#fic: End Up Here

[charlietheepicwriter7]

"Probably because they don't have a grave," Danny said, pulling out his vape. "Final resting places are--HEY!"

Nightwing held the pilfered vape above his head. "Where did you get this?" he asked, scandalized.

Danny jumped for it, but Nightwing was too tall! Even at 5'7 he'd have to use his powers to reach the vape; he had no chance as a 9 year old. "We're in Gotham! You're lucky I didn't get cocaine instead!"

[idyllcy]

i've never had somebody, so I don't know how to love

word count: 8.45k

warnings: children (idk), smut, reader has a kid?, fem reader, spoilers

summary: "I shall come back for you." "I shall wait."

Jinshi swears he just wanted a bite. One bite.

He just wanted a taste. That was all. It's called chocolate, Maomao had told him. He was supposed to save a little for you to taste when he got back to your chambers, but he supposes he ate too much, because by the time he arrives in your room, he's warm and flushed, and the only thing on his mind is folding you in half on the mattress. His poor mind.

"My love! Welcome back." You grin, opening your arms for him as he sinks into your touch. His skin is flush against yours as he mumbles something, nuzzling his face into the crook of your neck as he lets his hands roam. You squirm under his touch as you try and ask him about his day.

"Maomao made me chocolate," He whispers, tugging at the string around your garment. "When I asked her for an aphrodisiac..."

"Mhm?" You hum, running your hand through his hair to pull off the hair tie. "Why would you need one?"

"I felt bad," He bites your collarbone, sucking gently as he slides the dress down your body. "I have not been paying attention to you all that much these days."

"I told you it was fine, and that I would be fine by myself." You tilt your head back for him to kiss up your neck.

He doesn't answer, hand crawling to the back of your head and kissing you instead. You lean back to comply, tilting your head as you taste the chocolate on his lips, humming in content as his tongue explores your mouth and you get to taste the sugar. You whimper as his fingers brush your bare chest, the fabric pooling around your hips as he fondles your boobs, lips still slotted against yours as you moan into his mouth, mind fuzzy from the lack of oxygen. You whimper when he pulls away to pull his own robes, skin pale under the moonlight as your eyes drink in the color of his skin and the curves of his muscles.

"Staring?"

"Mhm." You mumble. "You are beautiful, my love."

"As are you, beloved." He takes your hand, pressing his lips to your knuckles delicately and turning over to your palm to swipe at it with his tongue, eyes locked on yours as he hums. "I may touch you, yes?"

"Yes." You whisper. "Of course."

He goes back to your skin, lips pressed to the plush of your chest as he bites and such, fingers digging into your waist as he holds you still, the chill of the winter night brushing against your back as you squirm from his touch. You wonder how much longer he will pretend to still like you and convince himself that he needs you. Though, as his lashes flutter against your skin as he pulls from your chest with a pop, you feel it's not too far away.

Each time he sleeps with you, there is less love in his hands than before.

This time, he only holds you like this because of the chocolate presented by the maid, and it makes your heart sour when he stares up at you, eyes sick with affection, affection that you're sure would dry out for you one day— affection that haunts your life an uncanny amount. Yet, you sink into his touch as he kneels to slide the rest of the fabric off of you, parting your legs to slide a finger in and pleasure you, lips latched to your clit as it was with your nipple, and you gasp sharply, a ghost of a moan slipping past your lips.

You wonder if he's going to do this with Maomao one day—

You whimper as he slides a second finger into you with ease, mind fuzzy and empty as you glance down at Jinshi, tears blurring your vision as he fucks you on his fingers with practiced precision, quickly sending you into a blurry high, mind fuzzy as you clench around his fingers with your first orgasm of the night. Though, it isn't enough for him, his fingers still sliding in and out of you, even when your eyes blur over and tears fall from the lack of time you get to breathe. His name breaks past your lips in shattered syllables, tears staining the silk of the pillow as you stare down at him, lips puffy and cheeks red.

Jinshi shushes you instead, pressing a kiss to your clit as one of his hands holds your thighs open, the bottom of his chin wet with your slick, and he hums gently, vibrations brushing against your clit as you jolt. The combination with his fingers becomes too much, and you cream around his fingers again, splashing his face with your cum as he laps at it, eyes half-lidded as he does. He stays there until you're whimpering for him to leave you be, tears in the corner of your eyes. He licks the cum off his fingers as he reaches to wipe your tears, leaning forward to kiss them away as your bottom lip quivers.

"Jinshi, my love." You whimper as he lifts one of your legs to rest the ankle on his shoulder.

"Yes, beloved?"

"Please don't leave in the morning." You whisper, arching your back and closing your eyes as he fits himself into you slowly. He's such a good stretch. It makes you sad to think that he would leave you one day. He waits for you to adjust, hand warm on your thigh as you whimper, shifting your hips to adjust to his size. You let a breath out when it doesn't burn, and Jinshi takes it as a sign to start moving, the roll of his hips deliberate to nudge your sweet spots that have you seeing stars, and you hold a strand of his hair between your fingers as he leans forward, dark hair caging the two of you in as you gasp with each thrust, heart hammering in your chest and making you ditzy. You cry his name in broken sobs, a mix of overstimulation and your own heartbreak making the tears indistinguishable to you.

He reaches to wipe your tears as he makes love to you, concern all over his face, and the flush on his cheeks just tears your heart to pieces. He's only here because he had the chocolate. He doesn't visit you during the day anymore, and he only ever comes when he needs to borrow your wisdom— something he doesn't need anymore. something he has Maomao for now. The thought shatters your heart as it twists and turns in your stomach, the tears becoming too much for you to process as your mind blurs over and you let Jinshi do whatever with you. Maybe that would be your last use to him. To be a shell of what you used to be and let him do whatever with you. Maybe that would be replaced one day as well.

One day, you wouldn't even be worth dirt to him.

The thought makes your mind spin as your rationality slips, and you don't notice the way Jinshi slows down to check on you, fingers brushing your cheek as he legs your leg down. You press your hips flush against his, shaking your head as he pries for why you are crying. It is a worthless reason— it is a hopeless case. You quietly beg him to continue, hoping he would let you keep it to yourself.

"Beloved, I can't do that." He reaches to brush your hair to the side as you flinch, and you stare into his eyes as he stares down at you with the same pain in his eyes, and it kills you. He shouldn't look at you like this. You shouldn't be capable of hurting him. You reach to smoothen out the wrinkle on his skin, mumbling about how he would get wrinkles, and he leans into your touch, eyes glossing over with the same kind of hurt that was all over your face when he was missing. His voice strains as he begs you to tell him. To be honest.

"I can fix it." He chokes out.

"Don't leave in the morning." You whisper.

"You know I can't do that." He breaks.

"Then I can't tell you." You crumble. "If you'd like to stop, then you may—"

His hands fly down to hold your waist down into the bed, eyes wide out of some fear, some fear that you would despise him somehow.

"You have to give me time."

"I've given you almost a month. We've been distant for ages." You cry. "Hurry up and fulfill your marital duties so I can give you a son and you can leave me for the one you really want."

"I don't want her!"

"You don't show that!" You sob. "Just..." You sink into the bed, blinking to get the tears out. "may the heavens let us have a son so you can move on."

"I don't want to move on." He whispers, tears falling on your bare skin as he refuses to look you in the eye. "I love you. You are my beloved. The sun and moon may break and shatter, and the winds could blow in the wrong direction, but it could not stop my love for you. Why do you insist I will leave you?"

You go quiet, turning your head to the side as he gets frustrated.

"Fine. You've always been this way anyway." He picks up the pace again, giving you no time to breathe between his thrusts, and you gasp and throw your head back as he uses you like you wanted him to. It frustrates him to end that you just refused to talk to him, but who was he to ask? Who was he to ask you whether or not you would be honest with him? The most emotion you had ever shown was when he bedded you anyway. Why does it matter what you do? The love you had been so adamant to show when you first got married had gone stale anyway.

Jinshi lets you cum one last time before flooding you with his own seed, bent over your body, his hair imitating bars to cage you in as he hangs his head to catch his breath. You, you, you. You, his first love. You, the love of his life. You, the very wife that he had sworn he would cherish. You who refused to marry into a higher level family and had chosen. You who had gone distant because he had... it was his fault, huh? His issue. He had neglected to spend time with you since the arrival of Maomao. No wonder you were so sad.

He pulls out of you and covers you in a blanket, fetching a maid to help you wash off as he redresses himself.

"Will you... stay?" The maid is the one to ask, and Jinshi shakes his head.

"I must clear something up. Let the madam know I will stay next time."

The next nine months pass in a blur. You bear a son to Jinshi, handing him off to the wet nurse, and you move to another residence in the name of recuperating. Jinshi doesn't pay you a visit once. You wonder if it's because he is busy with palace affairs, but you do not touch upon it. You request the emperor to send you to another residence after recuperation without letting Jinshi know, and the old man lets you go. He knows. The whole palace knows. You have become nothing more than a mockery since your husband flounders around with some new maiden he found, and you are let go. You promise your child will serve the emperor well one day with the care of the maids. The emperor laughs and tells you to focus on yourself.

Thus, your son becomes playmates with the young princess, and you disappear from the records of the imperial palace.

The life the emperor had bestowed upon you is restful and serene. The spring residence is quiet and calm with the other concubines, and you are treated as the empress mother would be. There are no conspiracies and you sit down to enjoy tea with all the ladies, quickly forgetting the life you had to bear before. The maids write to you regarding your son under an alias, and you learn that his first word is neither mother nor father, but grandfather. You smile sadly at the letters each time you receive them, and you are never once paid a visit to your residence.

You wonder if you should have taken your son with you in another life.

Maybe in another life, Jinshi had continued to treasure you.

Then, he comes to visit, and you watch from the street as he carries your son with Maomao, getting asked if the young boy was theirs. You observe to see what kind of an answer he has for the kind merchant. You don't know what force compels you to listen, but you do, going quiet as you stare at the apple in your hand. You shouldn't care, but considering the way Jinshi was carrying your son, he must have learned a lot from the maids.

"Ah, she is not my wife." Jinshi's voice resembles silk as always. "My wife is in recuperation after having our son. Childbirth had taken a toll on her."

You have never been so glad that your son had resembled Jinshi so much.

You pull the veil over your head further, and you slip the woman a copper wen, rushing off with the apples you picked. You pass behind Jinshi with haste, wondering if he would recognize your perfume or such. It doesn't bother you. It shouldn't bother you. You had erased all signs of your existence from the palace forever, so even if he were to recognize the scent, he could simply think it of a maid from the spring residence. It didn't matter. It was years, so even if—

A gust of wind blows your hair as the veil is knocked off, and your son calls.

"Niang!"

You make a run for it.

The palace maids had been showing him the art of you. Of course they had. There was no way that you could have forgotten what they wrote to you. Your heart races in your chest as you make it into the palace walls, and you hide from the footsteps that have been chasing after you. Your heart burns in your chest as you catch your breath, eyes wide as you try your best to remain silent to stay still, and you watch as a maid asks what Jinshi is doing on the residence's grounds with your son. He apologizes and lies that his son had wandered off into the court, and you let a breath out when you no longer hear footsteps. You don't want to face him. You can't. You refuse to.

"So? What was that about? Miss?" The maid raises a brow at your figure between the residence buildings.

"Uh..." You smile awkwardly. "Expect to never see me again. Let's pack up and m—"

"I thought it was you." Jinshi speaks up from behind you, and you turn to look away.

"I am afraid I do not know you, kind sir." You turn to face the maid, nodding.

"Beloved." His voice goes weak. "I understand if you wish not to see me, but at least look at our son."

You stop, not moving.

"I won't... do anything. I promise."

You grimace, setting the bitterness in your chest as you open your arms for your son, eyes weary and tired as look at him. You refuse to look up at Jinshi. You refuse to look at the man who had ruined your life and thrown you away during your pregnancy. Yet, you look at your son, a copy of the man you had loved, and you unconsciously put yourself on the verge of tears.

"No frown." Your son reaches for the furrows between your brows. "Niang, smile."

You muster up a sad smile for him, heart crumbling and crinkling in your chest. It feels like paper. The guilt you had so desperately tucked away in your heart shatters you in the worst of ways, and you smile at your son, holding his head to your chest as you carry him off. Jinshi follows behind you, neither of you speaking up as your son falls asleep on your chest, listening to your heartbeat as you walk around the residence.

"Where are you staying?" You speak up, stopping to stare at Jinshi.

For the first time in forever, Jinshi gets to stare into your eyes again, and his heart crumbles and cracks as he holds his demeanor, trying his best to pretend that it would be fine. You left him because of his own shortcomings. He has no right to beg for you to return without showing that he had improved as a person. So, he stares into your eyes instead, letting the silence pass as he opens his mouth to speak. Right. You... probably moved on and no longer cared for him. The emperor had granted the two of you to live separately, after all.

"The resting quarters in the city center." He stares into your eyes as he talks, hoping you could see the affection in his eyes that he had refused to let go of.

You stare back at him, eyes cold as the winter snow— it hurts him in a way, but he supposes it was deserved for leaving you all alone. You open your mouth to speak, but your son wakes in your arms, blinking slowly as he shifts to stare at you.

"Niang?" Your son wipes his eyes.

"Would you like to go home with diedie?" You ask your son, hand on the back of his head. He's much heavier than when you first had him, but it makes no difference to you. Your son is your son. The day you pass away is the day you would no longer hold him in your arms.

"Will niang go missing again if I do?"

"You have such a big vocabulary." You praise, lips curled into a smile as you press a kiss to his forehead. "Niang has to stay here. Niang promised yeye to stay here."

Jinshi opens his arms for your son, and he clings onto you instead, pouting. "Then I stay with niang."

"What about Maomao auntie?" You hum, raising a brow at him.

"Mm, I like niang better." He clings onto the fabric around your chest, and you give in.

"You will have to return to yeye with diedie when diedie leaves, though." You stroke his hair. "Alright?"

"What if diedie never leaves?"

Your eyes trail to Jinshi, eyes hardening as you warn him not to stay. "That won't happen, er."

"What if you come back with diedie?"

Some sort of weird hope blooms in Jinshi's chest at your son's words. Maybe your son could convince you.

"That would mean breaking yeye's promise, so no to that as well." You press a kiss to his forehead. "Shall we get you rested?"

He nods, leaning back onto your chest, and you wave for a maid.

"Prepare a room for my guests as well." You nod. "Eunuch Jinshi, please let Maomao know to stay at the spring residence for the duration of your stay."

"I thought you hated her."

"I hate you, not her." You turn to stare at him.

"And me?" He points at himself, pout on his lips.

"Prepare a room in the north." You hum.

"...Are you cursing me with feng shui?"

You stick your tongue out at him.

"And for the young one in your arms?" The maid inquires, peering at the eerie similarity between Jinshi and the boy.

"He shall stay with me."

The maid understands, escorting Jinshi away as you continue about your evening with your son, setting him on your bed as you sit next to him to continue embroidering. At night, when you are sure he is resting, you get out of your room, requesting the maids for some rice wine, and you settle in your garden, staring at the stars as you drink. You blink slowly, trying to recall what constellations were visible to the naked eye. You don't remember. Maybe the liquor is getting to you.

"Drinking?" Jinshi stands next to you as you lay on the ground, and you raise a brow at him.

"You shouldn't be allowed here." You hum. "I'll call the guard—"

"Wait." He holds a hand over your mouth, holding you down, and you lick his palm. "Don't scream."

You stare at him as he removes his hand, and you open your mouth to scream before he holds his hand over your mouth again, eyes wide.

"Don't."

"Depends what you want to do to me."

"Nothing bad." He whispers. "I just want to talk. I promise."

You let him remove his hand and sit up, offering him a drink. He goes quiet, drinking it in one sip as he frowns. You sit in the silence, only the wind to whisper your worries, and you don't bother reacting. Perhaps he just needed a drink and wanted to use talking as an excuse.

He finally speaks up, voice wavering.

"Why did you leave?"

"Why wouldn't I? I gave you a son, didn't I?"

"No, why did you..." He hides his face in his hands. "You didn't tell me."

"You didn't come to see me once during my pregnancy. What courtesy did I owe you?" You click your tongue uncomfortably.

"I had Maomao prescribe you medicine to keep the baby healthy—"

"You did not come see me. Maomao is not you." You stare at him. "And you can not expect to make it up by taking care of our son. It is your paternal duty to spend time with your own blood. So if you expect—"

"I don't." He mumbles. "I don't expect you to come back to me because I'm forming a bond with our son. I thought maybe... you would come back if our son asked you to."

"I promised your father I would not step foot back into the imperial palace."

"I will bring you back and bear the blame." He whispers. "As long as you come back to me."

"Not happening." You stand up. "Feel free to finish the rest of the mijiu."

"Belo—"

You don't let him finish, walking off.

You are not his beloved anymore. You are his partner-in-law, but you are not his beloved. You are the woman he left behind at her weakest and caused to spiral. You are the woman who supposedly mattered to him enough to wed you, but not enough to stay with you after the introduction of someone new. You are not his beloved simply because that was not how one treats their beloved.

You wake up the next morning to your son out of bed and dressed with Jinshi in the room. You raise a brow at him, questioning what he was doing in your room, but he points at your son, who had been on the ground playing with the toys the maids had prepared. You blink at him, smiling when he tells you good morning sweetly. Jinshi smiles gently at the way you smile at your son, and he continues playing, a smile on his face.

"So? Did the court ladies find out?"

"What?"

"That you can have kids."

"They think he's child that the emperor took in." Jinshi mumbles. "Of course, the palace maids assume I am called diedie because I took him in as soon as I found out, not because he is my son."

"Perhaps they believe he looks like you so the heavens assigned you as his father. Do they know I am the mother?"

"No. The palace maids who assisted with your birth were all executed per the emperor's orders."

"Ah." You hum. "How old is he this year?"

"Five. Do you not know your own son's name?" Jinshi stares down at you almost pitifully.

You turn to stare at Jinshi. "I named him. Of course I do."

"Why do you not call him by name?"

"Jingui." You hum, reaching your hand out for your son as he smiles.

"Yes, niang?" He holds your finger in his free hand.

"Did the maids tell you niang named you?"

"After luxury." He smiles, hugging you. "I love you, niang."

"I love you too, er." You mumble, squeezing him. "Niang's sorry I couldn't watch you grow up."

"It's okay," He whispers back. "Guigui is glad niang is here now."

You let him play again, eyes on him as Jinshi continues staring at you.

"What do you want?"

"Return to the imperial court with me."

"I'd rather die." You grumble. "I promised Agong that I would not return in exchange for residence here. I was a laughingstock there. I do not wish to return."

"You will not be. We can—"

"It doesn't matter." You hum. "You are Gui's father. I am not his mother."

"You are his mother."

"In birth." You stand up, Jinshi catching you as you stumble. You thank him with a nod, continuing. "He only needs his capable father."

"And his mother." Jinshi insists, not letting go of your wrist. "He needs his mother. The maids can not replace you for all of his life, especially since he has met you now."

"He does not need me. He may want me, but he does not need me." You hum. "He is capable of existing without his mother."

"That is not true." Jinshi slides his fingers down to your palm, hurt all over his face. "He needs you. Both he and I need you."

You shake your hand free from his. "Then you should have shown your need earlier."

Jinshi fiddles with his fingers, pout on his lips as you raise a brow incredulously at him. You ignore it, calling for a maid instead to change into the day's garments.

"Do you need—"

"I will stab you." You warn. "Out."

"What about our son? Jingui, don't you want your diedie to stay with you?"

Jingui blinks at Jinshi, and he looks at you before standing up and dusting off his robes, taking Jinshi's hand as he leads him outside of the room.

"The maids said not to watch a woman get dressed to respect her privacy." Jingui waves at you as he steps outside of the room, and you laugh at Jinshi's baffled expression. You stick your tongue out at him, lips curled into a smile as the door shuts.

He looks betrayed.

You wonder what kind of parenting the maids did to end up with Jinshi, but you don't ask. You let the maids dress you for the day, and you yawn as you step out of the room, ruffling Jingui's hair as you walk off. He trails behind you, holding your hand as

"Are you not going out with me?"

"Back to work." You hum. "I manage the estate now, you know? Lotssss of paperwork."

"Like diedie?"

"Kind of." You hum. "Diedie does more than niang, though."

"If you leave, does that mean you will have no more work?" He looks up at you.

"I can't do that. You will have to have yeye send someone else to manage the estate." You hum, pulling the doors to your study open. "Bring some snacks."

The maids nod.

"Oh, and you." You point at Jinshi. "Out."

He feigns offense, raising a brow. "What did I do?"

You open your mouth to start listing, and he grumbles. "I get it."

You smile. "Don't you have errands to run with Maomao?"

"She's looking for medicine."

"You should help her out." You hum. "The wilderness out here is quite scary. You wouldn't want someone to hurt her."

Jinshi hangs his head as he steps out of the room.

The day passes without fret, and you watch as the sun sets and you wash up for bed, the heat in the bath gentle against your skin as you take a bath by yourself. Jinshi stays with Jingui to help him wash up, and you tell the servants to stay out of the bath while you wash up. Jinshi leaves first with Jingui, and you leave last, nodding at the servants as they all rush in to wash up.

"I wanna go with niang." Jingui reaches for you as you carry him, lips curled upward.

"Hear that?"

"But diedie spends so much more time with you!" He feigns hurt.

"Exactly!" Jingui sticks his tongue out, and you laugh, cheeks warm. "I have to leave niang soon!"

"I'll take you to bed with niang." You smile. "Hear that, Jinshi? He's niang's boy."

Jinshi pouts, faking annoyance.

You tuck Jingui in for bed first, looking over a book as you stroke his hair, and a branch snaps outside of your window as your hand flies to the sword on the wall.

You whistle for the hawk to yell, sliding out one of the swords for decoration as you hold your weight against the intruder, and you watch as his eyes dart to your son. He disregards you as he aims for Jingui, and you slide your blade to his stomach, kicking him. He lands on the ground with a thud, and you hold your sword above his neck, forcing him down. Your weight isn't enough, and he throws you off of him as you throw your sword at him. It's not sharp enough. It won't cut him.

You throw yourself at him instead, his blade grazing your face as your hands wrap around his throat, your hair a mess as it falls around him, and you hold down until his face turns purple and he no longer thrashes against your grip.

At this point, you expect the maids to rush in. Instead, the first one to come is Jinshi, his thumb brushing the wound on your face as he checks your body in panic.

"Beloved, are you alright?"

"Jingui is fine." You hum, trying to pull your face from his hands.

He tightens his grip instead, staring into your eyes. "You. You're hurt."

"It's fine." You try again as the maids rush in, and you have the guards pull him to the prison. Jinshi doesn't move once, hands still on your face, only trailing down to your shoulders when you crane your neck to talk to the guards and maids.

"Will you be alright, madam?"

"I'll be fine. It's no—"

"Bring me ointment." He tells the maid. "At least let me do that much for you."

The maid looks at you for confirmation, and you nod.

"Get off of me." You push him gently, standing up as he lands on his butt. "Pretending to be worried now? You didn't bother when we were still married."

"We are married." Jinshi whispers, getting up to hold your face in his hands again. "Come on. Let me treat the wound before it turns into a scar."

"Wouldn't that be better? Then I would be uglier." You tilt your head as he takes the ointment from the maid. His fingers brush over your cheek as he leans in to take a look at you properly, and you look to the side as he applies the ointment. Now that you look at it, his face is awfully close to yours. You take note of the blush on his face as he does, and his fingers are cool against your cheek as he applies the medicine. You don't give him a reaction, and he sighs.

"Beloved, you will never be ugly to me." He mumbles, leaning in further, breath mixing with yours, and you stare at him through your lashes, wondering if he would do something.

"Diedie, are you kissing niang?"

You pull away from Jinshi abruptly, and Jinshi looks to the side, face red.

"You're awake?" You get up to hold Jingui, and he rubs his eyes.

"Niang, are you hurt?"

"It was just an intruder. No worries, er." You smile. Jingui reaches for your cheek, trying to touch the wound as Jinshi holds his wrist gently.

"Mommy has medicine on. You're going to rub it off." He hums, taking Jingui from your arms instead. "Die will hold you instead."

"Can we sleep together?"

Jinshi freezes up, blinking at you as you freeze up too, blinking slowly at Jingui.

"Can we?" He pouts.

"I'll keep watch." Jinshi nods. "Maybe another time. Niang is still mad at Diedie."

"You can rest with diedie for the night. Niang has to clean up after the mess." You hum, kissing his cheek. "Niang will go find you in the morning."

"I can clean up." Jinshi frowns.

"It'll be fine." You hum. "The heavenly emperor assigned me to this residence, so I shall fulfill his will."

"He is my father. He would not mind if I were to help my own wife—"

"There's no need." You smile firmly. "Keep your hands clean of my dirt."

You shut the door behind you as you follow the maids to your office, and Jinshi presses his lips to your son's head, resting your son's head on his shoulder as he hums.

"Um, Sir." One of the maids whispers. "If I may... the mistress has a bed in her office. Perhaps the boy could rest there?"

"You think so?" He chuckles. "I'll keep watch for the night. Please lead me there."

He wanders through the residence, the red poles dark in the night, even with the lanterns lit. The floor is crafted of white, and the intricacies of stone along the pillars are dusted gold, and he wonders how much of it had been brought back to life by you. It eats him alive, even with your son in his arms, he wonders if you had worked out to be able to carry your son one day, even if he were too old to be carried.

The stars twinkle in the distance, and he lets himself smile.

"Mistress? May the child borrow your bed?"

"Meimei," You grumble. "I thought I told you to check on them, not bring them to me."

"The boy missed you."

You sigh. "Come in."

"I shall guard." Jinshi nods.

"You may rest as well." You hum. "I shall be heading to the prison tomorrow. I just need to send the hawk."

Jinshi watches as you attach the note to the hawk, and he gets up to hold your face again. "Why not leave Jingui to Meimei? I'll fetch Maomao to see if there's a better ointment for your face to prevent scarring."

"I told you, I am not bothered by such trivial matters."

"It matters to me." He mumbles. "Tomorrow."

"I must interrogate the criminal tomorrow."

"Then right now."

"You do not dare to wake her up for something so minuscule." You glare at him. "Rest with Xiaogui today. I shall call for the two of you tomorrow after dealing with the assassin."

"You must rest well." Jinshi mumbles, kissing your forehead gently. "Please."

You grimace at the kiss. "Very well."

You interrogate the assassin in the morning, sighing when he reveals the target was your son. It must have been a jealous consort or something. You wonder if she thought he would be next in line for the throne since the emperor let the boy call him Grandpa. The consort is some low-ranking one in the main palace, and you don't bother sparing him any mercy, telling the guards to kill him and send his head as a warning. That ought to teach her.

"The eunuch and boy are looking for you."

"Send them to my tea room. I'll see them there."

"Mistress, would you like a change of clothes?" Another maid asks.

"No need." You mumble. "It's fine to go like this."

"What tea shall I prepare?"

"Honey ginger." You hum. "And some cookies for the child."

They nod as you open the door to the room.

"Niang!" Jingui runs up to hug you, and you hum.

"Did you sleep well?"

He nods. You let Jinshi carry him as you work on the papers, and you speak up after Jingui gets drowsy. Perhaps he had been living in a life of assassinations and you were not aware. It would make you feel most awful if he was.

"Are they common?"

Jinshi raises a brow.

"The assassins."

Jinshi shakes his head. "Not in the imperial palace. The emperor has the most security for him compared to anyone."

"I see." You mumble. "How about Maomao? Surely people try poisoning her because she is close to you?"

"She is immune to poisons."

"Right." Your lips quirk up. "I'll send her with a gift this time. I'm sure she'll appreciate it."

Jinshi raises a brow, significantly worried. "Not a poison, right?"

"No promises." You grin.

Jinshi spends the rest of his time trying to spend more time with you and your son, desperation practically reeking off his skin as he sticks to you like a lost puppy without an owner, and the maids start gossiping with you about the potential marriage partner. You snort, telling them that there was no reason he would want a woman who had been used before. You avoid telling them the truth out of an unknown fear. You don't know what stops you. Perhaps you are still worried that he loves Maomao and is only doing this for his blood. Maybe he isn't being honest with you.

It takes a week for him to get to visit you at night, and another week for him to be allowed in your chambers. Maomao reminds him that he can only spare a week here per the emperor's orders, but he pays no mind. He is sure that the heavenly emperor would not mind him spending more time with you. He's sure the old man knew it. After all, he had given him a knowing smile when he had told him to travel with his son and Maomao. It made him feel as though the emperor were up to something. Perhaps he had known Jinshi would see you here.

It is the third week that he had stayed past his welcome when he sits down for a drink with you.

"Play with me." He holds the board with him. "I miss playing wuziqi with you."

"Hm. What do I get if I win?" You reach for the white, placing it down in the center.

"Whatever you want."

"I haven't played in a long time." You hum. "Your turn."

"May we have a heart to heart talk?"

"Be my guest." You hum.

"Why did you leave?"

"You took an interest in Maomao." You hum, placing another bead down. "And I ran away before you could divorce me."

"I did not wish to divorce you." He frowns.

"The whole palace was talking about it, and the emperor did not stop me, so I decided to leave." You shrug.

"I took Maomao in because I wished that she would prescribe some medicine for fertility."

"We had a son, no?"

"We did, but I had been taking medicine prior to that prescribed by her."

"You wanted her for her wisdom just like you wanted me for mine." You hum. "It was a fear, or maybe I just saw myself in her. She is my age, after all."

"Our age." Jinshi reminds. "We are all the same age."

"I suppose." You shrug. "But it felt like I was replaced."

"You were not."

"There was no way to confirm. Not when you had been trying to shove honey down her throat, anyway." You hum. "Four."

He clicks his tongue, stopping you. "What do I get if I win?"

"I suppose you get to bed me." You mumble. "Assuming you haven't bedded Maomao."

"I have not." He clenches his jaw. "I have not touched another woman in years. I am not as so much of a degenerate as to bed women who are not my wife."

"Who knows." You hum. "Four."

"I am not able to bed women there, anyway. After all, I am an eunuch."

"Except I heard Maomao found out you were not one."

"Ah." He freezes up, stopping your newly formed row of four. "That much was an accident. I suppose I saw fragments of you in her."

"Perhaps you had just found her beautiful." You hum. "I most certainly did. She is quite smart, drawing freckles on her face to hide her radiance."

"I found her beautiful, but only because she had reminded me of the plum blossoms on the day I met you." He smiles. "I win."

"What would you like?"

"Let me bed you, please." He whispers. "My wife. My beloved. Let me bed you."

"You must be desperate for some touch." You take off your outer robe, letting the maids know to retire for the night. "Very well."

"You may say no." He whispers, forehead pressed to yours, eyes genuine as he looks at you. "I am not forcing you."

"I don't care if you are using me for your own pleasure." You mumble. "I have not been bedded in the same amount of time."

"Heavens, that burns me more than it should." He wastes no time in undressing, lips pressed to yours as he leads you to the bed, caging your body in as he leans over you, a leg pressed between yours, lips moving against yours messily as his yearning crashes into your body like a wave, his hands tugging at your robes desperately, freeing your skin from the silk and fabric, lips latching to your collarbone to suck, biting all to desperately, rutting into you as he were some rabid dog, his body craving yours as though you were some drug he could not live without.

His fingers slip past your folds as he had done before all the times he had slept with you, bone of his wrist brushing your clit as he slides a finger in with ease, his mouth moving up to your neck, sucking gently as he listens to the way your breath hitches and you whimper when his fingers brush your sweet spot, and he continues, fingers pressing hard as you squeak, sucking you as he pants, desperate to remember your scent for the next handful of months he would no longer be able to see you during. When you quiver around his fingers and flutter, he slides his fingers out, licking them as he pushes you onto the bed, lining himself up, staring down at you for one last promise of consent.

"We can stop." He whispers.

"No."

And that's all Jinshi needs.

Jinshi presses your hips down into the mattress, hips moving against yours as he fucks you, desperation all over his fingers, lips attached to your neck as he sucks, his own breathy ragged as he spends his own stamina satisfying you, passion bleeding past his fingers as his body consumes you, desperate to make up the lost time with you from before. At this point, he disregards how many passing maids will hear his own moans, too focused on the way your skin felt between his fingers and too focused on the way your head was thrown back in a bliss he hadn't seen you wear before.

He wondered how many years you went without being bedded.

Well, not that it mattered. He had probably gone the same amount of time without bedding someone. How could he? The guilt would have eaten him alive from the inside out. So, he channels all his lost years into you instead, groaning when you cum around him again, eyes teary and cheeks puffy, your lips red from his kissing earlier. Your eyes roll to the back of your head as your words become incoherent, slurred as he moves a hand down to play with your clit. You squeal as he does, squirming under his touch as he continues to hold you down.

"I love you." He whispers, tears in the corner of his eyes as you can barely hear him.

"I love you." He repeats, with his chest this time, tears splattering onto your chest as he whimpers.

"I love you so much." He gasps as his thumb speeds up on your clit, making you gasp sharply at his confession, your head spinning.

You gush around him again as he finally feels himself reach a high, heart racing against his ribcage as he groans, crashing into you as he pumps you full, resting his head on your collar as you both catch your breaths, and Jinshi feels himself get hard in you again, his shoulders tensing as he does. He can't. He's going to break you, and you're never going to talk to him ever again. He's going to ruin you like he did years ago, and the universe is going to punish him by taking you away again—

"More." You whimper. "Until you've had your fill."

"I'm going to break you." He whispers.

"I'm sure Jingui wouldn't mind having a sibling..." You whisper back.

Jinshi's pupils dilate as he starts again, and you yelp as he goes without warning, a mix of your cum and his making a squelch with each thrust of his. It's lewd. It sounds like the most sinful thing in the world, yet Jinshi thinks of it as music to his ears, all too focused on pleasing you and getting rid of his pent-up lust, your body finally under his as he's waited all these years. He thinks of it as some kind of blessing, to be able to consume your sense as wholly as he used to, only this time sure that you weren't crying because of something he did. He still had lots of making up to do for you, but he supposes this is a start.

You gush around him another time, crying over how it hurt, but still no safe word. He laughs something between a chuckle and scorn, thrilled at the way that you looked like that under him. The maids had been whispering about how you had never bedded anyone once despite your status as supposedly single in the residence, and it made his head spin with possessiveness at the thought that you had still been loyal despite how much he hurt you. He would make it up, he promised. He would stay until the morning this time, and you would get to wake up in his arms like you used to.

The thought makes his hips stutter into yours as you're flooded with warmth a second time, your moan depraved as you feel him fill you again, the white from the sex staining the sheets and your thighs, and you both catch your breath this time, and Jinshi rests his forehead on yours, heavy breaths slipping past his lips as he stares into your eyes, hand moving to brush the hair from your face as you stare at him through glassy eyes.

"I'll be here when you wake up." He whispers. "I'll be here in the morning."

You close your eyes, nodding to the best of your ability.

"I'll kill you if you aren't."

He laughs, rolling over to rest on his back, fingers intertwined with yours as he rolls to his side to look at you.

"You're sticky." You grimace.

"And?" He hums. "So are you."

"We need a bath." You grumble. "I should call a maid to clean me up."

"That will be tomorrow's problem, beloved." He hums, lips curling upward. "Lay with me, my dear."

"If you insist, my love."

You help Maomao and Jinshi pack up their things to go, sending small gifts for the journey with them, and you laugh when Maomao thanks you profusely for the fritillaria unibracteata, and you wave it off as nothing big, a smile on your lips. She promises you that she'll owe you one the next time you need something from her, and you chuckle as she gets onto the carriage with Jingui. Your son gives you one last kiss before getting on as well, and only Jinshi stays behind and refuses to let you go, brushing his thumb over your knuckles as he talks to you.

"Will you... return?"

You shake your head, lips curled into a smile. "Unless you would like to stay?"

"Would you let me?"

"No. I would let Jingui stay, though." You smile at your son peeking at you through the window.

"You would met Jingui stay?" He gasps.

"Yeye would not be happy." Jinshi reminds. "We will return to pick niang up, alright?"

"I will tell yeye to let you come with Jingui next time." Your son stares into your eyes, eerily serious, and you smile.

"Tell yeye I said hi."

Jingui motions for you to come over instead, pressing his lips to your cheek through the window as you laugh, lips curled into a smile as you give him one back. He giggles, reaching his hand out the window to hold yours, and Jinshi shakes his head at his son. He leans down to press a kiss to your cheek, making Maomao gag in the carriage. He takes your other hand and presses your knuckles to his lips, a smile on his face as he hums against them.

"I shall return for you."

"I shall be waiting."

Jinshi lets go of your fingers, not without one more kiss to your lips, lifting his sleeve to hide the two of you from your son and Maomao as he does. You roll your eyes once he pulls away, and you nod at them as they leave. You stay in place until the carriage is long gone, and you hum, heading back to work with the maids to manage the estate.

When spring comes the next year, the wound on your cheek is gone, a golden carriage arrives, and you laugh as Jingui jumps out of it into your arms, much bigger, smile much brighter. Jinshi steps out next, offering you a hand to pull you up as he introduces the new manager of the estate. Maomao grins at you, whispering about the trade, and you let her know there are farms upon farms of medicine in the land, only for her to grin cheekily at you. You suppose she has her much wanted freedom now.

"Shall we go?" Jinshi offers his hand to help you up as Jingui holds his hand out for you on the carriage, and you smile.

"We shall."

And finally, you are home.

[hinamie]

fire nation festival wear aka a blatant excuse for me to push atla clothing design conventions to the absolute Limit

jjk atla!au with @philosophiums

[courfee]

“Regulus would be proud of us,” James whispered quietly to no one in particular, still gripping onto the painting like a life raft. 

— Tender Curiosities, Baby!  @otrtbs

[chiricat]

sorry partner i just think you’re the coolest person on the planet. i have eyes for no one but you btw

[starcurtain]

I think Alhaitham's views on gods and his dynamic with Nahida in particular is probably one of the most underrated comedic elements to come out of Sumeru.

This guy put together an entire crack squad and master plan to rescue a god while being the Genshin equivalent of an atheist. "Yes, obviously archons exist. But so do sharks. Both of those beings have their place in the ecosystem, and if I had to pick one to piss off--"

Like, does he believe in the dendro archon? Yes. But is he going to listen if she denies his paid vacation request? Absolutely not.

Bro is selected by name to come discuss important matters with his nation's deity in her sanctuary, and he's just like, "Oh, I ran into Nilou there once. That was cool."

Raised to the highest possible position available in his nation's government by the deliberate selection of his god? Resigns.

We know that Nahida still calls on Alhaitham when Sumeru is in need of defending from nefarious parties, and sends him out with Wanderer to kick ass and take names. Now that they've forgotten Rukkhadevata and the Akademiya's ploy to imprison Nahida has been foiled, most of the people of Sumeru would be floored by the honor of being called upon personally to aid the great dendro archon. Staggered by the fact that the lord of wisdom herself finds them worthy! But Alhaitham? He just goes home. Kaveh asks him what he was up to all day. "Hm. Nothing of note."

Everyone else, upon receiving the recognition of a god: My life has been changed forever. I will be telling my great grandchildren of the day I received such a blessing!

But for Alhaitham? It was Tuesday.

Criminally underrated comedic potential. CRIMINAL.

[marragurl]

Saxaphone player Gallagher has not left my mind since the jazz night art dropped AND THEN Robin saying Halovian’s innately have good voices and Sunday used to hum lullabies to her as kids happened in the 2.2 special program, and I’m sure you guys can see where my unfortunate Galladay heart is going with this.

Whoever decided to make this art, I love you. I hope your pillow is cool every night, you’re never stuck in traffic, and your water is refreshing with every sip.

Also the art of Sunday with the White Gentlemen drink in the S.P.A.R.K.L.E jazz night event has also spiraled into me delusionally thinking that’s his go to drink. Which is hilarious since Robin has hinted before that he seems to have a massive sweet tooth in her letters.

(Sunday how do you even make holding a drink menacing, Sunday please get some therapy-)

So imagine this:

Pre 2.0 Galladay, where they’re both wary and suspicious of each other but didn’t do anything outright. Sunday slowly began to visit Gallagher’s bar whenever he had time to observe the Hound, initially on the down low just to get a sense of what he was working with and what to keep an eye on. He always gravitated to that one corner booth that every bar had with the most privacy, and just stalked there for a few hours before leaving. (Smol menacing birb in a tree vibes)

Gallagher obviously knew that Sunday was doing this (even though everyone else seemed to somehow completely miss him, Gallagher wouldn’t be surprised if Sunday was doing some weird Harmony mind tricks), and after the first few “stakeouts,” he bit the bullet and actually approached the table to engage with Sunday, on the off chance this was some weird “test of loyalty” by the Halovian to see if the Hound would swallow his pride to serve his so-called masters.

Nothing terrible happened, but he remained passive-aggressively polite when serving him, and Sunday remained passive-aggressively cool-headed in response. There was some snark of what dear “sweet-toothed” Sunday would want at a bar, and an icy reply of “aren’t you the master drink smith? Why don’t you show me those skills you boasted about?” which led to Gallagher being petty and giving Sunday the White Gentlemen drink, both for the story behind it being such a metaphor for Sunday, and because it was on the more bitter side of alcoholic drinks.

Sunday wasn’t too against the drink; it wasn’t something he would have ordered if it had been his choice, but it wasn’t a bad drink by any means. He couldn’t help but continue to drink it even after Gallagher left his little hidey booth to go back to the main bar, but he’d never stoop so low as to complement the Hound. Of course, he never ordered anything else from then on, only White Gentleman. In fact, over time it seemed to slowly get better, the flavors grew on him, and he couldn't help but look forward to it during difficult nights in the Dreamscape.

If Gallagher tried to needle him into a different drink, Sunday just bit back a “oh? Admitting defeat? I thought this was your best drink for me?” with a little smirk while Gallagher had to use every bit of self-control to not punch him in the face.

As time went on, the bar slowly became a place Sunday frequented to not quite relax, but to get away from the hustle and bustle of Penacony and his duties as one of its main faces. The stresses slowly started piling up, especially with the Charmony fast approaching in a few months and all that came with it.

Gallagher didn’t seem to loosen up regarding his attitude with Sunday, but he did get better at shoving down the visceral hatred he had for everything to do with The Family and Sunday as time went on. He didn’t get soft with Sunday per se, but he definitely kept an eye out for him, and definitely knew when to cut off his drinks on days where it seemed that Sunday wasn’t all that there for their usual veiled comments towards one another when he went to serve him his drink.

It started small, with Sunday staying later and later until sometimes he was the last one to leave the bar to return to reality. Gallagher wasn’t quite sure what to make of it, still wasn’t quite sure this wasn’t some weird long-term test Sunday was devising, especially since he still seemed to be the same ruthless Family member, the same Head of the Oak Family, when Gallagher was working as a Bloodhound outside the bar. For some reason though, within the enclosed space of this strange sanctuary, it was almost peaceful between the two.

One night, there was something wrong when Sunday entered the bar during Gallagher’s shift. He saw a bit of a crowd near the small stage that was within eyesight of his little hidey booth, it seemed some of the musicians of the live band were arguing? He watched as Gallagher came over, seemed to try to speak with the group before honing in on one of the musicians who had been making the most noise and seemed to be about to get physical with the rest. Sunday watched as Gallagher picked up the musician by the scruff of their suit with one hand and carried them towards the doors and lightly tossed them out.

(It was the first time Sunday had actually seen Gallagher perform anything resembling the actual duty of a Bloodhound. It only hit him that he’d only ever seen the other when giving reports, orders, or at the bar. Why was this so shocking to him, he’d seen the man’s arms before, hard not to with his slovenly dress and messy clothing style, as if he couldn’t bother to hide away his imperfections from the world, not like Sunday who refused to be seen by the world, to dare to show one thing off about himself despite his countless failings- he’s getting far too distracted by one meager showing of strength, focus Sunday)

There had always been a live music segment. Sunday was curious to see what would happen with the band missing a member, but was distracted by Gallagher placing his usual White Gentlemen in front of him before heading back to the musicians without a single word to him. Gallagher took a moment to speak with the rest of the band, who seemed to be coming out of their shock and took on worried looks. Sunday could only watch in muted shock as Gallagher went behind the bar and came back with a case, opening it to reveal a saxophone. He then went on stage with the rest of the group, positioned himself further to the side and in the back amongst the shadows within Sunday’s line of sight, and played with the band for the rest of the night.

Sunday couldn’t look away.

He was frozen as he watched Gallagher seamlessly transition from song to song, taking only small breaks to continue serving the other patrons before heading back in. Sunday only remembered about his own drink when his gloves began to get wet from the ice melting into condensation on his glass.

Something felt off within Sunday, and for the first time since Robin’s debut, he couldn't help humming to the music of the band, music that wasn’t of his own sister’s making. He couldn’t help but remember those little concerts the two would have, taking care of his little sister, his only world. He would do anything to keep the Harmony, to keep their family going. When was the last time they truly spent time together? Before he became the Head of the Oak Family? Before he couldn't recognize his own smile?

He was so lost in his thoughts, in memories he thought he buried, that he didn’t realize that it was once again closing time, and he was once again the last one left. He only snapped out of it when Gallagher came by to grab his empty glass, only quirking a questioning brow at him before heading back to the bar.

Gallagher had been keeping a quiet eye on the Halovian that night from the back of the band, in the shadows he felt the most comfort in when in the Dreamscape of Penacony. He had watched Sunday’s eyes glaze over, and the only reason he hadn’t felt offended by the seeming disinterest was the look in the other man’s eyes reminding him of his own when he looked in the mirror. The same look of shame, regret, loss, longing, of the wishes to regain everything he had lost. The same look he strove to hide under every bit of the facade he had crafted of this new self, but came back all too often with every reference of the Family found within his prison in the Dreamscape.

Maybe it was the shared nostalgia within his own heart, that little bit of his true self that he thought died when the Family tore out everything that made him who he was, that made him return behind the bar and begin making Sunday another White Gentlemen, giving Sunday a small nod to beckon him over. He wasn’t expecting anything from it, and he masked his own surprise when Sunday actually left his little shelter to come and take a seat in front of him at the bar. Even while out of it, Gallagher made note of the quiet confidence the other still carried himself. Nothing seemed wrong to anyone else looking at him, only for the lost look in his eyes.

The first time in the many months that they’ve been skirting around each other, and finally they seemed to be face to face.

It was quiet as Gallagher made Sunday his usual drink, a drink he had been slowly changing over the months to be sweeter and sweeter that Sunday never quite seemed to notice, or if he did, he never said anything, only seeming to savor it more each subsequent night. Maybe not even Gallagher noticed his own changes to the drink, subtle as they were.

It was quiet as Sunday took the finished drink, and it was quiet as his eyes slid over the bartop to see the saxophone case laying open with the instrument inside. It was quiet as Gallagher followed his eyes, as he came out from behind the bartop to take the saxophone out and take a seat in a chair only one seat down from Sunday’s. It was quiet as Gallagher began to play to his audience of one.

It was quiet as Sunday quietly hummed along.

It was quiet as they both knew that it would not last.

OK yea so this was all because I heard ‘La vie en rose’ at the end of the Jazz night event and went “Damn I wish that’s Gallagher playing on his Sax” and then we spiraled.

Uh. Idk what it is with me having a small ship moment which then spirals into a full blown writing session. My mind blanked out and as I came to I find out that I made a whole ass little one shot over here then completely forgot about it WHOOPS

So yea, hope my fellow Galladay enjoyers… enjoyed! I think I’ve slowly begun to crave… not domestic or fluff per se from these two, but after every AO3 fic being super dark between them (which I get! They are the toxic yaoi kings of Penacony as of writing this, no one is denying that!) I think I want to see them be explored in a more melancholic sense. Not quite the “forbidden” love angle, but in the “damn we kinda have some parallels, and maybe in another life we could have gotten along but there’s too much baggage and anger, both historically and currently to really even try anything”

I have this feeling this may not be the last time I write about these two… is Galladay going to be the ship that gets me to actually use my AO3 account?

[carrotkicks]

[sends them to JAIL au]

the kids are prisoners :(

[beloved-blaiddyd]

"Hmm? Oh, I'm just the milkman. Nothin' more. Won't you let me in, my doorman?"

[try-set-me-on-fire]

Ok well i had the brief thought “what about an ER nurse Eddie au?” and then this popped fully formed into existence so fuck it Friday pt 2.. warnings for smoking and vague references to critically injured kids

“That doesn’t seem very healthy.”

Smoke curls up from the cigarette held loosely in Eddie’s hand. “It’s not, particularly.”

Buck’s hands are in his pockets as he strolls away from the glass doors out into the ambulance bay where Eddie is doing the mature, professional equivalent of playing hide and seek. He comes to a stop barely a foot or two away from where Eddie leans against grimy concrete. “Didn’t know you were a smoker.”

“I’m not,” Eddie sighs, “Particularly.” He looks over Buck’s face as he takes a drag, cataloging bruises and cuts. He hadn’t been the one to look him over before he was discharged, probably because he was out here avoiding having to do so. “Only when it’s- only after the bad shifts.” And only once a month, even if the bad shifts come again and again. He bought this pack in January, it’s stale as shit.

Buck’s eyes follow the smoke as it drifts skyward. “Rough one today?”

Eddie thinks he probably doesn’t have to explain to Buck that it’s sometimes better when a kid is dead on arrival so he doesn’t have to try his best to administer care he knows will be useless. He doesn’t have to explain a day where nothing goes right and he loses more people than he can save and he still has to walk away from someone’s parent or wife or sister, left behind forever in a waiting room on the worst day of their life, and go on to lose the next person too. Doesn’t have to explain why he’s out here, and not in there. “Mm. We’ve got this repeat customer, always hate to have him back.”

Buck’s eyes flick to his face before they settle somewhere around his elbow. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. He seems like a nice guy. I worry about him. He’s here too often.”

Buck doesn’t look up. “What was he in for this time?”

“Minor concussion. Bruising. Lacerations.” Eddie sucks cancer into his lungs. “Heard a house fell on him.” Exhales it into the night.

Buck does look up this time, eyes a darker blue out here in the shadows. “Part of a house. Just a staircase and the- like, the balcony, really.”

“Maybe he should stay away from those.”

“From houses?” Buck asks, half his mouth twitching into a smile.

Eddie rests his head on the wall behind him. “Guess that’s not really practical.”

“No.” Buck is quiet for a moment, one hand slipping out of his pocket and running through his hair. Eddie wonders what he looks like, when he’s not here. He’s more styled, sometimes, when things aren’t very bad. He wonders if he’s usually all gelled up and neat. Eddie kind of likes the loose curls. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?”

“Making your day worse.” Buck looks genuinely apologetic, and Eddie shakes his head.

“The guy made it out okay this time.” Buck is just close enough that Eddie can kick at his boot with his sensible orthopedic sneaker. “You didn’t even need stitches.”

“That’s good.” Eddie’s left foot is pressed along the inside of Buck’s right, and Buck is staring down at them. “His favorite nurse was on break. I would have missed you if someone else had to do them.”

Eddie laughs, just a few bursts of soundless oxygen. “You gotta find new ways to see me before something happens that I can’t fix.”

Buck moves, taking the few steps necessary to lean against the wall beside him. Carefully, he takes the cigarette from Eddie’s hand, holds it between two of his own fingers, and takes a drag. Eddie watches it happen like he’s monitoring somebody’s pulse ox, and when Buck coughs he laughs again, louder this time. “Fuck,” Buck says, laughing too. “Thought that would be cooler than it was.”

“Smoking isn’t cool, firefighter Buckley,” Eddie says, taking the cigarette back and pulling from it again between smiling lips.

“Hm,” Buck says, grinning out into the night. Then he sighs, and rolls his head along the concrete to look at Eddie. “I think there’s nothing you can’t fix.”

They’re very close. “There’s lots I can’t fix.”

Buck shrugs like he disagrees. “I also think I’d like to find other ways to see you.”

Buck’s eyes are even more in shadow at this angle, and they’re the color of the lake back in El Paso that he and a bunch of kids went to after graduation, drunk off beer somebody’s cousin got for them, skinny dipping with breathless terrified delight under bright constellations. “Then ask me.”

Buck inhales as Eddie exhales. “What time’s your shift end?”

“5:30 AM. So, probably 6:15.”

Buck traces the two fingers he’d used to hold the cigarette down Eddie’s arm. “You wanna get breakfast with me?”

“Yes. I would.”

Buck smiles, and Eddie snubs out the cigarette on the wall between them. “I’ll meet you here?”

“Alright.” He takes a step forward, then a step to the right so he’s standing in front of Buck. “Two hours.”

“Uh huh.”

He should really get back inside. They’re understaffed, as always, and there are too many patients, as always, and not enough beds, as always. “See you then.” He doesn’t make any move to leave.

“See you then,” Buck almost whispers. He leans forward, and Eddie still doesn’t move, so he presses a tiny kiss to the corner of his mouth for just a moment. His lips are warm. Eddie hadn’t noticed it was cold outside.

Buck pulls back and leans against the wall again. Eddie smiles, puts a hand in his pocket, and walks back toward the doors.

[updownlately]

it's my right to be hellish (i still get jealous)

| leah williamson x reader | fluff | 1.6k | a/n: got this req a while back and i just got around to it. my bad for the wait amigo and thank you for being patient! not really sure how this turned out tbh but i hope you like it! happy reading folks! 🫶

~~~

"That hoodie's not yours, and it most definitely isn't mine..."

The voice behind you caused you to jump in your place, the hairs on the back of your neck rising as your were shook out of your thoughts by your favourite blonde.

Turning around with a smirk on your face, you tilted your head in challenge.

"You're right...it's not yours and it's not mine."

You watched as Leah's eyebrows rose at your words, the blonde stepping closer to you as her arms settled on either side of the countertop beside you, effectively trapping you in.

Eyes tracing her jaw as you watched it clench, you bit back a sly smile.

You absolutely loved this side of Leah, her possessive nature never not welcome by you.

Wanting to tease her a bit more, to drag this interaction out for as long as possible, you bent your head down, pretending to examine the hoodie.

"Still though, this might have to be one of the most comfortable things I've worn in a while..." Grasping the fabric tightly in your hand, you hid your smile, not needing to take a peek at Leah's face to know her reaction. You could practically imagine the slightly icy look in her eyes at your words, posture probably straightening as she took a deep breath in.

"Even softer than my hoodies that you steal?"

The midfielder's voice was audibly lower this time, the challenge clear in her voice.

Keeping your game up, you shrugged your shoulders and looked up to meet her eyes, shuffling ever so slightly back into the countertop so that it pressed against your back.

"I mean...it's up there for sure, y'know?”, an amused look crossing your face.

At your words, you could see Leah's body tense, forearm muscles already more apparent than before, neck vein joining the party.

"Yeah? And who might the owner of the hoodie be? Just in case I wanted to ask them where they got it?”

The way the Arsenal player tilted her head down towards you at the end of the sentence let you know you were successful in your attempt to rile her up, the dark look in her eyes a clear indication of the storm brewing inside.

Not bothering to hold your grin back anymore, you tilted your head back, mischievous eyes meeting Leah's, watching as her stormy blue eyes slowly turned into something slightly softer, a tad bit more playful, as she recognized the look in your eyes.

"You're being a little shit, I hope you know that." The words came out deep, her stepping closer to you, arms coming to trap you right between her body and the counter, not giving you much room to move.

Hands skimming your torso as she closed the gap between your bodies, you held your breath, lips pursed.

Slightly breathless, your words came out airy, the close proximity of your girlfriend making your head hazy, body involuntarily inching towards the blonde, trying to get closer.

“Yeah? And what about it?"

You shot Leah a sweet smile as she took in your words, doing your best to hold back your laughter at the situation.

The tables were very quickly reversed though, Leah moving even closer to you, causing you to hold your breath. Clenching the edge of the tabletop behind you, you stopped yourself from wrapping your arms around her neck with every ounce of willpower you could muster.

However, your eyes involuntarily fluttered shut as her breath fanned over your face, you letting out a small sigh, your plan to tease the blonde quickly forgotten as her perfume wrapped around you sweetly.

"If you tell me who's hoodie this is, I won't start hiding my old national hoodie from a few camps ago..."

Your eyes snapped open at Leah's words, mouth opening and closing a few times as you stood there bewildered.

“Wait wha- What??…No!” Snapping out of your haze, your eyes went wide. "I love that hoodie! And you know it!" You protested, mouth hanging open at the lengths Leah was going to.

"I mean, you said it yourself- this raggedy, old, faded hoodie is your favourite right now, right?"

You audibly gulped at her words, goosebumps rising on your skin as you felt Leah's hands trace the fabric near your hip, her grasp around your torso getting just perfectly tighter, causing your heart to beat faster.

"I- uhm..." Distracted by the touch, you tried to find your composure, a chill running up your spine as the Gunner's hand skimmed the small of your back.

"You what? You wanna continue having your little fun? Or do you wanna finally be good and tell me whose hoodie you're wearing? Because we both know the longer this goes on, the more difficult this is going to get for you. So make it easy, yeah? Might just even let you off lightly even though you tried to rile me up..."

Just barely managing to register Leah's words, her ministrations and low voice intoxicating, you nodded subconsciously.

"That's what I figured..."

Snapping out of your trance briefly at the tone in her voice, you playfully rolled your eyes.

"Cockiness doesn't look so good on you love..."

"Neither does this hoodie on you," came the quick quip, a singular eyebrow raised and a smirk dancing on Leah's face.

Throwing your head back, you let out a small groan. Of course you couldn't get out of this, Leah's possessiveness too much for you to tease the blonde to your liking.

"Leah, you're ruining my fun here!" Whining, your shoulders dropped, nose scrunching in playful displeasure.

"What can I say, something about seeing my girl in someone else's hoodie really kills the comedian in me..."

Seeing Leah smile at her own words, you wondered if you could somehow still continue your little game.

Your thoughts were cut short though, Leah reading your mind nearly immediately.

"Don't even think about weaselling your way out of this one..."

You sighed at her perfect read of you.

Just great- the joys of dating for nearly a year.

"Alright, fineeeee...it's Steph's hoodie okay? She gave it to me after it shrunk in the wash a few weeks ago…,” you pouted, very much displeased at the fact that your little mission had to have been aborted, you not afraid to express it.

"Steph? As in straight Stephy on our team right?"

Nodding your head you scrunched your nose.

"Yes Lee- our teammate Steph."

"Oh..."

"Just ‘oh?'" You asked, mind shook at the fact that this was the only reaction you were getting.

Eyes focused on Leah as you watched her take a step back from you, her eyes running over you and the fabric you wore, you tilted your head in curiosity, waiting.

"It's just Steph, it's not that bad."

Not content with your teasing from earlier being cut short, you decided to give it another shot.

"So you won't mind if I wear this more often, right?"

"Oh fuck no!"

And with those words, Leah stepped right back to you, hands coming to grab at the hem of your hoodie, tugging it not so gently, silently asking you to raise your hands.

"Leah!"

"What?" The blonde feigned innocence, actions not ceasing.

"You can't just make me take the hoodie off!"

"If you rather I take it off in another setting, I can make it happen," she smirked, a wink shot at you as her hands stopped their movement, instead now grasping the hoodie tightly. 

"Leah!"

"This isn't quite the situation where I pictured you screaming my name, but I'll take it." The forward response had you hitting the blonde, scrunching your face in clear displeasure.

Realizing you weren’t going to take off the hoodie, Leah spoke again. “Come on! You're my girlfriend- you're supposed to wear my hoodies! Not Steph's!" she groaned, stomping her foot petulantly.

“It's just a hoodie, Leah,” you shrugged, biting the inside of your cheek to keep yourself from laughing at her antics.

“Yeah, well so are mine. Wear those! Plus, you look better with my last name on your back- the world's gotta know your mine, capiche?” 

Shaking your head, you chose to finally put the taller girl out of her misery, a shy smile overtaking your face at the last sentence.

Letting the blonde rid you of the hoodie, you didn’t complain one bit as that simple task turned into more than just your hoodie being removed, the English skipper’s lips dancing around your neck and collarbones, slipping up along the slope of your neck in satisfaction of ‘winning’. 

As Leah kissed you to the point where you forgot Steph's hoodie even existed, you silently appreciated the little green monster inside her heart, her possessiveness most definitely not something your minded.

And later that night, you smiled as Leah handed you her old England hoodie as you both got ready for bed,  the two of you dead tired from an exhausting evening of strenuous activities, you silently thanking Steph’s dryer with a smile on your face.

Turning off your bedside lamp, you cuddled into Leah’s side in the dark room, placing a quick kiss on the blonde's lips, a sneaky smile on your face. 

Choosing to let her in on a little secret, you got comfortable in her hold, waiting until she had settled down so that she couldn’t tickle you like she likely would have. 

“Fun fact- Steph's hoodie never had a chance on any of yours...it didn't smell like you."

A bashful grin on your face, you carefully watched for the midfielder’s reaction at your next words, absolutely loving the way she rolled her eyes at you before tugging you impossibly closer, a gentle kiss placed on your lips before soft words were spoken against them.

“Good. ‘Cause you’re mine- now and forever.”

And that’s how you two fell asleep- soft smiles on both your faces, limbs tangled together, breaths mingled, hearts more than content in each other’s presence.

[rosedom]

Story where Aether got saved by reader and fell in love with reader. (preferably male :D )

"you have invited AETHER to play . . . alchemical descension

ㅤ 【 SYNOPSIS 】 aether gets kidnapped, and you're his hero.

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 gn!reader (for now), kidnapping, mentions of death & of murder, takes place during the alchemical ascension event .

A/N : somewhat altered style for SFW fics . . . a lil' bit inspired by the "villains" wq, and also just how ,, ridiculously easy it seems that ae can get knocked out by inhaling some wild shit LMAO

"press KEEP READING to read."

The traveler is a strong, strong man—from the ripple of his muscles to the easy way he brushes off injuries that would otherwise maim (even kill) mortals, it’s almost incomprehensible, wholly earth-shattering to see Aether so—so meek, weak.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, winces at the dab of antiseptic on a rather shallow wound. And, really, he’s not that banged up: he’s just, finally, mortalized. “I—I don’t know what they did. The drug should be out of my system soon...

“Right?”

You sigh. “I don’t know,” you say. “I can take you to Baizhu—”

“No!” When you flinch, he—albeit shakily—reaches out for your retracted hand. “I—I’m sorry,” he says, quiet, “I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just—I don’t want anybody to see me like this.

“I’m sorry that you have to see me like this.” 

Scoffing, you lean into his hold and reach out to cup his scratched face. “Please stop apologizing.” As you speak, your thumb rubs gentle circles into an unblemished, unwounded part of his cheek, the edges of your knuckle brushing the thin bandage you set across his skin earlier. “This isn’t—this isn’t your fault: you know that, right?”

He doesn’t reply. 

He doesn’t reply, because he thinks it is his fault. 

Treasure hoarders aren’t supposed to be this powerful.

“Look who I got, boys,” one says, sneering. He’s got one hand wrapped around Aether’s upper bicep, and that’s all he needs. From his lip drips the vestiges of his second—no, third? Fourth? strength potion. The traveler struggles in the tight grip of the treasure hoarder, but his limbs don't cooperate; they’re weakened, and he doesn’t think he can even feel his fingertips or halfway down to his toes. 

He doesn’t know where Paimon is, either, and the prickly feeling is traveling up his knees, up his thighs. It’s numbing, it’s painful—it’s everything at once, and all he can do is let himself be helplessly dragged.

One failed potion, one sip—it shouldn’t have done this to him.

“How could you have known?” you ask, fingertips stroking his jaw, his ear; you mindlessly tug at his earring to ground the both of you. The feather has a spritz of blood on it that you carefully rub away, heedful of the way a tear buds up in his waterline.

“I—”

You shake your head, stopping him. “You couldn’t have.”

“I made the potions myself—”

He stirs the cauldron, and in it bubbles the herbs he and Paimon threw in: lilies from the valley to bring strength to any person who consumes it, soft dandelions to give a breath of fresh air, a breath of speed. 

And it is he, still exhausted from the prophecy and its unfoldings, that fails to notice when Paimon’s bumbling body knocks something into the concoction. It bubbles, it shrinks, it evaporates, and he simply assumes so is how alchemy works. 

Paimon does not mention what she spilled, and so he stirs and stores and shelves only one bottle of the overly-sweet smelling potion. There was only enough left for so few, and it is bought quickly.

“Thank you,” a singular gruff man says. His chin is scraggly with overgrown hair, and his eyes are mean. (He buys this, and he buys another potion labeled in messy writing, “Strength.”)

Later, those eyes are the same ones that lock onto his as gruff hands force the sweet potion down his throat. “Gotcha,” the same voice murmurs, too, that scruffy beard raw against his face as he is hauled into a stranger’s arms, brought into a stranger’s camp.

You haul Aether into your arms, gentle, encircling around him in a way that leaves plenty of room for him to squirm out of if he wishes; but he sniffs, curls into you. 

“What all did he do to you, Aether?” you softly ask, hands trailing to his still-weakened wrists. His joint rolls easily, marred by deep red lines that speak of how you found him.

He shakes his head frantically. “No, no—” he cries out, eyes wide and panicked as he watches the treasure hoarder with those mean eyes lunge at you. 

You dodge, easy, the potion which makes him stronger simultaneously slowing him down. He is no match for your haste, and no amount of faux-strength can protect him against the blade; strength alone cannot keep him alive.

Blood pools around him, laid out prostrate, and he does not move. 

“Aether—” Your sword clatters to the stone floor, an ugly echo in the silence of the aftermath. Metal digs into his wrists, and chains pool around his legs. They were a precaution; after all, the potion that subdued him is empty, now, and the effects would not last forever. “Aether.”

Crumbling, he sobs out your name.

“I got you, Aeth, I gotcha.”

“Thank you,” he murmurs instead, avoids the question that hangs heavy in the air. He tucks his face further into your throat and rests his cheek against the steady thrum of your heart, grounding him. In the silence, though, he finally sighs and begins to speak, prefaces it with, “Please, don’t... don’t tell anybody else.”

“I won’t,” you promise. 

His hands are crushing, but the bite of the metal cuffs is paralyzing. “Look’it here,” he says, the scent of alcohol pungent as the treasure hoarder and his boys are strewn about the camp in front of him. “Got us a lil’ treasure.”

Another man laughs. “How’d you get your hands on ‘im?” he asks, his words a slur. Tauntingly, he kneels down in front of Aether, but the spirit is heavy enough in his veins, in his stomach, that he sways on his knees. (Aether would laugh were he not so terrified.)

“He was sellin’ potions,” the leader murmurs. “I took the ones for strength, of course, but there was this real cheap one on the side. ‘Thought it smelled nice n’ all, so I bought it, thinkin’ I’d get to gift it to my sister for perfume.” Laughing, he tacks on, “Glad I didn’t give it to ‘er!”

“That’s all,” Aether eventually mutters. His breath is clammy against you when he murmurs more, “I promise. I—I got lucky.

"I fear what would’ve happened if you weren’t there. So—so thank you.”

Gently, you tug Aether out from your neck. “You don’t need to thank me, Aeth,” you whisper, nose-to-nose. His eyes are shiny-wet, warm as the sun yet scared as the moon. “I’m just so, so glad you’re safe now, yeah?”

He nods. “Yeah,” he echoes, fingers coming to curl into the front of your shirt, “because of you.” His pale eyelashes, clumped with moisture, flutter shut, then, leaning back into you.

You smile softly, sadly. “Easy, tiger,” you whisper, fingers pressing against his lips. “Wait ‘til you’re better, yeah?”

Pouting, he shakes his head. He tries to swerve your palm, but you laugh, and you take to holding his cheeks instead, mindful still of that which mars him. “You don’t want me, Aeth.”

He shakes his head again, this time far more vehement; his bangs are tousled by the movement, and you can’t help gently smoothing his soft curls back. He says, then, “I’ve always wanted you.” 

“This is the potion—”

Aether fucking growls. “It’s not the potion!” he cries out, warm eyes turned molten before they cool again, a wave of something somber taking over the irises. “Unless—unless you don’t—”

“No, no, I—I do, but not—not like this,” you say. Your hands shake where you hold him, now, and you realize that he’s not faring much better himself. 

A fat tear slips out of his eye, too, and you cannot help but catch it with your thumb lest it soak into the bandage. “Like how, then?”

Huffing out a laugh, you pull him into you again, letting his head fall back onto your chest. Your fingers wrap themselves in his hair, lulling him and yourself all the same. “Properly. I want—I want to do it right,” you say. “I want to get you flowers: windwheel asters—” your favorite. “I want you to be happy when I ask you.”

At that, Aether’s tense body fully relaxes into you. He minutely groans when he agitates a bruise, but he lets his body go limp irregardless. “I’m happy now,” he says, “but okay.”

“Okay?”

You can feel the smile he presses into your throat. “Very okay.”

i'm gonna write a NSFW part two ,, keep ur eyes peeled, adults ! the second part will be with a male reader.

22 MAY 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

[omgjumin]

6:32am ☆ miya atsumu

tags: fem! reader, pet names (princess, girlfriend, girl)

you've never been provoked to hit your boyfriend, but with atsumu dragging you out of bed too early, only to prop you up onto the bathroom counter so you can watch him get ready, this might be a first for you. "tsumu, i wanna go to bed." you repulsively dragged out. your darkened eye bags were evidence of how tired you truly were but atsumu didn't seem to care. and he only hummed at your current drowsy state.

"and i want bonding time with my girlfriend, is that a problem?" you had to scoff at his deceiving explanation. he, who begged to the point where he might've even gotten on his knees for you to spend the night. you would've cooed at him if that was the real reason he woke you up, anytime spent with him is amazing. however, you've spent the last two days under his roof, in his house eating, drinking, napping, cooking, chilling, and sleeping together. not one moment was spent without atsumu so you knew this was not solely him wanting to be with you. but rather him wanting you to watch him get ready. to see how perfect and attractive your boyfriend truly was at any point of the day.

you rolled your eyes and groaned at the half naked man in front of you. with his gray worn out sweatpants hanging loosely on his hips while a towel draped over his shoulder, atsumu threw you a quick smirk before turning away. you really hated to admit it, you'd rather go on his 5am jog than admit it to his face that he was actually really attractive right now. with his stupid messy damp blonde hair and his stupid pretty brown eyes that lit up everytime he looked at you, and his stupid stupid stupid attractive voice that sounded like heavens gold in the morning. you hated how even after turning away from you, his bare back was stupidly pretty, his muscles that flexed ever so slightly with how he walks and the way his hands flowed loosely along side his hips. "ya comin' or not?" he asked, stopping to lean against the door frame. "yeah, whatever." you rolled your eyes, annoyed at his jaw dropping sight but you can't complain. "i know im pretty but pick yer jaw off the floor." atsumu quickly snickered before running away. his slightly damp body hitting the bed in laughter. shortly after, you landed on top of him, hands tickling his sides, before stopping to place a kiss to his soft lips.

"you're lucky i love you." you huffed before connecting with atsumu's lips again. there's a distinct taste of his toothpaste on your lips but you didn't mind, not when his hands held you tight in his arms while your lips slowly danced together. his blonde hair was still messy, his face was soft from his nicely put together skincare, the unwelcomed sunlight grazing his skin, making him glow even more, and his still not yet fully clothed body though he needs to leave in five minutes, but even despite his current state, he truly was the prettiest at this moment. atsumu is pretty. prettier than all flowers that bloom in the spring, his eyes shining more than the sun when he looks at you, but what you think is the prettiest of them all, is his charming smile. the lazy smile that sits on atsumu's face after you pull away from his lips. "and i love you too, my pretty girl."

but most importantly, atsumu thinks if there's one person who's prettier than him, is you.

[non-un-topo]

Thinking about the sniper duo

[carolperkinsexgirlfriend]

Steddie Upside-Down AU Part 90

Part 1 Part 89

For a group who’s routinely suffered through supernatural shenanigans, they’re not getting any better at these planning sessions. They always take too long and devolve into yelling at each other.

“Why don’t we just go in and turn the heater on?” Max asks, gesturing toward Will’s house like she couldn’t care less about any of this. “You heard that girl, you need to warm him up.”

“Yeah, we need to cut the connection before Supergirl closes the gate,” Eddie says, gesturing jerkily toward where Wayne had driven away. He doesn’t look away from Steve as he runs his hands up and down any visible skin, like just the heat of his own body will bring Steve back. “Run a bath or something, we’ve just gotta make it fast.”

“He’s a spy,” Will says, interjecting what everyone else seems to have forgotten, he talks right over Dustin’s squawked “he’s a what?” to finish, “if he knows where we are, the dogs can find us again.”

That finally gets Eddie to look his way. “But they’re dead,” he says, peeking out the van door to look at the corpses littering the ground, shadowed by the falling darkness. 

Carol scoffs, shouldering her way into the van. She uses the heel of her shoe to kick the Demodog corpse out of the van before settling into one of the vacant seats that’s clear of glass. “You’re crazy if you think that’s all there is, Munson.”

Barbara follows her in, squeezing Steve’s shoulder as she passes and settles into the seat beside Carol, dropping the nailed bat between her spread thighs, but keeping her hand around it, ready to squeeze. 

Will watches the two girls, transfixed. They’re both splattered with blood and shiny with sweat, leaning into each other like that’s where they belong. Will’s heard Eddie complain about Carol that he knows it shouldn’t work.

Carol’s stuck up. Carol’s preppy. Carol’s conceited, all in long-winded rants that Steve just sighs at. But Barbara’s been on the peripherals of Will’s life long enough that he knows she ticks some of those same boxes.

And they’re both looking at the rest of the party loitering out on the lawn with the same snide look, eyebrows raised, lips pursed. 

“Well?” Carol demands. “Are you waiting for those Demo-whatevers to come and kill us, or are we going to get the hell out of here?”

Everyone piles in, one atop of another as they try to find seats. Mike settles beside Will, shoulders pressed together. Something snake-coiled and tight in his gut loosens. Will leans into Mike’s side. 

“Eddie, sweetie, can you start this thing again?” Mom calls, settling into the driver’s seat. 

“Where are we going anyway?” Mike asks, looking at Will for answers he doesn’t have.

But, as Eddie trips up to help Mom with the car, Will jumps up, calling “don’t say anything!” to his perpetually loud friends as he ties Wayne’s flannel back over Steve’s eyes, and putting Jonatha’s headphones over his ears after rewinding the tape and hitting play. 

“You meant that literally?” Dustin demands. “Steve’s a spy?”

“For what?” Max asks.

“The Mind Flayer,” Mike replies, looking up at Steve with a sully expression. 

“Is that what we’re calling it now?” Dustin demands.

“It fits!”

“Does it?” Lucas asks, smiling that sneaky smile at all of them.

Barbara’s the one that scoffs this time, throat clicking with the force of it. “Is this really what matters right now?”

“Yes!” Mike cries, just as Dustin lets out a resigned, “no.”

The van starts up with a cheer from Eddie, and Mom starts driving. 

“Go to the Harrington house,” he orders, settling into the passenger seat, even as he looks back at Steve like he can’t help but to take him in. 

Mom dutifully backs out of the driveway, heading that way as everyone argues about the intelligence of going somewhere Steve knows so well.

It’s Carol who snaps in, snide and mean. “Where else are we going to get an empty house to sweat it out of him?” she demands, not waiting long enough for anyone else to answer as she settles back into her seat with crossed arms. “Besides, those bastards can pay for the heating bill.”

Eddie’s laugh rings out, bitter and hollow from the front seat as he meets Carol’s eyes, something nameless and understanding passing between them. Will gets it. Steve hadn’t wanted to talk to his parents even from hell. He hasn’t been back in months. That’s not something that comes about from a loving relationship with one’s parents.

Will would know. He never wants to see Lonnie again. Not after Mom’s black eye and Jonathan’s broken arm. 

Some bodies are better left buried. 

Some bodies are crawling out of their own shallow graves. That becomes obvious when Max gasps, squishing her nose against the back window of the van, just as a car, something loud and sporty squeals on its tires as it takes a turn too fast. 

Will doesn’t know how long it’s been behind them. None of them do, with the way they’d been arguing among themselves, squabbling over logistics when there was a fox trying to sneak into the henhouse. 

They’re not sneaking any more.

“He’s following us,” Max says, face washed-out and pale against her flaming hair as she turns away from the window, back to the door as she huddles down into herself.

“Who?” Lucas asks, rushing up beside her to crouch beside her, peeking obviously out of the window. “Is that Billy?”

“Who–” Mom starts to ask.

“My stepbrother,” Max says, hands shaking subtly where they’re dangling between her knees. “He’ll kill me.”

She pulls Lucas down beside her, shoving him down past the lip of the window. As if her stepbrother hadn’t already seen them both.

Mom hums, but keeps driving, speeding up enough that the turns make them all fling around, lurching back and forth with the momentum of the tires. It doesn’t work. The car just keeps following them, close enough that the headlights illuminate the dark interior of the van. The whites of Max’s eyes are shining. 

“Don’t worry, sweetie,” Mom calls, finally pulling into the Harrington’s long, dark driveway, and pulling the van all the way in and putting it in park. “He won’t get anywhere near you.”

Mom steps out of the van just as the car pulls to a stop, tires squealing showily. When he steps out, he doesn’t bother to turn off his car. His headlights beam across the Harrington driveway, painting his Mom in light. 

Her hands are raised, like Billy’s holding a gun, even as he smiles charmingly at her and holds out his hand for a shake. Mom takes it, but she’s still wary, and she holds her hands up again in supplication. 

It’s a body posture Will hasn’t seen in a long time. Not since Lonnie had driven away after slamming the door so hard the front window broke. It makes him queasy to see it now. 

Will can’t hear what they’re saying, but Billy’s smile is fixed, painted on and empty. Max scoots back further into the van, like she can phase straight through the metal into somewhere else. Somewhere better.

Will knows that body posture well, too. Remembers it in the slope of his own shoulders, the futile squeezing of his fists when they were small and futile.

Mom takes a step back, covering the entrance to the van with the width of her arms, smile cracking along the edges as her deescalation of the situation shatters beneath her feet. Billy shoves past her, knocking her to the side. She keeps her feet, but it doesn’t matter: Billy’s already in front of the door, looking inside.

He’s not looking at Max, though. His eyes are trained on Steve, wide, smile unfurling from his mouth, all teeth and jagged edges.

It drops a second later as he hunches over just enough to bully his way into the van. “King Steve Harrington,” he drawls, stretching out Steve’s first name like it means something. “What have you gotten yourself into?”

He walks toward Steve like he’s pulled, hand reaching toward his face. To help or to hurt, Will doesn’t know. But it doesn’t matter because Carol launches out of her chair and tackles Billy with enough force to send him stumbling back out of the van, sprawling in the driveway, Carol on top of him.

“What the fuck?” he cries, shoving Carol in the breastbone. “Get off me, you bitch!”

She doesn’t. “You don’t fucking touch him,” she snarls, something wild and animal emerging as she bites his arm. It almost looks like instinct when he pulls his hand back, punching her straight in the face. 

She’s flung off him with the force, falling into Mom who’d come to help her and taking her down with her in a messy, writhing heap. 

Eddie springs free from the passenger seat and darts out the open driver’s side door. 

“Maxine!” Billy snarls, loud in the quiet night’s air. He’s holding the back of his head, and when he removes it, Will can see the bright red of blood shining in Billy’s headlights. “I’m going to fucking kill–”

He doesn’t get to finish. Eddie barrels into him at full speed, tackling him back into the pavement and swinging wildly. Carol crawls over to help, snatching arms and legs and hair as the lights of nosy neighbor's flicker on all around them, rich people ready for a show. 

Part 91

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[pachimation]

an 8 page comic about childe visiting scaramouche after the sumeru archon quest