#I’ll post this full thing on AO3 when I’m done with it

[jlhynde-insanitybrilliance]

Chapter 16 of UDLTTOM has been experiencing some delays…& I made a meme about it 😆

A brief snippet from said oneshot:

“You don’t truly believe all that pureblood rhetoric, do you?” Henry Evans regarded Tom Riddle pointedly as he leaned against the wall of the outside courtyard. He stood, half cloaked in shadow, illuminated only by the lit torches casting a faint, warm glow over half of his face, the right side where the jagged-edged curse scar slashed through his brow. That same brow arched as Tom shrugged.

“Do you?” The headboy asked his smaller housemate instead.

Evans snorted, his opinion on it made abundantly clear by the soft sound of dissent. The younger boy held out his hand for the lit muggle cigarette pinched between Tom’s thumb and index finger. Tom passed it to him, exhaling slowly as the other boy brought it to his soft, supple mouth for a puff.

Two months ago, Evans wouldn’t have dared to do something so intimate, so sensual, as share a muggle cigarette in a dark alcove of one of Hogwarts’ outside courtyards. He would’ve rather tried to burn him with it. Sometimes, Tom was sure the thought still crossed his mind here and there.

It was a look, narrowed green eyes, a firm press of those pretty lips into a frown, jaw clenched as he bit back the urge to lash out with that sharp tongue of his. Sometimes Tom liked eliciting such looks, and went out of his way even to get that reaction. He was past pretending he didn’t enjoy the heated words that left the boy’s mouth when he was in a foul temper. The way they lashed out, quick and lethal, cutting under his skin in a way that no one else had ever managed.

Sometimes Tom wanted him to let loose, to hurt him, make him bleed because it made him feel something. An acute sense of vulnerability. A feeling he hadn’t felt in such a long time. Perhaps never to the degree that Evans was able to illicit. It was a different sort of feeling. Something new. Something exciting. It made him feel on the days when nothing else could.

Sometimes Tom was sure he made Evans feel too. Watching as Evans exhaled a cloud of smoke, Tom’s gaze was drawn to the slight pucker of those lips wanting. His curiosity was burning, an urge to touch, to taste kept nagging him in the back of his mind. An intrusive thought he couldn’t quite shake. He had only been half listening to this conversation about their other housemates in seventh year. Evans had been snickering at Abraxas Malfoy’s essay topic on muggleborns and where their magic originated from and his inane theory that it was stolen from the pureblood families.

With no sense of propriety, Evans had laughed straight in the Malfoy heir’s face. Unable to resist poking a dozen holes into that theory within a minute all the while jeering. This, of course, made Malfoy feel like a fool. A fool he was, but rarely was he made so acutely aware of the fact and Evans might have as well carved the word “dumbass” on his forehead and shoved a mirror in his face for his utter lack of subtlety. The Slytherin headboy had been forced to separate them before a scuffle broke out in the middle of the Yule Ball.

Now here they both stood wearing their nicest dress robes with a lit cigarette passing between them in the snowy, disused courtyard far away from the ball attendees and patrolling school faculty members. Evans' hair was a mess. It was always a mess. But even with that Sleekeazy’s Hair Potion Lyra Burke had wrestled into it, that bird’s nest of curls had only managed to be tamed for about an hour and a half. Wispy, stubborn flyaways were springing up in every direction and Tom wondered if they would feel as soft as they looked.

Another intrusive thought, a memory, a remark Burke had made came to the forefront of his mind. She had said: “He’s got the kind of hair you just want to run your fingers through.” A little flash of envy coiled in his gut knowing that Burke now knew full well what it was like to run one's fingers through that wild mess of hair.

Tom fingers itched as he took back the cigarette and put it to his lips.

“Why do you go along with it?” Evans looked up, brushing one of the flyaways away from his cheek.

“Go along with what?” Tom looked down to those unwavering green eyes. Piercing green. Knowing green. Evans' expression flattened; unamused at Tom’s attempt at deflection.

“You know what.”

“Some battles are better lost,” he answered.

[rivkae-winters]

Edit: the app launched and Is down- I have the initial apology video in a post here and I’m working on getting a full archive of their TikTok up ASAP. I’m letting the rest of this post remain since I do still stand by most of it and also don’t like altering things already in circulation.

Warning for criticism and what I’d consider some harsh to outright mean words:

So I’ve just been made aware of the project known of as ‘lore.fm’ and I’m not a fan for multiple reasons. For one this ‘accessibility’ tool complicates the process of essentially just using a screen reader (something native to all I phones specifically because this is a proposed IOS app) in utterly needless and inaccessible ways. From what I have been seeing on Reddit they have been shielding themselves (or fans of the project have been defending them) with this claim of being an accessibility tool as well to which is infuriating for so many reasons.

I plan to make a longer post explaining why this is a terrible idea later but I’ll keep it short for tonight with my main three criticisms and a few extras:

1. Your service requires people to copy a url for a fic then open your app then paste it into your app and click a button then wait for your audio to be prepared to use. This is needlessly complicating a process that exists on IOS already and can be done IN BROWSER using an overlay that you can fully control the placement of.

2. This is potentially killing your own fandom if it catches on with the proposed target market of xreader smut enjoyers because of only needing the link as mentioned above. You don’t have to open a fic to get a link this the author may potentially not even get any hits much less any other feedback. At least when you download a pdf you leave a hit: the download button is on the page with the fic for a reason. Fandom is a self sustaining eco system and many authors get discouraged and post less/even stop writing all together if they get low interaction.

3. Maybe we shouldn’t put something marketed as turning smut fanfic into audio books on the IOS App Store right now. Maybe with KOSA that’s a bad idea? Just maybe? Sarcasm aside we could see fan fiction be under even more legal threat if minors use this to listen to the content we know they all consume via sites like ao3 (even if we ask them not to) and are caught with it. Auditory content has historically been considered much more obscene/inappropriate than written content: this is a recipe for a disaster and more internet regulations we are trying to avoid.

I also have many issues with the fact that this is obviously redistributing fanfiction (thus violating the copyright we hold over our words and our plots) and removing control the author should have over their content and digital footprint. Then there is the fact that even though the creator on TikTok SAYS you can email to have your fic ‘excluded’ based on the way the demo works (pasting a link) I’m gonna assume that’s just to cover her ass/is utter bullshit. I know that’s harsh but if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck it’s probably a duck.

I am all for women in stem- I’ve BEEN a woman in Stem- but this is not a cool girl boss moment. This is someone naive enough to think this will go over well at best or many other things (security risks especially) at worst.

In conclusion for tonight: I hope this person is a troll but there is enough hype and enough paid for web domains that I don’t think that’s the case. There are a litany of reasons every fanfic reader and writer should be against something like this existing and I’ll outline them all in several other posts later.

Do not email their opt out email address there is no saying what is actually happening with that data and it is simply not worth the risks it could bring up. I hate treating seemingly well meaning people like potential cyber criminals but I’ve seen enough shit by now that it’s better to be safe than sorry. You’re much safer just locking all your fics to account only. I haven’t yet but I may in the future if that is the only option.

If anyone wants a screen reader tutorial and a walk through of my free favorites as well as the native IOS screen reader I can post that later as well. Sorry for the heavy content I know it’s not my normal fare.

[quin-ns]

cowboy like me (JJ Maybank x Reader)

Word count: 3.3K

Summary: you and JJ realize you share a skill set and partner up

Tags: meet-cute, JJ steals and so do you, humor, fluff, flirting, dancing, mutual crush, love confessions, kissing, two kleptos falling in love <3

A/N: very much inspired by the song “cowboy like me” by taylor swift. it’s such a good song and I recommend listening to it if you haven’t. if you have listened, don’t worry this isn’t a sad fic. the focus pulls from the outlaws in love :)

cross-posted to ao3 • obx masterlist • main masterlist

The meeting was an accident, but everything changed after you were walking passed JJ and bumped into him.

“I’m so sorry!” you told him, but JJ shrugged it off with a smile. He was in a good mood, a little buzzed, and now he had an excuse to talk to a pretty girl.

“No harm done,” he assured. “I don’t think we’ve met.” It was true, you looked unfamiliar. Maybe he’d seen you around school but at the moment he couldn’t recall. 

“I don’t usually show up to things like this,” you revealed. “I’m Y/N,” you said, holding out your hand.

“JJ,” he introduced himself, taking your hand in his and giving a quick shake. 

He was about to pull away, but he felt something cold against his fingertips.

You were nice and probably didn’t deserve to have your bracelet stolen, but JJ couldn’t stop himself from sliding the chain off of your wrist. He didn’t even know if it looked valuable or not, but years of impulsive behavior made it not matter. He palmed it in his hand and pulled back, looking nonchalant as ever.

“So you said you don’t really come to parties? Is there a reason you showed up tonight?” JJ was curious to get to know you despite the theft.

“A friend of mine actually asked me to come,” you replied. Looking off to the side, you pointed in a vague way. “She’s waving to me now, but maybe I’ll see you around.” JJ looked in that direction but got distracted when you playfully bumped into him, mimicking the accidental run-in that occurred before. You shot him a smile and a wink that had him letting out a small chuckle.

He watched you walk off into a group, a small spark rushing through him. You disappeared in the crowd and a sudden feeling of guilt overwhelmed him. The chain bracelet weighed heavy in his hand and JJ was already regretting what he’d done. Why did he have to be so greedy? He started to go after you, but stopped himself. If you had formed any sort of positive opinion of him, he was sure it would turn sour if the second time he talked to you was to confess to stealing off of you.

JJ frowned to himself, feeling stuck in a stalemate. Eventually he slid the bracelet into his pocket, thinking of a lie along the lines of “hey, I randomly found this and somehow know it’s  yours" or “your bracelet accidentally fell into my hand” but nothing sounded good.

The bracelet fell into his pocket and JJ immediately registered it was the only thing in there. His eyes went wide. 

Where was his wallet?

He whipped his head in the direction you had gone, realizing the side you’d bumped when you left had been the same side he carried his wallet in. 

“What the hell?” JJ muttered to himself, the pieces falling into place. 

He didn’t stop himself from going after you this time. He weaved his way through the crowd and spotted you easily. You were hard to miss, laughing at something some random guy had said.

“Hey, Y/N,” JJ greeted loudly, gaining your attention. He wasn’t angry, though. Not at all. JJ had been stunned at first but now he was just curious and impressed. There was a weird level of excitement, too, when you looked at him.

“Hey, there.” You focused on him, the random boy forgotten. JJ wouldn’t admit out loud that he enjoyed getting your full attention. “Lose something?” you asked knowingly, raising your brows a little and biting back a smile. 

“Actually, yeah,” JJ replied, unknowingly matching your expression. The guy wandered off, leaving the two of you alone. “You seen a wallet? I’m guessing it might be in your pocket.”

“I’ll tell you what.” You crossed your arms, squaring up playfully. “I’ll trade the wallet for my bracelet.”

JJ’s cheeks felt warm all of the sudden. He didn’t think you’d noticed that—didn’t make the connection. 

“That, um, that’s fair, yeah.” JJ pulled the bracelet from his pocket and placed it in your waiting hand. You slid it back on and gave him his wallet in exchange. “That was pretty smooth, by the way. Seems like you have some tricks up your sleeve,” he tried to say casually

“Takes one to know one,” you replied easily. “You were pretty slick, too. If I hadn’t pulled that same move before I probably wouldn’t have felt it,” you commented in a way that sounded complimentary. 

JJ perked up. Maybe it shouldn’t, but it felt nice to get some praise for a skill people usually looked down upon. He wasn’t rich, he had to do what he had to just to get by sometimes—and that caused a habit. Sticky fingers were hard to get rid of, especially when it gave him a rush. But looking at you, the way your eyes held intrigue instead of distaste, he started to suspect you understood.

You did, and it wouldn’t take that long for you to show him that.

That meeting changed everything for both you and JJ. You started going to the summer parties more often. Every time you did, you and JJ somehow “ran into” each other, neither wanting to admit to seeking out the other.

The two of you had started playing a game—one for your own amusement (and at the expense of others). Well, less of a game and more of thievery, but you two made it into a game. Seeing how many people you could pickpocket, different methods, seeing if you could charm and swindle people into giving either of you what you wanted. That one you saved for the kook’s side of town.

And by the time the rich folks in the country clubs you snuck into caught on, you were gone like bandits. 

One time you joked to JJ you were like outlaws, and he came back with, “How about cowboys? It sounds better.”

“Cowboys it is,” you agreed, heart leaping out of your chest when JJ swung his arm over your shoulder. 

You had no idea JJ had already fallen for you, but you did know you were falling for him. 

One night, the two of you decided to get some food and walk around town. JJ didn’t want to go home yet and you wanted to spend as much of the night with him as you could. There were no parties either, and the two of you just hanging out as friends had been normalized for a while.

You and JJ laughed and talked as you strolled around the familiar area. When you came upon a bar, a wicked idea popped into your head. When JJ looked at you, he knew exactly what you were thinking.

“They don’t card,” he said, trying to sound ambiguous.

“Interesting,” you replied with a cheeky grin, holding his gaze. 

Based on a whim, the two walked up to the bar, deciding to finish the night by going after some low hanging fruit.

“Do you have a plan?” JJ wondered as the two of you entered, scanning the surroundings. 

You spotted a drunk looking man sitting alone. You immediately noticed his wallet sitting on the counter in front of him and smirked up at your partner. 

“They make it so easy,” you replied. 

JJ watched, unable to tear his eyes away, as you waltzed over and took a seat next to the man. You were young—same age as JJ—but you could carry yourself with such maturity that you could fool nearly anyone. JJ would’ve been jealous of the way you laughed and flirted with the man, but in the end he knew you’d come back and it would be JJ who you’d truly be spending time and laughing with. 

After you successfully snatched the man’s wallet and brought it to JJ like a trophy, your confidence was up. It was easy to mill about, convincing more than one drunken man that you could’ve been the one. Of course, what you were really after was their valuables. You got another wallet (after the man bought you drinks, which you snuck off to share with JJ), and then a money clip. You also snagged a watch that looked expensive by laying your hand over a man’s to undo the clasps and maneuver it off without him noticing. You were especially proud of that and gifted it to JJ.

“I bet this cost you a fortune,” JJ teased sarcastically, putting on the accessory. Maybe it was bold to put it right in after stealing it, but you had filled your pockets—and JJ needed his empty for what he had planned. 

See, JJ took your winnings as a challenge and decided to go after older women who sat alone or in pairs. He used his boyish charm to get invited to the table and get access to their unsupervised purses. You sat back and watched, an amused smile on your face as they gushed over him every time. 

He returned to you (naturally) flaunting his treasures before hiding them away, just as you had done with him. 

“We should probably get out of here,” you suggested. You had a feeling the longer you stuck around, the more likely it would be that your new “friends” scattered across the bar would start to notice some missing things.

Instead, JJ did something you didn’t expect.

“Wanna dance?” JJ asked with a grin, riding high on the adrenaline. 

“Dancing is a dangerous game,” you warned. It was the kind of thing that could make someone fall in love, but you kept that thought to yourself.

JJ extended the hand, beckoning you to take it. He tilted his head a little, and the grin remained. “But you love dangerous.”

You gave in easily, accepting his hand. JJ pulled you to the small dance floor and the two of you immediately fell in with the crowd. You and everyone around you danced to the upbeat music. Most of the crowd on the dance floor was couples probably in their late twenties. Amongst them, it made it even more obvious that you were teenagers.

It didn’t seem to matter much though, you were just two more faces in the group. 

You and JJ danced together, somehow turning a random array of moves—lots of swaying and spinning—into rhythm. The song passed and shifted into a much slower, very romantic sounding song. You couldn’t make out the full words all that clear, but the ones you did made it obvious. 

Neither you or JJ stopped dancing despite the change. The only thing that changed was your pace. You both slowed down and moved a little closer. 

JJ had been in close proximity to you so many times, but this felt different. This made him just as nervous as it made him excited. He felt somehow more cautious but also more carefree. His mind was so full of contradictions that he had no choice but to push them aside and focus on dancing with you.

Truth be told, putting his attention on you was something JJ never found to be difficult.

JJ held your hand tight in his suddenly and spun you around, trying to impress you. You giggled, colliding with him when he pulled you in. 

“Gotta say, we’re the best looking couple here,” JJ whispered in your ear with a small laugh. 

You gave him a look. Not because of his odd way of trying to compliment both you and himself, but something else. Couple? you wanted to ask. You were maybe a little surprised by the comment, but you weren’t bothered. Far from it.

There was no time for you to actually ask him, though, because suddenly your moment was interrupted.

“Hey!” a man yelled, pointing at you and JJ. “You two! You stole my watch!” The two of you looked to him and sure enough, it was the man who’s watch JJ was currently wearing. He was more aware than you realized and maybe hadn’t planned on drinking the night away on an open tab like you expected.

A guy across the room perked his head up, attention drawn by the first. Neither of you saw it, but he must’ve felt his back pocket and realized it was empty. “That girl took my wallet!”

“He stole my ring!” a lady yelled, looking accusingly at JJ.

“Oh shit,” you cursed. JJ pushed you behind him, ready to take the brunt of the anger as they (and a few others) started closing in, realizing what had happened. The protectiveness that overwhelmed him would be something he admittedly felt a lot, but tried to not act on. You always insisted you could take care of yourself, but he couldn’t fight the instinct in the moment. 

You looked around and spotted a back exit door. It was closer than the front and it was your only way to avoid your marks.

Suddenly, JJ felt your hand grasp his. 

“Run!” you yelled, tugging him in the direction. 

He focused on the door as you dropped his hand, squeezing through the crowd in your own paths. Then you met at the door and took off in a mad dash away from the bar. There was some yelling behind you and neither of you looked back. You only tore your gaze away from the road ahead to look at JJ, and he did the same for you. 

The grin JJ gave you was wild, full of excitement. You felt the same rush. Not even the truck coming up behind the two of you could kill it. One of the barflies decided to be a hero and try to chase the delinquents (that’s what he kept screaming at you out the window) down. 

JJ grabbed your hand this time, his grip much stronger than it had been in the bar. He ran perpendicular to you suddenly and yanked you off the backroad and soon the two of you were sprinting hand and hand off into a small field.

The truck’s owner blared its horn as it sped past, but you could hardly hear it over the sound of you and JJ’s laughter. 

After slowing down, it took a moment of wandering to realize you’d ended up in a park. 

The two of you ducked under a playground structure, keeping out of sight. You sat down and pulled JJ with you. He landed at your side and the two of you caught your breath. Soon, heavy breathing turned into more laughter as the absurdity of the situation set in.

“He was ready to run us over!” you exclaimed, equally shocked and amused. You laughed again to yourself and looked over to JJ. It felt like it was just you and him in the world, and you liked that.

JJ was smiling, but there was something else there. Something in his eyes as you watched him watch you. 

He wondered if you could hear how fast his heart was racing, because it wasn’t just from the running. 

JJ was suddenly aware of how close the two of you were sitting, how you’d grabbed his hand to run, how pushing you behind him to keep you safe felt so natural for him. Every moment he flirted with you and how you’d responded replayed in his mind and how he was desperate to be the one to make you smile and laugh. How when he was around you he felt nothing but pure happiness. How he’d been intrigued by you upon first meeting and every time the two of you were together that feeling only grew and morphed into something else. Something more. 

JJ had never been in love, but he knew this is what it felt like. 

“Earth to JJ,” you said teasingly, waving your hand in front of his face. “You’re not gonna have a heart attack, are you?”

He snapped from his daze to chuckle briefly at your joke. “Nah, I wouldn’t do that to ya,” he responded light-heartedly. In the back of his mind, all he wanted to do was kiss you as you laughed again.

“Good, because I don’t think I can carry you all the way back to town.”

JJ was half listening to you and half focused on trying to bring back the courage he felt in the bar when he’d asked you to dance. 

“Pretty impressive that we’ve spent the whole summer together and this is the first time we got caught,” you mused in JJ’s silence, taking in your surroundings.

“Couple of cowboys on the run,” JJ suggested, smiling to himself. Then at you.

“I couldn’t have asked for a better partner in crime,” you said, starting to realize his hand was still in yours. You gave it a light squeeze, which brought it to your full attention. His too.

There was a beat of silence where you stared at one another, unable to acknowledge the contact yet finding it to be the only thing either of you could feel.

“Remember when I asked you to dance?” JJ asked, seemingly randomly. But it wasn’t.

You let out a small, amused sound. “It was about ten minutes ago, so yeah.”

JJ felt a little more at ease due to the teasing tone. He wanted to say something about how it was fun, how he enjoyed the feeling of being with you, but he couldn’t force the words out. Instead, he asked, “What did you mean when you said it was dangerous?”

Suddenly, it was as if there was a spotlight on you. Like you’d been shoved onto stage front and center without knowing your lines. Of course, you knew what you had thought at the time, but could you really say that? If you did, would you pay for it? 

“Dancing’s the kinda thing that can make someone fall in love,” you finally said, in that same warning tone that had been present in your own mind before.

Hearing you say that made JJ’s head spin. There were so many different ways he could take it, but there was a glimmer of hope as he wished for the best. Miraculously, his confidence returned. His heart was racing and his cheeks were flushed—and he couldn’t quite hold your gaze for an extended time—but JJ found the strength to say what he was thinking.

“It didn’t take us dancing for me to do that.”

His voice was low and a part of you wondered if you had even heard him right. But the nervous yet longing look in his eyes told you that you had heard JJ correctly.

“JJ—“

“Can I just… say something first?”

You swallowed and nodded, bracing yourself for what words came next. Except, it wasn’t words at all.

JJ’s free hand—the one that wasn’t still holding yours—rose to cup your face. You were sitting side by side, but facing each other already. JJ was able to close the gap between you easily, and you went willingly.

It was like sparks flew the moment JJ’s lips pressed against yours. A switch flipped for the both of you as longing and desire poured out as your lips moved against one another’s. 

The kiss couldn’t have been more perfect. It was long awaited from both you and JJ. With so much build up in your minds, it was like magic when it finally happened.

Neither of you wanted to pull apart, but had to. Oxygen was pretty important, unfortunately. 

Your eyes met and JJ’s seemed to sparkle, like they were full of stars, even in the evening light. He cracked a smile, unable to contain his joy, and you couldn’t help but follow suit. 

“I, uh, know those weren't exactly words…” JJ started sheepishly, causing you to giggle. “I think it got the point across.”

“It definitely did,” you assured. “I never thought we’d be here,” you mused, not just about the park but about everything.

“Me neither,” JJ agreed. “But I couldn’t be happier.”

Like a true cowboy, JJ had stolen your heart. You never wanted love at first, but now you didn’t know what you’d do without it—without him.

You and JJ were destined to be partners in crime. And if he had it his way and you had it yours, it would stay that way forever.

[beyondspaceandstars]

Paint 'n' Sip

Relationship: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: N/A, just all fluff! Summary: You convince your boyfriend Bucky to go to a paint and pour with you. A/N: so this is part of my attempt to post the writings I originally posted on ao3 before I made this account so this is a pretty old one-shot (ao3 says 2020 but I feel like I wrote this before that lmao) however I did go through and edit it so it's a bit stronger than it was before! please enjoy, it's a super simple little fluffy thing :)

Masterlist

"Doll, come on…" Bucky sighed as he gripped the event flyer in his hand. You were sitting on the couch, watching, while Bucky was planted in front the kitchen island.

You just came in the room minutes ago with puppy dog eyes in full swing and a pout as sad as you could muster. Of course, your boyfriend immediately knew something was up, but he gave you the benefit of the doubt and read the flyer you were shaking about. You had got yourself cozy on the couch and waited for his reaction. As predicted, he wasn’t a willing participant.

"What?" You frowned. "It’ll be fun."

He shook his head and turned to you. "Painting and drinking wine? Sounds more like a girls night activity."

"Well," you sighed and crossed your arms, "none of my friends are available, so I thought my wonderful boyfriend who loves me so much would go with me." You tried to keep your face as serious as possible, but it was difficult thanks to Bucky’s expression which told you he wasn’t that convinced yet.

"Doll, seriously, of course I love you, but I draw the line somewhere."

You groaned and got up from your seat, making your way over to your stubborn boyfriend. He placed the flyer on the counter and opened his arms to engulf you. Despite your slight annoyance, you accepted. You were always weak when it came to him holding you.

"You’re being a bit dramatic about this," you said as you gently ran your fingers through his hair. "It’s just a bit of painting paired with some wine sipping. What’s there to really hate?"

"Well, for starters, I’m not much of an artistic guy—," you rolled your eyes, but he continued, "and it’s gonna be full of moms."

You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. "Moms? You think it’ll be full of moms?"

Bucky gave you a look, eyebrows raised. "Wine and painting? Sounds like a mom activity."

You shook your head. "I’ll have you know, this is a very trendy thing trendy adults do."

Now, Bucky was the one laughing. "Oh? And we’re so trendy?"

You lightly hit his arm for that comment. "Come with me and you’ll see that it isn’t so bad."

He truly couldn’t say no to you. And you both secretly knew it.

Saturday night had finally rolled around.

You sat at your vanity touching up your makeup while Bucky lounged on your shared bed. You kept sneaking glances at him through the mirror, taking notice of how he had freshened up a bit more than usual. His jeans hugged him in the right places and his hair was done well. It warmed your heart to see the effort he was trying to put in for you. Even if it was just a night of painting and drinking, it was still a night out with each other.

"You almost ready, hon?" Bucky asked as he kept glancing at the clock on the wall. Your reservation was at seven and you were sure going until the last possible second with your makeup.

"Oh, sure, sure," you waved a hand in dismissal. "Just let me put on lipstick."

"Lipstick?" Bucky frowned. "That just means you won’t let me kiss you."

You let out a laugh, trying to stead your hand as the scarlet color coats your lips. "You can keep your lips to yourself for a few hours."

Your boyfriend mumbled something under his breath then whisked you out of the shared apartment.

You both arrived in just the knick of time. After checking in and grabbing your drink, you two found the only open seats. They were in the middle of the room. And they were nicely situated between two groups of excited, bubbly women.

It didn’t go missed by you that Bucky was the only guy that and from the frown forming on your boyfriend’s face, you realized he noticed at well. You did your best to hold in laughter. He would probably bug you endlessly for this one, and you knew it.

"I think you owe me for this, sweetheart." Bucky muttered as he stared emotionless at the blank canvas propped up the table.

You glanced down at your sorted paints and brushes. "Maybe this will allow you to find your inner Picasso."

Bucky let out a humorless chuckle before taking a big gulp of his drink.

While your boyfriend stewed in his grumpiness, you decided to eavesdrop on the ladies around you two—partially desperate to prove it wasn’t just moms here. You quickly found out that the women on your side were college students out celebrating the end of finals. There was, also, what looked like, a bachelorette party going on a few tables in front of you. You were just about to tell Bucky he was wrong about the clientele when the women sitting closest to him started talking about their children's soccer games. As if on cue, Bucky shot you a look.

"You so owe me for this," Bucky whispered to you. You had to cup your hand over your mouth to stop yourself from roaring with laughter.

The room died down when the instructor introduced themselves and began the class. The painting on tonight’s agenda was a simple sunset with a forest landscape. It sounded quite cute and may even make a nice piece for over your dresser, you thought.

As you got into the painting, you kept glancing over at Bucky. To much surprise, he was extremely concentrated on his canvas. Every brush stroke was done such precision and no move was done unwisely. His drink was even going untouched, completely forgotten about as he was consumed by paint. Your heart fluttered at this sight.

Turning back to your canvas, you tried to match his precision. The blending of your sunset wasn’t exactly up to par, but you thought if your stubborn boyfriend could get into it, you could too. It was your idea after all. How were you doing to be shown up by Mr. Grumpy over there?

Eventually, the instructor concluded the session and everyone around you was quick to show their group what they had done. Plenty of wine had flowed as well, probably contributing to the frenzy.

You stared at your sunset and were a bit…unimpressed. It was alright for a beginner, you figured. You turned to ask how Bucky was doing but your words died on your tongue when you saw his final painting. Bucky’s was the completed opposite of yours… It was like a whole new world. The detail, excitement, colors, everything… The care and concentration he had put into it didn’t go unnoticed. Everything flowed so gently and beautifully. To say you were amazed would be an understatement.

"Buck, that’s…incredible." You were in awe. Bucky glanced at you and a slight blush creeped up on his cheeks.

"You really think so?" He asked.

You nodded. "We’re gonna have to hang it up when we get home."

He chuckled and asked if you ere ready to go. You agreed, deciding it was time to free home.

With both paintings in one hand, Bucky used his other to intertwine your fingers and swung your arms back and forth gently as you two walked back home.

"I’ll be honest, I had a good time tonight," Bucky admitted.

"Really?" You giggled. "I hadn’t notice at all. I thought the canvas would combust from your intense stare."

He bumped his side into you lightly. "I was just… really into it. We gotta paint more."

"Oh, no, not we." You shook your head. "I think this is your hidden talent."

Bucky started to blush again and looked away toward the street.

"I mean it, babe." You mumbled, rubbing patterns on his hand with your thumb. "I think it could be good for you. Therapeutic, maybe."

His walking speed was slowing down a bit. You were looking at him while his eyes were trained on the pavement.

"Only if you promise you’ll hang up every painting I do."

You smiled at the comment. He started picking that talent up from you—making some lighthearted comment even in the slight serious of times. The fact he even considered it made you feel all fuzzy. You couldn’t wait to see what he could do with a full set of acrylics.

"It would be an honor to display any of your paintings."

He gave you a peck on the cheek, now making you blush as you continued your way home.

[canonicallyobserving911]

"What do you want?" - A Series of Fics and Ficlets

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

"What do you want?" A Series of Fics and Ficlets - This is a FANON series of “Fics and Ficlets” that focuses solely on Buddie. Unlike CANON, they'll actually talk so they can discuss the things they've left unsaid over the last 6 years. Hopefully, season 8 will include a narrative for them instead of IT BEING FILLED WITH TM'S (SHOWRUNNER) REWRITTEN AND MADE-UP STORYLINES FROM OLD MOVIES 🙄.

"What do you want?" - A Series of Ficlets

Currently 6 works completed; 41.4K Words: Rated; Teen and Up Audiences

"You don't know math!" - 3.3K Words; Rated Teen and Up Audiences: Buck is forced to choose while Eddie might be presented with another option.

"Math is a universal language." - 5K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Eddie reconnects with an old acquaintance and they spend a lot of time together. However, now that Buck’s single, he finally tries to understand math is a universal language but when he sees Eddie talking to another guy, he wonders if it took him too long to figure it out.

“You know, it’s like that thing when you meet somebody and you just… click.” - 5.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: When Buck comes face to face with Eddie’s new friend; he hates it but since he’s only told Maddie about his breakup with Tommy, Eddie’s still under the impression he’s taken. Therefore, Eddie makes plans to spend even more time with his new acquaintance.

"I can't stop thinking about him." - 8.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie are trying to move on but they can’t stop thinking about each other.

“How I hide my true feelings from others.” - 9.6K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie return to therapy but they’re both not telling each other about recent events that happened. Will they finally have an open and honest conversation before it’s too late?

"We need to talk." - 11.4K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences:  After Eddie and Buck decide to take a weekend road trip to El Paso, TX to visit Chris, during the 12-hour drive, they talk about a lot of things they’ve left unsaid.

__________

This is a series of “Fics and Ficlets” that I’ll be writing over the course of the next few weeks and my goal is to keep them under a certain number of words. I’m challenging myself to do it this way for multiple reasons but mainly because I want to see if I can write a full Buddie story by including smaller fics in a series in comparison to the multi-chapter fic I’m still in the process of writing titled, “I’m still in love with you but… I needed to learn how to love myself too!” I only have 9 chapters left before I finish it but once I’m done, I’d like to continue writing Buddie fanfics. However, this time I’ll start with my dislike for the way season 7 ended instead of the way season 6 did. Finally, I have a lot of WIPs that I want to finish and I figured I can turn them all into one shot fics or ficlets to build the full story for Buck and Eddie.

Since these ficlets will be posted in order, it’s imperative to read them one after the other. Each part ends at a specific point with a cliffhanger and the next part will begin with the ending of the previous part. Therefore, parts 1 - 5 should be read prior to reading part 6 and the series will continue in that manner until it’s complete.

Parts 1 - 6 are available on AO3.

[musings-of-a-rose]

I Don't Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) - Chapter 6

Pairing: Benny Miller x wife!reader nicknamed “Juni”

Word Count: 3500+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: This is it, folks! I had some little short story ideas for this fic. Maybe I’ll write them one day if people want. HUGE shoutout to @laurfilijames for listening to me babble about this fic. I hope you enjoy your husband Will! And also to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to my crazy messages about a world she’s not terribly familiar with. I hope you enjoy your guest spot!  This is not beta’d - we yeet and post.

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

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I Don’t Want to See Tomorrow (Unless I See It With You) series masterlist

My eyes blink, trying to focus as I will them to open, my head spinning and aching at the back from whatever hit me. I bring my hand to the back of my head and feel a knot, but no blood. Or at least it’s dried. I hope that’s a good thing. 

The floor beneath me is hard and dirty, which isn’t out of the norm, but a memory stirs at the back of my mind, pulling at the edges of memory.

“And they said Raiders can’t be sneaky!”

My eyes finally focus and I try to sit up, my head lightly scraping against a hard surface. I feel above me a hard roof, my fingers scrambling to try and find an edge. But then my eyes land on the bars in front of me and I realize - I’m in a cage. On all fours, I move around and finally find the door, which of course is firmly locked. I grip the bars, squeezing them tight before I shake the door gently. It doesn’t budge. 

Part of me wants to scream and yell, but I’ve seen enough of those old movies to know that it won’t do me any good. No one will let me out or I wouldn’t be in here to begin with. I take a look around the dingy, poorly-lit room and see no one. Just half broken furniture and some rusty shelves with various parts of metal, some canned foods, and…is that a board game? It’s not until I see the needle full of Jet (a drug) on the table that I know who took me for certain. My memory was not failing me. 

Raiders.

I have no idea why they would take me, but I do know that I’m fucked. It does give me a little hope that they haven’t done anything yet. Maybe they’re waiting for me to wake up….

I quickly lay back down, curling into the same position I had woken from. I keep my eyes open, studying my prison for as long as I can. But when I hear the footsteps growing closer, I close them gently, hoping that I can still look like I’m asleep. Heavy footsteps shuffle in, 2 sets as far as I can hear. I don’t dare open my eyes.

“Still out?” a deep voice asks.

“Seems so.” The bars of my cage rattle as the second man shakes the cage. I don’t move. “Yeah. I’d say she is.”

The first man groans. “I wish she’d wake up. Maybe the boss would let us torture her a bit while we’re waiting on Nightshade.”

Benny. Of course. That’s why they took me. Benny missed several drop offs and he’d assumed they would think he was dead. Apparently, he thought wrong.

“Yeah but the boss said no touching. That we’re waitin’ on what’s owed us. And Nightshade won’t be nice if we hurt what’s his.”

Some more grumbling from the first man before something clanks on the floor next to the bars of my cage and they shuffle out. I wait a few minutes before moving, making sure no one else was coming. When nothing happens, I crack an eye open and scan the area. A can of Pork N’ Beans sits next to the cage, slightly open with what I’m assuming is a fork sticking out of it. Next to it is a bottle of questionable at best water. My throat is terribly dry and my stomach betrays me with a low grumble at the sight of the can. I doubt they’re going to poison me, as they could’ve killed me at any time. That’s the Raider way. Same goes for drugging. They could’ve put a line in my or anything while I was out but they didn’t. They need me alive. 

I take a very small sip of water and nibble from the can, making sure to place them back where they had been left, just in case they return quickly. They would think I was still out. But no one comes back and as the time goes on to what may be night, I start to wonder if they’ll come back. Maybe I’ll be left to die in this crate. I decide to chance another couple nibbles and sips, gently placing the containers back. 

A few hours later, I hear another set of footsteps coming closer. I get back in my fake sleeping position, listening to whomever was shuffling in. Definitely different than the first 2 people. These steps are more confident, like they know what they’re doing. I hear them stop by the cage door, standing there for several moments before heading over to the couch and slumping down on it.  

“I know you’re awake.”

Fuck. Well, no use pretending. I open my eyes and sit up as best as I can, staring at the man on the couch. He’s definitely a Raider, the patchy clothes and scars littering his shirtless body are a big indicator. As is the shoulder plate armor with giant spikes coming from it. He’s got a scar across his cheek and a tattoo of some kind of marking around his eyes. He scratches at the short mohawk on his head, plopping down another piece of armor from his body on the makeshift coffee table in front of him. 

“I’m Draven. Who are you to Nightshade?”

Doesn’t even ask my name. Rude.

“Juni.”

“What’s a Juni?”

I scoff. “My name. Since you didn’t ask.”

He cocks his head slightly. “I’m shocked you told me. I thought you’d have told me to fuck off.”

I nod. “Thought about it.”

His eyebrows raise. “And?”

I shrug. “I figured it wouldn’t get me anywhere.”

He laughs. “Logical. I like that. And funny. No wonder Nightshade keeps you close. Well….most times anyway.”

I cross my arms, willing my nerves to calm down. “What do you want with him?” 

“Ain’t you gonna ask me why you’re here?”

I gesture vaguely. “As a sort of bait or something from Nightshade, I assume.”

He nods. “Or something.” He glances down at the can and jar of water. “You can eat and drink. It’s not poisoned. Water might not be the cleanest but it’s what we got. We never got the parts to fix our purifier.”

I study him for a moment, his dark eyes looking more intense surrounded by the markings. I decide he’s telling the truth and reach for the bottle, taking several sips before setting it to the side and taking a few bites of the beans, my eyes never leaving Draven. He watches me finish eating before shifting on the couch to lay down, tossing his arm over his forehead.

“You don’t have to worry about my people hurtin’ you. I forbid it. As long as you’re cooperative.”

Is that supposed to be comforting? “How long am I going to be here?”

“Just waiting on your boss, hon.”

Boss? Keeps me close? It dawns on me that Draven must think I’m Nightshade’s property. He has no clue how deep Benny’s love for me is. He may not even think that Benny will come for me, but decided to take the chance. 

Draven yawns loudly. “I figure I have nothing to lose. On one hand, if he shows, I’ll be able to get what’s ours. On the other, if he doesn’t think you’re worth it, I get a pretty girl to keep all to myself. Either way, I win.”

I feel the color drain from my face, even though I kind of figured that it wouldn’t end well for me if Benny didn’t show. Question is, how soon will he make it here? Will it be in time?

On the 3rd day in my cage, I’m wakened by various yells and whoops, Draven quickly sitting up on the couch. He looks over at me, a sickly sweet smile spreading across his face as the commotion grows louder.

“Bet that’s your boss.”

The door flies open and a Raider walks in, chest heaving from excitement. “It’s him. It’s The Nightshade!”

Before I can think, my cage door is ripped open and the Raider grips my ankle, dragging me across the cage floor. I try to kick out, but he pins me, Draven coming over to calmly tie my hands behind my back. I knew it wouldn’t work, trying to escape, but I had to give it a shot. Draven hauls me up, gripping the binds at my wrists as he leans in to my ear.

“Let’s go say hi.”

He grips the binds tight, the rope digging further into my skin as he pulls me along, pushing his way through a crowd of people all staring at something on the ground. We break through the crowd and I have to choke back a cry. On the ground is Benny, one Raider on either side of him hauling him up, his arms outstretched on either side. His lip is busted and he spits a glob of blood out on the ground, looking up at Draven. 

“Nightshade. You’re alive.”

Benny pulls a little at each Raider but they hold strong. “I am.”

Draven chuckles, deep in his chest. “And here we thought you were dead. After all, you stopped deliverin’ what was agreed upon.”

“You think I’d go back on a deal?”

Draven watches him for a moment. “I’m not sure. Why don’t you tell your partner here where the load is, then.” Draven yanks me from behind him, pulling me around front and holding me to his body. My eyes find Benny’s and, even though we are not safe by any means, I take comfort from his gaze, a brief flicker of concern before rage sets in, that darkness enveloping his face.

“You let her go and we can talk.”

Draven does that chuckle again. “Now why would I let my insurance go? She’s my guarantee that you’ll do as I say.”

Benny’s jaw clenches. He hates this. I can’t say I’m too fond of it either.

“I’ll bring you what’s owed.”

“That you will,” Draven smiles down at him. “Maybe we’ll start with her. She has such smoothe skin.” He brushes the backside of a crooked finger down my cheek and I jerk my head away from him as his finger continues to trace a path down my neck.

It’s as if I’m watching things happen in slow motion. Benny jerks his arms once, no doubt the enhancements he’s received taking over as both Raiders go flying. He stands, pulling guns from each of the Raiders and aiming at the ones currently charging him. He always hits a mark, but there’s so many of them. They all rush him, the sound of clashing metal and gunfire deafening in the small circle. But then battle cries and screams sound from the opposite side and the Raiders scatter slightly as men clad in umpire gear and a familiar brown pointed hat come charging in. The Minutemen and Diamond City have arrived, the Raiders momentarily surprised by their abrupt appearance. 

This is so much faster than the films. But while they started strong, the Raiders are more willing to take a life and they start to overpower the Minutemen and Diamond City and it sounds like they’re losing. And Fast. Draven pulls me tighter to him and I feel a knife being pressed to my side, his heavy breathing in my ear warm, fanning down my neck. And then he bursts from the crowd, blood spattered across his face and clothes, chest heaving.

Benny! 

He takes a step forward, but then the ground shakes, a deafening roar sounding loud over the sounds of fighting as a giant dinosaur looking thing comes stomping into view. It’s tall, at least 20 feet tall, curved horns adorning it’s face, scaly skin, standing on 2 legs, 2 long arms with sharp claw-like fingers at the end. And it hits me - this must be a Deathclaw.

“Fuck!” Draven yells from behind me, yanking me along with him as everyone starts running, some people trying to shoot the thing and take it down. We lose Benny in our escape, and honestly, I’m too terrified to try and slow him down. We have to get away from that thing!

As the sounds of the deathclaw and fighting start to fade a little, a shot bounces off the ground next to us. Draven clutches me to him and spins, the knife poking my side again and I gasp at the pain. My hands grip the arm he has pinned across my chest, frantically turning me side to side to find the shooter. But he doesn’t have to look long as Benny appears from nowhere, his dark jacket flapping in the breeze. He aims his pistol at Draven. 

“Just give her to me and I’ll get you what’s owed. Then I’m out.”

Draven squeezes me a little tighter. “She must be more important to you than I thought for you to bring the literal cavalry in.”

Benny shrugs, but I know it’s for show. I can see the tension in his body, in the small movements of his face that I’m so attuned to. “Hard to find good help.”

“Mmm. Well, if she’s not so important, maybe I’ll just keep her. Trade you for her.”

Benny sighs. “Don’t make me kill you, Draven. You’re smarter than all those other Raiders.”

“You’re right. Maybe I’ll just keep her and kill you. Best of both worlds.”

If I hadn’t been staring at his face, I would’ve missed the nearly imperceptible glance Benny gave me, his eyes dropping ever so slightly before snapping back to Draven, who had been rambling on about the horrible things he’d do to me. Slowly, I loosen my grip on Draven’s arm, lowering my own to my sides. I try to tell Benny I love him and trust him with my gaze but I don’t know if he saw it. 

“-and then, only when I’m done with her, I’ll toss her to my-”

BANG!

A loud gunshot rings out, my own voice screaming with it. Draven drops to the floor, instantly dead with a bullet in between his eyes. Benny lowers his gun and runs to me, holding me to him.

“Hey, sshh hey it’s me. You’re ok, Juni. I’ve got you.”

My breathing starts to shorten and I start gasping for breath a little. “Benny?”

He pulls back and looks at me, his eyes wide with fear. They start to rake over my body, but I know where it is. I reach my side and pull my fingers back, blood covering them. 

“No! Fuck!” Benny grabs me as I slump, my limbs already going cold. He must have hit an organ.

“I l-love y-you, Ben..Benny,” I say, gasping for breath.

Benny holds me, but before he can reply, that same screech comes bellowing at us. Benny turns his head, staring at the deathclaw as it charges us. He turns back to me and holds me tighter, trying to shield me from whatever violent attack was about to happen.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this. I’m so sorry, Juni. I love you.”

His tears splash on my face, joining my own. It may be because I’m dying, but I hear what sounds like a vertibird (a sort of helicopter) propeller. And machine gun fire, the screaming from the deathclaw indicating it had been hit. Multiple times. Benny tears his face from mine, looking through the dust at the deathclaw, who was falling on his side, sliding across the dirt, dead.

“Hey! Help! Get a stimpak!” Benny screams from somewhere above me, one of his arms leaving me to wave. 

I look up at the sky and I see it then, a large vertibird descending upon us, someone in power armor hopping out. I must be dying because I swear I see Frankie in the pilot’s chair as the stomping from the power armor gets closer. 

“Here! Stimpak now!” Benny yells and the stomps come closer as my eyes start fluttering. The last thing I see before I pass out is Santi’s face appearing from behind the power armor helmet, leaning over me as Benny comes into view, a pinch in my side before I pass out.

Sunlight streams across my face, the warmth and brightness rousing me from sleep. I blink, my eyes taking a moment to adjust to the light. As my vision acclimates, I look around the room I’m in. It’s plain, medical. Like a military med tent. I feel a weight on my hand and look down to see Benny, asleep on said hand. His face is turned towards me and I take advantage of the quiet to study his face. It’s peaceful in sleep, the white of his scars even seems subdued. And I’m struck again by how handsome he is and just how lucky I am that he loves me back. I reach over and                                    brush back some hair from his face as he stirs beneath my touch. His eyes open and he finds mine already watching him. He sits up, taking my hand in his.

“You’re awake! How do you feel?”

How do I feel? “A little sore but alive. What happened?”

Benny cups my face and leans towards me, kissing my gently before pulling back, giving me a small smile. “I fucking love you.”

“I love you too.”

He sits back and takes my hand again. “Draven stabbed you. There was so much blood. You were…” he swallows hard and I squeeze his hand in reassurance. “You were dying. And then that deathclaw found us. He was charging and I thought..well I thought if you were dying, then I’d go with you. I was going to protect you as best I could. But then Frankie and Santi showed up and mowed that fucker down.”

“So that was Frankie and Santi? For real?”

He nods. “Yeah! I wasn’t sure they even got my message but apparently they did. Santi got to you just in time. He jammed a stimpak in your side, but you had passed out. We weren’t sure the stimpak would work in time.” He takes a deep breath. “But you did. Once it seemed you were stable enough, we loaded you up and they took us back to base. We’re in a Brotherhood med tent right now.”

“And the Raiders? Won’t they retaliate?”

Benny chuckles. “Those knuckleheads? The only one of them that had half a brain cell was Draven and he’s dead. The others? Most of them died during the fight. Maybe a few survived but we won’t see anything from them.” We sit in silence for a moment before his eyes drop from mine. “I’m sorry it took me so long to get to you.”

I cup his face. “What? No, Benny you did what you could. You couldn’t just come running in. We wouldn’t have made it out alive.”

Benny laughs. “That’s exactly what Will and Tom said. They said you’d kill me yourself for coming in without a plan.”

“And they were right.”

“Tom gathered up all the Diamond City guards and Lauren got in touch with your Minutemen. They came as quick as they could. I’ve never seen Preston that mad. Anyway, you saw what happened.”

My mind flashes back to the battle and I shake my head. “When can we leave?”

“Whenever you’re ready.”

I smile at him. “Let’s go home.”

1 year later…

“And then I mowed that yao gui (mutated bear) down!” Santi boasts.

Frankie snorts. “Yeah but it took you a week to scrub your shit from the inside of that power armor!”

We all laugh as Santi throws an empty Pork ‘N Beans can at Frankie’s head. “Pendejo. How many yao guis have you stood in front of?” They bicker like brothers back and forth for another few minutes, eventually walking back towards the kitchen to get more food. 

Benny and I had returned to Sanctuary Hills, bringing Santi and Frankie with us. They helped refortify the perimeter and took turns on watch. They left for a run to Diamond City and came back a month later with Will and Lauren, Tom and Molly opting to stay behind in Diamond City. Tom was too connected with his bar and Molly and the kids loved it there. But what surprised us most was that Santi brought back with him a girl, Jamie, who fit right in the moment she came inside the gates. 

Benny comes to stand next to me, draping his arm around my shoulders. He tips my chin to him with his pointer finger and kisses me, deepening it momentarily before pulling back. He smiles and rubs his nose against mine before resting his head on mine. 

As I feel Benny next to me and look out at all of our friends, my heart fills with happiness and gratitude that we all somehow managed to make it, together, past the end of the world. And that we would be able to survive whatever this wasteland throws our way.

General Taglist:

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[melancholic-hues]

the hectic way of things (take a break)

posted on AO3

fandom - honkai: star rail

rating - general audiences

warning - no warnings apply

category - f/m

pairings - boothill/robin ; robin & sunday ; boothill & robin ; boothill & robin

tags - written before version 2.2 ; alternate universe

word count - 7848 words

chapters - 1/?

-

She is just about done with her makeup, about to move onto her wig, when she hears her balcony door lock get picked. Then comes the distinctive sound of the door sliding open, and the clacking of heels against tiled floors.

“Boothill!” Robin shoots up and runs over as the cyborg opens his arms wide. She crashes into him, her landing against his metal chest softened by the vest he’s wearing, and he twirls her around, his cold, metal hand in her own soft, warm ones. “You came!” she beams, expression genuine and sincere.

“Wouldn’t miss a second of you for the world, darlin’,” he drawls, accent all western and sweet, leaning down to kiss her. “‘sides, I did promise I would come, didn’t I?”

“You did,” she smiles, giving him another peck on the lips. “Through my balcony.”

“Aye, cut me some slack. I at least picked the lock. If it were one of my targets, I would’ve blown the darn thing to pieces,” Boothill grins, his smile sharp and charming and all the reasons why she fell for him in the first place.

“You could’ve come through the door, you know?” she says, grabbing a light trench coat and leading him over to her vanity, where a blonde wig sat atop a bust. They’re going to an amusement park just to have fun, so she has to wear a disguise. Thankfully, she’s done this before with ease — get a disguise, she means. She hasn’t been to an amusement park in a while.

Boothill trots over, footsteps soft, leaning on the wall, next to her vanity. He says, “didn’t want your freak of a brother to stare at me. Climbin’ through windows are more my style.”

“He’s the one driving us there, so you might as well have given him a proper hello,” Robin hums a light and happy tune, carefully tucking her blue hair under the wig cap. “Don’t stare at me like this, I’m practically bald right now.”

“And I’d still love you all the same,” Boothill reassures, “with hair or no hair.”

Even though it’s meant as a simple and silly sentence, Robin blushes. “Thank you,” she mutters, carefully putting the blonde wig on. She hates using wig glue, and, since this is only for a short while, clips will suffice. While she is snapping the clips together, she looks over at Boothill’s appearance.

It’s not often you get to see a cyborg, especially one who is a Galaxy Ranger and, well, pretty, like Boothill. He looks the same: a worn, black leather jacket and similar-looking pants; a belt full of ammo, his revolver, and a coil of lasso; and, of course, a wide-brimmed cowboy hat.

“Ay, quit staring,” Boothill teases, throwing her a wink.

Robin giggles. “Alright, alright. Aren’t you going to do anything about that belt? Pretty sure you can’t bring that to the amusement park. Which, might I remind you, is in the public. Also, you’re notoriously well-known around here.” 

“Can’t help it if the people recognize this absolute perfection of a face and this machine of a body,” Boothill sighs, popping his hip out, all cold, metal plates. She agrees; his face is absolute perfection, and she would be lying if she said she doesn’t often think about the machine of a body that he has. “I’ll just swallow my gun and bullets.”

“We can keep your stuff in Sunday’s car. Most likely, he’s just going to sit around and work.” Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days.

There was a time, far before, when her brother wasn’t so caught up in work and professionalism. When he was actually, you know, her brother. When he was just Sunday, not the leader of the Oak Family. Not the head of Penacony. They used to escape their lives all the time when they were younger: she, standing on a box and singing; he, sitting on the ground and being her first and most loyal fan. 

Now, they barely get twenty minutes of face-to-face time with each other a day.

Hopefully, this day trip to the amusement park can change that. Even for a day. She’s willing to give up her entire singing career for a good, solid week with her brother.

“…you alright?” Boothill asks slowly, leaning down to check on her, hands stuffed casually in his pockets. “Robin?”

Robin nods, smoothing out the fabric of her knee-length dress and shrugging on the coat to hide her wings. “I was thinking. Sunday wasn’t always this obsessed with work.” After pausing for a second, she continues, “I’m worried about him, Boothill. What if he’s overworking himself? I feel like he’s a ticking time bomb, just about to blow.” She stares at her reflection in the vanity mirror. The crease in her brows shouldn’t be there. She has to be happy.

“Your brother, ah,” Boothill sucks in air through his sharp teeth, “as much as we don’t like each other, and don’t tell him I said this, but he can handle this. He’s a tough one. Takes more than that to crack him.”

“But everyone has a limit.” Robin takes a deep breath, the tears retreating. She puts on a smile. Her reflection does the same. It’s a practiced expression, one too often used. “What if we take him along? Invite him to go on some rides with us? He’s probably already donning a disguise. Might as well put it to good use instead of wasting it, sitting at a table and creepily watching me.”

Boothill stares at her, incredulous in his target-shaped eyes. “Your brother? In an amusement park, actually going on the rides with us? I’m sorry princess, but the chances of that happenin’ ain’t somethin’ I’d bet my best revolver on.”

She rakes a hand through the wig, smoothing out its strands. “Maybe. I don’t know. I want him to stop working for more than an hour straight in a time when he isn’t sleeping.”

“Well, you sure as hell can try. For goodness sake, you’re his sister. He’ll listen to you more than any of us,” Boothill shrugs, the sunlight from the balcony behind glinting off the metal pieces of his jacket.

Robin looks down at her vanity, various cosmetics spread across the surface, and wrings her hands together. She looks away from Boothill for a moment, her shoulders tensed in worry.

Boothill strides over, his metal hands on Robin’s soft shoulders. She looks at both their reflections in the mirror and thinks, kind of wryly amused, of how different yet how compatible they are. She has never known a day of hard, arduous labor underneath a scorching sun, chasing an elusive target; Boothill has never had anyone to fret, to worry over him, almost to the point of overprotectiveness.

“Hey, now,” Boothill softly coaxes, mechanical voice husky yet calming, “you’re the Robin. You’re magnificent, darlin’. Now, you don’t ever let anyone tell you otherwise, ‘cause you ain’t nothing less than wonderful. If you really set your mind to it, I’m sure your brother will understand and do whatever you want. Hell, maybe he’ll even give the head position to someone else if you ask hard enough. Got it?”

Robin’s shoulders drop. They lock eyes in the mirror reflection, and she gives him a genuine smile, her hands holding onto Boothill’s and her wings softly fluttering. There’s something about his words that, even though she’s heard them hundreds of times before from other people, makes her actually believe him. “Got it.”

“Great, now get out there and wow us all, sweetie,” Boothill urges, jutting his chin toward the door. He extends a hand toward Robin.

In moments like these, she finds it all the more lucky that Boothill is here. Underneath that cold, beautiful exterior is a soft, gentle person looking for a purpose. She’s glad he gave her a chance.

Robin takes his hand, and he leads her up, pulling her close. Robin lets out a gasp of surprise, one hand braced on where his collarbone would be and mouth an “o” as he spins her to the door. They stop in front of it, and Boothill bends into a low bow.

“After you,” he says, hat hiding most of his face from view.

Robin opens her door and walks through, Boothill following. “I’m sorry for dumping all of that on you. This is supposed to be a happy day. You didn’t even ask for it,” Robin mumbles, walking down the long hallway, toward the stairways. The expensive statues and paintings that they walk past only further remind her of her duty to be perfect and focus on Penacony and work first and foremost. It fills her with a heavy sense of guilt.

“‘s fine,” Boothill simply says. “You oughta have someone to confide in. No good keepin’ this all for yourself, you know?”

Robin looks at their intertwined hands. She nods.

“Wow. Look at those pretentious brats.” Boothill snickers at the portrait of a former head of the Oak Family. Back straight, wings unfurled and radiating pure power, expression powerful yet patronizing.

Now that she thinks about it… “you’re right,” she agrees. The subject does look quite stuffy and stuck-up. Probably never had enough friends. She laughs. “I’ve never seen it that way before.”

“Now you do.” Robin notes how Boothill’s sharp smile disappears when he looks over the railing of the stairs.

She peeks over the railing to see what caused it, and someone is standing there. 

Sunday.

He has an unpleasant look on his face, one of disgust and disdain. It’s directed at Boothill, right next to Robin and holding her hand, but she can’t help but feel it’s all toward her.

“Good morning, Robin,” Sunday says, eyes pinned on Boothill as they make their way down the stairs. Boothill’s heels clack on the marble, the sound ringing loud and clear, with each step. Sunday’s voice is cold.

“Good morning, brother.” She tries her best to remain upfront and cheerful. Sunday has changed out of his professional clothes, settling into a light blue hoodie and jeans. They still must be designer clothes, because can you imagine Sunday wearing cheap street clothes? But they’re, well, actually casual. She was so sure Sunday had no idea what the term ‘casual’ meant since all she saw him wear were suits. But she’s been proven wrong.

Sunday nods, acknowledging her greeting, but he hasn’t taken his eyes off Boothill, no, not even once. Boothill levels Sunday’s stare, his smile not at all friendly. Robin feels trapped between them, her gaze warrily going from Sunday to her partner. 

She watches Sunday take a deep breath, shoulders rising then falling, then his gaze softens as he finally looks at her. “Well, Robin, are you ready to go? I see you’ve got quite the disguise already.”

Robin is so, so glad for the change of tone. “Shouldn’t we be talking about you? You’re finally out of that suit, for once.” She tries not to let the wistfulness and sadness bleed into her voice. She wishes Sunday (her brother, maybe? Eventually, or is she holding onto an unlikely future?) could dress like this every day.

“Well, I’ll be going to the park with you, so it’s only fitting that I stay undercover. I have upset a lot of people to attend this with you,” Sunday says. “You look beautiful, as always.”

Robin holds onto Boothill’s hand tighter. He squeezes back. ‘Attend’ as in business matters. This is still Sunday, the head of the Oak Family, and not her brother. Never her brother, it seems. “Thank you,” she replies.

Sunday opens the door for her. He lets her walk through, and she pulls Boothill through before Sunday can intentionally close the door after him.

The air outside is warm. Perfect for a trip like this.

“Isn’t the weather wonderful today, Boothill?” Robin asks. She can feel Sunday’s glare on Boothill’s back. She can tell Boothill can feel it too. 

“Yeah, darlin’, it’s wonderful,” Boothill answers, voice and posture stiff. A fancy car — always extravagant, always over the top —is sitting in the driveway, and Sunday takes out a key from his pocket. Unlocks the car.

Boothill reaches forward and pulls open the passenger seat door, tipping his hat low and winking at her. “You first.” He guides her into the car’s back seat like a princess to a carriage, their hands never separating. Sunday must be having several strokes just watching them.

She so desperately wants him to accept her relationship with Boothill and actually see Boothill as a person (cyborg?), not just as barbaric, western scum that’s beneath him. She wants Sunday to listen to her just once, without having to assert his own decisions and feelings into it.

But today is not one to spend wishing for miracles. She’s going to an amusement park! The amusement park in Penacony! Where people go to have fun and relax and forget about their problems for a short while! Robin is desperate for even a minute away from her troubles.

“Everyone has their belongings, yes?” Sunday asks when he slams the driver door, inserting the key into the ignition. Boothill pulls the car door closed behind him, his cowboy hat taken off and leaning against his legs.

“Yes. Is it okay if, uh, Boothill leaves his belt in your car?” Robin asks when they’ve pulled out from the driveway. “We can’t bring it into the amusement park.”

Sunday glances at her. “Why didn’t he leave it home?”

“He’s right here, you can ask him,” Robin suggests. The reflection of Sunday in the rearview mirror’s eyes widens and Boothill stills, next to her. She sits there smiling innocently. These two are going to talk to each other, whether they like it or not. Well, this is the perfect opportunity. She’s trapped them. Either they talk, or they risk leaving Robin upset.

Sunday caves. “Well, erm, Boothill.”

Robin beams in encouragement.

“You can leave your… supplies, uh, in the car,” Sunday hastily finishes.

“Where are your manners, Boothill?” Robin chides softly.

“Thank you, Mister, uhm, Sunday,” Boothill thanks through clenched teeth.

“That wasn’t so difficult, now, was it?” Robin asks.

Sunday looks straight forward, and Boothill looks out the window. “No,” they both say at the same time. Sunday’s look is intense; Boothill looks pained. Robin hides her smile with her free hand — the other is still in Boothill’s grasp, and dear Xipe is he clutching it for dear life.

“There, there,” Robin soothes, tucking a strand of Boothill’s hair — a mix of snow white and charcoal gray — behind his ear, careful not to touch the ammo-shaped earring. She pats his cheek, one of the only remaining parts of his organic body and flesh. His stiff posture loosens by a bit.

“Robin, how are your concert performances?” Sunday interrupts.

“They’re going well! My newest album was well received by my fans and the critics. The next concert isn’t for another two system weeks,” Robin idly comments, yawning. She got up early out of pure excitement for the day, and she’s definitely regretting it.

“Tired?” Sunday glances at her through the rearview mirror.

“A bit,” Robin confirms. “Woke up too early.”

Sunday hums, “take more care of yourself.”

“Pot meets kettle, brother.” She totally doesn’t place a huge emphasis on the last word. “You got me there,” Sunday smiles.

Robin puts her and Boothill’s intertwined hands on his thigh, head leaning on his shoulder. Her eyes are drifting shut. “I can’t wait. How much longer until we get there?”

“Two and a half hours. Enough for you to get some sleep in.” Sunday’s voice is tender, reminding her of a kinder time.

“Okay.” She yawns. “Boothill?”

“Yes?” He moves to make her more comfortable on his metal body.

“Don’t start with Sunday while I’m sleeping, okay? You too, Sunday. Don’t argue with Boothill when I’m sleeping,” she murmurs.

Her eyes drift shut before they can respond.

—

Sunday watches Robin’s shoulders gradually rise and fall, her head on Boothill’s shoulders, through the rearview mirror. Boothill is looking down, quite fondly, at his sister and smiling. Their hands are intertwined, carefully placed on the cyborg’s machine thigh.

Boothill.

He has a million questions about Boothill and Robin. Where does he even start? Just how, oh how, did his sister, sweet and kind, pick up a man as bloodthirsty and crazed as Boothill? They are not compatible, no, not even in the slightest. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, and Boothill has an enormous bounty on his head, placed by the IPC. Boothill will only ever hurt Robin.

Sunday presses his lips into a tight white line, fuming. Now that Robin’s asleep, the atmosphere changes without her bright, calming presence. He can tell Boothill doesn’t like him, but he’s Robin’s older brother, so that son of a Memory Zone Meme can take his opinion and shove it up his cogs. Aeons, he’d gladly fight Boothill if it isn’t for Robin.

No, no, that’s wrong. He can’t fight Boothill; no, that’d be stooping to his level, and Sunday is way more dignified than a ruthless, rowdy cowboy who makes a living killing others. Having a job that requires killing is never a good sign.

But Robin is an adult. She doesn’t need that much fawning over, right? That’s why Sunday doesn’t forbid her from seeing Boothill. Someone had to keep her company. Sunday can’t anymore.

His grip on the wheel tightens, skin around his knuckles turning white. Work, work, work. That’s all there is, these days. Things in Penacony have calmed, but the rebuilding effort takes so much thinking and the public needs so much reassuring and everyone is so Aeon-damned incompetent that he has to deal with everything himself.

He curses the entire Bloodhound Family, that bartender fraud, the gambler from the IPC, the arrogant doctor, Boothill.

He takes a deep breath. May Xipe and the Harmony help them all. Save him, please.

Boothill combs through Robin’s wig, stupidly smiling. Sunday is so distracted by the action that he realizes the car in front of them has slowed.

He slams the brakes, sending them all leaning forward.

Sunday’s back hits the car seat again, and his next inhales are audible. Boothill lets loose a string of swears. Sunday is saying them in his mind, two totally different things. He does not have anything in common with Boothill except for their care for Robin.

After Boothill has repositioned Robin, who slept through the whole ordeal, on his lap, Sunday snaps: “you kiss my sister with that mouth?” Thinking and actually saying these swears are two completely different things, remember? They have nothing in common!

Boothill’s expression hardens. He doesn’t back down.

“Yeah,” he bites out. “And she seems to like me perfectly fine that way.”

Sunday can’t argue with that. Robin seems content with Boothill, and he’s trying to not think about the last time she was at peace like this with him. It’s all the work piling up, he tells himself. It’s not him.

“You don’t have bad intentions with her?” Sunday asks.

Boothill considers him for a moment, wary in his piercing, target eyes, then looks back down at Robin. “No. Why would I?”

“You’re a Galaxy Ranger. You could easily use her celebrity status to your advantage. Galaxy Rangers are dangerous, you are aware of that, aren’t you?” Sunday states, savoring the moment Boothill’s cold expression wavers. Doubt. He doesn’t even need the Harmony’s powers to sense it.

“I am well aware of what I do,” Boothill responds. But his voice doesn’t have the same confidence and surety as before. Sunday subtly smirks. “And I be darned if I bring much trouble to Robin.”

“Hm? What if you do? How can I trust that you won’t go back on your promise?”

“I may not be as refined and elegant as you, Mister Sunday, but I sure as hell don’t go back on my word.” He’s being sincere. But sincerity alone isn’t enough. There needs to be more control. Sunday knows what it’s like.

“Swear it, then,” Sunday demands, voice calm but threatening. “Surely the best cyborg Galaxy Ranger out there, who hasn’t shot a single stray bullet in his career, doesn’t need to hesitate when doing so? Since you have so much pride in your occupation, surely this is but another trivial matter?” He expertly weaves the Harmony into his words, the gentle hum of its power buzzing in the back of his mind as he taps his gloved fingertips on the wheel.

Boothill’s eyes are full of fury when he declares, “I swear it. On my life.”

“Good. Because I’ll take you apart, piece by piece and cog by damn cog if I have to, if she gets hurt while in your care,” Sunday smiles and totally doesn’t think about all the ways he can take Boothill’s body apart — painfully, preferably. “The Harmony will remember this. Thank you for swearing it on your life.”

Boothill glares at him. He looks away and mutters. Something something Robin’s words.

‘Don’t start with Boothill.’ 

The car falls into silence, the effect of the Harmony wearing off.

A memory resurfaces.

***

They were finally alone one night, when the sun had long dipped below the horizon and the stars were brightly twinkling in the night sky. Both unable to sleep, Sunday finally decided to confront Robin about her relationship with Boothill. 

“I don’t get it. Him, of all people?” Sunday asked, brows creased in worry. “He isn’t threatening you to do anything for him, right?” Fear clawed at his heart at the possibility of his sweet, dear sister being forced into doing anything. No one should have control over her — not even Sunday. He was merely suggesting what she should do as her older brother, which wasn’t ‘control.’ 

Robin gave him a concerned look as if questioning his sanity because, well, who didn’t love a bloodthirsty lunatic–cyborg who travels the universe to chase other targets while simultaneously having a bounty on his head? That was sarcasm. “No, brother, I love him. Truly. It’s of my own accord.” 

“Are you sure? What do you even find in him?” Sunday reached for Robin’s hands. He took them in his own. “I don’t want you to get hurt, you know?” 

Robin squeezed their hands. “I won’t. I can handle myself, and Boothill can protect me if I can’t myself. As for what I find in him…” she blushes, pink coating her cheeks.  

Sunday waits for her response, head tilted, the wings by his head slowly flapping. 

“It’s like, uhm, whenever I see him,” Robin explained, the blush reddening, “I just feel like there are butterflies in my stomach, you know? When your bones melt and suddenly, all you want to do is stare at their face. Boothill has a very pretty face.” Sunday would not refute that. By all definitions, Boothill’s face was physically attractive — physically. It’s whether one was attracted to him that matters. He wanted Robin’s response regarding that. 

“I feel like he understands me,” she had finally said. “He just knows what I want. And he’s giving it to me.” 

Sunday’s eyes widened. “And, uh, what do you want?” Aeons. He might be sick. Was his sister — ?  

Robin seemed to realize what he was thinking too. She quickly shakes her head, and the blush spreads. “No!” she hastily corrected. “No! No. That’s, ugh, Sunday! Mind out of the gutter! No. I want someone who can look past the superstar status of me. I want a break, if you understand what it’s like to take a break.” 

“I take plenty of breaks,” Sunday defended. It was a lie. There was simply not enough time in his hectic schedule to afford the ever-elusive luxury of rest. 

Robin rolled her eyes. “Sure. Anyway, Boothill’s kind and honest. I’m in very good hands, brother. I promise you that.” 

“I just want you to be happy.” Sunday sighed. “I don’t like him.” 

“Well, I do.” Robin’s face was set and determined, an absolute, take-nothing-else gleam in her eye. Something about her willingness to compromise had changed. Sunday wondered when it had, and how he hadn’t noticed. “And I love him, Sunday. 

“Can you accept that?” 

***

Can he accept that, huh?

Sunday rests his cheek on his fist, elbow propped against the windowsill with one hand on the wheel. He glances out the window at Penacony’s bustling metropolis, with its towering skyscrapers, bustling streets, and diverse culture brought together from hundreds of different cultures around the universe. The more populated cities have been spared of damage, thank Xipe, so their primary rebuilding focuses are the agricultural and suburban areas affected.

Penacony has always been one of his greatest loves from the start. He will stop at nothing to make sure it is a planet whose name is passed around the universe like a legend, a paradise so far and so unreachable that you can only read of its honor in fairy tales and books.

He’ll just have to figure out a way to deal with Penacony’s ruined reputation among the public and interstellar organizations.

Only if he was better.

His gaze drifts over to Robin and Boothill again. Boothill must be keeping Robin company when Sunday couldn’t, and that was almost always. Well, that settles it. Robin loves Boothill dearly, and Boothill loves her right back, swearing it on his life to protect her. Fine. If that’s what it is, then he’ll have to accept that. However begrudgingly. For Robin’s sake.

Where is the damn SoulGlad when you need it?

—

Boothill drags a hand down his face, cursing this machine body and the eleven bullets he swallowed earlier.

He knows he loves Robin. He knows he’s willing to lay out his life for him. But there was something about swearing his life for her in this Aeonforsaken car and in front of her brother, no less, that he couldn’t help but feel suspicious about. Now, he ain’t the brightest gun in the rack. However, that doesn’t mean he’s gullible and easily manipulated.

Reignbow Arbiter’s piercing arrow shoot through him now. Boothill mouths a swear, upper teeth digging into his lower lip, and glares out the window. Robin is still sound asleep.

Sunday reaches over to turn on the radio, and an upbeat, funky tune fills the car. He turns the volume down, head bopping to the rhythm of the bass drums.

How the hell this man looks so calm after threatening Boothill with dismemberment, he has no damn clue.

Two hours pass, and Boothill is about to dismember himself out of boredom.

Finally, finally, the amusement park comes into view. He recognizes the color and shapes of some of the coaster tracks of the attractions Robin was showing him a few days prior. There’s a ride that shoots its riders up the nearly straight-up track then plummets them right down.

The parking lot is almost empty when they pull through. Robin insisted on getting there a bit before the park opened so they wouldn’t be stuck waiting in lines, but she already brought speed passes for everyone, so does it really matter when they get there since they could just skip the lines?

Boothill gives Robin a slight shake in the shoulder. “Darlin’,” he whispers, adamant not to look up because Sunday will be glaring at him.

Robin’s eyes flutter open.

Boothill smiles. “Mornin’.”

“Morning,” Robin says as he leans back so she can sit up. “Are we there?”

“Right at the gates,” he confirms.

Robin stretches, yawning. “Nice."

Sunday stops the car. “We’re here.”

Boothill opens the door and gets out. He offers a hand to Robin. She takes it and steps out of the car, all celebrity and princess-like.

He produces a bottle of sunscreen from his pocket and squeezes some onto his fingertips. “Look up ‘n close your eyes,” he instructs. Robin does, and he carefully applies the sunscreen over her face, neck, and shoulders. He gives the rest of the bottle to Robin for her to lather the rest on her arms and legs and wipes the rest of the sunscreen on his fingers onto his pants. 

After she’s done with that, he places his hat on her head. 

“To protect you from the sun,” he says when she lifts the brim to peer at him. Robin returns with a smile and they follow Sunday, who has his hood pulled up and a mask on and is probably sweating like crazy. “Oh, and this.” He snaps off his belt and leaves it in the car, but not before opening up a capsule on the right side of his waist and tucking his gun in. He stores some of the bullets in his arm and pops another four in his mouth, leaving one to chew on.

Robin watches him with fascination sparkling in her ocean eyes. Boothill smirks, the sole bullet remaining held between his teeth.

They get into the express lane (Boothill tries not to look too smug at the lines of people waiting in the slow lane or pay much mind to the way they’re gawking at all three of them — what can he say? They’re all gorgeous. Especially Robin and himself) as Sunday checks them in. The attendant, thankfully, does not look too closely at any of them and tells them to place any baggage on the bins to be inspected.

Boothill and Sunday have nothing on them except their phones. Robin drops her purse in the bin as it rolls toward the staff members. It goes through a scan in a large, black box before getting returned to Robin. She thanks the staff and wishes them a nice day, catching up to Boothill a few steps ahead.

They enter the amusement park, some of the rides already opening up and functioning. Robin grabs a map of the park from a nearby directory board and unfolds it. She stops, and Boothill leans over her, chin on her head, to look at the map with her. Sunday is looking at the digital map on the board.

“I want to hit up the mild rides first, then we can progress onto the thrill rides,” Robin informs them, one perfectly manicured nail tracing their would-be path through the park.

“Ain’t nothin’ that looks ‘mild’ about this place ‘sides the kids’ rides,” Boothill grumbles.

Robin laughs, tucking the paper map in her purse. “Are you scared, Boothill?”

“What? No way,” Boothill rolls his eyes. He has nothing to fear here. He swallows the chewed bullet. There’s no way he can use that one after all the bite marks on it.

“Let’s save the grandest ride for last,” Robin looks up and points to the ride that shoots straight up, “the King of the Jungle.”

He snorts. “Corny — freakin’ — name.” He frowns. Right. Someone (he’ll find the bastard and force them to change it back) tinkered with his Synesthesia Beacon, so he can’t say words aloud. ‘Freedom of speech’ his bullets.

Robin covers her mouth with her hand, failing at hiding her smile. “I forgot that your Synesthesia Beacon does that.”

He sighs deeply. “Well, it ain’t fun either.”

“Alright,” she closes the map and tucks it in her purse. “What about Clockie’s Twisted Coaster? It’s right here.”

The coaster in question is, indeed, right in front of them. Penacony’s signature mascot, Clockie, is plastered all over the ride: its face is square and center on the ride’s tracks, the ride name in script next to it, the entire ride’s colors are all ones found on Clockie, and the stupid music blasting out of the speakers is Clockie’s theme song or whatever it’s called. 

The ride itself isn’t very long — the cart, with seats for four people, two on each side, hangs below the track and progresses up, swinging the cart, and drops down a series of curves, rotating the cart 360-degrees. The ride continues like this in an ‘s’ shape but with more exaggerated bends before coming to a stop.

Pretty mild, it seems.

“Let’s go,” Robin says. “Sunday?”

The man shakes his head. “I don’t do roller coasters. Here, let me take your purse.”

Robin is visibly disappointed, but she nods in understanding. She hands her purse over to Sunday, who tosses it over his hood carefully. “Your flash passes,” Sunday continues, taking out two cards from his pocket. He walks over, handing one to Robin. Boothill takes his when Sunday offers it to him, but the man’s gloved hand grips the card tight.

Boothill is so ready for a fight.

It doesn’t come.

Sunday lets go, looks him in the eye, and tells him, “make sure she has fun, okay?”

It takes him by surprise. He blinks, arm still extended and holding the card.

Sunday nods and turns back to Robin, who’s now practically glowing with happiness. “Go. Have fun.”

“I definitely will, brother,” Robin throws her arms around Sunday. “Thank you thank you thank you!” She backs away, takes Boothill’s hand, and tugs him to the flash pass entrance of the ride. Boothill lets himself be dragged along.

—

What? What!

Robin is so excited. Have you seen Sunday? Did you see him hand over the flash pass to Boothill? Do you know how long she’s been wanting Sunday to finally talk to Boothill without being openly hostile?

She’s practically buzzing with relief and joy, her previous disappointment from Sunday’s rejection to joining them on the ride temporarily forgotten, when she and Boothill show their flash passes to the staff and enter through the gates.

“He handed you the card, Boothill!” Robin says, just shy of jumping up and down like a child. “Wow. I can’t believe it.”

Boothill leans down to kiss her on her forehead. “Me neither. Your brother was lookin’ really unwilling. Thought he’d be out for me for at least a while. He probably still will.” He tucks the flash pass into the back pocket of his pants.

When she thinks of Sunday offering an olive branch to Boothill, or the other way around, she thought it’d be in more intimate, private settings. Like the living room in their giant mansion, way too big for just the two (occasionally three, but Boothill sleeps in her bed) of them, or in the kitchen after Robin left to use the bathroom or wherever. Not in public, not when they’re surrounded by innocent bystanders. She’s not complaining. The amusement park works too.

“This ride looks, ah, weird,” Boothill mumbles into her ear.

“Hmm? This one’s a classic,” Robin tells him. “We’re next!”

“I’m gonna regret swallowing those darn bullets,” he grimaces as the attendant opens their gate, directing them to the open cart. Boothill places his hat on the rack they have for loose items, and they get on, Robin on the inside and Boothill on the outside. They can’t hold hands through the safety seats. Well, they technically can, but Robin’s body is primarily flesh and bones so it’d be really uncomfortable for her.

“You got this!” Robin encourages, swinging her legs. The attendant starts the ride, and they move forward.

***

“Holy Aeons and all of Lan’s arrows,” Boothill says, one arm slung around her shoulder and mostly relying on Robin for support (don’t underestimate her strength and endurance — she’s a singer, remember?), “I’m gonna throw up all my bullets.”

“Hey, at least you didn’t scream,” Robin teases, giving Boothill the time to recover and stand on his own.

“Now, I was just sayin’ that ride was too loop-de-loop,” Boothill manages, wincing, “not that it was scary. I ain’t even feelin’ nauseous. It’s, ah, the rattle of these parts, per se. Aeons, what the heck. Everyday I discover somethin’ new ‘bout this helluva body.”

“Mhm,” Robin reassures, waving to Sunday.

“How was the first ride?” Sunday asks her, hands crossed behind his back and posture ever so regal for an amusement park. He must be smiling underneath that mask — his eyes crinkle. He doesn’t ask both of him; no, just Robin. That’s okay. Baby steps, baby steps.

“It was wonderful,” she declares, “Boothill wanted to throw up his bullets,” and doesn’t elaborate further. She loops her arm through Boothill’s. “Which rides next?” She tilts her head at Boothill, repeatedly poking at his cheek.

Boothill catches her finger between his teeth, bite gentle. Robin pulls her finger back. “Wherever you go, I’ll follow,” he tells her, eyes twinkling with mirth, tucking an exposed strand of her baby blue hair behind her ear, patting down her wig.

“Okay. Drop of doom next!”

Boothill’s expression drops, like the ride they’re gonna go on next.

***

Robin steps out into the bright sunlight from the darkness of the movie house. It was actually a roller coaster with a whole cinema and, of course, Clockie theme. She turns around, her wig blowing around her in a gentle breeze, and extends a hand toward Boothill, her smile wide on her face.

Boothill shakes his hair, the dual-color strands whipping around his face, and puts on his hat. He takes her hand. “Where do you wanna go next?” he asks, trailing behind her on the steps leading up to ground level. Sunday starts toward them the moment he sees Robin emerge from the exit.

“Can we stop for food?” she announces. All of the walking around and getting on the rides and general cheery atmosphere has her hungry.

“Sure,” Sunday agrees, looking at the map on his phone. “There’s a food court that’s not so far away from here. Follow me.” He starts toward a sunset retro-styled house in the distance, surrounded by palm trees and synth-pop blasting out of its speakers. It reminds her of the sunsets on Punklorde, a planet filled with cyberware and hackers. Isn’t there that one Stellaron Hunter girl from Punklorde?

“The style of that food court reminds me of you,” she comments, “don’t you think?”

“Ehh,” Boothill squints at the design, scrutinizing it, “not really. Run-down saloons and bars and the kind are more my type. But I can see myself hangin’ ‘round ‘ere, poppin’ down to the bar and orderin’ myself some booze. Bet they sell real darn booze too.”

Robin giggles at his accent. “You talk so funny.”

“Oh, really? And how do I talk, princess?” Boothill challenges, one hand on his hip.

“Like this,” Robin clears her throat, voice imitating a low, country drawl, “howdy. Name’s Boothill, darlin’s. I’m the best Ranger out there you can find. One shot from my gun, BAM BAM BAM — ” she mocks a gun with her left hand, shooting it — “and the enemy drops dead in less than a second, you hear me? There ain’t a single stray bullet in my entire career.”

Boothill rolls his eyes. “I do not talk like that.”

“Yes, you do!”

“No, I do not!”

“Yuh uh!”

“Nuh uh!”

“Pfft,” Robin exaggerates her exasperated sigh. “Fine. I suppose you don’t actually talk like that.”

“That’s right,” Boothill nods, a satisfied look on his face.

“What do you want to eat?” Sunday stops. Oh. They’ve already reached the place. She didn’t even notice.

“What’s on the menu?” Robin walks up to the menu boards above the counter, making sure to stay away from the ordering line. Her eyes scan the lines of options, mentally coming up with a list. It’s all junk food, as expected. She’s been craving some junk food anyway. Let’s hope Sunday actually lets her eat those ‘artificial foods injected with junk and bacteria.’

“I want three double cheeseburgers with two sides of fries and a SoulGlad,” Boothill announces.

Robin blinks up at him. “What?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, two servings of curly fries, and a SoulGlad,” he repeats.

“No, no, I, uh, heard you the first time. Are you sure you want that much?” It’s more than enough for one person; then again, Boothill’s a cyborg.

“I can eat a whole lot more,” Boothill shrugs. “Whadda ‘bout you?”

Robin hums. “I’ll take chicken tenders, a blueberry milkshake, and a pretzel. I hope the pretzels here have salt on them the size of dice.” She pats around for her purse, then remembers Sunday has it and he’s paying. “Sunday! We’re ready to order!”

Sunday gets up from the table he’s sitting at, meeting them at the end of the line“What would you like?”

“Three deluxe double cheeseburgers, chicken tenders, two servings of curly fries, one blueberry milkshake, one SoulGlad, and one pretzel,” Robin recites and looks at Boothill. “I didn’t forget anything, did I?”

Boothill shakes his head. “Naw.”

Sunday nods, the pleasant smile on his face he uses when he’s holding back a scathing remark. Ah, well. “I’ll go pay. You two can wait at the table.”

“Thanks!” Robin hurries over to the table before someone else can take it. It’s one of those metal wire mesh tables with benches attached and an umbrella over, taking on an obnoxious shade of orange the same color as the SoulGlad drinks. Boothill takes off his hat and tosses it on the table, letting out a sigh.

“Ain’t your brother dyin’ from the heat?” Boothill runs a hand through his hair. The weather is fair, not hot, but still warm enough to make you sweat after a few minutes basking under the sun.

Robin stares at Sunday, at the counter and talking to the cashier. “Maybe?”

“Are you sure you don’t want Sunday to go on an attraction with you?”

Robin’s smile wavers. “Well, I’m not going to force him onto anything he doesn’t want to.”

“You should. What’s a man doing, out here in a park, having no fun? Take him on a ride, darlin’. Gotta shake him up a lil’,” Boothill urges.

“After we eat,” Robin says. “I’ll ask again if we can go on Hanu’s Great Escape.”

“When I said to shake him up, I ain’t talking ‘bout takin’ him to one that, but whatever calms your horse.”

Robin beams at him. Hanu’s Great Escape is known for being exhilarating and scary. She wants to go on it with someone. The lines are typically very long, up to nearly an hour of waiting in line, but they have flash passes, and she is determined to bring Sunday on one of those rides at least once today.

“This is, ah, a lot,” Sunday says when he sets down a plastic tray with everything on the tabletop. He sits down opposite to Robin and Boothill, taking his share of the food — just a cup of soda and a sandwich — off the tray and leaving the rest to them. “I think it was somewhere around 200 credits?”

Boothill grabs Robin’s food for her, setting down the box of chicken tenders and fries while ripping open the packaging of a fancy plastic straw, sticking it in the milkshake. He takes his share of the food, unwrapping the aluminum foil of one of the cheeseburgers and flipping off the cap of the SoulGlad bottle.

“I can pay you back,” Robin opens up her phone to her money transferring app. 

Sunday brushes it off. “You don’t have to. We’re family, there’s no ‘owing’ here.”

Sometimes, Robin wants to excuse all of Sunday’s overprotectiveness and his strict rules because of how nice he is to her, the softness in his voice lulling her into a false sense of trust and security. But nice doesn’t mean kind, and Sunday isn’t exactly kind. Perhaps the only person Sunday is truly kind to is Robin, and even that has its occasional exceptions. Sunday is a control freak, more or less and however much she condemns it.

She bites into a chicken tender a bit too harshly, the meat soft and the food warm and her teeth clacking. It isn’t healthy to keep on bringing up sad topics. Today is a happy day, and she will make the most of it by shutting up and having fun. How many times has she said that now?

Boothill bites down on the burger, taking half of it as he chews and swallows. Watching him eat has always intrigued her. How does the food, organic and soft, dissolve in his mechanical insides? How does the food get processed without the chemicals and cells and nerves found in a typical human body?

“You’re starin’ again,” Boothill warmly points out, tapping her on the tip of her nose.

“How does the food work in your body?” Robin has asked this before, and not once has she gotten a coherent response.

“Do you think I’d be a ranger if I knew? ‘Cause boy, does this body need a lot of engineerin’,” Boothill groused, “this thing’s almost more trouble than what it is worth.” He takes a swig of the SoulGlad, orange dribbling out the corner of his mouth. Robin extracted a handkerchief from her purse, on top of Boothill’s hat, and dabbed at it.

“There.” She folded the handkerchief into a neat square, placing it on the table. 

“I’m waterproof, hon. For the most part,” Boothill deadpans.

“Isn’t it cute, though?” Robin counters playfully, leaning in to peck him on his nose.

Sunday, with his mask pulled down, very loudly sips his drink. Third wheeling must be sad.

“Sorry,” Robin apologizes, not really meaning it. She leans away, pressing close to Boothill, knocking their ankles together under the table. She grabs a curly fry from his box, munching on it. This place really loves their salt, huh? They’re in luck since she does too.

“No, that’s alright,” Sunday passive-aggressively says, finishing his sandwich. Boothill moves onto his third cheeseburger.

“Is that all you wanted?” Robin asks, pulling over her box of chicken tenders. Granted, there are only three left, but they can make it work. “We can share this.”

Sunday waves his hands, dismissing her offer. “It’s fine. Save some for yourself.”

“Oh, please, I have Boothill’s shares if I’m really that hungry,” Robin then makes a show out of it, grabbing a handful of Boothill’s curly fries. She likes the fries. Or anything with a copious amount of sodium in it, which, unfortunately, may be every junk food. Boothill shows no sign of objection, he’s almost done with his cheeseburger. It’s honestly kind of impressive.

“That’s fine, but I’m not hungry anymore. You know me. I never had that much of an appetite,” Sunday offhandedly mentions, casting a side-eye at Boothill. Boothill crumples up the aluminum foil of all three cheeseburgers into one giant ball.

“Okay.” Robin takes back the chicken tender, grabbing one and dropping it in Boothill’s box of fries. “For the curly fries,” she explains and moves back to eating her chicken tenders.

Boothill pecks her on the forehead. Robin giggles.

They gradually finish the rest of the food, and Sunday goes to return the tray and throw out their trash. Robin uses this opportunity to ask Boothill whether she should ask Sunday to go on Hanu’s Great Escape with her.

Boothill crunches down on a bullet. Where did he get that from? “Go for it,” he says simply.

“Really?” Robin asks.

Boothill pats her head. “Of course.”

“Okay.” Robin shuts up as Sunday returns to their table. Here goes nothing.

[mychoombatheroomba]

Proximity Alert

Between the Bones (Leon x GN! Reader) - Chapter 11

And into the minefield you go. Little do you know, Leon is fool enough to follow you.

(Cross-posted from Ao3)

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Chapter Index

Flustered or not, Leon was, as you came to find out, a damn good shot. 

He would have had to have been, you supposed, to survive what he’d survived. Still, you found yourself very much impressed as the two of you spent your hour unloading magazine after magazine into the targets down range. You didn’t mind losing to him. 

Not when three points was all it took for him to smile the way he did. 

“If you can shoot like that now, just think of how good you’d be if you cut that hair so you could see,” you’d said, and you weren’t sure where the energy you had was coming from. 

Maybe you said it for the same reason you'd called him pretty; it was true, yes, but you also wanted to get a rise out of him. 

And a rise you got. “You must not hate my hair too much, if you think I’m pretty.” 

Oh, he was getting better at countering your jabs. Knives and words. And just like when he managed to get a successful counter in while sparring, you watched his eyes go a little wide as he realized what he’d just said. 

You were both flying by the seat of your pants, then. 

“I won’t matter how pretty you are if someone can throw you around by your fringe,” you said, ignoring the way it felt like you were walking over the edge of a cliff. Ignoring the way your mouth curled without you meaning it to. “And if I remember right, I’ve done it before.” 

“Guess I’ll just have to be extra careful, then.” His own smile returned, and it lingered until the two of you said your goodbyes. 

That smile made some stupid, sentimental part of you ache because it made him look young - young and proud and excited that he’d done well. For a moment, he looked like Raccoon City never happened. Like the two of you weren’t training to fight what spawned from mankind’s darkest ideas. For a moment, as Leon beamed at you, you could almost imagine that things were normal. Or, as normal as they ever had been for you. 

You felt that way more and more when you were around Leon - strange, because if anyone should remind you of what waited for you out there in the real world, it should have been him. Instead, you found yourself smiling more when you were around him than you had in the last year. The smiling wasn’t the dangerous part, though. 

Ever more, you were ignoring the warning bells in your mind in favor of holding his gaze for a second longer than you should have. Letting yourself study the strength of his jawline, the way the boyish fullness of his cheeks was sharpening into something harder. Or the way his arms were being cut by more and more defining lines. You let yourself say things you shouldn’t have because getting those little rises out of him made you feel . . . 

It made you feel something other than the misery you’d been wallowing in for so long. 

Something you almost felt you didn’t deserve. 

That had been the silent war your thoughts had been waging, because it was stupid to get close. It was completely and utterly reckless. 

And you thought of that smile as you went to bed that night, anyway, because it felt good to imagine something other than the snow and cold, and the dead eyes that waited for you in your dreams. Thinking of the warmth of his hand on top of yours, his smart mouth, or the way his cheeks and the tips of his ears would redden when he was embarrassed felt like you’d found a place to rest your weary bones. Maybe you could afford a moment of weakness, every so often. 

Thoughts were harmless without action to give them life. A gun with the safety on. You could think whatever you wanted. 

So long as it stayed safe in your mind, where it belonged. 

⧫⧫⧫

Pretty boy. 

It really shouldn’t have taken up such a big space in his head, but Leon found himself thinking of those words as he lay in bed that night. It didn’t stop the nightmares, but it was a far better thing to remember when morning came than rotting flesh, or heavy footfalls at his back. 

Or the feeling of someone’s hand slipping through his fingers. 

He would much rather think of you and whether you were being serious or not. 

That was the question he tried to puzzle out that day, well aware that he was putting too much thought into a single moment. A joke. Had to have been. 

Still, he sure as hell wanted more, whatever it was.  

So, when evening came and he met you in the training yard, he did so with a mission he had no notion of how to carry out. You were already there, as always, the sunset casting you in honey gold. You tossed him a knife. “As promised,” you said as Leon caught it. 

“So, what do I get if I win this time?” he asked, flipping the blade back and forth, just as you so often did. It was becoming more and more natural to him, now. 

Still, if it was natural for him, it was second nature for you. 

“I wouldn’t worry about something that’s not going to happen,” you shrugged, a glint in your eyes. You’d always seemed sure of yourself, but with the passing of the last few weeks, he’d come to see a different side of that confidence. One that wasn’t afraid to dish out a bit of trash talk. An Army brat, through and through. Leon didn’t mind it, so long as he could give as good as he got. 

He rushed forward, knife aimed at your chest. You moved just as fast as Leon knew you could, bringing your hand up to smack the blade away. A few weeks ago, you would have blocked him, but Leon had gotten faster since you began teaching him. 

More than that, he’d gotten wise to a few tricks. 

He tried not to be too proud that he was nearly fast enough to pull the feint off. Close only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades, after all. Still, as he changed his weapon’s course at the last minute and felt the blade catch your shirt, if not your skin. You felt it too, he could see it on your face as you leapt backwards to safety. “Don’t be so sure,” he breathed, locking eyes with you. “I learned from the best.” Flattery had worked the night before. Maybe-

“I’ll tell Krauser you said so.” 

“Not what I-”

“I know what you meant,” you nodded, eyes softening almost imperceptibly. “Now, come on.” 

You were all business when the knives were in play. He knew that. Still, it had been worth a try. Besides, he didn’t think he would ever get tired of watching you fight. Even if he was the one on the business end of your knife. 

You were a viper. When you reared up to strike, one couldn’t help but watch, wide-eyed as adrenaline filled them. Fear and bewilderment in equal measure. And when you moved, god help anyone within reach. You were too fast for him several times that night, as you always were. Too fast and too dangerously beautiful-

Focus. 

The difference lately was that Leon was beginning to move the same way. Those patterns that he’d been watching for from you, he’d finally begun to learn. You favored protecting your torso over your legs. You liked feints. Wrist locks and knocking him off his feet. Controlling his arm. All favorites that he learned to watch out for. It let him stay “alive” longer and longer. All secrets that helped him avoid a disarm, or a takedown. He was learning more than how to fight, he was learning you. For every disarm or takedown, he gave you a scrape or a bruise. You were showing him how to bridge the gap between the two of you. 

That was why he thought he had you when you bent his arm up after a jab at his side, the strain of it edging just short of real pain. 

Your hands were both occupied. His left wasn’t. 

He kicked towards your leg, and you shifted a bit to avoid it. 

His wrist being free was just enough mobility for him to toss the knife up. His left hand caught it, and again he just nearly missed the swipe he took at your head. You ducked under the swing in a blur of motion, and he followed through. You caught the attack, and again your hands were moving to control. Just as he knew you would. 

Shoulder protesting a bit at the speed with which he moved, Leon wove his arm under your own. You blocked the first strike. Just barely the second. 

Your bodies were pressed together, your hands just barely stopping him from checkmate. With steel just an inch from your throat, your lips parted as you looked up at him, first in surprise and then in struggle. Victory was there, within reach. So close Leon could reach out and grab it. Get drunk off of it. 

Drunk off of the idea of winning and drunk off the way you felt against him. 

Then he felt something else. The weaving of fingers through the hair on the back of his head. Gentle for only a millisecond. The sort of sensation that made it feel like someone had hooked him to a high-voltage battery. That gentleness died before it even drew its first breath as he remembered the warning you’d given him the day before. 

⧫⧫⧫

You’d done it to win, and maybe to prove a point. What you could never have predicted was that bragging rights were absolutely nothing next to the real prize. That being the sound that Leon Kennedy made that evening in the training yard when you pulled his head back by his hair. 

You’d heard his pained groans a hundred times now. This one, though . . . it was different. Throaty and strained, and downright sinful. No human being had a right to make that noise. Not in a situation like this. 

If that was the sound he made when he was in pain . . .

What were you doing?

Both of you froze as soon as you realized what had happened, staring at each other from a distance that seemed too far and too close all at once. His eyes were dark, even with how wide they were. His breathing shallow. His body tense. His lips parted. His throat was exposed, the knife in his hand still pressed against it. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed thick. 

It was then that you realized just how far into that minefield you’d wandered.

And the way he was looking at you, those shadowed blue eyes searching your own, only made it worse. 

What the fuck were you doing?

“Told you about the hair,” you said, not of your own volition. Something cruel had a hold of you. Cruel and wild and full of a fire that burned you from the inside out. A year’s worth of pushing want down in favor of need was all threatening to split you open, now. 

You were stronger than your impulses, though. Or more cowardly than you’d like to admit. 

Whatever the case, you let go of Leon’s hair and stepped away because you knew if you didn’t, it would mean the beginning of something you couldn’t allow into reality. You just hoped that you had bailed out early enough, because as you moved away from him, that tension in the air remained. 

“You okay?” you asked after a moment of silence, because you genuinely didn’t know what else to say. 

“Yeah,” Leon nodded, and even if he was lying, you weren’t going to call him on it. Not right now. “Yeah. Just . . . point taken about the hair.” 

“Hmm,” you nodded back. 

Another beat of oppressive stillness, and you could only do your best to tread water through it. That, and try not to linger on the way Leon’s lips had looked only seconds ago. It was just a moment, and it passed. The safety was still on. 

“So, are you going to cut it?” you finally asked, pointing to his hair. 

Leon had looked lost up until that moment. Even as you spoke, it took him a second to register what you’d said. He looked at you for the first time since you’d let him go - just a glance, but one that let you know that you’d kicked up a storm in his mind. He breathed a single dry laugh and shook his head. “Not a chance.” 

⧫⧫⧫

He couldn’t sleep. And not entirely for the usual reasons. 

No, that night, Leon was kept awake by the memory of your hand in his hair and the sharp pain of you pulling on it. That, and the warmth of you being so close to him. The way your eyes had been so bright with an emotion he’d never seen in you before, one that burned low and true like embers. 

He replayed the moment in his mind, out of embarrassment, true, but also to chase the phantom of what he’d felt. It wasn’t the first time he’d thought of you in the dark - his thoughts had drifted to you more and more lately. That night, though, he wasn’t just thinking about you. He was imagining you. He imagined what you might feel like in his arms, what the skin beneath your shirt might feel like against his fingertips. 

He imagined what it might be like to feel the kiss of your lips instead of your steel. 

And as he imagined, he fought back the guilt that wrapped its cold hands around his throat. Who the guilt was owed to . . . that was becoming a more difficult thing to know.

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Chapter Index

A/N: This chapter brought to you by the sounds Leon makes when he's injured. Also shot myself in the foot putting a Leon pic in every chapter . . . gonna need more than 40 of these mfs 😂

[wisecrackingeric-2]

“It was only yesterday”

So sorry for yet another long post on your guys’ dashes BDNEHENEHDNS but this comic was inspired by my fic on ao3 ‘It was only yesterday’ which IN ITSELF was inspired by @aquarelacosmica ‘s Comics so it all comes full circle or something HEHWHEUEJSISKS

This is probably gonna be my second to last artwork of 2023, and so I wanted it to be a bit of a farewell to all the things I’ve done this year- I have a lot of anxieties surrounding the new years and change both in myself, my art, my interests and the people around me so being able to draw something like this was very very therapeutic and I hope at least one other person can find comfort as well!!! I’ll probably write a bigger post but thank you so much to everyone I’ve met this year and to the Serennedy community on tumblr as a whole. You guys have changed my life infinitely for the better and I wouldn’t be the confident person standing here today I am without all. So from the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Anyways I’m so glad Luis survived and him and Leon got to grow old together amirite. Transcript under cut:

1. “Luis, do you remember when we first met?”

2. “Of course, mí Vida, how could I forget?”

3. “…”

4.

5. “That was a long time ago, huh?”

6. “No, no…”

7. “It was only yesterday”

[journey-to-the-attic]

3rd anni req 13: satan, lucifer / sick

ao3 link

note: i don't have much to say i just think this one's real cute! takes place post-jtta ^^

∎ ∎ ∎ ∎ ∎

…something’s not right.

I open my eyes groggily. I find myself staring at a ceiling that - albeit familiar - should not be there.

“Ah.” Something yellow pops into the corner of my field of vision. “How’re you feeling?”

“Bad,” I mumble hoarsely, forcing down a cough and cursing my stuffy nose. “What’re you doing here?”

“What’re you doing here, you mean.” Satan passes me a glass of water with an encouraging smile. “Lucifer brought you down a few hours ago.”

That’d explain the ceiling. I've woken up in the House of Lamentation, which is definitely not where I went to sleep. I’d be happy if I had the energy.

“Your dad called.” Satan nudges me until I take a sip from the glass. “Said we’d better take care of you while he was still down.”

He presses the back of his hand to my forehead, then hums a little worriedly. “...your fever hasn’t gone down at all. Your dad gave Lucifer some medicine. I’ll go get him - don’t move, okay? Back in a second.”

It’s not the worst cold I’ve ever had, at least, I decide as he hurries out. But definitely not the best, eitherI hadn’t expected it to get this bad so quickly - colds always hit Dad harder than me, so I thought I’d gotten away with a tickly throat.

It’s so warm in here. I kick off most of the covers, then immediately regret it as a chill passes over me. The duvet’s landed in a heap on the ground.

“What have you done now?” sighs someone from the doorway.

I blink at Lucifer, then hurriedly attempt to fix things, as if he hasn’t already seen it. As soon as I sit up and attempt to reach over the mattress, though, the entire world tips sideways, and—

“That’s enough.” Lucifer’s by the bed in about half a second. “You need to be resting.”

He very pointedly sets me back in place, then stoops to drag up the blankets as well. I grumble something indistinct and allow him to tuck the corners in, even though I’m already starting to overheat again.

“I’m not convinced your dad gave us the right thing,” mutters Satan, trailing behind with a brown bottle in hand. “IK, take a look.”

I squint at it. Hydrogen peroxide. Must’ve gotten it mixed up with the Calpol.

“...well, I can manage without,” I mumble, waving the bottle away. “Just have to wait it out.”

“I’ve had Solomon on the phone,” says Lucifer, watching me carefully. “Mostly unhelpful. He’s suggested vinegar and onion.”

When was the last time he got sick? The Middle Ages?? I scrunch my face in response, too tired to come up with a verbal one.

“I didn’t think so.” He brushes some hair out of my eyes, then holds my face still and peers intently at me. “...we’ll manage. What would you like for lunch?”

“Nothing,” I mumble, pressing my cheek closer to his hand. It feels nice and cool. “Mrgh. Feels like my head’s full of bees.”

He thinks for a moment. “...some fresh air might help. Satan can take you around the garden.”

“It’ll be chilly,” says Satan a little anxiously. “I don’t want to make it worse.”

Lucifer lets me use his hand as a pseudo ice pack for another few seconds, then gives my cheek an unusually affectionate rub and stands up again. At the same time, he shrugs off his jacket.

“You can use this,” He says, handing it to Satan, and sweeps back out the door. “I’ll make some tea. Don’t take too long.”

Satan pulls a face at his back. Then he turns to me with a much gentler expression. “Alright, how are we feeling? Are you up for a walk?”

“Dunno.” I prop myself a little further up, then press my eyes shut as the room flashes in and out of focus. “...give me a sec…”

Satan’s already crossed the room when I open my eyes again. Without a word, he wraps Lucifer’s coat around me like a cocoon, tying the sleeves to fasten it, then picks me up like an unwieldy parcel.

“...thanks.” The more I speak, the more I realise how bad I sound.

Satan chuckles and presses a quick kiss to the side of my head, then starts moving. I don’t know if he’s going extra slow because it’s harder to manoeuvre with me in his arms, or if he’s noticed how much everything makes my head spin, but the rocking is more soothing than it is dizzying.

It feels like my head’s about to pop. That’s kind of overpowering everything else right now. Though it’s all still just as miserable. Ugh.

“Everyone else’s at school,” Satan says as he walks steady circles around the garden. “Your dad called early this morning, but Lucifer thought it’d be better if they left the house quiet. I’m pretty sure Mammon clocked him, but…”

The sound of his shoes clicking against the brick path is like a metronome. I follow the rhythm with my breathing, trying to ignore the congestion. “What about you?”

“I overheard him on the phone, so I bothered him until he let me stay as well.” He pauses. “...we’ll go back inside in a bit. You’re not cold, right?”

I murmur a no, gazing around at the hedges for a moment, then dropping my head back onto his shoulder when my neck gets tired. Lucifer’s coat smells a little like that woody incense Dad puts out when we have guests over.

“Well, you’re in no condition to go to school, so you can just stay with us until you’re completely better,” He says, partly to himself. “Lucifer can’t say no to that.”

My head does feel less fuzzy when Satan heads back inside. Instead of taking me back to my room, though, he heads to the library.

“The fire’s going,” He says, transferring me to one arm and using the other to select a book. “I’ll read to you until you’re sleepy again. How does that sound?”

“Nice,” I mumble, managing a little smile when he tilts his head down to look at me. His eyes are warmer than the fireplace.

Lucifer joins us just as Satan is starting on the first chapter. He doesn’t interrupt - he sets a tray on the table, then picks up one of the three mugs and sits down on my other side.

He listens, blowing idly on the tea, then hands it to me once he’s deemed it safe. He waits for Satan to finish the chapter to speak up.

“Feeling any better?” He asks, touching a hand to my forehead. He isn’t wearing his gloves today. “...hmm.”

“It hasn’t been that long. I’ve read that humans run warmer, anyway…” Satan lowers the book and glances at the tray. “Is that one mine?”

“You need to actually eat as well,” Lucifer says as Satan clicks his fingers and floats his own tea over. “I’ve asked Barbatos to drop something off. Is there anything else you’d like?”

The prospect of forcing anything really solid down already makes my throat hurt. “Not hungry.”

He sighs. “I know, but it’s important. How about some soup? Could you manage that for me?”

I resist the urge to simply turn away in protest. My head’s clearer, but it feels like I’ve gotten grumpier because of it, now that I can register everything else that sucks in higher definition…

“...maybe later,” Lucifer decides, almost unnervingly patient, and taps my mug. “At least drink your tea.”

It tastes sweeter than usual. I wonder if he added honey.

Satan starts on the next chapter. He keeps his voice low and even, but affects a funny voice for the dialogue - especially when it’s punctuated by French, which I’m not entirely sure he knows how to read. Lucifer stays through it all, tapping a foot silently on the carpet and adjusting my mug for me every time it starts slipping out of my grasp.

Some way through chapter four, the doorbell goes, and Lucifer quietly excuses himself to answer it. Satan stops reading without being asked, marking his place with a thumb, then glances down and asks softly if I’m feeling much better.

I hum an affirmative. As long as I don’t move too much, and as long as I don’t try supporting too much of my own weight, I can just about stay comfortable.

I hear Barbatos’s voice from down the hall, but it isn’t long before the front door closes again, and Lucifer returns alone. He resumes his spot on the sofa, then opens the paper bag that he’s come back with.

Satan carries on from where he left off. I glance up at Lucifer to see if he noticed him waiting. Sure enough, there’s a particular twinkle in his eye.

I don’t get to contemplate that for long, though, because then he pulls a pastry from the bag, and very determinedly holds it in front of my face until I take a bite - it’s soft and fluffy, and tastes of ginger.

Then he pats me on the head, as if to say ‘well done’. He doesn’t try pushing me any more than that, but I don’t doubt things’ll change later. Lucifer gets antsy whenever any of us miss a meal.

As Satan reaches the end of the first act, I start wondering how long it’ll be until everyone else gets back. I can’t decide if I’m excited to see them, or if I’m just anticipating the inevitable increase in noisiness.

“...‘Is the murder the work of some rival gang whom Cassetti had double-crossed in the past, or…?’”

Something brushes over my hair. I glance up at Lucifer. He keeps gazing ahead, eyes barely open - looking closer to sleep than I am. In fact, the only indication that he’s still awake is the hand on my head.

“...they left the compartment.” Satan finishes, then clears his throat and drains the rest of his probably-cold-by-now tea.

There’s quiet for a while. Lucifer flicks his wrist, and the sputtering fireplace roars back to life.

Eyes still closed, he says, “Don’t stop there. We don’t know who did it yet.”

“Sure, if you want me to rip my throat to shreds,” Satan scoffs, then holds the book over my head. “You do it, if you want to know so badly.”

Lucifer sighs, but opens his eyes and does as he says. Flicking to the right page - Satan’s deliberately shut the book without marking it - he starts reading aloud from where he left off, at the beginning of the second act.

Satan swings one leg over the other and leans over so that he can vaguely see the page, and nitpick whenever Lucifer misses or misreads a word. If I lean back a little, I can set my head on his chest.

Every now and then, he cranes his neck down to peer at my face. I’m past caring, but part of me wants to tell him that, if I wasn’t already sleepy, he’d definitely put me off with the constant checks.

I am, though, which means that Satan quickly notes the look on my face with apparent victory. He leans down a little further and whispers, “I’ll tell you what happens later. Get some more sleep, okay?”

Lucifer keeps reading (I note that he isn’t doing Satan’s funny voices), but almost imperceptibly nods his head. I haven’t said anything in a while, and I have a feeling it’ll hurt if I start again now, so I just nod as well.

I’m not used to being passive in the House of Lamentation. It’s hard to sit around and let everything happen around you when it’s all so much fun - I don’t know how Belphie does it.

I feel a little spoiled. But it feels really nice, too.

I close my eyes and let it all wash over me. Hopefully I’ll feel better when I wake up, and we can all spend some time together - it’s been a while since I’ve been able to visit. That’d make it even better.

[littlejuicebox]

A Pocket Full of Rainbows, A Star Up My Sleeve (1950s AU) / Chapter 1: The Drive In

Click here to read on AO3.

Summary: It's 1957, and for the first time in his life, Astarion Ancunin is happy. He's a newlywed, his spouse, Gustav Adler, is the editor-in-chief of the city's second most prominent newspaper, and they play keeping up with the Atherwindes next door. They are picture-perfect domesticity. Or so it seems. Secrets Astarion has kept hidden from his spouse begin to surface around their first anniversary, and Gustav is left to wonder... who exactly did he marry?

Tags/Warnings: This one starts off with smut (light BDSM if you squint and tilt your head) in Chapter 1 so there's that. This longfic will have a lot of hurt/angst/comfort + mild gore + mentions of Astarion's past trauma. I will update with a warning if there is a significant concern in any chapter.

Notes: Special thanks to @leomonae for beta-reading and holding my hand while I write this entire thing that has taken hold of me body and soul. And special thanks to all the awesome supportive people on my discord server that have hyped me up enough to give me the courage to post this.

-----

Cigar smoke spirals out of the barely cracked mahogany door and into the newsroom as the editor-in-chief, Gustav Adler, finalizes the layout for this weekend’s edition of the Baldur’s Herald. He’s running late — he should have been halfway home, by now. His wife is going to be furious with him if they miss the beginning of the movie. 

But this story has a chance of finally getting the Baldur’s Herald ahead of the Baldur’s Gate Gazette; he has to get it just right. There is still more investigation to be done, of course, but no one can deny several missing persons and multiple eyewitness reports of a mindflayer in the lower city. It’s certainly enough to sell papers and promote intrigue. 

The paper had gotten a decent boost when he’d been promoted to editor-in-chief a few years ago. The promotion of an openly gay man – a half-drow, nonetheless – to the position had garnered quite a bit of attention. Good and bad, of course. But as the saying goes, all publicity is good publicity. 

In the Herald’s case, that had been true. The groundbreaking move had put the previously small paper on the map and quickly catapulted it to second place in the rankings, where it had been ever since. Tav was convinced it would only take one powerful story to overtake the Gazette; he felt confident the culmination of this story would be the one to do it. 

A rapid knock on the door pulls Gustav from his work as he takes another drag of his nearly finished cigar; his top investigator, Karlach, is leaning against the door jamb. 

“There’s been another mindflayer sighting. Dekarios is on the ground now, I’m on my way to meet him,” she says, her eyes alight with excitement. The tiefling had been chasing this story for weeks and finally had enough for her article to make the front page of this weekend’s issue.

“Excellent — I’ll be back in the office tomorrow morning, Kar. I expect an update then. I would go with you two, but the wife won’t forgive me if I cancel two weeks in a row,” Gustav responds as he extinguishes his cigar in the unfinished coffee that sat atop his desk all day. 

Karlach chuckles good-naturedly as she straightens from the doorframe and moves to put on the suit jacket she’d been holding in her hand. “Tell Astarion I said hello; and thank him again for mending this for me.” 

“Will do— oh, and Karlach, can you run this by the printers before you head out? It’s the final layout for the weekend edition,” the editor-in-chief says as he moves to exit his own office. He hands the mock-up to his journalist and heads out of the building for the night. In the parking lot, Gustav rushes to his car and hopes his wife isn’t too terribly upset with him for being a bit late.

Astarion had been Gustav’s secretary for nearly six months before he finally worked up the courage to ask the other man on a date. It was never easy for Tav, doing such a thing, although sexuality laws had changed in his early adulthood and it was common to see people just like him about the city nowadays.

He couldn’t have assumed Astarion was interested in men simply because he alternated between wearing suits and dresses – which had been, of course, one of the things that caught Tav’s attention and fascinated him early on. Astarion managed to look breathtaking in both; Gustav had never seen anything quite like him and spent more time than he should have admiring his secretary sitting just outside his office door. As it turned out, Astarion had been flirting with him for months; he had always worried he was misinterpreting the signals. 

It wasn’t until Karlach hassled him for a week that Tav finally broke down and asked Astarion to dinner. They dated for just under a year, and married as soon as they were legally allowed – all legal documentation still required assigned roles of husband and wife, and in the public sense, these designations were required across the board. They’d randomly assigned titles with the flip of a coin.

It seemed ridiculous, in the beginning. Bureaucracy and politics could be so short-sighted; the world never seemed to dot all its i's and cross all its t’s before moving on to the next agenda. In public, the couple always used the assigned titles; at first, this had been mostly to avoid confusion or ignorant comments. But then one night, Gustav had jokingly called Astarion his “wife” and it had instantly ignited something within his lover. He’d never seen his spouse so excited in bed until that moment. 

From then on, in public and in private, Astarion was his wife. The word just had different meanings depending on context. As an editor, Gustav could wholeheartedly appreciate the subtleties of the phrase; as a husband, he loved the effect the word had on his wife when they were in bed.

*

As Gustav pulls up to the brownstone townhouse he and Astarion share, he immediately notices the new gardenia shrubs and mulch surrounding the Atherwinde’s front stoop. A soft groan of annoyance escapes his lips; he’d planned to tend their own garden next weekend, but now he would have to move that project up. He was not about to let their annoying nextdoor neighbor, Edmund Atherwinde, throw subtle remarks at him for an entire week whenever they ran into one another while leaving for work. Gustav is almost certain Eddie waits to see when he comes out in the morning, just to harass him as they both climb into their Chevrolet Bel-Airs. Gustav’s is the most recent model; Eddie’s is last year’s model. Not that he’s comparing, of course.

He glances at his wristwatch; it’s twenty minutes past the time he was supposed to be home. They should still be able to eat dinner and make it to the drive-in. He grabs the bow-wrapped box from the backseat and then makes his way into the townhome.

A quick jangle of keys echoes through the short foyer before Gustav calls, “Astarion, I’m home!”

“You’re late,” a cool, clipped voice replies from the kitchen. “I’ve had to keep dinner warm in the oven for twenty minutes, Tav.” 

“I’m sorry, baby,” Gustav responds as he moves to join his wife. He presents the box to Astarion with a toothy smile and a wink. “But, perhaps this will make it up to you.” 

The scowl that had been painted across Astarion’s face soon pulls up into a grin as he takes the box from Tav. A quick tug of the black grosgrain ribbon reveals the present inside – a mink stole. A soft gasp escapes Astarion as he removes the fur shawl from the packaging and wraps it around his shoulders. 

“Gorgeous,” Gustav compliments as he admires his lover. “I think it will go well with the gown you plan on wearing for our anniversary dinner.”

“Of course it will, darling,” Astarion responds before lifting onto his toes and pressing a kiss against his husband’s cheek, right upon the old scar Gustav got back in his military days. “It’s beautiful, thank you. Now, dinner, dear– and we’d better hurry.”

*

Dinner was nothing to write home about. Astarion was a fair to middling cook nowadays – in the beginning of their marriage, he’d burnt nearly every meal he made. Almost a year later, he’d managed to get the hang of a few simple recipes. Gustav, to his credit, never complained. All his time in the military taught him to accept far meager offerings than his wife’s creations; if he could eat cold beans from an aluminum can, he could handle a slightly charred meatloaf. 

They made it to the drive in just as the last previews finished. Astarion had been exceptionally excited to see this film – a horror movie about vampires, of all things. Gustav was not particularly interested in the movie, but willingly endured for his wife’s happiness. Until, of course, Astarion pressed up against him a little over halfway through the film – an innocent reaction to the scene playing on screen – and gripped dangerously high on Gustav’s thigh. 

Desire immediately flared through Tav, and when he turned to look at his wife, he wanted nothing more than to smear the perfectly painted red lipstick on the other man’s lips. So he did.

They were locked in a passionate kiss for several minutes, the movie all but forgotten. Their tongues wrapped around one another in a familiar embrace, a comfortable dance the two of them had become accustomed to. It did not take long for Gustav to begin advancing eagerly upon his wife.

“You’re insatiable,” Astarion chuckles as his lover playfully nips into his neck. A delighted shiver ghosts up his spine.

“Can you blame me?” Gustav asks as his lips trail to his lover’s chest, just exposed by the neckline of Astarion’s collared dress. His tongue swirls along alabaster skin before a sly hand moves under the skirt hem. “You’re delicious… and I’d very much like to have a taste.” 

Gustav’s thick, purple-gray fingers run along the inside of Astarion’s pale, muscled thigh and travel all the way up to the edge of a sheer, nylon stocking. He quickly finds a garter strap, pulls, and releases the elastic band. Astarion jumps and gasps as the skin on his leg turns into gooseflesh; his husband palms insistently between his legs.

“S-surely you don’t mean here, Tav,” Astarion whispers, his legs spreading slightly, making more room to accommodate the hand teasing his hardening cock. But even as Astarion says it, he’s hoping his husband actually does mean here – the mere thought of such a scandalous act is causing arousal to dampen the front of his undergarments. 

“Mmh, and why not?” Gustav asks, already beginning to slide from his seat, down to the floorboard. He wanders his hand down under the seat and pushes it back as far as it will go. It isn’t much, but enough for him to comfortably kneel between Astarion’s legs. He brings his hands to his wife’s knees and slowly presses them open with a sly smile. 

“I…” Astarion tries to respond, his face suddenly feeling quite hot as a blush of both embarrassment and desire spreads across his skin. His mouth goes dry as he looks down at the man between his legs. Gustav is slowly pushing up the hem of Astarion’s skirt and peering up at his lover as he licks his lips. 

“Do you want me to stop?” He questions, cocking his head just slightly. When his wife doesn’t respond, he begins to lower Astarion’s skirt; his purple-gray hand is suddenly caught between slender, milky-white fingers.

“Keep going,” Astarion quietly urges before casting a glance out the window. They’re in the final row of the drive-in. Only one other car is in the same row as them, and the couple in that car are far too distracted by one another’s mouths to pay any mind to the two men.

Gustav hums happily as he unceremoniously lifts Astarion’s skirt and drops his head underneath; he’s greeted with a pale, leaking cock straining against a pair of sheer, silk panties. The sight causes his own cock to stir in his trousers. 

“Now be a good little wife and hold very, very still for me, baby,” Gustav commands with a final snap of Astarion’s garter strap. His wife gasps and squirms in his seat before obediently stilling. Tav doesn’t waste any more time with foreplay; his hands come under Astarion’s dress and quickly tear the underwear in two – he’ll buy a replacement pair later. Astarion’s cock springs proudly from its confines, bobbing slightly and begging to be sucked.

Tav brings both hands to the pale thighs on either side of his head as he pulls Astarion’s cock into his mouth. His tongue swirls around the head languidly, causing more pre-fluid to leak onto his tongue. The salty, musky taste makes his mouth water in delight. He’s certain he will never tire of tasting his wife.

A whimper escapes Astarion’s lips when his husband takes all of his length. Gustav’s warm, wet throat contracts around Astarion’s cock and then, much too soon, he retracts and begins to swirl his tongue around its pink, swollen head. Tav repeats this several times and each time his throat squeezes around Astarion, it takes everything within him to not buck upwards. His thighs are trembling. He so badly wants to move, to seek the heat of his lover’s mouth. But he wants to be a good wife, so he forces himself to obey the command. 

The excited keening becomes louder and more insistent the longer Gustav teases him. By now the movie is almost over, and Astarion is catching flashes of the end scene through blurred vision and panting breaths. He clamps his eyes shut as Gustav, once again, swallows him to the hilt. This time his husband holds the position and hums, both hands squeezing into Astarion’s thighs.

“Aah, Tav–” Astarion whimpers, his tone pleading, “Tav, please–” 

But Gustav retracts and his wife whines. He cannot help but smile at the neediness. He forces Astarion’s skirt up over his thighs, exposing his arousal-slicked face and his lover’s hard, weeping cock all at once. He peers up at his wife with a pleased smirk; Astarion meets him with half-hooded lids and blown pupils. 

“Already, baby? Really?” Gustav purrs, one hand coming to caress Astarion’s scrotum. He applies a light bit of pressure and admires the way pre-fluid dribbles from his lover’s desperate cock. His tongue darts out to slowly lap up the string of clear liquid running down Astarion’s shaft. “I don’t think I’ve worshiped my wife quite long enough.” 

Astarion impatiently squirms in his seat. He’d been doing a rather excellent job holding still until now, but the ache between his legs is growing increasingly insistent, and his husband has teased him long enough. When Gustav’s hands wrap around his cock he moans and his head falls back reflexively. The movie’s end credits are starting to roll. 

“Please, Gustav… I can’t– I can’t any longer, please–” Astarion begs, through sharp shaking breaths. His hips stutter forward insistently into the other man’s fists.

“Very well,” Gustav responds, and with little warning he drops his hands and takes all of Astarion in his mouth again. Pale fingers clutch into Tav’s cropped white hair, pulling slightly just at the nape of his neck. He hums his encouragement as he bobs his head up and down the length of his wife’s cock, covering it in saliva and spreading the growing amounts of pre-fluid dripping from its tip.

Gustav can tell by the breathy keening sounds his wife is making that he is close to release. His own cock is straining within his trousers – but that can wait until they get home. The first orgasm always leaves Astarion desperate for more, anyway. 

Tav swallows Astarion’s length once again, intentionally contracting his throat around the pale cock in his mouth. His wife bites back a moan and comes, hips thrusting up as warm seed spills down Tav’s throat. Astarion’s cock continues to pulse for a while longer, and Tav expertly swallows every last drop of his lover’s spend. 

When he feels the other man’s fingers retract from his hair, Gustav carefully pulls back and releases Astarion’s slowly softening cock. He swirls his tongue around the tip one last time, forcing a final whimper from his lover before easing back and placing a few kisses against Astarion’s thigh. 

“Darling,” Astarion pants as he runs his fingers through sweat-drenched curls. His lipstick is completely smeared across his face; he looks wrecked. “Take me home and make love to me.”

Gustav grins in response as he begins to climb back into the driver’s seat. Many of the cars in the lot have pulled away by now. “Anything for my beautiful wife.” 

*

They crash through the townhome door, a mess of half-removed clothing and desire. Astarion shoves Tav against the front entrance as soon as it shuts behind them and grinds himself along Tav’s thigh. The rotary phone in the living room is ringing, but they pay it no mind. 

Gustav quickly undoes the buttons of his wife’s dress and strips it from his body. He’s entirely naked underneath, save the garter belt and stockings – the ruined bits of underwear were left on the floorboard of the car. Astarion is undoing his husband’s belt buckle when the phone stops ringing; he moves to drop to his knees right in front of Tav, but he is quickly pulled back up.

“Not here on the tile, baby. It’s much too hard,” he murmurs as he guides his wife over to the carpeted living room. As soon as they’re in front of the couch, Astarion rips Tav’s trousers and undergarments off in one swift motion and then guides his husband to sit on the serpentine sofa. 

“Now, darling, let me repay you for earlier,” Astarion purrs as his hands teasingly slide up his lover’s purple thighs. He’s just about to take Gustav’s cock in his hands when the phone begins ringing again; it’s a sharp, shrill, distracting sound.

Gustav groans in irritation. He quickly leans over to pull the handset from the stand and uses a finger to hang up on the caller. He tosses the receiver haphazardly, leaving it off the hook so that the phone will not ring and interrupt him and his wife again. It’s well past ten at night; whoever is calling can wait until the morning and call back then.

He turns his attention back to Astarion and smiles. Then, he reaches out and brings two fingers under his wife’s chin before he gently presses upwards. They meet one another with a slow, gentle kiss. When Gustav retracts, Astarion is staring up at him in wide-eyed adoration.

“Now, where were we?” Gustav asks. Astarion chuckles in response before wrapping two pale hands around the cock in front of him; it’s already leaking in anticipation as he slowly strokes up and down the length.

“I think we were just getting to the good part, my love,” Astarion murmurs, peering up at his husband through hooded lids before dropping his head to take Gustav between a pair of lipstick-smeared lips.

The phone stays off the hook for the rest of the night. 

[legendl0re]

A Court of Peace and Ire: Chapter 2 in full

Fuck it might as well post it here as well as AO3 xD

Summary:

Nesta, changed by her experiences with the Asteri, Bryce, and other worlds, has since resolved to get Prythian to where it needs to be should it have to face another threat. Stuck in a another dick-measuring contest between Eris and Cassian, the re-appearance of Tamlin offers her a chance to set things in motion.

Notes:

This one's for the Neris fans, and yes, Nesta is going to be the core of everybody getting their shit together over the course of this fic. Trigger Warnings: Mentions of ab*se, depression, and self-hatred (mainly on Nesta's part)

--

Nesta Archeron picked a small dandelion from the meadow, finding its vibrant yellow frills infinitely more interesting than the conversation going on behind her.

Once again, Rhys had urged Cassian to keep tabs on Eris, and once again, they had opted to take the risk of meeting in the Spring Court.

The two males yammered and bickered like they always did, Cassian’s incessant sneezing being the only thing to snap her out of her frequent distraction. Even with the risks that came from meeting here, Spring was a nice change of pace, a chance to get away from the Night Court’s chilling winds and the even chillier attitudes of the Inner Circle.

“Just keep us informed if Beron makes any new moves. If he tries to contact Koshei or the other mortal queens, or anything else.” Cassian was so tense veins were popping at his neck, but Eris seemed as unbothered as ever.

“Perhaps your little Shadowsinger should retire, since you’re so keen on having me do all of his work as of late.” The Illyrian practically snorted in anger, Eris chuckling to himself as he imagined himself conversing with a bat-winged bull. “As tempting as the alliance has been, I’m not privy to all of my father’s counsel. He’s become withdrawn, paranoid, and I have my own things to protect should he fall off the deep end.”

Nesta twisted the dandelion in her hand; it was just as likely that Eris was referring to his mother and brothers as he was to his hounds. She could never tell what he really valued despite these years of verbal sparring, but it was true that the High Lord of Autumn had grown volatile…unhinged even.

At the last High Lords meeting, the bruises they all knew he left on Eris’ mother had begun to peek out from under the collar of her dress. He was getting sloppy, or maybe he just didn’t care anymore. Perhaps he was going senile, or the constant stagnation of Autumn in comparison the Night Court’s burgeoning power was starting to worry him

Power that she herself had bought them.

Keeping the Trove’s presence in Velaris was a fool’s errand; their power could not be dampened, and legends don’t operate quietly. Everyone felt it when Nesta beckoned the harp, wrestled with death for her sister and nephew, and bargained with the cauldron itself. 

“The next time you come trying to spigot me for information, you better have something worthwhile. A dagger and the occasional dance is not enough.” 

Out of her peripheral vision, Nesta could see that Eris’ pointed look had been thrown her way. “Oh I’m sorry, were you addressing me?” She droned, her boredom clear and blunt. “I thought I was just supposed to stand here and look pretty while you two squabble. And we haven’t danced in months if I remember correctly.”

“Perhaps if I weren’t conversing with an oaf, we could get a lot more done.” Eris preened, turning his eyes to the treeline. Cassian growled and turned away, shadows already coiling to winnow back home.

“You do what you want, Eris! I’m tired of this holier-than-thou, my-wants-are-greater than-yours attitude.” The heir of Autumn chuffed.

“Hmph, and yet you still serve Rhysand.” The winnowing energy shot to nothing, Cassian getting inches away from Eris’ face in a flash.

“Keep it up and I’ll finish what Azriel started.” Eris didn’t balk an inch, still as ever even in the great shadow of the Illyrian Commander.

Nesta dropped the flower, and interposed herself between the two.

“Enough.” She ordered, meeting the gazes of both men before she sighed. “Cassian, I want to talk to Eris alone.” Her mate’s eyes went wide, brow furrowing so deep it threatened to crush his nose. But she laced the words with just enough venom that he halted, thinking of the myriad of ways she would dress the Autumn heir down.

“Are you sure?” He asked. 

“I’m sure.” Nesta smirked, appreciating how far he had come from feeling like he needed to always be there. The Blood Rite caused him to be around her almost every second of everyday, often bursting into arguments about how he was suffocating her. But then he remembered the Bog, and the sheer power of death that turned the hag queen Briallyn to dust.

Even with the bulk of her powers given back to the cauldron, Nesta Archeron was touched by death eternal, and he was ever her devout servant.

“Go, I’ll finish up here. Rhysand will probably want to hear about this sooner rather than later.” Cass nodded, kissing Nesta on the head and lips before vanishing into the shadows. Then Nesta let the smile fade, and armed herself for a different dance.

“Nice job, mentioning Rhys to put a pep in his step.” Eris crooned, earning himself a withering glare.

“Shut. Up. You’ve been doing nothing but antagonizing him from the moment we got here. Wasting all of our time.” Nesta watched as Eris slipped his hands in his pockets.

“I thought you weren’t paying attention.”

“That makes one of us.” Eris rolled his eyes, trying to weave past Nesta’s bladed words.

“What can I say? It’s fun to poke the bear. Especially since I can’t get any actual diplomacy done with him. What else am I supposed to do?”

“Was it fun when Azriel was pounding your face in?” Eris frowned at Nesta’s barb. “Because I promise you, Cassian hits a thousand times harder.” The heir kept his scowl for a moment, then burst into a laugh.

“Trust me Lady Acheron, I’m not worried. Rhysand has him by the back of the neck and you have him by the balls. He won’t jump unless either of you flick the leash.” Nesta crossed her arms, half wondering how bad a slap to the face laced with silver flame would hurt.

But she reeled her thought back in. “And now he isn’t here, which means that we can actually get down to business. Unless you're keen on pressing the issue.” Eris, with his back to her, let his fingers interlock behind her.

“You know what? I do have an issue I’d like to address. Your cowardice.” Nesta blinked, unimpressed but mildly curious at what he meant.

“This will be good. Go on?”

“I thought we had a good rapport at Rhysand’s little party at the Hewn City. You know, the one where he let the masses scent Feyre nice and deep?” Nesta felt her anger crackle, but kept her lips pursed. “I heard what you had said about me, about deserving me because of how horrible a person I am. A brute and a piece of shit I believe were the words used?”

“How do yo-?”

“Rhys thinks he's the only one with a spymaster worth a damn.” Eris’ withering glare would have left a lesser woman prickling, but Nesta just clicked her tongue.

“Oh. Did I hurt your feelings?” She mocked.

Eris sighed, his face donning a weary smile. “No. I just would have figured the woman who stood up for the humans so fiercely wouldn't have fallen for cheap Night Court gossip, nor would she have such a low opinion of herself.” Nesta almost winced, remembering the comparison she had made.

The harshness of those days came soaring back to her: the back and forth with Cassian, the rage and hatred she felt for herself, and of course, Rhys’ sudden willingness to put up with her if it put the Night Court in a better position.

With how good he was at staging her for his political gain, she had thought he’d broken into her memories and taken notes.

Still, Eris had an immense amount of nerve to whine, and Nesta stepped forward with her teeth bared. “Let’s not pretend you give a damn about my self-esteem Eris, and you hunting after my sister and your brother isn’t gossip, and neither is what you did to Morrigan.”

“Since when have you ever given a damn about Mor?” The fae laughed, shaking his head. “Although, it’s good to know that she still hasn’t told the truth.” Eris let that hang in the air, taking in a deep breath of the spring wind. Nesta’s arms fell at her sides, watching as the viper’s mask Eris Vanserra wore slowly chipped away, as if blown down by the softness of the air.

“That did hurt your feelings, didn’t it?”

“I suppose I was more disappointed. I thought you were different from those sycophants Rhysand surrounds himself with, your sisters included. That you knew, there is always more than meets the eye.” Eris turned to have her and swallowed, and Nesta actually narrowed her eyes. He was nervous; genuinely nervous…

“I wasn’t kidding when I said I would marry you in a heartbeat, Nesta, and it’s certainly not because you look excellent in black or because you somehow managed to learn expert-level fae dance routines in a few weeks. I wouldn’t have made it this far if I was that vapid.” Eris had closed the distance between them, his eyes intense with smoldering flame.

“Males of Autumn are taught to be frank, not to waste our time when it comes to our true desires. We say what we feel, and we take what we want, and I very much want you.” 

“Even after I insulted you so?” Nesta scoffed, feigning mild interest despite actually being shocked.

“I’m a big boy, Nesta, and unlike Rhysand, I understand that the image I’ve cultivated for myself comes with consequences.” Eris began pacing around her in slow, playful steps. “From that first meeting, I could tell you took things seriously, fought with every word you had to keep your people safe. While Rhysand and his High Lady pleaded and appealed to some misplaced sense of heroic morality, you were pragmatic, used reason, and looked to our self interest to guide our decisions.” He leaned in, letting Nesta feel the warmth of Autumn in his presence. That’s what a true ruler does.”

“How observant of you.” Nesta replied, taken aback by the words but remaining guarded all the same. Autumn was a home to many a sly fox after all.

 And of course, ever the sly fox, Eris changed his tactics to keep things interesting. “You were supposed to rule your own little court once, correct? An inheritance waiting for you in the mortal lands.” Nesta rolled her eyes.

“Please. Continue to remind me of what I lost.” Eris raised a brow, ignoring the bait. “The humans would never have a fae rule over them, and I’m pretty sure the other nobles have worked with the queens to cannibalize my father’s fortune.” 

The ships and soldiers he bought were the last Nesta would ever see of it; her father’s presence in the world reduced to a gravestone and the memories she and her sisters would carry forever.

“A shame. I would have loved to have seen what you could have done with such wealth and power on your own, unshackled by the chains of family.” 

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the word; did Eris know what happened to her? About the House of Wind and the tensions between her and her sisters. And why in the Mother’s name was he bringing it up now in the middle of what was essentially a love confession?

“How do you know all this anyway? You’re spies can’t be that good.” Nesta prodded.

“Trust me. They are, but it certainly helped that Bryallin was quite thorough in her research of you. I got a peak at her thoughts while she ‘had me under her spell’.” Eris grinned as he unbuttoned his coat, moving the lapel to reveal the dagger—her dagger—strapped at his hip. “I should thank you, but the way. Your blade kept my mind from breaking under the weight of the crown.”

Nesta tensed as the heir of Autumn reached for the knife, but relaxed as he unbuckled it and handed it to her. “You can have it back if you wish. I took it out of respect for Rhys’ attempts at winning my favor, but it very much wishes to return to its maker.”

More questions roved over Nesta’s mind. Did he know that she had lost the majority of her powers too? The weapons she had Made each still carried great amounts of that original essence, yet only Ataraxia remained hers. This offering could be both an implication that Autumn knows Nesta lacks her past strength, but maybe it was also genuine.

“Keep it. You might need it again.” It was true, but also Nesta didn’t want Rhysand to have all of the things she had made. They thought they were being subtle but the Inner Circle had always been keen to pry what was hers away for their own benefit, be it the weapons, the Trove, her identity.

She supposed that things had improved with them since she and Cassian officially ordained themselves as mates, having a small ceremony whose mix of extravagance and modesty was a careful negotiation between the two of them: small enough that Cassian wouldn’t be teased by his brothers for eternity, but big enough that Nesta felt like she would remember it forever.

And she would; it was the first step towards accepting her role in all of this, towards making peace with the fact that she was now fae, and no longer human…

Yet still, she couldn’t entirely shake the stares, the judgment. Amren had opted for an indifferent peace between them, but their old days of training and dropping bits of thousand-year-old wisdom had long since ceased. Azriel was always his kind, quiet self, always reaching out and checking in when he could. Then there was Morrigan, brown eyes alight with fury every time she glanced at her and Cassian together. 

Mother forbid both Cassian and Azriel talk to her at the same time, lest the blonde’s head go up in flames.

Nesta had long since resolved that she was good enough for Cassian, that she did deserve his love and her peace despite what she had done. But between Morrigan’s clear disdain, Rhys’ constant shifting between hot and cold, and her mate’s often blunt refusal to defend her in most situations, it seems the family that this Circle claimed to be was only for her sisters.

She supposed that was why she opted to make her own, with Gwyn and Emerie.

“My offer still stands.” Eris boasted, snapping Nesta out of her rumination.

“What? Of marriage?” She guffaws. “Please.”

“Already fully bonded to the brute then?” Nesta turned to him, letting a little silver blaze through her eyes.

“You call him anything but his goddamned name one more time, this conversation is over.” Eris paused, then backed off, taking her seriously.

Perhaps that was the strange appeal of it all, this little dance they did. He actually took her at her word.

“Is it so hard to envision?” He said. “You, in vibrant autumn red, a crown of gilded leaves on your head.”

“Your father spending every waking moment plotting my demise?”

“I never knew you to be one to back down from a challenge, and my father would be a fool to even hope to wrestle with you.” Eris gently took her hand in his, and watched as she let him bring it to his lips. “I myself would find it the utmost pleasure, and in truth, I believe you would be an exemplary queen, no matter whose court you ruled. I humbly pray to the Mother that you would grace mine.”

He pressed his lips to her knuckle, and Nesta couldn’t help but stir slightly at the heat of his lips warming the skin. Perhaps she should have let Cassian stay. “There’s not a single humble thing about you, Eris Vanserra.”

“True.” He said, letting go of her hand. “I very much will enjoy bragging about being one to kiss the hand of death.” The two stood there for a moment, eyes locked like two fires struggling to snuff the other out. Nesta’s hands had balled into fists behind her, embarrassed at how Eris of all people was getting to her.

It was just words, grand claims he would never live up to, all to worm his way deeper into the Night Court and get whatever it was he really wanted.

Nesta had Cassian—loved Cassian. He may not have been willing to stand up to Rhys, or actually said that he loved her. But it was more real than whatever dream Eris Vanserra was trying to sell her, and she would not be another Lady of Autumn.

No, silver flames would rip the Autumn Court apart before she ever let that happen.

Eris’ gaze broke first, whipping to something behind her, something that had urged him to unsheath her dagger and call an orb of flame into his other hand. Nesta turned to see, and lumbering through the trees in gilded, horned splendor, was the High Lord of Spring.

“I warned you about what would happen the next time you trespassed into my lands.” Tamlin growled, green eyes spearing the two as his claws dug into the earth beneath him. Eris just smirked.

“If you’ve finally set on cutting your life short, High Lord, I do appreciate that you’d do it in a fashion that grants my Court a lovely expansion.” Tamlin’s lips parted, revealing ivory teeth the size of daggers.

“An expansion you wouldn’t live to see.” He snarled, taking a step forward that thundered into the earth, sending birds fleeing from the trees. Heart pounding, Nesta shot a hand up, turning to face Eris with a grave scowl.

“I’m not dying in the Spring Court because of your stupid fucking remarks.” She muttered, before turning back to face Tamlin. “We were just leaving.”

“Until your next little get together, witch?” He replied, tail still swishing in anticipation of Eris’ next barb. It nearly left his lips, until Nesta blocked his way.

“Leave, Eris.” She demanded. “I’ll deal with this myself.”

“You think Cassian would let me live if I left you here alone, with him?” Nesta scoffed, the modicum of respect she had just developed for Eris vanishing.

“Did you not just profess your undying respect for me, or has that all gone out the window now that a monster has shown up? Are you going to protect little old me, Eris?” Nesta laid the mockery on thick, and the Heir of Autumn indeed found himself in an awkward position. Leaving Nesta with Tamlin was unwise, and Cassian would indeed flay him living if he found out he left her here with her sister’s tormentor. 

But if Nesta believed she could handle it…

“I hope you know what you’re doing.” He whispered, sheathing the knife and winnowing away in one fluid movement. Nesta sighed, relieved that she could now dictate the conversation without pig-headed males puffing up their chests.

What was it Bryce had called them? ‘Alpha-holes?’

“Protecting your little alliance?” Tamlin growled, emerald eyes now trained firmly on the eldest Archeron.

“You’re operating under the assumption that I want to deal with you at all, much less fight you.” The beast narrowed his gaze at her. “I don’t need Eris riling you up, and frankly, this is actually a good opportunity.”

“For what?” The High Lord prodded, head tilting to the side in confusion.

“I know what you did for Nyx.” Nesta stated, keep her tone neutral and her hands at her sides. Tamlin paused, caught off-guard with denial already poised on his lips. Quickly, she cut him off. “Feyre was searching for him for hours. She knows that house like the back of her hand and still couldn’t find him anywhere. That, and you left shavings on his pajamas.” 

Tamlin grunted at himself. How could he be so stupid as to leave his gods-damned sheddings about?

“And what do you have to say about it?” He grumbled, bracing for Nesta’s near-mythical rapier wit.

“How about thank you?” He blinked again, half inclined to check his ear to ensure nothing was in it. “Rhysand might be knocking on your door sometime soon, so I figured I’d show my gratitude before he mucks it all up.”

 “Gratitude for what? He’s not yours.” Tamlin replied, looking down as he scraped his claw against the ground.

“He’s my nephew.” And a chance to have someone in the family who doesn’t despise her on some level. At least, she hoped that would be the case; Rhysand was a master of pouring just the right amount of honey and poison to craft a specific vision, and she often found herself lamenting about how one day, the happy Nyx—who she gave up her powers to save along with Feyre—would disdain her for all the Inner Circle held her accountable for. 

But that worry was reserved for another day.

“You’re…different.” The High Lord noted, finally shifting from his prep to lunge to a seated position. “You’re not as…bad-tempered.” 

Nesta practically laughed; what a nice way to say ‘not as much a vicious bitch’.

“Things change, High Lord. I’ve recently learned the world is much bigger than we think, and that all this scheming and politicking on this pitiful little continent is nothing more than a waste of time.” Nesta thought back to just a short time ago, about Bryce and her world, the Asteri, her time with Ember and the small kindnesses Bryce’s mother had offered. The squabbling here in Prythian left it weak, vulnerable, and it was by Nesta’s blind faith alone that Bryce had the chance to take on the Asteri and save both of their realms.

She had resolved to start getting things back on track a long time ago, and if that meant dealing with her sister’s vicious ex-lover—be it solving things diplomatically or mowing him down for someone else to take his place—then so be it.

Gwyn and Emerie urged her to give the former a try before the latter; taking on the Blood Rite was one thing, but as strong as they were together, taking on a High Lord was a fool’s errand, even for people as seasoned as Cassian or Azriel.

 “Your court borders the mortal lands, meaning like it or not, you’re an arbiter of what comes in and what goes through. I may be fae now, but I still care about the humans, and while it may not look like it, I engage in these meetings out of a hope that I can get something out of it that will let me help them in some way.”

Tamlin gave a hollow laugh. “Eris Vanserra and the Autumn Court are the last people to ever give a damn about humans.”

“I know, that's why it’s important to keep an eye on them the most.” Tamlin blinked at Nesta’s claim. “When you’re gathering allies or resources that are sympathetic to your cause, that doesn’t mean you ignore your biggest opposition. I figured a High Lord would know that.” The beast bristled at her last comment, but Nesta reeled her fangs back in. 

“And despite what you may have done to my sister after she di-,” She paused to correct herself, “After she changed, I remember that you filled our father’s coffers and let us regain our nobility, when you could have left us out in the cold to starve and die. You let Feyre come back to us, even though it meant eternal imprisonment for you and your people. And you made sure Nyx got back from his little adventure safe and sound.”

Nesta brushed a hair behind her ear. “A person who does all that can’t be all bad.”

Tamlin glanced down at the grass, thinking hard on Nesta’s words. Nesta’s. Supposedly the most vicious of the Archeron sisters. This whole conversation was almost surreal, and he felt a strain in his chest that felt an awful lot like…hope?

“I’m going to go now.” Nesta stated, waiting for a reaction before calling her powers to winnow her away. If Tamlin still pounced on her after all this, she was going to be really disappointed.

But no. Tamlin simply let his stare rise to meet hers again, before turning to walk away. “Have your meetings somewhere else.” He murmured, Nesta chuffing as the shadows carried her back to the Night Court.

[ditzyredrobin]

Shrike Chapter One

Alright! Here she is!

I debated making this the full 4,000+ words but decided, ultimately, this was best for the flow.

In the future, unless there’s a demand for it, I might just stick to Ao3 for full chapters and continue to post snippets here. We’ll see, though.

Thank you so much for waiting! I hope you enjoy it as much as I have. 🥰💜

-

He’s not sure which to classify as more bizarre--the fact that, out the 10 million people in Gotham, Dick Grayson was the one to find him (as in The Flying Graysons Dick Grayson), or the fact that if was Dick Grayson, out of the mask and into his civies. Because both options were less than ideal.

Tim blinked once, twice, trying to clear the fuzzies along with the Dick Grayson shape hallucination from his vision. Because this? This wasn’t happening.

Dick’s right index and middle fingers were pressed against the pulse point on the inside of his wrist, his brow furrowed. His expression softened noticing Tim had opened his eyes. 

“Hey, I was starting to get a little worried there for a second.” His voice was soft and easy, similar to the voice he heard used on small children while in the mask. “My name is Dick--can you tell me yours?”

His fingers were warm against the soft skin, strange for their fourth day of low twenties. It was mid January in Gotham and the ground was covered in a blanket of slushy snirt.

Tim groaned.

Every nerve in his body screamed to run, find his backpack and get out of there, like, yesterday, but his body didn’t seem to get the memo.

His everything ached, borderline worse than his first accidental run in with Killer Croc, fleeing the scene of a heist well done. The sewers weren’t his favorite but they had been an easy exit point from the Natural History museum in downtown Gotham. 

Waylon had only served to reinforce it (being belly rolled by a croc—so not his idea of a good time. 

They were fine now (mostly). He just kept to the rooftop highway, and Waylon stuck to the sewers. It worked but damn did his leg still ache right before it rained. 

When Tim didn’t answer, Dick continued with,  “You don’t have to worry about anything, you’re safe now. I just need you to keep your eyes open until the ambulance gets here, okay?”

Aaaand he was awake. 

Tim tried to pull his hand away from Dick’s, grimacing at the movement as a new wave of fuck, that hurt, washed over him. “Can’t.” 

Dick didn’t fight him on it, letting go immediately, “Easy, try not to move around too much. I can’t tell how deep the stab wound is with my flashlight. I don’t think it looks too terrible but we don’t want to do anything until you can get properly checked out.”

“No ambulance,” Tim says this time, a little firmer. “I can’t go to the hospital.”

Dick’s head tilted to the side just a hair. “I know it’s not fun but you should really get checked out. You really need stitches and antibiotics to keep things from getting worse.” He explained carefully, to which Tim tries to hold back the eye roll. “I’m an EMT but there’s only so much I can do without my gear.”

What part of I-don’t-need-an-ambulance are you not getting?

He didn’t need an ambulance. What he needed was to get back to his safe house, stitch his side up, and sleep for the next six hours. He might be able to fit in eight if he really pushed it. He definitely deserved it. 

It had been a long, long night. 

“I appreciate the concern but I can’t. I just need to get home and I’ll be fine.” Tim’s voice was hoarse, but crisp. He knew what he needed and this wasn’t it.

Dick’s frown deepened. “I know how much hospitals suck but you’re bleeding. A lot. I can’t in good conscience let you just leave you on your own. Not like this.”

Tim stared at him for a long moment. His vision was beginning to clear up but shadows still loomed around the edges. “I don’t need your help. I had it covered before you got here.”

Dick raised a skeptical eyebrow, “If you don’t get stitches, there’s a chance you could bleed out or get an infection. This is really serious.”

“I’m fine,” Tim repeated, trying to get a hand under him and push up. 

Dick wasn’t having it, though, and pressed a hand to his shoulder, effectively pinning him back against the wall of the alley, where he had slumped over. The sun had gone down, leaving them in the dark.

It smelled like rotten fish sticks and back alley sludge. 

At least he hadn’t ended up in a dumpster again—because that had been embarrassing, for both he and the driver that found him. 

He didn’t remember going down, or even where he had gone down. Except—Tim sucked in a breathing, running his hand down his front expecting Kevlar and nomac weave, which was bad—like, really bad. 

Except somehow, some way, he wasn’t in his bodysuit. He was dressed in a Blink-182 hoodie and snow-damp jeans, all tied together with a pair of scuffed up Chucks. Not practical for snow and ice but better than being found out by one of Gotham’s vigilantes. 

“Stop moving around so much, please. It’s only going to make things worse.” Dick argued gently. 

Now Tim really did roll his eyes. “I can’t go to the hospital. I’ve had worse and come out just fine. I’ll survive.” 

He would and he had. Much, much worse. 

He’d been at this since he was sixteen when he’d learned how to suture from YouTube videos before his first sensei. He had been stabbed, poisoned and damn near decapitated on one very unfortunate occasion, and he was fine. 

He’d get over it. 

“Just because you have doesn’t mean you shouldn’t go now.” Dick said seriously, not moving his hand even when Tim tried to shrug it off. 

“What part of I can’t aren’t you hearing?” Tim snapped back. “Look, I haven’t done anything wrong so you can’t hold me in a citizen’s arrest.”

Dick sighed, “I know that. Just give me one reason why you shouldn’t go to the hospital—I know people who can help.” 

Tim ignored him. He didn’t have time for this he needed…he needed- 

“My backpack! Have you-” Tim said suddenly, his heart slamming to a halt. He tried to sit up quickly and regretted it immediately when his vision started to blackout again. 

“Woah, woah, woah, slowdown,” Dick begged, serving as the only thing to keep him from falling all over himself. Carefully, without jostling Tim more, he reached over and moved his backpack so it was beside his lap. “It’s right here, safe and sound.”

Tim instinctively reached out, running his hand over the waterproof canvas. Good. It was safe and hopefully unopened because that sitch would be a nightmare and a half to handle. 

As it was now, Dick (Nightwing) just being here had a chance to ruin everything. 

Out of 10 million people, seriously. 

“Will you let me call an ambulance now?” Dick pleaded, eyes sharp and worried. 

Tim opened his eyes (not realizing he’d closed them in the first place) and glared at Dick. “I already told you, I can’t, okay? If you call, I will ruin your credit. Trust me. I know people.”

Well, he knew himself and it had been a hot minute since he’d been able to have a little fun. 

Dick’s eyebrows shot up, “You don’t even-“

“Know who you are?” Tim cut off. “Dick Grayson-Wayne, son of billionaire Bruce Wayne. Please, everyone in Gotham knows you.”

Dick grimaced, rubbing the back of his neck. “So, I guess you do know who I am. I still don’t know who you are, though.”

“And you don’t need to.” Tim supplied.

When Dick frowned, his eyebrows drew together, “Are you in some sort of trouble? The hospital has resources and systems in place, if you are. They’ll help you figure something out.”

Tim sighed hard, “I’m not in trouble. I just don’t have insurance, alright? I can’t afford to go to the hospital.”

It was a reasonable excuse taking into account the corporate hellscape that was the American healthcare system (or, lack thereof). The lie was more believable for a myriad of other reasons, those including, he shouldn’t actually be alive right now. In fact, there's a family burial plot in Bristol with his name on it. 

So, yeah, a can of worms he didn’t particularly take joy in opening right this second, especially not with one of Gotham’s most fearsome vigilantes. 

Dick’s worried expression softened, “I didn’t realize, I’m sorry.”

Tim had to fight the urge to roll his eyes again. It was rich coming from the son of the richest man in Gotham. “I don’t need an apology, I don’t need a hospital, I just need to go home, okay?”

Dick sighed, looking conflicted, “The hospital has financial resources to help offset cost, when needed. I have friends there, I can make sure you get help.”

And it definitely didn’t have anything to do with a wing of the hospital having the Wayne family name plastered on it. 

“Please, just, stop.” Tim snapped. He was exhausted, in pain, and cranky, and this was putting him over the edge. “Look, I know you just want to help but not everyone needs your help, okay?”

Dick flinched and the part of Tim that had once been Dick Grayson’s number one fan shriveled a little. A cold wave of shame washed over him, but he held firm, staring him down with a hard expression. It was exactly the reaction he intended but that didn’t make it feel a little guilty. 

Little fanboy Tim would have died.

Once upon a time, he had looked up to him, Batman’s first Robin. But things changed, dreams died, and no one had come to save Tim Drake—not Robin, not Batman, and certainly not Nightwing. 

Dick’s grip loosened on Tim, making it a little easier to try and get to his feet. He managed to wrap his numb fingers around the strap of his backpack and push up with the other and—

He was on the ground again. 

This time, on his side, breathing heavily, and shaking. The pavement was cold and solid against his cheek while the world was twisting and turning around him. 

Dick was talking but it all came out muffled, like cotton was stuffed in his ears. His tongue felt too thick in his mouth making it hard to form words. 

The burning sensation from the nick just below his ribs burned white hot while with pressure being held on the wound. 

Tim let out an embarrassing keening noise, closing his eyes again. “I know, I’m sorry.” Dick said softly, but didn’t let up on the pressure. “You’re bleeding too much. You need help.”

“No hospitals.” Tim hissed through his teeth, although his words were slurred. It was debatable whether they were intelligible or not. 

“I know, I have a plan.” Dick said but didn’t elaborate upon said plan. 

He’s not sure how long they sit there—Dick taking and Tim lying in the waves of pain, radiating from the gash caused by a rogue batarang.

It hadn’t even been meant for him—just a wrong place, wrong time sort of sitch. He should have been faster, should have been paying more when it hit the hvac and rebounded, slicing him.

It made quick work of cutting through his uniform (and would be a major pain to stitch up later).

Headlights illuminated the alley even as it was put in park and heavy boots hit the pavement. “I thought we talked about this, Dickie? No more bringin’ home strays, yeah?”

Tim’s heart came to a sudden, painful, halt. That voice—even without the modulator—

“I know, it’s, uh, a long story and I’m just out of options.” 

Jason Todd—Red Hood—scoffed, coming to crouch down beside Dick, in front of him, his boots level with Tim’s view. They were well-worn, steel-toed boots that crushed through the thin sheet of ice. “That’s what you said last time.” He argued with no real heat. “Hey kid, still awake?”

“‘m not a kid.” Tim tried to argue, earning him a laugh.

“You sure look like a kid to me. What are you? Twelve?” 

“Twenty three.” Tim corrected. 

“Yeah, no, good try but you look about twelve to me. You gotta name, kid?”

And we’re back at this game again. Great. 

“Maybe.” 

“That’s not good enough. You can give me a name or I call EMS and you and the cops can figure it out. So, try again. What’s your name?”

“Jay,” Dick warned. 

“Richard,” Jason repeated back in the same tone and Tim could almost hear the eye roll in his voice. “If he wants help, he’s gotta give a little too. I’m not going to compromise our house for some twerp. So what’s it gonna be kid? A name or the cops?”

He paused to consider. Although honestly there really isn’t much to consider. A name or the cops.

Nightwing is one thing but pinned down between Red Hood and Nightwing while trying to pretend you’re an average Joe is another. 

He had a name—he had many, but at the moment, trying to find one was like grasping at air. Nothing tangible wanted to stick. Alvin Draper wasn’t a choice after his heist in Berlin, Caroline Hill wasn’t appropriate in this scenario-

“Cal,” Tim finally managed, slower than he would have liked. 

Hood—Jason—made a satisfied noise. “You got a last name, Cal?”

“Do I have to?”

“Do I have to?” Jason mocked. “Yes, you have to. You know the deal—you want our help, you’ve got to give a little in return.”

Tim glared which only serves to egg on Jason’s attitude, Jason smirked.

“Cococran.” It takes him a beat longer than he would have liked to fish for the name. But things like blood loss and sleep dep decide to make things difficult.

Sue him. 

“Alright, Cal, you in trouble or somethin’?”

“Jay-“ Jason holds up his hand to cut of Dick. 

“I’m serious, kid. Are you in trouble?” Jason repeats, watching Tim with a hard, unreadable expression. 

Tim grit his teeth, locking eyes with him. “…no.”

Jason didn’t respond for a long moment, searching his expression. “Fine,” he grunted, turning back to Dick. “You couldn’t ’ve called Leslie, could you?”

Dick sighed. “I know but just look at him.”

Jason rolled his eyes, “Yeah, yeah, you and B and your whole bighearted shitck, I get it. But after this, nu-uh, I mean it. This is the last time, seriously.”

Dick smiled softly at him and then it was time to get to work.

Halfway through peeling the hoodie away and plastering a wound dressing to his side and being shoved in the back seat with Dick, things get hazy, and he’s out.

[4littlefishies]

The 36th Floor - Deal.

satoru gojo x suguru geto

warnings: smut and fluff ;)

wc: 7.5k

previous chapter here

note: I don't really post the notes here like I do on ao3, but this is the last chapter of this fic! ty guys for all the love here, I appreciate everything and I hope you enjoyed reading as much as I do writing <3

“I’m still pissed at both of you.” Shoko says as she watches both Satoru and Suguru pack up their desks. It’s both of their last days in the office. Her arms are crossed in front of her chest as she sits in her chair with one leg crossed over the other, brows furrowed, looking up at her friends. 

“Shouldn’t you be packing up your shit to move too?” Suguru shoots back, neatly packing up the last of his things to take home in a small box. 

“I’m moving down the hallway, not across the country.” She retorts, narrowing her eyes up at him. Suguru smiles back at her and looks over to Satoru as he packs up his desk as well. “And I have two idiots to help me move everything, so it’s not that big of a deal.” She continues.

“Hey.” Satoru interjects, looking at her with furrowed brows while he shakes his head, looking disapprovingly across the aisle at her. “Don’t call my boyfriend an idiot.” Suguru smiles at Satoru and Shoko smiles sweetly back at him and scrunches her nose, somehow teasing him without saying a word. 

It was nearing the end of November; the days were short and cold, and the year was close to an end. Satoru had given his notice that he was quitting the same day that he found out about Suguru’s new job. He marched right into Nanami’s office and told him that he was going as well, which was no surprise to Nanami. He was actually kind of upset to see him go, but was very understanding of the situation. 

Suguru was pretty much totally moved into Satoru’s apartment, besides a few miscellaneous items and some trash that needed to be taken out. It only took them a couple days to get the majority of his things moved over with the help of movers and a very determined Satoru. Suguru was surprised with how focused Satoru could get when it came to something that he actually really cared about. He only had about one suitcase full of stuff left that they would get tonight and bring back to Satoru's, which would mean that Suguru was officially moved in. 

Suguru looks down at his watch as he finishes up his desk. There was about an hour left in the work day and he was pretty much done with everything. He had wrapped up projects, and given the unfinished things back to Nanami, making sure to apologize for what he was leaving behind. 

“Geto, it’s okay, don’t worry about it, really.” Nanami responds, looking up at Suguru from where he sits behind his desk. “Ino’s going to be taking over some of your tasks, so this is actually really great for practice.” Suguru smiles back at him with an exhale of relief. 

“That’s good.” He says softly. “Do you need anything else from me?” He asks, unsure of what there is left to do, if anything at all. 

“I think we’re all good. If you wanna get out of here, you can take off a little bit early; start enjoying your vacation before you start your training.” Nanami says, sitting back in his chair and looking up at him with a soft smile.

Suguru smiles back at him as he takes a breath. They weren’t going anywhere special, but both Satoru and Suguru decided to finish a week early so that they would have time to transition easily and get settled in before Suguru started his training. “I think I’m gonna stay and help Shoko move her things. I also gotta wait for Satoru anyways, but I’ll catch you before I head out.” 

“Alright, sounds good.” Nanami nods his head and Suguru retreats back out of the office and heads back down the hallway, only to hear Satoru and Shoko bickering coming from around the corner as he gets closer.

“At least I’m not addicted to cigarettes.” He hears Satoru say. His voice is playful as the two of them bicker back and forth, neither of their feelings ever actually getting hurt.

“At least I didn’t quit my job because I can’t be away from my boyfriend for more than six hours.” She shoots back surprisingly calmly with a smirk on her face. Suguru chuckles lightly as he makes it back to his desk and sits down.

“Sugu, are you just gonna let her talk to me like that?!” Satoru asks, his voice getting higher in pitch towards the end of the sentence. 

Suguru crosses his arms and just sits back to watch the show unfold in front of him, for once, not having anything to do. “I think I’m on her side, actually.” The corners of his mouth downturned as he shakes his head.

Satoru’s jaw drops and his eyes widen as he tries to keep his smile contained. “Well, maybe I’ll just stay here then and you can go to Fukuoka by yourself.” He threatens, furrowing his brows and crossing his arms.

“Okay.” Suguru says, knowing he isn’t a serious threat and that Satoru will take it back immediately.

“Wait, no! I was kidding!”

The last hour of the day seems to go by in a flash. Many of their coworkers come to say goodbye and good luck to the both of them in their new adventures. Before they head out, Satoru and Suguru head up the hallway to say goodbye to Nanami and Utahime.

“Congratulations to the both of you.” Nanami looks between the two of them. “I hope you have a great time in Fukuoka and I look forward to working with you again in the future.” Nanami says, shaking Suguru’s hand with a smile. 

“Thank you.” Suguru says with a soft smile before they cross the hallway for Satoru to bother Utahime one last time.

“You’re gonna miss me, aren’t you Utahime?” Satoru asks, peeking his head into her office.

She lets out an exasperated sigh as she looks up at him and says with a deadpan face, “No.” Suguru chuckles behind him in the hallway and peeks his head inside. “You, I’ll miss though.” She says, standing up and walking to the front of her desk to give Suguru a hug.

“Why does he get one and I don’t?” Satoru asks, scrunching his nose and furrowing his brows.

“Because he wasn’t a thorn in my side the entire time he’s worked here.” She says, stepping back and crossing her arms as she looks at Satoru. Suguru smiles as he looks between the two of them. “You’re sure you wanna go with him?” Utahime asks as if Satoru can’t hear her.

Suguru smiles, looking back at her and nodding. “Unfortunately, I kinda like him a lot.” 

“Unfortunately?!” Satoru cries out dramatically, pulling another chuckle from Suguru. They say their final goodbyes before grabbing their things and heading out the front doors together for the last time.

“It feels weird that this isn’t gonna be my office anymore.” Suguru says as they step into the empty elevator, mostly everyone already having left for the weekend. Satoru pushes the button for the lobby and the doors close. 

“Remember when we made out in here?” Satoru asks, completely ignoring Suguru trying to be sentimental. Suguru shakes his head and rolls his eyes.

“Which time?” He asks with a quick chuckle, thinking back on the last year he’s been in this office. 

“Any of ‘em.” Satoru returns with a smile, leaning towards Suguru to press a quick peck to his lips. “We’re going to get the last of your things, right?” He asks as the doors open to a fairly dead lobby. 

“If that’s okay with you?” Suguru asks, okay with doing whatever Satoru wants to do. 

“Yeah, hurry, let’s go.” Satoru says, impatiently hurrying ahead towards the front doors of the building.

Suguru calls out after him, picking up his pace to keep up with Satoru. “Slow down! I’ve got more stuff to carry than you do.” 

~~~~~~~~~~

It takes them a couple hours, but they successfully get the last of everything packed and moved out of Suguru’s apartment, leaving it just as barren as the day he first moved in. The walls are blank, the rooms are empty once again. Suguru didn’t care as much as he thought he would, because when he thinks back on the past year, a majority of his memories were in Satoru’s apartment, not his. 

They make it up to the 36th floor with the last bags and close the front door with a huff, tired from carrying everything to the train and then from the train back to the apartment.

“I can’t believe we finally did it.” Suguru says, dropping the heavy bag in his arms right next to the front door. 

“Yeah… This is our apartment now.” Satoru says, turning around and smiling at Suguru who smiles back excitedly. There’s still stuff everywhere, but it’s slowly getting there. Both of them are busy trying to unpack Suguru’s things while also simultaneously trying to pack for six months away. They would be coming back a couple times over weekends, but only for one or two nights at a time.

“I can’t believe it.” He says, looking around the place where he’s spent more than half of his nights the past year. “It almost feels like a completely different place seeing my things everywhere mixed in with yours.” Suguru steps forward with his arms open, closing the gap between them. Satoru wraps his arms around Suguru’s shoulders, squeezing him tightly and pressing a kiss to the side of his head. 

“You won’t even be here a whole week before we’re gone for six months.” Satoru points out, talking against Suguru’s hair.

“Very astute observation, honey.” Suguru shoots back sarcastically as he leans his head back to look at Satoru. Satoru scrunches his nose at him before leaning in and pressing his lips to Suguru’s. Satoru smiles against his lips, feeling one of Suguru’s hands gently cupping the side of his face. He leans into it, earning a smile back from Suguru up against his lips. 

Satoru pulls back just enough to be able to look Suguru in the eyes. “I’m so glad you’re here. I’m so thankful that you’re in my life and I probably don’t tell you that enough so I’m telling you now.” He says in a soft voice. Suguru can’t stop the smile that forms on his face. 

The night after what Satoru had dubbed, the email incident, they went to Suguru’s apartment where they sat on the couch and just talked for hours. No music, no tv, nothing but the sound of their voices. It started out with talking about why Suguru did what he did and Satoru explaining how he had felt the entire week and how much it hurt that he didn’t find out about the news from Suguru first. They talked about how to make sure something like that doesn’t happen again.

“What, did you think I was gonna be mad?”

“No, I don’t know, I guess? Maybe? I just didn’t want to be the reason that you were so disappointed.”

“Sugu! I’m ecstatic for you! Why do you think I’d be disappointed?”

“Well… I wasn’t really foreseeing you coming with me.”

“I think it’s a little bit insulting that you didn’t realize sooner that I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

Suguru chuckles, thinking back to the moment.

“You’re right. I really should’ve seen that coming sooner.”

“But Sugu, you know you can tell me anything, right? I think you know better than anyone I’m usually pretty easy going when it comes to you especially.”

“Unless I eat your last mochi.”

“Unless you eat my last mochi.”

“What’s so funny?” Satoru asks, raising an eyebrow at him.

“Nothing, I was just thinking the same thing about you.” Suguru responds with a soft smile on his face. 

Satoru smiles before rolling his eyes dramatically. “Oh brother, we got a corndog over here.” He says, letting go of his grip on Suguru’s shoulders and looking around like he’s talking to a crowd of people.

Suguru scoffs lightly, an open mouthed smile on his face as he holds up one finger while his other hand finds its way around Satoru’s. “You said it, how am I the corny one?!”

“You didn’t know what to say so you just said that.”

“So you don’t think I’m thankful to have you in my life?”

“That’s not what I said, Suguru.” Satoru shakes his head at him. “I know you are, but I want to hear you say it. It’s not fair if I say it and you just say ‘ditto.’ You need to actually tell me how you feel.” Satoru goes on, for once sounding like the more mature one between the two.

“Okay, okay.” Suguru says to get him to stop for a moment. He takes a breath and looks into Satoru’s eyes, now holding both his hands in his own. “I’m very grateful to have you in my life and I’m very excited and can’t wait to live with you.” Satoru smiles like he’s just waiting because he has something to say. “What?” Suguru already knows it’s going to be some kind of teasing by the look he has.

“Sugu, you already live with me.” Satoru says with a shit eating grin on his face. Suguru looks into his eyes with a blank stare for a moment, not even a twitch of a smile to be seen. 

“You know what I meant, smartass.” Suguru says, letting go of Satoru’s hands and shaking his head with narrowed eyes. He turns around to head to the bedroom, wanting to change out of his work clothes that he’d been in all day. Satoru follows closely, trailing behind him like a duckling following its mother. 

“Wait!” He calls out after him, following him into their bedroom and grabbing his hand to stop him before he goes into the closet. Suguru turns around, slightly confused.

“What?” He turns around only to be met with Satoru’s arm around his waist, pulling him in close and kissing him deeply. Suguru melts against him, a warm, content feeling washing over his body.

“I just wanna kiss you some more.” Satoru says in between kisses as he continues pressing his lips around Suguru’s mouth and face. “I like kissing you.” His face kisses turn into jaw kisses which quickly turn into neck kisses. He pushes the long black hair back over Suguru’s shoulder and dips his head in between his head and shoulder to press soft, wet kisses to the side of his neck and up to his ear. 

Suguru lets him keep going, letting his eyes fall closed and his head fall back at the feeling. It causes goosebumps all over his skin that he can feel under his clothes. He holds his bottom lip in between his teeth as he presses his fingers into Satoru’s forearm. “I know what you're doing.” He says with a smirk.

“What am I doing?” Satoru asks, pretending to be oblivious as his warm breath tickles the sensitive skin of Suguru’s neck. 

Suguru can’t help but smile at the sensation, feeling Satoru continuing to press kisses all over his neck. “You always start by kissing my neck, you know?” 

“It hasn't failed me yet.” Satoru says in between kisses, a gentle smile on his lips.

“I can think of a couple times when it’s failed you, actually.”

Satoru is confident when he says his next sentence, his voice low and alluring as he speaks softly. “But it isn’t going to this time, is it?”

Suguru’s quiet, trying to hide the smirk growing on his face and the warmth in his cheeks. One hand holds onto Satoru’s forearm while the other rests against his lower back, pulling him closer. “Don’t you wanna shower first? We’re all sweaty and gross from moving my stuff.”   

“If you think I care for one second what you smell like, Suguru Geto, you are sorely mistaken.” Satoru says, his fingers already starting to make easy work of the buttons on the front of Suguru’s shirt. “It just makes you all the more enticing.” Suguru can’t help but smile as he lifts his head and takes over, undoing the rest of the buttons on his shirt.

Satoru starts to unbutton his own shirt, but promptly gets distracted when Suguru lets his fall to the ground, landing next to his feet. He lets his hands reach out and run over the warm skin of Suguru’s chest and shoulders while he takes the hair tie out of his hair, shaking the rest of it out to fall down and cascade around his shoulders and back. “You’re easily distracted.” Suguru teases as he continues unbuttoning Satoru’s shirt the rest of the way. 

Satoru traces his fingers delicately over the intricate ink in his skin. “You’re gorgeous, how am I supposed to not get distracted?” Satoru asks as he goes back in for another kiss, desperate to feel Suguru’s lips on his again. He brings his hand to Suguru’s pants, undoing his belt and unbuttoning his pants seamlessly without ever pulling away from his lips. Suguru tries to do the same, but Satoru stops him and pulls him over to the armchairs next to the tall windows. “Sit.” He commands.

“Someone’s being awfully bossy, aren’t they?” Suguru teases as he kicks his pants off and sits down, letting his legs spread wide. Satoru barely needs to do anything, Suguru’s cock is already straining against his underwear, begging for attention. He kneels on the ground in between Suguru’s legs, looking up at him with a smirk as he presses a couple kisses to the tops of his thighs and up towards his stomach. 

“You like it,” Satoru shoots back, “obviously.” Suguru sucks in a breath through his teeth as he watches Satoru finally press a kiss to his cock through the fabric. His head falls back over the chair as he looks up at the ceiling for a moment before closing his eyes, feeling his hair slowly falling and flowing down the back as well. His fingers grip onto the arms of the chair as Satoru runs his hands up the front of his thighs. Satoru hooks his fingers over the band and pulls down his underwear, Suguru lifting his hips just enough to allow him to slide them off. “Yeah, you really like it.” Satoru teases, taking the length in front of him into his hand and pressing a kiss to his hot, leaky tip. 

Suguru can feel the heat in his cheeks as he opens his eyes and lifts his head back up to look down at a very pleased-with-himself Satoru. “I think I’d like your mouth around my cock more.” Suguru retorts, looking at him with half lidded eyes. 

Satoru smiles up at him and decides to tease him no further, taking first, the tip into his mouth and sucking lightly on it before taking more into his mouth, pulling a low groan from Suguru’s throat. “Fuck, baby.” He breathes out, bringing one hand down to hold onto his face gently. Satoru doesn’t look away for a second, keeping eye contact with Suguru as he continues bobbing his head slowly, taking more of him in every time. “Why you like this all of a sudden?” 

Pulling off for just a second, a string of saliva connecting his lips to Suguru’s tip, Satoru smiles up at him. “I’m proud of you.” He says, making Suguru’s heart skip a beat. “Just wanna treat you nice right now.”

Suguru smiles back down at him, but Satoru doesn’t wait for him to answer before going back to what he was doing. “Hah, Satoru.” He breathes out, rubbing his thumb over Satoru’s cheek softly as he slowly swallows his cock like it’s nothing. “My handsome boy.” Satoru hums happily around Suguru, causing his hips to twitch from the sensation. “Shit.” 

His hand moves from where it rests on his cheek up to tangle into Satoru’s soft hair. He tugs lightly at the bright strands, his hands following the movement of Satoru’s head. The warmth that his mouth brings, the love in his eyes, and the way he looks on his knees in front of Suguru is enough to drive him crazy already. “Babyyy.” He draws out, leaning his head back with a groan. The way Satoru’s tongue feels as it drags against the bottom of his cock is indescribable.

Satoru lifts his head once again, his tongue slowly making its way up the bottom of Suguru’s cock as he pulls back as if he knew exactly what he was thinking. This time, he keeps his slow yet steady pace with his hand. “Yes, my sweet?” He asks with a wide smile on his face, his lips pink and shiny. 

Suguru nearly cums at the feeling of Satoru’s tongue alone. “Wanna cum with you.” Suguru whines shakily, somewhat out of character for once.

Satoru smirks back up at him, standing up and starting to undo his own pants quickly, the intense need and desire burning through his veins. “That’s good because I was getting really impatient.” Satoru says, shedding his clothes to reveal his already leaking tip.

“God, Satoru.” Suguru nearly scoffs while he’s gawking at the sight in front of him like he’s never seen it before. Before he can say anymore, Satoru is straddling him in the chair, grinding up against his painfully hard cock. He sucks in a hiss at the feeling, resting his hands on Satoru’s ass and gripping the flesh between his fingers. He rubs a few careful circles around Satoru’s hole with his middle finger before slowly pressing inside, earning a soft moan from Satoru’s mouth that makes his cock twitch. 

He buries his finger all the way inside before pulling it back out, watching the look on Satoru’s face as he continues, adding another finger as soon as he’s able to. The noises that emit from Satoru’s mouth are enough to have him incredibly impatient already. He takes his fingers out and looks up at Satoru, waiting for him to make a move.

Satoru reaches down to rub Suguru’s slick cock against his needy entrance, causing Suguru to hiss again at the feeling. “You like that?” Satoru asks, a smirk on his face as he looks down at Suguru.

Suguru this time is the one to have a pout on his face. “Baby, please stop teasing.” He pleads, running one of his large hands up Satoru’s back and pulling him closer. For once, Satoru doesn’t say anything and actually listens, feeling just as impatient. He slowly lowers himself, feeling as Suguru’s slick cock fills him up. 

“Fuck, Sugu.” He whimpers softly. He keeps slowly going until their bodies are flush against one another. 

“Yeah, baby?” Suguru asks, his voice sweet as he looks up at Satoru as he stills, adjusting to Suguru’s size. Both of his hands are now spread wide over Satoru’s back, the pads of his fingers pressing into the soft skin. Feeling the warmth and wetness of Satoru surrounding him is enough to make him take a deep breath, trying to ground himself.

Satoru grinds his hips down even further, his eyes rolling back in his head as he gets the feeling he’s desperately chasing after. “Shi-it, ‘tso big.” He says, looking down at Suguru underneath him with his eyebrows upturned and his mouth hanging slightly open. He looks back up at him with a big smile on his face as he leans forward, his mouth at the perfect height to press a wet kiss to one of Satoru’s nipples. Satoru lets out a whiny moan as Suguru’s tongue presses against it, licking a slow circle around it before he sucks on it lightly. “Fuck.” He breathes out simply, as Suguru pulls back with a sultry smile.

Finally finding the will power to move, Satoru lifts himself slowly up before lowering once again, lewd noises escaping his throat as he does so. Suguru can’t help but change the angle of his hips with the movement, rolling them upwards to meet Satoru’s and effectively hitting him in deeper spots than before. 

“You look so pretty like this, baby. So, so fucking pretty.” Suguru coos, continuing to press kisses to Satoru’s chest as he slowly rides him. “Breathtaking.” He lets out, his voice breathy as he says it. Satoru can’t help but smile at the compliments that spill out of Suguru’s mouth as he keeps his slow pace, not wanting to rush anything.

“You- hah, ah, shit- you should see my point of view.” Satoru manages to get out, barely managing to keep going and talk at the same time. Suguru chuckles lightly. “Ah- I can feel it when you laugh.” Satoru lets out, looking down at Suguru with his mouth hanging open and his hair starting to stick to his forehead. 

“You’re doing so, so good for me, Toru.” Suguru’s voice is low, but still soft and sweet as he murmurs quiet praises against Satoru’s skin. 

The whispers up against his skin are enough to have his legs feeling weak underneath him, but he keeps pushing through it, not wanting to stop just yet. “Mmmm.” Satoru hums out as he looks down at Suguru with his eyebrows upturned and his bottom lip in between his teeth. 

Suguru takes one of his hands from where it presses into Satoru’s back and brings it between them, running it slowly up the front of Satoru’s chest. Suguru doesn’t even need to tell Satoru to open his mouth, as his mouth already hangs open. He presses his middle finger against Satoru’s tongue, his smile alluring as Satoru sticks his tongue out. His ring finger joins his middle one on Satoru’s tongue before his lips close around his thick digits.

“I can’t believe you’re all mine, baby.” Suguru says with an open-mouthed smile, feeling Satoru’s tongue against his fingers as simultaneously he squeezes around his cock. He licks his lips, wetting them before pulling his fingers out of Satoru’s mouth and placing his hand lightly around Satoru’s throat, pulling him in for a kiss. 

A whiny moan comes out of Satoru’s mouth as he’s pulled forward, crashing against Suguru’s lips with little restraint, too eager to care at all. His own hands tangle into Suguru’s long onyx hair, pulling at the base where it meets his scalp. He notices that Suguru smiles against his lips and smiles back, moaning into his mouth as he feels the fingers tighten ever so slightly against the sides of his neck. His eyes are closed, but that does little to stop them from rolling back in his skull once again.

With every passing moment, it’s getting harder to continue, his thighs feeling like they’re going to give out any second from underneath him. Suguru can feel that he’s slowing down and brings both his hands down to grab underneath his ass, helping move him up and down at the same slow pace.

“Fuck, tired already, baby?” Suguru teases lightly, feeling Satoru stop, having him do almost all of the work now.

Satoru can’t find the words to answer, wanting to respond like the smartass he is, but the words won’t form in his head. “Sh-h- fuuck.” He mewls out as Suguru lifts and drops him back down on his cock with ease. 

Suguru stops, catching Satoru slightly by surprise. He does his best to keep his hips moving, but his legs are shaking too much to continue. “Can you stand up?” Suguru asks, his voice just above a whisper. Satoru nods his head, not even knowing if he can for sure before he answers. He lifts himself up, whining at the feeling of Suguru’s cock slipping out and leaving him with an overwhelming emptiness. He stands up and immediately leans against the window next to them, the freezing glass a shocking sensation against his hot and sticky skin. 

“Hahh.” He breathes out, feeling goosebumps forming along his skin as Suguru stands up and comes right behind him, holding his hips from behind. Satoru doesn’t need any warning, a moan ripping from his mouth when Suguru slips himself back inside, feeling whole once again. His flushed cheek is pressed up against the glass, his hands and forearms on either side of his head holding himself steady. Legs still shaky underneath him, he finds it easier to stand in one spot than to continue the motion he was doing earlier, bouncing up and down on Suguru’s cock. 

Suguru presses his hand against Satoru’s lower back, his fingers flaying out wide over the space as he holds his hip with his other hand. “Still doing alright baby?” He asks, his voice tender as he pushes all the way back in and pulls out, his movements slow but unfaltering.

“Mmhm.” Satoru hums in response, his cheek and arms still pressed against the freezing window. Between the sensation of the cold of the glass and the heat of Suguru slowly pressing into him from behind and pulling back out again, he can’t find any other words. 

“You’re squeezing me real good, baby.” He sucks in a breath through his teeth. “Not gonna last much longer like this.” He says, letting his head fall back for just a moment before he hears Satoru speak up. His hair tickles the skin of his back as he looks up.

“I’m close too.” Satoru manages to get out, turning his head further back over his shoulder to look at Suguru. Seeing the look on Suguru’s face is nearly enough to send him over the edge; the way his cheeks are flushed, and his eyes are full of lust, but also full of complete love and adoration.

Without warning, Suguru reaches around and wraps his hand around Satoru’s cock that’s begging for attention. “Ah,” Satoru cries out at the sudden sensation, “Shiiit.” He was already close without this, but Suguru’s warm hand wrapped around him, pumping at the same rate he pushes into him from behind sends him even closer. He can feel as Suguru’s cock twitches inside of him, letting him know that he’s close as well. 

Hunched over him, Suguru’s chest is pressed against Satoru’s back. “You gonna cum for me baby? Let me hear those pretty noises of yours?” Suguru asks, his voice slightly whiny as he tries to talk, nearing his own orgasm as well. Satoru can’t do anything but answer with hums and moans, his mind too scrambled by the pleasure filling his entire body. His thrusts don’t speed up, but Satoru cries out as he feels him go deeper somehow, hitting the sweet spot deep inside him perfectly over and over again. 

Suguru can easily tell that Satoru’s nearing his climax. He has the same tells every time, which makes it easy for Suguru to know. He keeps his same pace, angling his hips perfectly to hit the same spot over and over again, knowing it’ll send him over the edge. He feels as Satoru’s squeezing around him, making it harder to maintain the same pace, but doing it anyway. “Shit, baby, ‘m cumming.” He lets out, his voice raspy as his eyes uncontrollably roll back.

Reaching back to grab at Suguru’s hand, Satoru feels his legs start to give out underneath himself. Suguru lets go of Satoru’s cock and grabs his hand instead, lacing their fingers tightly together while also managing to help hold him up with his other arm, continuing to slowly fuck him through both of their orgasms. Satoru feels the familiar warmth inside of him as he tips over the edge. He swears he sees stars as he cries out, still with his head over his shoulder watching Suguru. “Nngh, fuuck Sugu-” He mewls, his legs shaking underneath the weight of his own body as he cums onto the floor below. 

Suguru finally stills his hips, starting to slowly pull out before Satoru stops him, both of them still breathing hard. “Not yet please… Just stay like this for a little longer.” He pleas, his breath shaky as he speaks, turning his face back towards the window. His hot breath fogs up the glass in front of him, something that he knows he’ll have to clean the handprints off of later. 

Suguru smiles at his request, staying inside of him for a few extra moments while he starts to go soft once again. When he finally pulls out, the white sticky substance drips out of Satoru down onto the floor. I’ll deal with that later. Satoru stands up, pushing himself off of the window and turns around to immediately wrap his arms around Suguru’s shoulders. Their hot skin sticks together as Sguru reciprocates and wraps his own arms around Satoru’s torso, holding him close. “You okay?” He coos softly, his voice delicate and caring.

“Yeah.” Satoru says, smiling against the skin of Suguru’s shoulder. “Not sure if I can move from right here, though.” He says, pulling a chuckle from Suguru. 

“Need me to carry you?” Suguru asks, already knowing the answer. Satoru nods his head and Suguru carries him into the bathroom, turning on the bath with one hand before setting him down once again. Satoru keeps his hold around Suguru’s shoulders, sure that if he lets go, his legs will collapse underneath him. “I love you.” Suguru whispers against Satoru’s neck before he presses a soft kiss underneath his ear.

“I love you too.” He whispers in response, exhausted smiles on both of their faces. 

Once the tub is about halfway full, Suguru helps Satoru in and helps him sit down. He lays back and sighs at the feeling of the hot water soothing his muscles. “I’ll be right back.” Suguru says, leaning down to press a kiss to Satoru’s forehead before turning to head out of the bathroom.

“Wait!” Satoru cries out, grabbing his wrist just before he hurries away. Suguru turns back, looking down at Satoru where he sits with a waiting look. “Don’t leave yet.”

“Baby, I was just gonna go get you some water.” Suguru explains, looking down at Satoru with his white hair stuck to his forehead, his skin still all sweaty and flushed.

“There’s plenty of water right here.” Satoru says, pouting.

“You know what I meant.” Suguru says, shaking his head with a smile. “I won’t be more than a minute. Promise.” He looks into Satoru’s pleading eyes, the blue in them practically sparkling up at him.

Satoru looks up at him with a grin and lets go of his wrist. “Sixty. Fifty-nine. Fifty-eight. Fifty-seven- you better get going, your time is running out quickly- Fifty-six.” Satoru starts counting down, looking up at Suguru with raised brows as he continues. Suguru chuckles and shakes his head before turning out and heading to the kitchen. He quickly fills up a glass of water and takes a sip for himself before he grabs a couple mochi from the fridge that they had received as a gift from Shoko celebrating their last day. He takes a bite out of what turns out to be a matcha flavored one and leaves the pink colored one for Satoru as he makes his way back to the bathroom. 

As he passes back through the bedroom door, he can still hear Satoru loudly counting. He chuckles to himself, unable to keep the smile from his face. “Seven. Six. Five. Four. Th- Oh, look, right on time.” Satoru says, looking up at Suguru with an almost sleepy looking smile, and then a happily surprised look when he sees the mochi in his hand. Suguru sets the glass of water on the table next to the tub and hands the mochi that he hadn’t eaten off to Satoru. 

“Who’s that one for?” Satoru asks, completely serious as he’s looking at the mochi Suguru has in his hand for himself. The water is a light blue, stemming from a small blob that still fizzles in the middle of the tub. The bath bomb that Satoru had added in makes the water smell faintly like lemon, as well as lavender.  

Suguru clicks his tongue. “Baby, I want you to think long and hard about the question you just asked me.” Suguru says as he steps into the tub, sitting up against the edge opposite from Satoru. His hair floats on top of the water until it finally sinks, flowing around like a jellyfish’s tentacles under the light blue-colored water..

Satoru furrows his brows up at him as he watches him sit down facing him. He takes a bite of the mochi Suguru handed him and twists his mouth to the side, seeming to be thinking. “Well, seeing as it’s just the two of us, it’s obviously another one for me, right?” 

Suguru raises his eyebrows at Satoru as he takes a second bite out of the mochi. Satoru’s face turns into a disappointed pout that Suguru ignores while he turns off the faucet, finally feeling his muscles start to relax at the resolve of the hot water. “You’re acting like these weren’t a gift for both of us.” Suguru states with a smug grin. “What flavor did you get?” The room is finally quiet around them, nothing but the sounds of the water quietly rippling as they move.

Satoru stares at him for a moment, narrowing his eyes before smiling and taking a second bite. “Strawberry, do you wanna try?” He asks, holding it out in front of him for Suguru to take the last little bit.

“Here, you take mine.” Suguru trades with him and they both try the others, popping the last bite into their mouths. The water quietly ripples around them as they move, along with some bubbles that Satoru must have added as well while Suguru was away. Their legs are slotted in between each other and they both rest one hand on the other's leg. Suguru runs his fingers over Satoru’s skin beneath the water. “The strawberry’s good.” Suguru says with a soft smile, feeling Satoru doing the same on his leg. 

“This is good too, is it matcha?” Satoru asks, tilting his head to the side. Suguru nods his head in response, smiling softly across the way at Satoru. They sit quietly for a moment, just relaxing until Satoru speaks up again. “So they’re paying for a place for us to stay while we’re there?” Satoru asks, referring to the company that he no longer works for.

“They’re paying for a place for me to stay. You’re just lucky I’m letting you tag along.” Suguru teases. 

“Oh whatever. You don’t even know what you’d do without me for six months.” Satoru teases back with a dramatic roll of his eyes.

Suguru smiles silently, thinking of trying to deny it, but he knows he’s right. “Yeah… I’m really happy you’re coming with me though, baby.” 

“Me too. I’d go crazy if I didn’t get to sleep next to you for that long.” Satoru says and Suguru is sure that he’s telling the truth because he feels the same way. “Are you gonna miss it?” Satoru asks, his thumb still grazing lightly over the skin of Suguru’s leg underneath the water.

“I’m definitely gonna miss it.” He says, looking down with a half-smile. “I’m gonna miss being able to work with my best friends every day.” Satoru smiles back at him, but has a slightly sad look on his face. “I’m really excited for this new job, but I’m definitely gonna miss that the most.” He thinks back on the past year he’s had here and everything that’s happened. "It’s all just a little bittersweet” Suguru looks across the tub into Satoru’s eyes with a soft gaze, hoping to comfort him the best he can. “At least I have you to come home to every day.”

Satoru smiles at his last comment, thinking about it as well. “I’m really gonna miss giving you paperwork with little notes on them.”

“Baby, you can still write me notes, you know that right?” Suguru points out, angling his head to the side as he says it. 

“But we don’t work together anymore.” Satoru shoots back, his bottom lip stuck out slightly after he says it. 

“Yeah, but we live together, you don’t have to pout about it you big baby” Suguru says playfully, watching as Satoru plays with the bubbles that sit on top of the water in front of him. There’s a long pause while Satoru is seemingly thinking through his words for a moment. Suguru looks down at the water, watching the way his hand looks underneath the surface with a content look on his face.

“Sugu… Why don’t we just get married?” Satoru blurts out, sitting up slightly. The water ripples away from him towards Suguru who looks right back at him with a tender smile. 

“Okay.” Suguru answers without even a second thought. 

Satoru furrows his brows and scrunches his nose, the corners of his mouth slightly downturned. “Suguru, I was being serious” 

“So was I.” The feeling he has is one of confidence. He’d never been so sure of anything before, and he had no reason to hide it so he didn’t. Suguru didn’t think whatsoever before answering, already knowing exactly what he wanted to do with his life.

Satoru stares at him for a moment, completely dumbfounded that he agreed to something that Satoru was joking about and wasn’t even a hundred percent serious about. Yeah, he wanted to get married eventually, but Suguru just moved in. He didn’t want him to feel like he was pushing him, but he agreed on his own accord and he did it quickly.

“Really?” Satoru asks, his voice quiet and sweet, unsure if Suguru is being completely serious.

“Why would I lie about that? Baby, of course I want to marry you.” Suguru says like it’s common knowledge. His voice is warm when he speaks, finally making Satoru start to believe that he’s being serious. 

Satoru looks back with furrowed brows and a frown. “Well how was I supposed to know that if you didn’t tell me?” He’s not actually upset, more so just surprised.

“Toru, I agreed to move in with you, don’t you think that’s a good enough hint?” Suguru asks, but the face Satoru makes back at him makes him think that it definitely was not enough of a hint.

“Suguru, that’s another one of those things that you have to tell me.” Satoru chuckles lightly as he says it, moving across and repositioning himself in between Suguru’s legs. He lays with his back against his chest and rests his hand on Suguru’s thigh underneath the water. 

“I’m sorry for not telling you sooner, baby.” Suguru whispers into his neck, sending a shiver up Satoru’s spine even in the hot water. He presses a kiss to Satoru’s temple as he’s resting his head back against his chest. “Of course I want to marry you.” 

“This time, it’s okay. But next time you have something to tell me, I don’t want you to wait.” Satoru chides, poking him in the leg.

“Deal.” Suguru says, resting his chin in the crook of Satoru’s neck, sitting silently for a second, his cheeks warm from the water. “So, when did you plan on us getting married, hmm?” He asks quietly with a slight tease in his tone. 

“Well, I didn’t think you’d just agree, so I hadn’t really thought about it yet.” Satoru admits, playing with Suguru’s fingers at the surface of the water. Suguru smiles as he just watches for a moment, the gears turning quickly in his head.

“How about-'' He starts, stopping for a moment with his mouth ajar, his breath hitched in his throat as he’s thinking carefully about his next words, “-we wait until I'm done with training and get back home. Then, I’ll take us somewhere nice and we can have a nice vacation and everything.”

“I think you mean honeymoon?” 

“Okay, yes- honeymoon.” Suguru says with a smile on his face just hearing the word come out of each of their mouths. 

Satoru seems to think for a second before he speaks up again. “Can we do it right when we get back?” 

Suguru lets out a sigh, knowing that it can’t be right when they get back. He’s nervous that Satoru is going to be unhappy, but tells him anyway. “I get two weeks off at the beginning of September.” He hears and feels Satoru take a deep breath and let it out with a sigh. Is he going to be disappointed?

Satoru cranes his neck and brings his hand up and behind Suguru’s head, pulling him in for a soft kiss, subtle smiles on both of their lips as they come together. After a moment, Satoru pulls back and whispers one word against Suguru’s lips, his own curving into an excited smile.

“Deal.”

the end (except not actually, im already writing a sequel :) <3 )

[q-gorgeous]

I've Always Wanted a Puppy

fanfiction

ao3

word count: 1332

Post AGIT. Waking up in the body of a clone was the last thing Phantom expected after being offered a second chance. But now he's finding that being half human again, and a teenager at that, is full of unexpected struggles and joys. @dp-marvel94

more words hooray

He’d always wanted a puppy. 

That was all he could think about as he laid in bed in his room. 

He’d been forced back into a teenager's body to go through puberty a third time and to think about every bad thing he’d ever done. He didn’t know why Clockwork thought he deserved another chance. 

He also didn’t understand why Vlad was the one who needed to take care of him. Why did Dan need anyone to take care of him? It’s not like he was mentally a teenager, no matter how much he looked like one now. He could take care of himself. It didn’t matter that he forgot that he needed to eat food or drink water again. Or that he should be showering. Or that he wanted to lay in bed all day.

He could take care of himself. 

Vlad kept trying to do things to cheer him up too. He’d take him to an arcade and when that didn’t work he took him to a cheese tasting. Vlad knew the separate halves when they merged but he didn’t understand who Dan had become. He was treating him like he was just the halves of two people merged together. He hadn’t been that for ten years. 

A knock sounded at his door. 

“Dan?” Vlad called. He could hear Vlad shuffle awkwardly outside his door. 

“What do you want?” Dan shouted back, turning over to his other side, facing away from the door. 

“I know you don’t like visitors, but there’s someone here to see you.”

“Tell Danny to go away.” Dan ground out. “I’m not in the mood for him to play therapist. He’s been taking too many pages from Jazz.” 

“That’s not who we have out here.” Vlad said.

Dan’s brow furrowed. Who else could be here to visit him? It couldn’t have been his parents. Or, Danny’s parents. They didn’t remember anything about him or Danny. Could it be Sam or Tucker? They never really came to visit him without Danny. He seemed to always be getting his hopes up though. 

“Who is it?” Dan called back.

“Can we come in?”

Dan paused for a moment. “Sure. I guess.”

He heard the door creak open behind him. Vlad didn’t say anything but he could feel the bed sink under some weight by his feet. 

Then he felt it.

The quick falling walk of four little feet making their way up to his head. Dan turned his head just in time to see a little black and white puppy get all up in his face. It licked all over his face, his nose, his cheeks, even inside his ear. He tried to contain his smile out of spite. He didn’t want Vlad to witness him having any emotions, but a small smile finally crept over his face. 

“Where did you get a puppy from, old man?”

“Oh, I just happened to be passing by a humane society with Danny. He’d never been able to get his own dog but he thought maybe having a little buddy would be helpful for you. Jazz has recently taken to explaining to him the benefits of having an emotional support animal.” 

“Danny picked this puppy out for me?” Dan asked, staring at the small puppy. 

“He had a little help from me.” Vlad said. “But yes. We picked him out for you. What will you name him?” 

“I get to name him?” Dan asked. He’d never had to name something before. 

“Yes. He’s yours.” Vlad smiled at him. 

What name could he give? What name would fit him? He didn’t know. How did he know if he’d pick the right name? 

Dan spent a few moments thinking, waiting for it to come to him. 

“I think I’ll name him shadow.” Dan said. 

Vlad nodded. “A good name.”

Vlad stood up and gestured for Dan to follow him. “Let’s go to the pet store and pick some stuff out for him. He’ll need some toys and a bed.”

Dan scratched Shadow behind the ear and watched as he leaned into his hand. After a moment he sat up and got out of bed, taking Shadow with him. 

“Can we take him with us?” Dan asked as he caught up with Vlad. “Maybe he can pick out his own toys that way.”

“That sounds like a wonderful idea.” Vlad said as he walked with his arms held behind his back. “That way we can get an idea of what he likes at the store instead of buying something he might not like and bringing it home.” 

Dan nodded. He followed Vlad to the living room and Vlad picked up a collar and leash. They got Shadow all suited up and ready to go and then they were out the door. 

The ride to the pet store was quick and when they got there, Dan made a beeline towards the dog toys, Shadow walking close behind him on the floor. 

“How many toys can we get?” Dan called over his shoulder.

“As many as he wants. We’ve got the funds for it.”

Dan rolled his eyes. Yeah, of course they did. He was a millionaire. 

They went through the toy aisles and Dan tried many different toys with Shadow. He found out that Shadow didn’t like the rope tug a war toys but he did like playing tug a war with other toys. He liked chasing after balls but he didn’t seem big on certain chewy toys. Dan found one last crinkly toy that Shadow went crazy for and threw it in Vlad’s arms with the rest of them.

Vlad dropped one and Dan looked up at him.

“I’ll go get a cart.” He shot a thumb over his shoulder.

“I think that’d be a splendid idea.” Vlad said as he juggled the toys, instead settling on setting them on the shelf for the time being. “I’ll take Shadow’s leash until you come back.”

“Okay.” Dan passed Vlad the leash and headed towards the front where the carts were. He turned out of the aisle and ran straight into someone. 

“Watch where you’re going Fen-dweeb.” 

Dan scrunched his face up at the impact. That voice was familiar. He hadn’t heard it in such a long time he was shocked that he remembered the sound. He opened his eyes and looked up. It was Dash Baxter.

“Uh. I’m not Fenton.” Dan frowned at him.

“Oh yeah?” Dash leaned down and mocked him. “And I’m Albert Einstein.”

“No, really. I’m, uh, Danny’s cousin. Yeah. Dan. Dan Masters.”

Dash squinted at him, studying him hard. “Why do you look so much like him? It’s like that bug and cat show.”

“What?” Dan shot him a confused look but Dash just shrugged and walked away. 

“Probably still a dweeb, though.”

Dan’s eyebrows drew down and he could feel his eyes glowing a vivid red. He was about to call an ecto-blast to his fists when a hand landed on his shoulder.

He turned and looked up sharply just to find Vlad staring at him.

“Getting into fights with other teenagers, are we?” He asked disapprovingly.

“No.” Dan said, crossing his arms. “Not yet anyways.”

Shadow yipped at him, standing up on his hind legs with his front paw resting on Dan’s leg.

He smiled. “I’ll go get that cart.”

Together they piled their toys into the cart and went to pick out a bed for Shadow. He seemed to like the biggest bed best. Vlad tried to say maybe a smaller bed would be better because Shadow would not grow up to be a big dog. But Dan wanted to give this little puppy anything he wanted.

They got the big bed. 

After getting some food, they packed everything into the car and headed home.

That night, Dan played with Shadow until he tuckered him out. Shadow crawled on top of Dan on the couch and curled up on his chest. Dan petted him until he too fell asleep. 

[canonicallyobserving911]

“We need to talk.”

Fanonwriter2023 on AO3

Where CANON and FANON collide!

New Buddie Fanfic in the "What do you want?" A Series of Fics and Ficlets

The 6th fic in the "What do you want?" Series in now available on AO3. "We need to talk." - After Eddie and Buck decide to take a weekend road trip to El Paso, TX to visit Chris, during the 12-hour drive, they talk about a lot of things they’ve left unsaid.

"We need to talk."

11.4K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences

___________

Here's a snippet of a conversation Buck and Eddie are having while they're at the firehouse.

___________

Petty Eddie Diaz returns and he asks, “Are you thinking about transferring to the 325?”

As they maintain eye contact, it’s like time stands still and the silence is deafening.

Several seconds pass, then Buck finally replies, “Eddie, I—I...” But he trails off because he’s trying to determine the right words he wants to use to explain.

Eddie doesn’t rush him because he knows it’s how Buck processes things. Also, he can tell by the look on his face he’s considering it, so he patiently waits for him to continue and he braces himself for the verbal body blow that’s about to be thrown his way.

After a few moments, instead of answering his question, Buck says, “We need to talk.”

What will Eddie say in response to Buck's statement? 👀

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"What do you want?" - A Series of Ficlets

Currently 6 works completed; 41.4K Words: Rated; Teen and Up Audiences:  This is a series of “Fics and Ficlets” that I’ll be writing over the course of the next few weeks and my goal is to keep them under a certain number of words. I’m challenging myself to do it this way for multiple reasons but mainly because I want to see if I can write a full Buddie story by including smaller fics in a series in comparison to the multi-chapter fic I’m still in the process of writing titled, “I’m still in love with you but… I needed to learn how to love myself too!” I only have 9 chapters left before I finish it but once I’m done, I’d like to continue writing Buddie fanfics. However, this time I’ll start with my dislike for the way season 7 ended instead of the way season 6 did. Finally, I have a lot of WIPs that I want to finish and I figured I can turn them all into one shot fics or ficlets to build the full story for Buck and Eddie.

Since these ficlets will be posted in order, it’s imperative to read them one after the other. Each part ends at a specific point with a cliffhanger and the next part will begin with the ending of the previous part. Therefore, parts 1 - 5 should be read prior to reading part 6 and the series will continue in that manner until it’s complete.

"You don't know math!" - 3.3K Words; Rated Teen and Up Audiences: Buck is forced to choose while Eddie might be presented with another option.

"Math is a universal language." - 5K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Eddie reconnects with an old acquaintance and they spend a lot of time together. However, now that Buck’s single, he finally tries to understand math is a universal language but when he sees Eddie talking to another guy, he wonders if it took him too long to figure it out.

“You know, it’s like that thing when you meet somebody and you just… click.” - 5.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: When Buck comes face to face with Eddie’s new friend; he hates it but since he’s only told Maddie about his breakup with Tommy, Eddie’s still under the impression he’s taken. Therefore, Eddie makes plans to spend even more time with his new acquaintance.

"I can't stop thinking about him." - 8.1K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie are trying to move on but they can’t stop thinking about each other.

“How I hide my true feelings from others.” - 9.6K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: Buck and Eddie return to therapy but they’re both not telling each other about recent events that happened. Will they finally have an open and honest conversation before it’s too late?

"We need to talk." - 11.4K Words; Rated: Teen and Up Audiences: After Eddie and Buck decide to take a weekend road trip to El Paso, TX to visit Chris, during the 12-hour drive, they talk about a lot of things they’ve left unsaid.

Now Available on AO3