#no ones requested it it just rang my bullshit alarm and sure enough it's just mclennon blogs and quora 💀

[menlove]

oooh no I think that "if I see a face in a painting it's highly likely to be johns" quote is probably fake 😭 tragic day for us all

[illusionsofdreaming]

would it be okay to request headcanons with the main trio from TCF who aren't in a relationship with the (fem) reader yet but they like each other, the guys get hurt or something and the reader is so scared of losing them or was so anxious that she ended up kissing them? You can edit a few parts if you'd prefer! thank you, i know you have a lot of requests but you're the only one who writes x reader for them-

Notes: It took forever+forever but I finally gave up trying to perfect it- y'all just going to have to deal with these half baked potatos as I sob in the corner for my lack of functioning writing braincells.

+ 'nonny I know you asked for Fem reader but I'm just so used to writing gender neutral nowadays I actually forgot to write Fem reader in. Uh. I mean it's gender neutral so it should work regardless?? I'msorrypleaseforgivemeforthisblunder

Ft: Cale, Alberu, Choi Han

Cale Henituse

He’s covered in blood.

Again.

He glanced down at his shirt, once white, now completely soaked and rapidly losing warmth. The icky feeling of sticky cloth stuck on skin caused goosebumps to break out all over his arms. The lethargy that weighed on him was hard to ignore, but expected after using his ancient powers-

“Cale!”

He turned just as the full force of you barrelled into him and he staggered, unbalanced and would’ve fallen had you not pulled him back. He barely had time to protest at your rough greeting when you began frantically patting him down as if scouring him for weapons.

“There’s so much- where are you hurt?” you demanded harshly, your tone pitched higher than normal. “Raon call for Saint Jack and the others, medics- anyone that can help!”

“Y-yes! I-I will! Weak hu-human you better not die or I will destroy the kingdom!”

“Wai-“ his protests were ignored as the dragon flew off, leaving Cale dumbfounded with his jaw hanging down in disbelief. “Wait you don’t have to find the others, I’m fi-“

“Cale Henituse, if I hear you say ‘I’m fine’ I’m going to sock you to kingdom fucking come.“ you seethed. His lips snapped shut obediently, swallowing the aforementioned phrase down as a foreboding chill crept down his spine.

But I am..?

“How could you..” your voice shook even as you clung onto his soaked shirt so tightly your knuckles turned white. “You’re always doing stupid things like this…”

Cale frowned, feeling a bit indignant. Sure his plans weren’t the most thought out at times, but to call them stupid…

“If you waited for us to come, then you wouldn’t have to- why do you keep sacrificing yourself like this?”

That triggered an alarm in his head. What strange things were you talking about? The act of sacrifice were done by martyrs and selfless heroes and Cale Henituse was neither of those. He wanted to correct your misunderstanding but you were worked up and hysterical and it was with horror that he realised you were crying.

“________-“

“Don’t talk! Please, just conserve your energy- I won’t let you die, I promised the kids and the others- I won’t let you-”

The alarm bells in his head rang even louder and he fought to be heard over your rambling, “_________- no one’s dying, I’m fine-” it felt as if his heart had leapt to his throat as he stopped your fist before it could make contact. You really weren’t joking when you said you’d punch him. He tightened his hold on your wrist when you tried to twist out of his grip and swallowed nervously. “I’m not hurt _________,“ he emphasised, willing you to meet his eyes.

“Stop bullshitting me Cale- how much of a fucking idiot do you take me for? How can anyone be fine after losing this much blood-“

“It’s not mine.”

You stilled in his grasp.

“…W-what?”

He frowned. Was it really that hard to believe his words? “The blood’s not mine.” he repeated and made sure to meet your disbelieving gaze head on so that you could verify the truth in his words. “They were cut down before they could harm me. None of this blood is mine. I was not hurt.“ It was a partial lie. He did cough out some blood after instinctively activating the shield for protection but he felt that that was knowledge you’d be better off not knowing.

The coiled tension in you leaked out and Cale slowly released his grip on your hand and took a cautious step back - just in case. It was a good thing he managed to deescalate the situation before the others arrived. Just convincing one person was hassle enough and from experience alone, he knew the others weren’t as merciful when it came to learning about his injuries, regardless of severity or his protests otherwise. Cale shuddered. He really didn’t want to be on the receiving end of Ron’s cold smile again. He glanced up and saw Raon’s flying figure and he waved lazily to the dragon hoping the young one would understand that the healers were no longer necessary, it had only been a false alarm.

“..ot.”

“Hm?” He looked down, hearing you mumble but didn’t quite catch what you’d said.

He was not prepared to be yanked forward and for your lips to mash against his. There was a brief sting where your teeth had caught on his lip and the uncomfortable sensation of having your teeth clack against each other, noses in the way. He froze, like a deer caught in headlights, thoughts reeling but before he could think of acting, to push or pull you in even closer-

You let him go just as abruptly and he staggered, breath stolen, mind in absolute disarray.

Then you slapped him. Which definitely cleared his thoughts. “You idiot!”

Stupefied, he watched as you stormed off, stuck in a daze as he cradled his face where his cheek and lips tingled for different reasons.

“…What..?”

Choi Han

Choi Han didn’t know what Cale saw in you back then, a complete stranger whom they saved by chance and nursed back to health with utmost care. You, who Cale insisted was the final key to their masterplan and then asked Choi Han to act as your escort.

There were many things Choi Han didn’t understand when it came to Cale-nim’s decisions. But that wasn’t so unusual and he’d never made it a habit to question Cale’s reasoning, having learned to be patient, knowing the pieces would eventually slot together in the grand picture. So although initially wary he was of your unclear history and affiliation, he stayed by your side and did his duty without question.

And perhaps after weeks of accompanying you, he’s beginning to see what Cale saw. Though powerless and weak, you were righteous and passionate, holding true to your belief even in the face of adversaries. You were the perfect replacement for the tyrannical ruler of the country, someone capable of salvaging the crumbling system of a neglected, abused society and lifting it to new heights and glory.

With the flames of revolution ignited, everything hinged on getting you safely to Cale on the final stage. While the revolutionaries fought and acted as distractions above ground, he escorted you through the abandoned waterways.

The undergrounds were dark and cramped, incredibly disadvantageous to a swordsman such as himself. When assassins leaped out in an ambush; Choi Han didn’t hesitate. Without time nor space to draw his sword, he pushed you behind him and raised his arm to block the strike.

As the momentum of the assassin’s blade stopped, it became simple matter to quickly disarm and finish them. Having checked and affirmed that there’s no forthcoming attacks, he urged you to hurry, now worried as they weren’t expected to be discovered so soon.

Something must’ve happened, we should hurry to Cale-nim’s side-

He was halted with a firm grip on his other hand and was pulled back as he was met with your stern, unwavering gaze and declaration that you will not move another step from this spot until his arm got treated first.

Which was a ridiculous request considering they were running on a tight schedule. He frowned and his fingers flexed against the hilt of his sword as you pulled him to the side.

When none of his objections were being heard, he tried reasoning with you. The wound may look horrible, but he’d assured you he’d angled his arm just so that the blade would’ve caught on his bone rather than tendons. It was a strategic move that not only blocked momentum but also kept damage to his non-dominant arm at the minimum. He would not have bled to death nor would he be crippled from it, something that barely needed the emergency care you insisted on.

“It’s not necessary, we need to get to the tower room first.”

“The room is not moving anywhere, I’d rather not risk having you develop an infection because you neglected to care for your wound.“

He flinched when alcohol was poured on the cut and Choi Han breathed out slowly, his frustration mounting as precious seconds passed. Something in his chest stirred uncomfortably. He’s not accustomed to having others care for his wounds, having spent so many years caring for them himself whilst hiding his weaknesses from monsters in the Forest of Darkness.

“I will attend to it after I’ve brought you to Master Cale’s side, we must-“

Your eyes flashed with anger as your grip tightened painfully around his arm. “So many things have been lost to reach this stage, I’d rather not lose more on the way there.”

“Cale-“

Perhaps you’ve had enough as well as the next thing he knew, your fingers dug into his arm and he found himself yanked forward and you pressing a hard, determined kiss that stole whatever he was going to say from his lips.

“Cale Henituse,” you said sternly when you parted and picked up a roll of bandages, “can afford to wait a bit longer.” you glared at him as if daring him to argue otherwise.

Not that it was necessary, considering he’d doubt he’d have the coherency to answer anything with the way all the blood in his body was rushing to his face.

Alberu Crossman

He didn’t feel anything upon the moment of impact. Only the shocking cold of metal being slid into his side and the vicious gaze of the perpetrator pressed up to his front.

The pain ripped through a moment later and he gritted his teeth, red spilling down his lips. It hurts.

Activity bursted around him, screams of fear echoed through the ballroom as guards rushed to his side. However one voice in particular caught his attention and he looked up to catch your horrified expression, lips parted in a desperate cry.

His forehead furrowed as a strange sense of guilt washed over him- he didn’t want you to see this- but he didn’t have time to explore the feeling as his hand latched firmly on the hand which still held the weapon in his side, preventing their escape.

His smile was red, “Caught you now, rat.”

═════☩══♛══☩═════

He tousled his hair dry with a towel as he read through the reports in his hand.

Alberu was exhausted, the fight to rid his side of his enemies’ spies had always been an ongoing and tedious project. His enemies were cunning and always played things safe however their impatience this time would cost them. Now that one of their own has fallen into his hands, they can start pulling in the net.

A knock sounded on his door and he didn’t bother looking up from his reports as he gave permission. “Come in.”

“Did you manage to find any new information from them?” he asked immediately as the door opened. Anything gleaned from the assassin would be beneficial to his cause. Not that he truly expected any confessions to be given this night. Any hired killer worth their salt would know not to betray the mastermind behind a hit. But there were more than one way to find credible information aside from words torn directly from the lips of a captive.

When no answer came, he looked up and immediately dropped the papers he was reading.

“___________…”

In the aftermath of the attack and the capture of the assassin he’d been immediately escorted to the healers for first aid. With the bare minimum done he’d left quickly to take control of the situation, calming the aristocrats and giving orders to assign all guests to be escorted to a room in the palace to rest from the unexpected development - the smarter ones would know this was just a way to keep all suspects in one place, stalling for time so that his trusted aides may work to narrow down the most likely suspects. He had been meaning to find you and explain once everything settled but this time you took matters into your own hands.

Your eyes glanced at the documents he dropped. “Am I disturbing your work?”

“No,” he replied instantly, fighting back the urge to shuffle the papers behind him. “No, you’re not.”

The room lapsed into silence once more as neither of you seemed keen to address the elephant in the room.

“About tonight…” he started slowly, “they had to believe I had my guards lowered.”

The truth was, though he believed you would not have been behind the attack, you had to be tested all the same. Should it be known you’ve been partial to this plan, it would’ve given the real culprits leverage to use.

You approached him and he wished you would say something. He noted the redness in your eyes and felt a stab of guilt lodge in his chest. “It had to be believable.”

You didn’t meet his eyes and your hand hovered over where his wound had been.

He lifted the edge of his shirt up to reveal the pink scar tissue underneath. It was ugly and badly healed due to the rush he had been in. “I wasn’t in any real danger.” he said softly, staying still and resisting the urge to shiver when your fingers traced the scar.

“You’re picking up bad habits from Cale.” You said so softly he would’ve missed it had he not been paying attention.

“The padded shirt under prevented the blade from going too deep.” he explained, hoping you’d understand that he hadn’t been reckless. Everything had been planned carefully. He slowly tucked his shirt back in as you withdrew your hand, already missing the warmth you brought to his skin just moments ago.

“__________…”

You leaned in and placed a small kiss on the corner of his mouth. “Don’t do that again.” you whispered against his cheek.

He could only watch in astonishment as you turned away and exited his room.

“..Okay..” he said hoarsely to the empty room.

[white-collar-lawmen-and-conmen]

Pulse Point

A/N: Requested by anonymous. Warning for canon-typical violence; minor character death, nightmares, and post-traumatic stress. Also: borrowed Dr. Sweets from the show Bones.

Summary: A near-death experience leaves you with recurrent nightmares. Neal offers some comfort.

Word Count: 5,154

The steady beeping of hospital equipment was driving you insane. It had been hours now of nothing except the monotonous noise of your own heartbeat. If it didn’t shut up soon, you would claw your ears off. With a stiff body and an ache that penetrated down to your bones, you forced your body upright and pinched open the pulse monitor on your right hand.

You let out a relieved sigh as the equipment went silent and dropped yourself back onto the well-padded pillows behind you. The pulse monitor clattered to the floor on its long white cord and you settled down for a nap. The ache in your bones made you feel heavy, like lead. There was nothing quite like a well-deserved nap.

In mere seconds after you had closed your eyes, the equipment started acting up again, this time blaring one long, constant shriek. The surprise made your heart skip a beat, but your eyelids were too heavy to look and see what had happened. Then your heart kept skipping, and your throat tightened. You couldn’t breathe. Your chest burned. It wasn’t a heartbeat; it was a flatline.

You were dying.

The leaden feeling in your body doubled. Your muscles didn’t respond to trying to move and you couldn’t force your lungs to take in a breath. Footsteps pounded around you, incoherent shouts going in one ear and out the other. You were desperate for your paralyzed eyes to open. Was this what you’d have for the rest of your life? Nothing but darkness and unintelligible, mind-numbing noise, punctuated by electrical humming and the pain of a vice clamping itself again to your finger?

The flatline paused for a second. Your ears rang and you thought, for a moment, that you were safe, your heart was beating again. Instead, your stomach twisted and you realized you were losing feeling in your toes. No blood. No life. When the screech of your flatline came back again, it was louder, more piercing. The shrillness reminded you of screaming.

As soon as you remembered it, it was there – the same screaming as before, somewhere in your room, echoing from every corner. In the next pause of the flatline, it turned into a hoarse shriek and a plea. “No! Please!”

You couldn’t hear anything underneath it, no more overlapping voices, and your panic increased. Where were the doctors? Did they think you were gone? Help me!

Your eyes opened with a sudden snap, the droning of your alarm clock replacing the flatlining of the monitor.

As you stared at your ceiling, you panted for breath. Rationally, you knew, you had probably never stopped breathing, but in the panic of your nightmare, it felt like you’d been smothered. Terror powered your desperate gasps and convinced you that your feet and hands were numb, even as you could feel that one foot was poking out from the end of your blanket. After a long moment, you dared to move your arm, ready to scream if you weren’t dreaming after all and still couldn’t move. You turned your alarm off easily.

Soft rain pattered against the glass windows, creating shiny-looking streaks as droplets collected and streamed down the side of the building. It was much more soothing than the silence that usually reigned in Dr. Sweets’ office when he was waiting for you to talk. Maybe he should invest in one of those noise machines with rain as an option. You thought about making the suggestion, but knowing him, he would probably call you out on the procrastination, or deflection, or whatever else he wanted to call it.

You broke the silence. “I’m certain I can wait you out for the next…” You checked the clock. “Twenty-seven minutes.”

Dr. Sweets raised his eyebrows, still leaning his head on a closed fist, propped on the arm of his chair. “I’m equally certain I can recommend you remain on desk duty for the next…” He pretended to check his watch. “Twenty-seven weeks.”

You scowled.

Psychological clearance was a bureau mandate after something traumatic occurred during the course of the job. You’d been lucky enough not to need it up to this point, but after… that, you hadn’t been given a choice. Dr. Sweets was a highly qualified psychotherapist, and you were sure that he did amazing things to help a lot of people, but so far you felt neither amazed nor helped.

“Agent L/N, you went through something incredibly harrowing that you were very close to not walking away from.” The psychologist finally took his head off his fist and put his arm down in his lap. At least he’d taken the bait and you weren’t the one starting the discussion. “You were a half-inch or couple minutes from bleeding out.” He pinched his fingers to demonstrate as if you didn’t have a scar on your body that distance from your femoral artery. You’d never be able to forget what half an inch looked like.

“But I did walk away, and the person who did that to me is in prison for the rest of his life.” You crossed your legs, trying to look more comfortable than you felt. You weren’t sure how effective you were going to be at convincing a therapist that you didn’t need therapy, but it was worth the try.

He looked utterly unconvinced. Actually, the jerk looked like he knew exactly what you were trying for and thought it was cute that you thought you could trick him. “Justice, or even retribution, which it feels like you’re leaning towards, doesn’t erase a wrongdoing or its associated harm.”

“I didn’t erase it, I healed from it. I took medical leave, now I’m back.”

“Physically, you healed. It takes a lot longer to heal mentally from those kinds of wounds.”

“Does it?” You challenged.

“I think your nightmares speak for themselves,” Dr. Sweets said pointedly.

You glared at him, at a loss for a quick comeback. You knew you didn’t look like a million bucks, but you hadn’t thought it was that obvious you were losing sleep. If he knew, then the coworkers who spent a lot of time with you must know, too. Especially Neal – nothing got past him. Oh, that was embarrassing.

The nightmares had been recurring for weeks now. They had started once you had a return date to the office, but after actually resuming your work, they had increased in frequency and intensity. They weren’t identical, but they did all share some similarities: some fatal injury had you dying, alone, in the dark, like you almost had in real life. You never got to the point of actually dying in your dreams, you didn’t think, but you were just fine with that. They were bad enough as they were. Yes, they were a sign of trauma and anxiety. But if your mind didn’t heal itself from weeks safe at home, then you knew returning to normal as fast as possible was probably your best bet at getting over what had happened.

“I’m not your enemy here,” the therapist said to you more gently. You couldn’t say he was heartless, even if you didn’t enjoy the half-hour sessions where he tried to talk about your feelings whether you wanted to or not. “My goal is the same as yours. I want you back at work, safely, able to sleep through a night so you don’t jeopardize yourself or the people around you.”

You let out a deep sigh. “What do you want me to say?”

“I want you to tell me about the affect this has had on you.” Dr. Sweets encouraged, not for the first time. “You’ve accepted what happened. I can see that. But the next step is processing what it means for you, as an agent, as a person… maybe both.”

You felt helpless. What was that supposed to mean? You couldn’t very well tell him you were terrified your job was going to actually get you killed or cost more lives on your watch. When your employer paid your therapist’s bills, you couldn’t fully trust doctor-patient confidentiality. Maybe it was just paranoia, but you couldn’t bring yourself to risk it.

“I can’t sleep,” you admitted. Your tone sounded mournful. In a way, you were mourning for a time when you could sleep through the night and enjoy your days at work. It wasn’t like white-collar crime was your passion, but you did like puzzles, and you did like being around the people you worked with, especially a certain blue-eyed felon. “I keep having nightmares that I’m… injured, and I’m alone.”

“Your wire was jammed and your team didn’t hear you signal for backup.” Dr. Sweets talked slowly, patient and pragmatic as he validated your nightly anxieties. “You expected help, but they didn’t know to come.”

“They did come,” you said with a shrug. “It just… almost wasn’t in time. I know it wasn’t their fault.”

Your words about time felt glued into your ears. Yours had come really close to running out. And for what? Insurance fraud? No amount of money justified murder, and you likewise couldn’t put a price tag on a life. So why were you so eager to leap back into the same job that almost cost you yours?

It was something you had been mulling over since it happened. Your job was dangerous. You had always known that. You’d been shot at, been near explosives… your partner had been abducted by a murderer not that long ago, and your best friend had had guns in his face so often that, honestly, you’d lost count a while ago. Somehow it just hadn’t clicked, you supposed, that you could legitimately die. You were protected by the bureau and your body armor, until that wasn’t enough. Other agents had learned that lesson in a much harder way; being confronted with that was hard to simply get over.

Apparently, your use of the word “fault” led Dr. Sweets to talk to you about guilt and anger around the incident. You didn’t blame your partner or feel angry, except at the man who shot you, but you let him continue around your noncommittal, half-assed answers. You knew he at least suspected you were putting him on again, but you also knew you hadn’t given him much to work with. Then again, he didn’t call you on your bullshit replies, either, so you weren’t quite sure what he thought.

While Dr. Sweets had yet to approve you for field duty, there was still plenty to do at your desk. You pretended not to notice the itch in your legs to go somewhere while you kept yourself busy, preparing documents, performing research, helping delegate and manage case files, and topping off your team’s coffee whenever they got low. You had become even more of a desk jockey than Neal; at least he got to go out with Peter when given the green light. You missed outings with your partner, or really with any other agent.

Comparing yourself to a caged tiger was likely on the dramatic side, so you put it out of your mind and refused to feel sorry for yourself. You understood the protocols and the routines and they were for your benefit as much as the bureau’s. Besides, your team wasn’t treating you like you were fragile or demoted. They leaned on you to help just as much as they ever did, the assignment of duties just went a little differently.

You doodled a cat on your notepad during a meeting. Everyone had great ideas and you tossed in some ways you could contribute when you’d been quiet for a while. Peter’s proposed field op was going to go smoothly. Odds were high that any hiccups could be taken care of by Diana’s swift running of interference. Neal was raring to go and Jones was a little too excited to play the part of an intimidating brute, in your opinion, and Peter was appropriately apprehensive (someone ought to be, after what had happened to you).

“Let’s sleep on it,” Peter decided after looking out the window and seeing how low the sun had sunk. “If we’re all still in agreement in the morning, we’ll set the ball in motion.”

Jones graciously commented, “Good idea. We can all think on it.” He was probably the most cautious of all of you.

“Y/N?” Neal asked. You immediately looked up from your (admittedly lopsided) cat drawing. The forger was still in his chair, even while the others were pulling on their coats and blazers. “You’ve been quiet. Do you have any concerns?”

You shook your head, but not too quickly that it raised suspicion. You could get away with doodling – Peter often turned a blind eye to it; after several years, he’d developed a soft spot for you – but only if you were still paying attention and participating, so you didn’t want to give him a reason to suspect you weren’t.

Peter, Diana, and Jones all said their goodbyes. The two younger agents left the room, but Peter lingered at the doorway.

“Neal, do you want a ride?” He offered.

Neal looked from you to Peter, and then shook his head. “Thanks, but I’ll find my way. You don’t want to be late for roast,” he added when Peter looked unconvinced. After glancing at you, your partner decided that he really didn’t want to be late for roast and left without another look over his shoulder.

Now that you were alone, Neal softened his expression. “Seriously, Y/N, what’s going on?”

“I told you, I’m not worried. We’ve thought of just about everything we can predict.” You said with a straight face, pretending not to know that Neal wasn’t just talking about this specific case anymore.

He wasn’t having it. “Don’t lie to a conman, Y/N,” he chided you with a small, fond smile. “Come on. It’s not just today, you’ve been quiet ever since you came back. It’s not like you.” You raised an eyebrow and pursed your lips, uninterested in talking. Neal reached partway across the table for you but stopped there. It was an invitation but not a command. “I’m worried about you.”

The thing about your history with Neal was that it was a close one. You went from strangers when Peter got him out of Sing Sing to best friends within the span of two years. You trusted him more than you trusted just about anyone, and there hadn’t been a time when one of you needed the other and was turned away. He didn’t come to you when he was upset – seeking out reassurance and comfort was not Neal’s strength, because it involved professing vulnerability – but he never turned you away when you came to offer it, either. Now it seemed to be his turn to do the offering, as he had realized over the last few weeks that you weren’t going to ask.

You reached for his hand and silently sighed in relief at how solid and warm it was to the touch, so unlike the few dreams where you screamed and cried for someone to help and found yourself grasping at tricks that weren’t there. Neal turned his hand to hold yours and gave it a squeeze.

“It’s been so hard, Neal,” you told him reluctantly. “I have no idea how you do it. How you just walk away from all the close calls.”

Neal frowned a little. “I don’t just walk away,” he objected. “I have bad nights. I have bad days. Sometimes I have a whole bad week, or a few bad months.” You knew the latter was a reference to losing Kate, and you sympathetically gripped his hand tighter. “But, you know… there’s always something I can find to focus on instead, and after a while, the things go in the past. I let go.”

That advice was entirely unhelpful. “I’ve been trying to let go,” you said sourly. It wasn’t directed at him, exactly, but moreso at your brain, which was failing in its task of moving past what happened. “It’s not working. I can’t sleep. Sometimes I don’t think I can breathe.”

“It’s not easy,” Neal agreed, stroking the back of your hand with his thumb. It was an intimately affectionate gesture that comforted and eased the nerves beginning to bubble in your stomach. “Company helps. The reminder that I have backup, even when it doesn’t come right away. I’ve got Peter, Moz. You.” He met your eyes with a small smile and raised your hand to his lips, gently kissing your knuckles.

“Company?” You echoed uncertainly. If you were unconscious, how was company going to make a difference to what you dreamed about? Then you remembered what you had said to Dr. Sweets about your nightmares always ending with being alone. If you knew, on some level, that you weren’t alone, maybe you would feel safer. “Like, overnight?”

His expression didn’t change to give away whether you were right or wrong. Instead, he just asked, evenly, “Is that what you need?” The way he looked at you then, without judgment in his eyes, but with determination in the set of his jaw, you just knew that whatever you said you needed, Neal would move a mountain to give it to you.

“I’m not sure, but… maybe?” You hesitantly guessed. If it worked, it would be worth the awkwardness. Even just one night of solid sleep would do wonders for how you felt, and it wasn’t like it would be the first time you had stayed with Neal overnight. Long marathons on slow weekends, and the less pleasant nights after Kate’s death, meant he kept an extra toothbrush and a set of your pajamas in his penthouse.

“Okay,” he said right away with nothing but quiet matter-of-factness. It was so comforting to be proven right that you could rely on him to help you with what you needed. His tone just said, you need this, so we’re doing it, full-stop. You just hoped you were right, both so you could finally go eight hours without fearing for your life and so you weren’t inconveniencing him for no reason. “Let’s get dinner on the way. We don’t have to talk about it,” he quickly said, seeing your face. “Whatever you need.”

Everyone should have a friend like Neal, but everyone should find their own, because this one was all yours. If it weren’t for the table in the way, you would’ve launched yourself at him in a tight hug. As it was, you settled for a squeeze of his hand and a grin as wide as you could muster. “Dinner sounds great.”

The stickiness of your pants along your thigh made your hands shake, unable to bring yourself to look at your palms. You knew what you would see all over them. The fire lancing up your thigh told you what you already knew. So did the weakness in your body and the fog in your mind. It was done. The hourglass on the desk was trickling through the last of its sand. Moretti was nowhere to be seen. You couldn’t even die in the presence of a murderer.

There was screaming coming from another room. It was the desperate wail of another agent begging for their life. “No! Please!”

“No,” you mumbled, using all of your energy to turn your head to the doorway. He couldn’t… not now that you were down… you couldn’t even raise your voice to cry for help. You were completely helpless. You couldn’t save him.

Your chest burned with the effort of your heart, ironically helping you to bleed out faster. Your breaths came labored, and then they couldn’t come at all as your vision faded. The dark carpet blurred from a mass of pilled fibers into a solid navy sea. The pain in your leg was excruciating, it was all you could feel; the idea of feeling peace ever again slipping away.

Screaming. Banging. Footsteps. More screaming. Pounding. Shouting. It was all indistinguishable, a mess of men’s voices and loud gunshots. Then, you heard it. Just your name, barely audible above the rest, in a voice that made you strain to see past the blackness.

“Y/N!”

You’d give the rest of your precious seconds away just to see him one last time, just to know he was beside you and you weren’t alone.

“Y/N!”

Footsteps came closer and the pressure on your chest intensified. The blood loss made you dizzy and your body shook.

“Y/N!”

You jolted awake, eyes snapping open in time to see Neal leaning out of the way just in time to avoid your hand flying at his face. You processed slowly that his hands were on your shoulders – had he shaken you? – and it was still dark. You could barely see his face, but his figure was lit from behind by the lamp next to his bed. You could tell from his messy hair that he had been sleeping not long ago, and you felt awful for waking him up.

After cursing, you sat up and gripped the warm blanket on your lap tightly. “I’m sorry,” you said remorsefully, feeling like a fool. Not only hadn’t you been able to sleep through the night, but now you’d ruined his rest, too. You cussed again. “I really hoped being close… just not being at my apartment, alone…”

It had felt like a safe bet off to a good start. You had gotten dinner together near Gramercy Park, then watched a lighthearted movie before turning in for bed. Neal offered to let you take his mattress, but you didn’t want to put him out and you had slept over enough that he didn’t feel like a bad host for letting you insist on the sofa. You’d been out by ten, but now you could guess it had been less than four hours. Your heart was still racing, your leg still tense with an imagined pain.

“It’s okay,” Neal said, sounding unsettled. He kept his hands on your shoulders like he was keeping you grounded on the earth. “Don’t worry about it. It’s okay.”

Neal’s eyes must have already adjusted to the low light, because his aim was spot-on when he lifted a hand from your shoulder to cup your neck instead. His profile ducked and you felt his lips land on your forehead, checking your temperature, signalling forgiveness, and administering reassurance all at once. He rubbed his thumb across your jaw as he stood up straight, releasing you, and walked away around the couch.

You put your legs down in front of you and rubbed your face, exhausted mentally and physically. Helplessness made you want to cry. Time wasn’t healing. Sleeping pills just made it harder to wake up, letting the nightmares ravage your psyche for longer. Not even the proximity of someone you trusted and adored was enough to let go of the past.

The light in the kitchen came on, bright enough to illuminate the studio but far enough away not to be blinding. Neal came back to the couch holding a bottle of water and offered it to you before sitting down. He looked so adorable, still sleepy and with a bit of pink in the side of his face from sleeping with his arm under his pillow. You scolded yourself for even thinking about how cute he was when you were the one who had woken him up.

You sipped at the water. It was so nice and smooth on your throat. You felt fine, now that you were awake, but the vividness of your nightmares always left you feeling parched and you always expected swallowing to hurt as if you had strep. Neal leaned into the back of the couch and put his arm up along the cushions. You capped the water, bent your knees to pull your feet back up onto the furniture, and let yourself lean into his side. Neal dropped his arm softly on your shoulders, holding you in a tender sideways hug.

“I’m sorry,” you apologized again after a couple of minutes. You felt much better, much faster than you usually did, thanks to him, and if you were being fully honest, you were not ready for him to get up and go back to bed, but it wasn’t fair to ask him to stay up cuddling you at god-knows-what-time just because you were a wreck.

“I told you, it’s okay,” Neal said, his voice firm. If you apologized again, you figured he would start scolding you for it, so you let it go.

“I just – I should’ve expected this,” you said with frustration, feeling like you were confessing to knowingly bothering him. “I haven’t been able to sleep well in ages. I keep having these nightmares, I feel like I’m losing my mind.”

Neal was quiet for a few seconds, making sure you had said all you were inclined to. Then, knowingly, he asked, “This is about the Moretti case, isn’t it?”

“I can’t let it go,” you said with a whimper. “It won’t leave me alone. Every night, it’s a little bit different, but at its core it’s always the same.”

Neal’s voice cutting through the fog of your nightmare had been a saving grace, giving you peace even in your unconscious, but now that you were awake, you realized with clarity that his voice saying your name wasn’t the only voice you could make out. In fact, you always heard the same thing, every night, no matter what else changed.

“What’s the same, Y/N?” Neal asked you, trying to help. He stroked your upper arm with his open hand. You were already shaking your head. Neal could comfort you all he liked, but he couldn’t bring back the dead. In grief and shame, you turned your head and bent your neck to bury your face in his shoulder. Neal tilted his head so his cheek was resting gently on your hair. “Tell me, darling,” he coaxed in a whisper.

You felt like someone’s hands were wrapped around your throat, strangling your reply. “Agent Flynn,” you answered dryly, barely more than mouthing his name. “In every nightmare, I hear… I hear his last words. Begging Moretti not to take the shot.”

Neal was quiet for a long time, but never pushed you away. He held you closer when you started to shake, crying against him as quietly as you could manage. The artist rubbed your arm and periodically kissed your head, but he knew that there was nothing he could say to erase the horror of what you had heard or take away the guilt that you had survived because Moretti was distracted by taking out the other agent.

Moretti was part of a family gang, often in conflict with the Barellis, who, interestingly, paid a little deference to the white-collar division ever since you and Peter had recovered a stolen Book of Hours. The Morettis had no such connection or gratitude, so their response to the FBI sticking their nose into an embezzling scam was violent and bloody. Moretti shot you in the leg and intended to finish you off, but one of his own men had reported you came with someone. He left you to bleed out, and only a few rooms over, you had heard Flynn’s pleas – and the subsequent gunshot. Your team, wising up to the dead signal, arrived for a takedown before Moretti could make his way back to you, but it was too late for your teammate.

Neal shifted after what felt like forever, only to pull you closer to his chest and wrap both arms around you. You trembled in his embrace, but that just made him hold you closer, like you were delicate and breakable. When he next talked, his low voice was quivering, just like your body.

“I thought we lost you,” he said, cupping the back of your head in a gentle hand. He massaged his fingers into your scalp, even as he kept you cuddled in his lap. “I thought I lost you, Y/N. Two gunshots. I thought…” He struggled to find his words and you hiccuped, trying to stop crying. “I was the one who found you, and I was so scared I was too late.”

You sniffled and uncrossed your arms to melt against his chest and hug him tightly around his waist instead. “I didn’t know you…”

“We found him first, but you weren’t there and I needed to find you.” Neal now sounded equal parts frightened and furious. “If he had taken you away, I would’ve…” He shook his head and pressed his forehead to yours, as desperate to be close to you as you felt to be close to him. “I would’ve shattered. I can’t lose you, Y/N. I just can’t lose you, too.”

“I’m so glad I didn’t die,” you blurted, almost in a sob. You felt so safe with him, but now you knew for a fact that your own safety wasn’t what had been tormenting you. It was a nearly debilitating case of survivor’s guilt. “I just wish I hadn’t been the only one who survived.”

“No one wants that,” Neal promised you, untangling his hand from your hair and stroking it down instead. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could fix this and take it away, but all I can do is be here and hold you and tell you it’s going to be alright. It wasn’t your fault.”

You sniffed. Neal’s words were more of a comfort than you had thought they would be. They changed nothing about the situation, but… you weren’t alone. You hadn’t been alone since you met him. You just agonized that Flynn had been. “Neal, I can’t lose you, either. I love you, you’re… you’re who I’m going to heal for.” You had to find a way.

Neal seized your lips with his in a searing kiss. It wasn’t as sexy or patient as you may have imagined, but you gripped his shirt and gave as good as you got, and wow, the man gave verygood. It was a desperate kiss, needing to bring you together and reaffirm your life. To you, it was the seal of a promise that you wouldn’t let the past crush your spirit. When you could sleep through the night and had a handle on your post-traumatic stress… if he would just be patient, you would be his the way you wanted him to be yours.

He released you to breathe, eyes opening wide as if he only just realized what he had done. Before he could pull away, you pressed your forehead to his again, urging him to stay close. Your breaths mingled between you and you were sure you could feel his heart beating through his chest.

“I love you, too,” he said once he had caught his breath.

[damnzawa]

hii can i request a kageyama love alarm au pls? hope u have a lovely day 🥺🤍

MILK CONFESSIONS — K. TOBIO

Note(s): Mayhaps I love this AU with Kageyama,, mayhaps I might also do one for Kenma/Kuroo haha,, also mayhaps I might post an Aizawa smut tomorrow 👀👀 ANYWAYS,, I LOVE THIS REQUEST AAAA i love kageyama tobio,, i love haikyuu,, i love them ALL! So feel free to request anything! My AU FEST! is till open too! So request your heart out!

Warning(s): Jealous Kageyama mwehehe, Yachi x Hinata (because I do whatever the fuck I want and I say in this AU they're meant to be ok?)

—

"Oi, Kageyama." A noisy crow interrupted Kageyama's inner debate on what to get from the vending machine. There on his left, stood in his short, tangerine glory, Hinata Shoyo. Hinata seemed eager to tell Kageyama something, and it appeared fishy to the blueberry.

"What?" He asked in his usual grumpy tone. Hinata pulled out his phone and started waving it at him.

"Look! Look! Someone loves me!" What does he mean by that? Does his parents not love him or something? "I downloaded this app called 'Love Alarm'! Everyone's using it so I thought might as well try right? Anyways, it syncs with your heart and tells the person you like that you like them if you're in a 10 mile radius! It also tells you if someone likes you! It doesn't tell you the name though so it might confuse your dumb brain!" Out of all the bullshit that came out of Hinata's mouth, the last one annoyed Kageyama the most.

"Oi, who are you calling dumb?" His menacing aura could almost kill Hinata. Almost. Hinata's used to it by now.

"You!" Hinata let out an 'ow!' as Kageyama hit his tangerine head. "A-Anyways, you should try it too! I was walking down the hallway earlier and my alarm rang off! Someone loves me! In this school!"

"I don't wanna. It's a waste of time." Kageyama replied before pressing the milk button. "And that app's a fake, dumbass. Don't believe in them. It's a scam."

"Psh. You're just saying that because no one probably loves you." That made Kageyama's eye twitch. Hinata smiled in triumph as he saw the boy's expression change.

Kageyama, who had a determined look on his face, grabbed his milk and faced Hinata who had a smug smile plastered on his face.

"I'll download the app. Let's see if you're right about that, dumbass." And with that Kageyama left a smiling Hinata alone on the corridor. Grabbing his phone, he made a reminder to download it when he got home.

He'll prove that dumbass wrong. He'll make Hinata pay hell later. And he'll also see if this app's a scam or not.

—

"This is stupid." You groaned as you turned on the 'Love Alarm' app on your phone. "Why do I believe in this app anyways? It's probably a scam or something." Clearly, an app wouldn't know who you're in love with right? It's just absurd. Who could possibly make such an app?

But... it wouldn't hurt to try right?

Spotting a certain blueberry just around the corner, you took a deep breath. Thump. Thump. Thump. There goes your heart again, beating as fast as it could whenever you see the volleyball maniac. You never really know why you liked him in the first place. You two weren't close nor you were strangers to each other. You two were friends—if Kageyama even considers you that—but not like Hinata-Kageyama level. It was more like on a 'I-tolerate-you' level. You don't know everything about each other but still know enough things that are personal. You both have the same interests too, it being playing volleyball. Though you weren't in his class—you actually are smarter than him—you still talked when you can. Though, conversations with him mostly happens by the vending machine while he ponders on what to get.

Something about him just attracted you. Maybe it was his looks? Or maybe it was because of his passion? Either way, you liked Kageyama. You liked him a lot. A lot, a lot.

There was only one problem.

You don't know how to confess.

You know you were probably gonna be rejected. All Kageyama thinks about is volleyball after all. His head is a volleyball. So having romantic feelings for anyone or anything except the sport? Impossible. It's unlikely to never happen at all. You're pretty sure he'll marry the sport. So confessing? Hah. No way.

That was before Love Alarm anyway.

You figured Kageyama would have one. So, you thought of a plan to confess without him actually knowing that it's you.

Slowly approaching him, you gulped nervously. You saw Hinata approaching as well. Great, ok. If his Love Alarm rings, he'll probably think it's Hinata or something. Good.

You kept on walking, and walking, and walking. Until you heard an alarm ring. Kageyama's eyes widened as his eyes darted around until it landed on you. Your eyes widened then you fled the scene. Flustered and beet red.

Welp, there goes your friendship with him down the drain.

"Woah! My Love Alarm rang!" Hinata exclaimed happily as his eyes searched for the one who had feelings for him. "Ah! Who could it be?! I still haven't figured it out yet!" Kageyama released an annoyed sound at that. He couldn't believe it. You? You liked the dumbass? Surely you can do better than that.

Kageyama paused. Well that explains everything then.

The way you 'sneakily' glance at Hinata whenever him and that tangerine practice, or the way you act differently around him as well. Kageyama hated the fact that you seemed a lot calmer when you're with Hinata, you radiated a different aura too. But with him, you seemed nervous, always stuttering and being polite.

He glared at Hinata, who was currently daydreaming about the one who rang his Love Alarm, then stomped off.

He certainly wasn't setting to that tangerine dumbass today.

Meanwhile you were panicking behind the bushes as you watched Kageyama get angry from afar. Oh shit. He certainly didn't like that. Judging from his expression, he seemed repulsed by it. Cringing a little, you sighed and walked away.

Avoiding him it is then.

—

The past few days, you stayed dejected and it showed. Yachi worried about you and went into mother hen mode everytime she was near you. Though you appreciated the gesture, it didn't lift your spirits at all. Your mind kept recalling the disgusted look on Kageyama's face and the hatred within his eyes. You sighed and banged your head on your desk. Idiot. You're an idiot. A complete idiot. A greater idiot than Hinata.

You avoided Kageyama completely. You made sure you never crossed paths with him. You stopped buying milk from the vending machine too, opting to buy some at the Sakonoshita store on your way to school. You also took another route to get to the gym the girl's volleyball team uses. All of those in hopes that Kageyama wouldn't find you.

"Yachi-san. I'm sorry but I'm not in the mood to go over some notes today. Please leave me alone for a while." You said once you felt a presence infront of you. You were alone in the classroom until said presence came over. Silence came after. Yachi didn't say a word as you burried your head further in your desk—if that was even possible. You were about to tell her off when suddenly two Love Alarms rang, catching the attention of some passerbys.

Your head shot up once you realized what happened. Your Love Alarm rang. Who could it possibly—?

There they were. Looking as shocked as you are. Infront of you sat Kageyama, who had just turned his Love Alarm on. Neither of you said a word for a while and just looked at each other. Holy shit. Kageyama... Kageyama likes you too? How could he? Doesn't he hate you? How? What the fuck?

"I was right..." Kageyama stated making you confused. Right about what? You liking him? "This app truly is a scam." And with that Kageyama took off, leaving you in the room.

A scam?

Doesn't that mean...?

Oh.

He doesn't like you.

You knew it. You knew it, and yet you hoped he would reciprocate your feelings. What a dumbass you were. Giving yourself false hope. Looking for a sign that he might like you back.

What a fucking dumbass.

What a fucking dumbass, Kageyama was. Surely this app is fake, right?

No, it wasn't.

The app was right.

He had feelings for you.

Do you have feelings for him? If you didn't, his Love Alarm wouldn't ring, right? Besides, you two were the only ones in the classroom. So it couldn't be someone else. But surely you don't like him and Hinata right?

Right?

Kageyama groaned. Feelings are hard to deal with and this Love Alarm just made it harder.

"Oi! Kageyama!" Speaking of the tangerine devil, Hinata appeared with Yachi in tow. "I know who rang my Love Alarm now! It was Yachi-san!"

What?

What?

It was Yachi?

Not you?

Oh, he was certainly gonna confess to you later.

—

"Y/n." A blueberry volleyball maniac blocked your way while you were heading to the volleyball gym. You looked down, not meeting his eyes. After what happened earlier, you didn't want to see Kageyama ever again. You feared that Kageyama would chew you out and slap your so called friendship on your face. You feared that he'll wash everything you shared down the drain. You feared whatever his response may be. You dreaded this. You didn't want to interact with him yet but it seemed that the universe had some other plans with you and Kageyama.

"Here." A milk carton appeared in your sight. Upon closer inspection, you saw Kageyama's messy writing on it. "Take it."

"Is this some kind of a 'sorry-but-I'm-rejecting-you' gift? Because if it is, then I don't want it Kageyama. I don't want your pity."

"It's not." Kageyama replied before shoving the milk carton in your hands. "Just read it."

Sighing in defeat, you read the words Kageyama wrote on the carton.

'Thank you for ringing my Love Alarm.'

"What's this? Why are you thanking me?" You voiced out your thoughts. "Aren't you mad? You seemed mad when I rang your Love Alarm near the gym last week."

"I was mad." Kageyama answered your question making your shoulders slump. Upon seeing your dejected state, Kageyama frowned. He hated seeing you like this. He just wanted you to smile shyly at him again. Or invite him to the vending machine and waste lunch time chatting away about some random topic. He just wanted things to be back to normal. Maybe he even wants to date you. "But it wasn't because you rang my Love Alarm."

Before you can even ask him about it, he continued speaking. "I was mad because I thought you rang Hinata's Love Alarm." Your eyes widened at that. It was Hinata's Love Alarm that rang that time? It wasn't his? How could that possibly be? It was Kageyama you liked, not Hinata. "Turns out, Yachi-san's the one who rang his alarm. She was behind him that time. They confessed earlier." Oh. So, that's why Yachi left in a rush.

"Why didn't your Love Alarm rang that time then? Didn't you have it turned on?"

"I still haven't downloaded the app. I didn't believe in it. But now that I know it's not a scam, don't avoid me anymore. Come back and drag me to the vending machine every lunch." Your heart thumped once again. "Let's even get meat buns from Coach after practice." Does this mean what you think it does?

"Are...Are you asking me out or...?"

"Of course I am, dumbass. Is that a yes?"

"It sure is."

[boyy-wonder-grayson]

Crush

Summary: Jason has a crush on the reader who happens to be Dick’s girlfriend.

Requested: yes

Parings: Dick Grayson x Reader. Jason Todd x Reader (kind of)

Warnings: angst, smut a little

A/N: just a lil imagine that my lovely frined @riseofnightwing requested. (not beta read cause im tired so sorry for mistakes)

The rain tapped against the windows of the tower, a quiet sort of night. The air around the tower was so tense that you could almost cut it with a knife. It's been almost three days since the last time Dr light attacked,and the team was frustrated without new leads to follow. Dick, Hank, Donna and Kory were trying to find something out in the streets,but it's been two hours since they've gone out and so far nothing.

Y/n sighed in frustration, she cracked her neck trying to release the tension from the last few days and went to the kitchen to get some coffee. She's been sitting at the computer for most of the day trying to find something, and waiting for something from the others but to no avail. 

"Hey Y/n" Jason greeted her from his spot on the kitchen. He was already drinking coffee and offered to make some to Y/n which she accepted gratefully. 

"Got anything on Dr douchebag?" He asked making her chuckle. 

"Nothing so far" she yawned covering her mouth with her hand. "And the other have nothing either. I hate this dude, can he like surrender or something in getting really tired of San Francisco's jail system." She complained 

"It's like they let the villains out whenever the city starts gains some peace" she finished drowning the remaining of her coffee. She really needed caffeine today.

Jason laughed at her outburst and placed a hand on her shoulder rubbing comforting circles near the skin of her neck. 

"We're gonna get him, that's what we do" he said looking at her with softness on his gaze.

Y/n smiled down at him, she was a few inches taller than him, and placed her hand on top of his "thanks jay I kinda needed that". Jason felt his heart hammered in his ribcage at their close proximity. It was now or never, he leaned in trying to kiss her, much to her oblivion, but the moment was cut short when her phone rang.

"Hey Dick what's up?" She answered the phone, throwing Jason an apologetic look, leaving the boy alone in his frustrated state. She left the room and went back to the computer and sat down.

"I was thinking maybe we could have some...alone time when I come back to the tower?" Dick asked her. She knew exactly what he meant by that and to be honest she was thrilled that Dick needed her as much as she needed him. She released a breathy laughed and told him that she couldn't wait for him to come back. 

It's been three months since they started dating and almost two years of mutual pining for each other. When she had enough of Dick's bullshit she decided to take the first step and kissed him after one successful mission. A victory kiss if you will, and Dick was happy that at least someone had the balls to make a move. 

Ever since then things went pretty great. What they didn't know was that Dick was not the only one with a massive crush on the female hero. 

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Jason Todd was in love. Or so Rachel said. She was the only one who knew about her gigantic crush on Y/n and it was an honest mistake that she found that out. Sometimes her powers get out of control and casually that day, Jason was around. He made her swear  not to tell anything to anyone and Rachel assured him she wouldn't say a word.

Jason wasn't the type to pine after someone like Y/n. Not because he was some sort of asshat that believed that he was better than anyone,or that she wasn't enough. It was because y/n was the total opposite of him. While she has a happy-go-lucky attitude towards life, Jason was more of  when-life-doesn't-give-you-lemons-you-kick-down-the-tree. That was one of the main reasons; another one was how much everyone enjoyed having her around, he sure as hell did. She was so optimistic and full of life that at the beginning, that it surprised Jason so much that he thought she was faking it. In this type of life no one was that happy. But with time he realised that she was genuinely just a happy person; which made Jason feel things he didn't want to. He wasn't expecting to fall for someone like her, specially when she's a bit older than him. And specially when he saw his brother act the same way as him towards her more than once. 

It drove Jason insane to see him all over her, but he didn't want to give away his feelings for her.

He was supposed to go on patrol later that night, since the other were already out he would take their place, alongside Gar, Rachel, Conner and Dawn.  He didn't want to leave now that he could spend some time with her, but the job needed to be done. He suited up and just as he was going out Y/n walked past him, she smiled at him.

"Looking good Robin" she told him playfully. He winked at her and made a reverence which made her rolled her eyes at the boy.

"Be safe out there, okay?" She told him with softness. Jason's heart did a flip and he felt his face turn red. He only nodded and before he left she hugged him. He melt into her embrace that didn't last too long much to his chagrin.

He left for patrol not without promising that he would confess his feelings for her when he got back.

+++++++++++++++++++++++++

Y/n sighed when she felt Dick's lips on the inside of her tights. She grabbed a fistful of his hair to bring her closer to where she really needed him. The brown haired boy chuckled but obey without a fuss. Truth is she loved when he went down on her, and Dick was damn good at it. She bit the inside of her hand trying to tune down her moans but she failed miserably. She pulled Dick's hair harder than before making him grunt in response. She was so out of herself that at this point she didn't give a shit if someone heard them or not. When he was done she plopped down on her side laughing at her state. She was breathing heavily and sweat run through her forehead. Y/n looked at him and saw a smug smile graced her boyfriend's face.

"I guess you enjoyed that" he asked cuddling her.

"Mm what makes you said that?" She asked playfully.

Dick kissed her shoulder and pulled her closer to his chest.

"Oh I don't know, maybe the way were moaning my name when I put my-" he was cut short when she elbowed him in the stomach making the boy laughed. 

"Shut up and go to sleep" she said closing her eyes. She was exhausted and so was he. Whenever they had sex Dick usually leaves in the morning before everyone could catch them,but since they were so exhausted Dick just sleep right through his alarm until a certain black haired boy bursted into the room the next morning. 

The two heroes were soundly asleep when Jason entered her room. He was shocked when he saw them sleeping together and naked. Dick's hands were all around her and she was grabbing the former arm. Jason felt sick. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. His brother and his crush sleeping together. Naked. He got out of there fast and bumped into Hank in the hallway.

"Hey man watch it" the blonde said.

"Fuck off" he yelled not even bothering how much attention he drew to himself. He felt his eyes watered. It shouldn't be this bad, it shouldn't affect him this much. But it did, he felt his breath quicken. 

"What the fuck is your problem dude?" Hank questioned.

"You! And everyone in this fucking tower!" Jason yelled.

Y/n and Dick woke up when at the commotion and quickly got dressed. When they reached the living room they saw Jason and Hank fighting.

"Hey, what's going on here?" Dick asked walking towards Jason to calm him down. He tried to put a hand on his little brother's shoulder but Jason shook it off rather violently.

" don't fucking touch you. You fucking traitor" Jason said through gritted teeth. Dick was taken aback by his brothers rage.

"What are you talking about?" 

"You knew i liked her!" He pointed at Y/n who was quiet throughout this whole exchange. "And yet you still went and fucked her behind my back" he spewed the words.

Dick face felt. He cursed under his breath and tried to talk to Jason but the boy just shook his head and walked away. 

Y/n walked out of the living room feeling like shit. How could she not notice this? She asked herself. Jason's been spending so much time with her but she never really thought about this, she thought they were just friends. Just really good friends.

Dick found her crying in her bed. She truly felt like a shitty person.

"Hey stop that" Dick said wiping the tears from her face. 

"I'm sorry, I'm just" she took a shaky breath before she continued "how come we didn't realize this? He's your brother for fucks sake! And now he hate us for this" 

"Do you regret this? Us?" Dick asked with concern across his face.

"What?" She sniffed "no! Of course not. But I just can't help but feel like shit because I love Jason,like a brother and now I don't think there's coming back from this" she sighed.

"Look, I know Jason. He's hurt right now but he'll turn around and come back. He's a good kid he just needs time" dick reassured her.

Y/n nodded and looked at his boyfriend. She took his head on her hands and gave him a deep long kiss. Hopefully things will get better soon.

[worldwidemochiguy]

Mean (Yandere! Jin)

After so long being trapped by your controlling boyfriend, you finally mustered up the courage to leave, just for a day, just to taste fresh air again. You thought he would never know. But you were wrong...

“If you leave again, I’ll have to remind you just how mean I can be.” 

Masterlist

Warnings: Yandere behaviour, possessive behaviour, manipulation, imprisonment, unhealthy relationship dynamics

Word Count: 1.4K

a/n: thanks to anon for requesting 33 with Jin from the yandere prompts! i’ve had this sitting in my wip folder for a while so i decided it was time to post it lol

Mean

You honestly can’t remember the last time you tasted fresh air. Sometimes, Jin lets you go out, but only ever when he accompanies you, and he’s been so swamped with work recently that you haven’t even dared to ask him to take a walk with you. You stare out of the window longingly, watching as people pass by, ignorant of your watchful gaze. 

A young couple passes beneath your window. A strong breeze blows the woman’s hat off her head and straight away, her boyfriend is chasing it up the street, cheered on by his laughing girlfriend. When he eventually retrieves it, he is rewarded with a jubilant kiss, the grins bright enough on their faces for even you to see, despite the distance between you and them. They just look so happy, enjoying the day, enjoying each other’s company, enjoying life at its fullest. They disappear over the hill, and with them goes your fear.

So what if Jin doesn’t want you to go outside? He isn’t here, and he won’t be home for hours. He spends so much time at the office, he’s practically neglecting you, and he won’t even let you go outside for a minute to find some stimulation? You’re so sick and tired of being constrained, and you decide that enough is enough.

Five minutes later, armed with a wooly hat and mittens, you leave the apartment that has been your cage for almost a year, now. You carefully leave your phone plugged in at its dock, as you’re pretty sure Jin has set a perimeter alarm on it that would alert him if you left the apartment. You take one hesitant step out of the doorway, and then another, and then another, and then you are practically flying down the hallway, taking the stairs instead of the elevator, sprinting down the steps to freedom.

You trip on one of them and take a slight tumble, grazing your knee, but your brain can’t even register the damage, so overtaken by the euphoric feeling of freedom, finally. You can feel the fresh air brushing against your cheekbones and a second later the sensation is altered by the tears flowing from your eyes. You can’t believe you really did it. You escaped. 

Of course, you’ll be going back soon enough — you aren’t deluded enough to think you could evade Jin forever — but a small taster of freedom is more than enough for you, and maybe if Jin doesn’t find out, you could be doing this every day! 

Your feet dance along the pavement, moving in a rhythm you have almost forgotten from being trapped for so long, but are fast remembering. The wind runs its fingers through your hair, mussing it in the breeze and you let out an exalting shout. I’m free, it says, I’m free! 

You walk for longer than you realise, so caught up in the triumph of it all, and it is starting to get dark when you finally realise something: You have absolutely no idea where you are. When Jin took you, he didn’t exactly give you a map with written directions around the neighbourhood. The city — city? town? village? — the place that you are in is completely unfamiliar to you, you might as well be in a foreign country. For all you know, it is entirely feasible that you could be. 

But it’s ok, it will be ok, all you have to do is call Jin, right? How marvellous, the age of technology! You can reach anyone, anywhere at anytime! Except, you can’t reach Jin because you left your fucking phone at the apartment that you have no idea how to find. Fuck. 

“What do I do?” You whisper. Being left alone for extended periods of time has left you with the unfortunate habit of talking to yourself out loud. “What the fuck do I do?”

Talking to someone else is out of the question. Jin is already going to be so angry at you that you pity your future self even more than your current self, if you add ‘consorting with strangers’ to the list of crimes Jin honestly might just murder you. 

You are afraid. Not just of what Jin will do to you — though you are terrified at the thought, and are therefore trying your best not to think about it — but you are also genuinely scared. 

As a young woman, being alone at night in a secluded place is honestly one of the most chilling experiences. Which is why, when you spot Jin’s car, you waste no time before sprinting towards it, yelling Jin’s name for good measure. 

Jin steps out of the car, and you have never been so relieved to see such an angry man. You fling yourself into his arms, choking on a sob as you apologise over and over for leaving, promising you’ll never do it again, crying about how scared you were. 

Jin pulls back to survey your face.

“Did you talk to anyone?” He asks sharply, voice tight and you’re shaking your head before he even finishes talking.

“No, no, I didn’t talk to anyone, I didn’t let anyone touch me, I swear.” 

Without another word, he tugs you into the car, slamming the door behind you. After getting into the drivers seat, he makes direct eye contact with you while switching on the child-lock function pointedly. 

Jin has always been petty like that. 

Immediately, he starts the car up and starts driving in the direction of what you assume is home, though he could be driving towards a shooting range and you would be none the wiser. 

“We are going… home, right?” You ask tentatively, and he offers no response. When you place your hand on top of his on the gear switch, he grimaces before shaking you off.

“You’re freezing.” He snaps, and you shrink backwards.

“Sorry,” you mumble, “I’ve been stuck outside for a while.” 

Two minutes later, while you are waiting at a red traffic light, he takes off his jacket and shoves it towards you. You accept it silently. 

As soon as you get home, you rush into the previously under-appreciated sanctuary, turning around on the spot and making sure that everything is as you left it. Jin watches you, not saying a word.

“Jin~” you whine, reaching your arms out to him. No reaction. “Jin, please, I said I was sorry.” 

“I heard you.” He snaps, and you try to think positively: at least he is acknowledging you! 

“Jin, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have left, I was being really stupid. You were right, I can’t take care of myself, I need you. Please, don’t ignore me.” 

Jin ignores you and crosses over to the bedroom, pausing in the doorway dramatically, face turned sideways so you can only see his backlit profile, as intimidatingly perfect as ever. 

“If you are truly sorry, you’ll wait outside all night to show your sincerity.” 

“W-wait outside… all night?” 

“Yes. Do you understand, or are you being ‘really stupid’ again?” He spat your own words back at you. 

“I just- no, I don’t understand. Why do you want me to wait outside?”

Jin smirks.

“Because, isn’t that what you want, baby? To go outside, to feel the wind on your face and all that bullshit? Well, have it then. Go on. I have guards stationed at various points in case you decide to be ‘really stupid’ again, so you won’t be at risk.”

“…Jin, it’s freezing outside. I’ll be so cold.” You whimper, trying to appeal to his soft side. But, you should know by now, Jin has no soft side, even for you.

“I gave you my jacket earlier, you can use that as a blanket. Now go, leave.”

You give a mock-pout, like you’re just naïvely put out about this whole thing rather than desperately trying to appeal to Jin, still not accepting the fate of waiting outside in the cold all night. You’ve been walking all day, and you are so tired you just want to curl up in bed and forget the whole thing. 

“Jin,” you try again, the joking tone of brattiness in your voice gradually turning into true fear, “please don’t make me do this. You’re being mean.”

He turns around and cups your face in his hands, a sweet smile curling on his lips, and you almost believe you’ve gotten through to him, until you see the cruelty in his eyes.

“If you leave again, I’ll have to remind you just how mean I can be.”

[dr-imagines-modfuyuhiko]

Reader helps Nagito in his plan to expose the traitor

Came up with this one on my own, just something for you guys to see my style of writing for if you want to request :)

Category: Angst Imagine

Specifics: GN!reader, obviously takes place in chapter 5, reader is Ultimate Actor

Warnings: Gore, swearing

I legit finished this but forgot to save and had to rewrite it all over again-

Nagito had told his lie of planning on blowing the island up. You, of course, saw through his bullshit, there was no way he had more than one bomb from the Ocagon. And he had just used it. So when you had stopped him walking away from the restaurant and confronted him, he let himself take his chances.

The boy had decided to confide in you after a minimal amount of convincing. There was no use in lying to you, especially when his time to execute his plan was limited. He told you what he knew. Absolutely all of it.

He told you how you were all Remnants of Despair, the 78th class’ killing game, Hajime’s “identity crisis”, about Junko Enoshima, everything. He even shared the fact that you had your left eye replaced with Junko’s while some other classmates, including himself, had other body parts.

While his claims were unbelievable at first, you could tell he wasn’t lying. He took you to his cottage and showed you the book he had received in the Octagon and he got some sort of poison. It was insane, yet it explained so much: Mikan’s behavior, Hajime being talentless, the swirls in Nagito’s and Mikan’s eyes when they got despaired, and so much more.

However, with this explanation, you had also gotten a hope/despair rant of how you all deserved to die for being Remnants. And for the first time, you actually agreed with his ideas. This part seemed to shock him slightly before he chuckled and explained what had to happen.

Whilst everyone else was on a wild goose chase for the bombs, the two of you got to work. You were told of the traps he already set up the night prior. He had you tie a spear above him, tie his legs and arm, and finally, made sure no one could hear him through the duct tape. You weren’t completely aware of why he needed that last point, but you guessed you would find out soon.

When leaving the warehouse to “meet up” with the others, his last words before you left had sent chills down your spine;

“Just make sure no one can hear me screaming, Y/n..”

——————

You had finally met up with your classmates just after they left the plushie factory where Nagito set his video message. You discreetly led them to the warehouse, using your talent as a shield of sorts. The domino fire trap had been set off, then they found the grenades in the break room, all according to plan. You made sure to stay back and not throw any of the grenades in case you screwed it up and took the poisoned one.

Once the fire died down, you had entered the next phase of this plan, the part you had to complete alone. You carefully led the group to Nagito’s body, not having to act as the shock of his self-mutilation took over you. Quickly shaking the nerves off best you could, you focused on the rest of the plan. Before you knew it, everyone was in the trial grounds being led by your lies.

That is, until a certain protagonist decides to call you out.

“Y/n, you don’t usually speak up so much during trials,” the boy gulped a bit and suspiciously looked to you. “Especially since you weren’t there until after we found the video.”

“I just want to help as much as possible,” you bit the inside of your lip nervously, “and like I said, I was in my cottage the whole time to avoid being blown up.”

“Then how did you know to lead us outside of the warehouse?”

Shit, shit, shit...

“I-I..” You had to think fast. So you did the only thing you could think of. Besides, all they had to do was vote incorrectly, right?

Lowering your gaze, you let your voice take on a dark tone, forcing a visible smile to tug at your lips.

“Because I killled Nagito.”

The room went dead silent for a moment. It was almost amusing. But you had to finish this plan out.

“I think we can start the votes now Monokuma, I killed Nagito-”

“No that’s wrong!”

Hajime’s voice rang out like an annoying alarm. You looked towards him and raised a brow for an explanation.

“Y/n, I don’t think you killed Nagito. I think you’re covering for something.” Hajime was getting closer to the truth, but thankfully your classmates were short tempered at this.

“What the fuck do you mean?! They already confessed!”

“Buddy, they already said they did it!”

“Hajime, they have just confessed their crime!”

“I don’t get the fuss, just start the voting!”

Their voices tangled together, most ready to start the vote. Unfortunately for you, Hajime apparently had backup.

“Y/n, if you did kill Nagito,” Chiaki’s voice had silenced the others, “then please give an explanation of what exactly you did.” You felt your chest tighten but remained calm on the outside.

Taking a breath in, you relaxed and focused on using your talent to complete your mission.

“When Nagito told us he’d blow up the whole island, I could tell he was lying, so I went to confront him. I knew there was no way he’d get a bomb large enough to take out the whole island. At least, not without any of us knowing beforehand. Plus he already used a bomb, and there was no way he had a second.”

You stated with a truth as you always did before delving into your lies, carefully weaving the two together. You were ready for this rebuttal battle.

“He refused to tell me anything, so I dragged him to the warehouse and tied him up. There, I tortured him to tell me the truth. When that didn’t work, I threatened a painful death.”

The thoughts of having to commit the actions you were describing caused you to pause for just a moment before continuing your faulty explanation.

“He began to mock me, saying I wouldn’t do such a thing. I decided to prove him wrong. I stole the key to his cottage off him and forced him to hold the spear above him. To keep him from screaming for help, I covered his mouth in tape.”

You felt yourself grip your trial stand just a bit tighter.

“I took the poison from his room and placed it in a granade for later. From there, I had set up the rest of the traps like Hajime said. All I had to do then was lead you all along and throw the grenade with the poison into the room-”

“I’ll cut through those words!”

Ignoring the odd word choice Hajime had been using in every trial, you turned to him, annoyed and nervous.

“Y/n, you’re the only one who didn’t throw a grenade,” the ahoged boy pointed out.

“Hey wait a sec- Hajime’s right!” Kazuichi joined in, “You were standing behind us the whole time!”

“So why the fuck are you lying to us?!” Fuyuhiko swore.

“They’re acting a bit like Nagito in the first trial..” Sonia was quiet but you still heard her.

“Do you know who the culprit is or not?!” Akane shouted from across from you.

Now you knew you were in deep shit. If you couldn’t keep the culprit’s identity safe, you would’ve failed. You would’ve failed to keep the world safe from the remaining Remnants.

After a few moments, you had your next course of action planned out. You lifted your head once more and smiled sickingly sweet. You were going to follow what Sonia had said.

You were going to play Nagito.

“Heheh..” Keeping the same dark but nonchalant tone as he always did, you continued, “Yes and no, Akane..”

“What do you mean, Y/n?” The plain boy seemed confused as ever.

“Well you’re the smart one Hajime, so I’ll give you one hint that should pull this together for you..”

The group had gone silent once again, awaiting your words.

“He used our talents to find a certain someone.”

Your head tilted to the side in false glee. Hajime had gone into his own mind for a minute, processing your claim. Once he figured what you meant by that statement, he turned to the group in shock.

“You’re telling us, that Nagito set this up?” He almost looked scared to say such a thing.

“Indeed I am,” You gave a crazed look, “I’m sure you know who the culprit is now, Hajime, don’t you?” The boy gulped once more.

“It’s the traitor.” Hajime looked down, “He was trying to kill the traitor.” At that, you erupted into Nagito’s signature laugh.

“Not quite, Dating-Sim-Protag.” You let out one more chuckle at your teasing. “It wasn’t the traitor he wanted to kill. It was everyone but the traitor!”

You continued your cackle. Having to laugh in his way made you feel guilty for your actions and words. You were hurting everyone. But what had to be done had to be done.

“They’re messing with us like Nagito did!” Kazuichi seemed more freaked out than everyone, as per usual. “Just tell us who the traitor is!”

“Not so fast, Kazuichi,” Chiaki once again calmed down the commotion, “I think Y/n isn’t lying. Nagito wanted the traitor to kill him and be the blackened, right?”

“Y/n,” Hajime kept his gaze towards the floor, “did you really know where the poison was?”

“In the grenades? Yes.” You felt this as your chance to come clean, convinced they couldn’t find the traitor. “Which one, however? I had no clue.”

“Then how would the traitor have known which one it was in?” Sonia was so close to getting it, but Hajime sealed their deal.

“They didn’t, Nagito used his luck.”

“Correct.” You decided to drop the Nagito facade, deeming it unnecessary now. Your face instead fell solemn.

“Why the hell did you help him, Y/n?!” Fuyuhiko’s voice called out.

“I’m sorry, I really am,” You let yourself speak the truth, “but it was what had to happen for the world to be safe. Safe from-”

“Ah, ah, ahhhh!!” Monokuma jumped in, “We wouldn’t want spoilers, now would we!”

You grit your teeth, feeling even more horrible that you couldn’t explain your actions. Although there would be no need to once the vote had started.

“Just..” Your voice fell weak, “..know all but one of us deserve painful deaths. And we’re about to get those as I assume the traitor wouldn’t reveal themselves.”

The room was completely silent. Even Monomi kept her usual whimpering to herself. Monokuma probably would’ve jumped up again if it weren’t for said traitor speaking up.

“I killed him.”

Chiaki’s voice made your head snap up. She must be lying right? No, there’s no way she’d help you and Nagito.. right?

“Chiaki what are you talking about?” Your voice trembled, knowing you won’t know if she’s helping you or everyone else until after the vote.

“I’m the traitor.” She smiled sadly, “Hajime, you want to do your usual run down of the case?”

Hajime’s face was in complete shock along with the rest of us. He quickly shook himself out and nodded. You could tell he didn’t want to vote on his (what you assumed to be) girlfriend. Nevertheless, he gave the story of it all.

“Here’s everything that happened: The person who actually arranged this incident was... the victim, Nagito Komeada. He kept a specific item inside his cottage that he needed for his plan. Monokuma's Special Poison, which he brought with him from the Octagon.

“Using the gloves and gas mask that he got from he military base... Nagito swapped the contents of a fire grenade he took from the Plushie Factory break room with that poison. When he did that, a specific item was left as evidence: the blue aluminum seal on the grenade.

“With that, Nagito finished making the poisoned fire grenade, took it with him to the factory... and put it back with the rest of the grenades in the break room.

“The next morning, Nagito appeared before us and declared that he hid a bomb somewhere... However, one of us wasn’t fooled. That person was Y/n L/n. Through some sort of convincing, Nagito had told them his plan and the two of them got to work.

“While we were looking for the bomb, that's when Nagito and Y/n headed over to the goods warehouse. In order to set up a fire, the two arranged the Monokuma panels in a line going from the door... to the curtain, and placed an oil lighter in front of it. From there, Nagito set his insane plan in motion.

“First, he hung the spear that he took from Nezumi Castle from the ceiling girder by its cord... then he had Y/n tie his arms and legs at the back of the warehouse with rope. However, they burnt off the rope on his right arm beforehand.

“In doing so, they made sure that only his right hand was free while his remaining arm and legs were tied up... As he gripped the tip of the rope hanging over the ceiling girder with his left hand... He laid down face-up, just beneath the dangling spear.

“But this was just the beginning of Nagito's plan, and then...he did something no one could've predicted. First, he covered his mouth with duct tape, and after making sure he was unable to scream... He made Y/n leave and stabbed himself with the knife multiple times in his left arm and in both of his thighs.

“Finally... He propped the knife on the plushie, and slammed his right hand onto the blade! He didn't just want us to think he was tied up, he also wanted us to think he's been tortured... Through all this, Nagito never let go of the spear. His plan still wasn't over...In fact, it was just about to begin.

“Meanwhile, we finally arrived at the plushie factory and found Nagito's message... After seeing his message, we instantly made our way to the warehouse, Y/n leading us there even though they had shown up after we left... But that was part of Nagito's plan. We opened the door to the warehouse, which inadvertently started the Monokuma panel domino effect...

“The panels fell, one after another, until they reached the lighter, tipped it over, and ignited the curtain. Shocked by the sudden fire, we rushed to the factory's break room to obtain some fire extinguishing grenades.

“We then aimed for the fire's origin point, which was the curtain, and unloaded the entire supply. It never occurred to us that one of those grenades was the poisoned grenade that Nagito had prepared... But because Y/n knew it was there, they made a crucial mistake in Nagito’s plan and their later lies... they didn’t throw a grenade.

“The poison sank to the floor, instantly vaporizing due to the intense heat, and spread everywhere... The poison gas quickly drifted to the curtain at the back of the warehouse, where Nagito was. Also, Monokuma's poison has a unique quality in which it becomes heavier than air when vaporized. That poison gas completely surrounded the area where Nagito lay face-up on the floor.

“There, Nagito inhaled the poison, and if it didn't instantly kill him, he certainly lost consciousness... Which caused him to let go of the rope in his left hand, and the falling spear plunged into his stomach.

“But even then, his plan wasn’t completely over as his accomplice, Y/n, had to lie in order to voting wrong. Unfortunately for Y/n, the traitor did something they couldn’t expect... the traitor revealed themself.

“This is all the information related to Nagito's plan. His true intention was to set one of us up as the killer... At the time, we didn’t know who the killer was... Because the killer wasn't aware they killed someone. Try as we might, if the traitor hadn’t revealed herself as Chiaki Nanami, the Ultimate Gamer, we could not reach that truth... That was Nagito's trap.”

You could feel yourself shake as the rest of the trial went on. You didn’t trust your voice to not get all shaky if you attempted to speak. Instead, you simply listened as arguments were made on Chiaki really being the traitor. As well as the insults occasionally thrown your way.

Soon, though, the guilt of failing Nagito and the world settled in as Monokuma declared that Chiaki was indeed the traitor, and possibly worse, correctly voted as the blackened.

———————

As soon as Chiaki’s execution had ended, you made your way out of the trail room and to your own cottage. You didn’t want to end up tied in the warehouse like they did with Nagito in the restaurant so many weeks ago. So when there was knocking at your door, you didn’t answer it.

The knocking continued, but you stayed in your curled up position on the bed. When the knocking finally ended, you sighed in relief, that is, until you heard Hajime’s voice.

“Y/n.. please come out and eat.. you haven’t had anything since this morning..”

That certainly wasn’t what you had expected to hear. You expected scolding, anger, anything other than concern. Hearing a sigh from outside the door, you decided to slip out for just a moment.

When you did open the door, you saw Hajime as he was about to turn and leave. His form seemed stressed, like he’d definitely been crying.

“You aren’t gonna tie me up, are you?” You tried to joke, but your voice was hoarse, your own crying to blame. Even so, Hajime let out a tired chuckle.

“No, I did have to stop Kazuichi and Akane from trying though..” He scratched the back of his neck. A small, breathy laugh of your own forcing it’s way out of you.

“Why aren’t you siding with them?” You looked downward towards your shoes. “I mean I did quite literally act as Nagito and try to get us all killed..” At that, you felt a hand on your shoulder, forcing your gaze back to Hajime.

“If your reason behind doing that was good enough for Monokuma to stop you from revealing it, I think it’s justified.” He gave a weak, but reassuring smile, “The others agreed with me once I pointed that out.”

“Let me guess,” you attempted to lighten the mood once more, “Sonia agreed with you so Kazuichi just magically changed his mind and Akane was forced to join?” The two of you shared a small laugh as he pulled his hand away and to his side. There was a short, awkward silence that followed before Hajime spoke again.

“Just.. please help us figure out what’s going on. With the information you now have, you may not be able to directly tell us, but you can help so much more.”

You felt yourself nod, slightly ashamed. “In that case, there’s something I need to show you and the others. I can go get it-”

“Let’s wait till you get something to eat, okay?”

Hajime, no, everyone was really willing to give you a second chance after you essentially killed two classmates? You couldn’t believe it. But it was the truth. A small smile made it’s way to your mouth and you nodded once more, this time more assured. This made Hajime smile in return.

“Now how about we go eat something before Akane gets to it all, Y/n?”

[lesbianlovelanguage]

i want to feel something (i’m numb inside)

It’s another HfBLM Prompt for imperfectabstraction on AO3, who requested pining!Billy who’s bad at communication. Thank you endlessly for your donation!! 

Also a huge ass thank you to @gideongrace for your patience and help in me writing this and basically betaing it. I love you so much. 

Read it on AO3 here or below the cut

-----

1. Welcome to Hawkins. 

Billy had been attending Hawkins High for two weeks when he realized what was happening. 

It wasn’t anything special, no fireworks or butterflies, but instead a cold frustration frosting over him. Because he realized he had a crush. On the most popular and decidedly straight boy in the miserable town of Hawkins, Indiana. Neil’s beatings could never compare to the sinking feeling in Billy’s gut when Steve Harrington stood in front of their english class and gave a frankly terrible report on Moby-Dick . 

It certainly wasn’t Harrington’s presentation that made Billy recognize his crush, but the way his soft hair shined and he stood tall and confident even as the words that poured from his mouth were utter bullshit . 

Billy had always been a sucker for confidence and cockiness. 

But once Harrington had sat down, and was thus out of Billy’s sightlines, the warmth that came with a new crush turned to the familiar iciness, and it felt as if a great gaping maw had opened below him. 

Even after the bell rang and the classroom emptied out, Billy was stuck in his head. 

It wasn’t fair, he thought. He was supposed to hate everyone and everything about this town, and be fucking thankful when he got to put everything in his rearview mirror. But here he was with a ridiculous crush. 

It wouldn’t couldn’t change his plans. Billy was resolute to not act upon his feelings, to avoid Harrington at every turn. 

That resolution to ignore Harrington stayed for the next 5 periods, until he got to basketball practice. Harrington was clearly in his element on the court, no math problems or english reports here. Just sheer athleticism and strategy. And it made Billy angry. Because he couldn’t do anything about Harrington’s breathless panting or the way he was clearly showing off. So Billy did what he always did when he was angry.

He played dirty.

He used every trick in the book to trip up Harrington, guarding him by pushing every body part up against Harrington, using even the tiniest of openings to steal the ball, and he rammed into Harrington to steal the ball. He showed off a little, bolstered by the knowledge that Harrington’s focus was entirely upon him, the anger replaced by the feeling of pride. 

When he landed after dunking the ball, he turned and continued to use the excitement of being Harrington’s sole focus to bound over to the tangled heap of lanky limbs and pale, creamy skin. He even put out a hand to help him up before he came back to himself, violently. 

What was he doing? This is the exact opposite of ignoring Harrington . 

He tried to save face by growling some stupid one-liner about planting his feet, and then dropped him like a sack of potatoes. 

When Harrington popped back up and ignored Billy completely to chase after the ice princess herself, he shook his head and continued to play. This time, his showing off and dirty moves turned vicious as he continued to foul right and left before the coach was forced to bench him. He tried to shrug off the anger and left to take a shower. 

Thankfully the showers stayed empty, and Billy was able to escape. After the disaster that was basketball practice, he decided to firmly clamp down his feelings and avoid Steve Harrington at all costs. 

2. Can’t Ignore Him Anymore 

Billy was having a bad night, to say the least . 

His plan to head off to Indianapolis and the nearest gay bar with a loose ID policy was ruined because his shitbird step-sister decided to fuck off with her weird ass friends, probably with Sinclair even though he tried to warn her that Neil wouldn’t be happy. He had proof of what happened when Neil wasn’t happy blooming on his back too. At least it wasn’t worse, he thought with a grimace. He wasn’t sure when walking away with bruises had become lucky but it was what it was.

And now he had to run all over Hawkins to find the little shitbird, and with every house that sent him somewhere else his admittedly small patience was dwindling. By the time he was pulling into the dark driveway of the Byer’s house, he was itching for a fight. 

And then Steve fucking Harrington walked out of the house. Because God hated him.

Or at least, it felt like the Big Man hated him as Harrington sauntered towards him, dish towel casually tossed over one shoulder and hands tucked into his jacket pockets.

“Am I dreaming or is that you, Harrington?” He felt himself call out before fully processing the words. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.” Harrington sounded blase in his response, but a faint blush appeared on his cheeks as Billy took off his jacket. Interesting. As he walked towards Harrington, a familiar bush of bright red hair popped in and out of the window and shocked Billy back to reality. He stopped, leaving plenty of space between himself and Harrington, enough to hopefully let him keep a clear head. 

“What are you doing here, amigo?” Billy taunted. Maybe he would finally see some action tonight, at least enough to wipe the bitter taste that flirting with Mrs. Wheeler left in his mouth. 

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Harrington retorted, sounding exactly like a fifth grader. 

“Well, I would. ‘S why I asked, cause I don’t really like the picture that’s being painted here. Max goes missing all day, and then I find her here in some stranger’s house, with you of all people. See what I’m seeing, Pretty Boy?” 

“What’s that supposed to mean, me of all people?” Of course Harrington would pick up on that. 

“What does King Steve want with a thirteen-year-old girl? Not a great look man.” The adrenaline bubbled up in Billy’s stomach in anticipation of a fight, fists clenching and skin buzzing. But Harrington never reacted how Billy expected, and this was no exception. 

“Yeah, but letting demon monsters kill a group of pre-teens isn’t so great either,” he said casually, as if his words would make a lick of sense. Billy gaped a little before shaking his head and laughing a bitter, mean laugh.

“You’re digging your own grave man. I just wanted my step-sister, but it looks like I’m gonna have to kick your ass.” That was the only warning he gave before closing the distance and swinging. Harrington went down like a sack of potatoes and Billy couldn’t help the smugness in his voice when he bent over and spit, “Told you to plant your fucking feet, Princess.” He then stepped over Harrington’s sprawled body and walked inside. 

He noticed all of the usual brats that hang off of Harrington, but his gaze zeroed in on Lucas. All of the anger and frustration Billy had felt over the course of the night collided into one comprehensible thought.

He had warned her. 

He wasn’t proud of what he did, but at least he had the ability to stop. He just wanted to scare the kid, hoping that if he couldn’t warn Max he could scare the kid off before Neil got involved. 

If he got involved, he wouldn’t stop, not until Sinclair was really hurt. Or even dead.  

Billy didn’t like himself while he was doing it, knew that his behavior was revolting and monstrous, but he was willing to play the bad guy if it kept the gremlins from the real bad guy. He was thankful when Harrington forced him around and clocked him in the face. Then he had something better to focus his rage and fear on. 

They were in the middle of fighting when Billy thought he lost his mind. He had grabbed the fridge door, planning to use it to clock Harrington in the head, when a thing fell out. It didn’t move from it’s spot on the kitchen floor but it left a trail of something slimy and Billy went mental. 

“What the actual fuck. Someone had ten seconds to explain what this is,” he growled, and was promptly educated about the Upside Down, demogorgons, and something the brats called The Mind Flayer. Apparently Hawkins was housing some horror movie level shit, and of course Harrington was involved. So much for ignoring him forever.

  3. Summer Sweetness

Billy didn’t just enjoy summer. He thrived in the summer. The sun, the heat, the smell of the ocean and the sound of busy beaches filled him with a happiness even Neil couldn’t touch. There were no ocean waves that summer, but chlorine was a close substitute. Anything was better than the disgusting stench of cowshit that seemed to permeate Hawkins in the fall. 

And even better was the silent agreement he had made with one Steve Harrington. 

It started at Prom. Billy had agreed to go with some girl, he hadn’t bothered to remember her name, only to get the promposals to stop. It was a good ego boost at first, but after six in four class periods, it got exhausting to try and politely decline. So, the seventh girl who came up to him with a big home-made card practically dripping in glitter got a ‘Yes’ from the Billy Hargrove. Ridiculous.

He made the mistake of telling Max somewhere that Neil could overhear him, so he ended up having to rent a limo and buy a corsage and dress up in a full tux. All for a thing he didn’t want to go to with a girl he didn’t care about. To just get through the night, he ended up downing an entire bottle of tequila by himself. 

The next morning he would definitely be blaming the tequila, but he would be lying to himself that it was the only reason he did what he did. 

It had been building for a long time, but it wasn’t until he saw Steve in the bathroom furthest from the gym that he realized what it was. 

He had stumbled down the darkened hallways of Hawkins High, desperate for the escape a cigarette would bring him. He knew the bathroom in the english hall had a busted fire alarm, so he made a beeline towards it. He was so focused on pulling the pack out and lighting up, he failed to notice there was someone else, not until they cleared their throat. His head shot up, ready to fight, only to be met with big brown eyes and pale creamy skin. 

“Oh hey, Pretty Boy. What are you doing here?” He tried to play it casual, not letting on that blood was rushing in his ears and his heart was in his throat. 

“Could ask you the same question. I’m pretty sure Colleen is asthmatic, won’t appreciate the nicotine smell,” he said, gesturing to the cigarette he had just lit up. It took him a minute to figure out who the fuck Colleen was, until he realized it was the date he had abandoned in the gym.

“Pretty sure she won’t care what I smell like, if you know what I mean.” Billy waggled his eyebrows and dragged his tongue along his bottom lip. He was caught off guard though, when Steve’s pupils dilated. Interesting. 

“You’re nasty,” Steve tried to cover the few seconds of silence, but Billy was a shark who had smelt blood. 

“Oh really, Stevie?” He asked before taking a long drag of his cigarette and blowing it towards Steve. “You don’t like the idea of Colleen and I getting freaky? What’s a little locker room talk between amigos after all?” He smirked before going in for what he hoped was the kill. “Unless… You’re jealous?” His smirk only grew as Steve stuttered, trying to form a rebuttal.

“I am not jealous of Colleen. I feel bad for her, going to one of the most special nights with you.” Steve’s words were meant to cut, but Billy could hear the uncertainty in his voice.

“Never said you were jealous of Colleen, Stevie. But if you are, I think I have a solution.” That was the only warning he gave Steve before walking over to be right in front of him. They were so close their shoes were touching, and Billy could smell the smoke on Steve’s breath. 

“Seems a little hypocritical to yell at me about smoking when you were doing the same thing.” Billy may have noticed that Steve wasn’t the best in school, but he would never say the boy was slow. He seemed to get with the picture pretty quickly.

“Oh yeah?” His voice was breathy and soft. “You gonna do something about it?”

“I think I have to. It wouldn’t be right if I just ignored it.” 

“Well, what are you waiting for? Do it,” Steve challenged. And Billy never backed down from a challenge. He lunged forward the few feet between them and smashed his lips against Steve’s. 

The kiss wasn’t nice or gentle. It was a battle between two wild animals, only softened when Steve’s hands snuck up Billy’s back and tugged on the golden ringlets. Billy broke the kiss with a moan and Steve grinned. 

“Like that, tiger?” 

“Shut up and get back here,” was Billy’s only response before they collided again. Shaky hands unbuttoned shirts. As soon as Steve’s torso was exposed, Billy moved down to suck what was sure to be an impressive hickey along Steve’s collarbone, unable to resist marking the pale skin. 

Steve’s moan was loud as Billy moved his hands from the small of his back to his thighs and picked him up. Like he was nothing. He was placed on the edge of a sink, and then Billy moved down Steve’s chest, kissing every mole he could find. After successfully making his way down to his knees, Billy unzipped Steve’s pants and proceeded to rock the boy’s damn world. 

  That was the only time they had sex during school, but it wasn’t the last time they had hooked up, far from it in fact. He was dropping Max off at the ice cream shop, Scoops Ahoy, when he saw Steve again. He was in a truly ridiculous parody of a sailor’s costume and Billy wanted to eat him alive. 

He was surprised to find the feeling was mutual. He walked up to the counter to tease Steve about the uniform, and somehow ended up in the storage room getting his dick sucked this time. 

The summer proceeded to pass like that, until some time in July when Steve said he couldn’t keep having sex at work and gave Billy his phone number with a wink. Then Billy started sneaking into Steve’s bedroom at ungodly hours and left before the sun had risen. 

But all good things came to an end, and Billy was nothing if not a coward. As soon as August came around, and the pool closed, Billy took all of his savings and the four boxes it had taken to pack up everything he cared about, and left. Without a word, a text, or a note. He ran away from Hawkins, ran from his father, and from Steve, who had started talking about having movie nights and cooking dinner together and other domestic crap fuck buddies weren’t supposed to do together. 

He ran.

4. Hey Pretty Boy, Long Time No See

Billy loved Chicago. He had moved there with plans of just saving up enough to fly back to Los Angeles, but a year into living there he had fallen in love. Sure there were things he hated, like the winters and the tourists, but there were so many more things to love.

Like the food, and the people he had met. Both of which he was enjoying on a perfect summer’s day. And to top it all off, he was finally going to get a tattoo. 

Robin, a girl he had met through work and then started to hang out with after running into her at the annual Pride Parade, had convinced him to finally indulge in it, helped him work out what exactly he wanted, and even gave him a recommendation for a guy at her shop that specialized in the style of tattoos that Billy had decided he wanted. 

So, on the day of his appointment, he met Robin during her lunch break where they grabbed some tacos from a street car and walked back to her shop. Billy was silent, nervous as hell, but luckily Robin was enough of a chatterbox to fill the silence and keep it from getting awkward.

“You will love Steve, Billy. Swear to God he’s one of the sweetest people I’ve met.” She let out a small huff. “Of course he’s a total dingus, but so are you. Boom. Match made in Heaven.” She waved her hand around, almost dropping her taco, and Billy couldn’t help but laugh at her antics. 

That laughter died in his throat though, and he nearly choked on his own spit, as they walked through the door of The Mind Flayer Tattoos and Piercing because behind the desk was a face he never thought he would see again. 

Steve Harrington. 

Of course he had fantasized about this moment, had dreamed about those Bambi eyes and impish grin, even years later as it was. He had tried to distract himself, tried to move on, but he quickly realized it wasn’t working. Once he realized he had been silently comparing every other guy to Steve, he gave up, resigned himself to being alone, and had gotten a cat. 

Just like in high school though, all of his resolve to move on disappeared when faced with Steve Harrington. 

The years since high school had clearly been kind to him, and while Billy had always thought he was pretty, now he was downright gorgeous. His hair was still perfectly styled, but he had grown it out so that the ends just barely touched his shoulders. He was also wearing a pair of stylish glasses with thin golden frames that glinted softly in the warm lighting of the tattoo parlor. Most notably though, Billy could clearly see his left arm where it rested next to a book he bent over, and it was covered in a beautiful, intricate tattoo sleeve. All Billy wanted in that moment was to trail his fingertips over the black lines that formed shapes that resembled flowers. Looking closer though, he realized some of the flowers actually held rows and rows of teeth, and mixed in was the rough outline of a baseball bat with nails. It was a mural dedicated to his experiences that one fall day, a constant reminder of what he had been through.

Steve finally looked up at them as Robin led Billy to the counter, and he clearly recognized Billy, as his mouth dropped open and his eyes widened.

“Holy shit.”

Billy felt a small smile form as he lifted a hand and waved awkwardly at the boy he had left behind. “Hiay Pretty Boy. Long time, no see.” He had hoped that the nickname would lighten the mood, but instead Steve’s shock was replaced by hard lines and tense shoulders.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” His voice was dripping in hostility, making Billy flinch slightly before tensing up as well. He knew he was the one in the wrong, but fuck if that had ever stopped him from being the weak one. 

Robin beat Billy to a response however, letting out a small noise before looking quickly between the two boys.

“I think I’m missing something here, and that something is big,so I’m jist going to walk over here and let you two work it out. Please don’t kill each other.” Despite the lingering angst in the air, both boys couldn’t hold back a chuckle as Robin walked away from them and disappeared into the back room. As the door swung shut though, and they were alone in the shop, the tension could be cut with a knife. 

“Let’s get this over with,” Steve said with a sigh, and all Billy could do was nod and follow him to a prepared work station in the back corner of the open-plan parlor. 

He double checked where the tattoo was going, on his right shoulder, and then gently placed the stencil on and smoothing it over. He removed the plastic to reveal a purple version of the tattoo and then nodded to where a full length mirror had been hung on the wall. 

Billy checked how it laid, and took in how the design had turned out once again. He had seen the draft in an email, but to see it on his body was an entirely different experience. It was a depiction of the beach, detailed with old school flowers and a setting sun, and a perfect symbol of Billy’s origins. He had decided that while he didn’t want to return to California, he wanted a reminder of the peace an evening on the beach brought him. 

Having confirmed that it was perfectly placed, he returned to the workstation and settled into the chair. The tension remained as Steve silently placed his arm in the best position and loaded the gun with ink. He returned to Billy’s side and sighed.

“You need to relax if you want me to actually do this.”

“Sorry, Pretty Boy. Guess you just fill me with butterflies,” Billy shot back, trying to regain some of the bravado that had conveniently left him. Steve snorted before setting down the tattoo gun and muttering Jesus and rubbing at his temple. 

“If we’re gonna do this, you gotta cut that shit out.”

“What shit?” 

“The- the fucking flirting and the nicknames. That shit.” 

“Sorry, Pretty Boy,” he emphasized the name with a cocky smirk. “It’s just part of the Hargrove charm.”

“Well if you want a good tattoo, you’ll dial back the Hargrove bullshit. Now take a deep breath and fucking relax.” Billy gave a sarcastic salute before deliberately taking a deep breath and dropping his shoulders. Steve rolled his eyes, but reserved all his smart comments in favor of starting the tattoo. 

They sat in relative silence, only broken by the gentle whir of the tattoo gun and Steve occasionally reminding Billy to not hold his breath. It wasn’t until Steve muttered a soft, “Halfway there tiger,” that he found the courage to break the silence. Whether consciously or not, Steve had used one of his favorite pet names for Billy and that action alone gave him hope that he hadn’t ruined their relationship completely when he left.

“Nice tats Harrington,” he said casually, nodding at his left arm. Steve snorted.

“Thanks. Of course, you know the whole story behind it. Robin and everyone at the shop just think it’s some insane movie monster they’ve never heard of.” 

“Yeah, not exactly the easiest thing to explain to people,” Billy agreed, nodding his head.

“As chill as Robs can be, I think if I tried to tell her I fought off intergalactic demon dogs with a nail bat and a group of four middle schoolers she would check me into the nearest institute.” 

Billy faked an offended gasp. “It wasn’t all middle schoolers, I was there too. Saved your ass at one point too.” 

“Bullshit you saved me. If I recall, you screamed like a little bitch until Max threatened you with my bat and then stole your keys. If she hadn’t threatened to drive your car I think you would never have come with.” There was a fire in Steve’s eyes now, a warmth Billy thought he would never be privy to again.

And then Steve looked up from his arm and his face shuttered back into stone. He wiped the excess ink and blood off of his arm and studiously ignored any more attempts Billy made at conversation, which ranged from commenting about the photos littering his workstation to commenting on the fucking weather. Eventually he got the message and shut his trap for the rest of the session. 

Steve walked him through the after-care steps clinically, and he faintly picked up the “wash with antibacterial soap twice a day” and “apply scent-free lotion when it starts flaking”, but his brain was mostly stuck on “touch-ups are free up to six months after the first appointment.” 

He still had a chance. Maybe the shock was too much, but if Steve was offering up the chance to meet again? 

Billy wouldn’t let it slip past.

  5. Let’s Try This Again

Billy loved his tattoo. He made sure to take meticulous care of it, applying lotion religiously and steadfastly ignoring the urge to pick at the peeling skin. Luckily, the amount of sunburns he got back in California prepared him for it pretty well. 

Even if it was healing perfectly, and he was ecstatic about the final result after it had finished peeling, he still decided to talk to Robin about scheduling a touch-up. She had looked it over when he asked while they were grabbing burritos, and told him that he definitely didn’t need a touch up, but when he continued to insist that he wanted another appointment she looked at him skeptically and agreed. 

He had it scheduled for a month after his initial appointment, and the weeks seemed to drag by as he eagerly awaited his second- well, technically third- chance with Steve.The day of, he and Robin agreed to the same schedule of grabbing lunch and then walking over to the shop together, but instead of Robin filling the silence, Billy instead prattled on about a couple cases he was looking over and how well they were going. As much as he could without breaking the NASW Code of Ethics of course. 

Robin nodded along agreeable and made all the right noises in the right places, but she was overall quieter than usual, until the shop got into view. 

A block away from the neon sign, she stopped them both and turned to Billy. “I’ve been pretty patient, but I have to know before we walk in there. What is the deal between you and Steve?” 

“I- I don’t know what you’re talking about, Brat. There’s no story there,” Billy tried to brush it off and keep walking, but Robin was surprisingly strong for her slender frame. She grabbed his arm and forced him to stop. 

“That’s a blatant lie, and I can’t let you in there if you’re on some sort of weird revenge quest or something. He was seriously shaken up after your session, and I love you, but I love the dingus too.” She paired the serious tone of her voice with stern eye contact and a slight tightening of her hand on his bicep. 

“Jesus Robin,” Billy said, shrugging off her vice-like grip, “It’s nothing like that, I swear. If anything, I’m trying to fucking apologize.” She just raised an eyebrow, clearly not satisfied with his explanation. “Fine. We went to high school together and I fucked up in a big way, alright? I regret it, and I want to try and make it up to him.” 

“Yeah, well. You seem to have forgotten that this-” she emphasized with a sharp point at the parlor “-is his work. His job. He doesn’t deserve you pestering him here of all places. Just do what everyone else does and fucking ask him out to coffee.” 

Feeling slightly chastised as only Robin could do, he looked down at the scuffs on his work boots and muttered, “Yeah, whatever.” 

Finally satisfied, she continued their walk to The Mind Flayer Tattoo and Piercings Shop, Billy trailing two steps behind her. 

The little bell tinkled again as the door opened, but this time Steve wasn’t at the front desk. Instead a tan woman with long, curly, dark hair was popping bubble gum and casually scrolling through her iPhone. All of the frustration seemed to seep out of Robin at once as she squealed, “Heather!” and launched herself at the girl behind the desk. 

Letting Robin and Heather do their thing, Billy wandered over to where he could see the top of Steve’s head peeking over the low wall of his work station. He could see that all of his focus was on a drawing pad, where he was carefully sketching out something in pencil. He was so in the zone that the tip of his tongue was poking through his teeth. Cute.

Loath as he was to break the peace on Steve’s face, he cleared his throat and called out, “Hey Harrington.” 

Steve, predictably, shot up out of his chair and whirled around to face Billy. “Jesus Christ Billy. Don’t sneak up on me like that.”

“Sorry, amigo. Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“What, no Pretty Boy?” Steve spit out as he tried to recoup from being startled. The tone brought back the sense of shame Robin had made him feel earlier, and he held up his hands in surrender.

“No, um,” he tried to start. “Actually, I’m here to ask if we could get a cup of joe? Talk some shit out?” Steve seemed startled by the proposal, but masked it with a suspicious glare. 

“Is this some kind of joke? You want to get coffee?” 

“Yeah. I want to- want to explain I guess.” Steve continued to glare at him, but after finding or not finding something, he nodded his head and sighed.

“Fine. Fuck it. You were my last appointment, so why the hell not.” Billy blinked, surprised that it had somehow been that easy to get Steve to agree. Maybe they could work it out, at least enough to be friends again. 

He decided to wait in the front area while Steve packed up his station and grabbed his bag from the back room, nodding at Heather and Robin when they left. 

They mutually agreed to walk the block down to a local coffee shop, called Joe’s Joe. Billy got a black iced coffee while Steve got a complexe medley of coffee, oat milk, and sugar. After they got their drinks, they sat at a table by the window. 

“Do you want to start?” Steve asked.

“I mean, I guess. That’s kind of why we’re here or whatever.” Billy hadn’t wanted to start out hostile, but his nerves were starting to get the best of him. He took a swig of his coffee, letting the scalding heat coat his tongue. “Just, I’m sorry I guess.”

“You’re sorry?” Steve asked indignantly, “For what? Fucking with me for an entire summer? Leaving without a single fucking word? Or just being an all around asshole?” 

“Technically, I was fucking you, not fucking with you,” Billy corrected absentmindedly, before wincing as Steve’s expression grew even more hostile. “Shit, I’m sorry. For- for everything alright? I was a dickhead, I shouldn’t have left but you have to underst-”

“I don’t have to do shit, Hargrove,” Steve interrupted. 

“No, you have to understand that I didn’t have a choice. I packed up and left in the span of like four hours. There wasn’t time to tell you.”

“There wasn’t time to send a fucking text? Call? Something? I thought you were dead in a ditch somewhere. I had to find out from Max that you just pissed off to who knows where in the middle of the goddamn night. And you couldn’t bother to send anything? It’s been eight fucking years jackass.” Steve was almost yelling by the end of his rant, panting and visibly trying to calm himself down. 

“It didn’t seem like something to send over text, I just figured it was better to do a clean break. Let you move on.”

“Let me- Fucking hell, you let me move on?” Steve was borderline hysterical at this point. Billy wasn’t sure when he had lost control of the conversation so drastically, but he felt the chances of him and Steve rekindling some sort of friendship slipping away. This wasn’t how he wanted to do this at all. Fuck. 

“Yeah, because you shouldn’t be stuck with someone like me, Pretty Boy. I’m sorry I hurt you but I was stupid and young and I didn’t see any better way to do it.” 

“You fucking broke my heart Billy. You’re gonna have to do a lot better than that,” Steve said, and walked out of the coffee shop. 

  6. Billy Does Better

After the disastrous coffee date, Billy steered clear of everything to do with The Mind Flayer, including Robin. He buried himself in his work, doubled his gym hours, and let the weekends pass by in a haze of cheap whiskey. 

It took Robin a week to decide she was over him avoiding her. She stormed into his apartment on Sunday morning and forced him to take a shower, put on clean clothes and go with her to her apartment. 

Once there, she sat him down on the couch and told him in the sternest voice she had to stay, and then left him to go let in someone else. He really shouldn’t have been surprised at who it was, but he still blinked rapidly when Steve appeared in the doorway. 

“Am I dreaming, or is that you Harrington?” Billy asked, his voice hoarse from the lack of water he had drank in the past 48 hours. 

“Yeah, it’s me. Don’t cream your pants.” If Billy sounded hungover, Steve sounded wrecked. He looked like it too, eyes rimmed red and puffy, lips chapped and bitten within an inch of their soft, plush life, and skin even paler than it usually was. Robin dragged him by the back of his shirt over to the couch, next to Billy, and pushed him down. 

“Alright. I tried to give you two assholes space to work it out yourselves, but I am officially over it, so you’re going to figure it out here and now. I’m going to go in the kitchen to make lunch and when I get back, I expect you both to at least stop moping like fucking widows.” She turned on her heel and marched into the kitchen, where she could give them some semblance of privacy, but would still be within ear shot if they decided to kill each other or something. 

Once she disappeared through the doorway, Billy turned hesitantly to face Steve, but when they made eye contact, any words he may have managed to string together left him and he was left there gaping like a fish. Steve saved him the trouble of starting though.

“You were moping?” He asked, voice quiet and defeated. 

“Yeah, Bambi. Pretty heavily too if Robin had to step in.” 

“What were you so upset about? You broke my heart after all.”

“Because I never meant to. I only meant to break my own damn heart, but not yours. Never yours Pretty Boy,” Billy’s voice was dripping in honesty and vulnerability, the dredges of alcohol still in his system making this entire situation exhausting. He just wanted to go back home and sleep until tomorrow. 

“You- you loved me too?” Steve sounded so damn unsure, it hurt Billy to hear. 

“Yeah, of course I loved you. That’s why I had to leave. I couldn’t love you and be under Neil’s roof. He would kill me. He would kill you. So I had to leave.”

“A clean break,” Steve finished for him. He didn’t sound as angry as he had at the coffee shop, more defeated. 

“Exactly.” 

They sat in silence for a few moments that seemed to stretch on for eternity before Steve finally broke it.

“So, where does that leave us?” 

“Can we, can we try friends?” Billy asked hesitantly, eager for any opportunity but scared to push his luck.

“Yeah. I think that could work,” he said with a faint smile. As if on cue, Robin burst through the kitchen door armed with a plate of sandwiches and snacks and declared it a movie night.

  7. Steve Takes A Leap

It had been two months since Robin’s forced intervention, and Steve couldn’t have been more thankful towards her. He had been scared that having Billy back in his life would drag up the memories he tried so hard to hide from, but it was actually refreshing to have someone to call when the memories came back, someone who understood what he was going through. 

He also realized how much he genuinely missed Billy himself. He had grown and changed for sure, but it was only in that he was far less angry all the damn time. Steve had really come to realize just how intense the hold Neil Hargrove had over his son in high school. Now the sharp wit Billy had wielded as a weapon in high school was more playful than hurtful, and his more self-destructive tendencies of driving recklessly and chain-smoking had been replaced by a gym membership and therapy. Apparently, Billy had gone through a lot of therapy. 

With all of the changes, he realized that it was just that much easier to find the Billy he had fallen in love with all those years ago. He had started recognizing the feelings a month into their rekindled friendship, but he waited for another month to make sure the spark was still there, that it wasn’t just him romanticising the past. They had added each other on snapchat and had even started a streak. It was at a solid 55 days that Steve finally made his move. 

It was a simple snap of his work station with the caption What are you doing Saturday night? 

Not even two minutes later he got a response. The picture was of Billy’s coffee mug he kept at his desk and said Nothing, wbu? 

He snapped another hasty shot of his station, replied, Thinking about going out. Wanna join?

Another notification, another shot of his mug. “ Sure. What���s the plan?”

He was in the middle of prepping his station for an appointment in twenty minutes, so it was a quick shot of sterile packaging. Dinner and then hit up a club I know in Boystown?

This time the response was immediate. Sounds good.

Cool, I’ll make a reservation for six? Then club at like 8?

Why do we need a reservation? Want to spoil little old me, Pretty Boy?

The old nickname gave Steve the courage he needed to finally take a selfie and stop beating around the bush. He gave the camera an impish grin and raised eyebrows. I just want to make our first date memorable. 

There was no response to that. Steve waited with bated breath, chewing on his bottom lip anxiously as the minutes ticked by. His appointment had shown up, and he finished the 45 minute session. Still no response. 

Anxiety coursed through him, swirling around in his head. He could see that Billy had opened the picture as soon as he had sent it, a whole hour ago. But no response. No notifications. Nothing. 

Steve tried to reason with himself that maybe he had a meeting or a lot of paperwork or something, but that didn’t stop him from bouncing his leg and fidgeting around until Robin finished her final appointment. 

She only needed to look at him once to know something was up. She decided they were going to dinner together, and they walked to the diner three blocks down in silence.

It wasn’t until they had sent in their orders that Robin finally broke. 

“Okay, what’s going on? I haven’t seen you this nervous since your first date with Julian,” she stated.

“I might have fucked up Robin. Like big time.” She sighed, used to Steve’s dramatic tendencies, and sipped at her strawberry milkshake. 

“I doubt that, but I need more information. So spill.” 

“I asked Billy on a date,” he blurted out, knowing there was no use in bullshitting Robin.

“And? Seems like a logical move, Dingus. I was getting sick of the intense pinning like ten days ago.” 

“But, he left me on read Robin. We were talking about going out on Saturday and then I mentioned it was a date and boom. Radio silence.” 

“Okay, chill out. He was probably busy at work. You know how seriously he takes that shit.” 

“Yeah, but no response for three hours?” He said, voice raising in pitch on the last words. 

“I’m sure there’s some explanation. Have you reached out again?” Robin’s patient and even tone calmed Steve down a little, but his leg still bounced up and down rapidly as he thought over what she said. 

“No. I didn’t want to pressure him.” 

“Just send something unrelated to the date. Like your milkshake. You’ve done it a million times, it’s safe.” 

“Yeah. Okay. I can do that.” He nodded to himself before pulling out his phone, only to see a single snapchat notification amongst the barrage of emails and other random updates. It was from Billy. 

He immediately felt his heart leap into his throat, and Robin reached over to grab his hand that was still resting on the table. 

“Is it from him?” She questioned, deliberately neutral. 

“Yep,” he choked out. His finger shook as he opened up his phone, and he felt paralized by the little blue box letting him know it was a text response. He took a deep breath before clicking on it.

Sorry I was MIA, Pretty Boy. Got busy with work, but I’d love to see where you want to take me. He included a winking and smirking emoji. Steve let out a startled laugh as the anxiety slowly dissipated. 

“Code red officially over. I have a date on Saturday,” he informed Robin, and they finished up dinner with casual conversation about their various appointments throughout the day. They paid and eventually parted ways towards their respective apartments. 

He trudged up the stairs because the elevator in his building was perpetually broken, but stopped in his tracks when his door got within view. There, resting innocently on his doormat, was a simple bouquet of sunflowers and baby’s breath. He gently picked them up and noticed a small piece of cardstock. In simple black scratch it read I am sorry for the no response. I got nervous. Bill.

Steve smiled gently at the note and pulled the flowers close to smell the soft fragrance they held. He felt another wave of confidence swell and push him to walk into the apartment and pick up his phone. He called Billy and waited in excited anticipation for him to pick up. 

“I love them,” he said, and smiled a little more when Billy chuckled.

“I’m glad. They made me think of you.”

“Can’t wait for Saturday,” Steve confessed and Billy finally smiled back. 

“Me too, Pretty Boy. Feels like it’s been years in the making.”

That it had been, but man had it been worth the wait. 

----

tag team: @lostnoise @gideongrace @stevefuckingharrington @a-magey @trashmouth-hargrove @catharrington (lmk if you would like to be added/removed from the list!)

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Blighted Empire: Ch 6

A Wolf Among Hounds

Somewhere between stealing leftovers from the kitchen and falling back asleep, Dorian had lost track of time. Stuck in a cell with barely any space, he didn't notice the accumulating aches and pains until his limbs were free to move. All he desired was to stretch out in his warm bad and slumber away the discomfort. He would have indulged for longer if sunlight hadn't assaulted his eyes on several occasions, seeping from beneath the door.

Slowly meeting the day, it occurred he'd told Evallan to be prepared for him on the grounds.

 He might have been right about the whole 'not-being-able-to-stand' thing.

But he stood, readied himself and made for the dining hall- and a late breakfast. There weren't many people about- none of his usual company. He decided to grab some items from a table and eat while he walked. Trying to find at least one piece of bread that wasn't stale, a touch at his shoulder caused him to start. Plates clattered as he spun, fully expecting Marcus to be looming over him.

Instead it was Evallan, hand retracting and head lowering.

 “I did not mean to startle you.”

 “Oh, Maker!” Dorian laughed giddily, bracing against the table. “You're always a sight for sore eyes, Evallan- but never do that again!”

 “I apologise..” Motionless as a statue, only his head moved to indicate a direction. “Marcus has requested us both.”

 “'Both'...?” Losing all appetite, he abandoned the one scrap he'd managed not to drop. “He's not going to want to punish me again, do you think?”

 “No..” The Keeper breathed out sullenly. “I am afraid it may not be as simple as that.”

 “'Afraid'?” He chuckled. “You make that sound like isolation would be preferable.”

Evallan paused, regarded him a moment, then turned.

 “We shall see.”

They began their short walk through the tower in silence and he soon realised the elf had no intention of small-talk. However, days in isolation had made it a necessity for Dorian.

 “I wanted to thank you...You could have got into trouble- I'm surprised you're not.”

Evallan glanced with an exasperated crease around his eyes, visibly ired at the conversation.

 “They are reluctant to discipline me over something they consider minor.”

 “But not reluctant to discipline me!” Dorian snorted.

 “That is why you must not attract further attention to yourself.” Evallan bit out severely then added- softer. “Please...”

Dorian inspected the elf's stern profile, fighting a grin. He dearly wanted to tease- there was no hiding how Evallan agonised over him, veiled in winter as it was. He held himself, thinking it might seem ungrateful.

Entering the barracks, Evallan led him to a floor on the upper level where Marcus waited at an aged table, marred with dents and the errant stain. It was large enough for a dozen people but this late morning it was only the three, the Templar glaring wearily until they seated themselves. Evallan made a point to slip into the chair closest to Marcus, saving Dorian from being in full leering range.

Sitting alongside the Keeper, he tapped fingers against his chair and watched Marcus patiently.

 “Pavus,” The Templar seethed, angling forward. “Turns out your friend's alright, I bet you're happy about that?”

 “Um...” Dorian glanced at Evallan but he appeared similarly baffled. “Well yes, of course.”

 “Well I'm glad someone here...” Marcus chortled a little manically, rubbing his eyes. “...got some good fucking news out of the Deep Roads.”

 “Are you drunk!?” The elf snapped. “What are you babbling about!?”

 “I swear to Andraste, Lavellan,” He snarled, leaning back in his chair. “Don't fucking start with me today.”

The two men glowered at each other for some time, leaving Dorian paralysed. Finally, Marcus was satisfied enough by the quiet to speak.

 “See the news I got to hear from the Deep Roads...was that the Wardens weren't sure if they got the fucking Emissary. They got the nest, they got some Emissaries...but the freak one that's been messing with the Darkspawn? Not sure...”

 “Does this have a point, commander?” Evallan asked in a strained, careful tone.

 “The point is...” His eyes pinned the elf and stayed there. “Soon as they left Orzammar, they get reports of swarms of Darkspawn wrecking the farmlands- strategically...Last heard, they were sighted around Lothering- and do you know what everyone's saying they saw?”

The Keeper furrowed his brow, said nothing.

 “These fuckers are being manipulated by some kind of magic chain bullshit...Now isn't that funny? Isn't that exactly what our shitbag Emissary was doing?”

 “So it escaped the Wardens, or they are sharing their techniques.” Evallan offered tepidly, gaze unmoving from the Templar's leer.

 “Or- it- escaped-” Marcus spat, rearing as if he meant to bite. “Because you went off target and because both of you-!”

Suddenly on his feet, fists smashed into wood, the table creaking in offence.

 “Went on a void-damned blighted fucking walk-about where no one asked you to! You collapsed a bunch of tunnels and opened fuck knows where else! Or is it all a shitting coincidence?!”

 “You have proof of this?!” Evallan shouted back, straightening to a fuller height. “Or is it just your good fortune that you find a way to blame others?!”

 “Fuck off, Lavellan! I don't need blighting proof! You weren't on damned target!”

 “And what of yourself?!” Standing, the elf's palm slammed the table. “Are you not commander?! Where is your responsibility?!”

Marcus breathed deep and clutched vacant air, reigning himself in. Dorian could practically see a purplish vein on his forehead about to burst.

 “I'm not here...to fucking argue...with you.” He meditated upon each syllable as if speaking to himself. “Sit the fuck down, Lavellan.”

Regarding him icily, Evallan lowered from his feet. Marcus remained on his, forcing out each word with audible strain.

 “Now...we can't regroup with the Wardens until we take care of this, and no matter how much I argue and list fucking points...the Circle won't let me take anyone except you two.”

Rocking on his heels, the Templar clapped in an uproar of gauntlets, smiling sardonically- looking a little crazed, Dorian had to admit.

 “So con-fucking-grats! You two are considered the most capable mages in the whole fucking Ferelden Circle! Doesn't that make you feel fucking good about yourselves?!”

 “A-a little?” Dorian chortled his nerves and was silenced;

 “Shut up, Pavus.”

Flopping back into his chair, the Templar sharpened his gaze on them both.

 “Let me make something clear...this isn't a fucking reward for your skill. This is you both making up for your void-damned mistake. Tomorrow you're going to report here, you're going to gear fucking up, and you're going to do what we should have done in the fucking Deep Roads!”

Another bang of metal against splintering wood.

 “And I expect you to follow fucking orders! And to be on your best void-damned behaviour...” Inhaling, his eyes locked on Dorian. “So tell me, Pavus...are you going to fucking behave?”

 “I- yes?” He spluttered, righted his posture “I...will behave?”

He blinked stupidly at the man but it must have been enough, his attention shifting to Evallan.

 “And you, Lavellan...are you going to fucking behave?”

The Keeper's eyes slivered and his jaw hardened but his mouth didn't move.

 “Lavellan...” Dorian could hear the squeak of the Templar's gauntlets as his fingers balled. “Don't make me fucking ask you twice...”

Heart leaping to his throat, he found himself staring desperately into the side of Evallan's face. Without speech he urged him to just bloody agree so they could be out of this deranged meeting!

The elf's posture seemed to waver- ever so slightly- the hinge in his jaw loosed, a murmur of something foul and Dalish escaping him. Yet he relented, voice full of distaste.

 “I will behave.”

 “Perfect!” Marcus gestured with mock-enthusiasm. “Now get the fuck out!”

Chair-legs screeched as Evallan obeyed and Dorian made to follow.

 “Not you, Pavus.”

He halted and stared in alarm. Next to him, Evallan also stilled.

 “Yes you, Lavellan- out.”

The Keeper didn't budge, eyes narrowing.

 “Do you really need to fucking babysit him everywhere?!” Marcus barked and angled to stand.

Catching Evallan's eye, Dorian shook his head in earnest.

 Andraste have mercy, just let it go!

 Just go, Evallan.

Whirling from them in a fury, the door was thrown shut with such force the entire frame trembled.

 “Andraste's-flaming-fucking-tits!” Marcus snarled at the dramatic exit. “You see this bullshit I put up with when all I'm trying to do is my void-damned job!?”

Dorian decided not to risk speech, viewing the Templar passively. Sighing, the man went on.

 “Now...I can't say this in front of him because he's a fucking brat, and will act like he doesn't know how things work,” He said in an almost bemused voice, edging on hysteria. “But I'm expecting him to keep an eye on you...even more, I'm expecting you to keep an eye on him. See, he's touched in the fucking head, so I expect him to ruin my day...but you, you're a Maker-fearing, Andraste-worshipping, civilised kind of man...so we're not going to have any trouble out there, are we, Pavus?”

Throughout this rant Dorian noted the commander's dangerous scrutiny, focus never swaying from his features. Mouth desert-like, he struggled to respond.

 “Of course not, commander...I'm to keep an eye on Lavellan and follow your orders, is that it?”

 “That's it.”

 “And if we're ever in a situation where the first contradicts the second...?”

 “You keep an eye on Lavellan,” Slicing Dorian apart with his look, he dictated further. “Let me be clear, fairy...If you come back and he doesn't, you're going to wish it was the other way around.”

Dorian left the room shakily, Marcus saying to his back;

 “Good talk, fairy.”

He drifted a few steps before Evallan gravitated to his side.

 “What did he want?” He grumbled, unable to hide the depth of his concern.

 “Huh? Oh, uh, nothing...” Not wanting the elf to dwell, he attempted to wave it away. “Just throwing his weight around, you know..”

Evallan hissed a curse and motioned with the suggestion of a turn, compelling Dorian to grab his wrist.

 “Evallan! Come on, please, it's really nothing...” Tugging, he drew him away. “Let's spar a little, alright? I really need to stretch before we're thrown to the wilderness again!”

He laughed breezily and the elf's temper quelled, allowing himself to be led.

READ MORE ON AO3

[robininthelabyrinth]

Fic: A Len of the Lake - ao3 link

Fandom: DC Legends of Tomorrow Pairing: Mick Rory/Leonard Snart

Summary: What happens when you let a thief loose in the Oculus?

He steals stuff.

And then he doesn't die, and things get weird.

Happy birthday and much belated gift for @daughterofscotland

---

Being a thief of long standing, Len has - among other useful traits like agile fingers and a remarkable capacity for impromptu bullshitting - a fifth sense for what things are valuable.

An instinct, really, or maybe it's best described a homing beacon.

So when Sara refuses his first request to exit the Vanishing Point at high speed - a request born of terror at the idea of going up against the people who turned Mick into a stranger, a soulless slave called Kronos, and could potentially do the same to other people - Len falls back on his usual first response and searches for valuables.

Technically, they're looking for their friends to rescue, and Len fully intends to do that should he find them, but in the meantime there's no harm, surely, in looking around a little?

Sara might've disagreed, but they agreed to split up (to more easily search for the others) so it’s not like she’s there to stop him.

He finds what he later, to his sorrow, learns is called the Oculus; the first time he sees it, he merely thinks that a strange device on the island in the off-center building surrounded by a skeleton crew of guards and armed with a number of futuristic alarms (which Len rather enjoys dismantling) must contain things which are quite valuable.

There is a panel in the back of the strange device, in fact, but the only thing inside is an old wooden cup and an equally old looking broadsword in a battered old scabbard.

Len assumes he's found the wrong panel, but since he's here already, and, since he rather thoroughly dislikes the Time Masters for what they did to Mick, he grabs the cup anyway. It doesn’t really look like much, but it's almost a chalice, and Mick had so very much liked the chalice he'd had back in the doomed hellscape of 2046. Where all their problems had begun, or at least come to light, and where Len had put Mick on the road to suffering and hatred and pain.

Least Len can do, really, is to get him another.

He has no need for a sword, though, so when it resists his first few tentative tugs, he leaves it be. The cup goes into a pocket - the parka he left back in the Waverider (or possibly 2017, with Barry, he’s not actually sure), but all of his coats have many and very voluminous pockets for an excellent reason.

A good pickpocket’s habits die hard, after all.

He finds the others - all but Mick, who (he's not going to lie) was the one he was looking for.

Mick finds him.

Kronos finds him, actually, but scratch the surface and it's Mick still, to Len's overwhelming relief.

Such relief persists, and comes with him, and is with him right up until they're back at the Oculus, and Mick says "I'm staying", at which point the relief turns into sheer terror.

Len can't lose Mick again.

He can't.

But he thinks, in his heart, that ‎perhaps Mick can - and perhaps would be better to - lose him, the one who caused him such pain, and for such stupid reasons, reasons Len can't even really remember anymore.

So he cracks his gun over Mick's head, taking his decision away one last time in a sick and sad echo of what he’d done before, gives him his ring and his gun, and gives all three to Sara to take back to the Waverider; and then he puts his hands in the guts of the machine and waits for the end.

The end, annoyingly, is preceded by the appearance of a number of angry Time Masters, here to interfere with Len's incredibly stupid plan to sacrifice himself before he has to properly apologize to Mick for being a terrible partner who took away his choices, and also coincidentally save the world, and – here’s the particularly annoying part – Len's already given away his cold gun.

That's an issue, since Len doesn't know how long he needs to hold them off until the explosion.

Well, it's an issue right until he remembers the sword.

The stupid sword that wouldn't so much as budge for him earlier.

Weirdly enough, the handle (hilt? Len's not exactly up on his sword terminology) of the sword is right there inside the guts of the machine, and while technically Len needs two hands to hold the various odds and ends that Ray said needed to be held down to overcome the failsafe and let the bomb go off, he's always had good, agile thief hands. He can wiggle around and stretch a pinky to cover up one last connection, and that frees up his second hand to grab the not-sharp-end-of-the-sword-piece-thingy.

Len is really not up on his sword terminology.

‎He also doesn't know how to fight with a sword, not even a little, but that's fine; he just needs to wave it threateningly at the Time Masters so they'll stay away from him long enough for the timer to go off.

The sword –

The sword is stuck.

"Oh, come on!" Len exclaims, less at the sword than at the concept of destiny or luck or whatever the hell he's grappling with here.‎ "I'm trying to save the world here -" And Mick, but then again, he’s Len's whole world, so it isn't even that much of a lie. "- can't you cut me even a little break?!"

Oddly enough, the sword he's tugging on‎ seems to actually give in a bit at that, moving a few inches, but moving slowly and stickily, like it's reluctant to give in entirely.

"Listen to me, you stupid metal stick," Len hisses at it, perfectly aware that he's maybe gone a little unreasonable in his growing terror that this whole sacrifice shit might turn out to be for nothing, and that the Time Masters would then have him in their brainwashing clutches, "you might be okay being stuck here letting a bunch of assholes screw up all of history‎ to match their own interests, but I'm not! They tortured and brainwashed my Mick, and I'm going to stick it to them if I have to use my bare hands to do it!"

The sword ‎gives in and comes out, battered old scabbard and all.

Whatever.

It's oblong and heavy and Len can still try to bash someone in the head with it.

Certainly the Time Masters seem adequately aware of that risk, since those closest to Len seem to be slowing down, their eyes widening in utter horror, their mouths screaming "No!" in denial -

And that's when the explosion goes off.

Len feels it, warmth on his hands, and he's always wanted to go out with a pithy quip - sadly, the best he can come up with in the heat of the moment is, "There are no strings on m‎e."

Going out on a Disney quote.

Yeah, okay, while it is definitely apt and well-time and everything, Len's still kinda happy that everyone here that could serve as a witness is probably going to be dead in a minute or two.

In fact, Len can see them vaporizing in the heat of the blast.

…actually, on second thought, that’s a little concerning.

What’s particularly concerning is that he can see more and more of them dissolving into puffs of dust, while he, who is standing nearer to the center of the rapidly expanding explosion and bracing himself with the entirely reasonable expectation that he would be going first, is rather notably not doing the same.

In fact, other than the fact that the sword and scabbard he's holding have started shining like a freaking lightsaber, he's doing just fine.

Len's starting to get the idea that he might've grabbed something more than a simple sword when all of a sudden the ground underneath him gives way and he's falling.

Falling first through rock, then what looks suspiciously like the green swirls of light that surround the Waverider when it's flying through space, and then through water.

Water?!

Oh fuck no.

Len has only had about three swimming classes in his whole life, two of which were conducted by Mick after the other man had jokingly tossed him into the sea off their balcony when they were in Aruba for their honeymoon, only to jump in after him in a hurry when Len had screamed that he didn't know how to swim. Or tread water. Or - anything, really.

He knows just enough to know that there is water, he is currently beneath it, and he should remedy that situation imminently through the means of kicking his legs really hard.

His head breaks surface.

He gasps for air, then tries to take stock of his situation.

He's in a lake.

There's a pretty lady and some guys in old style renaissance festival outfits standing at the edge of said lake. All of them are gawking at him.

None of them are helping him.

Len goes under the water again for a second, then – more by panicked force of will than any actual intentional action on his part – resurfaces. “Help me!” he shouts.

"Throw the king the sword," the lady ‎shouts back.

"I'll throw it point first at you, lady, if you don't help me out!" Len shouts right back at her, and then promptly sinks back under the surface for another second.

He hates water so much.

“Throw it!”

“If you don’t come fucking help me, I’m just going to drop it in here!”

"Swim forward!" one of the guys helpfully shouts.

"I can't swim!" Len shouts. "Obviously! Asshole!"

One of them strips off a bit and jumps in, which is very nice and highly appreciated of him, swims over to Len and starts dragging Len back to shore, Len spluttering and soaked through and yowling curses like an angry cat the whole time.

He doesn’t like water, okay?

"This wasn't quite what I thought was meant by being given a sword by the Lady du Lac," the guy that is rescuing him gasps. He looks a bit like Mick, actually, but only in a distant vague I-miss-him-already sort of way – something of the nose and the ears and the space between the eyes. “I wasn’t expecting someone like, well, you to be involved at all, really. Whoever you are.”

"You're still in range of me, you know," Len reminds him.

"In range of what, you shaking off water on me and half-drowning yourself?"

Len elbows him in the ribs, even knowing it'll result in an immediate dunking.

Pride goeth before the fall, as they say.

(He’s pretty sure that’s not what they mean, but what the hell does he know, he’s Jewish. Black and Jewish, which explains both the casual irreverence and the inability to swim.)

Eventually they both reach the shore, panting and exhausted.

"Can I have the sword now?"‎ the guy says plaintively.

"Enjoy," Len says, because he does not even slightly care right now, and shoves it at him. "Be careful, it glows sometimes."

"I'll – uh – keep that in mind," the guy says, taking it. He looks at it, seeing the battered scabbard and the not-so-shiny hilt and sighs, obviously disappointed. "Well, at least it's magic. Even if the obtaining of it wasn't exactly very magical."

"When you tell everyone about it, say I was a pretty girl," Len suggests. He's taking beautiful breaths of beautiful air, and, as mentioned, does not particularly care about much right now.

"The Lady du Lac is pretty, but rather too well known to start saying that I caught her swimming," the guy says, nodding at the lady currently marching stridently towards them, the other three guys in tow.

"Then don’t say it’s her, obviously. Just say that a mysteriously appearing figure in lake tossed it to you," Len says, then smirks. "Just remember: a watery tart in a shallow grave is no form of a basis for a system of government."

"Luckily I got my system of government ‎out of a rock instead," the guy says, laughing. "Which I must admit is nearly as bad. But then it broke, so I needed a replacement."

Len’s not sure how one breaks a system of government outside of the usual corrupt politician stuff, but shrugs and says, "Well, if you started with a rock, why not try a lake next? Seems thematic enough – earth, water...next time you can do wind and fire."

"Thematic indeed,” the guy says, sniggering a little. “Well, why not? It makes as much sense as anything else does. I think I will use your idea after all. The bards will appreciate it, if nothing else."

"You do that," Len agrees, and flops backwards onto the grass. "I'm just going to close my eyes for a bit now."

"What, here?"

"I'm tired."

"You're still in your wet things; you'll catch cold!" the guy protests. Secret mother hen, just like Mick, jeez. Len wonders if they’re related somehow.

"I'm tired," Len repeats stubbornly. "I've had a very stressful day."

"I fought two giants to get here!"

"Yeah? They do anything to deserve it?"

The guy looks lost. "What?"

"Giants. They do anything to you?” Len clarifies. “Or is this the sort of fairytale where the hero always defeats any assorted magical creature - helpfully standing in for the Other, thereby creating an innately xenophobic cultural system in which the in-group is supported right or wrong and the out-group invariably demonized?"

Because this place, wherever it is, is clearly not reality.

Len’s open to it maybe being a dream or something, maybe some fucked-up uncomfortable afterlife thing, maybe an alternate universe or something, but reality it’s definitely not.

"I like you," the guy says, thereby further proving that it is, in fact, not reality. Len’s never made a good first impression on anyone in his life, excluding Mick. "My name's Art."

"Len," Len replies. "Leonard, technically, but Len's fine."

He closes his eyes.

“Len,” Art says thoughtfully. “So that makes you, what, the Len of the Lake?”

Len cracks an eye open long enough to glare.

"You really ought to change before you rest," Art adds.

"Yeah, wise guy? Make me," Len says.

That might have been a bad idea.

Art solves this by picking Len up, which Len would protest except that it gets him a piggy-back ride back to a nearby castle and dumped into a nice heated bath.

(Okay, okay, he does complain, but Art tells him about there being a heated bath in his future and Len shuts up because he’s not going to say no to a free bath in a real bathtub. The Waverider is adequate in many ways, but it has a strong preference for shower stalls.)

The other guys – a dark-skinned guy who can't stop grinning, and two larger guys who look disapproving – come along with them. The two disapproving ones spend a fair bit of time complaining about Len's unexpected and unvetted presence.

Mostly the tall, serious, even-more-disapproving one.

"Oh, shut up, Beddy," Art - who'd ultimately hopped into the nice big steaming hot bath as well - says. ‎"It's fine. He nearly drowned. That’s hardly suspicious."

"Our enemies -" the shorter but broader guy starts to say.

"Kay, please. He's clearly not Roman. Are you Roman?"

"Only in my pizza preferences,” Len says with a yawn.

"See?"

"I think he's unbalanced," the first guy, Beddy, grumbles. "Also, what's 'pizza'?"

"He's not unbalanced," the brown-skinned guy says, speaking up for the very first time. "He's from the future. Sorry about that," he adds. "I wasn't really paying attention to where the Lady and I were summoning the sword from."

Len waves a forgiving hand. He's still alive, which is more than he expected.

He’ll worry about the whole ‘summoning’ business later.

He can worry about everything later, for that matter; preferably after he gets some sleep. He's so tired, he doesn't even care about Art seeing his scars, and that's usually something he cares about very much.

They let him crash in a bed after (“let” meaning that Beddy and Kay objected loudly to giving Len one and Art said “fine he can have mine” and the last still-unnamed guy just sniggered the whole time) and from that point on, Len only hears a few further snatches of conversation.

"- can't trust him -"

"- a warrior of some variety -"

"- no weapon that I've seen -"

"- irrelevant -"

"- think of the Sword."

Len falls asleep.

He wakes up to someone bouncing onto the bed.

“Lisa, go to hell,” Len says automatically, and then opens his eyes with a squint. The dark-skinned man from yesterday, the one Len never got the name of, is beaming down at him. “Not Lisa. What’re you doing on my bed?”

“Technically, it’s Art’s bed,” the guy says. “My name’s Merle –” At least Len thinks that’s what he says; the guy has an accent like nobody’s business. Is he from New Zealand or something? Do they even have New Zealand here?  “– and I want to know everything.”

“Get a good encyclopedia and start with ‘a’,” Len recommends.

Merle rolls his eyes. “About the future.”

“Uh,” Len says, remembering as he wakes up the rest of the way. Oculus, sword, falling... “Hey, where’s my stuff?”

Merle points to where everything’s been dumped in the corner. “We convinced Bedievere and Kay not to go through it,” he says. “It was hung up to dry, though. And then Art pitched it in here. He was trying not to wake you up, but he’s something of an elephant sometimes. Luckily, you were out cold.”

“How long did I sleep?”

“Only two days.”

“Two days?”

“I knew a woman who slept for fifteen years after travelling in time,” Merle says. “You have it easy. Tell me about the future!”

“…we have better mattresses?”

Merle gives him a Look.

“What? We do! I don’t know what you want from me; it’s not like I carry around a guide to the future with me.”

Merle gives a long-suffering sigh. “Maybe if I asked some questions...”

“In the meantime, how about you answer some of mine?” Len says. “Like ‘what was that about summoning’ and ‘will you get out of the room so I can get dressed, I’m naked under here’?”

“Oh, no need to worry about that, you’re very attractive,” Merle assures him. “If immensely irritating.”

Len rolls his eyes. “Art seemed to like me well enough.”

“Yes, he does, which is a great point in your favor. He likes you rather a lot,” Merle says. “Which is, to be frank, the only reason you’re here in the master bedroom instead of in a dungeon.”

“Dungeon,” Len says flatly, then shrugs. What’s it to him? He can break out of any prison. “Wait, if you have a dungeon – what era is this?”

“The age of heroes,” Merle says grandly.

“Uh, no,” Len says. “I’m from the age of heroes. Got a cute little red one all to myself, back in Central. What year is it?”

“Oh, you’re no fun. What type of calendar do you use? Julian? Celtic?”

“Um,” Len says, wracking his brain. He has no idea what the calendar he uses is called, other than ‘the usual one’, and he’s pretty sure that if they’re discussing calendar types than he’s not in an era that necessarily recognizes it. Is he even in BC or AD? Actually, that gives him an idea. “Could you tell me the year in the Hebrew calendar? Uh, Jewish calendar, land of Israel calendar...”

Merle looks delighted and also like he understands what Len meant, which, good, because communication is hard.

“Excellent choice,” he says. “Originally inspired by the Babylonian, I believe? Very old, very reliable, based on the moon. Per that calendar, it is currently the 19th of Nisan, in the year 4243.”

Len does some mental calculations. “So it’s...sometime in April...in the year...wait. The year's 483?! As in, four, without even a one before it?!”

“I assume you're talking about another calendar. What year are you from, using the calendar we have in common?”

“5776,” Len says, making a face. He only remembers that because he’d thought 5775 was a funny palindrome all of the previous year. “Over a millennia into your future – wait. How are we even talking? Shouldn’t you guys be all speaking Beowulf Anglo-Saxon or something?”

Maybe his translator-pill-from-the-Waverider is still in effect?

“Oh, I imposed a general translator spell on all of the knights,” Merle says airily, like that's even a thing normal people say, but hey - metas and time travel, Len's in no position to throw stones. “It helps international relations. Well, sometimes. The Romans hate it because it doesn’t translate the way they say things exactly as they said them, it translates it into whatever the person really means, and Latin is apparently very subtle about these things.”

“Wait, does that mean no puns?” Len asks, distracted. “Because that’s awful.”

“No, no, puns translate.”

“Good, because it’d be a real punishment to go without.”

Merle just stares at Len for a long moment. “I see why you get along with Art,” he finally says. “Also, I’m suddenly regretting my decision to cast that translation spell now.”

“Not my fault I’ve got a pun-chant for puns that’s entirely pun-stoppable.”

“I think I hate you.”

“What? You don’t think I’m – punny?”

“I’m leaving now.”

“Come back!” Len shouts after the fleeing man. “You didn’t even explain the whole spell thing!”

No good, he’s gone.

Well, at least that means Len can get dressed now.

He’s just managed to slide his jacket back on when Art pops his head in. He’s less sopping wet now, but he still looks an awful lot like Mick if Mick decided he wanted to grow hair and the prickly start of a beard again, so he’s unmistakable. “You got Merlin to go running!” Art says cheerfully. He has a ridiculous booming voice the way Mick does; Len is struck by a pang of distinct homesickness immediately. “You have to teach me how you did that. I can never get him to go away and leave me alone, no matter what I try.”

“Merle didn’t appreciate the finesse of my sense of humor, that’s all,” Len says with a faint smirk. “Don’t suppose you can tell me about this whole spell business? He left before answering any of my questions.”

“You’ll find that he does that. Constantly. Very annoying. What spell?”

“He said something about summoning the sword, some sort of translator spell, that sort of thing? How’s he doing ‘em? He a meta or something?”

“No, he’s a wizard,” Art says. “Try not to overthink it; I certainly don’t.”

Len is unable to keep himself from smiling. That’s such a Mick way of looking at the world.

Well, they are currently in the 5th century. Maybe Mick’s a distant descendant?

"Anyway, I'm glad you're awake," Art continues. "Now we can finally head home."

"This isn't your home?"

"No, this is the castle of the Lady du Lac, which she has graciously permitted us to stay at while we sought the Sword," Art says. "Uh, actually, while we're on that subject, I'd avoid her if I were you."

"Why?"

"Well, she's Gaulish, you know. They're all terribly temperamental. And you did sort of show up with the priceless sword of legend‎ that is her family's most secret heirloom? And then threaten to throw it at her?"

"...right," Len says. "Sneak out, gotcha."

"Exactly," Art says. "Now come on, or we'll miss the reflection."

"Reflection?"

"The Lady du Lac's specialty," Art explains, like that explains anything. "Her family tends a - and please don't ask me to‎ explain this - a pocket world in Fairyland made entirely of reflections, and if you travel through the reflection, you can come out through a different reflection. Any reflective surface will do, actually; though for obvious reasons they're known best for using lakes..."

"Huh," Len says. "You know, I know a guy who can do the same. Scudder. Though he goes by Mirror Master nowadays - mirrors being more common than lakes -"

"You can't really get that good a reflection in brass or silver," Art says. "Just my opinion. Though I'm definitely going to pay more attention to being dressed when I shave..."

"You shave?" Len can't resist asking. “Really?”

"I trim," Art says haughtily. "Perhaps your Scudder is a descendant of the du Lacs? Is he of Gaulish extraction?"

"I mean, I certainly find him galling, but I don't think that's what you mean."

Art laughs uproariously at that. "‎Oh, I'm going to have to use that one," he says, slapping Len on the back. "Well done! Next time I meet with them at council - perhaps in a letter - oh, yes, I like that one – oh, please tell me you have a few for the Romans."

"Mostly that I hear all the neighboring people wish they'd Rome around elsewhere."

"I love you," Art says sincerely, which is not anyone sane’s response on the level of a five-year-old, but in Len’s defense he was being put on the spot. "Deeply. Abidingly. How do you feel about being a Queen?"

"My husband tells me I'm already a drama queen, but thanks for the offer," Len says dryly. It occurs to him a second too late that he doesn't know how well a statement like that fits the tenor of the possibly-homophobic times, but Art did propose to him first.

"Too bad," Art says wistfully. "I mean, don't get me wrong, my advisors already have one in mind for me - Roman girl, daughter of one of their nobles, with some unpronounceable sort of name that sounds like it was intended to be a local name that went terribly wrong somewhere - but how will I know if she's any good at jesting?"

Len rolls his eyes. Ah, yes, arranged marriages; one of the great joys of the past. "You said something about catching the next mirror outta here? Or specifically, about not missing it?"

"Ah, yes! Come, take a cloak and put up your hood so that the Lady may ignore you, and we will go to the lakeside."

The trip is - interesting. Len was gone with the Legends, technically, when Scudder first appeared, so he'd never taken a ride with the man...the man who probably wants to kill him, anyway, given the murderous note they'd left things on. The only reason Len even knows about him is because Barry's little jaunt ‎to 2017 had been filled with all sorts of interesting secrets.

Len likes secrets.

He's also sincerely pissed off that someone as dumb as Scudder got an ability that useful. The man will almost certainly waste it.

If Len ever makes it back to his own era, he’s definitely going to force Scudder back onto his team just to make sure it gets properly used for once.

He might even apologize about the whole spot of attempted murder, if necessary.

Either way, into the looking glass they go - was the guy who wrote Alice in Wonderland a descendant of these du Lac people too? - and out the other end they come.

Well. Splash, really.

The Lady's clearly got the hang of emerging looking all noble and dignified, but no one else looks good when they're suddenly knee-deep in water and pond scum.

Len says at much, which gets Art to start laughing, Merle to hide a smile, and everyone else to glare.

"Thank you for your services, gentle Lady," Kay says to the Lady, sounding incredibly stiff. "Please excuse Art. He's still young. And stupid. Mostly stupid."

She disappears without a word.

"‎That was one of our finest allies, you clod," Kay tells Art, but he has a long-suffering sort of tone to him, almost like –

"You brothers?" Len asks, looking between them. They look nothing alike, but the relaxed posture is unmistakable.

"Foster brothers," Kay says, looking surprised. "‎Though, if you didn't know, how...?"

"Got a sister myself," Len says. "Love her even when she's driving me crazy. You get to know the look."

That gets a glimmer of a smile from Kay.

Beddy, noticing that Len seems to be making up for his terrible first impression, scowls. "Let's be on our way, shall we? I'll be pleased when we get back, so as best to test the goodwill of our - new friend."

"Don't be such a sourpuss, Beddy," Art says. "But yes, we should get home; it'll settle a lot of people's minds, knowing I've got a sword again."

Getting home, however, means transportation, and in the fifth century, transportation means –

"Oh hell no," Len says. "I am not riding a horse."

"Why not?"

"They're animals!"

"...so?"

"I don't ride nothing that's got a mind of its own," Len says. "Except Gideon. And sometimes Mick, but that's private."

"This is Gertha. She's totally safe," Art says encouragingly, bringing forward an absolute monster of a dappled mare.

Okay, she’s not that tall – all of the horses here are more like ponies than giants – but that’s not the point. She looks like a monster to Len.

"Horses don't like me," Len says darkly. "They smell fear."

"And evil," Beddy mutters.

Merle offers Len some sugar. "Feed that to her and she'll like you," he suggests.

Len takes the sugar and eyes Gertha warily. Gerta looks beadily back at him, huffing a little.

"Good horsie," Len says, and offers the sugar slowly. "Good -"

Gerta tries to bite his hand off.

Len ‎flees.

Art collapses laughing.

Even Beddy is having trouble hiding a smile.

"You can ride behind me," Art finally says. "Roach and I will protect you."

"You named your horse Roach?"

"Why not?"

"I had a pet rock named Roach once," Len says. "Well, technically it was Mick's rock. He takes‎ care of all the pets. But I named that one."

"I was inspired to name him in a dream," Art says. "Clearly we are mystically bound. Destined to be together."

"I'm still married," Len reminds Art.

"Damn," Art replies cheerfully. "Does he share?"

Len rolls his eyes.

Judging by the unsurprised expressions on Beddy and Kay's faces, and the smirk on Merle's, Art repeatedly proposing to random people is not that rare.

Luckily, Roach actually seems to not mind it when Len is on his back. He barely reacts.

He barely reacts to anything, actually.

"I think my pet rock had more life in him than your horse, Art."

"He's a placid creature, it's true," Art says. "I took him on too many adventures when I was young and - erm - less wise than I am now. He's rather gotten used to anything."

Len laughs, and they ride.

It's horrifically uncomfortable. Why would people ever travel this way?! Much less willingly, when there are cars?!

Not that Len likes cars all that much. He hates driving.

But it’s better than horses.

Much to his annoyance, though, he finds that the town they’re riding towards is not their final destination, but rather a stop-over point to collect Art’s gang – which, in an amusing twist, is apparently almost entirely composed of metas.

(Damnit, Len knew he should’ve gone for the Rogues thing back home instead of jumping on the time travel boat.)

There's Kay, for one, who (apparently) has some sort of Ray-like ability to change size: he can grow to the size of a giant (possibly a small giant - he doesn't get much over twelve feet). When he does, he usually uses an entire iron fireplace as his weapon, necessitating gloves capable of resisting heat - which sadly he doesn't have, and eventually ends up burning through all the mildly resistant ones he does have.

Len is able to offer some tips on those, thanks to Mick, and also suggests that Kay experiment with getting smaller rather than larger for better infiltration purposes. Kay seems intrigued.

Old Beddy, for his part, is apparently a small-time sorcerer himself, to the point that he nearly got burned for witchcraft, specifically for either consorting with or fighting a demon. Or something, anyway - no one's entirely sure. It turns out a good part of the stick up his ass is that he's apparently got some ‎Roman blood that he's embarrassed about, from an attempted invasion around his great-grandfather's time a century or more ago, and supposedly there's a curse involving bad luck and interesting lives on anyone with Constantinus blood.

Len guesses that explains the paranoia, ‎though not the willingness to forget about it. Poor guy, though - the ability to see and banish demons doesn't sound like all that much fun.

Len's got a lot less sympathy for Balin, who's kind of a dick, though admittedly well-meaning one. He's always trying to do the right thing - albeit without actually thinking it through - and he's aided in that endeavor by being able to grow a shell or something across his skin, hard as stone and difficult (though not impossible) to pierce.

Len's first comment - probably unwisely - had been to ask if that meant Balin's skin went as hard as his head normally is, but to be fair he was still stewing over the fact that Balin had tried to stab him for nipping down for an early breakfast.

He hadn't even been trying to steal anything that time!

Art had found it funny, at least.

Personally, Len far prefers Perks - officially named Percieval, but since he was raised a backwoods farmer, Perks hasn't quite gotten the hang of all of this knightly etiquette stuff yet, and that means he’s right up Len’s alley. He's got big stuck-out ears and a gap-toothed grin and he shoots beams of light out of his hands.

‎He's a real ray of sunshine, and Len tells him as much.

Takes Perks one or two tries to get the joke - he's good-natured, but not a natural punster - but he likes it well enough after he does.

Of course, not everyone has meta powers; some of them seem to have some sort of magic item that helps them‎ out, instead. Take the one who doesn’t talk much but who everyone else calls Marrock, a guy short, squat, and furry enough to be a werewolf - and may actually be, given how shifty he gets when people mention the full moon, though Len's been informed that that might also be a sign of being a Druid - but whose more interesting trait is a wand that he claims controls the weather.

Len really hopes that he's not related, even distantly, to the Mardon brothers. If there were ever a pair of people that really, truly didn't need to also be werewolves...

Or take Ywain, for instance. ‎He's already impressive enough - a big black man with an equally big mustache and biceps the size of grapefruit. He's a traveler, originally from somewhere in Africa. But in addition to all that, he's got a necklace (he calls it a totem, but it's a necklace) that lets him absorb the powers of various animals by summoning their spirits. One of the spirits stays outside the necklace, a lion spirit. It talks. Mostly to Ywain, mind you, but audibly and understandably.

Len thinks it's awesome, even if it isn't quite a meta power. Sadly, Ywain can't really explain it beyond the fact that it belongs to a land called Zambezi, a place Len has never heard of and has no idea if it even exists in his era, and that he is to uphold justice with it.

He lets Len try to pet his lion, though sadly it doesn't work, the lion being incorporeal whenever it's not ripping someone's jaw out. Oh, well.‎

But out of all of them, Len's absolute favorite knight isn't a meta or a magic-item-user at all.

He’s an alien.

“Ga-Ain,” the guy – who looks totally human, if six-foot-something people with perfect shining teeth and perfectly styled hair and muscles like a built swimmer look human, which Len isn’t entirely sure of, and also he vaguely resembles Ray which in retrospect makes Len even more convinced that Raymond Boy Scout Palmer isn't entirely a human being – says, sticking out his hand with a grin. “But you can call me Gawain, everyone else does.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Len says. “You sure about that Gawain stuff? I can do Ga-Ain, no sweat.”

Gawain looks tickled pink. “No, no need, please; Gawain is preferable,” he says. “Only my birth family calls me Ga-Ain, really, and we’re not really on speaking terms after they suggested I murder my foster family and take over the world.”

That gets a stare.

“My mother found me in a shooting star,” Gawain explains. “I was part of a convoy of stars, bound for elsewhere, but I was lost due to a terrible storm –”

“You landed in a space ship that got split off from the rest of the group,” Len says, blinking. “Because you’re an – alien?”

“Oh, yes, I forgot you’re from the future,” Gawain says, smiling even more brightly. Everyone had taken that little tidbit with surprising equanimity; Len suspects Merle just does this shit on a regular basis and everyone’s just adapted. “Yes, exactly. Everyone else was in suspended animation, so it took them some time to notice that I was here – my teenage years, to be precise, since I landed when I was about ten or eleven – and then to reach out to me via the ships’ communication systems. I was overjoyed to hear from them at first, of course, but then it turned out that my original people, the Kryptonians, are quite martial and thought that a spot of world-conquering wouldn’t be a bad thing.”

“On your own?”

“I become more powerful as I absorb the light of your yellow sun,” Gawain says with a shrug. “It gives me all sorts of powers – flying, super-strength, even the ability to heat things with my gaze or to cool things with my breath –”

Heat vision and ice breath.

Len loves this guy already.

“But at any rate, I’d already absorbed the code of chivalry from my foster parents, so I told my birth parents to go shove it.”

“Well,” Len says dryly, “on behalf of Earth, thanks.”

Gawain snorts.

"I assume your family took that with the level of grace and dignity that one would ascribe to the sort of person who thinks conquering the world is a good idea?"

Gawain bursts into surprised laughter. "You know, you're the first one to say that outright?" he asks, smiling. "Most people are too polite - even Perks. Yes, they reacted terribly – I was promptly disowned, and they even asked my sister to bury the coordinates of this world deep into the archives that no one would know about it. She's married into the House of El, a fairly prestigious family on my original planet, so she'll actually be able to do it, too."

"Will she?"

"Probably," Gawain says. "But only because I also asked her to do it. She's far more reasonable than the rest of them; we still write to each other."

"Sisters are the best," Len agrees.

"You have some?"

"One - Lisa," Len tells him. Then, on an impulse and possibly a bit of abrupt homesickness, he adds, "She's the best thing ever."

Gawain beams at him. "I like you," he says firmly, as if he’s making a decision. "Want to be brothers?"

Len blinks at him.

"Not by birth," Gawain clarifies. "Blood-brothers. You defend me, I defend you, that sort of thing."

Len arches his eyebrows. "This is sudden," he drawls. "Normally a boy likes to be bought dinner first."

Gawain sniggers.

"What does an alien with superpowers need defending from, anyhow?"

"Rocks."

Len pauses, but no, Gawain seems totally sincere. "Rocks?"

"Glowing green rocks," Gawain says. "They fall in meteorites and give people weird powers, and I get sick anytime I'm near them."

"You know, I think I've seen that before," Len says, thinking of his 1950s misadventure with Savage and bird-people and no Mick. It'd been miserable. "Nth metal?"

"We usually just call it 'glowing rock'," Gawain says dryly. "But that works. So?"

“Have you considered just – avoiding the rocks?”

“I do most of the time,” he says, grimacing. “But there’s a lord with a whole suit made out of them, glowing green – Sir Luthor – we had an encounter, it’s hideously embarrassing, if the bards say anything about me wearing a dress just ignore them –”

Next stop: looking up a bard.

Presumably not of the D&D variety.

"Why me, though?” Len asks. “We just met."

"Because you appreciate your siblings," Gawain says. "And, more importantly, you know what things like radio and radar are."

Len snorts. "Space age man stuck in the iron age?"

"Don't get me wrong," Gawain says. "I love it here, to the point that I refused to leave. But sometimes..."

"You just want someone to watch TV with?"

Gawain brightens. "I have no idea what it's called in your language, but if Merle’s translation spell is working, yes. That. So much that. I have a set up for transmissions from home once we get back to the castle."

"Y'know, I was going to explore the castle," Len says, omitting the ‘and steal all the stuff’ part. ‎"But alien TV is definitely a bigger draw. Sign me up."

Gawain laughs. “Well, we’re not far away now,” he says cheerfully, and points.

The castle - more like a giant fortress-town, really - they head towards is very pretty.

Len says as much.

"Thanks," Art says. "She's gotten to be quite bustling of late, though I'm sure you'll find the number paltry, if what Merle says about you is correct – the number of men in the world is steadily increasing, so by your years, they must be everywhere."

"You have no idea," Len says, thinking wistfully of Central. "But still. I far prefer cities to countryside."

“Putting aside the people,” Beddy puts in, “I’m more interested in getting our guest here through the gates.”

Len twists to stare at him, which he thinks is fair given that Beddy has been the number one most suspicious guy out of the whole lot. “You want me in your home?”

Beddy smiles grimly. “The gates can detect bad intent.”

‎"…really?" Len asked, turning to look dubiously at them. "You have telepathic gates?"

"They read your heart, not your mind," Merle said.

"And without the poeticism?"

"It would not let you pass if your intentions are not pure," Beddy told him, starting to sound irritated. "What is unclear about that?"

"I just want to know if it's more like a mind-reader or a lie detector, that's all," Len said, making a move to cross his arms before realizing he was still on the goddamn horse and lunging to wrap his arms back around Art's waist.

"What's the difference?" Art asked.

"Well, a lie detector reads your body - if you lie, your heartbeat goes up, your body tightens from stress, etc. But if you can keep from being stressed, which you can learn with practice, it'll give a false negative and say you're on the up and up when you ain't."

"Huh," Art said.

"The spell of the gates scans intentions, not the body," Merle said. "...I think. Perhaps I should‎ check."

"Even if it is intentions, what counts as pure?" Len asked. "Say I believed that ol' Art here murdered my mom and that I was totally, fully‎ justified in killing him for it. Let's even go a step further and say that I was off my rocker delusional and I thought that justice was so important that everyone would be okay with me doing it, even Art. Hell, let's say I thought Art would thank me for doing it. My intentions, in my twisted worldview, are pretty damn pure; I think I'm doing good work, and I even managed to convince myself that you will all like it, which means I don't believe that I mean any of you any harm. Would that count?"

They all blinked at him.

"I don't," Len clarified, just in case. "My mom died when I was a kid, totally unrelated – in a different millennium, even. I'm just saying."

"Keep 'just saying' things like that," Merle said. "It's a good point. I'll look into it right away."

Art pats Len’s hand. “I knew you’d be an excellent addition to Camelot."

Len laughs.

"What?"

"Wait, your city is actually called Camelot? Like King Arthur Camelot?"

"Well, yes," Art says, sounding puzzled. "That's Camelot, and I'm Arthur, and also the king, so...?"

Len nearly falls off the horse, shouting, "What?!"

Damnit, he knew he should’ve watched Sword in the Stone with Lisa when she’d asked.

(Merle crowing I told you we were the age of heroes doesn't help at all.)

--

A/N: @daughterofscotland requested this literally YEARS ago, for which I am overwhelmingly sorry - I tried so many times to write this and came up with nothing I like. I still don't like this very much, but I've accepted it's never going to happen so I'm just going to post it. Happy birthday and much, much, MUCH belated gift!

This was originally several chapters, with plans for more plot (yes, the wooden cup is Grail, no, Len has no idea and currently no one else has seen it; using it may or may not convey immortality; the Legends are going to show up and screw everything up as usual; dragons; at least one pun about being Len-o-lot that is going to go down very badly in the historical record; Morgan La Fae and/or Morgause showing up with Mordred; Mick is the reincarnation of Mordred as per my other fic on the subject and putting both incarnations in the same time is a problem, etc.), but...yeah. Anyone who wants to keep going with this is welcome to do so.

(Also all of the knight powers? actual canonical Arthurian legend powers that just happened to line up surprisingly well with DC characters.)

[acrcsstheuniversee]

Good Enough For Me

Pairing: Paul McCartney circa 1962 x John Lennon circa 1978 (McLennon)

Rating: Mature, readers 18+

Chapter Warnings: Mentions of porn and sex work

Words in this chapter: 1800+

Author’s Note:

Here it is! Refer to my summary and introduction post if you haven’t done so for more disclaimers, visuals, tag list info, and more.

*Disclaimer: I do not own The Beatles. This is fiction and written for leisure. Aspects of the story will not be historically accurate and should not be taken extremely seriously.

Chapter 1

Already a month into the semester, Paul found himself struggling to keep up with his studies. He tried his best to focus on typing an essay on the history of guitars that’s due the next day by 10 a.m. but just couldn’t get himself to do it. Not like it was hard or anything; he just hated doing what he’s told, especially if it was something he didn’t care about. He just wanted to do music but having a degree is a necessity now.

He pressed the home button on his cracked phone screen to see that it was already midnight. He was only half way done with the assignment that could’ve taken him only 30 minutes if he wasn’t writing songs in between paragraphs.

It was all too much anyways. American universities have much more homework assignments than back in England. Times like these made him question whether or not going out of the country for school was worth it. There almost seemed like there were more cons than pros in his decision. He lacked resources, he didn’t have any friends or family here except his roommate/best friend George, he was poorer than ever, and must work and attend school part-time. If he stayed in Liverpool and just continued school locally, he probably would’ve earned his degree by now; but now he’s what Americans consider a “super senior” because he’s 21 years old with the amount of classes completed equivalent to a third year student. Despite the struggle, all of it was better than his father dictating his every move. 

He shut his laptop, giving up on the assignment and leaned back into his desk chair, rubbing his tired droopy eyes.

He had two classes and work tomorrow. The thought of them made him roll his eyes. Music history from 10 a.m. to 12 p.m., a business class he couldn’t remember the name of from 1 p.m. to 2 p.m., and work right after at a restaurant nearby as a dishwasher, and occasionally performer if the artist they booked cancelled that night.

He yawned as he got up and slide into his bed. Before shutting his eyes, he turned his head and looked directly across the tiny dorm room to his right to see his childhood best friend and roommate, George Harrison sound asleep.

Paul really needs to take a note out of George’s book and sleep earlier. These late nights are just stressing him out more and more.

***

“Paul….. PAUL! Get up!”

Paul jolted up right when a sudden raised voice rang in his ear. His eyes met George’s signature judgemental look. One of his thick brows cocked and his lips curved awkwardly. He was already ready to go to class.

“Ah, what time is it?”

“9:30. I woke you up 30 minutes before hand because I just know you aren’t going to get up to the 9:45 alarm unless you expect to make it to your first class in 15 minutes,” George teased.

George is a pain in the ass and a know-it-all, but Paul loved him dearly. He comes off mean sometimes but Paul knows it’s just because he’s younger and feels the need to prove himself. Paul was used to it after all this time but sometimes, that boy needs to know when his criticisms cross the line. Despite being a dick sometimes, they’re both grateful to be going to the same college together. It was one in a million chances for George to land the same US college as Paul just a year after Paul’s acceptance.

“Okay, whatever. You have a point, I guess.” Paul groaned and rolled out of bed. 

“I know I do, ha. I’ll see you later.” George messed up his friend’s darkhair more than it already was, making Paul swat his hand away.

When George left, Paul finally got ready and headed off to class with his incomplete essay.

Everyone was already seated and the professor was setting up today’s powerpoint lecture when he finally arrived. Paul sat down in the back where he’s been since the beginning of the semester. It hasn’t been a problem until a girl started to sit near him everyday since last week. When group or partnered work was assigned, she would often ask him to join her. She was kind, but Paul knew she liked him. She couldn’t make it less obvious. They would make small talk here and there---just about classes and hobbies. She was also very good at piano just as Paul was, but not too good on guitar though she claims to be.

He felt her looking at him, making him turn his head to find out he was right. She just smiled and waved. Paul nodded and gave her a small smile in return, trying not to show too much emotion, afraid she would like that too much. She already had the wrong idea but he didn’t want to be mean about it. Paul was not interested in the slightest and, he was gay. Found that out in high school and hasn’t been too shy about it since then. 

When class ended, Paul left immediately to his second class to avoid conversation with anyone. This next one was business related which is something he also could care less about. He was a bit behind in this one too, but this time, he truly didn’t understand the material. He definitely needed a tutor soon.

Not much happened other than him writing mini poems all over his in-class assignment. He didn’t even bother erasing any of it before turning it in at the end of class.

Paul sighed as he made himself to his busboy job right off campus. Before stepping inside, he felt his phone vibrate. It was his dad. Ugh, he thought but answered.

“I’m about to go into work, Dad. What is it?”

“Well, hello to you too. I was just wondering how the first month in the states have been. I haven’t heard from you.”

“It’s fine.”

“Just fine? Have you got a chance to tour places? You should send me photos.”

“No and no. I don’t want you to be sending the pictures to your friends as if you helped me get here. I know you do that.”

Paul heard his father sigh.

“Just text me when you get home and tell George I said hi.”

“Okay, bye.” Paul said before hanging up and walking into his shift.

It seemed harsh but his dad was a selfish prick. He loves to be in control of everything. He was the reason Paul came to the states to study. All he wanted was to ride the wave of success his two sons have been achieving.

In all truthfulness, Paul stopped believing his dad’s bullshit after mom died about 6 years ago. His dad seemed to have lost his way but Paul couldn’t be around all the time if he had a dream to follow. It’s been rough without his mom around but Paul had to do what he was right for him, even if that meant getting away from his dad which is something even she would’ve supported.

He couldn’t stop thinking about how irritating school and his dad were during his shift. The rude coworkers and customers didn’t help his case at all. This wasn’t new though. Paul was used to working constantly in some shape or form. The only problem this time is that he needed more money now that he’s completely independent from his father.

“Hey, busboy!” his boss called out to the dishroom from the back office. Paul rolled his eyes and went to see what he wanted.

“Yes?”

“I have to cut your hours in half. Here is your new schedule. You’re off now, so don’t wash another dish.”

“In half?” Paul took the schedule and saw that his income now would not suffice his monthly tuition payments, let alone some money for necessities. “You’ve got to be shitting me. Why?”

“We can’t afford to pay you. I’m sorry, kid.” he said nonchalantly.

“Will I be able to perform sometimes still?”

“Ehh, sure.” he said as he continued his paperwork, not even looking at Paul.

Paul rolled his eyes again. Could his life get any more annoying? He let out a sigh and clocked out. Now what, he thought making his way home.

When he got home George was playing his computer games with his big headphones to fit on his large ears. The younger man didn’t even notice his friend come in until one side of his headphones was pulled and slapped against his head.

“Hey!” George readjusted himself then paused his game to face Paul with his eyebrows furrowed. “What?”

“My hours got slashed.”

“You’re joking.”

“Nope, hah.”

George frowned.

“Shit, I’m sorry. Are you going to find another job?” 

“Well, I’m going to have to because I will not be asking my dad for help.” Paul said as changed into his pajamas and hopped onto his bed.

George sighed. Paul just stared at his friend for a moment, not knowing what to say. This was bad news for both of them. George didn’t have the same financial issues as Paul did. He only had enough for himself. If George could help, he would---and Paul knew he would.

“I’ll think of something, George. Don’t worry.” Paul got under the covers and listened to his friend shut off his computer and lights before hopping into bed as well.

He stared at the ceiling and sighed, then began to think about all the ways he can make money quickly but none of it would be fast enough to pay his next tuition bill. He rubbed his eyes. It was beginning to stress him out the more he thought of it and he just wanted it to all stop for a second.

Ah fuck it, he thought before whipping out his phone and started to scroll through his favorite porn blog on Tumblr. What better way to forget about things than looking at some sexy pictures of guys?

Paul scrolled until he ran into a post that was by a male sex worker selling nude photos and thought hard to himself. It was a young guy about his age selling his photos for $25 a piece and a private snapchat story for $5 per friend request and $15 extra for screenshot privileges.

Paul bit his lip nervously. It’s been a couple years since he did sex work. All he did was some cam work, sold some nude photos, and made customized videos for people on the internet. He remembered enjoying it but there was always the parts he hated that made the job extremely draining like any other job.

He laid there staring at the screen. He must admit, it was tempting to dive in again but he was afraid what George would think.

“George… Maybe I should go back into sex work…” Paul said suddenly.

George didn’t reply. He just snored in in response. That bastard.

Paul sighed and continued to scroll through sex work blogs, inspired by the possibilities until he slowly drifted to sleep.

-

Tag list:

@nowandthenoldfriend

[tsaritsa]

don’t let my ink fade

i wrote some royai angst. title taken from the cale hawkins’ song.

warning for mentions of abuse

He told me that alchemy makes monsters out of men, you know.

It comes as no surprise to Roy Mustang that the wretched case of Shou and Nina Tucker affects some members of his team in more ways than one.

The tragic, entirely avoidable death of Nina Tucker hangs over East Headquarters like the storms they often get in the summer: a thick, oppressive silence reigns where normally there is barely-contained chaos. While the city thrived despite the oncoming storm spilling over the Cremil Ranges, headquarters itself had practically come to a complete standstill in a matter of a few hours.

Over one-third of the non-sworn workers alone had called in their sick leave that afternoon. In an unplanned, but urgent meeting with the other high command stationed at Eastern Headquarters, it was agreed that they’d run on essentially a skeleton shift for the next day. People were in shock, reasoned General Grumman, and needed time to process what had occurred. Denying requests en masse would only encourage resentment. However, precautions would need to be taken, as the East was currently in the midst of an active recruitment drive. It would inevitably face some resistance in the wake of this… unfortunate scenario, sneered Lieutenant-Colonel Matthews.

Roy is well aware of the furtive glances towards him in that room at the insinuation. He is not the idiot most of them assume he is. The writing is clearly on the wall here: you fucked up monumentally, Colonel Mustang.

He’ll bear the public responsibility, make the necessary appeasing appearances. Actual repercussions won’t occur, not ever. Not his fault that the brass ignored his comments on Tucker’s application, had ignored the intel he had inevitably amassed for a man who had applied for the State Alchemist program over fourteen times. For such a sudden development in Tucker’s research from one year to the next, it only raised alarm bells for him. The leap Tucker had made in his research went beyond what even Roy knew himself capable of, and he had been given notes to guide him along.

But his comments fell on deaf ears, his preliminary application for rejection subsequently overruled. It can talk you idiot – the chimera can actually talk!

Sure, and all it says is ‘I want to die’.

He is utterly engrossed in Tucker’s file when the phone goes off. He barely has to incline his head and she understands what he is asking – Hawkeye rises from the couch, papers fluttering down around her like skittish birds. The nasal tone of the phone is harsh through his empty office, echoing starkly against the walls. Roy turns his attention back to Tucker’s successful application.

“...we cannot comment on this matter. Thank you.” The Lieutenant's tone is devoid of any emphasis, but the manner in which she practically slams the receiver back into its cradle makes him pause.

Her knuckles are still gripping the handle of the phone tightly, almost blanched white when he looks up. “Are they sniffing already?”

“Sewing-Life is being traded for Butcherer. It’s going to hit the morning newsstands. Headquarters cannot afford for so many to be absent tomorrow, personal inclinations aside.” Her tone is deceptively casual, but he’d be a fool not to pick up on the tension lingering within her words.

Roy sets down the file and pinches the bridge of his nose. “Our hands are tied either way Lieutenant.” It’s difficult not to let frustration seep into his voice. She doesn’t deserve his ire directed her way, not now.

Her clipped “Yes, sir,” tells him she won’t tolerate his bullshit beyond her pay check today.

In hindsight, he should have been quicker on the uptake, pieced together why this case in particular had rankled his aide so much. But then Scar had come along, and all thoughts of approaching Hawkeye had promptly gone out the window with the resulting chaos.

The debrief takes longer than he likes, made more complicated by the amount of paperwork he’s going to need to do to keep certain secrets well… secret. Over fifty of his men had seen the ruined remains of Alphonse’s armour – until now information that was closely-guarded, and very much on a need-to-know basis – and the last thing he needs is the papers having not only a ‘House of Horrors’ angle for the next week, but another series demonising Ishvallans because of the actions of a lone wolf.

He finds her in his office later that night, her back to the door, leaning against his desk and looking out over the parade grounds. It’s still raining heavily, and he thinks that the thunderous sound of the storm outside masks his entrance. If she hears him, she certainly makes no indication otherwise.

The Elric brothers… well, perhaps it was logical that his mind immediately went to their well being. They had been the closest involved in the situation. The sudden appearance of Scar, the revelation that he was an Ishvallan man with a vengeance carved into his very skin – Roy knows these are valid reasons on their own, but it does not mean his failure to check in on his team is any less forgivable.

He knows First Lieutenant Hawkeye is a strong soldier, unfazed and stoic. Her apparent quietness in response to the tragic fate of Nina Tucker may have fooled others into assuming once more that she had compartmentalised, had tucked away this sorry event for unpacking at a more agreeable time. Roy knows her better. A small part of him aches to reassure her through touch, even as scant as a gloved hand on her shoulder, however briefly before propriety and decorum settle across them once more. Instead, he mirrors her position against the desk and carefully peels off his gloves, tucking them into his pocket.

The way her voices hitches makes his heart squeeze tightly in response. “I thought I would be lucky enough to not see any echoes of my father anymore. I suppose that was foolish of me.”

Roy doesn’t have the words – there are no words, no sentences he can formulate that could even begin to acknowledge what she’s referring to. How can he possibly relate? He had practically been the apple of her father’s eye, before his enlistment. She would never go so far as to condemn her father, but Roy would do it happily in her stead. Years of emotional abuse and distance was just as horrific as the ink he left on her back.

“He told me alchemy made monsters out of men, you know. It always had this faint tone of self-deprecation to it, but…” she trails off, head hanging low. Roy realises she is holding his pocket watch, and she fascinates herself with the peaks and valleys of the military insignia.

“Is there even going to be an autopsy?”

The truth is bitter on his tongue. “Not for her. Major Armstrong's hypothesis that Scar is using at least the deconstruction part of a transmutation attempt will need to be verified, however.”

Riza nods shortly, throwing her head back swiftly to stare at the ceiling. He pointedly ignores the tears running freely down her cheeks.

“She would’ve gone along with it. Right until the very end. Anything to bring back the father she remembered.”

“You shouldn't do this to yourself.” We had no way to know, dies on his lips, because he did know. Suspected, at least. He’s well-aware that the Elric brothers hold themselves accountable for what has happened, but in truth the blame falls squarely back to him. He could have kicked up more of a fuss from the review panel’s decision. He could have required Tucker to provide quarterly reports.

This particular brand of madness, however – Roy is well-acquainted with it. So is Riza, crying openly next to him. They know they couldn’t have caught him – not before the damage had already been done.

The fact that it had happened twice, right under their noses, is the salt in a wound that has been bleeding slowly for years.

Riza blinks rapidly, and wipes at her face roughly. “I’ll go enquire with forensics. We might be able to give her a burial at least.” She passes his watch back to him, and for those brief, few seconds where their fingers overlap one another, Roy is almost tempted to engulf her into an embrace and never let her go.

Instead, he nods, and pockets the watch. He doesn’t have the heart to inform her that the body has already been disposed of.

She’ll forgive him in time.

[storiesbeyondthestars]

An anonymous person requested board game night with Team Voltron + Matt, Krolia, Romelle, and Kosmo for @fluffbingo

In the future, let’s try to keep the character amount down please and thank you :D. This was kind of hard to write, and I think I kind of cheated a bit?

It’s technically post series all together, since they’re older? Also, this ended up being borderline crack, but I had fun with it! 

Check it out on AO3. 

Thank you to @corancoranthemagicalman, @foxwithabunnyhoard, @guardianofzing, and an anonymous person for giving me ideas for this!

Back when the Paladins lived in the Castle of Lions, they started a bit of a tradition. Once every movement, they would sit down with out another and play whatever games they found around the castle, or whatever games they could create from memory. They first convinced Allura and Shiro that it was a good bonding activity, pointing out that even Keith participated in them.

Fast forward beyond fighting Zarkon, Lotor, Haggar, and so much more, they still made a point of having game nights with one another. They were set for every two weeks now (more if possible but definitely two no matter what), whether they were in space in their lions, or on Earth in their homes. When they were on Earth, they each took turns hosting their game night.

Somehow though, it seemed like Lance and Keith ended up hosting their game night more than any of the others.

“Well yeah,” Pidge said one time. “Each person hosts it. You two live together, so that means Lance gets to host, then Keith. It just happens to be the same place.”

Keith firmly called bullshit on that, because he never planned it. Training, he planned. Missions, he planned. Game night? He most definitely pawned that off on Lance. But wasn’t that what husbands were for? (Yes, yes they were.)

As it was, they didn’t even have to plan that much. Coran, apparently, came across a great board game in their travels that he wanted to share with them. He had only informed Lance and Keith of this, and both of them were rightfully a bit wary.

“Don’t worry,” Keith assured him. “I’ve got the fire extinguisher, a first aid kit, a water pump, and a defibrillator.”  

Lance stared at him seriously as he finished dumping the last bag of chips into one of their many mismatched bowls. “But is it enough?”

Keith wasn’t sure, but he felt woefully unprepared.

…

Coran was positively shaking with excitement as he held a rather ominous black box.

The little apartment was pretty crowded. Of course, Keith and Lance were both there along with Kosmo, it was their apartment. Along with them and Coran, was Allura, Romelle, Krolia, Shiro, Hunk, Pidge, and Matt. Ten was the exact number that they needed for this.

“I thought it was Keith’s turn to plan and pick game night,” Matt whispered to Pidge, eyeing the box with interest.

“It was,” she answered warily. Matt didn’t understand why he should be so fearful, not even after all this time. They all loved Coran to pieces, but his ideas were nothing short of insane and wild.

The man in question cleared his throat and said, “Now, I know that we normally play board games on game night, but I very recently found this game in an Unilu swap-shop and had to get it.” Coran opened the box and pulled out a very colorful game board that came with absolutely no pieces to play with.

There was, however, a name on the middle of it that shifted and changed until they all understood it.

Garfle Warfle Snick – Boring Edition (No snick included).

Shiro, Matt, Krolia, Romelle, and Coran didn’t seem to have a problem with that, but Allura, Keith, Lance, Hunk, and Pidge were terrified. Kosmo tilted his head and observed curiously.

“No!” Lance cried out as Coran touched the board, but it was too late. Suddenly, the entire room seemed to change around them, and they were in a frighteningly familiar game studio. He looked around wildly, seeing Keith on one end, followed by Pidge, then him, then Hunk, and finally Allura. The exact same as the first time they encountered this. Unlike then though, the second team, consisting of Shiro, Matt, Romelle, Krolia, and Coran were across from them.

“Welcome to Garfle Warfle Snick!” a familiar voice cried out. Bob appeared on his little hover chair, holding his arms out to an audience that actually wasn’t an audience, but a rather just a bunch of random shapes and colours. It was honestly kind of unnerving.

“Coran!” Allura yelled at him.

“Don’t worry, it’s just a game based on the legend of Bob. It’s a simulation, though the only way out is for someone to win the game. I had to upload information into the game to allow it to come up with questions and answers involving our lives or things we’d know,” Coran explained. “It’s a lot more like your Family Feud. I do enjoy that show.” Coran enjoyed most Earth shows, from soap operas, to game shows, to sitcoms.

“No snick?” Lance clarified.

“That is correct!” Bob said, waving an arm in the air. “This is the boring edition of the game with a simple question format and no snick. The game as three rounds, and the team that wins gets to go to the fast snick round – without the snick! Lets get the Team Captains up here first!”

Shiro and Keith both cried out in alarm as they were dragged out to where there were two podiums. Keith eyed it suspiciously. “I swear to god if he shoves another pacifier in my mouth, I’m shoving whatever I can get right up his—“

“And the way this works is that we generated a survey and answers. We put the top five answers on the board. To win, you have to get all five, but if you get three strikes, the second team gets a chance to steal all of the points you’ve earned. At the beginning of each round, we have a person from each team up here. I’ll read the question, and the first person to hit the buzzer gets to answer first. If you don’t do it quick enough, I would normally feed you to the snick, but I can’t do that here. So the other person gets to answer. If the second person gets a higher ranking answer, they get to choose to play or pass. Got it?”

“So we’re playing Family Feud, got it,” Shiro said with a nod of his head, looking at Keith with a competitive stare. Instantly, Keith felt something flair up in him and he stared back.

“Let’s go.”

Bob nodded excitedly. “Top five answers on the board! We interviewed 100 people from another dimension who are obsessed with you, and asked ‘what is their favourite Voltron romantic ship’.”

Everyone glanced at Coran oddly.

“To be fair, fair I used the Atlas to program it so there are many things that could have happened,” he explained with a shrug.

Meanwhile, Keith slammed in hand on the buzzer first, but then instantly started to panic as nothing came to mind. “Uh…I…” A few seconds later, a loud buzzer ran through the air.

“Too slow. Shiro?”

He glanced at Keith quickly before saying, “Uh…Keith and Lance?” There was a dinging sound as the number one spot flipped over. “What? Really?”

“Yes, really, your own little brother,” Bob said dramatically. “Now, play or pass?”

“Play,” Shiro said, before yelping as he and Keith were both yanked back to their teams.

“Really?” Lance asked, leaning around Pidge to glare at him. “Babe, come on! We’re married! You didn’t think we were number one?”

“I panicked!” Keith looked at the board. “Also, Laith? Why does your name get to be first?”

Ignoring this, Bob went to the other team. “Alright, Matthew! Give us an answer?”

Matt blinked before his eyes darted to Hunk. “Oh! Hunk and Shay!” He cheered when the number three spot spun around, revealing Hunay. “That’s an adorable ship name!”

“Uh…” Romelle looked around unsurely. “Allura and…Lotor?” She cringed as the buzzer rang through the air, a big X appearing on the screen. “I am both disappointed and relieved.” Allura’s face said that she felt the same way.

Krolia observed the Paladins before nodding slightly. “Hunk and Pidge.” A small smirk appeared on her face as the number five spot revealed Punk. “They do make a great team.”

“You know, we do,” Hunk said with a shrug.

“Team Punk for the win!” Pidge reached up and high-fived him. “But also, shipping? Romantic ships?”

“Yeah, no. Sorry Pidge.”

“We’re cool.”

“Hmm…” Coran regarded the board. “I’ll say…Allura and Lance!” The number four spot revealed Allurance, leaving on the number two spot empty.

“Now, no hard feelings guys,” Lance said dramatically. “Don’t get jealous or fight.”

Keith leaned forward so he could see Allura with a raised eyebrow. “You can have him if you want him.”

“I’m okay,” she replied with a shake of her head. Lance groaned and slumped on his podium.

“This is so strange,” Shiro noted as Bob came back to him. “I have no idea. It’s not something I think about. Uh…Keith and Hunk?” Another negative buzzer went through the air.

“To be fair,” Keith spoke up again, “Hunk is super shot.”

“Aww, thank you, Keith! I’d hug you if I could reach you!” Hunk said with a big smile.

“You know what?” Lance said as he stood up straight again. “I can’t even be mad, it’s true.” Hunk was close enough to squeeze him in a hug.

“You need one more answer and you only have one chance to get it right, Matt. Give us a ship!” Bob said, leaning on Matt’s podium.

“Uh…Allura and…” Matt looked around unsurely. “Keith?” Another buzzer and he groaned. “Sorry guys.”

“Alright!” Bob flew over to the other team. “You get one chance to steal. Pidge, what is their #2 favourite Voltron ship?”

“Well,” she said seriously, “judging from how people ship characters in our world, and applying that logic to an alternate universe where we’re characters that can be shipped…” She looked at Keith. “I’m so sorry. Shiro and Keith.”

The number two spot flipped around, and everyone on their team but Keith cheered. Keith looked downright horrified. “Shiro is my brother. Literally was my guardian. My teacher. I was a child when I met him and he was an adult.”

Shiro, for his part, looked just as horrified. “I don’t want to play this game anymore.”

Bob looked at him sinisterly. “You don’t escape the game board until someone wins.”

“Okay,” Shiro squeaked out.

Bob smiled warmly. “Great! Pidge, Matt, come on up!” The two both yelped as they were pulled to the front ones. “Now, we asked 100 Arusians, who gives the best hugs?”

Pidge slammed her hand down hard and yelled, “Hunk!” The number two spot spun around.

Matt looked confused before saying, “Uh…Shiro?” The number four spot spun around.

“We’re gonna play!” Pidge yelled before Bob could even ask, and they were both whisked back to their spots.

Bob moved over to Hunk to look at him. “Hunk, you huggable boy…who gives the best hugs?”

“Uh, Lance?” he asked, wincing at the negative buzzer. That was also to point out that Bob skipped Lance for some reason, but apparently that didn’t matter.

“Coran?” Allura guessed when it was her turn, also grimacing at the buzzer.

Keith glared at Bob fiercely, as if daring him to say he was wrong, “My mom.” There was another loud buzz, and he yelled, “That fucking thing lies! My mom and Lance give the best hugs ever!” He genuinely looked like he was going to climb over the podium to fight the simulated alien.

Bob zoomed over to Krolia. “Well, it seems your son thinks you’re the best hugger, but what do you think, Krolia?”

She hummed thoughtfully and then, “Kolivan.” The number one spot swung around.

Keith’s mouth fell open. “Mom…what the fuck?” She just shrugged.

“This is a difficult question, but I do have an answer. A controversial one though,” Coran admitted, stroking his moustache. “Zarkon!” The number three spot spun around and everyone stared at him. “He was great at hugs eons ago.”

“What kind of hell programming was made to create this?” Pidge asked as Bob went back to Shiro for the last answer.

Shiro, clearly panicking, blurted out, “The Black Lion!” Much to everyone’s shock, the fifth spot spun around, meaning they won the round. “What?”

“Yeah,” Hunk said, “if anyone thinks Black’s a good hugger, their programming is faulty.”

“Oh, come on! Everyone knows that Red’s the overprotective one!” Lance yelled out while waving his hand around.

Bob moved to the center of the stage again, “And now we have our final round. Whoever gets this, will go onto our fast points round! Give me Lance, give me Romelle!” The two both yelped as they were yanked to the front. “Top five answers are on the board. We asked 100 aliens, what is the one planet you’d love to visit.”

Lance moved fast. “Earth!” He cheered when it came up as the right answer. “Alright, we’re playing!” He glanced at Hunk as he was whisked back. “Come on Hunk!”

Hunk shifted nervously. “Uh, the Balmera?” The buzzer went off. “What’s wrong with the Balmera? They have amazing people and amazing crystals!”

“It’s okay,” Allura patted his arm. “Uh…normally I would say Altea but I assume these have to be current…maybe Arus?” She grinned boardly as the number four spot spun around.

Keith looked unsure, and shrugged. “Oriande?” The buzzer went off again. “I still wish I had seen some of it.”

“Yeah,” Pidge toned in sarcastically, “because suffocating was so fun.”

“We survived in the endless void of space with those for days. Did no one put on their helmet?” He raised an eyebrow at her.

Everyone around him froze for a moment. “Shut up, Keith,” Pidge pouted and looked at Bob. “Olkarion.” The number two spot spun around. “Yes!” She cheered and high-fived Lance when it popped up in the number two spot.”

Lance calmed himself down and then looked completely unsure of what he wanted to say. “Uh…Senfama?” The buzzer went off and everyone stared at him oddly. “What? It seemed okay for a place with a giant canon, and I also couldn’t remember the world with the mermaids.”

“Too bad!” Bob went over to Matt. “Now, you have the chance to steal, but if you get it wrong, they get their points and win the game!”

Matt narrowed his eyes. “Reiphod.” He groaned when the buzzer went off, and the other team cheered loudly. “What the hell? What were the other two?”

Bob waved his hand at the board, “The number five answer is Thayserix! The number three answer is Naxzella!”

“Who would want to go to either of those places?” Coran wondered. Maybe the programming was off. It didn’t matter though, because the next thing their team knew, they were in the front row seats of the audience.

“And now for our fast points round!” Bob cheered. “I will select two from the team to answer six questions quickly in 20 seconds. They cannot see each other’s answers.” Keith, Lance, and Allura looked towards Pidge and Hunk. “No, I don’t think so. Give me antisocial Keith, and dumbdumb Lance.” Lance appeared beside Bob, and Keith vanished altogether.

“Why is it always us?” Lance asked.

“We’re in your house, of course,” Bob answered. “now, if you don’t get enough points, no one can leave the game!”

“What?” It was a sentiment shared by everyone.

“Ready to go?” Bob asked, not letting Lance answer before yelling, “Put 20 seconds on the board! Lance, we interviewed 100 aliens, try to five us the top answers…A name that Captain Shirogane goes by.”

“Shiro,” he blurted out.

“Pidge’s favourite thing.”

“Peanut butter!”

“Name an Altean.”

“Allura!”

“A Voltron Lion.”

“Red?”

“A Galra?”

“Zarkon?”

“Things Lance Denies?”

He hesitated but then said, “Height!”

“Alright, let’s get Keith out here!” He waved his hand, causing Lance to appear back beside Pidge.

“Wait, aren’t you supposed to tell us if his answers are right?” Hunk called out, but Bob ignored him.

Keith appeared beside the alien. “Alright, Keith. Lance gave us some good answers. I’m going to ask you the same questions, but you cannot repeat the answer. If you do, I would normally feed you to the snick, but I can’t. Instead you’ll get a violent shock through your body.”

“What?” Keith asked him.

“Put 25 seconds on the board! Keith, we interviewed 100 aliens, try to five us the top answers…A name that Captain Shirogane goes by.”

“Shiro,” he immediately said, and yelped loudly at the shock that went through him. “Son of a bitch!”

“Pidge’s favourite thing.”

“Wait, that wasn’t my…uh…Green Lion!”

“Name an Altean.”

“Allura!” Another shock. “Fuck!  Coran!”

“A Voltron Lion.”

“Black!”

“A Galra?”

“Krolia.”

“Things Lance Denies?”

Keith’s eyes swung around towards his husband, narrowing a bit. “Having a bonding moment.”

Somehow, that seemed to be enough to make the game around them disappear, and the ten of them found themselves back in Keith and Lance’s living room, the game board sitting innocently on the table.

Everyone stared at it, before Coran clapped his hands together, “Well, that was fun!”

“I mean, the idea’s fun, going into a real game like that, but uh…never again?” Shiro said. Everyone else agreed on that.

“Nonsense, we—no! Bad cosmic wolf!” Coran cried out as Kosmo appeared, grabbing the game into his sharp teeth, teleporting to the other side of the room, where he proceeded to chew it to pieces. “Drat.”

“So,” Pidge spoke up. “New rule for game night. Coran doesn’t pick anymore.”

It was something they could all agree on.  

…

BONUS:

“Are you still on about that? We’re married!”

“Can’t remember, didn’t happen.”

“Keith!”

[breziarchive]

Majimako, no conditions. Requested by my dear ass friend @persante, who wanted to retract her request on the fear i had too much on my plate.

no you fucking fool. i want this.

(inb4 the dumb referential names i picked are ALREADY ESTABLISHED CHARACTERS BUT I CAN’T BE ARSED TO CHANGE THE NAMES NOW)

also there’s blood and murder and laffs “majimako no conditions” means blood and murder

valentine’s day boogaloo - guidelines - ko-fi

(requests closed, badbbadbadfffffdfdfd)

~~

Majima stumbled as the floor spun, the metal tips of his boots gleaming like they shouldn't have. Shaking his head did nothing to bring things back to normal. Blood spatters on the concrete beneath his feet looked dark and surreal, even though the bat in his hands was painted with much the same. Disregarding that he may have been worsening the mess, he brought his free hand up to dig at his scalp, panting wearily. Thank fuck there was no one around to see him now.

Or that they were already dead.

He breathed. In. Out. In. Out. His hands shook. Yeah he had killed people before, no it wasn't a case of 'it never gets easier'. It was a case of one of the two bodies in the room was not his doing, and that first dead body caused the second.

His stupefied eye wandered to see twisted feet dressed in delicate heels, slamming his eye shut before it followed pale, willowy legs to a distorted face. What the hell had this guy been doing? How much of it had he done? Keeping some woman's fresh corpse in his office space as he lit up cigarettes without a damn care in the world—Majima almost felt righteous that he barged in here, because it gave him the opportunity to make up for it. A corpse for a corpse—not really a righteous policy, but one that Majima had little control over when he saw an innocent dead on the floor.

Whatever. He hadn't come in here to kill someone, be that it turned out that way. Although he was glad he did—the files he had plucked out of cabinet spread against the askew desk proved it. Majima pressed his leaden hand a little too much against the files, spreading them farther out. Makoto's name littered them—documents of the exchange over the Empty Lot, documents of her lineage, whereabouts, just information about her in yakuza hands still. He had spent the past five, or was it ten, years hunting down whoever held documents like this, burning each and every one he came across. With men like this holding onto recent files of where and what she was doing, Majima was glad he was dead.

Hyper-focusing on the files instead of speculating who the woman in the corner might've been, Majima slid them off of the desk, neverminding the spatters of blood he disturbed, and sat on the edge of a plant pot. The dead yakuza's legs served as a footrest as his one eye skimmed over each paper. On a different day he'd be more thorough and take his time in the office to make sure he didn't miss a single copy, but today...Today? Fuck it. Majima stuck a cigarette in his mouth, lit it, then lit the files on fire.

His eye glazed over, watching the papers burn. For her. For her and always for her. Fuck. That woman was dead in the corner for some unknown reason that wouldn't ever be good enough. How close had Makoto come to being that woman? How close was she now?

For some damned reason an address on the paper burned in his mind before the flames burned it. He blinked, but the memory remained even as he dropped the papers on the pant leg of the dead yakuza to curl. Part of him wanted to just burn the whole building down now, with him inside it. Now that he knew the address, it was only fair, right? Even he didn't keep any files about her. Not even a picture.

Not even a picture.

He closed his eye as the fire changed sounds as it started to lick at the pant legs, fizzling on hair beneath. The address. The address. The dead woman in the corner. The address.

A strangled noise crept through his chest and he stood up, stomping the fire out and nearly tripping and falling from the uneven ground the legs made. The address.

Fear and hope pinched his heart and he stumbled off the dead man. Address.

That what he was going to do might've been considered stalking was only a small voice in his mind, and even though it nagged the pain dragging his face down and the fear kicking his head to pieces spoke louder. The address kept repeating itself over and over and over in his mind as he slammed the door holding the two corpses shut. He couldn't trust to write it down, because someone else could've seen it. He had to trust his memory, and when it came to her his memory was agonizingly clear.

Though, for his own sanity, he should've let a few days pass. He couldn't let more than a few hours of vivid sleep go before he was ripping through his wardrobe. It hit him all too quickly that he had, absolutely, no fucking clue what normal people wore. All he had were flashy suits and absolutely gaudy shit that would make him stick out like a sore thumb. The address he had memorized, he knew it was in the suburbs somewhere beyond the outskirts of the city. The thought made him honestly ill, him, trawling about a quiet neighborhood with snakeskin and tats out. Not to mention leather pants that clung a little too tightly in the right places to...accentuate. Taunt, or whatever it would do for him.

After far too long he finally settled on black slacks and suitcoat he hoped wasn't too flashy, because the least intimidating thing he had to wear underneath was a goldenrod button-up. (He almost went with red, but red held too much power. At least he skipped the tie.) After that, he made the quick decision to slip his eyepatch into his breast pocket and cover his eyes with a pair of aviators. Couldn't risk her recognizing him. Couldn't risk anything—this whole escapade could cost her so, so much more than he was willing to put her through. But he had to check, he had to know.

It burned like the files in his mind as he hopped on at least one more train than necessary, taking the longest way to the suburbs possible just in case. Just in case.

When he stepped off the train it was like walking into a concrete wall. He had made such a huge, huge mistake. There were kids running about, mothers pouring over grocery lists, no criers in the streets, no broken needles or used condoms, teenagers laughed normally and rough-housed with each other in ways that didn't cause broken noses and black eyes. This was not a place where he could even pretend to blend in, much less convince someone that he was just there to make sure someone was safe. Yeah. Didn't seem like he was gonna stake the joint at all.

He had just, after all, killed someone.

Majima swallowed, hoped he didn't stand like an idiot for too long in the small train station, then headed off, address burned in his mind. No one had followed him, unless they had better clothes to disguise themselves with than he did. Making sure the aviators were firm on his face, he counted the street numbers until he arrived at the correct block, secluded and ending in a small cul de sac surrounded by cute houses clustered together like trees in a forest. It wasn't lonely, but it was secluded. Early morning was giving way to mid-morning, and the houses lazily bustled with the promise of school starting soon. He had already passed more than one uniform-clad group of young teens, and had spied more than one child's backpack bouncing happily as they walked the streets unattended.

Shit, man. The second thoughts he had were screaming until his head rang.

A few kids, their backpacks resting against low yard fences, played as they waited for what Majima presumed to be a larger line of kids to go to school with. Those days had been so long ago for him now they might as well have been repressed. Some of the kids' heads perked up like meerkats as he tried to look casual, strolling down the street, but for the most part they didn't raise the alarm. Awkward and knowing it, Majima tried to look particularly interested in a weed sprouting from a crack in the asphalt, already turning around some bullshit excuse in his mind as to what he was doing. Botany, sure. Suburban botany. Yeah fuckin' right.

Why did it have to be now, when he had already traveled at least two hours, shitty disguise fooling nobody on, that he realized that discreetly finding out about her was impossible? Even if he waited for the kids to leave for school, what then? Knock on doors like a fuckin' missionary? He wished he could take his head off and curb-stomp it for its stupidity—yeah, a missionary, who had to use their voice, talk to people, interact—

“Cloudy day, isn't it?”

Majima froze, pulled from his stunt of suburban botany, and slowly turned around, spine stiff and jaw clenched. There she was, standing pleasantly. Orange and pink flannel peeked out just from behind a pastel windbreaker; it looked like she was only expecting to be outside for a moment, perhaps monitoring, watching the children. His heart crashed into his feet—one of them could be hers. Of all the stupid things he was already doing, he made it worse because his instinct twisted his head back to look at the kids tossing a ball back and forth. It was so mind-numbingly normal and stereotypical it seemed surreal, even Makoto's pleasantries didn't seem right.

Before he could really study and find out if any of them could be her kids she spoke again, just as pleasant, “Excuse me, sir, did you have a question about the kids?”

Majima blinked and looked back to her. Well, it wasn't out of the blue, but it wasn't quite as sterile as a comment about the weather. She smiled at him all the same but something was off—it was like he was watching an actress act, not someone truly smile. Trying to hide a swallow, he shook his head.

“Good,” the word was forceful from her lips despite the pleasant tone, but before Majima could nod and scuttle away like a log had been lifted over a cockroach she stepped up into his space and her eyes became sharp and dangerous, lips curling into a snarl, “Because I will drag you to hell if you so much as look at them wrong,”

Thankful that the aviators shielded most of his expression, Majima blinked rapidly, eye wide and struggling on whether to show how impressed versus how intimidated off the bat he was. Makoto kept herself planted in his space, glaring into her own reflection on the aviators. When she finally let him be it wasn't at all like she had backed down. He imagined that her hackles were still raised and teeth were bared behind her sweet lips, even as she walked away to tend to the children.

“Takeru-kun,” she chastised, too much of a bite to her words to show Majima that his suspicions were correct, “Throw the ball a little gentler, Ken-chan's still learning,”

Takeru, the boy in question, let out a comical whine of protest before retorting, “But Ken-chan's dad said—,”

“I don't care what he said,” Makoto huffed, firm, “It's on you to learn to be gentle or not, but I'm here to ask you to be gentle,”

The harshness of Makoto's voice seemed to take Takeru by surprise, and, holding the ball wide-eyed, he murmured a sullen 'yes, Makimura-san', softening his play. Majima watched her, noticing that the arcs of her shoulder blades were barely showing from behind the windbreaker from how much he put her at unease. More than that, the comfortable use of her surname—her unchanged surname—told Majima that, perhaps, none of these were her children.

The eldest of the children, a beanpole of a girl that Majima guessed would be ditching the elementary backpack for a uniform soon, cautiously approached her from the side. Busying himself with the breadth of suburban flora in the asphalt, he tilted his head a little to hear better.

“Makimura-san, is everything...alright?”

Makoto didn't seem to move, though her arms were crossed in front of her. Her voice remained tight, watching Takeru learn to adjust the power and bounce of the ball to the youngest kid there, “Is your brother coming out, Yumi-san?”

The girl nodded, but her gaze was steady and concerned on Makoto, “He's late, as usual,”

Makoto hummed, unhappy. Suddenly feeling as though he was surrounded, even if it was nothing but just eyes, he felt himself start to sweat and panic. There was no way in goddamn hell he was going to be able to convince Makoto of all people that he meant no harm while he was loitering around, especially not in front of children that it seemed she had been tasked with watching over until school started. God fucking help him if any other mothers or fathers or whoever started emerging from their homes, all to judge and pitchfork him. In truth it didn't matter too much to him if he was burned at the stake or not, but the idea that he had made everyone's lives in this quiet little town worse, that maybe, if he met his end here, white-knight sorts of yakuza would come hunting for revenge—goddamnit he really should've planned this out more than not at all.

“HEY! Hiroki-kun!”

Majima jolted upright.

“CATCH!”

The ball did not make it to Hiroki. Majima was honestly just thankful the ball hit so square into his face that any noises he did make were squelched. Clamping his teeth down on the insides of his cheeks both out of reflex and out of desperate courtesy to not shout something, thus bringing the pitchforks to his attention and scaring the children in the process, Majima stumbled until his ass met the iron fence behind him. His gloved hands went to his face immediately, cupping around his nose. Again, out of reflex. The ball could never in a million years hit him like a punch could, and the loud, hollow THOONK sound it made as it bounced off was the sound of no real harm done. Grunting and grinding his teeth on his cheeks, he pinched the tip of his nose and shook it back and forth like he had to put it back in place, glancing up to see a shocked kid standing in front of him. New, from the house that had been behind him. Presumably the Hiroki that the hotshot Takeru greeted with a ball to Majima's face. Not only was he shocked but he seemed absolutely horrified, too, like Majima would do something. He blinked, readying an expression to show the kid that he was okay when he realized something.

The aviators had been knocked off.

Shot with panic, he slapped a hand over his missing eye and ducked down to scramble for them at the same time Hiroki ducked to chase the runaway ball. Majima's outstretched fingers curled in pain as he watched the kid's shoes destroy the aviators. Teeth now visibly clenched onto his lower lip, Majima hissed through them in a barely disguised wail of defeat.

No real harm done, huh. No wonder the kid looked horrified. Fuck.

“Hiroki-kun!” Makoto ordered, jarring the kid to her side, ball in his short arms. Majima stammered on several fucks, whispered so low he couldn't even hear himself as he turned to keep his good eye towards them, no matter how conspicuous it looked. The moment Hiroki made it to her side he pulled on her arm, making her lean down though her intense gaze was thoroughly fixated on him. Suspicion cut through him like a laser—she was tensed on the balls of her feet waiting for how he would truly react.

The kid said something to her about his eye, he caught on to enough of what he said to know that. Queasy and dizzy, Majima tried not to pant too hard, struggling to straighten his back. The tension was so palpable Majima could've been pushed back all the way to the train station. Hell, all the way back to Kamurocho. Used condoms and broken needles would be a welcoming sight over kids and kickballs.

Like a short legion from heaven, down the street came the joyful clamor of kids from the surrounding neighborhoods, all clustered together as they headed for school. Red and black backpacks bounced in various ways according to the care the kid gave their bag, some even so bold as to swing them along while others balanced them on their heads as they tried to keep walking. All the kids behind Makoto looked to the line then back to him, back to Makoto to discern her judgment on the situation. Finally Yumi nodded to herself, ushering the kids forwards down the street before she followed.

“Makimura-san—,”

“Have a good day at school,” Makoto called, putting on an overly normal tone despite everything, “Stay safe.”

Majima winced, staying put until the kids disappeared around the corner. He twitched to move but before he knew it Makoto was in his space again, gripping his elbow without fear and staring him down. It wasn't until he could no longer hear the kids that she let him go and took a step back.

“Who are you, what are you here for?” She demanded of him. Majima gulped, feeling it all the way down his throat and into his stomach. Should he answer and give himself away immediately? Keep quiet and try to leave? One was more suspicious than the other, but the other got her much too involved. Makoto's eyes drilled into him and he knew he still wasn't over just the general idea that she could see from the way sweat beaded on his temples. He'd have to make a decision soon or the neighborhood was damned.

Without warning, Makoto dropped her gaze. Majima blinked, watching her in nervous curiosity. Her arms were still crossed in front of her but her feet weren't so firmly planted anymore, drawing unseen lines on the asphalt until the toe of her shoe nudged against the complete wreckage of the aviators. When she looked back up Majima was caught off-guard, stricken by how tired and sorry she looked even if he could still see the walls up around her.

“I'm sorry, at the very least,” she was eying the hand that was still clamped over his bad eye. His stomach twisted, knowing that some part of her recognized him from the incident right before he had walked away. Wincing again, Majima almost opened his mouth to tell her she didn't have to be. Almost. It was his fault he came out all this way for practically nothing, anyways. He should've had more faith in her building a life for herself, keeping herself safe, keeping others safe.

But then again, he didn't need to be roped to a pole and have his other eye dug out to be told that even the strongest, safest people could be fucked over. Maybe the yakuza was just a filekeeper.

Maybe he was going to do something with the files.

Majima didn't realize that Makoto was studying his eye until it was too late to change his entranced expression. She glanced around her neighborhood, holding herself a little tighter, then hardened her expression.

“Come. If you have business, we'll do it inside.”

Makoto gestured for him to move first. It took a while for him to not only get, but agree to move, nervous that he obviously was. Despite all this she thought herself sacrificially suicidal. She didn't know why this man had appeared when he did, she didn't know what connections he had other than she vaguely recalled one of the harassers from so long ago referring to him as legendary. That incident was the only reason her guard was lowered, once she had realized that this man must have been one and the same. He certainly wasn't lost, since he was dressed somewhat appropriately for the suburbs, and Makoto knew that out of everyone that lived in this area, this sweet little neighborhood, she was the only one he would be magnetized to. She was the only one with any sort of...history. With this sort of thing.

Keeping him at her side or in front of her, never behind her, she led him to the backyard of one of the smaller houses. She followed him up the staircase that zig-zagged up the back of the house, cornering him by standing between him and escape as she unlocked and opened the door. She was the only one in the neighborhood that did lock her door. He didn't need to know that.

When he stepped inside before her he stood rooted to the spot, watching as she locked the door behind her, slipped out of her shoes and into the main hallway. Makoto turned around, staring at him eye to eye with the added step up from the front of the doorway.

Silence. Neither of them moved, but it wasn't clear who was refusing to give way versus who was just unable to do anything. Makoto narrowed her eyes. His hand dipped into his suit coat, watching her to note the tension in her muscles.

Out came an eyepatch. Makoto forced herself to relax as he cautiously slipped it on.

Then she left to the kitchen to make tea. She did so as quietly as possible, listening to him reluctantly take his shoes off and step into the second floor apartment proper. From the archway into the kitchen she eyed him in her peripherals as he slowly wandered into the dining room. He was taking everything in, the cozy snugness of the narrow halls, the practical decorations that she stuffed into whatever corner she could making the apartment even snugger than it was. Closed-in comfort. Room to breathe, but everywhere there was something to look at. Artwork, either purchased or made from the kids she watched over. Attempts at apartment horticulture, especially in the small windowsill spaces. Folded blankets, more than one person could use, all out for the world to see instead of stashed in a linen closet. The man saw it all, drinking it in with more interest than a bored yakuza would. Makoto watched as, eye still taking in details, he folded his long legs in front of the kotatsu.

Then he found the alcove.

Makoto watched as he studied it for a long time. It was in that small space that she filled with pictures of her family. Rather, filled with pictures of what she had lost. Taking up most of it was a picture of Lee, next to the most recent picture of her brother Kiryu could dig up for her before he had said good-bye. Behind them on a higher shelf were her mother and grandfather, though sometimes she turned their faces away from her in both shame and anger. Sometimes, even, she'd turn her brother and Lee away.

There was only one she couldn't change, and that was the empty space at the bottom edge of the alcove, off to the side. Set with flowers she had replaced just yesterday. A tulip resting in a bed of forget-me-nots—flowers she had learned the meanings of from one of her neighbors. She noticed that the picture-less offering wasn't lost on him, though if he knew what it meant, who could say. Part of him wished he hadn't seen it, hadn't disturbed its presence with acknowledgment.

The tea was ready—ready enough. Makoto forced his attention away by entering the room. She poured, quiet, but she broke the silence before the tea was fully served.

“Again. Who are you, what are you doing here?”

The man was quiet, but he looked at her like he had an answer. Crinkling her nose in distaste, keeping him in peripherals at all times, she snapped.

“I know it's about me. No one else in this neighborhood has any business with your kind.”

The man frowned, pulling the teacup away from his lips. Curious. Seemed like he disagreed with that statement and had reason to. Makoto clenched her fingers into fists, unclenched them, frustrated, then looked at him. She felt her eyes puff up already, emotional.

“It's over. Leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with this anymore.”

She wished she could say she hadn't flinched, but she did when he hunched down a little, perching his head forward as if he was listening far too intently. Trying to catch any other meanings to what she said. Makoto sneered, but she knew the desperation made it weak.

“Ten years of peace, but looking over my shoulder even when I don't hear a noise. Ten years and I almost got used to the idea that maybe I was free, but you, you here, knowing where I am...,”

Makoto stared at him, unaware that she was breathing faster than normal, “Either you're stalking me, or...or...,”

He pulled his gaze away then shook his head. Damn her, but she believed him. He was looking down at his gloves, as if trying to put together what to say even though he remained silent as ever. Makoto straightened her back, tea ignored as she stared at him. Though his blind side was facing her she dug into what she could see of his expression.

“...What do they know?” she murmured, bringing his attention back up. That was it. They knew something. They knew. About her? About the neighborhood? The names of the kids she looked after on the odd morning raced through her head, then their parents, then the regular employees she met and talked with when she was out, if she was out. The man watched her shoulders rise and fall in fear, but ultimately he was sympathetic, not worried, it seemed. That being said, he couldn't shake his head.

Clucking his tongue, he looked up to the ceiling to think, then he rummaged in his pockets to bring out his lighter. Flipping it open and flicking the flame on in one smooth motion, he handed it to her. Gingerly, she took it, looking to the flame then to him.

Whatever they knew, he had been destroying.

“Why,” she exhaled, “Why? Who are you, who are you to care, who are you to know—,”

The bombardment of questions he realized he couldn't escape from hit him hard, and he shook his head again and again—after all, she was already falling in way too deep just by knowing that her name was still floating around out there, in use or not. Makoto's palms were flat against the kotatsu, her nails scraping against the surface as she sensed that he was about to flee without answering.

“Who are you to come here and—what do you want, wait—wait!!”

Makoto caught him in the main hallway, trapping him with a slender arm that he refused to butt against. She breathed, heavy and harsh, staring at him. She opened her mouth to ask again.

She closed it and let her arm slip back to her side. Rubbing it self-consciously, she broke her gaze away from him.

“...Go,” she said quietly, “You can go.”

After all, she knew when she was asking questions that would plunge her over her head. Her and all the kids she looked after. But the regret and the pain in being left in the dark was as obvious as the pictureless offering.

It broke Majima's heart.

Fuck it. Fuck everything. All that business of keeping her safe—it meant nothing if none of it kept her happy on top of that. It wasn't just about her being alive, it was about her living.

It was easier than he would've expected, even though he knew that leaving would be harder than he was prepared for. Without warning her he stepped forward, opening his arms and pulling her into a hug. He felt her breath escape in a shocked gasp—wrapped in a momentary terror of not knowing his intent. Trying to keep himself soft he sighed, holding her gently so she could escape if she needed to.

Though she was stiff, she didn't move. Majima squeezed his eye shut, rubbing his thumb along her shoulder.

Makoto melted. Majima pulled her firm against his chest, realizing he had lifted her in the air when the initial kick of her feet brushed against his pant leg. Turning his head, he exhaled warmth to the nape of her neck. She shivered, just barely. The shivers intensified when he finally spoke, murmuring against the collar of her flannel.

“I'll stay. If ya need me to.”

Makoto breathed shallow and shrill, hands raising to claw at the backs of his shoulders—not to push him off but to bring him closer. Pressing his lips to the slope of her shoulder he exhaled again.

“I'll stay.”

Trembling in his hold, her suspended toes turned inwards. The length of her silence and the sudden fragility to her body made him set her back down, gently, gently. As he retreated enough to allow space  between them he pressed his lips to her flushed cheek, definite but soft. It was both a statement and a question, reserved and patient. Still, he drew back, intent on freeing her while everything processed itself. Him, there, only to tell her she was safe and he'd continue to keep it that way if he had to, near her or not. That he was still thinking of her after all this time the way she still was.

Makoto threaded her hand through his hair to the back of his head, stopping him from retreating further.

“I didn't keep anything from back then...,” she murmured as she guided him back to rest on her shoulder, “Only memories, and singular photographs...,”

Majima kissed her pulse, spurred by how it quickened yet she relaxed. Remaining slow and kind in his movements, his lips kissed her more as she spoke, the bristle of his beard prickling her skin and causing goosebumps as he traveled to her exposed collarbone, kissing the heart of it.

“But...,”

Majima kissed her again, reveling in her stuttered breath against his knuckles as he started carefully unbuttoning her flannel shirt until his hands could slip underneath and pull her waist closer to him, fingers brushing the edges of her camisole.

“I wish I could've kept you...,”

He left her skin for just a moment and she missed the touch of his beard against her chest. Hand still threaded through his hair, she helped him pull away to meet his eye.

“Not a photograph...,” she whispered, “Just you.”

Makoto pulled herself flush against his warmth and let herself be lifted in his arms again to kiss his lips.

[haruxrinrin-blog]

RinHaru (ALMOST SMUT.. be warned)

Light footsteps pattered down the dimly lit hallway as raven hair swayed due to the movements made by the elder; petals of roses were laid throughout the sizable bedroom, candles of colors reddish pink to white were set alight as their glow illuminated the room, incense sticks arranged in the open spaces where cylinder blocks of wax were not. Haru wished everything to be perfect for his dearest love. The younger boy with hair of a burning flame, colored in a bright ruby with the hint of a tinge of pink symbolized his reason for existence. Alarm rang inside the elder's mind as his boyfriend was expected home any moment now, nothing could go awry. New foot patterns reverberated throughout the residence as a voice called out. "Haru, I'm home." Panic struck the taller boy, with eyes of the ocean, as he hurriedly made his way from the doorway and onto velvety carpets in the corridor. With a swift shove of the mahogany entry way, Haru found himself nearly bounding towards the front entrance. He arrived, gasping for the breath he'd practically used up in his endeavor to beat the other to where his carefully thought out present awaited. Haru came to a halt narrowly ahead of the other, carmine eyes narrowed slightly in response, brow quirked in confusion as to why his partner had been racing at such a rapid pace about their home. "Just what are you thinking, running around the house like a maniac?" Rin's austere tone gave way as his arms connected across each other, foot drumming the wooden flooring in an impatient and expectant manner. The elder faltered somewhat, lips almost curving into a sly grin, before realizing that expression would hinder keeping secret the concealed decorations upstairs. Instead he opted for his usual appearance; a thin frown upon his already thin lips.

"I wanted to see you", came the deadpanned, cliche response.

"You see me every day, and very rarely; never, have I seen you leap at my arrival." Rin's features hardened at the half truth his lover had given him, eyebrows creased as one was raised rather high. Haruka Nanase needed to cut the bullshit or else he'd be receiving much of the dreaded "cold shoulder" treatment, was the red head's prospect on this situation. A faint exhale left the elder's air passageway, lungs filling again as he'd forced himself to take in a rather adequate amount of oxygen, needed most times when dealing with Rin caught up in one of his moods. Haru had effectively calmed his nerves and regained his composure once more, deciding not to let the other's accusations dampen the spirit of the holiday.

"Rin. Follow me upstairs." The request, or rather demand, was as straightforward as ever; but to said boy however, it was far from easy. Compliance was one of the things seemingly just not built into Rin's character. Hm.. Or was it, perhaps? Nevertheless, a struggle ensued as Haru tried leading the other up the stairway. The boy with maroon tresses struggled in Haru's surprisingly firm grasp, tugging his wrists every so often to try and loosen the hold the taller currently had on his not far from bruised wrists.

"Let me go!" The younger cried out, a just barely audible whimper could be heard following the outburst, shadowed by blushing feverish cheeks in the alluring hue of a deep rose flush. What materialized next of course was those familiar droplets of saline plunging their way along Rin's reddened visage. The one of darkened ebony locks had to pause at this, arms snaking around the torso belonging to the now shaking boy. Haru discerned the most sensible option was to keep words to his own mind as it swirled and trailed along possibilities as to why something like this would be occurring this very moment. He felt Rin latch onto him in a damn near needy temperament, hands clawing their way towards the older boy's backbone. Tears leaked from his now stinging eyelids, flowing between both him and onto Haru's moderately ruffled, dressier shirt than was the norm. Fingernails in need of shortening seized place in Haru's sleeves. "I.. I.. I'm sorry, Haru..." A full show of waterworks was on display as the runny nosed redhead searched for comfort in the warmth of his sympathetic boyfriend's embrace. Feather light kisses were placed upon the other's lips as a silent understanding. Rin eagerly returned the affection, needily mewling into Haru's parted lips. "I n-n-eed you~" The words moreso dripped from the injured lips, of the crimson haired one; the abrasions from pressing his lips so harsh and insistent against Haruka's. The older male had never heard something so raw and unabashed pour from his lover's usual acidic tongue. He had actually managed to pilot their way to the next floor, turning around to come face to face with just exactly the mahogany exterior he ached to descry. He all but shoved the blistering, red-faced younger male through the door once he'd managed to gyrate the knob in a quick enough motion as to allow them entry to their bedroom. Rin's eyes were completely glazed over at this point, lust shining from those sanguine orbs as he allowed himself be tossed onto the mattress, which he'd noticed had a few stray petals of some kind strewn about it.. No. Their room didn't ordinarily consist of rose colored shavings. It couldn't be! Haru could no longer contain his anticipation and the surprise anymore, a wide grin spread across his normally stoic features.

"Happy Valentine's Day, RinRin!" He outright exclaimed, tossing some of the flower petals into Rin's hair as he chuckled softly, cradling the younger as close as was possible and pressing their lips together in a very much heated kiss, surely to precede such less rated PG-13 of activities.~

[amoristt]

Among the Inbetweens | Nathan x Reader

disclaimer: i know nathan is not a good person. i am not putting a blanket over his actions in this fic. i, the writer, understand he’s not an innocent character and has made many terrible choices. im just answering people’s requests, please dont put me under the fire for it.

thank you.

moody-patootie asked: I would please like to request a nathan x reader songfic with the song Findlay by Landon Tewers (angsty perhaps?). If it is possible and interests you of course. I think it fits rather well with nathan since he was so unloved.  sure thing!! i love song requests so much :3 also thanks for recommending me this song, i love it and i now have a new artist to look into :D in this fic i really wanted to explore the ‘bad parts’ of being in a relationship with nathan prescott, namely his breakdowns. in my fics i mostly portray him in his better, more loving lights, so when you suggest angst i realized now would be a perfect time to show his sides that are harder to deal with. thanks for giving me the opportunity <3 hope you like it!

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Among the Inbetweens

Upon the very instant you walking into his room, unaware of what you were about to throw yourself into, you realized you really should have called Nathan before just barging in.

The tenacity in the air was almost palpable and it set off alarms that rang in your head like bells, warning you of the situation you were about to have to deal with. Nathan, sitting at his desk with his back faced to you, his shoulders squared and his head ducked down to his shoulders. He was angry.

“Nathan?”

He lifted his head, turned and he glared at you from the corners of his eyes. You felt your stomach drop.

Not mad. Pissed.

“What.” He deadpanned, his voice a rumbling hiss, and you debated just turning around and leaving right then and there.

You swallowed and shut his door behind you, shuffling into the room but staying close to the wall. “What’s wrong?”

The course, airy laugh he forced out made you cringe. 

“Same shit every fucking day,” He laughed viciously. “Day in, day out.”

“What happened?”

In an impulsive, fury induced movement, he shoved all the papers off his desk and turned his swivel chair to face you. You jumped at the movement, taking note of his aggression only increasing. His features were stone cold, eyes narrowed and chilling. His phone was gripped almost devastatingly tight in his right hand. This was bad. Very bad.

“What happened?��� He asked as though you were dumb. You frowned.

“Yes, what happened?”

He suddenly stood, sending his chair back and hitting his desk, shaking it and tipping over the small jar of pencils he had sitting on top of it. They spilled and rolled over the edge, clattering on the floor.

“What do you think happened?”

Try as you might to not take his words personally, you still knit your brows at his crudeness. He’s just mad, you told yourself. He’s so fucking mad but it’s not at you.

“I’m so fucking-” he gripped his hair and stumbling back. “Sick of it, everything- I don’t even fucking live with them and they still- Ugh!” He kicked some of the pencils that laid near his feet. “I hate it!”

Of course you knew the minute you saw his anger it likely had something to do with his family, but this wasn’t just his normal agressions. He was blind right now, not thinking clearly as he sent another pencil skittering over the floor. You remained silent, unsure of way to say, and you guessed maybe it was best you didn’t say anything at all. Right now was not the time to console him.

A storm was coming and you could see it in his eyes, his stature.

“They don’t care!” He snarled, and you realized he was more venting out his anger to himself rather than saying it directly to you. A pit formed in the center of your stomach as you realized what was to come any second now. He turned his back on you, body trembling with fiery rage. For just a second he looked down at the phone still in his hand, then he store his gaze away, and the next thing that happened you almost didn’t register.

The phone came less than a foot from your head, clashing against the wall with what sounded like a fatal crack. It happened so fast, you’d barely even seen him whip his arm to launch the device, and you flinched seconds after it smashed into pieces. The pieces gathered in a pile on the floor, the phone now absolutely destroyed and covered with it’s own screens shards. The wall sported an inch long hole.

Nathan did not come out of his rage even after you cried out sharply, jerking away from your spot and swearing you had felt some of the glass fling against your arms. If anything he seemed even more tense and furious than before, his bony hands balling and un-balling dangerously. He wanted to swing at something, break something, hurt something and even though he’d never once gone so far as you injure you this time you wondered if it would be a first. There wasn’t one clear thing in his mind right now, it probably all felt like a mush, or maybe static. He wasn’t even close to being in his right mind. Maybe tonight was his breaking point.

With him standing menacingly in the center of the room you made your way along the wall, finding his bed and soundlessly settling yourself on top of it. You tried to make yourself smaller upon it, your legs tucking themselves to your chest. Knowing him and his triggers, you did not look directly at him. Instead you watched from the corners of your eyes, head turned incase he looked up at you so you could quickly turn away and pretend to not see the hate in his eyes.

“Bullshit,” he seethed, and hissing ferocity made you shiver. “It’s all fucking bullshit.”

You wanted to talk to him. You wanted to tell him it was okay to be upset, to be hurt, to hate, but you couldn’t. Surely if you dared to speak up to him directly right now he’d yell at you, and then you’d end feeling hurt and that wouldn’t help anyone. Right now Nathan needed silence. He needed space and solitude. He could get none of these things.

So much was gathering up inside of him, like a pit of snakes or something far worse. They coiled and writhed inside of him, made their way up to his heart and choked the life out whatever was left of it, and he was left facing the consequence of having your entire chest busted and tied. Without an outlet all of it manifested at the very base of his throat, behind his eyes, in the palms of his shaking fists that would do anything for a face to target. You’d never seen him this way, with such a spark that made you feel like everything around you was suddenly so flammable, you included. You stared at him like you imaged a rabbit would stare at a fox: terrified and frozen with apprehensive tension. At any moment you felt like he’d lunge at you, but he didn’t, and it only made the trepidation grow within you until you almost imaged him making his move.

Only, it wasn’t your imagination.

He did make his move, but you were not the paper he lit on fire. Instead it was he himself, his fingers tracing their way down his face, nails biting into his pale skin and dragging along the way. A sharp painful cry left his lips but you felt as though the agony wasn’t from the physical wounds he was dealing onto himself. When he was done with his first path he did it again, harder this time, eyes squeezed shut and his mouth a tight grimace. Without even thinking you sprang into action and made a move for his hands, gripping tight to his skinny wrists and all too easily prying them from his marked up face. At the sudden contact he tried to yank away but you held fast, tugging him with you as you took a step back to try and keep himself from trying again.

“Stop!” You begged, heart leaping and your breath billowing in your throat. He was still trying to rip away from you, stumbling backwards and jerking back his elbows. When he looked up at you, you did not recognize even a single part of those eyes. He was more akin to a wild animal, frightened and frantic, than he was human. His eyes were dark and afraid, and at that moment they were afraid of you.

You felt like you were wrestling with him but you didn’t give in, holding fast and unwavering even as he started giving into it. His will was draining now, that fury that had once been eating him alive beginning to combust inside of him. The compressions of his heart and chest started to loosen and you hoped he felt like he could breathe again.

“Nathan,” try as you might to reach him, he still limply tried to pull away from you. His actions were half hearted and tired but still consistent, so you didn’t lighten your grip until the last of his anguished tugs were replaced with tortured breaths. You carefully led him to the bed where you had been sitting, and although he was sluggish and lagged behind your movements, he still followed you and did not fight when you urged him to sit down beside you.

Countless marks ran down his face, angry and red. The nails on his shaking hands were short but apparently dangerous, able to work as claws if he was enraged enough. Luckily they weren’t sharp or uneven enough to draw any blood but the marks were still very radiant, running down from his brows, over his eyelids, to his sharp cheekbones like a ugly streamers. His split lip still bled from how hard his teeth had sank into the flesh, and his tongue still darted out to subconsciously try and soothe the stinging.

At least he was letting you touch him. Even if his state of breaking, all his walls starting to crumble down and crush him, he was allowing you the grace of sitting next to him and silently offering whatever support you could. There was so many words swimming in your head, so much you wanted to say that you could almost physically feel it bubbling up in your chest, threatening to burst at any moment.

Nathan, leaning forward with his face in his hands, was both silent and deafening. No longer did his shoulders tense up, fists ready to crack on any surface they could find. He was quiet and still, but there was also a part of him that roared like thunder. His cries.

They were soft, barely noticeable unless you were to see his state, but to you they were all you could hear. Loud, unforgiving, piercing. Your chest ached with every angry sob, every harsh intake of his uneven breaths. Before you had been afraid he was too far gone during his act of rage but it always came back down to this, both soundless yet thunderous. He was the calm of his own storm, and he was a rain that licked away it’s wounds afterwards. He was both the ferocious river, dragging everything along with it, and the gentle trickle that followed close behind.

Your hand met the expensive fabric of his jacket and he didn’t respond, so you let it wander past his shoulder to his upper back. Up, down, gently rubbing over his clothed skin. Not only was the repetitive movements hopefully helping him, but they were also helping you. You timed your breathing to the movements, your thudding heart starting to come down from your previous fears. You should have known it would come down to this. Nathan could be the scariest person you’d ever met, but even he got tired eventually. The only thing that presented a problem afterwards was everything bounding in your head, from the things he’d blindly said to you to the things he’d blindly thrown at you. His phone still laid demolished on the floor a few feet away, that new crack in the wall taunting you.

“Nathan,” you whispered, and he didn’t answer. “Nathan?”

He still didn’t answer. His muffled sobs continued on, adding weight after weight to your chest and making your own eyes sting. You gently scratched against the top of his jacket before rubbing in small circles.

“Can you hear me?”

Thankfully Nathan did seem to be able to hear you. He nodded and then sniffed, then let his hands fall limply to his lap. The sight of his face, still littered with claw marks but now glistening with tears, made you have to look away for a minute.

Now that you had his attention your mouth ran dry, unsure of what to say next. You’d wanted his attention to make sure he was lucid in some ways, but now that he was waiting for you to say something you had no idea what you could possibly tell him to make this situation any more bearable. Actually, you didn’t even know the situation, how could you possibly help him?

Still though, his eyes reached yours, longing and expectant. He wanted you to say something, anything. As always it made you wonder how someone as mountainous as Nathan could appear so small at times, like a small child asking you for help; needy, afraid. The worst possible thing you could do right now was not say anything, so you wracked your brain for literally anything to say.

“Are you okay?” You’d blurted, and the second those words left your mouth you wanted to smack it. ‘Are you okay?’ The question was so painfully obvious, so ludicrous and dense, but he went on to answer it anyways, looking down at his lap.

“No.”

His voice was much… Softer than you’d anticipated. Then it struck you that no, his voice did not sound soft, it sounded broken. Soft was kind and gentle, warm to the ears and touch, but his was none of those things. His answer was blunt and simple, cold, and raw with scratches on his throat. The walls that which buried him had yet to disappear, so instead of fighting them he gave in. Nathan was tired, exhausted from his previous outburst that he’d likely be replaying in his head for the rest of the week. Every little thing would set him off in the worst ways.

Your hand found it’s way to his lower back, but this time he tensed beneath your palm, so you slid it right back up to the spot he’d been compliant with. “Is there anything I can do?” Once again your words felt dumb. After what you’d seen simple minded questions were likely the last thing you should be asking him about. But, you didn’t want to ask him what had happened. Of course you were curious but you didn’t want to trigger him into another melt down, especially not when he was already so jaded and worn out.

For a moment he looked at you, turning his head just enough to get his peak before once again covering his face and shaking his head. “No.” He mumbled, and you frowned in defeat. There wasn’t anything you could truly do for him other than stay at his side, offer some sort of grounding and peace for him to come back to when he’s released with his post-meltdown exhaustion.

“You should go.”

At first words didn’t register with you. You blinked at him a few times, processing, understanding, until you finally realized what he had said. “What?” you asked softly, leaning forward and trying to get a look into his eyes past his shielding hands. Never once had he asked you to leave him during a time like this. Usually it was the opposite, him calling for your aid during even his worst times of needs, but this time he didn’t want you to be there with him.

Once again he let his hands fall to his knees, his fingers toying with the fabric of his jeans. “You should go.” He repeated himself and didn’t meet your gaze, staring straight down. Your throat felt like it had been punched.

“Are you sure?” You asked.

“Yeah.” He answered.

You hated the way it made you feel. It made you feel an entire combination of things, but the most prevalent were useless and… Hurt. He didn’t want you to be around him, and though part of you understood it was because he was likely tired and wanted isolation, you still couldn’t help but take that blow to your ego.

Still, you nodded aimlessly, and swallowed down the rock forming at the center of your throat.

“Okay.” Your voice wavered and you knew he heard it with how he squeezed his eyes shut, almost in pain at hearing the sound.

As you got up, feeling like an animal with it’s tail in between it’s legs, you gazed down at him and took in the sight. Him just sitting there in silence, his entire body still slumped but not of relaxation, his face stinging with self inflicted scratches and his eyes still full of humiliating tears. There wasn’t a single thing you could do for him, and you finally understood what years of this had been doing to Nathan. In this moment you could see everything on him: the years of abuse, the pressure, the way he felt so unloved. The childhood trauma. Though you knew he beared these scars and marks you’d never seen them until this point, and it left you breathless. You so desperately wanted to stay, but you knew he wouldn’t let you even if you begged.

Nathan seemed to have read your mind. “I’ll call you.” was all he offered, a subtle way of telling you it was time to leave. You nodded again and thanked him softly, though you didn’t know exactly what you were thanking him for. Turning your back and leaving him felt entire levels of wrong but you did so anyways, and as you opened his dorm door you caught sight of that damn phone again and for some reason that was the one thing that finally let your tears take shape and leave a burning trail down your cheek. You shut the door softly behind you as you left and leaned against it on the other side, holding your sobs in with the palm of your hand.

The entire way home those tears still rolled down your face, from the moment you stepped out of the dorm room to the instant you stepped back into your own. They felt like scratch marks of their own and thankfully you didn’t run into anyone. All you wanted to do, you found, was lay down and sleep. You were tired too, and welcomed your mattress with a loud thud. Silence took it’s place and hung uneasily heavy over your room, cloaked your mind and body with fog.

You didn’t want to move from your place. You didn’t even want to roll over, not having the energy to even breathe evenly it seemed. With a whole lot of urging you managed to force yourself onto your back, staring up at your ceiling through blurry eyes. Things like this had happened so many times before, you’d think you’d have gotten used to it, but this time it felt… Different. You felt so unnaturally lonely.

Roughly you wiped at your eyes and sniffed, laying there on top of your blankets and pillows, wondering about Nathan as usual. After you’d left, what did he do? Did he cry, have another fit, break more things in his room? Or, worst of all, did he do nothing?

You felt selfish to be hurt at the idea of him doing nothing when you left, but you couldn’t help it. Something about the way he sounded, the way he looked at you, felt entirely new and you didn’t like it. His expression didn’t have any substance, his eyes almost entirely empty towards you. Perhaps tonight was his breaking point, but not nearly in the way that you had imagined it would be.

Sitting at your side your phone sat like a brick, unalerting and silent. ‘I’ll call you’, he’d said, but there wasn’t a thing in his voice that led you to believe he actually would.

The entire night felt strange and alien. It felt wrong, like it shouldn’t have happened, or should have happened a different way. You wondered what it was you could have done to change things even though it meant nothing now that it had all happened. You couldn’t go back in time, you couldn’t change the course of your actions, what little ones you had done.

Your ceiling, white and simple, served as a holder for your eyes to unfocus on. Though tired, anxious, and hurt, you just sat there in silence and waited to hear that obvious and obtrusive ringtone of yours. You waited until you finally fell asleep, eyes heavy with tears and uncertainty.

Your phone still sat beside you the entire night.

There was nothing.