#fic: burning down
Text
Burning Down | MYG
Pairing: Yoongi x Reader
Genre: smut, crack, DadYoongi!AU, BadCop!AU
Rating: M (18+)
Warnings: weapons - guns, switching POVs, angst!, allusions to murder, mentions of blood, references to war, allusions to choking, Yoongi is not a good guy (ymmv)
Word Count: 1.8k
Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me
Summary: You're going to finish what you started. But Yoongi won't let you take it all away.
A/N: Everyone thank Yoongi for those recent D-Day concept photos, because they inspired me to write another chapter! I think we're closing in on the end here 👀
Unbeta’d as usual. I’d love to know what you think - my inbox is always open! 💕
Part 5 💵 Bad Cop Masterlist 💵 Part 6
The house is dark when you turn into the driveway. Tall trees on either side of the gravel pathway stretch endlessly into the cloudy morning sky, their thick canopies providing the car with cover from the rain that’s just starting to fall.
Jungkook leans pretty heavily against you as you walk him to the door, and your knock is a little clumsy while you struggle to keep your partner on his feet. A light flickers on in the window, and then the door suddenly wrenches open from the inside. A rather handsome man peers down at where you’re slumped under Jungkook’s arm.
“Holy shit, what the fuck happened?”
Seokjin is not an agent. Seokjin is a former combat medic. You’d met years ago on a tour in a foreign land. He’d saved your back and you’d saved his, more than once. The blood you’d shed together had formed an inseparable bond between the two of you that meant more to you than your actual family. Which is why you’re here, in the middle of the night, holding a man who is slowly bleeding out all over his doorstep.
“For fuck’s sake, come in, I just bought that mat.” Seokjin ushers the two of you inside, glancing around. His house is fairly secluded, the copse of trees bordering the property protecting him from prying eyes, but he’s been in enough battles to know that you can never be too cautious.
He leads you and Jungkook into his living room, ordering you to help your partner onto the couch. He disappears for a moment and returns with a first aid kit - not the kind you’d find at your local pharmacy but one meant for the battlefield. You don’t ask why he has one so readily available. You know what it’s like to be haunted by war; always prepared for the day those ghosts might return.
You also don’t ask why he happens to have a small freezer in his basement where he keeps bags of blood. After he’d retired from the armed forces, Seokjin had gone into private practice. You have no idea just how “private” that means, what type of clientele he might be stitching up, accepting payment under the table instead of involving insurance. Or cops. It might be your place to ask, considering you’re a federal agent, but right now you’re not about to look a gift horse in the mouth - not when Seokjin’s busy saving Jungkook’s life.
Afterward, as Jungkook sleeps, blood slowly being transfused back into his strong body, Seokjin makes you some tea and he sits in the kitchen as you stand and sip, staring out the window at the rain.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” he asks gently, rubbing a hand over the scruff on his chin. You haven’t even apologized for waking him so early.
“No,” you reply honestly, but then you tell him, as much as you can without compromising your mission. As if it hadn’t already gone to hell anyway. You talk and talk, and soon it’s not the details of the job you’re describing, soon it’s how things between you and Yoongi started, how they progressed, how they ended - in bullets and blood.
Seokjin is quiet once you run out of words. He drums his long fingers on his placemat, watching the spoon resting there as it bounces from the rhythm. “Well, to be honest, that’s not the worst break-up you’ve ever had,” he drawls after a few seconds.
“Fuck off,” you snap, but your lips twitch of their own accord. He’s not wrong. “It wasn’t a real relationship. It was all part of the plan.”
“Is that so?” Seokjin levels you with a sober look. “Then why are you here, wearing a groove into my kitchen floor with your pacing, while your partner drains my last bag of O neg? Was that part of the plan, too?” When you don’t respond, he plows on. “Because it seems to me that you went a little too deep this time. Got a little too entangled. Would you say that’s accurate?”
“Sir, yes sir,” you chirp sarcastically, saluting him with your middle finger. Seokjin’s eyes crinkle as he laughs, and for one brief second, you’re back in the field, joking with your friend, and not sitting in his house panicking while your mission goes up in flames. But then you hear Jungkook stirring in the other room, and Seokjin’s laughter fades as he rises to check on his patient.
Seokjin, as always, is right. You’d gone too deep this time. Let yourself believe the lie. As much as you didn’t want to admit that you could be compromised, you knew the truth. You’d fallen for Yoongi, and now you had to clean up the mess you’d made, before anyone else got hurt.
Even if it meant breaking your own heart.
Seokjin wanders back into the kitchen. “The transfusion is almost complete, but he’s gonna need to rest for a while longer.”
“Can he - “
“He can stay here, that’s fine.” Seokjin looks so tired. You wonder how you must look. Probably about half dead. “But what are you going to do now? Call for backup?”
You shake your head and reach into your satchel, pulling out the box from Yoongi’s safe. Inside, as you’d expected, lies a key.
“No. I’m gonna finish what I’ve started.” Jimin’s face flashes through your mind and your vision goes red. And then Yoongi’s, and your heart pangs, even as you make your vow. “I’m gonna bring him down.”
Yoongi hates this.
He hates hiding. His safe house isn’t nearly as luxurious as his other house or the vacation home he’d just bought on the bay. Most of the rooms here are nearly empty, save for a random couch or table. Except for the one room that is fully stocked with guns and ammunition, along with a small safe stashed with emergency cash. But beyond that, the house is bare. It’s not meant to be a long-term residence, he knows, but he hates it anyway.
He also hates not having his daughter with him. He’d called Da-som’s friend’s mother at dawn and told her that he had to go out of town for work suddenly and asked if she could look after her for a few days. Not having her by his side fills him with anxious energy, makes him want to claw his skin off. He hopes this won’t take more than a day or two.
But that. That’s the thing that he hates the most - not knowing. Not knowing where you are, or what your plan is, or how any of this will end. Makes him feel weak. Powerless. Like he used to be.
Like when Da-som’s mother left him.
He fucking hates feeling powerless. He will not go back.
From his perch on the table that serves as the sole furniture in this room, Jimin watches him stalk back and forth, like a tiger prowling his cage. He doesn’t say anything to Yoongi, likely not wanting him to bruise his throat again. Jimin’s developed a bit of a squeak when he laughs, and it has not amused him in the slightest. Although Yoongi thinks it’s pretty funny.
The burner phone in Jimin’s pocket buzzes and he flips it open. “Any sign?”
Yoongi halts in his tracks, waiting.
Jimin sighs. “Fine. Just keep looking.” He tosses his phone on the mahogany surface, merely shaking his head at the older man.
Yoongi resumes his steps. Where the fuck did you go? You couldn’t have gotten very far in Jungkook’s police cruiser. It never returned to the station, and Yoongi’s goons are sweeping the area under his orders. But even though he has everyone searching for you, you’re nowhere to be found.
“We’ll find them,” Jimin finally speaks. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“Time is running out,” Yoongi spits back. The longer you’re gone, the more likely it is that you’ve called in reinforcements. Set a trap in motion. He can’t just sit here and wait for the walls to close in on him.
He needs to move.
“Listen, I nailed the kid, so he’s undoubtedly slowing the two of them down. We’ve got guys watching the hospitals, the clinics, every medical center in a 100 mile radius - there’s no way they’ll get past us to get him some help.” Jimin smoothly slides off the table, brushing dust from the sleeves of his button-down shirt. “We just have to be patient.”
Yoongi immediately pounces forward, pressing Jimin back into the wall behind him. He doesn’t touch the younger man, but holds him in place with the intensity of his stare.
“No. I’ve been patient. For five fucking years now, I’ve waited to take my place at the top of the chain in this goddamn city. And now that I’m here, I’m not going to fucking hide and wait any longer. YN-” he curses silently at the slip-up, “she isn’t going to take everything from me.”
“What are you saying?” Jimin asks, wincing at Yoongi’s glare. The usual sociopathic gleam in Jimin’s eye is dimmed under the older man’s gaze. He’s terrified right now.
“There’s a key in that safe that she stole. It belongs to another box, where I have kept a very important list. Among other things.” If only he hadn’t kept that safe at his house. If only he hadn’t brought you there. If only you were who you said you were. “I’ve got to get to that list. It’s the only thing that she needs to bring this all down.”
“And you think you can get to it first?”
“No.” Yoongi laughs, a cold, ugly sound that sends chills down Jimin’s spine. “I’m sure she’ll beat me to it. In fact, I’m counting on it.”
For the first time in hours, Jimin grins. “Okay, so an ambush, then?”
Yoongi nods.
“You know I’m in. But… everything you just said, how you just got all this power…” Jimin pauses, considering his words very carefully, “are you prepared to lose it all just to beat her?”
“I’d rather lose it all in a blaze of glory than have that bitch steal it from me,” Yoongi retorts, ignoring the stab of pain in his chest when he snarls the word ‘bitch.’ Stop it, you pussy. Stop pretending like she means anything, he berates himself.
“Blaze of glory? Fuck yeah, let’s go.” Jimin pulls his handgun from his holster and cocks it.
Yoongi smirks. “Let’s burn.”
Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜
© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.
#bts x reader#yoongi smut#yoongi x you#yoongi x reader#bts smut#bts fanfic#yoongi fanfic#min yoongi x you#min yoongi x reader#btshoneyhive#bangtantheatrenet#thebtswritersclub#min yoongi fanfic#bad cop!au#fic: burning down#possumswrite
322 notes
·
View notes
Text
Stephanie: "Did you get it?"
Tim, scoffing: "Of course I did. *unwraps the vase from bubble wrap* It's the exact same, one of the three original vases made."
Stephanie: "Wait. The old one had a nick, right there on the shoulder. *uses a Batarang to recreate it* There."
Tim, setting it down carefully and smiling: "Perfect. I think we just got away with it."
Jason, reading on the couch: "He'll know."
Stephanie: "How? You'd have to--"
Alfred: "Is there anything you guys want for dinner?"
Tim and Stephanie, immediately: "No."
Alfred, frowning slightly: "Very well." He walked over, both Tim and Stephanie trying to play it cool as the butler adjusted the vase on the table.
Jason looked up from his book.
Alfred: "I'll remind you again, Master Timothy that skateboards are not permitted inside the house."
Jason cackled at the expression that Tim and Stephanie made.
--------------------------------------------------------------------
Bruce: "How did you know? Technically speaking, it's the same vase."
Alfred: "I have a contact at the auction house where you bought the second one years ago."
Bruce, clearing his throat: "Yeah, Jason accidentally kicked a ball into it."
Alfred, raising an eyebrow: "He threw a Batarang at it because you wanted to make him more comfortable."
Bruce:
Alfred: "I do wish you'd all stop adding that nick back."
#A long one#might be funnier to consider these guys breaking something bigger#like burning down part of the kitchen and hastily getting it remodelled before Alfred notices#I'm bored#not a texpost not a mini fic#but a secret third option called testing my followers' patience#batposting#batfamily#tim drake#stephanie brown#jason todd#alfred pennyworth#bruce wayne#batman
3K notes
·
View notes
Text
CHAPTER 22 SPOILERS FOR THE NEON VOID‼️‼️
Haha wdym no I didn’t read the chapter almost one month after it came out wdym that’s crazy haha
ANYWAYS NEON VOID BRAINROT ANYONE?? As usual a magnificent read what can I say @sugarpasteltmnt is SO SO talented after I read this chapter I stared off into space for like a solid minute before laughing hysterically like Leo because MY GOD the adrenaline rush is so real. What compliment can I say that hasn’t been said about this fic. It gives me such goosebumps and the action sequences are just. Muah. Breathtaking. I cannot wait to read the next chapter and keep up the good work!! /lh /all pos
#my art#PLEASE TAKE UR TIME W THE NEXT CHAPTER#idw you to get burned out or anything#ur heath is the most important!#sorry this isn’t a full fledged drawing#I just read the newest chapter and completely blanked out#suddenly it’s 2am and the excited jitters in my brain finally calmed down#ur writing is like eating sour candy with a sweet aftertaste#SO GOOD#also is it weird that I have headcanons about ur fic??#hope it isn’t#but I like to imagine when Leo gets spastic his Krang eye goes haywire and shoots all over the place#same goes for his krang parts like it squirms and wriggles underneath the skin#Or when Leo is bored the sharp end of his tail will poke the ground rhythmically#HOPE YOU LIKE THE ART#rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#rotten#save rise of the teenage mutant ninja turtles#The Neon Void#The Neon Void TMNT#TNV TMNT
293 notes
·
View notes
Text
Skizz and Tango go back to the island, in the end. BigB follows along behind quietly. Something is slicking the path between them, and it’s like blood, Skizz thinks, and it’s like mistrust, Skizz thinks, and it’s like wondering what’s about to happen, Skizz thinks, but mostly it’s like—
“They burned down our heart, Tops.”
There are smoldering ashes on the ground. If anything’s a symbol.
“Yeah, they sure did,” Tango says.
None of them say anything else.
#secret life spoilers#secret life smp#a little too short for a fic tag but#MAN. THE HEART FOUNDATION HUH.#TALK ABOUT SYMBOLS OF HOW THIS SESSION WENT.#THEY BURNED DOWN THEIR HEART.
312 notes
·
View notes
Text
It starts really…really stupid.
The Apollo cabin is having a movie night. Will’s DVD collection is bigger than his textbook collection, which is saying something, because he is a nerd. They baited Nico with a pirate movie: then, when he was comfortable and moon-eyed and unable to keep his mouth shut for a good twenty minutes after the end credits, they started phasing in the rom-coms.
Evil. Manipulators, the lot of them; so incapable of lying that they’re masters of bending the truth. Nico would leave, except they literally barricaded the door and keep all the lights on so there are no shadows for him to duck into (something he should have questioned from the very beginning, but unfortunately as soon as the Pirates of the Caribbean theme started playing, his reasoning skills hopped on a train and fled back to the Lotus Casino in 1938. So).
“This is stupid,” Nico grumbles, not that anyone is paying him any attention. Every single one of Will’s siblings stares at the TV with their chins in their hands, completely ignoring any and all of Nico’s (very valid) criticism.
Not that it stops him. “This is less realistic than Davey Jones,” he insists, largely just so his grievances are Known and Aired Out. The leading man says something stupid and cheesy, and three seperate doofuses in his company genuinely swoon. Nico scowls as hard as he can, pulling a blanket over his head. “Idiotic and cheesy.”
Nico pointedly isn’t following the plot — not that there is one — so he has no idea what’s going on. He squints. The leading man is wearing some ugly suit, too tight, and the leading lady collapses tearfully in his arms, thanking him about something.
Will sighs dreamily. Nico scowls harder.
“When is it my turn,” Will laments.
Kayla reaches over blindly and pats him on the head. She ends up more smacking him gently and lovingly on the face, but Will doesn’t seem to mind.
“Don’t we all want to know.”
“You don’t understand,” Will says dramatically. He flops backwards, hands flailing. Nico peeks over from under his blanket. His Head Medic camp shirt has ridden up in his dramatics, showing a sliver of skin. Nico flushes and intentionally looks away, focusing on his friend’s face.
“When will a rich, attractive older man come waltzing in here and offer to put me through med school, huh? When will my dream come true?”
Nico is 90% sure that Will is joking, but without his permission, be blurts out —
“You’d run off with some guy you don’t know?”
“Without hesitation!” Will cries. He yanks himself back upright, making Nico jump, arms thrown up and forehead creased. “You know how broke I’m gonna be when I’m done school?”
Nico doesn’t answer, but Will doesn’t wait for one.
“Very! I grew up on a pullout couch, which, I love my mom, and I love our apartment, but I want — I want —”
With his long, lanky limbs and flushed face, he begins to remind Nico of a kettle. He refrains from pointing this out. His siblings, on the other hand, openly snicker at him, dividing their attention between the movie and throwing popcorn at their eldest brother’s head.
“I want an Alaskan King! And — a mahogany desk! With lots of drawers! And windows! Floor to ceiling windows! And a rooftop garden!”
He glares playfully at his siblings, who are all giggling now, pointing fingers at them all.
“Lemme tell you right now. A man walks in here offering me that and a cheque for any school I want and it’s over for you people. I’m gone. You can fend for yourselves.”
“Yeah right,” Austin snorts, disbelieving. He reaches over and pinches Will’s thigh, cackling when he squawks. “We can’t even get you to leave the infirmary at the end of your shift. You’re stuck here forever, Rapunzel.”
“Just you wait! My prince will come!”
“As if he even wants a prince,” he hears Kayla whispering to a giggling Gracie, who responds with a cheeky, “Not when he’s got a king!”
Nico doesn’t know who they’re talking about, but the fact that there’s someone — his vision goes green. He has to tamp down a genuine snarl which is — ridiculous. And out of nowhere.
He cuts another glance to Will, who is still muttering petulantly. Every few minutes, he hears something about an “open floor plan” and “high pressure showers”.
He gets a very, very stupid idea.
———
The first mistake (because that’s what it is) is easy to explain away — the Hades cabin is still under renovation.
Well. Mostly.
“Please,” Will is begging, eyes big and pleading and painfully, beautifully blue. “Please? I’ll bring movies! And Yan’s Wii! And get Cecil to lend me some of the games he — uh, acquired! Pretty please!”
Nico has to bite back the you could be toting a pack of Lastrogonian giants with you and I’d still let you in that so desperately wants to come out of his mouth.
“Bring snacks and I’ll consider it,” he says instead.
Will beams. His eyes nearly squeeze shut, when he smiles like that, and there’s nothing Nico can do about the sharp inhale that rips through his chest. He blinks the spots away from his eyes, everything suddenly a little brighter, covered in golden sunlight.
“Yes!” Will cheers, pumping his fist and jumping up and down like a lunatic. Nico is so endeared that it aches something awful in his chest, and his cheeks smart from the size of his smile. “Sleepover! After my shift, di Angelo, I won’t be late!”
Yes, you will.
“I lock my doors and set a skeleton guard to watch it at eight,” he warns with a throat suddenly dry. “I mean it, Solace. I’ll sic the harpies on you.”
Will laughs as he jogs towards the infirmary, clearly not believing him. Nico watches him go the whole way, jumping when a hand lands on his shoulder.
“You,” says Drew Tanaka, blowing a bubble with her gum, “are a humiliating case, di Angelo.”
He shoves her, scowling. His face feels sunburnt. “Shut up.”
He absolutely does not spend the day moping after the infirmary, despite whatever rumours Drew’s lying mouth might spread. He has a job, thanks. He runs three separate sword fighting classes, and the younger kids are insane, so he doesn’t have time to be distracted.
Not that he is. But. Hypothetically, if he were to be distracted, he isn’t. Yeah.
He sits with Percy and Jason at dinner, distractedly wolfing down his food. Some kind of barbecue. He is not paying attention.
“No, Jase, we can say whatever we want, he’s not listening —”
“If he decides to stab you I am going to let him —”
“What’s going on?” Nico interrupts, looking up for the first time.
Percy smiles angelically, placing his hands under his chin.
“Nothing, Nico dear.”
Jason bangs his head on the table.
“I’m gonna…leave,” Nico says, slowly. “Y’all…do whatever you’re doing.”
“You said y’all,” Percy says gleefully. “You said y’all.”
Nico flushes hotly. “I did not. Shut up before I summon Jules-Albert to run you over.”
Percy cackles. Even Jason laughs. Nico throws his plate at them as he stomps away, sprinting extra quickly past the infirmary for no reason at all.
Time seems to slow down after dinner. For all Nico knows, it actually does. It wouldn’t make a difference. By the time there’s a knock on his cabin door, the sun has well past set, and Will is smiling sheepishly.
“I didn’t hear my shift alarm,” he says, the second Nico opens the door.
Nico sighs. He bites the corner of his mouth, hard, so it doesn’t do something stupid like turn upwards or something.
“There’s ADHD, and then there’s you, Solace.”
Will leans into his personal space and presses an over-exaggerated, smacking kiss to his cheek before he can stop him. Nico goes scarlet.
“But you love me anyway!”
There are no thoughts left in Nico’s brain to refute him. The only thing shaking around up there are alarm bells and KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! KISS! repeated over and over again like a gong.
“Hngh,” he says, intelligently. Will doesn’t seem to notice, striding confidently right into the cabin.
“I brought the Wii and movies and stuff, like I promised, and I’ve been saving this chocolate I bought last time I went into the city — woah, when did that get here!”
Will freezes in the middle of the cabin, gaping. Nico nearly walks right into him.
‘That’ is the giant, brand-new bed tucked snugly in the far right corner — an Alaskan King.
Nico clears his throat, shrugging.
“Remodelling, remember? The coffin beds had to go. And no one else but me sleeps here, so. Hazel has her own bed on the other side.”
He gestures to the other corner, where Hazel’s — smaller — bed sits, empty, coral pink comforter straightened neatly. Will barely even glances at it.
“What! But I thought you already renovated the beds —”
“Temporary.”
Will squints at him for a moment. Nico squirms, trying to hold his gaze. He’s not lying — they were temporary. Of course, he only made the decision that they were temporary a week ago, but. Well. Truth is truth.
Evidently, Will decides that he isn’t going to get a real answer out of Nico or he doesn’t care to get one, because he quickly turns away and, with a running start, jumps and sprawls himself on the gigantic bed.
“Oh, gods,” he groans, and oh, gods, indeed, is Nico ever going to get a fucking break or is his face just going to be stuck like this all the time. “Gods, Neeks, I am going to move in here. I don’t even — look! I can stretch all the way and I don’t touch the edge!”
“I see that,” Nico says weakly. His shirt has ridden up again. Nico bites back the confessing comment he wants to make about undershirts and how Will should invest in them.
“Man, I feel like I could pass right out,” Will sighs, eyelashes — they are so long and so blonde who decided that who gave him that right — fluttering shut. He grabs on of Nico’s pillows and curls around it, content. Nico stares. And stares.
After too much time has passed, Will cracks an eye open, smiling slightly. “Well, don’t just stand there, Death Breath. Bed’s more than big enough for us both, now. Get over here.”
Miraculously, Nico does, managing to unglue himself from the floor and look anywhere but the long, languid stretch of Will’s body.
(They play four straight hours of Mario Kart — or, rather, Will spends four straight hours losing. When they finally fall asleep, they’re so far apart on the giant bed they might as well be in different countries — but Nico wakes up in the middle of the night with his arms around Will’s waist, and practically throws himself on the ground for the rest of the night.)
———
The next thing he does is just…embarrassing.
“I think you look hot,” Mitchell, Piper’s brother, assures him kindly. He pats Nico’s flaming cheek. “Honest. And it’ll work wonders! Will’ll be struck.”
“Why do people keep saying that,” Nico croaks. “I don’t even like him!”
“Uh-huh. Sure.”
With Mitchell’s unwavering — if teasing — assurance, Nico finds the courage to step out of the Aphrodite cabin and into the waning sun. He’s grateful he waited until after the summer ended to do this — the fewer people around the witness, the better. His reputation is hanging on by a string as it is.
A wolf-whistle rings out the second he steps off the porch, making him scowl. Cecil, unfortunately, is far too used to being on the receiving end of it and does not even flinch.
“Looking spiffy, Ghost King!”
“Bite me,” Nico growls back, and is only aware of the trap he’s walked into when Cecil gleefully says, “I believe that’s Will’s job, actually —”
He wisely scampers away before the skeleton Nico summoned can murder him.
The second he’s out of sight, Nico slumps.
What is he doing.
“Aw, jeez, aren’t you a sight for sore eyes! Lemme tell you the gar-bage I had to endure tod — Nico?”
Nico whips up to face the voice. Will stands a few feet in front of him, unmoving, wearing his scrubs today — heavily stained, yikes — and his favourite pair of ratty cargo shorts. The expression on his face is oddly inscrutable.
“Are you…going somewhere?”
“Yeah,” Nico says, flushing and repeating himself when his voice cracks three separate times. “Yeah, I’m. Um. Ambassador of Pluto duties, you know. I’m expected in New Rome in a couple hours.”
It’s not quite the truth — he is going to be in New Rome in a couple of hours, but his reason for being there is fabricated. Literally.
“I didn’t know you were visiting today.” Will steps forward, almost trance-like. His eyes are glued to somewhere around Nico’s chest, and he reaches out — hesitantly, although he’s never been hesitant to touch Nico in all the time he has known him — to brush his fingers over Nico’s collar. “This isn’t what you usually wear.”
Nico swallows. No, it is not. Usually, his Ambassador of Pluto uniform is his black toga. (It still is. If he was actually on duty and showed up in anything else, several Romans would have his head. Good thing he’s full of it.) But right now, he’s wearing a tailored, black silk suit made by hand by some dead Byzantine seamstress whose name Nico could not pronounce if he tried. Diamonds glitter in the lobes of his ears, freshly pierced, and his rings are more polished than usual.
“Special occasion today.”
Will doesn’t say anything for a long moment. His hand still curls at Nico’s collar, millimeters away from his neck, heat boring into his skin.
“You clean up nice.” An expression Nico can’t name flits across his eyes, and Nico’s breath catches, and then he’s grinning, too-wide and teasing, reaching up to dig a hand through his hair. “But maybe ditch the hair gel, Wilbur Robinson, and just let —”
“Gah! Get off of me! You’re the worst!”
Will stumbles back as he shoves him, weak from laughter, and Nico’s stomach flips.
———
The third thing is maybe the most ridiculous out of all of them — and almost gets him killed.
“I’m starving,” Will complains, apologizing to the random New Yorker who just walked into him. (Nico rolls his eyes. Will would get eaten if Nico wasn’t here — he is too soft for the city. He’s gonna get shoved into a puddle or something; he’s so unwilling to elbow his way through a crowd that Nico has to hold his hand so as not to lose him. Definitely not a city boy, that’s for sure.) “And we don’t have to meet Argus for another two hours — can we stop for food? I want something fried. Desperately.”
“I guess so,” Nico sighs, pretending to be more put-out than he is. Will doesn’t buy it for a second, rolling his eyes hard enough to hurt.
“C’mon, Nicholas Hoult. There’s gotta be a diner around here somewhere, and I still want to go shopping after this.”
He lets Will pull him around, even though they’d probably get somewhere faster if Nico leads. Will stops every three seconds to listen to a busker, or observe particularly interesting graffiti, or attempt to pet a pigeon. It shouldn’t be cute, it should be embarrassing because Will truly never gets out, but it is — endearing. A little. Even if Nico can feel his stomach eating itself.
Will brightens when he finally stumbles across some gaudy, mint-green painted, hole-in-the-wall family restaurant, beaming back at Nico like he won a sparring match rather than stumbled upon somewhere to eat. But his eyes are squished shut, the way they are when he’s genuinely excited, and some early January snow dusts his golden hair, and his nose is red from the cold, and it’s just —
It’s a lot.
They find a booth tucked in the back corner. Will slides in next to Nico, not across from him, and it makes him — flush, for some reason, cheeks glowing as bright as Will’s massive, dorky scarf.
The waitress brings them sodas. Nico doesn’t remember ordering them, but it’s cherry coke — his favourite — so he must’ve. Will has a water, because he’s annoying and pretentious, and he tries to blow his straw wrapper at Nico but he’s too fast and catches it. Will pouts.
“You’re no fun.”
“I’ll show you fun.”
He’s balled up the wrapper as tiny as possible and flicks it at Will’s face before he can stop him, except it hits him in the — eye, and Will shouts in surprise, and Nico jumps and rushes to apologise but he’s laughing too hard for it to be sincere, and Will scowls playfully at him, and Nico bangs his knee on the rickety table trying to move it and it only makes him laugh harder, and Will cracks soon, too. And he can’t sing for shit but his laughter is musical, low and baritone and a little raspy on the edges, like the country music he loves so damn much. And all the laughter gets sucked right out of Nico’s lungs as he watches him, bright-eyed, red-nosed and freezing, still wearing his stupid parka even though it’s barely below forty degrees, and he is suddenly achingly truly and obviously the most beautiful thing Nico has ever seen in his life, and he thinks oh, no. But it doesn’t hurt.
It doesn’t hurt at all.
———
(After the diner, they go window shopping, and Nico feels like he can’t function. His chest aches with new knowledge that he doesn’t know where to put. New York air is disgusting but Will smells like eucalyptus and sunshine, always, and the look on his face when they pass a dusty antique shop is blinding. He’s rambling about old anatomy textbooks and gods knows what else and Nico nods along with a stupid, endless smile on his face that he couldn’t tamp down if he tried.)
(In the back of the shop there’s a big, ancient, beautiful mahogany desk. It has a divot for an inkwell and more drawers than Nico can count. It’s nine hundred dollars. Nico pulls out the credit card his father gave him for emergencies, buys it before Will can stop him, and shadow travels all three of them — himself, Will, and the unbelievably massive desk — back to Cabin 13, passing out immediately after to the sound of Will’s shout.)
(His father is the first thing he sees in his dreams, arms crossed, legs tapping.)
(“I believe I told you that card was for emergencies,” says the Lord of the Dead, “not crises over cute boys.”)
(“You were down so bad you kidnapped your wife instead of talking to her like a normal person,” Nico blurts, and immediately wishes he would melt into shadows.)
(He wakes up to another arms-crossed, foot-tapping figure: Will lectures him for two and a half hours. He times it.)
(But Will does all his paperwork in the Hades cabin, now, skin glowing amber under the Greek fire torches, often falling asleep on the smooth wooden surface. He hasn’t spent a night in the infirmary in months. Often, if Nico can wake him, he’ll crawl into Nico’s massive bed, curling all six-two of him into a ball around the centre and puffing tiny little snores into his pillow.)
(His cabin smells like eucalyptus and sunshine all the time, now.)
———
He tells himself that this will be his last thing.
(It isn’t.)
It takes him four separate times to muster up the courage. It’s — humiliating, is what it is, and he’s never been a coward except for maybe about this one thing.
“Dude,” says Katie Gardener, the fifth time he walks by her cabin without saying something, “this is getting embarrassing. Pull yourself together.”
“I’m — pulled,” he defends, wishing he didn’t get red so damn easy. “And — what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be at college, or something?”
“College ends in April, stupid,” she says, as if Nico has more than a fourth grade education and would somehow know that. He refrains from sticking out his tongue because that is Undignified, and clearly he is the more mature one of the two of them. “What do you need, flowers for Will or something? You don’t need to bother. He likes dandelions.”
“I know what flowers he likes,” Nico snaps, and wallows in immediate despair as she snickers. He should consider having Will remove whatever part of his brain is responsible for Stupid, Emotional Outbursts. Or just get a lobotomy. Whatever’s faster, honestly.
“I need — a garden.”
“…A garden.”
“Please don’t make me say it again,” he begs.
Perhaps college has somehow made her merciful — which he doubts, anyone who sustains a relationship with Travis freaking Stoll stopped worrying about mercy long ago — or perhaps he truly is that pitiful. But she relents, rolling her eyes and muttering something about stupid teenagers and refusal to communicate, blah blah blah. Nico knows he’s a mess. He would appreciate it if everyone else politely pretended he wasn’t. She comes back minutes later with a truly massive bucket of soil, a handful of gardening tools, and several packets of seeds.
“Well, you don’t have a lot of space for it, kid, seeing as your cabin is kind of tucked —”
“I want it on the roof,” Nico interrupts. He manages to keep his face in check. “Uh, that would make the most sense, anyways. It’s flat and I can get there easy and — yeah.”
She narrows her eyes at him. Years of Hermes cabin pranks have left her with a truly magnificent BS detector, but after a moment she sighs.
“Whatever, kid. Let’s go. Nothing will grow for a couple months, anyways.”
———
The last thing is what, eventually, gives him away.
The issue is that camp is crowded in the summer. And, really, he would have gotten it done in the spring, except he needed help — he needed an architect.
And he only really knew one, and her school year was kind of packed.
“You want,” says Annabeth slowly, “to entirely restructure your cabin.”
Nico squirms. “I just want to change the windows,” he mumbles.
She stares at him, fingers steepled, for what feels like ten solid minutes. At minimum.
“Kid —” Nico scowls, she is barely three years older than he is and technically almost a century younger — “installing floor to ceiling windows in your cabin will restructure it — entirely.” She pulls out a paper and pencil out of, as far as Nico can tell, absolutely nowhere, and begins to sketch. “There are foundations here, see? So everything has to be moved and reorganized to keep the structure standing. I can’t just, like…knock out the wall. It doesn’t work that way.”
Nico slumps. “So it’s not possible?”
“I didn’t say that,” she snaps, offended. “I just said it won’t be easy. Gimme a couple hours, I’ll have blueprints.”
She barely hears him as he thanks her, nose already pressed to the paper. Nico smiles at her anyway. She’s the best and brightest of them for a reason, after all, and he appreciates her help.
The walk back to his cabin is a surprisingly pleasant one. A lot of his friends (which, woah) are finally back, and Nico is realising he’s missed them, and it’s nice to see them again. It’s also nice to see camp as busy as it is, as much as he likes the quiet chill of the winter months. All the cabin doors are wide open as people sweep out the dust, shake out sheets, air out the staleness that has been locked inside some of them for months. Chatter fills every corner, and the air smells like strawberries.
His small smile widens as he approaches his own cabin — the flowers he and Katie planted a few months back have started to bloom, and with them comes the memory of Will’s gasping excitement when he’d seen them, the smile that lit up his face. They’re regular plants, but Katie — enchanted them, somehow, protected them; even when Nico is having his worst days, they don’t wither. (And they keep growing, too. Nico has taken to picking a flower every morning and leaving it in his (Will’s) desk — to brighten up the room, on paper, but the flower always ends up whenever Will is by the end of the day. (And, more often than not, tucked behind his ear, locks of golden hair caught among brightly coloured petals; a crown of his own making.)
The cabin is empty when he walks in, unsurprisingly considering how often Will is usually locked in the infirmary for the first week of camp.
(He’ll be back tonight, to do his paperwork before heading back to his cabin. Nico’ll have to be sure he actually makes it back to his cabin — Chiron has been turning a blind eye, because Will needs more sleep and Kayla and Austin can handle themselves, but the little kids need their counsellor. Well, most days.)
Nico stands in the door and realises: things have changed.
Maybe a silly thing to think. But — a year ago, this place was unliveable. Dark, and dreary, coffin-shaped and miserable, it was no wonder it had never felt like home. But the sight of Hazel’s bed (and the sketchbook she left on it last time she was here) fills him with warmth, and the windows are always open, now, so even the air feels lighter. Dozens of Will’s textbooks are strewn around the room, Lou Ellen’s jacket hangs on the back of the desk chair, a deck of cards is sprawled on the floor. A sun lamp is plugged into the wall. Nico’s giant bed is unmade. He’s got laundry peeking out of the closet doors, and he needs to clean his bathroom. A pair of obnoxiously patterned flipflops sit by the door.
It looks lived in. It looks like somewhere that can be lived in, and most of all, his friends — Will — have been living in it with him.
He swallows the lump in the back of his throat, stepping in and shutting the door behind him.
It takes him time to tidy up. He leaves Hazel’s sketchbook where it is, along with most of Will’s stuff — although he shoves a couple textbooks in random drawers when he trips over them. He puts the rest of his friends’ stuff by the door so he doesn’t forget to return it, and makes his bed (which, frankly, he hardly does, because it’s a massive pain — he tucks in one corner of the mattress cover and has to freaking summon Jules Albert to get to the other. But it was worth it). He barely makes it to dinner, too distracted to hear the horn.
“Finally,” bursts a voice sometime around nine, throwing open the door and flopping on the bed. Nico smiles, setting down his game and running light fingers through Will’s frizzy hair. He groans, leaning into it.
“I hate the first week of camp!”
Nico snorts. “No, you don’t.”
“Yes I do! It’s miserable! It’s all —” he contorts just face, mocking — “‘Will, do this.’ ‘Will, do that.’ ‘Will, I forgot how hard the climbing wall was and incinerated myself.’ ‘Will, we need you to treat the group of kids Clarisse beat up.’ Will, Will, Will! Constant!”
“How dare they take up all your time,” Nico says, grinning.
“Right! They should be less — I dunno, disastrous! I am one person! I can only be pulled in so many directions at once!”
Despite all his complaining, the slightest of smiles pulls at Will’s mouth — as Nico would expect. He’s exhausted and perpetually overworked, sure, but there’s nothing in the world Will relishes like being needed.
“I just —” He sighs, leaning further into Nico’s touch. Nico’s throat goes dry. “Man, I’m so glad we have this place to ourselves. It’s the only privacy I get. Sometimes I just wanna close the blinds and never come out, you know?”
Nico freezes. “Uh.”
“And it’s — nice, in here. Smells like you. And it just, well —” He smiles, broad and soft, and, suddenly, Nico understands his father on a level he never thought he would. If Will looked him in the eye and asked him for all the riches under the Earth, asked him to defy Zeus, asked him to rule the dead — Nico would bend time and space to do that for him. He understands, abruptly and wholly, why loving mortals ends in tragedy, why the gods promise more than they can give. He wants to give Will everything. “I like when it’s just you and me sometimes,” he says, softly. “It can be nice to disappear.”
There’s so much love bursting out Nico’s chest he doesn’t know what to do with it. He feels like every part of him is screaming his affection, every molecule is straining to meet with Will’s. He’s dizzy.
“I,” he starts, then freezes again. He doesn’t know what — what. Every thought he’s ever had hits him at once, and he can’t pick one out, can’t think with all the clutter in his head.
Will perks up. “Yes?”
“I have to. Cancel. My plans. With Annabeth.”
Will deflates. “Oh.”
There is something here, something charged, something about to change — and Nico is losing it. He panics.
“I asked her to restructure the cabin!” he shouts, startling Will. He squeezes his eyes shut instead of looking at those wide, wide blue eyes. “To! Make. Floor to ceiling windows.” He waits a bit. “Apparently you can’t just bust down the wall. You have to. Restructure.”
It’s silent for so long Nico is half-convinced Will left, if it weren’t for the faint sound of him breathing and the heat Nico can always feel leeching off of him. He peeks his eyes back open.
“Why?” asks Will quietly when their eyes meet.
Nico swallows. It takes several tries to moisten his throat enough to speak. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to…have floor to ceiling windows?”
“Same reason I wanted this massive bed,” he admits, quiet, whispering, near silent. “Same reason I — changed my Ambassador uniform. Same reason for the desk and the —” he stumbles over his words, blushing — “the garden and the flowers and — this, right now.”
“Nico,” says Will, very very quietly.
“I just. Well. You were joking, you know? And, gods, it’s been a year, now, but I think you were telling the truth? A little bit? And anyway, I want you to have the things you like, and —”
“Nico,” Will says again, louder this time, a particular quality to his voice Nico can’t name. He falters.
“…Yeah?”
“Shut up.”
Nico doesn’t even have the chance to be offended. He doesn’t even have the chance to think. Before he can rationalize the situation and connect the dots in front of him, Will’s hands are sliding into his hair, his face is inches away, and then they’re kissing.
They’re kissing.
Will tastes like Blistex, like mint gum, and like the breath he sighs into his mouth. His eyes are closed, and for a full six seconds before Nico recovers enough to close his, he has the best view of his pale, fanning eyelashes that he’s ever seen — long enough to think: oh, this is a child of the sun. He smells familiar and — intoxicating. Nico never wants to know pure air again, never wants to move without the brand of Will’s over-heated hands on the back of his neck. Never wants to forget the rough scrape of Will’s chapped lips, the tiny little sounds and sighs he makes every time Nico moves their mouths, the slightest curl of his lips when he smiles, unable to hold it back. The rapid beat of his heart, pressed against his own chest.
“Nico,” he says again, slightly more urgent, pulling away just enough that their lips still brush every time he speaks, “Nico, I love you to death.”
“I would do anything for you,” Nico chokes out. He meets Will’s eyes and tries to — communicate it to him, tries to beam his thoughts into his head. “I would — move the moon and stars for you, do you understand that? Do you know how precious you are to me? My tesoro,” he says, feeling Will’s breath hitch. “Il mio cuore. Il mio cuore battendo, sole.”
For a second Nico frightens himself. He’s never spoken words like that to anyone in his life — not his mother, not Bianca, not Hazel, nobody.
But Will’s smile is radiant. And he still holds Nico, gently, and says over and over, “You are the best thing that has ever happened to me.”
Something slots back into place in his chest.
#it is seven thirty in the morning and i have not yet slep 💀 what am i doing#pjo#percy jackson and the olympians#heroes of olympus#hoo#pjo hoo toa#nico di angelo & will solace#nico di angelo/will solace#nico/will#solangelo#slow burn#??#whipped nico di angelo#pining nico di angelo#like BAD#truly truly down bad whipped#will solace#nico di angelo#fic#longpost#my writing#oh also#jealous nico#for a brief moment teehee
333 notes
·
View notes
Text
I saw something that said that if Odysseus had to choose between himself VS. Penelope and Telemachus he'd always choose himself. How he'd be miserable and he would try to weasel his way out of it but if it really was no other option he'd still do it and...
Odysseus is an incredibly selfish man, that's not wrong. And he definitely has his cruel streak. But his whole thing is his unconditional devotion and loyalty to his family while basically being a rat bastard to everyone else. He literally puts himself in danger for them multiple times, even just in their NAME multiple times.
But this is the same man who pretended to be INSANE for at least a MONTH so he wouldn't have to leave them. I guess you could say it's because he's a coward or because of the prophecy but if he didn't care he wouldn't have saved his son. But even with all that, to have a mad king? That leaves your kingdom vulnerable. There could've been a fucking usurping. Ithaca doesn't have much fertile land and yet he destroys some of it. Even then in some versions, it's him literally running to scoop up his baby, "hearing thundering hooves past his head". Putting himself in danger in multiple ways as SAVING HIS SON MEANT HE WAS GOING TO WAR. WAR ISN'T SOMETHING YOU CAN GUARANTEE THAT YOU'LL COME BACK FROM.
EVEN IN THEIR NAMES, HE PUTS HIMSELF IN DANGER FOR THEM. Calypso asks what is so lovely about his wife that makes him not want her, a beautiful goddess. Said goddess has been abusing him for years yet he still says that he will ALWAYS go back to them putting himself at risk just DEFENDING Penelope and he's literally dragged back to her grotto immediately after. He even tells her the only way he would stop trying to get to them is if he were dead.
He is deeply hurt by her rejection but even then HE ASKS FOR A SEPARATE BED. He calls her cruel and stubborn and he's tearing up but he never threatens her despite her rejection could literally end bad for him. Paris for example, after Helen rips into him about how Menelaus was the better man and warrior who didn't back down, he basically tells her "Hey! You should be happy your husband's alive! ...Get in the bed."
Like??? he puts them first often, even if it means his own discomfort!!!
I don't think he would let Penelope or Telemachus suffer so he would be free. That feels like the fucking Tele-GONE-y to me. You can keep his "rat bastardness" there because if he was for example, being dragged to Hades or something, he'd give Penelope a look and they'd probably have a plan for him to get out ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ He's sometimes said to be the son of Sisyphus. Who's to say he wouldn't do that as well? And if it was him "doomed to eternal damnation". He'd be trying the whole time to get back to them. (that'd...honestly be a perfect punishment for him.)
Idk, They're selfish about practically everything but each other
#no offense to this individual but that just... didn't feel right. They're both deeply fucked but they're fucked up in how they would burn#everything down for each other. For their son? Even more so#... it was first this post. then had the fucked up headcanon to write and now I'm writing a shitty fucked up fic :'D#Mad rambles#shot by odysseus
165 notes
·
View notes
Text
Honestly, it’s a really amusing experience, watching them enter my messages saying “it looks so cute!” to being downright traumatized and sad and then FINALLY smiling at the very end.
Oh, the joys of being a fanfic writer.
Anyways if you haven’t seen the art yet please check it out! It’s made by the absolutely brilliant and amazing @kocokorok!
#loyal till death do us part#one piece#monkey d luffy#roronoa zoro#zolu#luzo#zoro x luffy#one piece fanfic#oh the joys of being a writer in general#watching people break down slowly and surely as the world (fic) starts burning#and then finally getting the relaxing comfort of fluff at the end#anyway
236 notes
·
View notes
Photo
little fic cover for Maybe sprout wings by @moorishflower which is a banging fic!
#my art#fishfingersandscarves#the sandman#dreamling#the sandman netflix#fic rec#moorishflower#dream/hob#book cover#illustration#my eyes.........burn.........#time to lay down aughghgh remind me never to do caligraphy again#dream of the endless#dream (the sandman)#hob gadling#robert gadling#everyone go read heather's fic!!!
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
if you’ve read a metric ton of fanfiction and had your memory of canon retroactively altered you may be entitled to financial compensation
#but fr this experience is so funny to me and it happens constantly#i once had a real convo with a friend about hannibal burning down will’s house and how i was shocked that it didn’t get brought up more#yeah that shit just straight up did not happen. i read it in a fic.#but i had been going on for i don’t know how long thinking that will’s house had burned down at some point?? i felt brainwashed#sometimes it’s helpful though. it’s nice to be able to read fix it fics and then intentionally live a lie#what do you mean hannibal and will aren’t miraculously living under the radar of the law in florence right now? yes they are.#i do this for daredevil too. season 3 ended so differently in my mind#and ESPECIALLY for the witcher because fuck that whole geralt never properly apologizing and treating jaskier like shit thing#hannibal#hannigram#daredevil#the witcher#dc
1K notes
·
View notes
Text
my personal pipe dream is that one monday the egg statistics drop and flippa (and maybe tilin) are just there. at the end. with one heart, and one gray checkmark.
what i imagine is the server flips their shit. alive!!! alive!!! but they log in and they don't see the eggs. instead they get a message. i do not care who it's from or how it's delivered. they're told the eggs are being held captive somewhere, but they're alive. all that's left is to find them, before sunday at midnight pst. bc if their tasks aren't done, they die (one checkmark, one quest set. once rescued they become triple check like the other eggs)
slimeriana come CRASHING back into the server, they don't know jack shit, ESPECIALLY mariana who doesn't recognize 90% of the island anymore but holy fuck, flippa is alive somewhere and they have to find her. and maybe mariana's still in the old server days mindset of raising his kid alone but slime's slowly been indoctrinated into "it takes a village" and honestly the absolute second mariana logs on, someone's gonna be in chat already like HEY MARIANA CAN I TALK TO YOU? be it baghera or cellbit or forever or bad or I DON'T KNOW, COULD GENUINELY BE ANYONE LMAO but like mystery and eggs in danger is chumming the water for this server
which is great bc A) mariana has a concrete goal for logging into the server (finding his daughter) and B) he would be interacting with the rest of the server along the way, because he's not going to be doing this alone (he wouldn't even be allowed lmfao the rest of the server would be at his doorstep asking to help him in like 15 seconds flat) which means C) he might get reasons to log in extending outside flippa and slime. bingooooo
i call this a pipe dream bc i can poke so many holes in this even rn (does cc!mariana want flippa back, like fr? i'm not up to date) but can you IMAGINE. LIKE DAMN. i'm putting this idea into the public domain fr go nuts with it.
#qsmp#would not mind if that means the revival is a slow burn#(bc of admin team having to prep the mystery and/or adventure)#that would just be a bonus tbh bc it means that the admins would be given more time to fit it into their plans#bc i imagine the story would be harder to alter for the immediate future#but their plans down the line might be more malleable and thus could fit the potentially weeklong mystery into them#this is my pipe dream though i have worms in my brain and they've been screaming flippa since the bug was discovered#i'm not gonna cry in a gutter if it doesn't happen lmfao#qsmp juanaflippa#qsmp elmariana#shut up vic#block game brainrot#submitting this for peer review maybe if i'm lucky the admins will club penguin it#(read: take and run with the idea and pretend that was their plan all along)#either that or a really talented fic author will write and post like three chapters i'll accept that too#✨ this idea is now public domain go hogwild my loves ✨
203 notes
·
View notes
Text
Sugar's Sweet (And So Is He)
by ParadimeShifts
Rating: Explicit
Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationship: Steve Harrington/Eddie Munson
Characters: Steve Harrington, Eddie Munson, Nancy Wheeler, Chrissy Cunningham, Robin Buckley, Wayne Munson
Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Sugar Baby Steve, Lit Professor Eddie, author eddie, Rich bitch Steve Harrington, Awkward Eddie Munson, Reverse Pretty Woman vibes, Steve has dyslexia, POV Alternating, Dom Bottom Steve Harrington, Sub Top Eddie Munson, light degradation, Rough Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Smut, Slow Burn, in the way that they're fucking the whole time, They're Just Emotionally Constipated, Friends to fuck buddies to enemies to lovers, thigh fucking, Semi-Public Sex, Panties, Fucking by the fire, Switching, Spit Kink
Words: 42,372
Chapters: 6/6
Summary
“I mean it,” Steve pushes, a soft clink echoing through the room as he sets his empty bottle down atop the glass coffee table. “I’ll show you the ropes, and you…” he makes a vague motion with one of his hands, “entertain me. What do you say? I help you, you help me?” His face is so devastatingly charming that Eddie wants to rip out his own hair about it.
Fuck it, he thinks, and clinks his bottle against Steve’s, earning him a bright smile that warms his core better than any booze ever could.
He watches Steve take a sip, his sinfully pretty lips tucked around the opening of the bottle, and wonders what the fuck he’s just gotten himself into.
OR
The sugar baby!Steve and lit professor/author!Eddie au, wherein Eddie is a disaster at fine dining, and Steve helps him out.
#steddie#steddie fic rec#multi-chaptered#25-50k#au modern#au no upside down#angst with a happy ending#slow burn
80 notes
·
View notes
Text
wip snip 4.2
thank you for the tag, @elskanellis! your snip is so intriguing 👀
in return, have some more of time travel fic: extremely gooey and tender and basically what the next 10k or so words are going to be (the fic is currently 20k lmao) before things get Bad again. still heartbreaking in its tenderness, though, because baby harry is heartbreaking (a contextual reminder that he is 7 in this snip!!! adult harry is henceforth "potter" from draco's pov).
“This is for me?” Harry asks, doing another turn, clutching at the still unnamed dragon in his hands. “All of this, the bed and—I can—”
“Harry,” Draco says softly, coming closer and dropping to crouch again, ignoring his protesting thighs starting to truly feel all the activity of the day. “Yes, all of this. You can sleep in the bed, you can name your toy—it’s all yours. This is what looking after you means; everything that I can offer is yours now. I promise.”
“Do I have to—” Harry starts, and Draco simply doesn’t want to hear where that’s going.
“No. You don’t have to do a single thing. It’s just yours. Because—because you’re a guest, and a kid, and kids deserve these sorts of things no matter what.”
“Oh,” Harry says, sounding genuinely startled in a way that makes Draco want to punch—someone. Perhaps Vernon or Petunia Dursley, or perhaps Albus Dumbledore. He did not ever imagine he would one day find new and more infuriating reasons to resent Dumbledore this long after his death, but he supposes life is surprising that way.
Harry breaks up his surprised, revelatory stance with another yawn, and this time Draco makes sure his tone brooks no argument when he directs him to the bathroom with the pajamas. To keep busy and shove down the punching urge, he resizes another set of clothes from the wardrobe for the morning, startling himself when he leans too far in and his hand disappears through the back wall.
“Oh, right, I should warn you,” Draco says when Harry returns, changed and padding gingerly towards the bed. “The wardrobe is a portal to the treehouse, so be careful if you go too far into it.”
“You have a treehouse?” Harry asks with a gasp, and Draco smiles at him, striding over and pulling the quilt back for Harry to settle in.
“You have a treehouse. I’ll show you tomorrow, if you’d like.”
He waits as Harry clambers onto the bed and settles against the mound of pillows, smoothing the quilt over him and then making sure the dragon is tucked in, too. “Any ideas on a name?” Draco asks softly, tweaking the dragon’s snout. “Do you want to sleep on it?”
“Can I name him after a—a con—a constellation? Like you?” Harry asks, frowning in concentration.
“Yes, of course you can. Which do you fancy?” Draco sits on the bed near Harry’s feet and leans back on his hands, gazing up at the ceiling as it cycles over them. “There’s Cygnus, the swan I was telling you about—he was my grandfather, you know, and right by Draco, so that’s convenient. There’s Pegasus, too, a type of flying horse, and Cepheus, he was a king in Ancient Greece—well, he chained his daughter up to a rock, so maybe not the best role model, but a cool name nonetheless. Just stop me if anything grabs you, really.”
“What’s that one?” Harry asks, squinting up and pointing; Draco makes a mental note to solve the glasses issue as soon as possible. He looks where Harry’s pointing, southwest of the quadrant he’d been explaining, and spots the most recognizable constellation there is.
“Ah, that’s Orion. The hunter. He was a Giant, you know, and he got pretty boastful, so Gaia—super powerful Earth mum, you did not want to get on her bad side—sent a great big scorpion after him. They fought, so you’ll never see Orion and Scorpius—that constellation all the way over there—in the sky at the same time. But Ophiuchus—he was a Healer, that one over there, see how he’s sort of between Orion and Scorpius? He gave Orion some medicine and saved him from Scorpius.”
Harry’s eyes are drooping closed, but he still murmurs, “Really? Is that all true?”
“Well, sort of. They’re stories, myths; all the stars have stories. There are different versions and they change depending on who you talk to, but I have my favorite versions because they’re the ones my mum told me.”
Draco checks in to see that Harry’s eyes are almost completely closed, and keeps talking hoping they’ll close further; how many times had his mother talked him to sleep?
“If you’re in the sky, it means you’re pretty important, right? So that means lots of stories. I’ll tell you all of them, if you’d like. I think you’ll enjoy this room, and you’ll be happy here. I hope so.”
That’s all verging on a ramble, but he thinks it doesn’t matter because Harry is asleep. So Draco gets up gently, patting Harry’s foot over the quilt, shoots the still unnamed dragon a grin, and starts to leave the room.
He stops only when he hears Harry mumble, “Orion. That’s his name,” and curl around the dragon, breathing going smooth and even, arms clutching it tight against his small frame.
Draco smiles at them both. “Goodnight, Harry and Orion.”
tagging @teledild0nix @phoebe-delia and @thehoneybeet, fully randomly chosen so absolutely no pressure!!
#wip snip#drarry#drarry wip#drarry fic#time travel fic#so the working title of this (subject to change ofc though i like to have titles set early) is the star splitter#which is about a guy who burns his pastoral farmer life down to get a telescope to figure out his 'place among the infinities'#it's probably my second favorite frost poem tbh#draco burning his life down to rethread the universe for young harry seems very appropriate to me#anyway#i'm going to have to pause this fic somewhat soon to work on a fest fic#trying to get as much done as i possibly can because i love it so much already !!!
170 notes
·
View notes
Text
Signed, Sealed, Delivered (I'm Yours) by steddieasitgoes
@steddieasitgoes
Rating: Mature
61,091 words, 15/15 chapters
Archive Warning: No Warnings
Tags: Alternate Universe - No Upside Down (Stranger Things), Mailman Steve Harrington, Tattoo Artist Eddie Munson, Falling In Love, Getting Together, Idiots in Love, Slow Burn, Questionable use of lunchtime breaks, Sexual Tension, Bisexual Steve Harrington, Bisexual Eddie Munson, Robin Buckley & Chrissy Cunningham Friendship, Platonic Soulmates Robin Buckley & Steve Harrington, Mild Sexual Content, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Fluff and Humor, Slice of Life, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Set in 1991 - but there's no homophobia
Summary:
“Well, well, well, if it isn’t my terrible mailman,” the man jests, letting his weight fall against the half-opened door. “To what do I owe the displeasure?”
“It seems like some of your mail has slipped through the cracks at the post office,” Steve says with an air of causality he hopes pays off. “M’just here to deliver it and apologize for the inconvenience.”
“Right, ‘cause the post office “lost” it. Not my mailman who hates my house.”
“I don’t hate your house,” Steve objects.
“That’s two lies in under a minute. I don’t think your boss will be too happy to learn that you’re lying to your customers."
Or:
The year is 1991, and Steve Harrington is working as a mail carrier who is pettily withholding mail from Eddie. When Eddie threatens Steve’s job, he is forced into making amends by hand-delivering the missing mail. In a surprising twist, Steve and Eddie end up hitting it off, and the two start spending an alarming amount of Steve’s lunch breaks getting to know each other.
The more time they spend together, the less time Steve spends delivering mail, which might just end up costing him his job and his newfound relationship with Eddie.
This one is just SO fun! The balance of humor with angst and fluff is literal perfection. This was one of the fics I dropped everything for to read the latest update while it was still posting -- all around delightful!
Know a fic that deserves extra love? Submit through our asks or the submission box!
#steddie fic recs#steddie#steve harrington#eddie munson#steve x eddie#stranger things#no upside down#mailman steve#tattoo artist eddie munson#enemies to lovers#humor#fluff and angst#slow burn
56 notes
·
View notes
Last Seen Blogs
covertmonkey
Monkey Covert-365
swordn-shield
De desenho
issabees
kulay rosas
motorladsnotonlyswearbutalsocare
- motorlads -