait... what?) anyone more in your entire life. "C’mere then," you tease, the words soft, daring, as your dress slips to the floor and pools around your ankles.

He breathes out, a sound that’s almost a laugh, almost disbelief. "Okay," he says, his voice low, quiet, like he’s agreeing to something more than just this moment.

And maybe he is. Maybe this is the easiest thing in the world, the most inevitable thing that’s ever happened to either of you.

And now, finally, you’re both ready to admit it.

:)

A/N: EEEEKKKK Please tell me what you thought about the story! I'd appreciate feedback if you loved it, hated it, and if it made you feel a certain way.

Thank you for reading this you lovely, beautiful human xo 

& If you want to read more of my work, please check out my masterlist. & If you enjoy my work and want to buy me a ko-fi, I'd appreciate it.& If you want to be tagged for all future stories, you can sign up for the permanent taglist.

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[felassan]

David Gaider on Dorian, under a cut for length:

"Now this is a fun one. It's no big secret I have a lot of feelings about Dorian, not least of which because he was my first (and only) gay male companion. There's a lot more to him than that, of course (as there should be), and it was quite a trip. So let's go! Now, DAI is a story all its own, but I'm sticking to the characters. In this case, back at the beginning, the writers were going to try something new: we were going to let the artists take a more active role in the companion creation process. Why? Because not doing so had caused a lot of problems. See, here's the thing: writers and artists speak two different languages. When talking about characters, we talk about their story. Who they are. What they want. We'd write up these briefs, huge and full of information... but it was never the information the artists needed. They wanted visual cues. I don't mean describing their appearance. Sure, we'd usually provide that, especially if there was a story case to be made, but often the artists vetoed us on appearance stuff anyhow so meh. No, I mean they looked for visual language while we tended to only talk about who the characters *were*. What would happen is they'd hone in on something visual in our write-up not intended to be a focus. The first write-up for Anders in DA2, for instance, mentioned he was "haggard" after his journey... and the first concept we got was this pale, shriveled man. "What... is this?" "YOU SAID HAGGARD!" 😅"

"That was the other trick: sometimes when we DID try to be more descriptive, we had to be extra cautious because the words could be interpreted very differently. You encounter this recording VO, too. A VO note says "hysterical" and you *meant* "really upset" but the actor read "scream like a banshee" Thus this caused problems, like I said. The artists would struggle, sometimes conjuring details just to give the character *something* but which would change the character... and, to us, the character was created. Done. We were already invested, probably already writing them. Something had to give. So this time we wrote a bunch of character briefs - but short. One paragraph. We stuck to vibes and the *emotions* we wanted the concepts to evoke. And we didn't name them. They got titles like "Slick Con Man" or "Ice Queen", so we wouldn't get too attached. Then we handed these off to the artists. And it worked nicely. The ones that just weren't inspiring we'd discard, no problem. The others had juice... and the artists felt free to play and offer lots of variations because we weren't set on anything yet. A lot of times, what they produced ended up inspiring US. It was a neat back-and-forth."

"This is what led to Dorian, in fact. He came from a short write-up entitled "Rock Star Mage" and it really boiled down to "I'm cool and I know I'm cool, so take that you cretins". And just like that, the first sketches (by Casper Konefal, I think? I bet I'm wrong) were all amazing. Instant fire. Me: "He looks kind of like... Freddie Mercury?" Him: "Is that bad?" Me: "NO ARE YOU KIDDING THIS IS AMAZING" Plus there was a monkey. Sadly, we had to lose the monkey. There were iterations to come, but this was really where Dorian was born: Tevinter mage, noble, savant, and too cool for school."

"When did he become gay? Not right away. Like I said elsewhere, we didn't talk romance and sexuality until after the concepts were more in place. But as we were brainstorming about why this hot shot mage left Tevinter, the idea DID come up that maybe it was because he was gay. Not directly, however. Homophobia isn't really a thing in Thedas, after all, so at first blush I didn't think that could work. "Rich kid gets kicked out of the house for being gay" wasn't a trope I wanted to explore. But, then again, magister families in Tevinter are *obsessed* with the appearance of perfection, so...? Any deviation from the "norm" is considered scandal-worthy. It said weakness. It said you couldn't control your house. Now... THAT had real promise. The writing pit discussed it a lot. So I think it's fair to say that the gay fairy was already circling Dorian even before we got to the romance talk. I think it's also fair to say that the rest of the team realized I low-key wanted to write him, because when everyone started calling dibs, who was left standing for me? (I pick last, remember.) I gleefully snatched him up and got to work... ...about six months later. I was very busy at the time. 😅 That late start meant I had to design and write VERY quickly. And I did. Somehow, though, this one... it came easily. "Catty gay man" isn't digging very deep, no surprise to anyone who knows me, and it had an extra layer of being so fun because Dorian was confident. He sparred verbally. I loved it."

"There was more to it, however. The conflict between Dorian and his father... ugh, how do I say this? Let's be clear: Dorian's story is not MY story, but it's also not far off. I wrote the entire confrontation scene in one go. After I was done, I probably cried harder than I ever have in my life. 🫠 I was unsure whether it was any good, however. I just didn't feel objective. I passed it over to Cori May - my friend but also Dorian's editor - and asked her to please tell me and be honest. She read it. She walked into my office after, tears streaming down her face, and just nodded. "It's good." Here's the thing. Not everyone is going to agree with this, but: I don't think a writer NEEDS to be a minority in order to write a minority. Sometimes those characters should simply exist, and we want them to. But if that character's story is ABOUT their experience as a minority? That's different. Dorian's story didn't need to revolve around his sexuality - and, honestly, it only did so as a tangent to his family issue, but they're so bound together it's probably irrelevant to split them - but my writing him meant it could be. It allowed me to SAY something. That felt good. It felt right. Ramon Tikaram came on board after a lengthy casting process (so many British Indian accents, oh god). I sat in on a few recording sessions... the confrontation scene, though? Ramon: *says line* Me: (curled up on a nearby sofa in fetal position) *shaky thumbs up* Caroline: "Yep. Great work, Ramon!""

"Dorian's sexuality isn't all he's about, but that's certainly how some viewed it. When the character was announced in 2014, his being gay was mentioned as the last of a number of points, and the instant response from some gamers was to act as if we'd called a press conference just to say THAT. 🙄 It was annoying. Still is. Overall, however, the reaction to Dorian was very positive. The number of straight men who said they romanced him still pleases me. The number of fans who privately contacted me who'd been through conversion therapy, some who said Dorian helped them survive? Well. Gosh. 😭 I did write him for Trespasser - though I hear that a late scope cut meant every conversation had been chopped by 1/3rd or more, and that meant a lot of nuance lost. Which is sad, if true, because it sounds like the result of that left some Dorian romancers a bit cold. Such is how game dev rolls. 😔 If you need more proof of how it was hard for me to let go of him, a short story I wrote after Trespasser came out where Dorian has a bit of closure with his dead father: medium.com/@davidgaider... So yeah. He'll always be my boi. And I'll always be thankful Bio gave me this opportunity. ❤️"

[source thread]

User: "I'm not going to lie, it's hard to take my mind off Dorian almost having a monkey." David Gaider: "If by “almost” you mean there was a picture of a monkey that the concept artist put there as a whim, and which would almost certainly have taken more cinematics and modeling time to put in than we could ever afford… then yes. 😉" [source]

[demonic0angel]

Anger Management prompt where there is a car accident, except it's in space, between Team Phantom and The Outlaws.

(Lmaoooo this is so freaking funny bc my sister got into a car accident just a week ago. She’s fine tho, dw)

Part 2

“Fuck you!” The teenager immediately screamed. “Where the hell did you learn to drive?! Go back to school, fucking dumbass! You can’t even drive, you piece of sh—”

He was then pulled back by one of his friends, who grabbed him and dragged him back to their normal looking, definitely not broken spacecraft. A girl, dressed in a very distinctive style of goth, then made an awkward face, popped her gum, and said, “Sorry about him. He has really bad road rage.”

Jason’s eye twitched. “I can see that. So what’re we going to do now? You crashed into our spacecraft!”

“Well, you don’t have spaceship insurance, do you?” The girl drawled.

Jason was suddenly reminded of why he hated Tim Drake and Damian Wayne. They were goddamn insufferable, obnoxious, annoying, irresponsible teenagers.

Jason suddenly felt like he aged 20 years in an instant and wondered if this was what Dick felt like, being so old.

Roy patted him on the arm. “Want me to take care of this?”

Jason gestured for him to go ahead, already feeling a headache. Roy walked forward and smiled charmingly. “Hey, kiddo! So, it’s not a big deal that we got bumped into— happens all the time! But we just want to know where your parents are! And why you’re out in space! And how we’re going to get back to earth, since our shipped is now wrecked. You know what earth is, right? Earth is—”

“We know what earth is,” the same cursing teenager from earlier said with a snide tone, “We live there too.”

Roy and Jason blinked.

Then Jason spat, “Well, that doesn’t do us shit! We still have a wrecked spacecraft and we’re stuck here on this moon until you fix it! Don’t think you can just fly away! We’re stranded because of you brats!”

Kori then appeared out of the spacecraft and flew down to them all. The kids all immediately stopped, eyes wide in awe. She smiled and said, “Hello, children! Is there anyway you can help us? You did wreck our spacecraft after all.”

Immediately, in the most respectful tone Jason had ever heard, the two-faced brat from earlier then said, “I’m so sorry, miss. We didn’t think that anyone would be exploring this part of space out here, so we weren’t looking! We’re sorry. We don’t have the tools to fix it either.”

Jason’s entire face suddenly wanted to break out into the nastiest glare he could muster. So not only did this kid blatantly show favoritism to Kori (even if she was definitely super cool), he also couldn’t help at all despite the fact that he completely stranded them in space after being careless with a spaceship?

Kori frowned and they all shared a look. Now what? Jason could feel the migraine get more annoying and he almost wanted to pull out his gun just to kill some kids and feel better about his shitty fucking day, when the other teen, who had pulled away the feral brat, spoke up and said, “We can call Jazz!”

“Oh yeah! Jazz! Quick, Sam, call her up!”

Roy narrowed his eyes. “Who’s Jazz?”

“My big sister,” the brat said, “She’ll fix this.”

Great. Another annoying person who would only make his headache worse and possibly piss him off even further. However, just as he finished thinking this and sharing another annoyed look with Roy, a green portal opened up and a goddess stepped down.

She was tall, with a curvaceous figure wrapped in black and blue robes, as well as a fluffy cape around her shoulders. Her hair fell down over her back, colored red like fire and sunsets and tiger lilies, and her face was that of a statue, carefully designed, crafted, and admired by all. She was so beautiful and picturesque that the air around her seemed to glow like a halo.

Just looking at her made Jason’s sorrows disappear.

She blinked her fluttering eyelashes over her turquoise eyes and then asked, “What seems to be the problem?”

Her voice was so angelic that Jason didn’t even feel his headache anymore.

“Nothing now that you’re here,” Jason said dreamily.

“Oh my god,” Roy said, hand over his mouth as he stared at Jason in shock. Even Kori looked shocked and amused.

The boy with black hair shared a disgusted look with his friends. “I thought that would’ve been my line.”

[stevieschrodinger]

Eddie hasn't answered the phone in nearly two days which, post Chrissy, post Vecna, post end of the world (averted), post every thing, is a wholly unacceptable amount of time.

Steve does a round robin on the walkie; everyone suddenly realizes they haven't heard from him either. Steve volunteers to go over.

He raps on the front door of the little two bed place Wayne owns now, a little government recompense after they took the trailer away to study, or whatever. Also quite a bit of 'take the house and keep your mouth shut,' kind of thing, Steve figures.

Wayne looks tired when he opens the door, kinda droopy, which Steve knows means he's really tired. Like, holding form is becoming a smidge difficult kind of tired.

Steve slips in fast, 'sorry Wayne, Eddie's van wasn't at his place so I figured he was here,' which he must be, because Eddie's van is here, and not outside his shiny new trailer, 'he hasn't been answering the phone.'

'He's here kid but he's kind of...having a rest day?' Wayne hedges. He's bad at lying, just like Eddie, Steve knows something is up.

'Can I see him, just for a second? Just check all is good?' Wayne gets Steve's protective nature, after everything that happened, he knows Steve likes to look after his people. He also knows Steve can keep a secret, only Steve and Robin know about Eddie and Wayne's shape shifting ability - carrying Eddie out of the upside down, convinced Eddie was about to die, only to have Eddie's glittery insides do something wholly unexpected was...well, Steve knows, is the thing.

Eddie also wins at doing impressions, since he can actually turn into movie stars, and that's kind of cool. Steve always likes watching Eddie turn back into himself though, maybe because of the crush he's been nursing.

Wayne caves, and Steve knows it's bad when he finds Eddie in the bin. He's shimmery and silver, and nearly tipping out the edges. He sloshes a little when Steve walks in, 'hey man, you didn't even make it to the bath? You want me to tip you out?'

Nothing, but the overhang wave of Eddie goo turns, hanging over the far lip of the big trash can. Like Eddie just turned his back.

'Uhm. I just. I just wanted to check you were okay? You know? Everyone's kind of worried.'

Eddie ripples. Like a sigh.

Eddie sloshes out of the bucket, his form building upwards until Steve is standing in front of...Nancy? Wearing a torn Dio shirt and plaid sleep pants.

'Eddie...that's kind of weird man.'

'I know!'. He waves Nancy's arms around, ' I know okay! But I can't stop it!'

'What...you're stuck? As Nancy.'

'Kinda', Eddie hedges, his ability to lie as bad as Wayne's.

'What does that mean?'

Eddie huffs, and shifts again...into Farah Fawcett. He crosses her arms over his now ample chest.

'Eddie...what is going on?'

Eddie shifts again, the hot brunette from the horror movie they watched two weeks ago, Steve can't remember the actresses name. He remembers saying she's hot though.

'Steve just...I'm having some kind of crisis, okay. It's just a bit of a...block. Just give me a few days and I'll be right as rain.'. Heather Locklear explains.

'Eddie...come on man, there's clearly something up.'

'This is so embarrassing.'

'Just tell me, okay? It can't be anything that bad, I won't judge.'

'It can be that bad,' Michelle Pfeiffer whines from behind her hands.

'Eddie...I'm not leaving until you spill.'

'I really...like you...' which, coming from Olivia Netwon-John, probably fulfils some sort of fantasy for Steve, but he has to remind himself he's thrilled to hear it from Eddie, too. 'So now I'm stuck, trying to be someone you actually want.'

'I...oh.'

'Yeah.'

'Well, I really want Eddie. So does that fix it?'

Brooke Shields cocks her hip and rolls her eyes, 'Steve, I'm not doing this on purpose, I don't have any control right now, so I don't need an empty platitude-'

'Its not. I've had a crush on you for ages. I'm not going to kiss you when you look like someone whose not Eddie.'

Eddie slowly melts back into himself, 'you're not?' he asks weakly.

'Nope, I can now though-'

'I'm back!!!' Eddie runs his hands all over himself, disappearing into the bathroom, checking the mirror he shouts, 'it's me! I'm me again! Oh thank fuck! Do you know how stressful that was! Having big tits is hell on your back-'

Eddie rambles, and Steve waits patiently for him to remember they could be making out right now.

Your friend, a shapeshifter (a secret you've kept since childhood) hasn't answered your texts in days, so you head to their home. Upon arriving, you find that they're in the middle of an existential crisis; they can't remember how to turn back into their original, human form.

[voidspiraling]

Omg so I was obsessing over Till again ya know. As one do. And I was analyzing (obsessing) over the baby Till comic when I noticed some thingssss. (This is just my interpretations feel free to disagree)

This frame was fun to look at bc it was just Till doodling and looking cute. But the closer you look…..

Till knew that the flowers were actually cameras!!!maybe that’s why even tho Ivan ripped up the flowers in Till’s presence Till didn’t actually hate it as much. Most IvanTill scenes rarely have these flowers in them and I think after Till grows up we stop seeing the flowers altogether.

Baby is so observant 🥹

Another thing I was obsessing over was the final few frames. In this one my eyes first went to Till because he is contrasted in the picture (blue against white bg and his head being in the center of the comp) and then to Mizi bc she is the biggest element in the picture. But after looking closer you see that Mizi and Sua are both blurry. They are also further away from Till.

But here Ivan and Till are both in focus and they’re right next to each other. I think this shows how despite what Till outwardly says on his subconscious level he feels closer to Ivan. They’re equals. This is also easy to overlook because Ivan is cut off in the picture. He’s like a shadow off to the side. This could be bc Ivan always hides what he feels to everyone and to himself. Or maybe bc he always follows Till around like a shadow lol.

Another thing I wanted to add is when Till turns around. Presumably he’s looking at Mizi (could just be the viewer but lets assume it’s Mizi) but his face is flat he only looks surprised to see her. But aside from the fact that his collar is green we don’t see any other indication that he’s happy. His face isn’t flushed nor is his face expressive like it usually is. I think this is bc his love for Mizi wasn’t in a romantic sense but more in a admiration sense, and his love has cooled down.

Not to sound mean or anything but I remember reading that the reason he fell in love with her is bc of her smile. While that is a sweet notion it feels surface level especially when you compare it to Ivan’s love to Till.

Which would you prefer someone falling in love with your smile vs. someone falling in love with your strength and passion?

I also think that it’s telling that in his R2 song he admits that his feelings were “Error: No better options” Till likely knows that he doesn’t love Mizi but he feels like he should love her bc she is so kind and gentle. She gave him such nice and thoughtful gifts. Even complimented his piercings and treats him kindly even though he’s an outcast.

In his mind he should be madly in love with her. She should be his “savior.”

But inevitably his eyes drift to Ivan.

And I think it’s telling that while Till is looking at Ivan the focal point of the panel is the kids of Anakt garden walking among real trees. It shows that his love for Ivan is similar to freedom and that his love for Ivan is real. It’s like someone feeling relief at finally expressing their love after denying themselves for so long. I think Till tried to force himself to fall in love romantically with Mizi bc he felt too vulnerable around Ivan.

He likes Ivan but he thinks Ivan doesn’t like him so that’s why he tries to fall in love with someone else to get over it. He’s probably afraid of Ivan rejecting him so he projects his love onto Mizi instead. Till doesn’t actually know Mizi all that well so in a way even if she rejects him it won’t hurt that much. And he does feel happier around her and wants to talk to her more. But I think this is more of a friendship thing than a romance thing. Till also wanted to be friends with Sua too but Sua was too obsessed with Mizi to give a damn. That’s why Till feels uncomfortable around her and likely why he gave up talking to her first.

But since Till or any human for that matter were never taught how to love all he can do is try to remove his feelings for Ivan and put them on Mizi. However this isn’t rlly healthy nor does it work out.

After all…

His collar turns green when he listens to Ivan singing. Even though he was injured to the point he passed out, even though he’s bleeding profusely, even though he likely has a major headache. Ivan’s song is comforting to him.

That can only because of love right? Hell after his round even though Mizi was right next to him looking at him he was too injured to even pay her any attention. But here he managed to open his eyes bc it was Ivan singing.

They’re love was always mutual Till was just to shy abt it and tried to run away from it.

;-;

[hoshifighting]

ok... so i've seen your amazing college fling works for seungcheol, jeonghan, and joshua.... but what about one for hoshi 👉👈

ONCE AGAIN I LOVE YOUR WRITING!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

WARNINGS: freshmen!hoshi, late night practices, burn-out, shyness, sunbae!reader, fluff, a lil bit of angst.

WC: 2.8k of this... judge me 🗣needed to divide this into parts...

part 1 / part 2

college fling!hoshi that you clocked that he was a freshman by the very moment he stepped into the dance practice room. it started with the smell, honestly. freshman reek—like nervous sweat and too much axe body spray, paired with the faintest whiff of fear. baggy-ass hoodie that practically swallowed his arms, hands shoved deep in his pockets like they’d get fined if they came out, sneakers so new they squeaked against the gym floor. he looked young. not in a bad way, just in that “i’m not used to being left unsupervised” way.

he stood in the doorway like he didn’t know what to do with himself. everyone else was stretching, pulling their limbs into shapes human joints probably weren’t meant for, and there he was, swaying on the balls of his feet like a kid waiting to ask if they could borrow a crayon.

“you lost?” you called out, not even looking up from where you were sitting, tying your shoelaces.

“huh? n-no, i’m, uh—this is intro to hip-hop?”

the way he said it like a question had you biting back a grin. “yeah, you’re in the right place. c’mon in before the instructor roasts your ass for lurking.”

he shuffled in, taking a spot in the back corner like he was hoping no one would notice him. “i'm invisible if i stand still enough”, he thinks. but of course, everyone noticed him. new kid energy was impossible to ignore, and to top it off, he had that awkwardly cute thing going on. messy bangs falling into his eyes, face pink like he was one awkward comment away from combusting. his eyes, wide and curious, darting around like he was mentally cataloging every single thing in the room.

“you got a name, freshman?” you asked, leaning back on your hands as you watched him.

he blinked, like he didn’t realize you were still talking to him. “oh, uh, hoshi. i mean, soonyoung. but people call me hoshi.”

“cool. you dance before, hoshi?”

“alright, new guy!” the prof clapped his hands, dragging everyone’s attention. “show us a little freestyle! don't be shy...”

college fling!hoshi who freezes mid-blink, still thinking about your question. clutching his backpack straps so hard you thought they might snap. he turned to you, wide-eyed and panicked, like you could save him from the impending doom.

“relax,” you whispered, stepping closer, your voice low enough that only he could hear. “you do this and sunbae’s buying you dinner. whatever you want. ramen, fried chicken, you name it.”

he blinked, like the concept of being spoiled by you was enough to short-circuit his brain, but there was something there. a spark. like maybe he didn’t wanna flop in front of you.

“okay,” he mumbled, and you gave him a grin that could probably power a small city.

“attaboy,” you said, patting his shoulder as you turned back to the class.

by the end of the first class, he’d loosened up a bit—mostly because the instructor made everyone run through improv drills, and there was no room for shyness when you were flailing around to some experimental old-school rap track. you caught him sneaking glances at you when he thought you weren’t looking.

college fling!hoshi who finally zipped up his backpack after what felt like an eternity, stood up, and immediately knocked over a water bottle with his foot. he muttered a quick, shy “sorry,” barely glancing at the offended plastic, and shuffled toward you. his shoulders were stiff, his hands gripping the straps of his backpack like they were the only things tethering him to this earth. you gave him a once-over, your phone in one hand, and a smirk playing at your lips. “you survived,” you said casually, and his grin was so tiny you almost missed it.

college fling!hoshi who started walking alongside you, a little too close like he didn’t know how to pace himself yet. every few steps, his elbow brushed yours, and he’d shift just enough to make it obvious he noticed. you didn’t say anything—just side-eyed him with a teasing smile that had his ears turning red.

college fling!hoshi who paused outside the building with you, his fingers fidgeting with a loose thread on his sleeve as he asked, “so, uh… what do you like to eat?” his voice was barely louder than the passing breeze. you raised an eyebrow at him, tucking your phone into your pocket. “you’re really gonna let me pick, huh?” he nodded, determined, even as he shuffled his feet. “you said you’d spoil me,” he countered, and for the first time, there was a flicker of sass in his tone. you liked it.

college fling!hoshi who almost tripped on his untied shoelace when you said you’d pick a place, his backpack slipping off one shoulder as he bent down to fix it. he was mumbling something about bad luck when you crouched beside him, yanking the lace from his hands and tying it with a quick knot. “you’re gonna kill yourself before dinner at this rate,” you said, and the way he stared at you—wide-eyed, lips parted—made it feel like you’d just handed him the keys to the kingdom.

college fling!hoshi who sat across from you at the tiny chicken shop, looking at the menu like it was a math test. “it’s just chicken, dude,” you teased, propping your chin in your hand. he fumbled with the laminated page, finally blurting, “but what if I pick something too spicy?” you laughed, shaking your head. “okay, rookie, let me help you out.” you ended up ordering for both of you, and when the dish came, his eyes lit up.

college fling!hoshi who distractly puts too much sauce on his chicken wing and doesn’t notice because he was too busy grinning at your stories. “wait, wait—so you fell during a performance?” he asked, the sauce at the corner of his mouth. you groaned, throwing a napkin at him. “it wasn’t just a fall, okay? it was a crash,” you admitted, and his laugh was so loud the couple at the next table glanced over. “stop making fun of me or I’ll make you pay,” you threatened, and his face instantly sobered. “wait, what?”

college fling!hoshi who insisted on paying despite your earlier threats. he pulled out his wallet like it was some grand declaration of independence, only to hesitate when he realized he didn’t have enough cash. “um…” he started, cheeks burning. you rolled your eyes and handed your card to the cashier before he could protest. “rookie rule number one,” you said smugly, “always check your wallet before acting like a big shot.” he muttered something about repaying you, and you just laughed, nudging him toward the door.

college fling!hoshi who got lost again on the way back to his dorm, despite the fact that he’d been living there for a week. “are you serious right now?” you asked, watching him squint at the campus map on his phone. he scratched the back of his head, mumbling, “it all kinda looks the same at night.” sighing, you grabbed his phone, pulled up the map yourself, and started walking. “come on, hoshi-ya you’re hopeless.”

college fling!hoshi who walked beside you, hands in his pockets, quietly humming a tune you didn’t recognize. “what’s that?” you asked, tilting your head toward him. his eyes widened like he’d been caught. “oh, uh, just something I made up,” he admittedquietly. you stopped in your tracks, turning to him with a grin. “wait, you write music?” he shrugged, suddenly bashful. “a little… it’s not a big deal.” you nudged him with your shoulder. “nah, that’s cool as hell. show me sometime?”

college fling!hoshi who hesitated outside his dorm door, hand hovering over the handle. “thanks for… you know, today,” he said, glancing at you shyly. “and dinner.” you smirked, crossing your arms. “you earned it, rookie. but next time, you’re paying.” his smile stretched wide, and for a moment, he just stood there, like he didn’t want to go in. finally, he nodded, fumbling with the key. “goodnight, sunbae,” he said softly, and you had to resist the urge to ruffle his hair as you turned to leave.

college fling!hoshi who always trails behind you, holding onto the strap of your backpack like a lost puppy. “you’re gonna rip it, you know,” you tell him, but he just grins and tightens his grip. “you’re my sunbae. gotta make sure I don’t lose you.” it’s so dumb and cheesy that you flick his forehead, but your chest feels warmer anyway.

college fling!hoshi who managed to charm his way into your friend group like he’d been there all along. one of your music department friends spotted him loitering outside your lecture hall and asked, “is that the guy you’ve been dragging around campus?” you rolled your eyes, but hoshi smiled like he’d just won an award. “that’s me!” he said proudly, and somehow by the end of the conversation, they were swapping playlist recommendations.

college fling!hoshi who shows up at your dorm one night with a bruised knee and a sheepish smile. “i tripped during practice,” he admits, wincing as you drag him inside. “tripped or collapsed?” you demand, pointing at the ice pack in his hands. he shrugs, trying to play it off, but you’re already crouched in front of him, scolding him as you press the ice to his knee. “you should stop, sunbae its worried about you.” you mutter, and when he mumbles, “i’ll be fine,” you glare at him until he mutters an apology instead.

college fling!hoshi who gets into his first real argument with you after you find him practicing in an empty studio way past midnight. “what the hell are you doing?” you snap, flipping on the lights to find him mid-spin, sweat dripping down his face. “just a bit more,” he protests, breathless. “i need to get this routine perfect.” but you’re not having it. “perfect doesn’t matter if you’re too dead to perform, hoshi!” he flinches, wide-eyed, but you don’t stop. “you can’t keep pushing yourself like this. stop before you break something.” he looks at you, frustrated, and finally, he slumps onto the floor, whispering, “sorry, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who randomly shows up with snacks between your classes. “figured you’d be hungry,” he says, handing you a convenience store bag. you peek inside—your favorite drink and a pack of cookies. “didn’t know you were trying to bribe me,” you tease, taking a bite. “is it working?” he asks, grinning, and when you give him a thumbs-up, he beams like a kid on christmas morning.

college fling!hoshi who ends up crashing at your dorm after a long night of studying. he’s sprawled on your bed, one arm thrown over his face, while you sit cross-legged on the floor, typing away at your laptop. “you’re gonna fail if you don’t actually read the material,” you say, glancing up. he groans, rolling onto his side. “then i’ll just ask you to tutor me again,” he says, smirking, and you chuck a pillow at his head.

college fling!hoshi who catches you off-guard one day by slipping his jacket over your shoulders during a chilly walk across campus. “you looked cold,” he says simply, his voice softer than usual. you pull the fabric tighter around you, the faint scent of him lingering on it, and when you glance at him, he’s pretending to be super interested in a tree. “thanks,” you say quietly, and he shrugs, his ears turning pink as he mutters, “anytime, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who came back one day to the practice room after a late practice, two cans of soda in hand, humming to himself. “sunbae, I got—” his voice cut off when he saw you slouched on the floor, one hand clutching your forehead. “y/n?” he rushed over, dropping the sodas with a dull clunk. crouching in front of you, his voice softened. “what’s wrong? are you okay?” you waved him off weakly. “just tired. it’s nothing.” but he didn’t buy it for a second.

college fling!hoshi who gently pried your hand away from your forehead, his fingers brushing against yours. “you’re burning up,” he said, his brow furrowing. “why didn’t you say anything?” you tried to sit up straighter, shrugging like it wasn’t a big deal. “it’s fine, really. just pushed too hard today.” his expression tightened. “this isn’t fine, y/n. you shouldn’t have kept going if you felt like this.”

college fling!hoshi who helped you lean back against the mirror. “stay still, okay?” he murmured, crouching next to you. you gave him a small smile, trying to lighten the mood. “you’re acting like I’m dying, hoshi.” he didn’t laugh, his lips pressing into a thin line. “don’t joke about that,” he said quietly, his eyes scanning your face for any signs of improvement.

college fling!hoshi who let you rest your head against his shoulder when you slumped forward again. “here, like this,” he said softly, adjusting so you were cradled in his arms. his hands were steady, one supporting your back and the other brushing a strand of hair out of your face. “just relax. you’re safe.” he started gently blowing on your face, the cool air soothing your heated skin. “better?” he whispered, his voice close enough to send a strange flutter through your chest.

college fling!hoshi who stayed with you until you could sit up on your own again, his arm still lingering behind your back just in case. “you scared me,” he admitted, his voice quieter than you’d ever heard it. “i thought… what if something happened and I wasn’t here?” you blinked up at him, guilt bubbling in your stomach. “sorry,” you muttered. his hand found yours, squeezing it gently. “just don’t do it again, okay? i mean it, you always scold me for practicing too late...”

college fling!hoshi who refused to let you walk home by yourself, no matter how many times you insisted you were fine. “nope, not happening,” he said firmly, slipping your bag over his shoulder along with his own. “if you collapse halfway there, what am I supposed to do? carry you like a princess?” you snorted, but the teasing tone in his voice couldn’t hide the worry in his eyes.

“you know, I could really get used to you carrying me around,” you said, nudging him playfully with your shoulder. he raised an eyebrow, glancing at you. “oh, really?” he asked, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “yeah,” you said, deadpan, “I mean, who wouldn’t want a cute guy carrying them everywhere?”

college fling!hoshi who, despite the teasing tone in your voice, caught that little glint in your eye. “alright, then,” he said, voice suddenly serious, as he paused in front of you. “come here.” without waiting for a response, he slid his arms under your knees and around your back. you yelped in surprise, but before you could protest, he had you lifted off the ground like you were weightless. “you wanted it, right?” he said with a grin, carrying you like it was nothing. “not a word out of you until we get to your dorm.”

“you’re a natural at this,” you teased, your chin resting on his shoulder as you looked up at him. “yeah, well, someone’s gotta keep you from passing out on me,” he muttered, but his cheeks were flushed, and his hands felt like they were holding you just a bit too tightly. “this isn’t bad,” you added with a smirk, “maybe I’ll start making demands. like, no more walking for me from now on.”

he blushed at your joke but didn’t miss a beat. “you sure about that?” he asked, glancing down at you with a sly smile. you nodded, playing along. “definitely. I’m a princess now. I’ll need snacks, water, a blanket... and don’t forget the back rubs.” hoshi shook his head, clearly trying to hide his amusement. “I’m pretty sure you’re taking this way too far, but okay,” he said, adjusting his grip on you. “I can do all that...”

“deal. but only if you don’t drop me halfway there,” you teased. hoshi’s grip tightened, his voice lowering a little. “I’ll never drop you, sunbae.”

college fling!hoshi who made it to your dorm room, still carrying you as if it was the most normal thing in the world. “I should’ve known you’d enjoy this,” he said, shaking his head as he set you down on your bed. “enjoy what?” you asked innocently, grinning up at him. “this whole ‘being carried around’ thing,” he said, still laughing a little. you shrugged dramatically.

college fling!hoshi who would come up to you after class, always fussing over you—was your shoulder okay? did you stretch enough? how was your lunch? you’d always brush it off, sulking a little at the way he took care of you like it was his full-time job.

[ddejavvu]

so i absolutely love the best friend james potter fic where he warms his hands between the reader’s thighs and the idea of him having really bad circulation just makes sense to me, so can we get a technically kinda part two but instead of between the readers thighs it’s that portion of underboob that just heats up so much for no reason whatsoever? 🙇🙇🙇

Sirius's canine form requires him to get at least twelve hours of outdoor time per week, but during the winter months it becomes a chore delegated to the least lucky of the group: take Padfoot for a walk.

"Please, Jamie?" You'd leveled James with puppy eyes that rivalled Sirius himself, and now two sets of footprints lay in the snow beside pawprints that wind around them in happy trails.

"It's bloody cold out here." James comments, like your own nose isn't burning from the temperature, "Sirius, can't you piss on trees faster?"

Padfoot, who greatly resents the tree-pissing stereotype, takes a snapping lunge at James's ankles that sends him careening into you from your left.

"James!" You shriek as your feet and his knock clumsily together, all four united in trying to stabilize you. His arm wraps around your waist and he finds his footing first, which means that you're supported by his grip as you find your own. You find yourself inches away from his face, his nose stained red akin to his cheeks as you both laugh at how you've ended up pinned to a tree in the forest. Sirius barks at you, sounding suspiciously giddy, and James drags his hands off of your back, trailing them over your stomach as he goes.

"Gonna put a muzzle on you for that one, mutt." James threatens Sirius, who dashes off to find a stick or lick a toad or whatever else his dog brain fancies at the moment. You're left trailing beside James once again, wishing that you had your own stick to drag through the snow.

"You were really warm," James reminisces, his hands surely going numb, "Like- your stomach?"

"It's my boobs," You snicker, "No matter how cold a girl gets, the space beneath her tits will always be warm."

"Really?" James peers curiously at you, "That's cool. It's like a life hack."

"Right. It's-" You stick a hand guilelessly beneath your shirt, nestling it beneath the curve of your bra, "It's not, like, sweaty or anything. Just warm."

"Fascinating." James pushes his glasses up his nose with a single outstretched finger, "Wish I had some of those."

"You can borrow mine," You concede, taking James's hand in your own and sliding it up your stomach until his hand is leeching off of the same warmth you'd felt only seconds prior, "Feel it?"

His jaw drops, one of his unruly curls bouncing stubbornly in front of his face.

"Darling, you weren't kidding! It's like an oven in here." He hums, his other hand greedily reaching for the excess space beneath your chest, "Oh my god, if I had this I'd never stop touching it."

When Padfoot returns it's to James pressing you against another tree, hands pressed firmly to the space beneath your tits. He charges for James determinedly, latching his teeth around the man's elbow and pulling with all of his might to separate his friend from you.

"Pads- ouch! She's- relax, Fido, she's let me. I'm warming my hands, thank you very much."

James manages to pry Padfoot's maw off of him, hissing at the skin surely bruised beneath his thick wool coat.

"It's alright, Sirius." You rub sweetly between the dog's ears, "His hands were cold, that's all. Don't want to bring him back to the castle with less than ten fingers."

Sirius's resulting growl towards James sounds suspiciously like he's going to lose fingers anyways, whether it be from frostbite or a dog's bite.

[lichenes]

Lockjaw

Someone requested Silco x brothel worker!reader (AND I WILL WRITE IT, KEEP YOUR EYES PEELED.) but. I raise you one better. Silco in love with a brothel worker, NOT reciprocated HAHAHAHAAAAAA. I'm going fucking insane. I'm going crazy. The smut is also here... ig... I did a shit ton of research cuz my seasoned writer best friend said it was difficult to get right. Any feedback is appreciated!! CW: reader has a pseudonym (Lulu), porn with plot (AND ANGST HAHAHAHA), SW!reader, eating out (reader receiving), piv briefly mentioned, wear protection kids, fleabag reference - i couldn't help myself. wc: 639 .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚

Dark drapes. Burgundy carpets. Gold candleholders. You could smell the incense all around you. The cool, night air calmly was circulating and mixing with the warm feeling spreading in your chest. The room was overflowing with prestige and cachet. 

Silco was between your legs as you stared at his beautiful, bicolored eyes. You were toying with his locks as he greedily pleasured you. He couldn’t take his own eyes off of you. He was mesmerised by your squirming body, by your quiet moans and by the way you were just- almost there. 

He detached himself from you, denying you pleasure once more. You whined at the sudden loss but were eager to get even more from him and tonight, he wanted to give you it all. He hurriedly unbuckled his belt and slid his pants down his legs putting the garment neatly on the chair behind him. 

“Hi Lulu!” Said Juliette entering the break room where you were spending your last moments alone for the night. “Hi Julie, how you doin’?” She was in a good mood. “I’m doing okay! I got a massive tip from this one guy, and-” She trailed off saying how glad she was to not have taken a sick day today. You didn’t quite listen. “Lulu? I asked you a question.” You came back to your senses and answered the trivial question she presented you with. 

“So, how long are you staying?” You began answering but she interrupted you. “Oh!” She hit herself lightly on the forehead. “Silco’s coming today right? It’s Wednesday after all.” You nodded. “Looks like you’ve got quite a night in front of you.”

Your thoughts were interrupted by him getting close to your face. He was breathing heavily, yet a certain intimateness was flowing from him today. As he kissed you, you could taste yourself on his tongue. Slight hints of expensive cigars were also there, the taste was intoxicating. 

With his lips still on your own ones, he pushed you back onto the bed and caged you in his arms. He kissed a trail down your neck and chest before he put his hands on your thighs and spread them wider- right to his liking. He pulled back for a second. “You look divine.” 

He entered you with a slight resistance and let you accommodate his size before he started moving. With each encounter he was becoming more gentle. You never mentioned it, you never even noticed it up until now. You were fearing the- worst. 

Your legs were bent at the knees, you were trembling a bit from the intrusion. You were propped up by your elbow watching him enter and exit you. You reminisced about the first time he ever showed up here. Quickly you were pulled away from your thoughts by him burying himself to the hilt. 

“Lulu you were requested.” 

“Lu- oh, Lulu.” Moaned the most powerful man in all of Zaun. 

“I’ve been watching you for quite some time.” 

He emptied himself into the rubber and stayed inside you for a moment more, relishing in the closeness. Closeness he was to lose soon enough.

The break room was empty. “I’ve loved you from the moment I saw you.” The silence was filled with his confession. “Clients aren’t supposed to be here.” You said, dressed only in a warm robe, keeping you from getting goosebumps. He leaned against the doorframe, his eyes becoming dark, darker than any substance ever synthesised, soulless and- subdued.

He hung his head and turned his back to you, his coat in hand as he professed. “What’s keeping you here?” You didn’t answer. “Lulu.” He pleaded. “It’ll pass.” You answered. 

He walked onto the street, rain falling freely from the sky. His messed up hair was becoming wet. “I don't think it will.” He said to no one in particular.

.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ .  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚.  * 　　 ✦ . 　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　 ˚ masterlist

[brbsoulnomming]

Heart On Your Sleeve Part 3

Part 1 | Part 2

written for steddiebigbang2024 and belatedly posting here!

-----

Dustin shows up at his house the next morning.

"You have a concussion," Dustin says when Steve answers the door.

Steve squints at him. "Did you get your medical license when I wasn't looking?"

Dustin rolls his eyes. "Haha, very funny. Are you going to let me in?"

Steve doesn't really have a reason not to.

All right, well, he's got several reasons not to, starting with the fact that Steve isn't actually feeling so great and ending with Dustin being like thirteen and somehow always around when the world is ending.

But Steve is lonely, and feeling kind of pathetic, and none of them seem like good enough reasons, so he opens the door and lets Dustin in.

"From my mom," Dustin says, setting down a Tupperware of brownies on the coffee table.

Steve immediately knows he's made the right decision, taking a massive bite of chocolate, fudgy heaven. It's only after he's devoured one and he turns to Dustin to ask him to tell his mom thanks that he sees that Dustin's plopped his heart onto the coffee table, too.

"Hearts out, Steve," Dustin says matter-of-factly.

"Why?" Steve bitches. "What do you even need to look at it for?"

"You're in the Party now! Party rules, you have to show your heart before you can get your walkie," Dustin says.

Steve pulls a face, and immediately regrets it as it makes his eye and nose burst with pain. "Who says I even want to be in your party?"

Dustin's face falls. "Don't you?" he asks, sounding hesitant and uncertain.

It makes Steve's resolve crumble immediately.

"How about we start with friends?" Steve offers.

The kid's face lights up at that, giving him a gap toothed smile, but then he nudges his heart closer to Steve and looks at him expectantly.

Steve sighs and takes his own heart out, wincing a little as the motion twinges his bruised ribs. He sets it on the table next to Dustin's.

"There you go," Steve mutters.

Now that the light's better, he can see a hole right in the middle of Dustin's heart. It's small, but it goes all the way through, and it makes Steve's own heart give a soft pulse in empathy.

Dustin catches it, looks up to follow Steve's gaze, and drops his eyes. "My dad," Dustin mutters.

"Hey," Steve says softly, reaching out without even thinking about it to turn his heart a little.

There's two overlapping holes in the same place on his own heart, and Steve rubs his thumb over them, biting the inside of his cheek at the way it still prompts a soft echo of longing. "My parents," he tells Dustin.

Dustin looks around, like he's only just now realizing that there's been no sign of them since he rang the doorbell. "Oh," he says, soft and full of understanding.

It's honestly the most understanding he's ever received about his parents choosing to be mostly absent from his life, which makes him feel kind of pathetic, but also makes his heart warm in a way he's not sure it ever has before.

Dustin reaches out, stopping just short of touching Steve's heart as he gestures to the jagged line cutting through it.

"Nancy?" Dustin asks.

Steve's jaw sets.

He doesn't want to talk about it.

Dustin seems to take that as answer enough, though, because he just goes back to eagerly examining both of their hearts. Steve's is bigger than his - of course it is, because Dustin is thirteen, but they're both the same deep, vibrant red, and they both beat strong and steady.

It's barely any time before they're beating in unison.

Dustin looks back up at him, beaming that wide, goofy smile of his. "Cool," he proclaims.

—

Every time Dustin comes over after that - and it's a lot, honestly, Steve still doesn't know what to make of it - he plops his heart onto the coffee table and waits expectantly until Steve takes his out and puts it next to Dustin's.

They never touch each other's hearts, they never even talk about it, but at least twice a week Steve's able to breathe a little easier, able to actually relax.

—

He waits at the picnic table in the woods after school on his first day back.

Munson looks bored at first when he gets there, but then he does a double take, like Steve's injuries are worse now than they were at lunch.

Or maybe it's just that he's up close now, instead of on the other side of the cafeteria, or maybe it's just that Steve's tired and in pain and he doesn't give a shit about pretending like he isn't.

“Jesus Christ, Harrington,” Munson mutters, dropping his lunchbox on the table.

Steve shrugs. “I'd say you should see the other guy, but everyone did already.”

Munson is looking at him with suspicion, eyes narrowed as he takes him in. Steve wonders if he doesn't buy the story that's been floating around, if it's too easy to see that he and Hargrove both look pretty fucking bad for just blowing off steam and getting carried away.

Wonders if he'll call him on it.

Munson's expression smooths out, though, and he flips the lunchbox lid open. “How much do you want?”

Steve's eyes flick down to the chains on Munson's leather jacket, but no heart there today. Not that he could see anything if it was - Munson's been wearing his heart pinned to his jacket off and on since the last half of Steve's freshman year, but it's always wrapped up tight in chains or leather so that no one could get more than a glimpse of it.

Everyone said it was a flaunt of defiance against tradition and a way he could cheat people in his deals while maintaining the appearance of a fair exchange, but Steve always kind of figured it was just because he was tired of people demanding to see it whenever he sold to them while being reluctant to show theirs.

That, and it was like everything else Eddie Munson did - loud and in your face and purposefully drawing attention to what he wanted you to see, while guarding what he didn't close to his chest.

Steve's never bothered with attempting a mutual show of hearts the handful of times he's bought from Munson before - they aren't exactly new business partners, not even the first time he actually bought from Munson himself, and frankly Steve's never needed to see Munson's heart to know he's trustworthy enough that he's not going to give him bad shit, even if he does overcharge him.

But today's different.

He gently pops open his own chest, ignoring the faint twinge of his ribs, and takes his heart out, setting it on the table next to Munson's lunchbox.

Munson's eyes widen for a moment before his jaw sets, lips thinning out in a flat line as he looks down at Steve's heart and then back up to his face. “What the hell is this?”

“My heart,” Steve replies evenly.

Munson looks unimpressed. “I'm not showing you mine.”

“I didn't ask you to,” Steve says, unable to stop himself even though he knows he's being kind of a dick.

Munson looks at him for a moment. Then, “Whatever. How much do you want?”

Steve opens his mouth to say he isn't here to buy today, but - actually, no, he could probably use some weed to dull the pain and help him sleep. It's routine for a moment, both of them ignoring Steve's heart beating on the table next to them as they make the trade, until Steve's baggie is tucked inside his jacket and Munson's shoving cash into the back pocket of his jeans.

“Pleasure doing business with you, Your Majesty,” Munson says, doing a little bow.

“Munson, wait,” Steve says.

Munson straightens, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Hargrove tried to blame this on you.” Steve gestures at his face. “Told me you sold him some bad shit.”

Munson goes very, very still. His eyes flick down to Steve's heart, so quick that Steve's not sure he would have noticed it if he wasn't watching Munson so closely.

“That so?” Munson asks. There isn't an edge in his voice - if anything, there's such a quiet neutrality to those two words that it almost feels more dangerous than if he'd tried to put a warning in them.

Eddie Munson's never scared Steve the way he does half the school - honestly, shitty as it is, Steve doesn't exactly think of him all that much - but there's no denying that Munson is no pushover. He can't tell if Munson is afraid, or angry, or just itching for a fight, but Steve didn't come here to freak him out.

He holds his hands up, palm out, and purposefully drags his gaze down to where his heart is beating calm and steady. “I don't believe him.”

Munson looks down at Steve's heart, lingering for a moment before darting back up. His expression is still unreadable. “Why are you telling me this?”

“Because he said he was going to spread it around, that you were lacing your stuff with something,” Steve says. “I'm pretty sure I convinced him it was a bad idea, but just in case.”

“You convinced him it was a bad idea,” Munson repeats flatly.

Steve shrugs. “I told him he should be nicer to you, that you always sell me the good shit.”

That gets a little snort out of Munson, startled and almost amused, and Steve grins at him.

“It won't be hard to tack that onto the rumor if he tries to spread it,” Steve says. “So you should be safe.”

Just like that, the amusement in Munson's expression is gone. “Yeah?” he asks, disdain clear in his voice. “And why does King Steve give a shit if I'm safe?”

It's an obvious challenge, and for just a moment - for just a moment, Steve wants to tell him.

To tell him how the King Steve shit first came about because Carol loved fairy tales when they were little and his parents were gone so much that Tommy called him king of the castle, that he has tons of people who call him their friend but the only people who come close to understanding him are his ex, her new boyfriend, and a gaggle of middle schoolers who're waiting for him to come pick them up.

That he's more tired than any seventeen year old should ever be.

“What kind of king would I be if I didn't protect my people?” he says instead of any of that, refusing to look at whatever his heart is doing.

It's high school, it's politics, it's bullshit, but it's still a game he has to play for a little longer.

Munson is watching his heart, now, and whatever he sees makes something complicated cross his face. For a moment, Steve picks up a hint of longing, but it's gone by the time he looks back up.

“Well then,” he says, wide grin back in place as he bows again. “Consider this court jester protected, Your Majesty.”

—

The phone rings at one am a few days later.

He isn't asleep - had been, earlier, but a nightmare had tipped him quickly into wakefulness, and he hadn't gone back - so he answers it almost immediately.

Nothing good comes from one am phone calls.

“How many teeth do you think those things have?” Max demands without so much as a hello.

“I don't know,” Steve bitches before he's thought better of it. “You want to come over and count the bite marks on my leg?”

There's silence for a moment.

“Yeah,” Max says, and Steve's gut twists.

“It's one in the morning, Mayfield,” he says. “What are you going to do, skate over? It's dark and cold as shit out there.”

“Didn't stop us at the junkyard,” she shoots back.

He's quiet for a moment. Then, “I'll pick you up.”

She snorts. “You're going to show up at my house at one am and pick me up? Yeah, that'll be a great look for you.”

“Then it looks like you're out of luck, and you'll have to pick out the teeth marks on my leg tomorrow.”

She doesn't say anything for a while. He doesn't rush her, just settles back with the phone tucked between his shoulder and his ear.

“Why'd you do it?” she asks eventually.

“I ask myself that about a lot of things,” he replies. “Which one?”

He half expects another snappy retort, but her voice just goes even quieter.

“Put yourself in front of me. Stand up to him.”

Oh.

“I don't need protecting,” she adds, and yeah, there's the attitude.

“I know you don't need it,” he says, even though that's a lie. She does need it, they all do. “I know you can look out for yourself.”

That's not a lie.

“But you shouldn't have to. You should have someone who'll look out for you.”

She scoffs. “And that's going to be you?”

He shrugs, even though she can't see it, and it hurts a little. “Why not?”

She's quiet again. “You don't even know me.”

He does, is the thing. He knows the way her eyes looked when she said Billy was going to kill her, he knows not being able to rely on the people you should count on most, even if it's not the same.

He knows how he felt the summer before high school, when his father finally grew too frustrated with waiting for Steve's heart to change, how he picked it up and nearly threw it across the room. He knows the sound of his mother yelling, how viciously they fought. How his father never touched him or his heart again, but Steve now knew what lurked behind his eyes when he smiled too big.

He knows how his mother has looked at him with disappointment more times than anything else, after that.

But he doesn't say any of that. Instead, he says, “So let's change that. Skate park or arcade tomorrow?”

“What?” she asks, clearly thrown.

“After you're done staring at my leg wound and counting teeth like a creep,” he clarifies. “Am I taking you to the skate park or the arcade?”

“Hawkins doesn't have a skate park,” she says dismissively. “It has abandoned parking lots and dirt holes.”

He waits.

“Arcade,” she says. “And I want popcorn.”

—

His walkie flares to life at night, sometimes.

After the first time, he leaves it on a different channel than their usual one - makes sure the kids know which one it is, if they need to use it - and sometimes, they do.

Okay, more than sometimes. It's not like Steve's sleeping all that well, though, so he doesn't mind when it happens almost every night for a few weeks.

“Steve, you awake? Over,” Lucas says one night.

“Yeah, I'm up,” he mutters into the walkie. Then, after a moment's pause, “Over.”

There's silence, and that wakes him up more than the walkie itself had.

“Lucas?” he asks.

“What if you weren't there?” Lucas says.

“What?” Steve asks.

“At the junkyard. With Billy. What if you weren't there?”

“But I was,” Steve says, frowning.

“I know, but what if you weren't?”

Steve sits up, rubs at his eyes a little. “I'll always be there when you guys need me, okay?”

“You can't promise that!” If it was Dustin or Mike it might have been an angry bite, but Lucas just sounds frustrated. Maybe even a little scared.

“Sure I can,” Steve argues, even though he kind of knows Lucas is right. “I have the walkie, right? You guys call me, and bada bing bada boom, I'm there.”

Lucas is quiet for a moment. “Are you still trying to get Nancy back?”

“What? No, of course not. Why?”

“Dustin said you were bringing flowers to Nancy when he made you help him look for Dart.”

Right, of course he did. Do these kids keep any secrets from each other?

“This isn't about Nancy, okay? This is about you guys. I showed my heart to Dustin and I have my walkie and everything, doesn't that mean I'm in your party?”

“You actually want to be in the Party?” Lucas asks, sounding skeptical. “But you're Steve Harrington.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Steve asks.

“Aren't you way too cool to hang out with us?” Lucas retorts.

This is - quickly becoming a conversation that Steve doesn't really want to have over a walkie talkie at past midnight on a school night. He huffs out a frustrated breath of air, then pushes the talk button on the walkie again.

“This weekend. Arcade or shooting hoops?”

There's a pause. Then, “Really?”

Steve swallows down his urge to be a dick. “Yeah. Really.”

“Basketball. The park?” Lucas asks.

“Nah, we can use the hoop in my driveway. Come on by whenever.”

—

Lucas is good. Unpracticed, especially at any kind of teamwork, but good. Steve has to be careful, with his injuries, but they still get some good work in, and it's fun.

It's not until they're finished and raiding the kitchen for some snacks that he asks, “So what was that about, a few days ago?”

Lucas noisily pops open his can of New Coke, and takes such a long drink that Steve's pretty sure he's doing it to avoid answering. Steve just raises an eyebrow.

“Nancy used to hang out with us,” Lucas says, almost reluctantly. “She even played D&D with us a couple of times. Then she went to high school, and then she started dating you, and suddenly she's too cool to hang out with us. Then - then everything with Will, the first time, and she promised Mike they'd spend more time together, but she didn't. Just kept dating you.”

That's - a lot. He hadn't known that about Nancy, except that she wasn't as close with Mike as she wanted to be, that she didn't know how to talk to him about everything that happened. He thinks about protesting that hey, he's the one who got Nancy to talk to Mike about Will - and had to be a part of it, ugh - but again, he's trying not to be a dick.

“So you're, what, worried that I goaded Nancy into not hanging with you guys?”

Lucas makes a face at him. “No, Nancy doesn't do anything she doesn't want to do. I believe you that you'll be here if we need you for Upside Down stuff again, but why would you hang out with us for the in between?”

That's a fair question. He wants to be flippant, wants to deflect with something like because Dustin keeps showing up at my house and won't leave me alone, but -

He remembers how terrified Lucas looked with Billy pinning him against the cabinet. He kind of wonders if anyone's talked to him about it, or if it got lumped in with all the other weird terrifying shit going on.

“Because it isn't always Upside Down stuff,” Steve says softly.

Lucas goes quiet. “El says Hopper told her you guys fixed it so Billy would leave us alone.”

“I think Max did that well enough, but yeah, Hop and I had a plan.”

“How?” Lucas asks.

Bullshit, is how, Steve wants to say, but he doesn't. “Billy's on the basketball team, and he wants to stay on the basketball team.”

Lucas frowns. “So?”

“So I've been on the team longer than him. Coach knows me better, the guys are used to looking to me. Well - some of them.” In all fairness, the basketball team's been kind of split - some of them gravitating to him, some to Billy, some trickling back and forth like kids with divorced parents.

“So… you're one of the cool kids, and you like us, so the more douchebag ones stay away from us?” Lucas asks.

Steve's nose scrunches a little as he considers that, but it's… not wrong. “Yeah, I guess so. Most of them are good guys, they don't like bullying anymore than I do. It doesn't stop the ones who are assholes from doing it where we can't see it, but it helps.”

Lucas looks like he's considering that for a long moment, until finally he nods.

Steve thinks that's the end of it, but later, as Lucas is heading out to leave, he asks, “So what happens if you're not there, and you can't see it?”

Steve resists the temptation to pinch the bridge of his nose - mostly because he knows it'll hurt like hell.

“The Y is offering self defense classes,” he says, when he's gotten himself under control. “I was thinking about taking one. You in?”

Lucas is in.

This is already written, and my plan is to post one part a day until it's all up here!

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Part 4

Taglist (always happy to add more to this if anyone wants): @fairytalesreality @lostonceandneverfound @wheneverfeasible @awkwardgravity1 @theintrovertedintrovert @ravenfrog @scarlet-malfoy