#in fact it probably belongs on AO3

[singsweetmelodies]

Hello Katie 👋🏼👋🏼 :D

For the 50 romance prompts ask meme, I'll like to request for 44: soulmate AU: timers <3

but if possible... with a twist...? (you don't have to include a twist if it's too difficult to work it in!)

The twist being, for whatever reason, their countdown timers for each of them to the time they meet their soulmates doesn't match, so they think "we're not each other's soulmates. that's cool. (no it's not)" but it turns out that they're each other soulmates anyways. or they choose to be with each other in spite of not being each other's soulmates. idk. *nervous laughter*

hiiii charlotte 🥰 first off, i am SO sorry for the incredible delay with this answer!! i saw this prompt and i absolutely LOVED IT (and the twist!! 🙏 *chef's kiss*) but unfortunately i got struck with a horrible case of writer's block/work deadlines, and just couldn't get to it at all.

until yesterday: i decided to just open my inbox and see what came to me. no thinking, just following the vibe of a prompt and writing. and uh. this happened... not only did it get ridiculously long (oops?) but it also somehow became a mini "investigate montreal" fic?? so in that vein, i'm tagging @1016week and submitting a belated entry for Day 6 "Montreal"... ❤️

i love this one. hope you love it too!! 👀⌚

~

Charles' soulmate timer stops when he is seven years old, and he meets the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen.

He's been vibrating with excitement all weekend - not just because it's a karting cup, but because his soulmate timer has been ticking down to this day for months now. Well, not just months, not really. It's actually been his whole life, but Charles doesn't remember all of that. He only remembers the past few months, when the little numbers had been getting smaller and smaller, until there were only ten days left and Charles gasped when he realised that the day would fall on the same day as the Bridgestone Cup.

"Of course the girl I marry is going to like racing, too," he'd told Maman and Papa, confidingly. Not a lot about soulmates made much sense to him, but this did.

His Maman had tried to smile, and Charles had hugged her tight to let her know it was going to be okay. He would find his soulmate, and then everyone would be smiling, because that's what people do when you meet your soulmate.

(Later that night, when Charles had been too excited to sleep and he'd gone to the bathroom quickly, Charles had heard his parents having an argument in their room. The door was closed, so their voices were muffled, but Charles could still make out his Maman saying "I just don't think it's a good sign, to meet your soulmate so young!" But Papa had countered, "Many people do, and they have beautiful stories. You have to trust that our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow." And then there had been an icky noise, like kissing, and Charles had flushed the loo quickly and ran back to his room.)

Now, with the beautiful blue eyed boy standing in front of him, Charles thinks of Papa's words again. Our Charles will meet his perfect match tomorrow.

Charles thought it would be a girl who really liked karting, but this is even better. This is a boy who wins at karting, because he's holding a trophy in both hands and grinning like he couldn't be happier.

Of course Charles' perfect match would be someone who wins at karting. It's only right, because Charles also wins at karting.

Charles clears his throat. "Hi," he says shyly, and the blue-eyed boy jumps.

"Oh! Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't see you there," he says apologetically, and then he laughs. He has a nice laugh, Charles thinks - like he knows how to have fun. "You are a bit short," the blue-eyed boy adds, and hey.

"Hey," Charles protests. "I'm tall for my age. I'm seven."

"Well, I'm nine," the blue-eyed boy says, like that's the most impressive age in the world.

It is a bit impressive, but not very, because Lorenzo is much older than that. Still, it is a little scary - Charles is only seven. What if this blue-eyed boy doesn't like him because he's only seven? Older kids can be mean like that.

No, he is your perfect match, Charles reminds himself. This blue-eyed boy won't be mean to him, because that's not how perfect matches work.

Charles takes a deep breath, then he sticks out his hand. "I'm Charles," he says.

The blue-eyed boy takes his hand, and it feels... weird. A little bit like when you get shocked by static electricity.

Charles giggles, unable to stop himself, and the blue-eyed boy smiles, as though he likes that.

"Hello, Charles. I'm Pierre," he says, squeezing Charles' hand. His eyes widen a moment later. "Oh! You've met your soulmate?!"

Charles doesn't understand what he means. "Well, yeah," he says. "It's y-"

And then he notices it.

Pierre's soulmate timer, right there on his wrist, right above where Charles is gripping his hand - it's still ticking.

Now, Charles doesn't know a lot about soulmates yet, but he knows that that's not good. Not good at all.

"I, um," Charles stammers, and then he does the one thing Maman and Papa said you should never do to your soulmate. Charles lies.

"I met so many new people today. I don't remember who it was."

Pierre's face falls. "Oh," he says, and he sounds unbearably sad for Charles. "But..." He chews his lip, shaking his head with a deep frown.

Then, mid-shake, Pierre's expression changes to one of determination. "I will help you find them," he says, with the kind of confidence Charles can only dream of when he's not on the racetrack.

He tugs on Charles' hand - which he still hasn't let go of - and Charles is helpless to do anything but follow.

~

They don't find Charles' soulmate anywhere, of course, and then Charles has to go win his race - but Pierre makes him promise that they will find each other at the next French karting event, and Charles will tell him all about his soulmate.

Charles promises, even though the idea makes his stomach feel all funny. I shouldn't be lying to my soulmate, he thinks, guiltily.

But Pierre's soulmate timer didn't stop ticking, and... that's not how soulmates are supposed to work.

The moment he's in the car with his father after the race, heading back home, Charles asks him about it.

Papa is quiet for a long moment, then: "Are you sure there wasn't someone behind Pierre, Charles?" he asks, in his careful, kind way. "Someone who's timer stopped at the same time as yours?"

Charles thinks about it for a moment, but even the idea of that feels - wrong, somehow. Like going into a corner and knowing you braked too hard, and you're going to flip the kart.

He shakes his head decisively. "No," he says. "It's Pierre."

He hears rather than sees his father blow out a soft sigh. Charles catches his eye in the rearview mirror, feeling confused and a little shaky inside.

When Papa sighs like that, it's never good news - it's usually something about sponsorship, which is a word Charles is already coming to dread.

It doesn't make sense how this could be about sponsorship, though. It probably isn't.

Charles waits for his father to gather his thoughts, like he needs to do sometimes to make sure he says exactly what he means. (It's something Maman keeps telling him he should try doing as well, but he's not so good at that yet.)

"You know how even the greatest racing drivers make mistakes sometimes?" Papa asks.

Charles frowns, but he nods. "Yes?"

"Sometimes the universe is like that, too. Sometimes the universe makes a mistake, and stops the timers too soon," Papa explains.

Charles frowns. He hasn't heard about that before, but he guesses it makes sense. It's true what Papa said - not even Senna was a perfect driver who never made mistakes. It makes sense that the universe is the same.

"But this doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate, okay, Charles?" Papa says before Charles can spend too much time thinking about the whole thing. His voice is firmer than Charles was expecting, and he reaches up to tilt the rearview mirror to see Charles better.

"It doesn't mean you don't have a soulmate," he repeats, like he doesn't want Charles to ever doubt that. "It just means it's going to be a little harder to find them."

Charles frowns, and he can't help but be a little annoyed. Isn't the whole point of soulmate timers to make it easier to find your perfect match?

It's just his luck that his soulmate timer doesn't work properly.

"I understand," Charles says, though, because he can tell it's important to his father.

Papa nods, but he keeps watching Charles in the rearview mirror for the rest of the drive, like he sometimes does after a race where Charles crashed the kart badly and he needs to keep making sure that Charles is fine.

Of course Charles is fine. He doesn't think this is comparable to a bad race at all! It's a little annoying, yes, but it's not that bad. It's just a bit of extra work, isn't it?

Charles shrugs his shoulders, glancing quickly down at the stopped soulmate timer at his wrist.

Whatever. Racing is more important than soulmates, anyway.

~

Almost twenty years later, Charles still says that to himself almost every day, even if he doesn't believe it with nearly the same careless seven-year-old confidence anymore: racing is more important than soulmates.

It is, because it has to be.

The thing is this: his father's explanation to Charles' seven-year-old self had been true - if a little oversimplified, and painted with an overt layer of kindness.

The truth Charles knows now is that there are two reasons, two categories, for people whose timers stop when the other person's keeps running.

One is, like Papa had said all those years ago, a simple case of mistaken timing - cases where the universe or fate or whatever controls it all stopped one person's timer a little too soon, or the other's a little too late.

It's harder to find each other in those cases, but it's still quite possible.

And then there's the second category. The unrequiteds. People whose timers stopped at the right time - when they met the person who would be their perfect match - except that they are not that person's perfect match in return. It only goes one way.

It's rare, but it happens sometimes. No system is perfect, after all - not even a system of soulmates.

For years and years, Charles tried to convince himself that he fell into the first category. His soulmate timer simply stopped too early, by some cosmic accident - but it's okay, Charles insists to everyone who asks and to himself as well, because what it's done is given Charles more time to focus on his racing instead. He's not constantly glancing down at his wrist and wondering when his timer is going to stop ticking - he can just get on with the racing.

He'll find his soulmate eventually, but on his own terms. There's nothing bad about that, surely.

Charles believes that. Really he does.

Except.

Except, if it's true and Charles falls into the first category - the mistaken timing category - then it would mean Pierre isn't his soulmate.

Pierre, who kept the promise he'd made to a seven-year-old who wasn't even his soulmate (because, yes, he had found Charles at the very next French karting cup, and he'd asked to meet Charles' soulmate - and when Charles had to admit that he still hadn't found them, Pierre had hugged him and told him not to give up and that he would find his soulmate someday. Pierre had held Charles' hand and explained that his parents almost didn't find each other, but they did. So it might take Charles some time, but that was okay, because it had taken Pierre's parents some time too, but now they were happier than ever. He'd been so convincing, firm but kind and absolutely sure of himself, and he'd made Charles believe it. He also made Charles smile, genuinely and truly, when he promised he'd stick by Charles' side no matter what anyone else said or whispered about his stopped soulmate timer.)

Pierre, who kept that promise about sticking with Charles, too. Pierre who never stopped being kind, and loyal, and the best friend Charles could ask for, whether he was seven or thirteen or nineteen or twenty-six.

Honestly, how was Charles supposed to not fall hopelessly in love with him?

He tried to deny it. For years and years, Charles tried to deny it - I will find my soulmate someday and it will all make sense, he'd tried to convince himself - but the thing was, what made more sense than Pierre being his soulmate?

It was roundabout the time of Pierre's first win (when Charles was standing under the podium in Monza with an aching back but a heart soaring with joy for his best friend despite the disaster of his own race) that Charles resigned himself to the truth: Pierre is his soulmate.

He has to be. Isn't a soulmate meant to be your perfect match; the person who understands you better than anyone and makes you happier than any other person in the world?

There's nobody else who could make Charles as happy as Pierre does. Nobody, nobody. There's no point in even trying to deny it anymore.

Pierre is his soulmate. But he is not Pierre's.

And that's okay. It's okay.

It has to be.

~

It isn't okay, not really, but that's true of a lot of things in Charles' life, and he's learned how to deal with them. He can deal with this, too.

On the whole, Charles thinks he does a pretty good job of dealing with it. He gets to be Pierre's best friend, after all - isn't that just a different kind of soulmate? True, Charles might want more, but it isn't like he has nothing. He has Pierre, and he will have Pierre for the rest of their lives.

Not in the way he wants, but - at least he will have Pierre.

The one thing he tries never to think about is Pierre's actual soulmate. Because Pierre has one, he knows, and he will meet them at some point.

Charles doesn't know how the hell he's supposed to look at some soulmate of Pierre's, and smile at her, and not be hopelessly, heartbreakingly jealous.

(He will do it, though. He will learn to smile at Pierre's soulmate - for Pierre's sake. He'll do it for Pierre.)

But that's a bridge he will cross when they get there. He doesn't have to worry about it yet (or at least, that's what Charles keeps telling himself even as the months tick by, and he knows there aren't year figures left on Pierre's soulmate timer anymore. Just months now, and then... weeks.)

Charles isn't thinking about it. He's put it out of his mind completely - which is easy enough to do, thankfully, given everything that's been happening on-track this season.

That's probably why he accepts Pierre's invitation to dinner in Montreal without thinking twice about it. (Even if he had realised, though, Charles doesn't think he would have been able to say no, either. He would give Pierre everything, if he only asked.)

So they go to dinner in Montreal, and it's perfect, and wonderful, and laughter-filled, and all in all exactly what Charles needed to distract himself from the fact that he has yet another engine penalty, and the sinking feeling that the championship is beginning to slip out of his reach.

Pierre seems to realise it, because he's in even finer form than usual - teasing Charles and tickling his ribs playfully and making him laugh at every possible opportunity.

Even on the drive back to the hotel: they stop at a red light, and Pierre steals Charles' cap, and Charles is giggling and filming it while Pierre is giggling back, and he's pretty sure neither of them are thinking about it at all, until-

Until Pierre's face changes from laughter to something almost ashen. "Charles," he says, and for all the years Charles has known him, he's never once heard Pierre's voice like that. "My soulmate timer just stopped."

For a few seconds, the words don't even register in Charles' mind.

Then they do, and Charles can feel his heart drop. "What?" he breathes.

His hands shake, and he doesn't even register the fact that the light has gone green as he glances all around them, craning his neck to see if there's anyone behind the white Ferrari, or around to the side.

Just a few minutes ago, their car had been surrounded by fans on all sides, all jostling to try and get pictures of them. But now, somehow, they're all alone in the Montreal night.

(The irony of it all is not lost on him - is this how Pierre felt all those years ago, when he was trying to look for Charles' soulmate at a karting cup, but not finding anybody it could be?)

"Are you sure it stopped just now? And not earlier?" Charles asks, willing his voice not to shake.

"Yeah," Pierre whispers. He sounds... devastated.

"But," Charles says, and then he has to take a deep breath. "But there's no-one else here, Pierrot."

"I know," Pierre says, somehow even softer.

Charles' fingers clench reflexively around the steering wheel, and he's moving in blank autopilot as he puts the car into gear and starts driving forward again.

He doesn't even realise he's shaking his head until Pierre says softly, "Charles." There's something wounded about it.

Charles stops shaking his head and slams on the brakes instead, jerking the car into something he hopes is a parking space at the side of the road.

"I don't understand," he says, far more calmly than he feels. "You can't - I can't be your soulmate."

Okay, maybe he's not so calm after all. But he doesn't think... he doesn't think anyone would be calm, in this situation.

Pierre makes a sound that could almost be a laugh, except that it sounds too strangled. "Do you know," he says, "that I have spent half my life wondering if the soulmate system got something wrong in my case? Because if you're not my soulmate, then who is? Who could possibly..."

Pierre does laugh this time, shaking his head. "You know, I asked to go out with you tonight for a reason. I knew - I knew it would happen tonight, so I needed to..." He swallows. "I needed to see you, one last time. Before I wouldn't be allowed to love you anymore."

It jolts through Charles then, what Pierre is trying to say. "Pierre," he breathes, and now it's his turn to say his best friend's name in a way he doesn't think he's ever said it before.

But Pierre's not finished yet. "I thought I could have one last night with you," he says. "One last night, before I had to say goodbye to my feelings, and try to love someone else."

My feelings. Try to love someone else.

Charles Leclerc is a lot of things, but an idiot is not one of them. He knows what Pierre is saying. He's...

Pierre loves him too. All along, Pierre has loved him too.

Only, he never had the option of thinking we're soulmates, Charles realised, and his heart twists in his chest.

Because Charles, for all that he accepted his soulbond toward Pierre was unrequited - at least he'd had the option of them being soulmates. Yes, it was in a twisted way, but at least he'd had that.

Pierre didn't. And he still fell in love with Charles.

The thought hits him like a shell-shock, and it's enough that Charles can only sit there for a moment, staring blankly, as Pierre continues talking beside him.

"I meant for tonight to just be a quick dinner together, something fun but normal for us," Pierre is saying, wringing his hands. "But I lost track of time. I always lose time when I'm talking to you, Charlito, I could talk to you forever - but the point is, I forgot to tell you I need to go back. I forgot that I was meant to meet my fucking soulmate tonight, because I was spending time with you, and - "

He takes a deep breath, and then he laughs again, leaning forward to drop his head into his hands. "I felt it happen, you know? I knew exactly when my soulmate timer stopped, because I could feel it, and it's - it was when I put that fucking cap on my head, Charles."

The cap that he's still wearing. Charles' 16 Ferrari cap.

Charles' hands shake as he reaches out to touch it, just the brim. "Your soulmate timer stopped when you put my cap on," he says, because a part of him still can't believe that this is real, that he's not living in some kind of heartbreakingly wonderful dream.

Pierre straightens up so fast that Charles is left with his fingers dangling awkwardly in mid-air. "Yes," he says, suddenly looking wild, "but this doesn't have to change anything, Charlito, I promise. I will still help you find your soulmate, and I will - I'll learn how to live with an unrequited bond, it's -"

"No!" Charles interrupts, half-throwing himself across the car to catch hold of Pierre's hands. "No, no, no, no. No more unrequited bonds, Pierrot."

Pierre starts to shake his head, but then he stops in the middle of the movement. "What do you mean," he asks, very carefully, "no more?"

And suddenly, Charles feels giddy, of all things. "I mean, your timer didn't stop when mine did. So for years, I have thought that we can't be soulmates, or at least that you couldn't be my soulmate. But now your timer stopped when you put on my cap, so -"

"Stop, stop, stop," Pierre says, squeezing Charles' hands tightly. "What do you mean, my timer didn't stop when yours did?"

"Oh," Charles says, and then he winces, the weight of the only real lie he's ever told his best friend (the only real lie he's ever told his soulmate) settling onto his shoulders with uncomfortable heaviness. "Um. Well. Do you remember when we met, and you thought I already met my soulmate?"

"No," Pierre breathes, but it's not the kind of no that says "no I don't remember." This no is more like "no way."

"Yeah," Charles says, and he can't help but look down at his own wrist, where the soulmate timer has been stopped for years and years. "My timer stopped the moment I met you, Pierrot."

"You..."

Pierre doesn't look like he knows how to finish that sentence, but Charles understands him anyway. "How was I supposed to tell you? I was seven, Pierre, and your timer didn't stop. I thought it was a mistake for years."

"But?" Pierre asks, like he can tell there was a but.

Charles beams at him. "But, I realised that there was nobody else who could be my perfect match. So I thought you were my soulmate after all, but it was unrequited."

"Never," Pierre says with a fierceness Charles doesn't expect. "Charles, never. If I knew... if I thought I had even half a chance, I would have been with you anyway."

Charles tries to laugh, but it comes out all breathless. "No you wouldn't."

"Yes, I would," Pierre argues, and his voice is heartbreakingly sincere. "I don't care. I would have chosen you."

Charles hears a punched-out noise, and it takes him a moment to realise it came from him. The next moment, he's unbuckling his seatbelt and climbing awkwardly over to sit on Pierre's lap.

It's not quite comfortable, because for all its luxury, the white Ferrari does not have a lot of leg space - but Charles doesn't think either of them give a single fuck, in this moment.

"I love you," he tells Pierre, reaching up to cup his cheek. "I've always loved you, but I never would have stood between you and your soulmate."

"Funny," Pierre says, his hands coming up to grip Charles' hips, "because that's exactly what stopped me from kissing you senseless."

"Well," Charles says, and if he grinds down just a little on Pierre's lap, he'll swear to everyone who asks that it was accidental. "It doesn't have to stop us anymore."

"Never again," Pierre agrees, tightening his grip on Charles' hips. "Never."

"So kiss me senseless, please," Charles whispers, and then he adds "soulmate," and that's what does it. Pierre surges up and kisses him, wild and desperate and more than a little clumsy, but without question the best kiss Charles has ever had. His own cap digs into his forehead a little, but Charles can't even bring himself to care about that - they owe too much to this cap now, honestly.

Maybe the universe does know what it's doing after all, Charles thinks. Maybe the universe just wanted to write a good story for them. A story that goes like this:

Charles' soulmate timer stopped when he was seven years old, and he met the boy with the bluest eyes he'd ever seen.

Almost twenty years later, Pierre's soulmate timer stopped in a white Ferrari in Montreal, and Charles finally got to kiss the boy with the bluest eyes he's ever seen, the man who is his best friend and his soulmate.

The odds of it working out this way have to be... a million to one, probably, or maybe even less.

But then again, what are the odds that two boys who met at a French karting cup and became friends with a shared dream would both make it to Formula 1?

Maybe the answer is just that Pierre and Charles have always liked beating the odds.

~

(50 Romance Prompts Ask Meme) <- not currently taking more prompts, sorry!

[genshinluvr]

Final Moments

Pairings: Various Honkai Star Rail Men x Isekai'd!Reader

Summary: You're somewhere alone, bleeding, and on the verge of death. Everyone is scrambling to reach out to you, but you're not picking up your phone, and no one knows where you are. Not even Nanook knows your whereabouts. You didn't think you could die in a universe you didn't belong to, but you were wrong. At least you were able to hear their voices in your final moments, right?

Note: I haven't written angst in so long. This is probably not the best angst I've written. This is an answer to an ask I received not long ago. I'm not sure how I feel about this mini-fic, but I think something sad happening for once is somewhat good for a fanfic one-shot series. To be really honest, it doesn't feel like angst to me. Idk if it's because I wrote it or if it's because it's not sad enough. Who knows. I don't post anywhere else but on Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and on AO3 (Aaliah_exo).

Warnings: Major character death, blood, probably my worst angst

Word Count: 3.9k

Your connection with Nanook has been severed. Whenever you sleep, you and Nanook communicate while you’re asleep. When you’re unconscious due to being knocked out by a flying prosthetic arm, Nanook is there— while you’re physically unconscious. You and Nanook have always been connected through body and mind since your arrival to their— Nanook, your Astral Express, Stellaron Hunter, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI companions— universe. However, this is the first time you realize you and Nanook are no longer connected to each other.

In the state of unconsciousness, you’re in the void. Only this void is different from the one where Nanook is covering the sun and sky. This abyss you’re in is pitch black, and you’re the only living being in the endless darkness. There’s no sky, no sun, no stars to light a path along the way in the void. At first, you’re uncertain whether you’re physically in this void or if you’re just unconscious.

That is until you hear ringing in your ears, and light starts flooding in. You gasp aloud as if you finally made it to the surface after being underwater for more than you can handle. Your lungs hurt, and so does your head. As a matter of fact, now that you have regained consciousness, your entire body aches, and you’re tired. So tired. Your eyelids threaten to shut, but you’re trying your best not to lose consciousness again.

Where are you? 

What happened?

You push yourself upward and slump against the wall, choking out a gasp and breathing heavily. Your heart hurts— you didn’t think it was possible for you to feel your heart hurting to the point where you want to cry. Your vision is blurry, and you try to rub your eyes, but you can’t feel your arms. Exhaustion soon overtakes your body, and you fall unconscious.

Meanwhile, on the Astral Express, everyone is crowding around on the Parlor Car, their phones facing upward on the table. Everyone has been trying to call you, only for them to get a voicemail, or the call would fail to go through. The monotonous beep haunts their minds as everyone frantically tries to reach out to you.

“Are you sure the signal is good? Maybe we can’t call them because of the awful signal on the Astral Express,” Caelus comments, chewing on his nails.

March ignores Caelus’ comment. She presses her phone against her ears, listening to the ringing. If the signal was terrible, then how come the phone call was going through for her? The ringing stopped briefly, making March gasp, startling everyone on the Astral Express.

“Hi, this is [Y/N]! Sorry, I can’t come to the phone right now—”

March groans, ending the call. “Never mind. I thought they answered my call, but I was wrong,” March sighs in defeat, sliding her phone on the table.

The lights on the Astral Express flicker, and the door slams open. Nanook steps into the Parlor Car, his gold eyes scanning the Parlor Car, searching for your face. Nanook sighs and stays close to the entrance, running his hands through his hair. Just as Nanook feared: you’re not on the Astral Express either. 

Welt furrows his eyebrows at the Aeon of Destruction. “Nanook. Your presence is sudden,” says Welt.

“Where is [Y/N]? Are they not on the Astral Express?” Nanook asks, crossing his arms over his chest.

“Unfortunately, they’re not on the Astral Express. We,” Jing Yuan gestures to him, Blade, Luocha, Luka, Sampo, and Gepard, “were contacted by the Astral Express in hopes that [Y/N] is on the Xianzhou Luofu or Jarilo-VI. To everyone’s disappointment, they are nowhere to be found.”

After hearing Jing Yuan’s explanation, Nanook starts to visibly panic. The Aeon of Destruction paces back and forth, taking deep breaths and muttering something under his breath. Everyone on the Astral Express gazes at Nanook worriedly. This is the first time they see him act this way. Nanook has always had this cool, calm, and collected exterior. Nothing can phase him, and only you can get a reaction out of him.

Sampo raises a finger. “Hold up. Why are you asking us where [Y/N] is? Aren’t you the one who can communicate with [Y/N] inside their dreams?” Sampo asks, crossing his arms over his chest and raising his eyebrows at the Aeon.

“Nanook, have you been able to contact them by any chance? We’ve been hitting countless dead ends, and we’re really worried about them,” Gepard says, looking at Nanook pleadingly.

Nanook sighs and stops pacing. He looks at the people on the Astral Express with a deep frown. While Sampo is correct about him being able to communicate with you through your dreams, the people on the Astral Express, Xianzhou Luofu, and Jarilo-VI aren’t the only ones whose struggling to get into contact with you.

Nanook wasn’t able to contact you through your dreams prior to your disappearance. When Nanook brought you into this universe, Nanook made sure to form this connection with you— this unbreakable bond between you and him. But despite creating this unbreakable bond, it somehow severed, and he can no longer contact you through your dreams and unconscious state.

This bond is supposed to be a way for him to track you anywhere in this universe. No matter how out of reach you are from him. Whether you’re in the Astral Express, on Jarilo-VI, the Xianzhou Luofu, the void, etc., Nanook should be able to feel your presence somewhere throughout the universe. Nanook mutters something, closing his eyes and pulling at the roots of his hair with frustration.

“What’s Nanook saying?” Himeko whispers, not taking her eyes off the anguish Aeon.

Luka whispers, “He’s muttering something about [Y/N] and the bond between them. I can’t hear what Nanook is saying, but those are the things I can pick out.”

Dan Heng stares at his phone intently, staring at your contact picture while listening to the monotonous ring. This is the fourth attempt. The fourth time he’s tried to call you, only for there to be a voicemail or just constant beeping that’s shaking him to his core. You can be anywhere in the universe, and finding your precise location without you telling them where you’re at will be the most challenging thing they deal with.

“Are they still not answering their phone, Dan Heng?” Luocha asks, approaching the black-haired man.

Dan Heng sighs, ending the call when he hears your voicemail through the speakers. “No,” Dan Heng mutters, shaking his head.

Blade stares at the panicking Nanook, frowning deeply. Blade sighs, rubbing his temples with shaky hands. As much as Blade wishes he was mishearing the things Nanook was muttering to himself, the more Blade thinks about it, the more it makes sense. Nanook is the one that brought you into this universe— he should know your exact location no matter what planet and fleet you’re on. Nanook should be able to communicate with you through your dreams or unconscious state, and because Nanook is visibly panicking and stressing out over your whereabouts, Blade concludes that—

“Your connection with [Y/N] has been severed, isn’t it?” Blade asks, breaking the tense silence in the Astral Express and bringing Nanook out of his thoughts.

Nanook clenches his jaws, nodding. “It has been severed, unfortunately. I do not know how it happened, and I’m sure [Y/N] isn’t the one that severed it. There’s no way for them to sever the connection,” Nanook replies.

Everyone stares at Nanook in horror. If Nanook is unable to contact you, then it’s very unlikely they’ll be able to find you sooner. You, [Y/N]. The same person not from their universe, the same precious star everyone holds dear to their hearts— whether as a best friend, little sibling, or a small crush that developed into something bigger— the same star that shines the brightest in the universe. You’re somewhere out there in the universe, exposed to dangers you’re not used to handling. Heck, everyone didn’t plan on letting you be exposed to any hazards that exist in this universe, but now?

“So, you’re saying there’s no way for any of us to contact [Y/N]?” Welt asks, raising his eyebrows at Nanook.

While Welt looks calm on the outside, the man is freaking out internally. How did this happen in the first place? You were supposed to be safe and sound under his watch, but you suddenly disappeared without a trace, and no one was able to reach out to you or track you down. Not even the Aeon of Destruction is able to track you down, and the Aeon has connections with you— well, had a connection with you.

“What are we going to do now, Mr. Yang? Searching for [Y/N] seems impossible at this point,” Caelus says, plopping down on the chair and running his hands through his hair.

Jing Yuan shakes his head. “I’ll have Yanqing lead the Cloud Knights to search throughout the Xianzhou Luofu,” Jing Yuan says, taking his phone from the table and sending rapid texts to his blond retainer.

Gepard nods. “And I will have the Silvermane Guards patrol the Overworld and the Underworld. If they see [Y/N], their duty is to detain [Y/N] until we arrive to get them,” says Gepard as he grabs his phone to message Dunn.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa! Detain [Y/N]? As in, keep them in cuffs and behind bars?!” Sampo exclaims, propping his hands on his hips, and looks at Gepard with disbelief.

Gepard, Welt, Nanook, and Dan Heng sigh simultaneously, rubbing their temples and pinching the bridge of their noses after hearing Sampo’s question. March snorts, rolling her eyes. The door to the Parlor Car opens. Pom-Pom waddles into the room, his eyes scanning the Parlor Car for a familiar face other than the ones that are present. 

Pom-Pom sighs with disappointment. “I see that none of you have found [Y/N],” Pom-Pom says, crossing his arms over his chest.

Himeko gives Pom-Pom a sympathetic look. “Sorry, Pom-Pom, but we still haven’t found them. They’re not answering our texts or phone calls, and not even Nanook can contact them,” Himeko replies.

Pom-Pom sighs and waddles to the Phonograph, pressing his forehead against the machine. A dark stormy cloud looms over Pom-Pom’s head as he lets out a string of whimpers and sniffles. Everyone on the Astral Express nearly forgot about how close you and Pom-Pom are. The closeness between you two is adorable, and Pom-Pom treats you like his favorite passenger on the Astral Express. Well, you are his favorite passenger. There’s no denying it. Sometimes, when everyone is asleep, you would keep Pom-Pom company and spoil him with his favorite snacks.

Of course, that was before Nanook became a passenger on the Express. Now you would keep Pom-Pom company on the nights you can’t sleep or when Nanook isn’t on the Astral Express due to his duty as the Aeon of Destruction.

“Pom-Pom?” March asks softly.

Pom-Pom turns to face them, his eyes blurred with tears. “How could all of you fail to protect someone that protected me!?” Pom-Pom wails, tears cascading down his cheeks. “What if we never see them again? They could be in danger!”

Everyone looks away, their shoulders slumping. Pom-Pom’s right. They did fail to protect you— this is the second time they failed to protect you, and they wish they could turn back time and prevent it from happening.

“There’s nothing to worry about. We’ll find [Y/N] and bring [Y/N] back to the Astral Express, alright?” Luka says, kneeling in front of Pom-Pom and patting the conductor’s head.

Pom-Pom whimpers. “But what if they’re injured?” Pom-Pom whispers.

“Then I will do everything in my power to heal them,” Luocha answers.

You’re rudely awoken by the sharp pain in your lower abdomen. You gasp and sit up, letting out a strained gasp and whimper. You look down at your body, now realizing the state you’re in. You don’t remember what exactly happened, but the more you look at your surroundings, the more you start piecing things together. You were attacked by the Mara-struck. It happened so fast that you weren’t able to comprehend what happened before it was too late.

And now you’re here, on Cloudford, bleeding out, going in and out of consciousness, with no cell signal to call or text your traveling companions. You can’t even contact Nanook due to the severed connection between you and the Aeon of Destruction. No matter how many times you lose consciousness, Nanook isn’t there— even if you scream his name, bloody murder. You will always be in the void, alone and searching for the Aeon that brought you into his universe.

You sprawl out on the ground, digging your phone from your pockets. Your vision blurs every few minutes, making it hard for you to do your task. You turn your phone on, attempting to call the first person on your contact list. Blade.

You tried to call Blade, but the call didn’t go through. You tried calling every person on your contact list, but the call continues not to go through. You push yourself off the ground, nearly slipping on the pool of blood beneath you. It’s a miracle that you manage to hold on for so long. The question is: how much longer can you hold on? Black dots dotting your vision, you’re extremely tired, your eyelids are threatening to close, and your legs and arms are tingling.

“I can do this, I can do this,” you chanted, limping as far away as you can. “I’ll be okay. I’ll be okay.”

You’re not sure if giving yourself a false sense of hope is going to do any better. Still, it’s better to do that than lay in your puddle of blood, watching the time tick away and your life slipping from your fingers. With each step you take, you feel your strength slipping away. You’re exhausted, and everything hurts. The Mara-struck did not go easy on you until they assumed you were dead. 

As much as you wanted to blame yourself for not being careful enough, there’s no one else to blame. Not even yourself. People will blame you for not being careful and watching your surroundings, but is it really your fault? The Mara-struck are ruthless, and they’ll attack anyone and anything that is alive and not Mara-struck like them.

You’re brought out of your thoughts and self-pity when your foot gets caught over the other, sending you to the ground with a loud thump. You let out a screech of pain and remain on the ground as every part of your body is stinging and throbbing with pain. The small cuts on your body reopen as fresh blood oozes from the wounds, spilling to the ground.

“Please, just end my misery,” you whisper, tears rolling down your bloodstained cheeks as you slowly drift in and out of consciousness.

The faint sound of buzzing coming from your phone wakes you up. You gingerly turn your head to see the screen of your phone lighting up and vibrating. You reach for your phone and roll over on your side to see Blade calling you. You swipe to the green button and hear a faint scream and frantic voices coming from the other end of the call.

“Blade?” You croak, wincing when you feel how dry your throat feels.

Blade sighs in relief on the other side of the call. “Thank the Aeons, you’re okay. Where are you? Are you safe?” Blade asks.

You chuckle bitterly, close your eyes and continue to lie on the ground. At least you’ll be able to hear their voices one last time, right? It’s better to listen to their voice before…. Someone calls your name, grabbing your attention.

“Huh? Sorry, I didn’t catch onto what you were saying,” you mumble, squeezing your eyes shut and fighting back a whimper that’s crawling up your throat.

“[Y/N], please tell us where you are. We’re very worried about you,” Dan Heng says.

You sniffle. The pain is beginning to feel unbearable. Everything hurts so much, and you want someone or something to end your pain and suffering already. You shouldn’t have played dead when the Mara-struck attacked you for who knows how long. You should’ve let them end you right then and there so you wouldn’t have to continue to suffer like how you are right now.

“[Y/N]? Are you still with us?” Caelus asks, his voice crackling through the speakers.

Fuck. Is the connection starting to act up?

“Yeah, yeah. I’m still here,” you reply, black dots dotting your vision. Is it normal to see a small burst of stars in your eyes each time you blink? “Sorry, I’m not feeling well right now.”

The other end of the call falls silent after hearing your response. As of now, Jing Yuan and Gepard haven’t received any reports from the Silvermane Guards and Cloud Knights about finding you. 

The General of the Xianzhou Luofu and the Captain of the Silvermane Gaurds text their trusted companions regarding the search, only for Dunn and Yanqing to reply that they have yet to find out despite the number of Cloud Knights and Silvermane Guards scrambling to find you. 

Mr. Yang walks over to Blade and takes the phone from his hands. “Sweetheart, can you look at your surroundings and tell us where you are? Even if you don’t know the precise location, do you know whether you’re on the Xianzhou Luofu or Jarilo-VI?” Mr. Yang asks.

“I’m on, uh, the Xianzhou Luofu. The Mara-struck…” you trail off, closing your eyes. Your hands are shaking— you don’t think you can hold your phone up any longer. Your arms feel awfully weak, and your phone feels heavy.

Jing Yuan’s voice crackles over the speakers. “What happened with the Mara-struck?”

Jing Yuan sounds frantic.

You shrug, completely forgetting that the others can’t see you. “They attacked me out of nowhere. They left me for dead, and there’s blood. So much blood,” you whisper, cracking your eyes open and looking at your surrounding.

“[Y/N], can you turn on the video call so we can see where you are?” Gepard asks, his voice crackling in the speakers.

You sigh, gritting your teeth as you turn on the video call. Your face appears on the screen— if you weren’t bleeding out and losing consciousness every few minutes, you would be gasping in horror at the sight of your reflection. Dear Aeons, you look horrendous. You blindly show your surroundings for the men to see where you’re at, but you don’t think you’re doing it correctly. Your arm soon grew tired, and your arms collapsed beside you.

“I’m really sleepy, guys,” you whisper, swallowing the lump in your throat. You nearly gagged when you tasted a mouthful of blood. You don’t know how much more you can hold on until they find you.

“Does anyone recognize that area? We’re not from the Xianzhou Luofu— nothing looks familiar for us,” Sampo mutters, gazing at the others worriedly.

Luocha steps forward and takes Blade’s phone from Mr. Yang’s grasp. “I know this is going to be complicated for you, but do not fall asleep, alright? Keep your eyes open and try to stop the bleeding. We’ll be right there soon,” Luocha instructs.

The men hear and see nothing coming from Blade’s phone. The camera is pointed to the sky of  the Xianzhou Luofu— they see the color of your hair peeking in the corner. You rub your eyes and press your hands against the deep gash on your abdomen. You lift your head to see various cuts on your body. All are bleeding.

You whisper, “Which ones do I cover? There’s too many,” you mumble, gazing at the gashes with bleary eyes. 

You let your head fall back on the ground, attempting to cover up as many as you can. How much longer are you going to hold on? You can hear a commotion coming through Blade’s phone as you lie on the ground, your phone lying beside your head. You didn’t think you could die in a universe you didn’t belong to.

“Stay on the phone with us, alright? We’ll be there soon, we promise,” you hear Blade say through the phone.

You can’t tell if Blade is panicking or not. He sounds so far away, no matter how close your phone is to your ears. How could this have happened anyway? It was all your fault, wasn’t it? Were you reckless like last time? No, no. Last time, the Astral Express was under attack. But this time, you left the Astral Express and ended up getting attacked by the Mara-struck. And now look at you, bleeding out on the Xianzhou Luofu while trying to stay conscious.

“You’re not mad at me, are you?” You whisper, staring at the clear blue sky above you.

Luka grunts. “We’re not mad at you, [Y/N]. We’re very worried about you,” Luka replies.

Luka is trying his best to remain calm, but his heart is racing against his chest to the point he fears it might burst. 

You close your eyes, feeling nausea hitting you. “Is Nanook mad at me?” you ask weakly.

Dan Heng looks at Nanook from the corner of his eyes as they run through Cloudford, searching for you. It’s just them racing against the clock to get to where you are— racing against the clock to save you. But will they make it on time before you lose consciousness?

Dan Heng shakes his head. “I’m sure he’s not mad at you, [Y/N]. Why do you think that?”

You crack a smile. “I… Nanook and I aren’t connected with each other anymore. Did I do something wrong for him to sever that tie between us?” You whisper, tears blurring your vision. “If I did something to upset him, please let him know that I’m sorry for whatever it is that I have done to upset him.”

Nanook snatches the phone and gazes into the camera, his gold eyes searching for your face. “I’m not mad at you, little one. However, if you lose consciousness, I will be upset with you,” Nanook states.

You laugh weakly, tears rolling down the side of your face. “I’m sorry, everyone. I’m sorry for not being strong enough,” you whisper.

Just when you lose consciousness, you feel someone cradle you in their arms. Your vision slowly turns black as the voices around you fade away— almost sounding like you’re underwater, sinking deeper into the depths.

“No, no, no, no! Please don’t leave me,” Nanook whispers, pressing you against his chest.

Your head lolls back, laying limp in his arms as blood continues to pour out of your wounds. Luocha kneels before you and Nanook, frantically trying to heal the cuts and deep gashes on your body. Sampo, March, and Himeko look nauseous at the sight of the pool of blood below you and Nanook.

March looked away, closing her eyes as a stray tear made its way down her cheeks. “Please tell me [Y/N]’s going to be okay, please,” March pleads.

Nanook presses his index and middle finger against the side of your neck, frantically searching for a pulse. Nanook buries his face into your neck, his body wracking with sobs as he holds onto you tighter. You can’t be gone. Please, please, please, please. Luocha’s hands fall to his side, and he looks away. 

“Well?” Dan Heng demands, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

Luocha shakes his head, tears rolling down his flushed cheeks. Luocha grabs your cold hand and presses a kiss on your knuckles. Maybe in another lifetime, you will meet them again. But for now, stars don’t live on forever.

Note: Just because this is angst with death doesn't mean it impacts the overall HSR isekai series. This is a mini-fic, and to make it up to all of you, I will make a Nanook smut for this upcoming week! Yes, smut is finally here! Nanook got the majority of votes. Therefore Nanook is the first HSR male character to be getting smut! As I have stated in my Genshin Isekai fics, the fics in the series are like my multi-verse. Anything can happen in these fics, but it will not significantly impact the overall series. So, even if something traumatic happened to the reader in one fic, the next fic, it never happened to the reader. Some things will impact the story, but others won't be mentioned in other fics. For those who want to be on the taglist, here is the [Google Form]. For those who want to join the Discord server but weren't able to, here is the new temporary link to [Zhongli's Abode]! Please make sure to read the server rules— you can lurk, chat and hang out on the server if you'd like! If you don't vibe with the server, you can leave whenever you want ^^ To my new and/or returning readers, please keep in mind that I ONLY post on my Tumblr (Genshinluvr) and my AO3 (Aaliah_exo)! Nowhere else except Tumblr and AO3!

Taglist for the HSR one-shot series: @mompt2, @elegantnightblaze, @lunavixia, @jadedist, @reversearrowhead, @pinksaiyans, @aurelia-xyt, @lilliansstuff, @ssunset0, @starrry-angel, @kaoyamamegami, @kodzuvk, @for3very0urs, @a-cosmicdawn, @g3n0dtt, @theblades, @raaawwwr, @immahuman, @irisxiel, @siaracarroll, @crazydreamcat, @sagekun, @orichalcumthief, @dyingsweetmackerel, @rosiesareblue, @ichikanu, @hispasian-otaku, @asoulsreverie (Accounts that I was unable to tag are not tagged in this fic. Those who do not want to be tagged in a specific fic are not tagged. Remember to check your settings to see if you're allowing people to mention you/tag you in posts or not)

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[sidekick-hero]

(steddie | mature | 2k | tags: established relationship, post-s4, Valentine's Day, Robin is the best, fluff | summary: Steve loves Eddie, he really, really does. He just can't say it. | @steddielovemonth prompt Love is just a four-letter word by @sal-si-puedes | AO3)

"He probably thinks I don't love him, Robin. Which is... ridiculous. I do! I really, really do. I just can't say it." Steve is pacing around the blissfully empty Family Video Store, his hands making a mess of his hair as they run through it in frustration.

"This is so stupid. I* am* so stupid, it's just four stupid letters, even a preschooler can say it," he rambles, his eyes wild as they look at Robin. "Why am I like this, Robbie?" His voice breaks, along with his heart, at the thought of Eddie doubting Steve's feelings for him for even a second.

Robin walks over to him and grips his shoulders tightly, her blue eyes boring into his as she says in her firmest you-listen-to-me-now voice. "You're not stupid. This is my best friend you're talking about, so watch it." That earns her at least a half-smile, which counts as a victory considering Steve was already pinching his nose to hold back tears.

"I know you love him, Steve. Everyone knows it. One look at you when he's in the room, or even when you're just talking about him, is enough to know you love him. And I'm sure Eddie knows it too. He has to."

Robin's words soothe some of the fear in Steve's heart, knowing that she would tell him if she really thought he had messed up. But even though it's okay now, Eddie won't wait forever for Steve to say those three little words. No one would. Steve knows that his heart couldn't take being with Eddie, loving Eddie and telling him that, only to never hear it back from him.

"I don't know. Even if you're right, I feel like I'm losing him. That something in me is broken, and one day he'll realize that too, and then he'll leave." With an even smaller voice Steve adds: "I can't lose him, Robbie".

They don't hug very often. Robin shows her affection in many ways, but most of them aren't overly physical. That's Eddie's job, clinging to Steve like a koala most days, always touching Steve in some way, even if it's just his shoulder nudging Steve's. Robin pulling him into a tight hug now means a lot to him, but it's also a testament to the gravity of the situation.

With their arms around each other between the horror and action movie sections, Steve takes a moment to just soak in the comfort she offers. What happened at Starcourt messed them both up, caused them both more trauma than any teenager should have to deal with, but on a very selfish level, Steve can't help but be grateful that it happened. A life without Robin Buckley sounds like the greater horror to him.

After a few minutes, Robin gently pulls away from Steve to look at him. He's reluctant to let her go, even though he knows this is an even longer hug than the one she gave him when Nancy told him they weren't getting back together after defeating Vecna. She wanted to go to Boston, make a career, see the world. And Steve? Steve wanted a home, a place to belong, and someone to share that home with. They wanted different things, he realizes now.

That doesn't mean it didn't open old wounds, memories of how it felt to be rejected by her, his love for her thrown in his face like it was worthless. Bullshit.

As attuned to him and his thoughts as ever, a true testament to the fact that they share a brain cell, Robin says, "I think it's understandable that you can't say it. The last time you told someone you loved them, you were hurt, badly. Your heart is probably just trying to protect itself. Like a kid who touched a hot stove and got burned wouldn't touch another stove, you know?"

Steve nods, because in a way it makes sense. It just doesn't help him to know.

"But what am I supposed to do, Robin? It's not Eddie's fault that I'm broken."

"You, Steve Harrington, are not broken. Just a little bruised. There is nothing wrong with you just because you got hurt and have the scars to show for it. Like Max, because of the injuries to her leg, she cannot walk like she used to before Vecna, so she uses her crutch. She's not broken. Is she?"

"No, of course not. If anything, she's even stronger now, I saw her hit Lucas with the crutch and tell him to hurry up on the way to the movies," Steve says, smiling at the memory.

"See!" Robin waves her hand at him in excitement, almost bouncing with it. "All you need is a crutch!"

They look at each other wide-eyed before matching smiles break out on their faces, Robin's giddy at having found a solution, Steve's reflecting the tentative hope blossoming in his chest.

His talk with Robin certainly helped, but as Valentine's Day approaches, the fears and insecurities start to creep back in. It's not even like Eddie is giving him any indication that he's not happy with Steve or their relationship. Quite the opposite, in fact.

Eddie tells him he loves him almost every time they see each other, at the most random moments. Some days he whispers it in Steve's ear to wake him up, other days it's his way of saying good night to him with his arm around Steve's waist and his hand over Steve's heart in a protective grip. He says it casually when Steve brings him breakfast in bed or lunch to the record store where he now works. Just yesterday he said it while Steve was buried deep inside him, their hands intertwined beside Eddie's head and brown eyes looking softly up at Steve.

It's not meant to make him feel bad about himself, he knows that.

He still does.

So when he opens his front door to the sight of Eddie standing on his doorstep in his nicest jeans and a forest green button-down Steve has never seen before, clearly having put some real effort into his appearance, Steve almost crumbles.

He's a shitty boyfriend, isn't he? There's this amazing guy who goes out of his way to look nice for Steve, even though he doesn't even like Valentine's Day, just because he knows it's important to Steve. And he can't even tell him he loves him.

Some of what he's feeling must be showing on his face, because Eddie's cheerful smile falls and he hurries into the house to pull Steve into his arms, slamming the door shut with his foot.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry, I told Dustin green wasn't my color, but he insisted. I look hideous, don't I?"

That makes Steve snort wetly into Eddie's neck before muttering a fond "Idiot" into it.

Eddie just hums, obviously pleased with himself for making Steve laugh. "You can tell me. You know I don't mind getting naked for you."

"You're getting a little ahead of yourself, aren't you?"

Eddie grinned wolfishly at him. "I don't know, the tear in my Hellfire shirt from when you ripped it off me begs to differ."

Steve blushes at the memory, even as he laughs at Eddie's words. Instead of saying anything else, Steve pulls him back into his arms and Eddie goes willingly.

"Hi, baby," he says, his nose brushing behind Steve's ear.

"Hi." Steve breathes him in, the smell of cigarette smoke and his shampoo strong where his nose is buried in Eddie's hair.

They don't let go for a long time.

It's Eddie who pulls back first, and Steve does his best not to read into it. "You want to tell me what's going on?"

The Steve from before the Upside Down would have just shaken his head and told Eddie that everything was fine before pulling him into the bedroom to reassure them both that it was. Not talking about his feelings, fears, and needs might have worked for hookups, but he learned the hard way that it doesn't work when you want to be in a relationship.

So Steve takes Eddie's hand and leads him over to the couch where they both sit facing each other. They don't let go of each other's hands.

"I know you're probably wondering why I haven't told you... why I haven't said it yet."

Eddie's eyebrows disappear behind his fringe. "It?"

Sighing, Steve watches his fingers run over Eddie's knuckles. "You know. That I love you."

"Oh."

It's hard to place Eddie's tone, and even harder to place the silence that follows, but it makes his knee jiggle with nerves and his stomach churn. Usually it's Eddie who tends to fill the silence between them when it feels too big, too heavy, but today it's Steve.

"It's not because I don't want to, I swear. It's just," another frustrated sigh, the hand currently not held by Eddie's rubbing over his face, "I just can't say it. And I am so, so sorry, because you deserve to hear it. Every day. But I can't... I can't. So I understand if you don't want to do this anymore. You deserve better, Eddie. You really, really do."

Eddie lets Steve's words settle between them, aching and raw, but he never lets go of Steve's hand.

"You're right," he finally says, and the sound of Steve's heart breaking is deafening to his own ears. Pinching his nose, he tries to take his hand back from Eddie, but his boyfriend (if he can still call him that) won't budge. "You're right about me wondering, Steve. But that was before."

Looking up, a frown forming between his eyebrows, Steve asks, "Before?"

"Before I realized that you do tell me that you love me, every day. You say it when you tiptoe around the trailer in the morning to make breakfast without waking me. You tell me every time you pack an extra blanket or sweater when we go to the quarry because you know I always get cold. I hear it loud and clear every time you bring me lunch, even though it means you waste most of your own lunch break driving around town. It's in the way you try so hard to make Wayne like you because you know how much that means to me, and in the way you hold me after another nightmare, and in the way you kiss me sometimes like there's nothing in the world you'd rather be doing, without it having to lead anywhere, just because you like kissing me."

Eddie scooted forward and bridged the gap between them by taking Steve's face in his hands.

"Steve, you've been telling me you love me for months with everything except words. I don't really need them. It's just a four-letter word."

And, fuck, now Steve is crying. Eddie wipes away his tears with his thumbs, and when that's not enough, he kisses them away with his lips.

Steve is so in love with him that he has no idea how the feeling even fits in his body.

"Damn," he chuckles wetly, "that means I didn't even have to find a crutch?"

Now it's Eddie's turn to look at Steve in confusion, clearly worried that his boyfriend might have lost his mind. "What crutch? Is this a sex thing?"

Laughing and shaking his head fondly, Steve raises his free hand to his head, palm facing Eddie. Then he brings his thumb, index finger, and little finger up, keeping his ring and middle fingers down, before moving his hand back and forth slightly.

"Robin came up with this. She said if I couldn't say the words with my mouth, maybe I could say them in a different way. I thought of trying sign language," Steve adds sheepishly.

Before he knows what's happening, Eddie is on top of him, pressing him into the couch with his body weight and showering his face with kisses.

"You're so smart," kiss, "and beautiful," kiss, "and wonderful," kiss, "and I love you so much." The last part is accompanied by a lingering kiss on his lips and Steve melts under it.

Even though he obviously didn't have to tell Eddie this way, Steve is glad that he did.

He also thinks it won't be long before he can say those words, too. If anyone can help him walk without a crutch, it's Eddie.

[exhuastedpigeon]

kiss him once for me

705 spec / 935 words / also on ao3

Eddie was perfectly happy and accepting about Buck’s sexuality when Buck came out to him. In fact, he liked to think he was the ideal picture of a best friend when Buck had told him. Nothing changed between them after Buck told him, or more accurately, nothing bad changed. They’re actually closer than ever. Buck has been happier and seems more comfortable in his skin in the last three weeks than Eddie’s ever seen him.

So, nothing changes between them. Or at least, nothing changes until he sees Buck and Tommy kiss for the first time.

It wasn’t even a particularly steamy kiss. It was just a soft press of lips together. Eddie wasn’t sure why he had such a visceral reaction to such a chaste kiss - maybe it was the way Buck’s eyes had fluttered shut at the contact or maybe it was his soft smile after.

Or maybe it’s because of something Eddie isn’t ready to look too closely at. Not while he was sitting in Buck’s living room with Buck and Tommy sitting less than five feet away from him.

His first reaction when he sees it is to punch something, maybe a wall? Something that’ll really hurt. Almost as soon as the thought crosses his mind he realized how not normal that instinct was and he wants to punch himself for having it.

His second reaction is to run. They’re at Buck’s loft. He knows it would take him eight steps to get from the living room to the counter where he tossed his keys when he got here, leaving them in their usual spot, like they belonged there. It would only be six steps from there to the door. Twenty-one to the elevator or twenty-three to the stairs.

He can’t seem to fight the instinct to run for long. He gives it three minutes, until the next commercial break in the game they’re watching, before he pulls his phone out.

“Oh shit.”

“Is everything okay?” Buck’s voice is laced with concert and Eddie will feel guilty about that later, right now he just needs to go .

Eddie gets up from the armchair and forces his body to relax, turning his feet and legs to jello before looking at Buck and Tommy on Buck’s new couch, the one he picked out with Natalia and clearly doesn’t like. He seems pretty comfortable on it now though.

“Pepa isn’t feeling well, she asked if could grab Chris early,” Eddie lies easily. He knows it’s an easily believable lie because Tommy just nods in understanding, but Buck doesn’t look like he’s buying it.

“Bummer man,” Tommy says and he sounds like he means it. Like Eddie being here third wheeling isn’t putting a damper on their night at all. And Eddie knows he isn’t. He knows they want him here too, but he just - he needs to leave.

“I’ll -I’ll walk you out,” Buck says, moving to stand. As he shifts Tommy’s arm falls off of his shoulders. Something in Eddie’s chest purrs in satisfaction at their loss of contact. He grabs hold of the chains of whatever monster has suddenly burst into life on his chest, trying to reign in his feelings at least until he’s alone.

“Nah man, pretty sure I could find my way out of this place blind by this point,” Eddie smiles at them, at Buck, and tries to look natural.

This one must land a little better, because Buck smiles back, big and bright. Tommy probably smiles too, but Eddie only has eyes for Buck.

“Why don’t you bring Chris here, it’s boys night,” Buck says and Eddie knows in his bones that the invite isn’t just genuine, but that Buck really wants that. He wants Chris to join them. He wants their little family unit together.

“No, I think I’ll just leave you two to have some uh - alone time,” Eddie’s made it the eight steps to his keys by now and he gets the final six steps to the door. Almost home free.

Then there’s Buck next to him, giving Eddie a quick hug. Eddie has no idea how he missed Buck moving off of the couch.

“Text when you get home.”

“Yeah, always,” Eddie says with a nod. “See you on Thursday for basketball Tommy. Can’t let Garcia and Harper get an ego.”

“See you,” Tommy calls back and Eddie opens the door, stepping backward through it, like he can’t make his body turn away from Buck. Like he’s drawn to him like a moth is drawn to a flame.

“Bye Buck,” Eddie’s voice is too soft when he says it. He knows it as soon as he speaks because Buck’s eyes get all soft on him.

“Bye Eddie.”

He makes it the twenty-one steps to the elevator and then the fifty-six to the guest spot in Buck’s parking lot.

The monster in his chest purrs again with the knowledge that he was there first. That he’s the one who got the guest spot and he’s the one who made Buck laugh so hard that he snorted beer out of his nose before Tommy even made it over after his shift.

Eddie takes a breath, then another. It’s ten minutes before he feels ready to drive, his entire body made of jello.

He knows he’s not homophobic. He’s not, he never has been, so that’s not why he reacted that way. He’s not homophobic, but he’s worried he might be in love with his best friend.

Eddie doesn’t drive to Pepa’s. He’s on his way to Hen and Karen’s before he realizes where he’s going.

Read on ao3

[nekokoaa]

The Agreement - Miguel O'Hara x Therapist!Reader (I)

Summary: It was simple. No kissing. No sex. Hugs and hand-holding only. The goal was to help Miguel feel a little less lonely sometimes. That was your job as one of the therapists at HQ, to mentally stabilize everyone’s mind, including the boss’s.

In other words, you and Miguel make a deal.

Rated Explicit, fluff, smut

1.3K words | (1/5) chapters

Author's notes: Yes I came back just to jump on the Miguel train! :) I love Across the Spider-verse and I love Miguel. I just wanna comfort him and I’m sure you do too! Enjoy!

Also on AO3

--------------------------------------------

I.

It started as an agreement and then came the first session. Honestly, you’ve seen your fair share of trauma being a therapist for Spider-people, hell, you’ve even gone through it yourself. Losing Aunt May, Peter L. Parker, and then Harry… you were never the same again. Yet you learned how to cope, how to survive. You made trauma your bitch and it was all due to understanding your psyche. And… also because of your Ph.D. in psychology. So it wasn’t a surprise that your schedule was always packed with various spider-people from different dimensions. Everyone wanted to know your secret. Everyone wanted to know how you were able to move on. It was the same story—different variations, sometimes in a different order. It was plaguing their minds, some coped by burying their heads in their work, others just lived with the guilt. But a few, like Miguel, were always reliving it.

Miguel O’Hara. Spider-Man 2099. You didn’t know much about him other than the fact that he was undergoing the same canon-event trauma as the other Spider-people. You didn’t know which ones since he never shared it in his first mandatory session. The only thing he was willing to share was his desire for a family and the mistake he made that cost an entire dimension to collapse.

Later, his sessions felt more like a briefing of your work, gauging the mental state of all spider-people to know if they're capable of working. You would always tell him the session was supposed to be about him but he would brush it off, saying he had too much work to do before leaving your office. And as always, you would watch his retreating back. His shoulders looked so broad, they could hold mountains—perhaps holding the weight of the multiverse could do that to you. A wise man once told you, “with great power comes great responsibility—strength, resilience.” But you knew what great power could also do to a man.

If the loneliness spewing from his demeanor wasn’t obvious enough.

Today it was your turn to enter Miguel’s office. Upside down, you tread along the ceiling, your hair obeying gravity and hanging limply in the air.

His office was mostly dark with an orange glow from the holograms in front of his monitors. You didn’t miss when he quickly swiped one of them away, his back stilling.

You were sure Miguel already knew you were here.

You lowered yourself with your web, turning your body upright until your feet reached the floor of the floating platform. He turned his head, not enough to look at you but enough to acknowledge your presence. His shoulders look wider— trembling even. 

Sadness? You stepped forward and he turned back to face the monitors, fingers tapping away against the orange holograms. No, it was anger.

Minutes went by of silence until Miguel’s hands dramatically dropped to his sides, sighing. “What are you doing here?”

You smiled lightly, stepping forward. “Our first session, remember?”

“Don’t tell me you were serious about that,” he spitted out, hands returning to the holograms. He was investigating an anomaly that appeared on Earth-55, it was probably that villain belonging to Earth-1001. Lately, he’s been jumping from dimension to dimension, and not because he had the ability to do so. Miguel’s been tracking him down for days and trying to figure out what could be causing the rifts in the dimensions. 

Meaning: he hasn’t been getting any sleep.

Miguel was a spider-man shouldering the very existence of all spider-people universes. With the connections of fate being as fragile as a spider’s web, a day of rest could be detrimental.

To feel as though you’re the only Spider-Man in the room while being surrounded by spider-people who understood you the most was a feeling Miguel was too familiar with. He never mentioned it in his sessions but you could see it in how he carried himself in front of his agents, how he stared at Peter B and Mayday, and how he looked when you first caught him rewatching himself with “his” daughter. Certainly, he was reliving his trauma.

“Of course,” you stepped forward until you stood directly behind him. His body stilled when your arms slowly encircled his waist. You could feel his muscles tensing. His fingers froze in the air. The orange glow from the holograms deepened like it was spreading to your bodies. “Weren’t you?”

You whispered and Miguel didn’t say a thing. Of course, he was warm like you imagined when you were preparing yourself for this. The scowl on his face often gave an impression that he was as cold as he looked. But he was very much alive like the rest of you—alive with emotions.

When you suggested he seek affection from someone to mend his trauma (that he never admitted having), he looked at you dumbfounded.

“Sometimes all we need is a hug, maybe a hand to hold to get rid of those troublesome feelings.”

And when you suggested that “someone” could be you, Miguel thought you were losing your sanity. It was no easy feat to convince him of the agreement. It took a few weeks until you got a very very annoyed “Okay” from him, probably to stop you from always bringing it up whenever you saw him.

It was simple. No kissing. No sex. Hugs and hand-holding only. The goal was to help Miguel feel a little less lonely sometimes. That was your job as one of the therapists at HQ, to mentally stabilize everyone’s mind, including the boss’s.

You rested your head against the middle of his back, arms tightening around him. You expected him to say something but he stayed silent, reddish-brown eyes staring into the monitors. It wasn’t just Miguel who was warm, but the space around you too—like the energy had shifted the moment you touched him. 

Your skin under your suit started to prickle as if it was being pinched. The orange tinge of the holograms slowly blended into a deep red, the temperature rising as sweat appeared at your temple. Miguel could probably feel your heart rattling against his back. But like a rock, his muscles tensed up and his hands closed into fists.

Everything in your mind was telling you to let him go but you held on despite sensing the anger rising within him. Since losing his “daughter”, Miguel had closed himself to affection. Usually responding in annoyance or anger if he were to receive it. He had accepted his destiny long ago of being a loner. And any ounce of affection reminded him of his loss—and what he could lose.

Miguel’s hand moved on top of yours. Hissing in pain, you pulled your arms away from his body and immediately looked at your hand. His claws had pricked you. Thankfully, there was no blood.

“Session’s over, doc. That’s enough.” His voice was laced with venom. This time he partly turned to look at you and your heart sank seeing his deep red eyes. The outline of his figure was stained by the burgundy hue of the holograms. Perhaps the trauma of Miguel O’Hara was deeper than you thought. Your spidey senses were telling you to get out of there. This time you listened.

“Okay,” you shot your web towards the ceiling, quickly propelling yourself up and out of his office. Miguel sighed, burying his head in his hands before returning to his work.

Next Chapter

[syoddeye]

the christmas party

ceo!price x reader / smut free / ~2.8k words

A very belated Christmas drabble thing. Definitely not inspired by real life events. 👀 Featuring a fem!Reader x Price, background Ghost x Soap, and Gaz, the incredi-boss. Might fuck around make this a series, we'll see! Maybe I'll clean it up and throw it on AO3, too.

CW: alcohol, substance abuse (mentioned) inappropriate comments from coworkers

You came to expect drama at the company Christmas party. It was as traditional as the optional White Elephant gift exchange, the hired group of carolers, and the ugly sweater competition.

Last year, a 'mystery' baggie of powder and a credit card belonging to the former Head of Sales was found in a bathroom stall. Two years ago, it was the unexpectedly raunchy dancing between an engineer and a project manager you swore hated each other. Three years ago, a division head went home with someone who was definitely not her spouse.

You'd seen a lot in your tenure. The good, the bad, the ugly, the hilariously mortifying.

Coming up on your fifth year with The 141 Group, you were a rarity. Most folks job-hopped. More power to them, no shame in gaining good experience after a year or two to leave for greener pastures. The fact you stuck around labeled you a 'veteran', a cheeky if not sensational label, though there were times you certainly felt like you'd seen war. Acquisitions. Rebrands. Reorgs. Yeesh.

But life at 141 suits you. You are an executive assistant, a good one. It helps that your direct supervisor and the VP of Finance, Kyle Garrick, a fellow 'vet', was an incredible boss. He lets you work from when you need to, doesn't micromanage, and treats you like a person, unlike other execs. He had faith in your ability to manage his calendar, prep materials, book travel - in short, you organized his work life. In return, whenever some new hire got too fresh with you, all it took was one teensy mention in a morning meeting, and by lunch, the offending party had only apologies for you. Most importantly, though, the job nets enough money to make rent and let you pursue your hobbies.

With years of Christmas parties under your belt, you were looking forward to tonight's low-grade yet cataclysmic event. Pre-gaming and primping at a fellow assistant's house, Jordan, you clasp the silver holly leaf pendant around your neck where it lies just above your modest cleavage. The dress code was simply 'Christmas Color', another tradition. Formal attire was expected, if not an unsaid requirement, which meant slipping into a gorgeous dark green dress you spied weeks ago in a boutique window. You thank yourself for earning that last pay bump to afford it because you look fantastic, in your humble opinion.

Lacing her leather Oxfords, Jordan gives a low whistle when you turn away from the mirror. "Like a big, sexy pine tree."

You smirk. "Thanks. Remind me why we both couldn't wear red tonight?"

"Because of the two of us, red is my color. Do I not look like some kind of holiday vampire?" She asks, standing with a sweeping gesture down at her deep, red velvet suit.  

"More bellboy, but-"

"Rude!"

The two of you lovingly bicker all the way out to the awaiting car. The 141 Group, ever mindful of its image, always reimbursed rideshares for its company parties. Given the amount of liquor that flowed at these events, it wasn't only generous but smart. Like the higher-ups needed a scandal. The car ferries you across town to the ritzy event space at a local art museum. Leaving your coats at the complimentary bag check, you enter the well-underway party.

The events team needs a raise, like yesterday. The sprawling space was completely done up. Several open bars, a champagne wall, a photo op with a to-scale Santa's Sleigh, and dining tables with place settings that probably rival a monarch. Silvery white birch trees enveloped in lights line the walls, with clusters of small fir trees fully decorated dotting the space. The dancefloor was already busy with a DJ fully dressed as Santa.

Four going on five years, and it was still quite the sight.

You gently elbow Jordan. "So. Cheesy themed cocktails first or canapes?" 

"Obviously drinks. I just saw one with an ornament in it!"

~~

Three hours in, it was a dead heat for Most Dramatic Event. Two separate calamities slowly built throughout the night.

At the nexus of the first, Chad from marketing was almost blacked out. After winning the ugly sweater with a true abomination of a sweater (working lights, a mini speaker, and an ungodly amount of sequins), he celebrated. A little hard. He bopped from open bar to open bar as the bartenders cut him off one by one. He was trying to convince a coworker to grab him another Mistletoe Martini, and it was progressively getting louder.

The second was from the rumor mill more than anything. Apparently, a developer named Scott brought the wrong gift for the exchange. As the story went, his wife used the same paper for an identically sized gift, one of a titillating nature, and now he was visibly paranoid that he nabbed the wrong one on the way out the door. The man stalked the pile of gifts as folks drew numbers.

Jordan bet on the first, and you bet on the second. From the corner, you watch, giggling behind a cup of Prancer's Punch.

The sound of your name drew your attention. Kyle, in a charcoal gray suit with a sleek snowflake tie bar and green tie, approaches with a Tiny Tim Collins in hand. Though you waved hello earlier in the night, he spent most of the evening in the company of who you deemed his 'buddies' - Johnny MacTavish, VP of Technology and Jordan's boss, and Simon Riley, the Chief Security Officer. You learned in your first month to leave the trio to it. 

"Having fun, are we?" Kyle grins and turns to observe the twin events. 

"I love this party. Every year, delivers just like Santa," Jordan gleefully said.

"Someone should stop them," You add, knowing nobody would. At least not Kyle.

And as if on cue, the man chuckles. "Not my circus, not my clowns."

The three of you chat, swapping bits of office gossip collected through the night. Not the most appropriate, but not the worst social crime, surely. You're the right amount of tipsy: warm and relaxed but solid.

The wager came up naturally.

"What do you want if you win, my pine tree?"

"Hmm. It's gotta be something outrageous but not a fireable offense. Hmm. Maybe I'll have you sing on a video call, pretend you thought you were on mute or something."

"...That's boring."   

"Do I want to know?" Kyle asks, sipping his drink. 

"We have a bet on who's gonna be this year's drama - Chad or Scott." You explain.

"Maybe I ought to get back…" Your boss said with a laugh. "Better not witness to whatever you two plan." 

"Might be for the best. Night, Kyle," You accept the brief hug from the man, then poke a finger against his chest. "Listen, if I get one DM about work during the holiday, I'm switching your coffee to decaf."

Kyle claps a hand over his heart as if he's been shot. "Monstrous. Fine, have it your way, no work during Christmas…Now, behave yourself, both of you." 

Watching him retreat back to MacTavish and Riley (who look quite cozy - perhaps another piece of gossip?), Jordan nudges you. "If I was into guys, that's who I'd be into."

"You and like fifty other people here," As Kyle's assistant, you're more than his Girl Friday; you're also a professional gatekeeper. You could wallpaper your apartment with the amount of cringy notes you've stopped from reaching his desk. 

"Not your type, then?" 

You whip your head back to Jordan, utterly horrified. "No way. Not that Kyle isn't an absolute dreamboat; he's just not my dreamboat. Plus, at this point, it would be so, so weird."

Jordan laughs. "Y'know, even though we've been work besties for a year, I don't think we've ever discussed this. What is your type? As dudes are not my specialty, I have no clue."

Your type, huh? As if you don't know. Your type's been the same for as long as you can remember. Big and brawny, the kind of guy who could haul you around. Dark hair. Well-groomed, well-dressed, well-endow–You could still make it onto the naughty list. 

Using better and cleaner terms, you relay this information to Jordan. 

"Huh. A man's man. Whodathunk–oh! Oh shit, look who it is!" The other woman pats your arm and gestures with a nod.

Joining Kyle and his buddies, is none other than John Price - CEO of The 141 Group. Fashionably late (very fashionably late), yet another tradition. Adorned in a Santa red suit jacket and a matching red tie, he somehow makes the boring dress code dashing. Flanking him is a pair of bodyguards. He's just in time for the wager to come to a head. 

God, he looks good. 

As Kyle's assistant, you see John fairly regularly. Not that he sees you. No one above a certain pay grade sees assistants. You kind of just blend right on in. Not even Mr. Riley, whom you've been introduced to a dozen times by Kyle himself, recalls your name. When you tag along to meetings to take notes for the boss man, you assume you're on the same level as a lamp or plant. That doesn't mean you haven't ogled John Price before. Kind of hard to not to, what with his commanding presence. You're kind of ogling him right now.

"Wow, you really do have a type," Jordan hums with a shit-eating grin.

"Shut up," You hiss into your drink and look away, just in time to see Chad from marketing lift a gift box-shaped ice sculpture and smash it onto the ground next to one of the open bars with a frustrated yell. The poor bartender and caterers jump back, and the music scratches to a halt. A thick silence fell over the party, impressive for a crowd of over a hundred, and your eyes flick to Mr. Price.

He glares daggers in Chad's direction, then nods at the taller of his bodyguards. Without hesitation, the man crosses the event space toward a petrified, drunk-crying Chad. As the guard hauls him away, your coworker, or former coworker, you assume, bursts into ugly tears and then disappears from sight. But your eyes are still on John, whose gaze turns to the DJ. The music starts again, as does the chatter. 

"Fuck yes," Jordan giddily whispers. 

"Well, shit."

"You know what this means, don't you?"

"...Unfortunately, yes. Yes, I do," You sigh and down the rest of your drink. "Before you swing the axe, let me grab another punch."

"Hurry back, I've got my thinking cap on," Jordan impishly smirks. 

With a groan, you make your way to the nearest open bar. One far from Chad's little tantrum. Most folks are on the dance floor at this hour, leaving this particular bar quiet. Waiting in line behind other tipsy coworkers, a clearing throat behind you grabs your attention. 

"D'you have a recommendation?" A low, gravelly voice from all your best dreams asks. 

You turn, and the sweet Hallmark-worthy image that blossomed in your mind in the last two seconds promptly morphs into a nightmare. Not a running-for-your-life nightmare, but a you're-the-only-naked-person-in-class nightmare. Laughable, considering the topic of conversation not three minutes ago.

John Price stands tall behind you, arms crossed, testing the fabric of his red suit jacket. He smells like tobacco and something spicy, and his eyes are a shade of blue you hadn't noticed before. You never got this close. They narrow slightly, and you realize you haven't answered him.

"Prancer's Punch." The name sounds cornier aloud.

"Hmm. Brandy or rum?" He sounds unimpressed. Was he unimpressed?

You're quicker to answer this time. Except, you babble. "It's, uh, made with dark rum. It's delicious. I've had a few. The cranberry juice isn't too tart, compliments the sparkling wine and–It's good."

Santa, run me over with your reindeer.

Kyle would be humiliated to have heard all of that. You are humiliated for having said all of that.

To your surprise though, the corner of John's mouth hooks in a smirk, then he chuckles. "How many qualifies as 'a few'?" 

You, apparently committed to acting moronically, answer honestly. "Five." 

It gets you an actual laugh this time. His hand raises up to scritch at his cheek, flashing the band of a watch you're certain is worth more than your life, then juts his chin forward slightly. "You're up, miss."

"Oh, no, Mr. Price, I insist, please-" You start to sidestep to let him up in line, but his hand lowers immediately and stretches out to stop you. He doesn't touch you, but the hair of your arm stands up at the proximity. 

John smiles again, and his head tips toward you. "I insist. Join me, Miss…?"

"Mr. Price?" A voice suddenly interrupts. The taller bodyguard that removed Chad steps up and steals away Mr. Price's attention. "The problem's been dealt with. Regarding…"

You don't hear the rest of the conversation because you hurriedly ask for a punch and bolt back to Jordan. 

And Jordan saw everything. Your heart is racing, and you miss half of her teasing. 

"You made him laugh. Twice. I don't think I've ever seen him smile, let alone laugh." 

"Because I basically admitted to being drunk!"

"Calm down, you're not, you're solid," She reassures. "Besides. You saw that death glare at Chad. If he was upset, I reckon you'd be on the receiving end of one of those."

You groan and take a swig of punch. You hope you've had enough of the good stuff to burn away the memory of your embarrassing rambling. You look back to Jordan to say something and find your friend once again grinning devilishly at you.

"I just thought of what I want for my victory."

Any time, Santa. Put me out of my misery.

"What?"

"So…You know #AskPrice?" 

You know where this is going, and your eyeballs nearly bulge out of their sockets. "Jordan. Please. No. Do not make me post something stupid there." 

#AskPrice was the name of the open channel at work. Anyone across the company could post questions for Mr. Price to answer. More often than not, it was a venue for bootlickers and kiss-asses to rain praises and share bad proposals. Rarely was there a legitimate question or a good idea.

"Darling, of course not. I have something far funnier in mind," She started, and you swore you saw the flames of hell itself in her eyes. "You're going to direct message Mr. Price and ask what he wants for Christmas." 

Jaw, meet floor. "Absolutely not!"

Jordan laughs and hooks an arm around your neck, pulling you in. "Come on. It's harmless. Believe me, I considered making you send a selfie or asking if you're on the naughty or nice list."

"He could fire me!"

"For what? It's just a question! He always says we're welcome to DM him."

To be fair, Mr. Price did say that at the end of every company-wide call or in email announcements. He always harps on 'transparency' and 'open channels of communication', hence #AskPrice. To your knowledge, however, no one ever takes him up on that, at least at your level.

"Jordan…Mercy. Please."

"My sweet pine tree, you lost fair and square," She releases you and pats your shoulder. "If it makes you feel better, I bet he gets a thousand messages a day. The notification will get lost in the noise."

It doesn't take much more prodding and encouragement from Jordan. Your phone ends up in your hand, and you tap into the chat app. Your hand shakes a little when you pull up John's username and open the message dialogue. 

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas?

Short and to the point. Jordan calls it 'boring', but you're already putting your neck on the line for a stupid wager. You're not risking anymore by dressing it up. Bet fulfilled, you press send, quickly turn notifications off, and shove your phone back into your little purse. Jordan rewards you with a squeeze to the shoulder.

"That was terrifying." You whine.

"That was a rush. Come on. Let's dance." 

~~

The next morning, when you're all but molded to your couch and housing takeaway, there's a little ping from your phone. It's the chime of the chat app.

"Kyle, for the love of everything, it's Sunday–"

You nearly drop your phone.

johnprice - invisible Hi, Mr. Price. I was wondering what you want for Christmas? > World peace. > I'd settle for a drink, though.

[forest-hashira]

'Til Death Do Us Part

hi everyone! this is my (first) entry for @kentopedia's "Love Through the Ages" collab/event! this is a retelling of the myth of Orpheus and Eurydice, but with Gojo/Reader. if you want to know the full vibes for this, i listened to Moon Song and I Know The End by Phoebe Bridgers on repeat while writing this.

read on ao3 here | wc: ~3.3k | cw: gn reader, satoru is a musician, major character death (reader), hurt no comfort, unhappy ending

Falling in love with you was easy. In fact, it was probably the easiest thing Satoru had ever done in his life; even easier than picking up the lyre as soon as he was strong enough to hold it; even easier than the singing lessons he’d outgrown the need for when he was still just a young boy; easier than charming every young woman he ever came across, leaving a long string of broken hearts in his wake.

But not you.

With you, he’d taken his time, had actually gotten to know you until it felt like he’d known you all his life; he knew your favorite season, what times you liked to take walks in the fields outside of town, even your favorite place to watch the sunset. He also knew that you were the one he wanted to spend the rest of his life with.

Falling in love with you was easy, and even after you’d fallen in love with him, too, asking you to marry him felt terrifying. But you said yes, and all that terror had melted into elation. 

There was hardly any time at all between your engagement and your wedding, both of you eager to belong to each other forever, so in love it was almost painful. Though the wedding itself was small – and barely a month after Satoru proposed – it was the most joyful day in both of your lives. Being surrounded by the laughter of your loved ones, everyone dancing and enjoying good food and dancing had made you feel lighter than air, even long after the sun had set; for once, you weren’t even sad that you had missed watching it from your favorite spot.

Falling in love with you was easy. Loving you was easier. Losing you was the most painful thing Satoru had ever experienced.

It was only days after your wedding, after you had promised to be at one another’s side until the end, in the very field where you’d first told him you loved him, where you’d shared your first kiss. 

You had cried out from a sharp pain in your ankle, and when both of you looked to see what it was, you watched a large snake disappear into the flowers. In a panic, Satoru had ripped the fabric of his tunic, wrapping it tightly around the wound, silently, desperately praying that the poison would move slow enough for him to get you back to the town, where he could only hope someone would know how to cure snake bites. He couldn’t lose you, not like this, not so soon after he’d made you his.

When he’d gone to carry you – to pick you up and rush back to town with you in his arms – he had seen your skin was already an unnaturally pale, ashen color, a sheen of sweat over your whole body.

“No,” he’d whispered, shaking his head, as if that would magically give him more time to save you. “No, no no no.”

You’d only smiled at him, though your eyes were already starting to go a little unfocused. “It’s too late, my love.” Your hands had tangled in the front of his tunic, the soft blue fabric crumpling so easily between your fingers. “But this isn’t such a bad place to die, is it? I’m with you, and the flowers are blooming, and the sun is shining.” With every word, you’d had to lean more and more of your weight into him, your legs losing strength by the second.

“Let’s just sit together for a moment, my love, and enjoy the breeze. I don’t want to be scared when I go.”

The words had nearly shattered Satoru, but he had nodded, easing both of you down to lay amongst the flowers, cradling you close to himself the whole time. He’d stared down at you without blinking, unwilling to miss a single heartbeat of the time he had left with you; the fact that you had looked up at him, too, was both a blessing and a curse.

“Don’t go,” he’d pleaded, throat tight with the tears he was fighting back. “I don’t want you to go. I love you.”

“I know,” you’d whispered back. “I don’t want to go, either. I love you, Satoru, and I wish we had more time, but we don’t.”

“It’s not fair.”

“No,” you’d agreed, a bittersweet smile on your lips. “It’s not fair. But neither is life. And I’m happy to have spent as much of mine with you as I got to.”

Words had failed him then, and he’d leaned down to press one last kiss to your lips, knowing deep down that this would be his last chance. And he had been right; you’d managed to return his kiss for a moment, before going completely still in his arms.

Satoru had stayed in that field with you and wept for hours after the warmth left your body, only forcing himself to stand and take both of you back to town when it began to grow dark and a chill drifted in on the breeze you had been so eager to feel in your last moments.

And so, he had carried you home, his eyes red-rimmed and swollen from crying, but his face otherwise blank, too numb to feel even grief at that moment. No one that saw him had tried to stop him, the sight of the typically lively musician so hollow, so quiet, had left everyone shaken.

The days after your death all blurred together; the only one that stuck out significantly from the others was the day of your funeral, because it was the only time he’d cleaned himself up and left the house, and even that was because Satoru knew he was expected to be there, the grieving husband to round out the picture of a Perfect Funeral. It had made him sick, and he’d excused himself as quickly as possible. 

He spent much of his time crying, or staring at the wall, or ceiling, replaying that last afternoon with you, obsessing over how he could have done things differently, how he could have saved you, even if he knew logically it was pointless; what was done could not be undone, especially not death. 

…Could it?

Once Satoru had the thought, he could not bring himself to abandon it, so he began instead to meticulously detail his plan. 

The days were already growing colder, which meant that Lady Persephone had returned to her husband’s realm of the Underworld; perhaps he would be able to use that to his advantage. 

Satoru had a purpose again, something to get him out of bed and moving; he had a goal to achieve, and no earthly force would stop him. He spent days polishing and tuning his instruments, and days longer composing and perfecting a song to play for the King and Queen of the Underworld; if he was going to convince the keepers of the dead to release one of their charges, everything needed to be perfect.

He was vaguely aware that a couple people – Suguru and Shoko, perhaps? Anything outside of his task was fuzzy at best – came to check on him occasionally, just as they had before he had manically begun to prepare to do the impossible. If they tried to talk him out of it, he can’t remember; even if they had tried, it wouldn’t have worked. His sole focus was on getting you back, and nothing would stand in his way.

By the time Satoru felt he had done everything he could to prepare for his journey, almost two weeks had passed since you’d died in his arms.

Your husband dressed warmly, both because he was unsure what to expect in the Underworld and because having your scarf wrapped around his neck gave him confidence that his plan would work; how could it not, when wearing the scarf wreathed him in your scent, as if you were already back with him again?

The sun was barely up when Satoru left your home, his lyre wrapped carefully in muslin and tucked into his bag. He knew the entrance to the Underworld was close enough to walk, but he didn’t know how long it would take him to get there, and he didn’t want to waste any time at all. Though he had left so early in the morning, there were still a few townspeople that saw him, asked him where he was going, but he ignored them all; conversation would only delay his journey, and he wouldn’t have that.

The musician made good time, all things considered, reaching the entrance to the Underworld about an hour past midday. He paused for a moment, took a deep breath to steel himself, then stepped forwards into the darkness.

He had no torch to light his way, but the path beneath his feet seemed to glow on its own, as if guiding him along; as if the Lord and Lady were expecting and didn’t want to be kept waiting because the foolish mortal lost his way. So, seeing no other option, he followed the soft, almost foggy glow as it led him deeper and deeper into the earth and – hopefully – to the throne room of Hades and Persephone. 

Time didn’t quite feel the same below the surface – it felt thicker, somehow, and heavier, catching on his clothes and sticking to his skin like honey – which meant he had no idea how long he’d been walking. The only thing that kept him from panicking was the faintest scent of pomegranates, coming from the same direction the path seemed to lead.

Eventually, Satoru did reach the throne room, though he couldn’t have recalled what it looked like later if his life depended on it. For as much as he looked around, the whole room could have been made of diamonds and liquid gold could have rained from the ceiling; none of that mattered to him, because it had nothing to do with you. His gaze went straight to the couple in their thrones, and he fought to keep his nerves under control; now was not the moment to get stage fright for the first time in his life. 

“Your Highness,” he said, bowing so low he felt the way his hair shifted to cooperate with gravity, the dusty purple of his undercut no longer hidden beneath the pale strands of his frosty hair, so white it practically glowed in the dusk of the throne room. 

“What brings you to my realm, mortal?” Hades asked, his expression impassive, though his eyes simmered with something dangerous. 

“I have come to play you a song,” Satoru answered simply, standing from his bow and removing his lyre from his bag, unwrapping the fabric from around it with great care. He adjusted his hold on the instrument until it sat nestled in his arms in the best position for him to play, then lifted his gaze back to the gods. “If it pleases my Lord and her Ladyship, of course.”

This was the one catch in his plan: if he was denied permission to play, he had no chance of returning home with you at his side.

“Oh, please?” Persephone turned to face her husband, a pleading expression on her face. “Let him play, my love. We never have mortal visitors, much less artists, and I want to hear what he’s prepared for us!”

The King of the Dead hesitated for a few moments, staring at his wife, but Satoru caught the way his smoldering eyes softened, the way the hard lines of his mouth eased, and the musician knew he would be allowed to play.

“My wife wishes to hear you play,” the god said, turning back to the man before him. “I hope you don’t disappoint her with your skills.”

With another, smaller bow, Satoru began to play, and soon thereafter began to sing. He sang about you: all the ways you loved him, and all the ways he loved you in return. He sang of his life before he met you: how he had played around, led people along and broken their hearts with his carelessness, simply because he was bored. He sang of your lives after you’d met: how you had brightened his mornings and sweetened his days and warmed his nights; how you had planned a future together you had never gotten to see. The harmonies from his lyre blended with the melodies of his voice, painting the image of you so vividly Satoru swore he could see your shape in front of him again.

It wasn’t until he finished his song that he realized he could see you there in front of him, though your form wavered around the edges, like you were a little less than solid. But you were there, and you were smiling, and he felt like falling to his knees and crawling to you right then and there; the only thing that stopped him was realizing that both Hades and Persephone were openly weeping.

He, Gojo Satoru, had brought gods to tears with his music, and with his love for you.

Emboldened by seeing your face again, Satoru spoke. “Please,” he begged, his voice eggshell-thin, cracking under the stress of his request. “Please don’t make me return home without my love. I cannot bear to make the journey alone again.”

At first he received only silence in response, and though he was not a patient man by nature, he forced himself to wait until he was spoken to, not wanting to risk upsetting the gods before him.

“Once a soul has entered the Underworld, it cannot be allowed to leave again,” Hades responded once he had composed himself, which felt like years after Satoru had made his plea. “I am very sorry.”

The musician felt his heart sink at the denial, and he began to consider begging to be allowed to stay, instead, if he couldn’t bring you back with him.

“Oh, please, my love,” Persephone cried, messily wiping the tears from her eyes as she gazed at her husband. “You let me go home again when my mother begged for my return. Why can’t you grant him this same mercy?”

“Because order must be maintained,” the Lord of the Underworld answered. “Rules must be followed, you know this. Your own return home has its own rules, after all.”

“Then give me rules I must abide by. I swear I will follow them as faithfully as possible.” Though he knew interrupting a conversation between gods could be dangerous, Satoru simply could not stop the words from tumbling from his lips.

“Please.” The goddess’s voice was petal-soft, a warm, hopefully breeze cutting through the chill of the Underworld. 

The silence was heavy, crushing the air out of every part of the room, suffocating the musician where he stood. Despite the pain, Satoru only had eyes for you, your warm gaze giving him the strength to push through, to wait for Hades’s answer before completely giving up hope.

“If I let you both return to the surface world,” the god’s voice, though low and rough, rang out clear. “You must follow one rule.”

“Only one?” It seemed too good to be true.

“It is a difficult one.”

“Anything,” Satoru rushed out. “I’ll do anything.”

“You will lead the two of you out of the Underworld, but until you both are on the surface again, out of my domain, you are not to turn around. I promise you will not be alone, that you will return with your love, but you must not turn around before you leave this place. If you turn around, you will have to leave here alone, and you will never be allowed to return until your own death.”

“If I’m not allowed to turn around, are we at least allowed to speak to each other?”

“Yes, you can converse on the journey. Now, take your lover and go. Once you leave the throne room you must keep your back turned at all times until you reach the surface.”

Bowing deeply, Satoru thanked the god profusely for several moments, then straightened and stepped forward, reaching out and taking your hands, helping you from where you sat on the floor of the throne room.

“Let’s go home,” you said, smiling so sweetly at him it made his teeth ache. He nodded eagerly in agreement, taking just a moment longer to take in your features before guiding you to the entrance of the throne room.

“Are you ready?” he asks, turning to you one last time as the two of you stand in the threshold. “I’m not sure how long the journey back is, and if you grow tired we can’t stop.”

“I’m ready when you are,” was your answer, giving his hand a light squeeze to show you meant the words. 

Satoru nodded back, once again pausing to admire your face, your smile, everything about you, before turning away, still holding your hand as he stepped out of the throne room and began the trek back to the surface, back home.

He was silent for a bit at first, feeling your hand in his enough to assure him you were there, but eventually both his nerves and his natural chattiness got the better of him. He said almost every thought that came to his mind, though he tried to make sure to ask as many questions as possible, eager to hear your answers, your sweet voice a soothing balm to his raw and frayed nerves. 

The journey felt shorter this time around, though whether that was because he was retracing his footsteps, or some other strange property of time in the Underworld, Satoru couldn’t be sure. He wasn’t going to complain about it, either, because not turning to look at you was proving much more difficult than he had thought when he was first given the rule.

When he finally saw the entrance to the surface, sunlight still visible on the horizon, a beaming grin broke out across his face. “We’re nearly there,” he told you. “See? We’ve nearly made it.” Unable to help himself, he picked up his pace, still pulling you along behind him. 

He didn’t notice your hand slipping from his own as he closed the last few paces to the entrance.

His joy was palpable as he practically leapt through the gates, back onto the surface, into the grass that waited for him as the sun began to set behind him.

“We did it!” Satoru cheered, spinning around to look at you. “Oh, my love, it feels so good to have you—” The sight of your sad smile had his gaze dropping to your feet.

You hadn’t yet crossed over the threshold.

And he had turned around and looked at you.

“No,” he begged, racing towards you, desperate for at least one last kiss, one last embrace, even if he could not keep you with him. “Please, my love, I’m so sorry.”

Before he could reach out and touch you, though, your shape had already begun to waver, rippling like the surface of a pool disturbed by the wind. You only shook your head, your smile never leaving your lips. “It’s okay,” you assured him. “I love you. I’ll see you again someday. Live well for me, okay?”

“I-I’ll try,” he choked out, tears thick in his voice even before they spilled from his eyes, though there was no stopping them as your form wavered more, then faded fully from sight.

He fell to his knees and wept, loud, heaving sobs, gripping handfuls of grass as he pressed his forehead to the ground, forced to mourn you a second time.

ok so this was baby's first sad ending/hurt no comfort so pls don't come for me if it was bad i'm so sorry idk how to do this i don't like sad endings but this is my favorite myth i couldn't bring myself to change the ending

tagging: @kentopedia @kentohours @mitsuristoleme

[colubrina]

idk if you have a TikTok or if you keep up with the HP fandom over there; but apparently manacled by SenLinYu was posted on Amazon for purchase (not by the author). It’s since been removed but was up for more than a couple days. And there were individuals on TikTok that just didnt understand why others were getting so upset. Like let’s disregard the fact that someone other than the original author profiting off this work, but I actually saw people that were very firm in the belief that they could sell fanfic. Whether that be through book binds, cases like this, or commissions/Patreon. I’m an elder gen Z, and I remember coming into the fanfiction spaces pretty early on maybe like 07-08?? I think I was 9-10 reading HP fics on fanfiction.net and very vividly remember everyone being super specific about “this is not my sandbox, I’m just playing around” or “If you recognize anything, it doesn’t belong to me”. So I’m always surprised by people that really don’t see a problem with it. I’ve even seen people claim that it will either fall within the limits of fair use or that it would be a PR nightmare for someone to go after someone. I guess I was 1.) just wanting to rant about how shortsighted I think it was to someone that was around in fanfic space before 2015 and 2.) get thoughts from an author that I feel like has had several popular/successful fics in the fandom.

Yeah, I've got a TikTok. I never post anything, but I try to share anything people make that's nice about my old fics. I always have this half-assed feeling like I should make things but I don't. (https://www.tiktok.com/@colubrina_)

2. Congrats to Senlinyu on her book deal - very cool!

3. And yeah, I saw that people were doing that, and I wish I was surprised but I'm not. There's always been a not-insignificant part of the dramione fandom that sees the fics as 'belonging to the fandom.' They will post them on sites where the author doesn't want them. They will host PDFs online even when you directly ask them not to. They will rehost fics authors have taken down, orphaning them on AO3 so they can't be stopped. They don't see it as stealing because they see the fics as public property. It was probably just a matter of time before they started trying to host them on Amazon. It's frustrating for sure, but it does feel a bit like 'here we go again.' It certainly doesn't fall under fair use, and I think Manacled might be one of the very few fics that will have a legal department eager to keep it offline so the publisher can make their money from it, but other people will be less fortunate. Fic has become enough of a part of the ecosystem it's not at any kind of risk as an artform. But, yeah, it sucks. Be nice to your authors. Respect their wishes. Don't do this shit.

[nerdpoe]

In the Shadow of Speculation Part 1

Part 2, Ao3

Daniel Nightingale, ex Fenton, moves to Gotham for a fresh start. It's next to his friends, it's so very different from Amity Park, and Lady Gotham has promised her Knights will protect him. The world as he knew it has changed, and no longer has a place as a combat hero. Not when he's more likely to flinch than to dodge, not when the sight of a knife is enough to force him back to a time and a place he never wanted to see again. In an attempt to adapt, Danny turns to being a specialized hero-medic; his sole focus is helping and evacuating, not fighting. Except that no one told him Death Energy had the same reading to Geiger counters as gamma radiation. It isn't, but apparently Geiger counters can't tell the difference.

Danny Nightingale plopped down on his new couch, taking a moment to breathe in that new apartment smell. It was a pleasant, three bedroom apartment in a relatively nice area of Gotham. 

Well, nice for ghosts. Specifically, the sheer amount of emotions around the place, both past and present, made it an ideal spot for a healing ghost to situate himself.

Danny felt that the more important point was that he finally had a place to himself. 

He was tired of everyone coddling him, acting like he was going to break if he was even touched wrong. But luckily, Gotham was so far away from any kind of city his family would want to visit that he was free to dodge their nannying.

When he had woken up from the…Accident, it was to a political shitstorm; the Infinite Realms had been gearing up for war, and surprisingly Dan had been the only thing stopping them. The negotiations between dimensions had been a nightmare, especially with the sheer amount of effort it took to keep the Justice League’s nose out of his business, but it had been worth it.

Ghosts were considered sapient entities, were acknowledged to be from essentially a different country/dimension, and the ghosts that lived on Earth and had been negatively affected by the laws that were in place were entitled to compensation for the violation to their persons.

Added bonus, Danny could stay.

The first place he had chosen had been Gotham; it was close to Sam and Tucker, and had just the right dosage of occult to meet Frostbite’s strict ecto-therapy regimen.

That, and Lady Gotham had extended an invitation.

The move had been insane, for multiple reasons.

Vlad had insisted on coming along, something about verifying that Danny wasn’t about to live in a hovel. 

Vlad actually caring-in his own way-was still so weird to Danny.

But at least it had been entertaining; every single time Vlad had stepped out of the car to get something from the gas stations, he kept getting mugged.

Another headache was the fact that, on moving day alone, there were three separate rogue attacks, and traffic had backed up so badly Danny was almost convinced to blow his cover and just fucking fly to his new place.

Which would be the last thing Dan needed-someone with his powers cropping up in a city on the other side of the country. Dan had enough on his plate with his whole…thing he’d decided on doing; the world as a whole declaring that his natural born nemesis was opposite sides of the country would throw a wrench in his rehabilitation.

The man had enough problems.

Like Danny had enough problems, but strangely only when Vlad was around. 

The car Vlad had been driving had hit every single pothole and broken both axles, and overall Danny had the sense that Vlad should probably have never set foot in the city.

Honestly, the absolute second Vlad had left the move had gone much smoother.

Like, Danny had still had to pay the movers extra for the rogue attacks, vicinity to crimes (thanks Vlad for getting mugged so often that the muggers just started taking clothing items), and traffic; but after his Godfather had left it had been done in about two hours flat.

Did he still have to unbox his belongings? Yes. Was he going to do that at that particular moment?

Danny flopped sideways and brought his cell phone up to his face.

No. No, he was not.

He was going to take a breather, fall asleep on his new couch, read the news and watch some random memes, and enjoy his Restitution Money.

Danny had only been scrolling on his phone for two minutes when he fell asleep.

~~~~~~

Danny woke up to the sounds of muffled screams.

“Well that’s never good,” He muttered as he tried to roll over. He landed on the floor instead.

Right.

He hadn’t put the bed together yet.

Groaning, Danny pushed himself up for the purpose of hunting down where he’d put his poptarts. Only once he’d opened a box and started digging through it did he realize that the muffled screams were not coming from his definitely dead phone.

They were coming from outside.

Danny tripped over his feet as he bolted for the window, pressing his face against the glass as he stared down at the streets in disbelief.

The streets were filled with a green, noxious gas. People collapsed onto the ground only to scream and claw at their own faces. Some were attacking others, and anyone who left to assist had gas masks on.

Not that the masks did much good, considering the citizens who had been dosed would freak out and rip it off of them.

Batman and Red Hood were on scene, but they were so focused on cornering and catching the freak in the scarecrow costume that the only one able to assist the civilians was Robin. Unfortunately, as well trained as Robin was, there were too many.

Robin was doing the best he could, Danny could see that, but he was clearly over-burdened and needed assistance. 

Danny…was appalled. This was the most ineffective rogue fight he’d ever witnessed.

When he’d been in charge of Amity, his citizens had only rarely been caught in the crossfire, and he never had a casualty. But here was one of the Big Leaguers and his cohorts, and they couldn’t arrange for the civilians to be treated or get to safety.

Danny, with no means to protect himself and unsure of how the gas would effect him, a halfa, could only watch from the window of his sixth story apartment.

Twenty minutes.

It had taken Batman and Red Hood twenty minutes to take down Scarecrow.

Danny had watched the whole thing.

Twenty minutes, thirty-two injured, nine dead, twelve critically injured.

And Danny, tied by the red tape of bureaucracy and his own trauma, hadn’t been able to do anything.

~~~~~~

A day later, full of unpacking and getting his apartment set up while he ignored the sounds of the emergency workers outside his window, Danny couldn’t stop seeing the attack.

There was so much room for improvement, but Batman apparently didn’t have anyone specifically trained in only defense and evacuation.

Danny had been so, so lucky for Sam and Tucker and Jazz. They had tag-teamed it; one of them would help him fight, the other two would evacuate civilians.

Batman was good at what he did, Danny could not deny that.

But there was room for improvement that was just…there. It was right there. 

Danny couldn’t offer his services as Phantom. He couldn’t. He just…every time he thought about donning his old hero moniker, he’d start remembering.

If he started remembering, he became useless until he was able to remember that he was still alive.

And being a combatant, in and of itself, was highly…dissatisfying. 

No sleep, constant injuries, threat of exposure hanging over his head; Danny’d had enough in high school. He had a whole life separate from that, in a city so big and problematic that just donating used clothes was enough to save someone’s life.

He was doing better. He could finally sleep without nightmares, people reaching out to touch him didn’t make him flinch, and he was away from a town of people who had made his childhood a living hell even before he’d had the Accident.

He refused to ask Dan to step in; the man was needed where he was, and Danny couldn’t drag away a teacher from his students.

Ellie was in college, and Danny wasn’t about to interrupt her education to drag her into the vigilante lifestyle she never even showed real interest in.

On top of his many, many other reasons for just not wanting to get into fights anymore.

Instead he took his frustrations out on kneading the dough on his counter.

His phone buzzed.

      Ellie       Omggggggggggg I don’t know what’s so hard???       Just bully Dan into doing it!

Danny snorted and allowed his hands to go intangible, the dough stuck to his fingers sliding back onto the counter, before he touched his phone to reply.

      Danny       Omggggggggg I literally can’t do that       P sure ur the only one who can bully him       He’s a pushover but only 4 u

He set his phone down and continued stress-baking. Ellie would take a bit to respond, since she wasn’t even supposed to have her phone on her at work.

But apparently Ellie had decided that she did not care.

      Ellie       Lies and slander       He’s scared of me I just know it       Also imma kill my customers

      Danny       Don’t commit murder        Diplomatic immunity only goes so far       I don’t need an inter-dimensional incident

      Danny       Ellie?       Ellie no       Don’t actually kill a human

      Ellie       This dude won’t get off my call       He’s so annoying danny I gotta       I       I’m gonna do a ring

      Danny       Ellie NO

      Ellie       Ellie yes brb

Ellie stopped responding after that, and Danny groaned.

She was absolutely going to cause an inter-dimensional incident.

~~~~~~

Ellie was going to cause an inter-dimensional incident.

But it wasn’t her fault!

The stupid caller-Kent or whatever-was being a total ass!

“Sir,” she tried, one last time, “I cannot assist you with this matter. Either you let me transfer you to someone who can, or I’m going to crawl through this phone and kick your ass.”

“Tt. Even if you were a meta capable of such a feat, I highly doubt you could best me in combat.”

“I warned you.”

Ellie let her form fall away, distantly hearing the screams of her coworkers, and traveled through the phone connection.

Her arm burst from the cell phones ear piece and clocked someone across the face. Then she let the rest of herself crawl through, as eldritch as she could make it without actually driving anyone insane.

There was a scream of terror on her right, but she only had eyes for the tanned asshole in front of her with the bloody nose.

Then she let loose on him.

Surprisingly, he managed to block most of her attacks once he came to his senses.

Most of them.

She just started cheating after that and phasing through his hands to connect to his body.

There was a brief moment where the terrified one to her right tried to intervene, but both she and the Kevin kicked him in the face with a joint “Stay out of this!”.

He stayed out of it.

After fifteen minutes of rough-housing, which was what it had definitely turned into, Ellie wiped the blood away from her nose and held out her hand to the man she was sitting on.

“That was a nice fight; the names Ellie.”

The man paused, hesitated…and shook her hand.

“It was admirable. I am Damian.”

“Um…” Ellie and Damian both turned to look at the other man in the room, a blue eyed black haired carbon copy of her brother almost. But like, younger.

“I’m Jon. You kick pretty hard!”

“Thanks! Well I am definitely fired. What was the real reason for calling, anyways?”

Damian sat up and forced Ellie to fall off of him, his face slowly turning red.

“I didn’t realize that my dad’s card would get charged when I made an app store purchase,” Jon admitted quietly, “Damian was trying to annoy customer service into canceling the transaction so dad wouldn’t find out.”

Ellie wheezed from her spot on the ground, laughing harder when Damian turned and left the room in a huff.

“So…is that something you could go back and-?”

“You’re so fucked my dude.”

~~~~~~

Danny checked his care package while he waited for the Arkham guards to finish verifying his visitation rights.

Muffins? Check. Pretzels? Check. Cookies? Check. Donuts? Check. Fudge? No.

Danny still hadn’t been able to make himself use his father’s recipe.

He wasn’t sure when he would be able to.

It looked like when the guards had checked everything for escape tools they hadn’t eaten anything.

Danny felt strangely offended by that.

“Alright, you’re clear. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” Danny sighed, walking away from the last semblance of normalcy and into what could only be described as hell for the mentally stable.

Arkham was a place that radiated the pull to help, the pull to heal, but was overrun by lifetimes of grudges nothing short of burning the place down would ever be able to fix.

It was, unfortunately, the only place capable of holding his parents.

Who he could hear as they were led to the visitation rooms.

“Danny!” Maddie Fenton cried, attempting to throw herself at him. The chain that was held by her accompanying guards, however, yanked her back.

“Dann-o!” Jack cried as he was hauled through the other door, power-dampening cuffs active. He had far too many guards to attempt to launch forward; after he’d broken four walls, Arkham had stopped taking chances.

“Hey mom, hey dad,” Danny said weakly, placing the care package on the table, “Everything is even, so you should both get the same amount.”

“Aw, our baby boy is so considerate!” Maddie cooed, reaching forward and pinching Danny’s cheek before the guards could tug her back out of range.

“So, I just wanted to know how you guys were settling in-“

“Have you seen any ghosts in Gotham, Dann-o?”

Danny took a deep breath through his nose.

“It doesn’t matter if I did or did not, dad; they’re a protected species with rights now.”

“Oh, pish-posh,” Maddie laughed, already digging into the package and pulling out a pretzel, “So what if the government fell for their acting? You know, when we caught Phantom-“

“-When you caught Phantom, you nearly started an inter-dimensional war,” Danny cut in, hiding his shaking fists under the table.

Maddie leveled him with her most disappointed look, while Jack laughed merrily.

“Come on, Dann-o, you fell for it’s rambling too? Ah, well. We found out so much when it turned into that weird jewel-“

“-When you mortally wounded the King of an entire Dimension, almost forever scarring relations between this one and that one-“

“-Young man, we really are happy to see you, but if you’re just going to quote ghost propaganda at us-“

“-It isn’t propaganda, you guys just don’t listen-“

“-Dann-o, if you’re possessed by ectoplasmic scum, just blink twice-“

Danny stood up, chair clattering to the ground, and turned for the exit.

“…I’ll come again in two weeks. Please actually talk to your doctors and at least try to get better.”

He couldn’t do it. He thought he could, but he just. He couldn’t.

Every time they spoke about ghosts, he was back in the lab, strapped to a metal table, begging them to stop, refusing to turn human regardless of how hard his body fought to.

He wouldn’t allow it.

Not because he thought it would get worse, but because if he had turned human during their…experiments, he would have died.

Humans could not survive what had been done to him.

He ignored their yelling and made his way out of Arkham, dodging the pitying looks from the workers and guards.

He didn’t remember getting on the subway. He didn’t recall anything about his walk through Park Row.

He only came back to himself far after the sun had set, curled up in the bathtub, eyes dry and tired from watching the door.

~~~~~~

Jazz gently tapped Dan’s boots as she walked towards the kitchen, reminding him that shoes were not allowed on the coffee table.

The large man grumbled but acquiesced.

“So how are the kids?” Jazz asked over her shoulder, flipping the oven light on to check on the roast hidden inside.

“There’s a new upstart in Iowa, calls himself Jupiter. Can’t be older than nine, one of the biggest crybabies I’ve ever had to train.”

Jazz snorted.

“Are we basing this off of their first look at you, or just how they behave in general?”

Dan didn’t answer.

Jazz read between the lines and stifled a laugh.

Little Jupiter had definitely cried upon seeing Dan.

“Did you go see Lian, then?”

“Fuck yeah I saw Lian! She’s so big, no wonder I couldn’t find her in the Realms!”

Jazz listened to Dan wax poetic about Roy’s daughter, letting him get it off his chest. After Lian had died, Dan had been as inconsolable as was possible for the emotionally stunted man. He’d spent countless hours in the Infinite Realms, searching for her, only to return heartbroken that he couldn’t find her.

He was convinced she was so doused with ecto-contamination due to her exposure to him that she would absolutely become a ghost.

But when she’d passed, there hadn’t been a trace of one. No matter how hard he’d searched, he’d never found her.

Because apparently, she’d been alive.

“-Anyways, how’s the twerp doing?”

Jazz tuned back in.

“Sorry?”

“Little me. How’s he doin?”

“Danny’s as tall as you are, Dan.”

Dan appeared at her side and phased his hand through the oven to swipe some roast.

“Doesn’t matter, I’m older. He okay?”

Jazz shrugged.

“He’s…awake. Well enough to be on his own.”

“Fucked up he stays in the same town as Maddie and Jack.”

Jazz shrugged again, a little more helplessly.

“How he chooses to heal is up to him, Dan.”

“He shouldn’t be near them,” Dan growled, causing some of the silverware to vibrate.

Jazz tensed and mentally prepared herself for the exact same argument that had brought Dan to her doorstep.

“Dan-“

“A four year coma, Jazz.”

“-It’s his choice, Dan.”

“They made him retreat into his core.”

“I know.”

“He shouldn’t be anywhere near them!”

“I know!” Jazz shouted, whirling on him, shoulders heaving as she felt her eyes glare a bright luminescent green.

They stared at each other, until ultimately Jazz won again, and Dan looked away.

“I know,” Jazz said, quieter, pulling out her phone to check it one more time, “I know, but the world has changed so much since he went down, and if this is how he wants to explore it then I won’t stop him.”

An uncomfortable silence settled over them, until the oven let out an obnoxious tune. No one moved.

“…Roast is done,” Dan said helpfully.

Jazz ignored him, eyes on the screen of her phone.

“Hey.”

She reread what Danny had sent her.

“Hey, Jazz-”

“I need to talk to Danny,” she muttered, picking up the oven mitts and tossing them at Dan as she walked towards her bedroom.

After she shut the door quietly behind her, she called her little brother.

The phone didn’t even complete the first ring before he picked up.

“Danny, are you alright?” She knew that he knew going to see their parents had been a terrible idea, and pointing that out would do no one any good.

So instead she focused on him.

“I don’t think so,” Danny said, his voice much smaller than it had any right to be.

Jazz tamped down on her instinctive need to ask a million questions and sat down on her bed instead.

“That’s fine, Danny; it’s perfectly okay to not be okay. Do you need to me to talk?”

“Yes.”

So Jazz did.

@simplestoryteller @gildedphoenix

Prompts that inspired this entire piece one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine. Ages are as follows; Dan (31), Jazz (23), Danny (21), Tucker (21), Sam(21), Ellie (19) Bruce (48), Dick (33), Barbara (32), Jason (26), Cass (26), Tim (24), Steph (24), Duke (21), Damian (17) Clark (47), Lois (45), Conner (26), Jon (20) Alfred (Deceased/immortal)

I'm trying a different method of writing, so this will be a bit different. Mostly because for this particular story I'm world-building alongside it.

[steddieas-shegoes]

Chapter 3

of  this post /  Chapter 2 / read it all on ao3 Here

Steve was warm.

He was also naked in a bath that belonged to Eddie.

It was a nice bath, much larger than the one he and Robin rarely used, and full of bubbles that smelled like peppermint.

Eddie told him it would help keep him awake, but also help him stay relaxed.

He was right.

He was also currently making Steve a grilled cheese (his favorite) and letting him listen to music through his phone speaker (his relaxing playlist that he used for his paperwork hours at home). He’d made sure the bath was hot, but not scalding the way Steve usually had it. He didn’t leave the room until Steve was laying in the bath, head resting against the towel Eddie set up along the edge, eyes closed to keep his senses dulled. According to Eddie, that was really important.

He’d lit a few candles and kept them on the side of the sink, then shut off the light before leaving to make Steve’s sandwich.

Steve was still completely unable to speak.

That was more than a little unnerving.

He knew what he needed and wanted to say, but nothing came out.

But he trusted Eddie for some reason. He’d unpack that later.

Maybe.

Probably not.

For a guidance counselor, he wasn’t that great at giving himself guidance. Or counseling.

“Stevie?”

“Hm?”

Hey! Progress! He made a noise!

“Got your sandwich,” Eddie held up the plate and smiled at Steve, who had opened his eyes, but hadn’t bothered to lift his head from where it rested against the back of the tub. He was too comfy. “You wanna dry your hands so you can eat?”

He wanted to eat, but he certainly didn’t want to move. His hands were so warm in the water. If he took them out of the bath they’d be cold and probably pruned, which was not attractive.

Not that it mattered if he was attractive, but he didn’t want Eddie to have anything else to add to the list he’d titled ‘Why Steve Harrington Is Not A Catch.’

“Sunshine, you have to eat something.”

Steve sighed. He blinked at Eddie in hopes that he would understand what he was trying to say.

Eddie sat down on the floor next to the tub and lifted the sandwich up to Steve’s mouth.

That wasn’t what Steve was trying to say, but he couldn’t really argue since he was still apparently nonverbal.

Eddie had briefly explained that that happened a lot during subspace, and sometimes it happened during a drop.

Steve took a bite of the sandwich and groaned.

It was good.

Or maybe he was just really hungry.

Either way, he leaned in to take another bite before he’d even finished chewing the first. He didn’t even care if it was disgusting or rude, he just needed to eat.

“Good boy. But don’t eat too fast, sunshine. Don’t want you to feel sick.”

“Mhm.”

Steve relaxed again, letting Eddie hold the sandwich up to his mouth to take a bite every minute or so.

It was nice. Too nice.

Steve had never been taken care of like this. Even when he was with Nancy, she would usually leave him alone when he was sick or tired, not wanting to expend the energy it takes to get him through an illness or exhaustion.

He was a little needy sometimes. He covered it up well after Nancy, not wanting anyone, not even Robin, to know he sometimes needed someone to care for him.

He hadn’t even noticed he drifted off again until Eddie was running his fingers through his barely wet hair.

“C’mon sunshine. Water’s getting too cold. Gotta get you in bed.”

And then he was in what he assumed was Eddie’s bed in what he assumed were Eddie’s clothes in what he assumed was big trouble.

He let himself feel safe.

He hadn’t felt safe in a long time.

– – – – – – – – – –

When he woke up, he was alone.

He was used to being alone.

In fact, a part of his brain told himself he would have been more worried if he wasn’t alone.

But he wasn’t in his bed, which meant at some point very recently he wasn’t alone.

And then it all came rushing back to him.

This was Eddie’s bed. Eddie, the tattoo artist he barely knew, who helped him through whatever the fuck he went through yesterday.

He turned onto his side and nearly fell out of bed when he saw that he wasn’t alone. Eddie was asleep, body curled up facing Steve, but keeping some distance between them. His breathing was slow and quiet, and his body looked relaxed despite the uncomfortable looking position he was in.

Steve watched as Eddie slept, thinking through the events of the night before.

Eddie had known what to do, what he needed, and how to make sure he got it even when he couldn’t speak. He hadn’t taken advantage of him, even though it would have been easy to do with Steve so out of it.

Eddie let out a snore and Steve couldn’t help the endeared smile that crossed his face.

Nope, you stop that right the fuck now, Steven Harrington.

He was about to slap himself in the face to prevent himself from actually having feelings when Eddie’s eyes shot open.

They stared at each other for a moment, and then Eddie smiled, and Steve was definitely in trouble.

“Hey, sunshine.”

“Um. Hi.”

“Feeling better?”

“Yeah. I’ll be out of your hair as soon as I can get dressed.”

Steve started to sit up, but Eddie reached his hand out to stop him.

“No rush. Seriously, take your time. I don’t have to be at the shop until 12 today.”

Which reminded Steve that it was Sunday, he had nowhere to be, and he was currently very cozy. Maybe he could stay for a little while. Just until he was more awake.

“I don’t wanna take up more of your time. You’ve done enough I think.”

“It’s fine, Steve.” Steve felt himself make a face at the name and Eddie’s brows furrowed. “What?”

“I dunno. Just used to you saying Stevie or Sunshine.”

Eddie smirked at him and Steve felt his stomach drop. Where it dropped to, he didn’t know, and he didn’t think he would ever find it again with the way he felt completely hollowed out.

“It’s just as much for me as it is for you, Stevie. That was pretty intense last night.”

His tone was serious, but he kept a soft smile on his face, probably to make sure Steve didn’t run away without talking about some of it.

“Yeah. I’m sorry about everything. I really wouldn’t have even gotten a tattoo if I thought that would happen.”

“Nothing to apologize for. You can’t control it. How would you have known it would happen?” Eddie raised one brow as if to dare Steve to argue. “Exactly. You didn’t know. I’m glad I was around to help. Hate to think what could’ve happened if it was someone else.”

And, yeah, Steve was worried about that now too. Eddie seemed to know a lot about this, so Steve took this opportunity to ask some questions. He certainly couldn’t ask Robin.

It was a long conversation, and Eddie never talked to him like he was stupid. He was patient and kind, and was honest if he didn’t know the answer to something. He occasionally reached out to brush some of Steve’s hair out of his face or squeeze his hand if he seemed like he couldn’t figure out how to phrase something, bringing him back to the present and keeping his thoughts in order.

They went over how he could prepare for it next time, but Steve said he probably wouldn’t be getting another tattoo anytime soon.

Eddie said he would prefer that he come to him if he did or at least have someone who could help him through it if he went somewhere else.

“So, before the drop…” Steve stopped. He didn’t know what he wanted to say. Well, he did, but he didn’t know if actually wanted to say it out loud.

Eddie looked at him expectantly, an encouraging smile pointed at Steve in a way he couldn’t resist.

“Before the drop. I really felt…good. Like I was untouchable and nothing bad could happen. Is that always like that? The subspace thing?”

“I’ve never experienced subspace. I mean, I’ve tried a couple times when I first started messing around with people, but it just didn’t happen for me. But I’ve been with plenty of subs when they’re floating and they describe it like that, yeah. Like you can feel everything and nothing at once, but everything is good. It’s a high you can’t even get from drugs. Which is why the crash from it can be so fucking awful.”

It still didn’t make sense how Steve got to this point, how he had ever reached that high from needles pressing into his skin and Eddie being nice to him, and how he’d fallen so far so fast.

But what Eddie said was exactly how he’d felt the night before. He wasn’t really able to put it into words like Eddie had.

“So will I always drop if I end up there again?”

“Not if you’re with the right person and you can figure out limits and what causes it for you. Everyone is different. For you, it seems like pain might do it, but you would have to be in the right mindset to get there no matter what.”

“I wasn’t really in any type of mindset last night.”

“Maybe it didn’t seem like it. But it’s hard to really know when you weren’t expecting it.”

Steve bit his lip. How could he have not known? How did he make it to 27 years old not having a clue?

“Hey.” Eddie’s thumb rubbed against his bottom lip, pulling it away from his teeth. “You didn’t know. It’s normal for a lot of people to never know. If you weren’t into the scene before, how would you know? But now you do. And now you just have to be careful in the future. I don’t want anyone to hurt you.”

Steve was gonna die right here in Eddie’s bed. Who the fuck just says shit like that? His heart skipped a beat like in those stupid romance books Nancy used to read.

How dumb.

“Is pouting your natural state?”

Steve pouted harder, bottom lip pushing out as far as he possibly could just to be ridiculous.

It was worth being and feeling ridiculous to hear Eddie’s laugh.

“Listen, I know I just threw a lot at you and you may have more questions. You’ve got my number on that tattoo care sheet, so make sure you call me or text me if you have any questions, okay? And if you want another tattoo and don’t feel comfortable going somewhere else, I’m happy to do it all over again, hopefully without the drop this time.”

“What if I wanted to float again? Without the tattoo.”

Steve should shut his mouth. He really should shut his fucking mouth.

Eddie searched his face, much like he did the night before. What the hell was he looking for?

He glanced behind Steve for a moment and then back at him.

“I’ve gotta get up and get ready. But we have to have a really big talk before I can agree to that.” Steve felt his own face fall, but Eddie quickly continued. “Not because I don’t want to, sunshine. I think you’re at the part of the post-high feeling where you wanna reach it again right away. That can be really bad for you and for me, okay? But I’m done at 7 tonight. You busy?”

Steve was never busy on the weekends unless Robin was dragging him to a club and he’d be damned if he tried to go to a club instead of being with Eddie.

Which is another thing he probably should start unpacking very soon.

“No. I have work at 7:30 in the morning though.”

“Ah, right. Guidance counselor.” Eddie smirked. “Nothing’s gonna happen tonight except talking. You could also…bring stuff to spend the night here if you want.”

Eddie seemed incredibly nervous to even suggest it, and maybe if it was anyone else, Steve would’ve laughed and ran out the door, never to look back at the batshit insane person trying to have him spend the night within 24 hours of knowing him.

But Steve thought about how well he slept in Eddie’s bed with Eddie last night, and he thought about how his bed was pretty lonely, and how maybe waking up here again would make him feel better about having to exist on Monday.

“Yeah. I could do that.”

Eddie’s answering smile was nothing short of blinding.

“Great! Okay. Let’s head on back to the shop so you can get your car. Is Robin home?”

“Probably. She’s probably waiting to see my name on the news with the headline “Dead Body of Idiot Man Trying To Get First Tattoo Found” and a picture of me from the yearbook.”

Eddie let out a loud laugh.

It was nice.

Usually, Steve got annoyed when people laughed so loudly, but Eddie’s was nice.

Eddie was nice.

“So. 7?”

“Yeah, sunshine.”

— — — — — — — — — —

Eddie didn’t let Steve stray far while they got ready to leave.

Steve would never admit how much he loved it.

During the drive back to the shop, Eddie played music Steve had never heard, and probably never would have if not for him. He didn’t exactly like it, but he didn’t mind it, especially when he watched Eddie sing along with a passion Steve hadn’t really ever felt.

They didn’t need to talk and Steve didn’t feel pressured to try.

He hadn’t felt so comfortable around someone since he first met Robin, and he was holding onto the panic he knew was coming when he was alone.

He was still feeling tired. His emotions had been on a hell of a journey over the last 18 hours, and Eddie had already warned him he probably would be feeling the effects of it all for another day or so.

But Eddie also explained that without the drop, it’s worth it.

He wanted to know what that felt like.

And he wanted to know what it felt like with Eddie.

So when they arrived at the shop and said goodbye, Eddie hugged him tightly, holding him against his chest. Steve wasn’t much shorter than him, but he managed to fold himself into him without being uncomfortable, resting his face against his collarbone and breathing in the scent he was already addicted to.

They separated, but neither seemed ready or willing to.

Did Eddie feel this pull the way Steve did? Was Steve just attaching himself to someone who helped him through his most vulnerable time?

As he walked away, he looked over his shoulder to find Eddie staring after him, keeping eyes on him as he walked to his car. He was frowning.

Maybe he did feel as much as Steve. 

Chapter 4

TAG LIST:  @invisibleflame812 @inmoonywetrust @captain-daryn @carlyv @lillemilly @spectrum-spectre @raisedbylibrarians @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @mightbeasleep @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @bornonthesavage @loguine-linguine

[steddieasitgoes]

@steddiemas Day 25: Christmas Day Traditions & Activities

Tags: Pre-Relationship Steddie, Christmas Morning, Christmas Fluff, Supportive Wayne Munson, Eddie Munson Is A Sweetheart,

wc: 1488 | Rating: G

Read on ao3 | ao3 collection

It’s not that Steve likes to be alone on Christmas.

He doesn’t think anyone likes to be alone on Christmas — let alone someone who aspires to be a father to six little nuggets one day.

But he has a hard time taking his friends up on their offers to host him for Christmas. Doesn’t want to feel like a burden or impose on anyone’s traditions.

He’s tried in the past — joining the Hendersons in ’84 and Robin basically held him hostage in ’85, refusing to let him wallow alone in his house like some Grinch (her words not his).

No matter how accommodating the Hendersons and Buckleys were or how many times Dustin and Robin assured him that he wasn’t imposing, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he didn’t belong. The cold weight in his gut and the nagging voice in his head telling him if his parents didn’t want him why would anyone else?

(He should probably go to therapy to get that checked out.)

It’s fine though, because Steve’s curated his own Christmas traditions now.

He wakes up whenever he wants to — usually still early because his body has never adjusted to the fact that it no longer needs to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to train — and makes himself an omelet or two. Then he moves into the living room and opens the gift Robin always leaves behind for him because she refuses to let him open something on Christmas.

After making his “Merry Christmas” calls and assuring Robin and Dustin that he’s fine and no, he doesn’t want to come over, he heats up the homemade casserole Ms. Henderson makes Dustin deliver by bike on the 23rd and settles down on the couch to watch this year’s Christmas Day basketball games.

It’s not much, but it works for Steve.

At least, it did until this year when Eddie threw a literal wrench in his plans by coaxing him into coming over because his car wouldn’t start and he had to pick Wayne up from a last-minute shift at the factory.

Honestly, Steve should have known it was a trap the minute he mentioned Wayne working a Christmas morning shift. Wayne and him aren’t close by any means, but he knows there’s no way Eddie’s Uncle would work on Christmas day and leave him home alone. He actually has good parenting habits, unlike some people in his life.

Still, the phone call came at six in the morning and Steve was too dizzy with sleep to question his motives until he pulled up at the Munsons to find both cars parked in their usual spots.

He doesn’t even have time to make a quick escape because Eddie’s perched on the worn sofa outside watching him.

“Took you long enough,” Eddie teases, sauntering over to Steve.

“From the looks of it you didn’t even need my help,” Steve sasses back as he gets out of the car. “Isn’t that Wayne’s car?”

Eddie glances in the direction Steve points as if he isn’t aware of the pickup truck. “Huh, guess it is. Must have been a dream I was having or something.”

“Or, something. Right,” Steve snorts, shaking his head.

“Well,” Eddie claps his hands together startling Steve. “Since we don’t actually need your help and you’re already here, you should stay for breakfast.”

“That’s okay, Eddie. I don’t—“

“Ah, ah, ah,” Eddie tuts. “You’re not bailing on me now, Stevie. Wayne’s in there whipping up his famous Christmas morning breakfast. You haven’t lived until you’ve tried his French toast casserole.”

Arguing with Eddie is worse than arguing with Dustin, so Steve saves his energy and agrees to stay for breakfast. He apologizes profusely to Wayne for the intrusion, earning a gruff “nonsense boy, you’re always welcome here,” several times before Wayne finally swats him with the spatula and insists he shut up or else.

The casserole is as delicious as Eddie made it out to be. Not that Steve was skeptical of Wayne’s ability to cook. He’s been over for chili nights and eaten Wayne’s perfectly cooked and fresh fish after the fishing trip Eddie also tricked Steve into attending.

With a full belly and Eddie’s demand met, he’s planning on heading out when he spots the mountain of dishes in the small sink. His parents may not have raised him to be kind and thoughtful, but it's the man he’s become so he hikes up the sleeves on his maroon sweater and gets to work cleaning the dishes even though both Wayne and Eddie shout at him that there’s “no chores on Christmas.” When they both offer to help, Steve throws “no chores on Christmas” back in their faces and shoos them out of the kitchen with a smile and lots of gruff laughter. 

He’s almost finished with the washing when the snow starts to fall. Not cute little snowflakes like in the movies. Oh no. Big ass sheets of snow dropping faster and faster as the seconds tick by.

Christ.

“Snowin’ mighty bad out there,” Wayne whistles, coming inside from the smoke break he insisted on taking outside. Kicking off his boots, he walks over to Steve and claps a hand on his shoulder. “‘Fraid you ain’t going anywhere.”

“I mean, it’s not that bad,” Steve says, throwing the dish towel over his other shoulder as he peers out the window. Who is he kidding? There’s no way the beemer is going to make it three feet in this weather let alone the two and a half miles to his house.

“You’ve got to be kidding, Steve!” Eddie shouts, from his spot on the couch. “If I let you leave in this weather and something happens, Henderson and Buckley will literally have my head on a stake. You’re staying and that’s final.”

He turns, expecting to find Wayne ready to object to Eddie’s theatrics but what he finds instead is the gruff man nodding his head in agreement.

“Guess m’staying then.”

Steve’s no stranger to surprises, but he’s downright perplexed when Wayne announces that it’s time to watch the Knicks game and Eddie doesn’t balk or go on some long-winded rant about how sports and Christmas don’t go together. Instead, he watches as Eddie nods and curls up on the sofa while Wayne settles in on the recliner.

“Hold on,” Steve says, waving his hands in the air to get their attention. “You, Eddie Munson, are going to watch basketball without complaining?”

“S’our Christmas tradition,” Wayne says.

“Unfortunately,” Eddie mumbles which earns him a pillow to the face curtesy of Wayne. “Hey!”

Wayne chuckles, shaking his head before shifting his attention back to Steve. “First Christmas I had Eddie, the boy was so upset after openin’ his gifts ‘cause he didn’t have nothin’ for me. Told him not to worry, just wanted him to watch the game with me. S’been a tradition ever since.”

Steve opens his mouth to say something when Eddie chimes in cutting him off.

“If you’re going to call me a hypocrite, save it.” “I wasn’t going to,” Steve says, holding his hands up in surrender. Crossing the room, he takes a seat on the sofa with Eddie, leaving the middle cushion open. “Actually, I was going to say watching the game is my Christmas tradition too.”

“Oh,” Eddie says. “Maybe it could be our tradition now. Wayne, me, you. I mean, I might not know what the hell is going on, but Wayne knows lots of fun stats he loves to share.” “Watch yourself, boy,” Wayne scolds with no bite. “S’you who never shuts up during the game. Always narrating made-up things while they play.”

“You know you love it!” Eddie defends, flipping Wayne off. After he turns his attention back to Steve, “M’sure watching with us will be better than watching alone, right?”

It’s presumptuous is what it is.

The thought of Steve coming over to the Munsons year after year to watch the basketball game. Cheer on teams and criticize plays with Wayne, listen to Eddie’s improv commentary. As if they want him crashing their traditions forever.

But something about the offer warms the usual Christmas day ache in his gut.

The truth is Steve doesn’t feel like a burden when he’s here with Wayne and Steve. He doesn’t feel like an awkward third wheel or like he’s a fly on the wall, listening to inside jokes and not understanding them.

He feels like an equal.

Like he belongs.

And what a wonderful feeling that is.

Maybe he won’t always spend Christmas with Wayne and Eddie and whatever NBA teams are playing, but today he will.

And he’s not going to deny himself this tradition next year or the year after that or any year Eddie and Wayne are eager to host him.

“Yeah, Eds,” Steve says pulling himself from his reprieve. “This is much better than watching the game alone.”

[piratefalls]

“You are", he says, "the absolute worst idea I've ever had.” - me @ ao3 after watching the movie and thinking "there's probably fic for this."

i like lists. i've lost sleep reading fic like it's gonna disappear the second i look away. i'm making my problem yours. i'm sure a lot of these won't be new to people since they pre-date the movie and it's far from comprehensive but. i'm late to this party. i also can't make gifs, so enjoy the basic canva header.

(baby) don't make me spell it out by extasiswings

One night near the end of first semester 1L finals, just a few weeks before the two-year anniversary of their first kiss, Alex finds himself looking up from his desk with its messy piles of color-coded notes and tabbed textbooks to see Henry asleep on the couch, clearly having dozed off waiting for him to come to bed, and unbidden he thinks, God, I’m going to marry this man. It startles him, the spike of adrenaline that floods through him waking him up and bringing the parts of his brain turning over concepts like proximate cause and strict liability to a standstill as he stares at Henry. I want to marry this man.

God Save the Blessed American President Mom by zipadeea

["June stopped by at lunch; she showed me a delightful channel called Hallmark, which repeats the same story every hour after they swap one round of white, straight, small-town conventionally beautiful actors for another. It was entertaining.” “June and I used to play a drinking game with those. Take a shot every time someone goes ice skating, sledding, or leaves the big city for their tiny hometown.” “Good lord, you must’ve been sloshed in the first ten minutes.”] -- On December 4, 2021, an attempt is made on President Ellen Claremont's life. Alex gets shot instead.

Familiar Gravity by cmere

“Yeah,” Alex breathes, and he pulls back to look Henry in the eyes. “I’ve been fantasizing about you fucking me in this chair for, like, weeks. Every time you sit down here with your stupid book.”   Henry likes it when Alex speaks Spanish and Alex has a request.

Am I the Asshole? by everwitch

AITA for spending Valentine’s Day with my roommate instead of my boyfriend? It’s well past midnight on a Saturday and hardly the first time Alex has scrolled aimlessly on his phone instead of trying to sleep, but it’s definitely the first goddamn time Alex has discovered his roommate has made a lengthy post about last night’s curry debacle to r/AmItheAsshole — a post that’s apparently gone fucking viral. -- In which Alex and Henry are college roommates, and a few thousand strangers think they should fuck.

Everybody needs good neighbours by railmedaddy

To nora(9.37pm): So a funny thing happened My hot neighbour brought me the mcflurry i ordered and we fucked From nora (9.38pm): WHAT DETAILS NOW Which neighbour? Wait, you only have one hot neighbour. Alex, did you fuck a guy?!?!?! ALEX Or Alex meets a hot new neighbour. Shenanigans ensue.

A Picture on Your Corkboard by bleedingballroomfloor

It happens on a random morning in May when Alex, age fourteen, pads into the kitchen to greet his mother and steal a waffle from June's plate and sees a man sitting at their breakfast counter, reading a newspaper, a cup of coffee raised to his lips. Like he belongs. Like it's the most natural thing in the world. June doesn't seem to give the man a second thought. She merely flicks Alex on the forehead and takes back the waffle. Ellen isn't worrying, either. In fact, she's talking to him. Asking what his schedule is like. Making plans for dinner. Alex has never seen this man before in his life.

this is the worthwhile fight by dearhappy

It's not that Henry's scared of their future, he's never been more sure of anything in his life. The thing is they're still trying to figure out how that future is going to look. And he worries about how it'll affect Alex's career in politics.

Déjame Ver Cómo Es Que Floreces by 14carrotgold

Oscar gets in close and bluntly asks, “Earlier. In the bathroom. Did you do it?” Alex scoffs, “No. Don't be a perv. Why would you wanna know that anyway?” Oscar rolls his eyes. “Mind out of the gutter, chamaco. Did you propose?” Ah.  - Henry is introduced to the extended Diaz side of the family at their matriarch's birthday. Shenanigans (and romance and feelings) ensue.

Please Don't Let Me Be So Understood by chamel

“I’m glad you both see it that way,” Dr. Chen says. Then she closes her notebook and folds her hands on top of it. “I think I’m starting to get a sense of where the issues lie. The good news is that you’re both here, and you’re both willing to work on this relationship. That’s promising. Not all of the couples I see are even at that point.” “Sorry, what?” Henry says, voicing Alex’s stuttering thoughts as well. (After one too many fights at work, Henry and Alex are assigned mandatory reconciliation therapy by their boss. Except the therapist thinks they're there for couples therapy... and surely, a bet on who will break first makes more sense than actually correcting her, right?)

Such a Burden, This Flame on My Chest by allmylovesatonce

Alex Claremont-Diaz is relocating back to Austin to join his dad's firehouse. His days as a firefighter in Washington D.C. ended badly, but no one knows that, or knows why. And he plans to keep that close to his chest. He has to shove it back down if he wants to seem like a normal person, if he wants to do the job, if he wants to get along with his new crew, and most of all, if he wants to get to know the hot British firefighter on the squad. No one can know what really happened.

thinking (about last night) by rhosyn_du

“I hope you know that I am literally never going to stop reminding you that you said that. I’m going to, like, take out an ad in the student paper. Maybe hire a skywriter or something. I am definitely telling Pez." "I hate you," Henry tells him. "Lies," Alex says, still laughing. "You know you love me." Henry lets out a heavy sigh. "Well," he says softly, "that's rather the problem, isn't it?" “What, you think we’d be better off if we still hated each other?” “I think," Henry says slowly, "I’d be better off if I could figure out how to stop being so stupidly in love with you.” It takes a few seconds for the words to really register, as distracted as Alex is by the heat of Henry’s breath and wondering how much it would cost to actually hire a skywriter. Once they do, it takes a full minute before Alex can move. Can breathe. Can think. Finally, he forces out a whispered, “What?” When that gets no response, he tries again. This time, his voice actually cooperates. “Wait, what?” The only response he gets is a soft snore and Alex realizes that Henry, the utter fucking asshole, has passed out on his shoulder.

you're the reason i let myself fall by perfect-porcelain (tedddylupin)

Alex doesn't quite know what to expect when he walks into a room with a glowing screen separating him from the person in the other pod. The entire experience makes him skeptical. How can you fall in love with someone you've never met? Or: Love is Blind AU

Sharper Head, Wilder Heart by Dawg1515

"This could work out,” Henry offers. “It could,” Alex replies. “That’s good, then. Someone’s going to have to walk me through the brilliance of Empire Strikes Back, after all.” “Sweetheart, if we’re legitimately dating now, I’m forcing you to watch every movie that has Harrison Ford in it.” “Duly noted.” Or: When the Queen decides it’s time for Henry to settle down with a woman, she arranges a courtship between him and Alex Claremont-Diaz, closeted political powerhouse. Alex secretly tells Henry he’s trans, and Henry tells Alex that he’s gay. To say they become an amazing couple would be an understatement—but nothing is ever that easy for a prince and a president’s son.

every version of you (i love) by coffeecatsme

“So,” the voice narrates as the man squishes the dog’s cheeks and laughs at himself. “There’s this guy that lives next to me with the cutest beagle in the world and this little guy climbs to the fence every day to drop his toys off at, like, 5:30 on the dot, I’m not kidding.” The camera shows the man boop the dog’s nose and press a little kiss to his forehead. There’s a ball in his hands that he hands to the dog, but it slips from his mouth all over again, making the man reach down to grab it. He glares at the dog, but even then he’s still smiling. “And this guy always walks by and picks up the stuff and it’s the cutest fucking thing ever you have no idea.” The camera zooms in farther into the man’s smile, genuine and wild, as he pushes his wild curls away from his face. His eyes flicker up when another figure walks into the frame, his blonde hair falling over his forehead in waves. The man’s smile, impossibly, widens. “Oh. I’m also pretty sure he has a crush on my neighbor.” Or, 5 times David greets Alex with something that belongs to Henry, and 1 time he greets Alex with something that belongs to both of them.

The Duke Who Loved Me by annesbonny, Inareskai, schmulte

This Author knows as well as anyone how much you, gentle readers, enjoy a scandal and a love story. And what could bring more delight that two young gentlemen who bring both of those wherever they go? Join the Duke of Mountchristen and the, untitled, Mr Claremont-Diaz as they attempt to find a Love Match amongst the gossip of the ton.

The Edge of Glory by politics_and_prose

Subject: CD-10 To: Alex Claremont-Diaz (acd@cdlaw.com) From: Natasha Wallace (nwallace@txdems.com) Alex - You know how you jokingly told me to let you know when Mayfield was vulnerable and/or not seeking re-election? Tash

lying in the low light by smc_27

The thing about having a one night stand with the guy your sister is close friends with and gatekept from you is that it becomes really fucking important that she never knows. Or, Alex and Henry have a one year stand. Or, Alex and Henry are in a relationship, only they’re the only ones who don’t know it.

what we might do (if we stop keeping a secret) by indomitablelove

'This isn't how I wanted to tell people. I thought we'd get the chance to do it right.' - Red, White and Royal Blue, Casey McQuiston, p.327 --- or, in another world, Alex and Henry get to do it right.

Who Could Love You The Same as I by MariaDmitrievnaLikesSundays

Inside was exactly what Alex had found himself dreaming about ever since that night at Kensington. The kind of dreams that he forced himself to forget once he woke up, but dreams all the same. A gold band, simple and smooth, with a single square diamond embedded on top. It was small, modest, exactly to Alex’s taste. ”Holy shit,” he said again. “Holy shit.” That was a ring. That was, unmistakably, an engagement ring. Hidden in his boyfriend’s coat. And he had just found it.

—— Or, Alex finds the engagement ring that Henry had hidden, and does exactly what you’d expect him to.

As the World Falls Down by 3bowtruckles

So while we all knew that the 2020 written in the book would be glorious fiction, we didn’t realize that reality would throw us something to take 2020 even further away from the book’s events. This story is where I attempt to merge our 2020 reality and the fiction of RWRB, using research (a LOT of research) to try to figure out what the trajectory of reality might have been. The story starts picking up the timeline after their late-February trip to Paris. After that, it's strictly AU, but I try to keep a lot of the intents of the events in the book (for instance, Alex's trip to confront Henry in Britain after the lake) while still making them fit the narrative I've created.

We'll Change the World Yet to our Dessire [sic] by cresswells

Alex and Henry are engaged and ready to share their announcement with the world, but after the media circus surrounding their forced outing Queen Mary wants them to do things properly this time. To Alex’s surprise, ‘properly’ apparently means taking a Royal Tour around Europe as an official couple. Ten days, five countries and lots of unnecessary wardrobe changes. What could possibly go wrong?

where clouds look like mountains by weather_stained

Four months after the election, while still learning to navigate the complexities of being in a public relationship, Alex finally has the chance to show Henry around Austin.

We'll Invite Something In by smc_27

Alex is grinning a little too hard.  This is absolutely idiotic and pointless and fun.  The cover of Hello UK with a photo of him pulled out and a photo of His Royal Highness Prince Henry Fox-Mountchristen whatever the hell the rest of his names are (Alex knows; he being a dick) with the admittedly stupid but flattering headline which reads: His Royal Highness: He’s just like us and crushes on Pres ACD.

Henry's Cold, Empty Tower by DracoWillHearAboutThis

“I want you,” Henry said, slowly but clearly, “to leave.” When Alex storms Kensington Palace, Henry sends him away. Then, their relationship gets leaked, and it's Henry's turn to fight for Alex.

behind the diamond-shaped glass by Celaestis

Five times Alex and Henry used tea and biscuits to communicate, and one time they don't need to.

The Byline by rosetintednerdglasses

Press Secretary Alex Claremont-Diaz serves at the pleasure of the President, and he does it excellently until a new White House correspondent darkens his press room: Henry Fox, The Guardian.

we've been here forever (here's the frozen proof) by r_holland

Objectively, I am aware that you – a stranger – cannot tell me my own sexuality any better than I can, however... Can you, please? Tell me? It’s 4am and I have been thinking about this for hours, and I can’t sleep. Warmest regards, ACD *** It’s four in the morning, and Alex Claremont-Diaz has managed to follow a research spiral straight down into a personal crisis. It isn’t the first time.

words on the tip of your tongue (but please don't say them) by viciouslyqueer

So close. He was so close to saying those words that have lived inside him for so long, and now it's gone, a moment that slipped right between his fingertips before he could grasp it. Now he’s floating in the middle of the lake alone, the ghost of Henry’s touch still lingering on his skin and an unknown, heartbreaking feeling in his chest. — Or: canon-divergence where Henry doesn't leave the lake house.

The Grand Tour by lucky (revolutionbarbie)

When Henry returned from an audience with Queen Mary looking stony faced and grim, Alex had immediately feared the worst. She had requested to see Henry – and Henry alone – the moment their plane had landed at Heathrow on a visit to Pez’s new shelter in London.  Alex had suggested that they go to see her together just to spite the old hag, but Henry wanted to keep the peace. Since moving to Brooklyn, they had entered into an uncomfortable détente with Queen Mary and Henry was loathe to be the one to break it.  “She wants us to go to Australia. It would be an unofficial Royal Tour, of sorts, with stops in several cities and a short visit to New Zealand. Three and a half weeks in total.”  “She wants to send us on an all-expenses paid Australian getaway? Count me in.”

come and get me by rizcriz

The email arrives 8 days after Henry left the lake house. He contemplates deleting it without reading, but it sits in his Alex inbox, where there are over seventy emails favourited, and somehow it feels wrong and weirdly impersonal. As if leaving without a note were any different. He stares at the from line with an aching longing that seeps into his veins. It settles on his heart like a tangible thing; something warranted and cruel that casts shackles around the aorta and locks them tight so that he might never love again. -- or, alex sends an email instead of flying to KP.

Never Did Run Smooth by clottedcreamfudge

"You and me? Best friends. Stellar. Love that for us. But we could absolutely fake being in love. Dating. Whatever. I know literally everything about you—" (No you don't, Henry thinks firmly) "—and you know everything about me. We would absolutely fucking annihilate the other contestants.” "You're too drunk to apply," Henry points out, like he himself isn't about as wasted as it's possible for him to be without curling up and going immediately to sleep. "I doubt you could spell your own name right on the application. Or mine." Alex grins and pulls something up on his phone; it looks like it takes him a few tries. "Wanna fucking bet?" *** Or: Henry's life is a comedy of errors; a patchwork of oopsie-daisies; a quilt stitched together with hauntingly terrible mistakes. And at the centre of it all is his best friend, Alex Claremont-Diaz; director of said comedy, threading together his oopsie-daisies into a flower crown, rolling around in the quilt of his own making, and this analogy is going to shit because Henry's so in love with him he wants to die.

idk I'll do a part two if anyone wants.

[eetherealgoddess]

ꨄCellmateꨄ

Oneshot - Yandere Prison/Bonten Au

❦Y/n goes to prison and meets an interesting group of men❦

Sano Manjiro, Hanemiya Kazutora, Sanzu Haruchiyo, & Haitani Brothers x Reader

Not fully proofread!

MY TR FANDOM WORKS ARE ONLY ON TUMBLR, AO3, AND WATTPAD UNDER EETHEREALGODDESS! REPORT IF YOU SEE IT POSTED UNDER ANYONE ELSE BUT ME!!!

Japanese Language is Red

I apologize if I get any Japanese etiquette or culture wrong, I literally have to research the culture for some of my fandom stories so if anything is wrong, please excuse my ignorance.

I based this Japanese prison off of some research so some parts may not be accurate. I only know some things about American prisons already so it might be combined with that just to make this easier for me to write. All in all I know barely anything about prison tbh so some of this will probably be made up.

It also said somewhere that they have either different sections or prison for foreigners (take what you will idk for a fact) but for the story’s sake, Y/n will be in the same area as the rest of the main guys.

Notice:

✩Y/n is 18+. I picture him as a black male but you can see him however.

✩Some parts of the story may not be realistic or factual. After all, this is a work of fiction.

✩Although it's a dark 'romance,' I do not condone any of the behavior displayed.

✩Dark content such as: gore, violence, triggering topics, graphic scenes, vulgar language, explicit sexual content, etc.

✩There will be scenes that involve non con and/ or dubcon so don’t read if that makes you uncomfortable

✩That being said, this story is for 18+ only.

Enjoy!

Cellmate

The male walks down the hall with two guards guiding him from both sides, passing the cells as some of the fellow inmates stare and call out to the newcomer whereas others stay in their own zone, not paying any mind to the nervous man who kept his gaze on the floor, his cuffed wrists in his peripheral. He only looks up when the prison guards halt in front of his designated cell.

After they motion for him to walk in, he complies, the men closing the door and locking it behind him before walking away. He only stares at the door in disbelief as he rubs his released wrists before turning, almost jumping out of his skin when he meets golden eyes.

“Who are you?” Y/n’s eyebrows furrow, shrugging before telling him that he couldn’t understand what he just said. The man smirks before nodding.

“I said, who are you?”

“Oh, I’m Y/n.” The newcomer eyes the tiger tattoo on the other’s neck, feeling a little anxious as he glances at his obviously toned exterior.

“Hanemiya. You don’t look like you belong here.” He says as he walks to his futon, plopping on it as he leans his back on the wall. “What got you locked up?”

Y/n walks to his own spot, setting his blanket and sheet down, along with his pillow as he sorts them on the cushioned surface.

“W-well, it’s a long story.” He curses himself for stuttering before he sits, attempting to avoid eye contact with the intimidating glare placed on him.

“I’ve got time.” He shrugs in response before pulling out a cigarette, lighting it as the tobacco fills up the room. Y/n’s eyes widened as he frantically looked between Kazutora and the door.

“What are you doing? Won’t you get in trouble for that?” A chuckle falls from his lips.

“They know who to mess with. I won’t be here for long anyway.” He takes a pull from his cigarette, Y/n slightly coughing as he turns his head.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“It’s complic-.”

“Y/n, don’t annoy me. Say it.” He says with a stoic expression.

“I killed my brother.” Kazutora raises a brow.

“You?” He snickers in disbelief. Y/n nods with a sigh.

“Yeah, I know. It was an accident, anyway. Won’t be out of here for a while, though.” He said before lying down completely, staring at the ceiling. He turns his head slightly to meet Kazutora’s gaze. “What about you?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.”

Y/n scoffs.

“Why not just say it now?”

“Don’t feel like it.”

Before they could continue their conversation, the door opens to reveal a guard. Y/n stares in shock as he sees the guard ignoring his cellmate putting the cigarette out. He doesn’t even confiscate the makeshift ashtray. He announces their departure to the outside area, cuffing them in the process before guiding them down the hall.

“You’ll get to meet my… friends.” Kazutora says without a care for the rule that demands inmates to remain silent when walking with the guards. Y/n nods before eyeing them in confusion.

He must be someone important for them to ignore him. How weird. Guess I’ll find out.

When they reached the outside, they were released from the handcuffs. Y/n glanced around at the different inmates, ranging from biggest to smallest. He eyed the different ‘cliques’ sitting amongst each other, some sitting at different tables whereas others were busy working or exercising. Some stood around while they glared at the newcomer, eyeing him up and down.

Knowing he wanted to shrink under their gazes, he ignored his anxiety and puffed his chest out subtly, straightening his back to not reveal how scared shitless he was. Kazutora eyes him from the side before finding humor in his little display of strength, the word ‘cute’ being prominent in his mind.

“Come on. They’re over here.” He drags him by the wrist gently yet forceful enough to make him move along.

Peeking from behind Kazutora as they walk, Y/n eyes a table that stands out from the rest. A short silver -headed man sits on the table’s surface, his feet plastered on the seat as he’s bent over, arms resting against his legs. Next to him is a head full of pink, a person sitting next to the man but on the seat. Behind them were two purple haired men sitting beside each other facing the other way.

Y/n took a deep breath as they got closer, right before stopping in front of them, gaining a better angle of all of their features. His hand immediately goes to the back of his neck as his heart begins to pound, sweat sliding down as intense gazes bore into him, the twins turning their head to lock eyes with e/c.

“Who’s this puny little thing?” A silky voice says with amusement, a smirk falling under the lazy purple eyes as he runs a hand through his short hair.

“Why’d you bring this scrap to the King?” The pink haired man narrows his eyes at Kazutora who only gives a closed eye smile back.

“This is Y/n. He’s my cellmate.”

“Cellmate, huh? Who cares?” The purple mullet questions with a bored expression.

Y/n shifts uncomfortably as he listens to their discussion, though the only word he recognized was his own name, he couldn’t help but fidget amongst the sunken dark voids plastered on him. The energy emitting from all of these men, especially the one with scars, is anything but welcoming.

What the fuck was this dude thinking when bringing me here with these guys?

“Well he’s cute and could be useful.” Kazutora shrugs, walking to the short man’s left and plopping on the seat before bringing one leg up to rest his arm over, leaving Y/n to awkwardly stand in place.

“You didn’t care if he was useful. You’re just bored and horny.” The scarred man hissed in response, a sneer on his face as he side - eyed the brunette.

“Bitter, Sanzu?” He responded, challenging him with a smile.

“Enough.” Amused gazes fell as the quiet voice silenced the space.

Although he spoke to the group of intimidating men, his eyes never left Y/n’s orbs, the dull expression painted on his face.

What is this guy looking at? What are they even talking about? I just want this to be over.

“Sit.” Hesitantly, Y/n complies, following Kazutora’s hand tapping the seat in between him and the tall man. Fingers wrap around Y/n’s hand, bringing the appendage to soft lips.

“Call me Ran. This…” He motioned to the man sitting beside him. “…is my younger brother, Rin.”

“Ah, okay. Well nice to meet you.” Y/n sheepishly responded, nerves still wrecked by the aura these guys emit.

His hand is released before a tap on his shoulder causes him to turn toward Kazutora. He motions for him to lean closer as his lips hover over his ear.

“That guy in the middle is my bo… name is Mikey, but you’d call him whatever he tells you to.” He whispered, breath hitting against Y/n’s ear.

Well, I won’t be saying anything to this guy cuz after this I’m keeping my distance. He seems dangerous.

“Hikaru!”

Y/n looks around in confusion until he spots a man walking from behind them, landing in front of Mikey as the Haitani brothers stand up from their seats as well as Sanzu. They all face the male and his groupies who stood behind.

“What’s going on?” Y/n questions as he watches them speak in Japanese.

“Someone fucked up.” Kazutora responds. The vague information causes Y/n’s eyebrows to furrow as he watches the unknown man and his goons with the expression of nervousness on their faces.

Mikey gives a motion with his finger before the Haitanis, Sanzu, and Kazutora walk towards the group. Y/n gasps as Sanzu’s fist lands on Hikaru’s face, the guy immediately falling to the ground despite his size. The Hataini brothers and Kazutora began to beat the rest.

Y/n watches with wide eyes as skin makes contact with skin, the amount of blood causing the impacts to create this sick squelching sound as the wet skin is broken. He covers his mouth when he sees Sanzu pull out a small knife, turning his head before hearing the slice of skin along with a blood curdling scream. He looks around to see if anyone was watching only to find everyone minding their own business, including the prison guards who are purposefully turned the other way.

Who the fuck are these guys? Why’d I have to be a cellmate to one of them? I know I killed my brother but it genuinely wasn’t a malicious act. Defense is different compared to whatever this is.

When all the men were completely knocked out and near death, they stopped their assault, blood splattered on their own uniforms as they turned back to their seats. They say back down in the same spots while fixing up their hair and wiping excess blood from their skin.

Kazutora chuckled at Y/n’s disturbed expression. His hand squeezes his thigh with a slight caress of his thumb, smearing some of the red liquid on Y/n’s uniform.

“You’ll get used to it.”

No I won’t.

Y/n could only watch as the guards pulled the victims out of their eyesight without saying a word.

After a while, everyone was ordered to go to their rooms before dinner. Instead of going to the cafeteria, Kazutora and Y/n ‘sneak’ off to Mikey and Sanzu’s cell where the rest of them are as well. He tried to stay back, claiming to have wanted to get used to his cell life only for the tattooed man to pull him along.

They spoke about Kakucho picking them up and Kokonoi’s connections in releasing them soon. They have contact with few people who are messengers from the outside that come during visitation and update the executives. Of course, Y/n just sat there feeling out of place and a little stupid for not understanding them.

Why couldn’t everything with my brother happen at home instead of this place I barely know anything about? Why’d it have to happen during a vacation?

Mikey sits on his own futon, seeming to be a part of the conversation yet his eyes look heavy. It’s as if this guy hadn’t slept in months. Y/n couldn’t help the small feeling of pity to form as this man hadn’t smiled once though who’d want to smile in prison? It reminds him of when his brother would have episodes and they would terrify him as a kid because he could hear everything being thrown around and it would distract him from sleeping. Especially when the physical fights between his brother and his other siblings or mother would occur.

During the times they would all hide in their bedrooms, and the only way for him to fall asleep was his mother who would hum a lullaby or speak affirmations as she caressed his head and face until he fell asleep. Logically speaking, he knew to keep his mouth shut and mind his business. However, considering he’s going to be here a while, he decides to step out of his comfort zone and offer some help.

He is currently sitting on the dresser next to Kazutora in between Sanzu and Mikey’s futons.

“Um, excuse me?” He dares to gently poke the short man’s leg. Black eyes meet his colored orbs.

“Do you… can I help… help with your, uh sleep?” He asks while scratching the back of his neck. Mikey stares at him in wonder though it’s blocked by his stoic expression. Finding the question interesting considering nobody has ever asked him about his problem with sleeping, he turns his head to everyone else in the room.

“Leave.” Everyone, except Sanzu, pauses their conversation before hopping up and heading to the exit of the cell. Kazutora motions for Y/n to follow who hops up from the dresser, nervous that he had somehow pissed off this guy from not minding his business.

“Y/n stays.”

Kazutora looks at Mikey and then at Y/n in confusion. Y/n shrugs, still not completely understanding what’s happening, though not wanting to be left alone. Kazutora turns and walks out, leaving Y/n with Mikey and Sanzu.

“My king, why is he here?” Sanzu glares at Y/n.

“Fall back, Sanzu.” Mikey replies before motioning for Y/n to help him.

Y/n immediately positions himself on Mikey’s futon above his head that lies on a pillow, mimicking how his mom would position herself. Sanzu reluctantly lays on his own futon, still keeping an eye on Y/n for any suspicious activity.

A little uncomfortable at first, Y/n asks, “Can I touch you? Sorry if it’s a bit much but this is what my mother used to do. It won’t be lower than your head anyway.”

Surprisingly, he nods.

“I’ll kill you if this doesn’t work.”

Although Y/n’s breath hitched, he nodded and began quietly caressing Mikey’s hair, gently working through some of the tangles before he started lightly humming. When the tangles were gone he freely caressed and pushed his fingers through the silky hair, the whole process slow and tender. The tips of his fingers accidentally stroked the pale man’s face, causing his eyes to flutter close.

Y/n’s favorite part used to be falling asleep to the sweet affirmations his mother came up with so he began singing those positive words, hoping to bring some kind of comfort so he wouldn’t be killed. After a while, steady breathing could be heard, indicating that Mikey had fallen asleep. Y/n sighs in relief, so focused on the fact that what he did worked, he forgot the eyes that had been watching the display the entire time.

After he got up slowly, he made his way to the exit before being yanked back, pulled until his back met the floor with a thud. Legs climb on either side of him before Sanzu sits on top of him with the knife at his throat. His wrists are pinned above his head.

“What did you do to Mikey?” Sanzu hissed.

“W-what do you mean? I j-just sang him my mom’s lullaby and said affirmations!” He whispered - screamed, not wanting to wake up the man who promised him death.

Blue eyes pierce his own irises as he stares him down, gazing at the terrified expression on his face. An unexplainable warm feeling bubbles in Sanzu’s stomach as he eyed the new inmate’s features. Sanzu uses the knife to slice a small wound on his arm, eyeing the pained expression that is causing his face to heat up.

He’s always liked bringing pain and fear to others, especially those deemed as traitors or scraps. However, this gave him a different type of satisfaction. He watches as Y/n sucks his teeth in pain before biting his own lip. Tears forming in the corners of his eyes yet he keeps them in, not wanting to seem weak though they already see him as fragile, unknown to him.

“I didn’t do anything to hurt your king, just let me go!” Y/n says in frustration, not understanding what the real problem is. Sanzu quietly eyed his lips, soft and a little chapped though biteable regardless. Before he could lean down, his shirt is grabbed from behind and he’s pulled off of the man.

“Why are you scaring him?” Kazutora asks, rolling his eyes as he releases the pink haired menace and helps a shaken Y/n from the floor.

“It’s small but we still have to clean it. Thanks for the extra work, I guess.” Kazutora says with his eyes half lidded, walking out with Y/n, hand in hand. Sanzu eyes the blood on the knife before bringing it to his lips and licking it. He eyes Mikey once last time before setting the knife down and laying in his futon.

The next day, for the first time Y/n got to spend his time getting used to his schedule in the prison considering Kazutora had been gone since he woke up. He hadn’t seen any of them for the entire duration of the day and it was already past lunch. He’s currently reading a book in the common area, bored out of his mind as he tries to retain the information, to no avail. Rereading the same lines just so they’ll stick in his head.

Everything has been so weird. Life doesn’t feel the same and it feels like a new season to my own show. Makes sense considering the circumstances, though.

He eyes the bandaid in remembrance of the night before. He shudders, recollecting Mikey’s threat and Sanzu’s crazed glint in his eyes. He subconsciously rubs his wrist as he shakes off the anxiety to try and focus on the book. A figure sitting at his table caught his attention, causing him to lower his book and meet gazes with an unknown man.

“Don’t worry about any greetings. I came to warn you before it’s too late.” Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed.

“What do you mean?”

“Newbie, I see you’re getting close to those crazy hair colored guys. Be careful, you don’t want to catch their attention.”

Too late for that.

“I know it’s hard and probably too late for that, but you gotta keep your distance without pissing them off somehow. They’re Bonten.”

“Bonten? What’s that?” The mystery guy’s eyebrows rose.

Y/n drops his book when the guy explains everything he knows about Bonten. Now everything is clicking. Especially when they beat those men to pulps and the guards did nothing.

“I-I’ve been talking to yakuza?” The guy nods.

“Well how am I supposed to not be around them when one of them is my cellmate and I’ve come into contact with all of them?”

“I don’t know, but you have to find a way. No matter if they like you or not, it’s not good to be in contact with those unpredictable psychopaths.”

“Oi Y/n. Is this guy bothering you?” Ran asks as he stands with a lit cigarette in hand, both men surprised as they turn their heads to meet with those lazy eyes.

“Sounds like you’re spouting bullshit, Yasu. I’d be careful running that mouth. You could lose your tongue.” Rin says with a smirk showing off his teeth.

The man known as Yasu eyes Y/n one more time. He nods at him before walking away.

“Let’s go somewhere private, shall we?” Ran throws his cigarette before motioning Y/n to follow. Although he wanted to stay in his spot, he knew that it would end badly for him if he didn’t listen.

He walks behind the brothers, leaving the common area and walking to a cell. The guards pay them all no mind as they walk into the room and shut the door.

The brothers sat on a futon, Ran pats the space in between them with a mischievous smile.

“I can sit on the other futon, there’s barely any room over there.” Y/n shrugs. He flinched when their gazes turned sour, a stoic expression that felt cold. The older brother pats the seat one more time with extra pressure. Y/n complies, sitting in between the brothers uncomfortably as the warmth from their bodies radiate against his own.

Y/n stares ahead at the opposite futon as the smiles reappear.

“So, Kazu said that you’re here for killing your brother. What’s that all about?” Rin questions. Y/n’s eyebrows furrow.

Guess I should’ve known he would’ve told them. Who asks something like that so carelessly?

“Well, I don’t really want to talk about it.”

“Why’d you kill him? Was it really an accident?”

“Yeah it was but I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Hm, how do you accidentally kill your brother?”

Y/n hops up from his seat.

“I said I didn’t want to fucking talk about it! It’s none of your goddamn business!” He growls, angry at the persistent disrespect.

His eyes widen when his shirt is grabbed and he's pulled back onto the futon, roughly hitting the back of his head against the wall.

“You’re cute when you’re mad.” Ran taunts.

“Remember who you’re talking to, Y/n.” Rin states as his grip tightens on the shirt.

“Now get over your little hissy fit and answer our questions.”

Y/n stared back with a mixture of fear and anger.

This isn’t fair.

“I-I accidentally killed my brother because he was attacking our mother. He ended up killing her right before I killed him trying to save her.” Y/n held back tears, not wanting to break down from the memories of that night being brought up. Especially not in front of these men he barely knows.

Unfortunately, the tears fell on their own, though he didn't begin to cry they still streamed down his face. Both brothers watch the tears with amusement, finding the display of his uncontrollable emotions interesting. They couldn’t help their small smirks from forming. Rin releases his grip before Ran wipes his tears.

“Now was that so hard?” He taunted.

“Fuck you.” He says before he could stop it, too caught up in his own emotions to give a shit about his well being. He goes to stand up once more before he’s blocked from moving by a hand on his chest.

“Hey, we can make you feel better.” Ran says before pulling him back to his chest by holding his shoulders. Rin places Y/n’s legs on the bed before crawling in between them.

Y/n’s eyes widen, surprised by what is taking place. His eyebrows furrow as he uses his hands to stop Rin in place.

“W-wait!”

He was interrupted by the younger brother’s lips on his own. A hand wraps around his neck from behind as Ran’s breath hits his ear.

“Kiss back with no biting or I’ll break your wrist.”

Rin moves the hands pushing him back from his body, pinning them down as he leans into the kiss, eyes staring intently into Y/n’s wide gaze.

Considering he knew that their threats were promises, he gives back, moving his lips along though still with restraint. Ran squeezes his neck as his other hand runs down his side slowly, landing on his thigh as he pulls up once more. Y/n’s skin tingles from the contact through his uniform. He tears his gaze from Rin before pulling his face back.

Turning away only forces him to reveal his neck. The only sounds that could be heard were lips smacking against skin, Rin nibbling and suckling against Y/n’s neck. Behind him, he could feel a hard pressure against his lower back. He breathes heavily once he feels Ran’s fingers rolling and pulling his nipple.

“Guys, please wait.” He says as he struggles in the brother’s tight grips. He feels his wrist become released as a new pressure forms on his erection.

“You Sure about that?” Rin asks against his neck, lightly squeezing as emphasis. Y/n’s cock twitches in response, though he uses his free hand to push the younger Haitani back.

“Yes I’m sure!” He exclaims, frustration occurring as his emotions have been dragged all over the place. He gasps in pain as both his nipple and cock are squeezed tightly, bringing discomfort from the force.

“Haven’t you guys had enough of assaulting Y/n?”

Y/n sighs in relief as they stop from hearing Kazutora’s voice, the thankful man eyeing his standing figure.

When Rin pulls back and Ran releases Y/n, he awkwardly pushes himself off the bed, not even bothering to cover his hard - on in desperation of escaping out of the situation.

“Well, we were just getting started.” Ran shrugged. He kept his legs wide open without a care of his own erection showing through his pants.

Kazutora gives them a bored look before grabbing Y/n’s wrist and pulling him along. They walk down the hall, heading to their cells.

“You just can’t keep them off you, huh?” He snickers. Y/n gapes.

“I-I don’t even do anything! I’m so confused. Also why did you tell them about my brother, Hanemiya?”

“I already told you to call me Kazutora or Kazu, L/n. Don’t be a jerk.” Y/n’s eyes widened as they reached their cell. They walk in and shut the door before Y/n continues.

“I never told you my last name.”

“It’s not hard to find.” Kazutora shrugs.

“Why did you tell them about my brother?”

“I don’t like how you’re treating me after I just saved you, Y/n. I can talk about whatever I want.”

“Yeah, but they just used that shit against me! Fucking interrogating me about my own life because you ran your mouth!”

“That’s not my problem. I can’t control what they do.” He stares at Y/n with a stoic expression.

“It’s only the second day and there’s so much that has happened.” Y/n paces as he takes deep breaths, still angry from his interaction with the brothers.

“You’ve only had like two incidents.”

“Yeah I got threatened like 3 or 4 times, cut with a knife, and sexually assaulted.”

“Welcome to prison? I don’t know what you want me to say.” Kazutora chuckles.

I know I’m in prison but this is a lot, or am I just overreacting? My emotions felt valid but now I’m second guessing it all.

Y/n drops on his futon and turns over into a fetal position. Numbness taking over as the feeling of loneliness crept in. He covered his whole body, including his head with his blanket. Kazutora sighs.

“I’ll help you rest, yeah?”

Although Y/n shook his head no, he didn’t push Kazutora away when he sat above his head and began to caress him while humming the tune he listened to when he was eavesdropping on Y/n and Mikey. The melody echoes through the quiet room as Y/n drifts off to sleep, Kazutora watching the entire time after he pulls the cover off of his head. Once he woke up, Kazutora was nowhere in sight. A guard took his place, telling him that it was time for showers.

Once he is guided to the showers, the guard releases him. He walks to one of the faucets and turns it on while placing his supplies next to him, along with his towel and clean uniform. He undresses and he washes his body as well as his hair, adding shampoo when needed along with conditioner. Once he’s finished with his hair, he focuses on soaping his body up and rinsing. Once he turns the faucet off he dries himself off before lathering himself with lotion and applying deodorant. He dresses himself and heads to his cell to drop his stuff off before dinner.

When he reached the cafeteria, he went to the line. He grabbed his tray of food and looked for seating. He found an empty table and sat, the group he knew non-existent. Once he finished eating, he throws his stuff out and exits along with a guard. He grabs his hygienic supplies for the bathroom before heading there.

When he reaches the room, he hears thuds and impacts. Furrowing his eyebrows, he minds his own business, beginning to brush his teeth before he looks through the mirror at a familiar guy getting stabbed repeatedly.

“Yasu!” He exclaimed before he could stop himself. The group of men scurry off when they’ve been caught, giving menacing looks as they leave a beaten and bloodied Yasu on the ground, laying in his own pile of blood and bathroom grime.

“No, no, no!” Y/n yells out as he crouches over. Sure they barely know each other but Yasu was a nice enough guy to warn Y/n of prison troubles. He didn’t deserve this brutal death.

“Y-y/n!” He coughs out. “Th-they did this. St-stay away!” He gasps as he gags on his own blood.

“Y/n.” The voice startles Y/n as he looks at the culprit. He breathes in fear as he sees Mikey and his mad dog staring at the pair.

“We need to talk.”

“I-I would need to drop my stuff off in my room.” He says as he stands from his position, moving away from the dying man.

“The guard will do it.” Mikey responds before turning on his heel, walking out of the bathroom. Sanzu follows as Y/n hurries behind them.

Fuck, fuck, fuck! How am I supposed to stay away from them? They’ll hurt me if I reject them.

“Uh…um Mikey? I’m pretty tired. Could this wait till the morning, maybe?”

They all halt their movements. Only Sanzu turns to side eye Y/n.

“How dare you question the King?” Mikey holds a hand up to Sanzu.

“Come on, Y/n.”

They all begin walking towards Mikey and Sanzu’s cell. They walk in before the guards lock the door behind them. Sanzu pulls Y/n on the futon while he sits behind him, mimicking Ran’s position from a few hours before only this time, their feet were plastered on the floor.

“Uh, what’s going on? Why am I here?”

“My king wanted to thank you for last night.” Y/n’s eyebrows furrowed. “So be grateful to his generosity.” He grips Y/n’s waist, his nails digging into his sides through the fabric causing him to flinch.

When Y/n saw Mikey position himself on his knees, the idea flew through his head.

“Oh, uh! Mikey! You don’t need to do this!” He exclaims. He uses his hands to block Mikey which did nothing considering Sanzu helped him undo his jumpsuit.

When his chest was revealed, they completely forced it off of his arms as Sanzu circled his arms back around Y/n’s waist. Mikey pulled the suit completely off as well as pulling down Y/n’s underwear.

“You’re already hard.” Mikey murmured, wrapping his hand around the veiny girth.

Mikey dragged his tongue up the length before circling his lips around the head. The cock twitches as he sucks softly before dropping his mouth all the way to the base, deep throating the length as he holds it there before pulling back and repeating the process. Y/n holds back from moaning as he bites his lip, his fingers digging into the futon and grabbing the blanket. His head drops on Sanzu’s shoulder as the pinkette dips his head low, biting the skin on his neck until he draws blood and a cry out of that pretty mouth.

Mikey continued bobbing his head as he accelerates, gag reflex non-existent as he takes the dick in his throat like a pro. Saliva and precum drip down the length and stain the corners of his mouth as he sucks it all the way in. He stops for a moment before sucking his own fingers thoroughly, allowing saliva to drip down his hand as he wets his fingers. Sanzu takes the opportunity to grab Y/n’s thighs and pull his legs back to give Mikey more of an opening.

As he pushes the finger in, he takes his cock in his mouth once more. Y/n clenched around the finger as his cock throbs. Sweat drips down his forehead as he rocks his hips forward in reflex, a small groan escaping his lips as Mikey eyes him from below.

“Feels good?” Sanzu whispers in his ear.

Although the pleasure is overtaking the pain from his ass, Y/n doesn’t want to enable what they’re doing so he ignores him. Only for nails to dig into his thighs roughly, leaving indents and small bleeding cuts. Sanzu’s cock twitches at the way Y/n’s body reacts to the pain by tensing and yelping.

“Tell me, Y/n. Does it feel good?”

“Yes!” He exclaims in pain when Mikey adds two other fingers at the same time, angling it to his prostate as he sucks his cock faster. Y/n’s hips rock as his spot is beaten and cock is engulfed by warmth. His mouth hangs open as he closes his eyes. His back moves against Sanzu’s erection through his fabric causing him to give small moans in his ear, pressing it harder against his back. The sound of Mikey’s wet mouth rubbing against his cock brought a warm sensation to his stomach, his body tenses as he convulses, finally releasing into his throat as the short man swallows it all.

They all breathe heavily when it’s over, Sanzu and Mikey’s cocks are completely hard and ready for a release. Not wanting to rile them up further, Y/n jumps out of their holds and quickly puts his underwear and jumpsuit on before rushing out of the room. Embarrassment colors his face as he damn near runs to his cell.

They’re using me as some fucking toy because they’re bored. They’re taking me as some kind of whore they can do whatever they want with at anytime and it’s not fucking fair.

When he reaches his cell, he immediately goes to his bed and covers himself, drifting off to sleep after a while of shameful sulking.

“Rise and shine, Y/n. Time for us to go.” Kazutora smiles.

Huh? What do you mean?” He asks, rubbing his eyes.

“We’re being released from prison.” He states with excitement.

Y/n sits up with his eyebrows furrowed.

“They know who to mess with. I won’t be here for long anyway.” He takes a pull from his cigarette…

“Yeah you’re leaving, but I’m supposed to be here for years.”

“Then why did the guard come to release you as well?”

“Hurry up inmates, we’re on a schedule.”

“We’re not inmates anymore.” Kazutora sticks his tongue out.

The entire process of release Y/n was very confusing as he followed the guards and rest of the yakuza out of the prison. After they walk out in the original clothes they wore when they were imprisoned, Kazutora pulls Y/n to the black tinted car that’s waiting for their arrival.

Y/n hesitates.

“Wait, this means this is a goodbye. I’m going home.”

Kazutora halts his movement, still gripping Y/n’s wrist before turning to face him with a smile.

“You are coming home Y/n. Why do you think we went through the trouble of breaking you out?”

“What?”

“Yeah. You have nobody else nor your mother’s home anymore so where else would you go? Who else would’ve picked you up?”

“N-no, my siblings…”

“Your siblings abandoned you here. They didn’t want to be around a murderer.” Kazutora’s face turned stoic as he spoke.

“Don’t say that. It’s not like that and you know it!” He yanks his wrist out of Kazutora’s grip.

“I’m just saying their point of view. It doesn’t matter anyway considering they’re all dead.”

“What the fuck are you saying to me, Hanemiya?” Y/n exclaims.

“I’m just telling you the truth, L/n.”

“No, did you and your goons do something to them?”

“I’d watch what comes out of my mouth if I were you. Come on.” He yanks Y/n along as they walk to the car. Y/n pushes him away as he yanks his arm back though Kazutora doesn’t release in the slightest. His grip tightens painfully as it causes Y/n to almost drop to his knees, his free hand grabbing Kazutora’s wrist in reflex.

“Let me go, Kazutora!”

“Go where? You have nowhere else to go. You should be grateful.”

“Y/n!” A voice sung, interrupting their dispute.

He gasps in response as he sees a gun pointed in his direction from a certain pink - haired fiend.

“Be a doll and get in the car, yeah?”

With one last look at the golden eyed man with anger plastered on his expression, he makes his way to the car, Kazutora walking behind him.

[ekingston]

For the fic game: Kara and Lena meet in a book store as they're about to pick the same book. It's the last one so they kind of fight over it, each trying to prove why the book is important to them

(Also on ao3.)

Kara doesn’t recognize her at first. She’s wearing jeans, for one, and it’s not as if Kara is checking her out, per se, but she’d be a liar if she said she isn’t a tiny bit mortified when she realizes the backside she’s been admiring belongs to none other than Lena Luthor, the tech mogul, philanthropist and all around human marvel who Kara is no longer allowed to talk about to her sister, for some reason. She’s just. Here, in the bookstore around the corner from Kara’s office, browsing the stacks as if that’s a thing people still do even when they could probably afford to, like. Buy up Amazon, or something. 

Kara makes an honest effort to stop ogling Lena’s ass in favor of figuring out whether she should say something to her. She hangs back, reaching to adjust her glasses before becoming worried her nervous fingers may knock them down and accidentally reveal more than just the fact that Lena Luthor’s butt looks terrific in jeans. She changes her mind, hastily shoving her hand in her pocket instead, but not before she thwacks it into an inconveniently located display, sending a selection of Dummies guides flying in every direction. 

Kara is already scrambling to pick them up by the time the sound of it reaches Lena’s ears, already on her knees and flustered by the time Lena turns around. 

“Oh!” Lena says, her eyes wide and startled. She’s wearing a pair of glasses herself, huge and heavy-rimmed. “Oh!” she says again, eyelashes fluttering, and then, “I know you.” 

And she doesn’t, see, that’s the thing. Not really. Kara has only met Lena three times, and at least two of them were under less-than-ideal circumstances. Kara wouldn’t blame Lena if she didn’t remember her at all, especially when she technically wasn’t even Kara during the second one of those meetings, when she had plucked Lena’s wobbling chopper from a surprisingly unfriendly sky.

(Lena today looks lovelier even than she had looked during that hectic, disheveled encounter, which, in spite of the fact that Lena had been sort of busy surviving her own attempted murder, had been rather extraordinary, in Kara’s opinion. Alex was somewhat less impressed, even after the third time Kara patiently explained it to her.)

Kara tries to give Lena a smile that’s as intelligent and put-together as she can manage under the current circumstances. “Yeah, um.” She rises to her feet, keeping her fingers carefully folded around the books she’s retrieved from the floor. “It’s Kara—”

“Kara Danvers,” Lena finishes with a small, quizzical smile. “Of Catco magazine. Of course.”

And Kara can’t for the life of her figure out why it’s so ridiculously flattering to have this amazing woman place her immediately like this, or why her own name sounds so much prettier when it’s spoken with that peculiar, impeccable diction Lena Luthor has, rolling from lips that are free of the red tint Kara has become accustomed to seeing. This is out-of-office Lena Luthor, Kara realizes. A Saturday morning Lena Luthor, who loiters, perhaps even moseys, who lingers in bookstore aisles long enough to make even the densest version of Kara Zor-El realize (eventually) that she is, in fact, blocking her access to the very section Kara had come here for.

It’s also a Lena Luthor who smiles at her with genuine kindness. It crinkles the skin at the corners of Lena’s eyes just slightly, just an utterly captivating smidge. “That’s quite a selection,” she tells Kara, her voice warm with humor. 

Kara blinks at her a few times, and then asks, elegantly, “What?”

Lena gives the books in Kara’s strangling grip a sharply amused glance. Dad’s Guide to Pregnancy for Dummies, Kara discovers when she follows Lena’s gaze, and also Ukulele Exercises, Catholicism, and, perhaps most incriminatingly, Raising Goats. For Dummies, naturally.

“Well,” Kara says. “That certainly paints a picture.” 

Lena is grinning, now. “It looks like you have quite the weekend ahead of you.”

Kara rallies. “Don’t judge,” she chides with a cordial glare. “We all have our own ways to relax and unwind.”

“We do.” Lena’s laugh is melodious. “However I’d argue most of them don’t involve siring baby goats.”

“You would say that,” Kara improvises with a surreptitious look at Lena’s shopping basket, “But I bet your choices are actually more unconventional than mine.” 

When Lena’s cheeks promptly flush a dusky pink, Kara fights the urge to lower her glasses a little and get a closer look — because she’s almost sure that, tucked underneath To Paradise and The Song of Achilles, she just spotted a copy of the very book Kara herself came here to buy.

The very, very sexy, very queer book Kara came here to buy.

(It’s for research.)

(Kara is interviewing the author on Monday.)

(The fact that Kara is also a huge fan of her work is irrelevant.)

Lena deflects Kara’s remark after only a moment’s hesitation. “Kara Danvers,” she drawls, smoothly placing her body between Kara and her intended purchases, “reporter for Catco magazine.” Kara gulps when Lena aims a single severe eyebrow at her, because this woman’s casual nudge a month ago accounts for an easy ninety percent of the reason Kara now holds that position, and she hadn’t held it last time they spoke. Lena chides, sounding scandalized, “Are you asking me about my weekend plans?”

“No!” Kara shouts. “I would never be so forward, or cross that— I mean. Journalistic integrity is—” She flails, just a little, just for a minute or so, and then she blurts, “Is that a copy of T. Mercer’s Tickled Ink I saw in your basket?”

Lena goes very still, her former fluster hidden away behind a flawless mask of cool composure. A flutter of movement in the muscle at the hinge of her jaw is the only indication she hasn’t gone full Nora Fries. This is objectively terrible. Kara has terrified a perfectly adorable Saturday morning Lena Luthor, and now she has anxiety. 

“‘Cause I’m, um,” Kara attempts. She takes a breath. Anything to defrost Lena Luthor, maybe make her smile at her again. “I’m. Actually here for that one, myself.”

Lena’s eyes focus sharply, but her shoulders also ease, like, a millimeter, maybe even a millimeter and a half. “I’m sorry,” she says, and Kara’s already bursting forth to assure her she’s the one who should be apologizing when Lena finishes, flinching, “I think I got the last copy they had.”

Which is, hmm. Inconvenient, Kara wants to file it away as, but in truth it’s a little bit more than that. Because there’s the interview, on Monday. And this is the first in-person interview the author has ever agreed to, after countless emails and under strict order of secrecy regarding her real-life identity, and Kara already feels a kinship with her because of that. And Kara’s read her book, obviously, read all of them, the day they came out in fact, but she doesn’t have a physical copy of this latest one yet, and she’d really like to have the author sign it, maybe even add a little dedication saying Kara is her most persistent fan or something like that.

“Oh,” Kara says.

It gets Lena to soften her posture again, at least. “Are you—” Lena hesitates, seems to need a moment to muster her resolve. “Are you familiar with her work?”

Kara needs a moment too, mainly to stop being distracted by the observation that one of Lena’s eyes seems to be slightly less green than the other so she can choose her next move wisely. Kara can’t tell her the truth, she decides — if she gives away how much she loves the author, she ruins her chances of getting a physical copy before the interview. 

Also Lena may start doubting her journalistic integrity, which, gosh. Kara can’t even stand the thought.

“Yeah,” she says. Lena’s eyebrows rise in question. Not good enough. “I mean, a little?” Kara amends. She sends up a prayer for forgiveness and closes her eyes. “It’s pretty run-of-the-mill escapist fodder, I guess.” 

Lena’s eyes also shutter, behind long, thick lashes. “Oh,” she says. “Right.” They’re a deep inky black, even without her usual makeup. They form a pretty neat contrast with, you know, with the delicate pallor of her cheeks. She gives Kara a stiff little smile. “More of a guilty pleasure, then.” 

“Sure,” Kara says with a miserable sigh, “Her romance arcs are actually a little… trite, you know?” Kara presses her lips together in an effort to keep her bottom lip from wobbling. Okay, that actually hurt to say.

Lena’s hum is unexpectedly shrill. “Trite,” she echoes, the color returning to her cheeks, and good — Kara almost has her where she needs her. Bolstered by Lena’s obvious distaste, Kara breathes out a final volley. 

“Yeah,” she cries, “plus,” she lies, “the characters are—” just say it “one-dimensional, their motivations completely mystifying and ever-changing.” Lena is practically scowling now, fortifying Kara’s breaking heart with hope her betrayal will be worth it, in the end. “It’s also pretty obvious she has no idea how to write a proper ending,” Kara finishes with a whimper, convinced she’s stuck the landing.

Lena folds her arms in front of her body, the gesture only mildly impeded by the shopping basket looped around her wrist. “You sure seem familiar with her work,” she says. “For someone who claims to hate it so much.” 

Kara freezes. “Hmm?”

Lena narrows her eyes at her.

Kara blows out a slow breath through her mouth and sniffs, her eyes still dripping. “You don’t want that book,” she pouts in a childish last-ditch effort.

Lena’s voice is every bit the CEO Kara had first faced safely ensconced in her cousin’s shadow. “And why is that?”

“It’s, well—” Kara clears the remaining phlegm from her throat. “It’s not… for you. Trust me.”

Lena huffs out a disbelieving laugh. “You barely know me.”

“Well.” Kara takes a breath, searching the ceiling for her next clue. Gotcha! “I know you’re not gay.”

Lena’s mouth and eyebrows all curve in different directions, a face journey so fascinating Kara just stares at it for a couple of beats. Her features eventually settle in an expression that reads as— comical derision? Kara isn’t sure, it’s so complex. Lena Luthor is a very complex woman. “I mean.” Kara panics. “Are you?”

Lena opens her mouth and blinks a few times before actual words come out. “I suppose that depends,” she finally says. 

Kara’s terrified to ask, but also she absolutely has to know the answer. “On what?”

There’s that severe eyebrow again. “On whether we’re on the record yet,” Lena says simply.

Kara’s stomach lurches. “No,” she says. “Listen.” She tugs at her collar, suddenly uncomfortably aware of the supersuit beneath her button-down. “I’m here on my day off,” she assures her. “I’m not— and. ‘Yet?’ We don’t have, like, anything scheduled, or—”

“Don’t we?” Lena interrupts her tailspin. Kara watches her, uncomprehending, as Lena fishes the copy of Tickled Ink from her shopping basket before setting it gently down on the floor. “Can I borrow that pen?” She gestures elegant fingers at Kara’s breast pocket and the pen is in Lena’s hand before Kara remembers she’s not supposed to use superspeed when she’s in her civvies. 

Lena blinks between Kara’s position a respectful couple of feet away and the pen in her hand for a couple of seconds before she starts flicking graceful strokes of ink onto the title page. “Seems like we both have some introductions to make,” she muses, and then she angles the book so Kara can read what she’s written.

Kara stares at the inscription.

Tess Mercer, it says, in a pleasing, loopy script, echoing the name of the author printed just below it. And above, To my dear friend and most oblivious fan,

“Should I make it out to Kara Danvers?” Lena asks, eyeing the collar of Kara’s shirt where Kara has been tugging at it. “Or to Supergirl?”

-

“For me?” Kara asks, already blushing under Lena’s fixed attention and the color of her voice. 

When they eventually sit down for that interview two days later, opting for lunch at a cozy café, Lena’s fingers find Kara’s own when she discloses she’d been meaning to buy the book for Kara all along, reminding Kara one of her emails had mentioned she owned only a digital copy. 

“I’ve always preferred a good paperback, myself,” Lena tells Kara with a wolfish grin, sliding a wrapped gift across the table between them.

Flirting is the title. For Dummies.

“Oh yes,” Lena croons.

Kara swallows when she tears the paper to reveal a lurid yellow cover.

“Figured it might come in handy,” Lena says before taking a big, toothy bite. “You know." She winks. "For your big interview.”

[odyssean-flower]

The Winding Path of Fate Chapter 8 - Summer: Honeymoon Prelude

Masterpost

Pairing: Neuvillette x Female Reader Summary: Furina shows up and bothers Neuvillette about his marriage Warnings: None except for the fact that this story is 50% written based on vibes Note: I update this story on AO3 first so please subscribe to the fic there if you’d like to read it faster Note 2: If you want to be on the taglist for this fic, please make a reply to this post, send a message or send a private ask

Have a pic of Neuvillette hanging out at Dvalin's place

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“My dear Iudex, you’ve been making yourself awfully scarce lately, haven’t you?”  

The doors of Neuvillette’s office doors flew open along with that voice, belonging to the last person he wanted to see right now. Of course, she chose the perfect moment to make her entrance—during his tea break, when he couldn’t use the excuse of work to force her to leave.  

“Lady Furina,” he inclined his head. He had an inkling as to what this conversation was going to be about, and he had prepared himself for it. “I do not quite understand what you mean.”  

“You leave the opera house as soon as possible whenever we’re both present at a trial, and your schedule is mysteriously arranged so that you’re out of the office whenever I’m free. How very odd, wouldn’t you agree? It’s almost as if you’re avoiding me, but why ever would you do that?”   

Furina put her hand on her hips, a knowing smile on her face. Ah, she wishes to draw this out, Neuvillette thought, then refilled his cup and took a sip of water.  

“As you know, Furina, summer is the season when crime rates skyrocket, which means a higher workload. For both of us,” Neuvillette said. “You are, of course, welcome to schedule an appointment with Sedene in the main lobby, if you wish to chat with me. We’ll do our best to accommodate you into our schedule.”  

Furina raised an eyebrow. “Are you being serious right now? I’m your superior, and you answer to me, so why do I have to make an appointment to speak to you? And besides, the crime rate has always increased during the summer for the past five hundred years and probably beyond that, and yet I never had any trouble finding you for a chat...until this year. I do wonder what changed.”  

“What may be the case for previous years may not be the same for the present. Now, if you will excuse me, my break is almost over.”  

Furina glared at him. “You’re really going to drag this out, are you?”  

Neuvillette closed his eyes and took another sip of water. “I’m afraid I do not know what you are talking about.”  

“Oh, really? Playing dumb is not a good look on you, my dear Chief Justice,” Furina said, then began to walk around the office leisurely. She stopped in front of a framed painting near Neuvillette’s desk. “My, my, what’s this? A new painting in your office? When was the last time you added a new decoration to your office, fifty years ago? Although, I must say, it certainly clashes with the rest of the décor in here, with how gloomy the subject is, and the amateurish technique. Shall I suggest some excellent artists for you to commission?”  

“There will be no need for that,” Neuvillette stood up and walked over to Furina, semi-blocking the painting from her view. A simple glimpse of the misty hues and the memories they evoked calmed him slightly. “You have no authority over what I choose to put in my office.”   

“Oh?” Furina smirked up at him triumphantly, as though she had landed a point in a game. “So this painting is important to you, eh? Or perhaps...the artist themselves?”  

Neuvillette remained silent and turned back towards his desk. He knew Furina for far too long to understand that in situations like these, ignoring her was the best way to handle her.  

As he sat back down in his chair, he heard indignant footsteps follow him.  

“Quit it, Neuvillette!” Furina slammed her hands down onto his desk and bent down, glaring at him. “I know you’re married!”  

“Yes,” Neuvillette said. “I am. In accordance with your wishes, or should I say, orders for me.”  

“Is that all you’re going to say to me?”  

“What do you mean? I do not see what more there is to say regarding this topic.”  

Furina stared at him incredulously, her mouth agape. “You do not see? You, the Iudex of Fontaine, do not see what more there is to say to your Archon , the one who kindly advised you to try experiencing the joys of matrimony, about your marriage ?”  

“I did inform you.”  

“In a single-sentence letter!” Furina slammed her hands against his desk again, causing him to wince slightly. “One of the most anticipated events in Fontaine’s history, and not even a single notice in the Steambird’s marriage announcement sections! Was there even a wedding, or did you just sign your names in the registry book?”  

“The marriage was valid in the eyes of the law.”  

“So you didn’t even hold a ceremony?” Furina exclaimed. “I cannot believe this, Neuvillette. The marriage of a man of your rank and status should have been a grand celebration all throughout Fontaine! There should have been a whole month of performances at the opera! Street festivals every day! A beautiful, eight-hour-long ceremony with me officiating!”   

“That sounds immensely disruptive to the public order, not to mention a logistics nightmare.”  

“So? At least it would be an enjoyable and memorable experience for all the citizens of Fontaine. I bet your idea of a fun celebration would be to stare at the sea for a whole day and making everyone drink your precious water, or something boring like that.”  

Neuvillette said nothing. Furina, for all her faults, understood him all too well.   

“As a public figure, Neuvillette, you should remember that everything you do affects them, and that they are all watching you. That doesn’t only go for judgments and the like, but also your personal matters. Don’t you think that you owe the people a small share in your newfound happiness?”  

Neuvillette’s brow furrowed slightly. Though he admittedly found Furina’s logic puzzling most of the time, he did somewhat see her point, and she did have more experience than him with understanding the thinking of the people...  

Furina, sensing him waver, clapped her hands together. “It’s still not too late to make this the event of the year. No, the century! I can contact the Steambird to put up a full page announcement, and we need to get started on wedding planning right away--”  

“I am afraid that I must decline,” Neuvillette said, standing up and staring down at Furina. “That was a moving speech you gave, Furina, but you seemed to have forgotten one thing. You were the one who continuously insisted that I get married, but you have stipulated nothing else. A marriage is a private matter between the individuals involved, and they, and only they, have the right to decide how their marriage will be. My wife and I have mutually decided that there will be no ceremony, and we are both perfectly content with that decision.”  

“ Both of you?” Furina raised an eyebrow. “How very interesting. Did both of you decide to keep this marriage so private as well?”  

“Yes, we have. It was in our best interests.”  

“I'm assuming there was no honeymoon as well, also mutually agreed upon by you both? Please tell me you at least took her out on a date!”  

Date. Neuvillette startled at that word. He wasn’t sure why. “I have not.”  

“And she is perfectly happy with this? You’ve asked her?”  

“I fail to see how any of this is relevant to you. As I have told you many times, this is a personal matter between me and my wife.”  

Furina shook her head with a mixture of exasperation and pity. “My dear Iudex...it appears that you have completely missed the point of why I made the suggestion for you to marry. And your choice of a bride...I don’t know how you did it, but you seemed to have perfectly matched with someone as dull as you are. Either that, or she is so completely terrified of you that she is merely going along with whatever you tell her.”  

“Do not talk about her in that way. You know nothing about her,” Neuvillette gritted out, then stood and glared down at Furina once more, even as he felt seeds of doubt planted in his heart. His wife generally went along with whatever he said. He had always assumed that it was because they had similar temperaments, but could he be mistaken? This was far from the first time that he had mistaken assumptions about humans.  

But Furina wasn’t intimidated in the slightest by that stern gaze, which was usually enough to strike fear into the hearts of anyone unfortunate to be on their receiving end. In fact, she let out a loud peal of laughter.  

“Oh, this is just perfect!” the Hydro Archon laughed, perching herself on Neuvillette’s desk. “I’ve never seen you react like that for a human before! Your bride must truly be someone extraordinary. I must meet her!”  

“No, you will not,” Neuvillette said firmly. “You wished for me to marry, and I have. My wife and I have no need for your meddling in our private lives.”  

Though the marriage was a sham, though the strange new feelings that arose within him lately confused him, one singular conviction burned brightly within his heart: to protect the peace of his wife—his friend—no matter what.  

As you walked out of the eleavator of the Palais Mermonia to the first floor, you saw groups of people here and there, talking animatedly about something. They were throwing frequent glances at the doors to Neuvillette’s office.  

Did something happen? You wondered with not a little bit of worry. You had just left the license office on the seventh floor after asking about your position on the waiting list (you had barely progressed, but you felt a strange sense of relief upon learning that). Originally, you had planned on visiting the office every week to ask about it—you've learned from your short time dealing with the bureaucracy of the Palais that things tended to speed up considerably when you made yourself known frequently.   

But recently, you found yourself less...vigilant when it came to such things. It was so easy to relax when you weren’t constantly worrying about your budget and studying rigorously, or when you were living with someone who genuinely seemed to enjoy your company, who looked you straight in the eye instead of past you at someone better.  

A knot of tension that you had been carrying around for a long time loosened just a little. You only ever felt this feeling when you were reading about Remuria.  

It had become much more difficult to suppress that voice in your head telling you to relax, asking you, “Don't you want more?”   

For someone like you, who needed to concentrate wholeheartedly on your own future, having an idle mind was a dangerous thing.  

“Sedene, is there something going on with Monsieur Neuvillette?” you asked the Melusine at the front desk, who was nervously looking at the shut doors of the office. She jumped at your voice.  

“Oh, Madame!” she exclaimed in a whisper. Was it just your imagination, or did she look even more nervous. “I would highly recommend you to not visit Monsieur Neuvillette right now.”  

I wasn’t going to, you thought, but didn’t say it aloud. Visiting him at work seemed to cross an invisible line. “Why not?”  

Before Sedene could answer, the doors flew open, and the Hydro Archon herself marched out, looking incensed.   

“Don’t you forget, Neuvillette, that I will get my way in the end,” she turned back and declared, then tossed her hair and strode right past you, presumably to her apartments. She didn’t spare a single glance at you.  

Whoa. This is the first time I’ve seen Lady Furina up close. She had that same immortal, untouchable aura that Neuvillette also had. Just what you’d expect from a god.  

Once she left the main floor, people began to discuss the events that had just occurred loudly and in earnest. You, however, weren’t paying any attention to them. You were looking at Neuvillette’s office, where you could see the man himself standing at his desk, staring down at it. Occasionally, he glanced at something on the wall. You couldn’t see his expression from here, but you didn’t feel you needed to. He was upset.  

You looked back at Sedene almost reflexively. “Go,” she nodded encouragingly. You looked around briefly. No one was looking in your direction.  

You took in a deep breath to shake off your nerves, even though this was just a simple check-in on your husband? Friend? Neither of those words felt right.  

Don’t overthink this. Just keep things natural, you told yourself, then walked inside the office, closing the doors behind you.  

You couldn’t help but look around at the office as you approached the desk. It was a lot more spacious than you imagined and had an air of elegance that matched its owner.   

Neuvillette didn’t seem to have noticed your entrance. He was still staring at his desk. You could see the deep furrow between his brows, and the frown on his lips. What did he and Lady Furina argue about for him to be brooding over it so much?  

Now that you were here, you had no idea what to say. But you couldn’t just leave now. At that moment, you spotted his silver cup, nearly empty. There was a glass pitcher on a side table. You slowly walked over to it and picked it up, then refilled his cup. He looked up at your movements., and his eyes widened when his eyes landed on your face.   

“Here, Monsieur Neuvillette,” you offered the water to him. “I think you might need it.”  

His hand slowly stretched out to take the cup from you, but his eyes never left your face. “Madame, what are you doing here?”  

“W-Well, I, um...” you fidgeted. “I was just visiting the license office, and then, I saw that there was a c-commotion going on here, and then Lady Furina came out, and you looked very...” Your voice trailed off when you saw his expression change. The troubled look on his face was wiped away like a slate being cleaned, and his usual look returned.  

“You should not have come here. It is better if you do not visit me at the Palais.”  

“Oh...okay,” a wave of disappointment rose up inside your chest. It was understandable, really. Your relationship with Neuvillette needed to be kept as low-key and secretive as possible, and you shouldn’t interrupt him at work—it would only distract him (were you a distraction? Did you qualify as one?). Besides, visiting his workplace was such a...wifely thing to do. “I’m sorry. I was just worried about how you were doing, but I can just ask you at home. I’ll take my leave now, sir. Goodbye.”  

“No, please wait, Madame,” Neuvillette came around to your side of the desk as you slowly backed away. “I apologize for my earlier brusqueness. I was not myself. Please, feel free to stay here.”  

“I shouldn’t...” you said. It was clear that Neuvillette was trying his best to maintain his polite demeanour. “I would only distract you from your important work.”  

“I could use a distraction right now,” Neuvillette said. Wow, that fight with Lady Furina must have been bad, you thought. “And I would very much like to talk to you. That is, if you would like to. I do not wish to force you. ”  

Something in his voice made you stop backing away. It almost sounded like a plea.   

You sat down on the blue couch next to his desk, and Neuvillette likewise sat down in his chair.  

For a few minutes, neither of you spoke. You stared at the wall across from you, at the gramophone in the corner, at the window behind him. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Neuvillette staring at the papers on his desk, occasionally taking a sip of water.  

Should I ask what happened, or should I wait for him to talk about it, you puzzled over the dilemma. Neuvillette wasn’t the type to talk about himself, so it would probably be better if you brought it up, but on the other hand, what if the argument with Furina was about something confidential, like trials or governance, something not meant for you to know?  

Surprisingly, it was Neuvillette who spoke first.   

“Madame, earlier you said that you were visiting the license office. How did it go?”  

“Huh?” you blinked in confusion. That was unexpected. “Oh, um, well, I suppose. I haven’t progressed much on the waiting list at all.”  

“Ah, I see. How unfortunate to hear. But don’t lose heart, I have no doubt that you will get your license in due time.”  

Neuvillette’s expression didn’t change much as he said those words. You weren’t sure what you were expecting.  

“Yes, I know. I hope so too.”  

Another silence. You decided to use this opportunity to ask him about his argument with Furina. “So--”  

“The sunflower seeds you’ve planted seem to be growing well. They seem to be growing taller every time I see them.”  

“...They are, although it would take more than a month before they can bloom.”  

It had been a few weeks since your parents sent you the sunflower seeds. You decided to plant them by the front door as well as in the garden, near the porch door. Despite Neuvillette’s mysterious promise to “do something about the rain,” you had been prepared to go outside to water the seedlings frequently, but sure enough, there had been a full two weeks of rain. Not the long and violent rainstorms of the earlier rainy season, but briefer, gentler showers that were suitable for young, fragile sprouts. These rains seemed to belong in spring rather than summer.  

When you had remarked upon the timeliness and aptness of the rains to Neuvillette, he had said something vague like, “Perhaps someone out there heard your request,” but was amusingly disgruntled when you suggested that the “someone” was most likely Furina, who being the God of Hydro was the most logical answer. “I have my doubts about that,” was all he said.  

You weren’t a fool. You knew that Neuvillette probably used his powers to make it rain. Of course, that was just an assumption, since he disappointingly never used his powers in front of you. For all you knew, he could only breathe fire or something. But still, it was fun to tease him a little by thanking Furina out loud whenever it rained.  

“They would be a sight to behold when the time comes,” Neuvillette said. “I am very much looking forward to it.”  

You nodded. “We should take pictures and invite the Melusines.”  

Now was your chance to ask him. “But putting that aside, what—”  

“Speaking of the Melusines, I’ve heard from them that they have been enjoying your drawing lessons very much.”  

You stared at him. He was definitely doing this on purpose. “I’m glad to hear that, it was enjoyable for me as well,” you said at last when Neuvillette showed no sign of relenting.   

“Were there any difficulties?”  

“It was tough at first,” you admitted. “Since Melusines don’t have fingers, so it was difficult for me to teach them how to grip a pencil properly. And the way they see color is different from humans, too, which leads to a lot of fascinating results when it comes to coloring. But other than that, they are all very good students.”  

Neuvillette nodded, smiling a little, as he always did when the topic of Melusines came up. “It must be good for you as well, to gain teaching experience.”  

It was indeed. You used to help as a teaching assistant at the schoolhouse in your hometown, but ever since you moved to the Court of Fontaine, you had mainly focused on book studying and hardly gained any practical experience.   

“Enough about me,” you said firmly. Neuvillette didn’t seem to have any intention of speaking about the argument at all, and it bothered you deeply. "I want to ask about—”  

“How do you think of taking our honeymoon?” Neuvillette said at the same time.  

“Huh?” You stood up and walked over to him. Were your ears working correctly just now? “I don’t believe I heard you right. Did you just say ‘honeymoon.’?”  

“Yes,” Neuvillette said, then took another sip of water. “Or, um, it could be a date, if you would prefer to think of it that way.”  

Once again, you stared at him with incredulity. He was avoiding your gaze.  

“What brought this on?” you asked, but the answer came to you at once. “Did Lady Furina have something to do with it?”  

Neuvillette said nothing. He was really going to drag this out, wasn’t he, you thought. Feeling a stab of annoyance, you moved over to the side of the desk and bent down so that you were looking him directly in the eye.  

“Monsieur, let me repeat my question once again. Is your argument with Lady Furina behind this proposal?”  

“Yes,” he breathed, staring back into your eyes. It was an uncomfortable feeling, but you pressed on.  

“Did the argument have to do with our marriage?”  

“...Yes,” he said, and then cleared his throat. You waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t.  

“Alright, then,” you said at last. “I will go on this honeymoon or date or whatever with you.”  

“You will?” Neuvillette looked genuinely surprised. “I do not want you to feel pressured. You are under no obligation to accept. I...do not want you to agree because you are afraid of me.”  

Now you felt concerned. “Do I seem afraid of you, sir?”  

There was a discomforting pause before he answered, “I do not know. I am not good at discerning these sorts of things.”  

“Then, allow me to make it clear,” you said and straightened up. “I am not doing this out of fear or intimidation of you. I’m agreeing out of my own desire to find out just what exactly is troubling you. This is the same for anything you ask of me.”  

Neuvillette stared at your face. Something he saw there must have convinced him, for you felt an invisible tension disappear from him. “I’m very pleased to hear that.”  

The two of you smiled at each other for a moment, then looked away.  

“So, when are we going on this honeymoon?” you asked to distract from the delicate atmosphere that had appeared. “I should start preparing right away.”  

“Tomorrow,” Neuvillette replied, like it was natural to simply go on vacations the very next day. “It will only be for a day, I’m afraid.”  

“Tomorrow?” you exclaimed. “So soon?”  

“Why not tomorrow? In my experience, it is always better to take action right away.”  

“But...but, what about your duties. The crime rates?”  

“I am going to arrange for my subordinates to handle a part of my work. There are no trials tomorrow, and I have faith that the Palais can do without me for one day. You don’t have any plans tomorrow as well, Madame?”  

You shook your head. “Then...have you already decided where we’re going to go?”  

“I have. It’s somewhere I have wanted to take you to for some time.”  

You felt your cheeks turn red despite yourself. “I-I see. Then I’m sure it must be somewhere amazing.”  

In addition to your worry and concern about Neuvillette, there was now a thin thread of excitement. You had never really travelled before. And now the Chief Justice himself was personally taking you somewhere.  

You wandered around the office, your dormant imagination going wild. Since it was Neuvillette, it must be a place with lots of water. Maybe he was taking you to the beach? Did you need to buy swimwear? Would Neuvillette bring swimwear? You briefly attempted to imagine him swimming before immediately pushing that thought out of your mind. It felt indecent.  

“Wait...” you stopped in front of a very familiar painting. It was jarring against the brightly lit room and even the gilt frame surrounding it. How had you not noticed it before? “You hung my painting in your office?”  

“Ah, yes,” Neuvillette walked over to you. “I found that this was the most suitable place for it.”  

He then noticed your distressed expression, and his face fell. “...Do you not want me to hang it here?”  

“Oh, no, no, not at all,” you shook your head. “It’s my gift to you, so you should do whatever you like with it, it’s just that...”  

“Yes?” Neuvillette prompted you.  

“It’s just that...it looks so out of place here. If I had known you were going to put it here, I would have painted something better.”  

“There is no need for that,” Neuvillette said. “I enjoy looking at it. It brings me calm, particularly on bright, stressful days like these. I feel as though I am looking out a window into the rain.”  

“Oh!” Your voice cracked, and you felt lightheaded. You hadn't considered it anything special, you just wanted to show your gratitude to him and hoped he found it pleasing. You assumed that he put it in his study or something, but you never expected for him to put it here, where doubtless so many important people visited. And yet it was hung up proudly, like the work of a master.  

I enjoy looking at it. It brings me calm.  

You felt extremely embarrassed—but also an overpowering joy that you hadn’t experienced in a long, long time.  

“I-I see,” you stuttered out. What was going on? A moment ago, you felt utterly calm, and now you were acting like a nervous schoolgirl. You slowly backed away. “A-As the a-artist, I-I'm, um, very happy to hear that.”  

Neuvillette frowned. “Are you alright, Madame?”  

You could only imagine the expression on your face right now. “Y-Yes, sir. I’m perfectly fine. I should really take my leave now and leave you to your duties. I’ll, um, see you at home!”  

You turned your back to a dumbfounded Neuvillette and opened the doors, then peeked outside. The Gestionnaires were all bent over their typewriters. You slipped outside.  

You did your best to maintain your composure as you walked out of the Palais, and descended in the elevator, before inexplicably breaking into a run, all the way back home.  

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@just-simping-over-genshin, @xalphafox, @jqnehr, @favficdump, @thetwinkims, @cielclassy, @the-mxs-of-many, @mxyarylla, @lynettezz

[justsome-di]

Now a Pulitzer Prize winning book (don’t fact check this, just trust me) and featured on Obama’s 2023 Summer Reading List!

You should be reading Nobody Ends Up Dead in a Bathtub, Everyone Keeps Their Organs! Why? See above.

It’s a good story if I do say so myself. And if you read it, you’re a cool kid. Don’t you want to be a cool kid? This is something called peer pressure, and it usually works.

But for real, if you read Nobody Ends Up Dead then you’re going to go on a good adventure with good characters I guarantee you will love. Not to brag, but it is a pretty good story. There’s funny one-liners, a cute plot, and relatable characters that have been developed for years. Just heed warnings at the beginning of chapters. NEUD deals with some heavy topics such as eating disorders.

NEUD is officially all online for free. But you can still access bonus chapters and short stories on Patreon for only $4.

Links: 

AO3

Wattpad

Patreon (Patrons had early access to the whole novel and also get exclusive short stories with the characters and sneak peaks for new projects!)

Netflix Previews

Characters’ Playlists

You can also check out my carrd if there are any updates to how/where I post, it’ll probably be the most accurate place to find new or updated links.

Transcript under cut:

The Story is Dope

A New York office worker and a sex worker get set up on a date--one thinking it's a real blind date, the other under the impression it's an ordinary appointment. After realizing it was all a shitty prank, they set out for revenge. Their plan: show up to an upcoming Halloween office party as a genuine couple, convincing the pranksters they genuinely fell in love and refusing to let themselves become the butt of the joke.

Our main characters are Alex, an awkward admin assistant for a medical company who hasn't been on a date since he was a teenager, and Damián, a sex worker who seems way out of Alex's league but keeps insisting on spending time with him so they can perfect their revenge scheme.

The novel features a diverse cast and explores sex positivity. I also like to believe that it portrays sex work well. Damián is a hardworking man, doing what he loves, and meeting mostly great people along the way--but he also would benefit greatly if sex work was decriminalized and therefore had better resources at his disposal.

If you're looking for a story with LGBT characters that's mostly light-hearted but still packs a punch every few chapters, this is it! Overall, it's a happy story.

The Characters!

oh boy the characters!

we got Damián who's hardworking and doting on his lil bro but oh wow does he have some angst

we got Alex who is nothing more than a burning ball of anxiety trying his best--all too relatable

Leo, Damián's bro, is an ally, and he will make sure everyone knows. Also has angst.

Eve, Alex's lil sister, is an edgy teen who's failing calc and runs a queer book club

together, they're a weird lil dysfunctional family

I'll be honest. There's a lot of love in this story. From me and among the characters. The characters love each other, and I think the readers love them, too.

It touches on a lot of loneliness--inspired by how I've felt since Covid started--and a lot of the conflicting emotions that come with being gay. What happy endings do we deserve? What about happy middles?

It's a touching book about learning to be a better person and finding people who love you--platonically and romantically.

Here are some of my fave parts:

And then there was a streak of gray hair that shocked Alex. A streak of gray hair off to the side, nestled close to a salt and pepper beard. Textured hands held cocktails. Little, subtle lines creased when mouths laughed. Alex held his breath. On the packed floor, they were the only people Alex could see. They were laughing and holding each other and enjoying themselves, firmly in the place they knew they belonged. Flashes of teeth pressed against each other, disappearing for long seconds at a time.

--

“Sorry,” Alex said. “Your arm got heavy on top of me.” “You’re a little mouse of a man. I didn’t mean to crush you.” “I’m what?”

--

“A dog!” Damián cooed as he sat across from the lesbians. “His name is Yam,” Martin said.

“His name is Yam,” Damián cried. Kris and Clara released Yam and gently nudged him to Damián. Ecstatic, Damián picked him up and set him on his lap. “His name is Yam,” he repeated to Alex. “I heard.”

--

But he couldn’t deny that he was having a good time. It was like intense yoga with the perk of having a cock shoved up his ass. He was going to feel limber as fuck after.

--

“Can I do anything?” Alex asked. “To help cheer you up?”

“You don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’d like to. If you let me.”

--

“Wow this sounds great where can I read it?”

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