#ALSO my hair being shorter = actual curls instead of waves since it's not as heavy

[daughterofsarenrae]

Dear baby me: hold my hands and listen to me. I have your best interests at heart. stop straightening your hair <3

[unknownjpegs]

little value

“Halt!”

Stepper doesn’t listen to the command, since it’s not from him, so the lumbering beast continues on stepping. Happy watches lazily, arms tucked into his sleeves, folded over his chest. His tortoise takes another lazy step and the Kings Guards on the road start to seem panicky, waving their hands, shouting the command another time.

“Stepper,” Happy calls, whistling. The Great Tortoise pauses then, one massive leg half lifted. He sets it down and swings his massive head toward him, blinking big doe eyes. “S’nough now, yeah? We’ll rest a bit.” He gets another few blinks before the tortoise opens its mouth in a giant yawn and then the beasts stomach hits the ground hard enough to make the two guards stumble a bit.

“You have papers for this beast? For your wares?” One of the guards snaps, coming forward. He’s taller than the other, lanky with floppy brown hair that pokes out underneath his little royal helm. Guard Two stands at a more respectable distance, has shrewd and beady red eyes. Neither of them pay Stepper any mind now that he’s flat to the ground.

“Are you askin’ if I’m a legitimate merchant, or a man with a giant tortoise carrying goods, roaming around for fun?” Happy takes one arm from his sleeve and uses his little finger to scratch inside his ear. Stepper gives another big mouthed yawn for effect, resting its head on the ground lazily.

“Being short with me, merchant?” The first guard snarls, hand on his hilt.

“Least m’bein’ recognized as a merchant,” Happy mutters, waving a hand in mute compliance to have his wares looked at. But neither guard actually move to do so. Instead they come closer, angling looks at each other. Suspicious and furtive, and both rest their hands on their hilts then. Happy looks between them, bored and tired.

“Looking for this man,” the short guard says, yanking out a piece of parchment. He holds it up for Happy to lazily inspect, head lolled to the side and angled down, because he’s much taller.

It’s Tino, of course. An artists rendering, with charcoal perhaps. It has his smooth cheeks, dark hair, the handsome cut of his jaw. Only whoever had done the drawing had also given him a terrible sneer. A cruel curl to his lip that wrinkled his nose. His eyes were glinting with malice, brows drawn in. He looked cartoonish and villainous and nothing like the laughing, good natured man Happy knew. If someone knew Tino, perhaps they’d recognize this as him. But a stranger, who merely glanced between this paper and the smiling, baby faced man they were looking for, might possibly think there was just an unfortunate resemblance.

“Never seen ‘im,” Happy replies.

The guards stare at him, their eyes narrowed. Beads of sweat roll down their faces, because they’re in light armor. He stares back, nonplussed and unimpressed.

“Suppose you’ll be paying the Kings tax ‘fore we let you by,” the shorter guard says then. He sniffs hard and spits snot onto the ground at Happy’s feet. The wind rustles through the trees a bit. He feels rain incoming and truthfully, he’d hoped to be at Tino’s by now. Because the trail is just shortly to their left, leads right into a clearing where the runaway’s built his little home for him and his stolen babe. And if it weren’t for that trail being so close, so happenstance nearby, Happy might have been content to just let them rob him.

Instead, he gives a shake of his head and sighs.

“Already paid my taxes this year.”

The guards unsheathe their swords with a clanging metallic sound. One points the tip to him while the other starts toward his tortoise. Stepper blinks up at the man as he levels the sword with his long leathery neck.

“Not above killing a man’s beast to set him straight,” the tall, sweaty guard says in a snide and malicious voice.

“Know what he is?” Happy asks in reply, gesturing toward his companion. The tortoise blinks at him this time. His great bulk shifts slightly, excited for the attention. Happy can remember the exact day when he got Stepper. Bought from a traveling merchant just like himself. Small enough to fit into his palm.

“A fucking turtle, what else he be?” The short guard prods his sword closer, point neck level with Happy now. He stares down the long glossy metal. It looks mostly unused. Happy understands. Pricks like the Royal Guards that wander the Kings Road, to keep peace, don’t usually have care to swing a sword. They can bully what they want out of people—and Happy is usually too lazy to argue, cuts his own coin purse and tosses it to them most of the time, without a backward look.

But the trail is so close.

“Stepper is a Great Tortoise. Not to be confused with the little tortoise. The ones you might be used to, yeah? The difference between Stepper and the small ones is not that he’s much bigger.” Happy sighs out, as if this is all some great inconvenience and not that he has a sword tip up to him and his animal companion. He lifts up a hand to wave at the tortoise, who raises his giant head in reply. The tall guard startles and takes a stumbling step back. “It’s that he can kill you.”

Steppers head shoots out fast, a blurring quickness. His great maw opens and then snaps shut around the tall guards head. There’s a distinctly wet crunching sound and then the body falls back to the ground with a loud thumping sound. His head does not follow.

Guard Two makes a brave attempt with his sword, screaming as it arcs through the air to catch Stepper on the neck. The thin metal snaps in two as it strikes the tortoise’s skin, the point of it flying and sticking into the soft dirt behind Happy, who’d stepped to the side as he saw it coming. The half broken sword makes a distinct twanging sound and then the guard is knocked to the ground by Stepper’s giant head.

“No! No!” The guard thrashes, screaming, scrambles—not enough. The Great Tortoise puts a great foot to the mans chest, and in one smooth and effortless motion, steps down. There’s the crunching sound of body breaking as well as the creak and groan of metal giving underneath the giant tortoise’s foot. Happy winces a bit as the blood soaks into the dirt road, dark and thick.

“Well,” Happy folds his arms back into his sleeves and looks to his companion. Stepper yawns once more, blood dripping from his pointed beak like mouth. “Suppose we’re in it now, Steps. No going back once you start killin’ the royalty.” Stepper slowly sinks back to the ground, belly flat, rumbling the Earth once more. Happy sighs, knowing he isn’t going to get any help moving the bodies to the forest.

—

The baby coos at Happy, his little fists waving in the air from the chair Tino’s fashioned for him. Something to keep him locked in, while he’s being fed. In the castle, Benji would have been spoiled rotten—held by a maid while another spoon fed him delicately. Now, he sits there with a plate of mixed foods that he smacks at happily, puts into his mouth messily as he smiles toothlessly up at Happy.

A bowl of soup and rice is handed to him then, by the young father. Happy takes it and immediately puts it to the side and then levels a look at Tino.

“Came here to talk to you,” he says in a mild voice. Not that the food didn’t smell amazing. The entire home did; alive with the cooking. The spices and the fire, and the closed in little space. The baby making excited sounds as Tino steps closer to wipe at the corners of his mouth.

“Not just to visit? Diondre, you know you can sit down. Enjoy a meal.”

“I know a witch,” he says instead, leaning against the table by the window. His eyes cut out to look at Stepper, who looks morose to not be involved. “With a babe just his age. Maybe a year younger or older, can’t really remember. She’s not exactly a nice witch, if you understand me.” He feels a chill sort of run up and down his spine, hairs lifting along his arms, like she can hear him. Wouldn’t doubt it if she could. He’d say it to her face, though, so the chill disappears as quickly as it had come on.

Tino stills, his shoulders tightening. Happy’s head tilts to the side, assessing as the younger man moves around the baby. Benji seems to sense the tension, his giant brown eyes going wide and watery. He looks fit to suddenly scream until Tino brushes a soothing hand over his curly hair. The baby has an absolute mop of it, black waves that stick up until Tino is brushing them down.

“Guards were on the road again.”

“Guards are always on the Kingsroad. It’s the Kingsroad.���

“And this,” Happy says, with a gesturing hand toward the placated baby. His little fist is wrapped tightly around one of Tino’s fingers, teething at the tip of it happily. He blinks at Happy, his eye lashes already thick and long. He looks nothing like his father. Not yet anyway. “Is the King’s son.”

The two men make eye contact then. Tino’s capable of a vastly darker look than one might assume him capable of. Nothing like the snide villains sneer on the parchment Happy had been shown. It’s not cruel, but it’s a cobra’s strike of warning. Benji makes happy, bubbling sounds. Happy sighs, takes the bowl from where he’d put it, assumes the soup is finally cooled down enough to eat. He won’t make this argument a third time; Tino will keep the baby, and Happy will keep selling along the Kingsroad to ensure that baby isn’t found.

Stepper breaks the tension by shoving his giant head through the window. Benji shrieks, but not in terror. He waves his hands in the air as the tortoise’s head comes closer. He yells in his babies babble and Stepper’s giant mouth opens, yawning large and wide.

The maw snaps shut on a bundle of herbs just above the mantle. Stepper chews contently, big eyes blinking as Benji continues his cherubic giggling.

Tino swings toward Happy with a delighted smile.

“You’ll be paying for the herbs then?”

Happy’s head rolls back on his neck, sighing out as he fishes for his coin purse.

—

Outside, Happy walks alongside the tortoise. The baby sleeps contently in the basket that Stepper carries inside his mouth. Tino watches from the door of the house, puffing away at the pipe. The smoke carries up into the air, disappears among the pink and purple clouds as the day slowly ends.

“I knew your father,” Happy says to the sleeping baby. Benji is swaddled tightly. He’d been fussing and crying, arguing against his sleep when Happy had scooped him up and placed him into the basket. It’ll help. Babies like the rocking motion, he’d explained as Stepper had taken up the handle without question. They lumber along now. Benji sleeps soundly, little face perfect.

“Well,” Happy continues, hands in his sleeves again. “Your real father, not that one. Know him too, for a bit now.” The edge of the forest greets them, so they make a turn to continue back toward the house. Tino has not moved, watches dutifully. “Not a big fan of the King, Benji.”

Stepper stops suddenly and sinks down onto his stomach lazily. Happy leans over to inspect the baby once more. Nothing but his face pokes out from the layers of blankets that keep him safe and warm. Happy crouches to look closer. He tries to find a shred of The King inside this face, but comes up empty. Not that he looks much like Tino either. Happy suspects, he’ll grow into a face that is uniquely his own.

“They’re going to come for you one day,” he murmurs. Stepper yawns out, puts his head beside the basket. Blinks his eyes closed. Happy sighs, looks up to the slowly darkening sky. Then he fishes within his red robe, pulls out the long necklace he’d stolen before he left. “This was your mothers. She was—well. The light in the halls of the castle, I’d say.” It’s not something a queen would wear, it’s simple, and of little value. It’s gold chain is old and the ornate gem at the end might not even be real.

Happy tucks it into the basket anyway.

[audreydoeskaren]

Abridged history of early 20th century Chinese womenswear (part 4.2: 1930s-hair, makeup & accessories)

Source here

Previous posts in the series:

Part 1: 1890s

Part 2: 1900s & 1910s

Part 3.1: 1920s-silhouette

Part 3.2: 1920s-design details

Part 3.3: 1920s-accessories, hair & makeup

Part 4.1: 1930s-silhouette & design

A super late Happy Chinese New Year to all fellow humans who celebrate it!! I’m going to discuss hair, makeup and accessories of the 1930s today in no particular order.

Undergarments

At one point between 1932 and 1934 women in China decided to ditch the breast binders worn since the 1890s and wear brassieres instead. This allowed the natural shape of women’s breasts to show and the contrast between the bust and waist lent the dresses of the mid 30s a soft hourglass shape. The brassieres of the 1930s didn’t have stiffening, boning or foam and relied only on their structure for support, so the shape of the breasts looked very soft and rounded.

Source here

30s Du Barry lingerie sewing pattern for brassieres and drawers. This may not be very representative because brassieres made by different companies looked different, but they usually looked like modern bras with vertical darts and no wires or foam cups.

I must again redirect you to this article on breast binding in China, if you can’t read Chinese Google Translate works just fine. There’s one thing that I’d like to comment on though; the author named breast binding as the sole reason for the small bust measures of women at the time and argued that it caused health problems and hindered the growth of the chest. I think this is true to some extent, but other reasons for the generally small stature of women in this period (and indeed the centuries before) included malnourishment, bad healthcare and lack of exercise. Women weren’t educated about healthy diets and the importance of physical exercise before the 30s, not to mention the non-existent healthcare they received, so they were much shorter and skinnier, and suffered from more illnesses than the average modern woman. Before industrialization, food production was also often insufficient so a lot of women were malnourished.

As popular as brassieres were, some Chinese women chose to go braless. However, I have usually seen braless women in advertisements/pinup posters, so I suspect this would not be very socially acceptable on a daily basis.

Source: lai yiching0926 on Pinterest. I get so many primary sources from this person y’all may as well check out their board on Chinese calendar painting it’s bomb. I also have a Pinterest board where I collect primary sources if anyone is interested, my Pinterest username is also audreydoeskaren.

However, being braless doesn’t mean wearing nothing underneath a cheongsam. Camisoles were worn on the upper body and drawers (which were becoming proto-panties) on the lower body; alternatively a slip could be worn. 30s drawers are really pretty in my opinion, they were high waisted and had an a-line shape, decorated with lace.

To my knowledge, Chinese women in this period did not yet wear girdles, corsets or any other kind of shapewear to take in the waist, at least I have never seen their edges peeking out from underneath the cheongsam. I guess this was also unnecessary as the cheongsam was a light one piece dress and didn’t require any support at the waist.

From my observation, stockings were kind of optional in this period. In the early 20s and before, Chinese women wore short stockings tied up by garters at knee level, but as the skirt hem rose to knee length in the late 20s they probably stopped doing that as the garters would show when they inevitably flash their knees. I assume longer, nude stockings would be worn, held up by a garterbelt or something, but a lot of images of this era showed women with no visible stockings. Teenagers and younger women could wear low knit socks like Western children, but these were not acceptable on grown up women unless they were doing sports. Tights were not yet a thing either.

On top of these undergarments, some women chose to wear ankle length petticoats or pants underneath the cheongsam. This was especially the case around 1934 when the side slits were mid thigh or higher and constantly showing your drawers was likely not the most respectable thing. These petticoats and pants were most commonly white and had decorative trim. Petticoats could have slits down both sides like the outer cheongsam or a flared hem. Pants were straight cut and wide legged. Later in the decade the slits became lower so petticoats and pants weren’t that necessary anymore but many women still chose to wear them, which is fine by me because I think it’s a cute look. Likewise there were many examples of women around 1934 wearing high slit cheongsam without petticoats or pants, especially if they were dancing, so this was likely a matter of personal preference (Western dances like tango, waltz, foxtrot, charleston and swing were introduced to China and popularized in the 20s and 30s. The Paramount dance hall in my native city of Shanghai is a monument to that).

Source here

Mid 30s photograph, high slit cheongsam with pants.

Source here

Later 30s fabric ad, low slit cheongsam with flared petticoat. 

Outerwear

A noteworthy development in the mid 30s was that wearing actual, full blown Western fashion became popularized, but only as outerwear, sportswear or eveningwear; Western day dresses were not often seen on Chinese women. In regards to Western outerwear, a variety of them could be worn over cheongsam. In addition to the fur trim wrap coats popular in the late 20s, women wore capes, vests, suits, coats, knit cardigans and others. It was completely ok to mix and match Western accessories and jackets with cheongsam.

Source here

Short cape.

Source here

Early 30s women’s suit. I know I use this image a lot, it’s just really useful and beautiful :)

Source here

Early 30s fur trim wrap coat.

Source: Sayuu G on Pinterest, link

Long coat with lapels.

Source: Yuan Li on Pinterest, link

Cardigan and jacket. This kind of short sleeved, straight front, collarless jacket on the left was very popular in the mid 30s.

Another cute mid 30s accessory I’m very fond of is the gauntlet glove i.e. gloves that have a very wide trunk opening. I think they have an equestrian flair and look very badass.

Source: Yuan Li on Pinterest, link

1935 cover of The Young Companion. (Why are the useful images always so small? Woe is me)

Earrings were really common in the 30s, you could see them in almost all of the reference photos in this post. 

Hairstyles

Since around 1930 the history of Chinese and Western women’s hairstyles had almost completely synchronized so if you know about vintage Western hairstyles you’re welcome to skip this part.

In the beginning of the 30s the most common hairstyle was a short bob with optional fingerwaves (called waterwaves in this period? I’m not great with terminology). Some bobs in the late 20s/early 30s could be so short that they look like buzz cuts. The defining feature of the fingerwave was the shimmery wave-like pattern in the hair created by pinching and combing the hair while it’s wet with setting products. Just a side note, the way fingerwaves are done in most Chinese period dramas nowadays, uh, leaves much to be desired. That’s because a lot of hairstylists just attach a wavy extension (which you can easily purchase from Taobao...) to the actresses’ forehead and call it a day, but that doesn’t really replicate the structure of the fingerwave and makes it look like the 铜钱头 in Kun Opera instead.

Source: Helen Xu on Pinterest.

Early 30s very short bob.

Source here

Early 30s fingerwave

Another very common hairstyle in the 30s was this mid length bob (either side part or middle part) with a lot of volume at the bottom. I am so puzzled as to how this is achieved, maybe with teasing or curling only at the bottom? That sounds odd.

Source here

Mid 30s fabric ad.

This ad is forcing me to go on a tangent about fabric dyes. This label, Indanthren, sold fabrics dyed from a range of blue or blue-ish colored synthetic dyes made by the German company BASF (which was merged into IG Farben at this time). Because of the introduction of synthetic dyes to China, almost all colors under the sun could be produced or imported so there weren’t really any specific color limitations to the clothing of this period.

Back to hair. Contrary to popular opinion, fingerwaves were not in fashion throughout the 30s, let alone the entire republican era. As the 30s progressed, the fashionable hair length became longer, making it more difficult for fingerwaves to be performed; they were replaced by roller sets and pin curls which are more suitable for longer hair. In the mid 30s, brush out curls with a side part were extremely popular. At this point bangs kind of became a Chinese cultural heritage and a lot of women would wear brush out curls with bangs. There are literally a million patterns for setting brush out curls and every woman probably had her own tricks, so everybody’s hair looked a tad different but the overall idea was the same as Western brush out curls: women would set the hair in the night and sleep with the rollers/pin curls to let them dry, then in the morning they would brush them out until the desirable wavy shape is achieved. Many women also used curling irons to achieve the same hairstyles with heat, which was faster and didn’t require waiting overnight. With that said, the fingerwave didn’t just disappear either, it was often used in conjunction with brush out curls to sculpt specific hairstyles. I’m not a professional vintage hairstylist so I can’t always clock if a hairstyle is done with fingerwaving, brush out curls or both. From my own experience with brush out curls, they are usually more voluminous and have more fizzy ends and the waves don’t line up so perfectly like with fingerwaves because the process is more uncontrollable (or maybe I’m just clumsy).

Source here

Typical mid 30s curls.

The fashionable hair length grew longer toward the end of the decade, with the finished curls reaching either the shoulder or the nape of the neck. Hairstyles became kind of rectangular in silhouette and flat at the crown. They were often pulled back at the sides to create a more rectangular shape for the face.

Source: lai yiching0926 on Pinterest.

Late 30s hairstyles.

Shoes

Again, full westernization here. 30s shoes had higher and thinner heels than 20s shoes, although they were still thicker and lower than modern stilettos. The heels were usually curved Louis heels. 30s shoes often had a single strap across the foot and a wrapped design at the toe. Spectator shoes and Oxfords that covered the whole foot were also worn. Likewise, strapless pumps were fashionable too, sometimes with an open toe design, especially toward the end of the decade. 

Source: genibee on Flickr, link

1935 Sears catalogue. Maybe not very representative since shoes made by different companies looked different, just showing what was possible.

Interestingly, I have never seen an image of a 30s Chinese woman wearing boots or booties outside of an equestrian context. I guess boots either weren’t feminine enough or were too inconvenient under the long cheongsam.

Sportswear

A very interesting development in the 30s was the popularization of sportswear as a result of women doing sports. Wealthy or aristocratic Chinese women have been riding and hunting in an attempt to emulate European lifestyle since decades, but these sports remained elite and untouchable for common women; in the 30s however, more accessible sports like swimming, volleyball and tennis became in vogue. The popularity of swimming was in large part due to the influence of female swimming champion 杨秀琼 Yang Xiuqiong (her name is spelled differently in Cantonese because she was from Hong Kong), who was seen as a national hero for winning a ton of medals in international swimming competitions and breaking records. China began trying to participate in Olympic games around this period and there were also many other women athletes competing in different sports, so sportswear became a necessity.

The design of swimwear in this period followed closely the design of Western bathing suits, usually a tight, short, one piece bodysuit.

Source here

1933 cover of The Young Companion featuring Yang in a swimsuit. There was a stigma around female swimmers at this time though, mostly because of the revealing clothing they had to wear to allow freedom of movement. Many press reports called Yang a “mermaid” because of her physical beauty, trying to reduce her to a sex icon instead of the glorious athlete she actually was. All of the whack rumors about her being a concubine of some rich dude was also really disgusting and distracting from her achievements.

I’ve also seen multiple times this two piece design with shorts and a modernized 肚兜 dudou (a Qing Dynasty undergarment with a function akin to that of a corset cover).

Source: EMKAY on Pinterest

30s pinup girl in two piece swimsuit.

For land sports, women usually wore a short sleeved open collar shirt with shorts, short knit socks and flat pumps.

Source: Jason Tse on Pinterest

1933 cover of The Young Companion featuring a tennis player. 

Makeup

The makeup look of the early 30s was almost identical to the late 20s look, with the thin, elongated eyebrows, large oval shaped blush and delicate red/mauve lips. This continued all the way until around 1938-39.

Toward the end of the decade, the eyebrows started to return to a normal thickness and became kind of arched instead of flat. Eyeshadows became lighter or non-existent. Women used cake mascara to darken their eyelashes, which were separated and evenly spread out. The location of the blush moved slightly downward. Red lipstick was still the most popular but the lips were plumper than in the early 30s. Overall very subtle and small changes to makeup. There were a bunch of Western and Japanese makeup companies trading in China at this point, I couldn’t name any specific ones beside Nivea which was quite popular for affordable skincare products like cream and sunscreen. I assume that actresses and pinup girls would also use Max Factor, but I’m not sure how widely used his products were among the general population. The Hong Kong brand ���生行 Kwong Sang Hong (whose Shanghai branch was called 双妹 “Twin Sisters” and whose advertisements we have seen too many times in this series) was also really popular.

I know I promised to talk about makeup more in this post but unfortunately there really isn’t much to talk about :( So see you next time when I dig into the 1940s!

[iam93percentstardust]

Not sure if you’ve written something like this before, but my prompt is Tony being really into skincare and one day Steve finally lets him do a skincare routine on him before they sleep? And tony climbs on Steve’s lap to do it while Steve just lets his boyfriend do his thing, indulging and amused. I thought of this while doing my night time skin routine hehe

Hi! No, I don’t think I’ve ever written a skincare routine fic before, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to try! Since my skincare routine is really simple, I ended up writing more of an introspective fic while Tony is incidentally doing his routine on Steve, but I hope it’s still something you enjoy!

As always, everything I write is also on ao3

~

Steve doesn’t understand it, but that’s okay.

The skincare routine has always been more Tony’s thing than his. Steve just doesn’t understand the point when his shower works just as well. Tony always calls him the peak of human perfection anyway and that’s without the routine so why should he take the time to bother with skincare on top of that?

Tony likes it though. Steve’s never asked, but he thinks Tony’s insistence on doing the skincare routine every single night before bed has less to do with how much he likes it and more to do with the routine being something he and Maria had done together before—before that terrible accident last year.

He looks at Tony, sleepily doing his routine in the bathroom. There’s something very soft about Tony when he’s sleepy. Tony when he’s awake and alert is always a sight to see—usually dressed in an oil-stained t-shirt and holey jeans, mind flying from one topic to the next, held back only by the speed of his fingers, positively beautiful in his exhilaration. But Tony when he’s sleepy, when he’s dressed in an oversized MIT hoodie and fuzzy socks, that’s something special that only Steve gets to see.

He gets up from their bed and heads into the bathroom, wrapping his arms around Tony’s waist as he stands behind him. Tony makes a quiet, surprised sound, hands dropping down to Steve’s.

“Hey, sweetheart,” Steve says and nudges the sensitive skin behind Tony’s ear with his nose. Tony murmurs wordlessly, so he does it again before placing a kiss light as air there. “When you’re done in here, you wanna come out to our bedroom and do one for me?”

Tony’s head falls back on his shoulder. His eyes are shining, a small smile playing around the corners of his mouth. “You mean it?” he asks.

“Wouldn’t have offered if I didn’t.” It wouldn’t be right of him to dangle that offer in front of him only to snatch it away. He knows that Tony’s been dying to try out his routine on Steve for ages. He’ll be excited that Steve is finally agreeing. He doesn’t know what makes him say yes today, other than it’s a completely random day and on completely random days, he likes to surprise Tony with things, spoil him the way he should be.

Tony’s face lights up. “I’d like that,” he says and stretches up enough to kiss the underside of Steve’s jaw. “Go sit on the edge of the bed, I’ll be right out.”

It takes a few minutes before Tony pads out of the bathroom, silent in his socked feet, arms full of products. Steve’s eyes widen at the sight, and Tony chuckles.

“Don’t worry, darling,” Tony tells him, setting the bottles down beside him. “It’s not as scary as it looks.”

“Looks pretty scary,” Steve mutters.

“Hmm, well then, let’s see if we can make it a little better. Sound good?” Without waiting for an answer, Tony slides into his lap, straddling him. Automatically, Steve’s hands rise to his hips, both to steady him and because it’s a Pavlovian response. His hands aren’t the only parts of his body that know what it means when Tony straddles him, and he fights back a wave of embarrassment as his cock hardens against Tony’s ass. Tony, though, just laughs again and raises up a little higher on his knees to relieve the pressure on his dick.

“You can sit down, sweetheart,” Steve says. “I can behave.”

“I know you can. But this is a better angle for me anyway.”

“If you’re sure.”

“I am,” Tony assures him with a wink. “So sure.”

Steve relaxes as Tony pulls out a small white tub filled with some sort of cream. He closes his eyes as Tony gently dabs it onto his skin with his fingertips, rubbing it in in little circles. It’s oddly soothing, Tony’s calloused fingertips gentle on his skin.

“This is cleanser,” Tony tells him. “If you’re wearing any makeup, it helps break it down, but for you and me, we just use it to break down any larger dirt particles on our skin.”

“Are you going to follow that up by telling me which brand you recommend and to subscribe to your channel?” Steve asks dryly, reminded of the influencers Bucky keeps showing him so they can laugh at them.

Tony snickers, pressing his face against Steve’s shoulder for a moment. “I like to think I’m not as bad as that. For one thing, this routine is way shorter than theirs.”

“Yeah?”

“I assume when so many companies own your soul, you have to stretch out the routine so you can cram all those products in.”

Steve grins, hands sneaking under Tony’s shirt to rub against his bare skin. “Well, thank god that there’s only one company that owns your soul.”

“Hmm hurray for SI, I guess.”

Tony follows the cleanser up with an actual face wash, cleaning Steve’s face with as much care as he’d shown him during the cleanser. He doesn’t describe any of the other products, instead telling Steve about his day at SI, a much better place now that Stane is ousted and Tony has hired a new CEO instead. Steve likes Pepper a lot; he thinks she’ll be good for Tony, bringing some of his more fanciful ideas back down to earth. They’re working on a new water filtration system right now, a cheaper but higher quality alternative to the systems out right now.

In turn, Steve tells him about his own day, finishing up the last couple of classes he needs for graduation. He’s getting a degree in art therapy, intending to help kids the same way he was helped back when he was young and constantly sick. He just needs to finish two more classes and he’ll be set, ready to “go forth and save the day” as Tony puts it.

Tony’s movements start slowing down as he tires, his eyes taking longer to open each time he blinks. “Hey,” Steve says gently, catching Tony’s chin in his hands so he can look him in the eyes. “We don’t have to finish this now. We can do this tomorrow.”

“No,” Tony says sleepily. “We’re almost done.”

“You sure?”

He nods, and Steve lets him get back to what he was doing. Sure enough, Tony applies one more product to Steve’s face—“A moisturizer,” Tony tells him—and then stands back up, wobbling on his feet. Steve reaches out to steady him, hands lingering on Tony’s waist.

“How about I put all these away and you crawl into bed?” Steve suggests.

“You sure?” Tony asks, echoing Steve’s own words.

He nods. Tony really must be tired because he doesn’t even put up a fuss about making sure Steve puts the products back in their place—which is good, because Steve has no idea where they go. He just wants to get them put back in the bathroom and they’ll take care of putting them away properly tomorrow.

Tony is already mostly-asleep by the time Steve heads back into their bedroom, only his hair peeking out from under the blankets. He smiles at the familiar sight and turns out the lights, easily picking his way across their bedroom in the dark to settle into bed next to Tony, who curls into him as soon as he lays down.

“Good night, sweetheart,” he murmurs, closing his eyes.

Tony mumbles something and presses the lightest of kisses to Steve’s shoulder.

[kookicrumbs]

╰ pink love

pairing: jungwon x fem!reader genre: fluff word count: 2985 warnings; like one super minor curse word (hell)! just some cutesy stuff for ya today! summary: jungwon and y/n go on a build-a-bear date! a/n: i really wanted to do something sweet beacuse i love fluff a whole lot, so please enjoy c:

“Are we there yet?” I pout, tugging on Jungwon’s sweater. I attempt to sway him with my best puppy eyes, but he continues walking, pulling me along with him.

“This honestly reminds me of a movie,” He laughs out, “Since when did asking a million times get us there faster?”

I’m not actually that annoyed, but it’s fun to tease him. “What if this is all a movie? Ya think we can break the fourth wall?”

“I don’t know, I’d consider us powerful enough to. If this is a movie, I’m obviously the main character. Since you’re my girlfriend, you can be my sidekick!”

“Ohh, ha, ha, ha. If I’m the sidekick, pigs can fly.”

He puts on a shocked expression, pointing up into the air. “Did I just hear an oink all the way up there?”

“Shut up!” We giggle, shoving each other with our shoulders. Our footsteps match each other as we pad through the open-air mall. Warm sunlight drifts down, encasing us in a soft bubble of relaxation.

“Hey look, I think that’s it!” Jungwon tightens his grip on my hand and we take off towards the familiar shop. As we run, the eyes of other passerbys follow us, but I don’t take the time to feel embarrassed; life’s too short for that.

My legs are shorter than his, so I nearly trip several times. The universe is totally watching out for me today though, because we manage to arrive at the store’s entrance without suffering from a single scratch or bruise.

The Build-A-Bear logo passes overhead as we make our way inside. We are still glued together, buzzing from the excitement of our date. We’re going to make bears for each other! With any other guy I might have found it cheesy, but when Jungwon suggested we do it, my heart fluttered in a strange way.

“Hello! Welcome to Build-A-Bear Workshop! My name is Kiana,” A sunny looking lady welcomes us with a large smile on her face. The cute bobble headband perched on her hair seems to wave at us as well. “Will you two be needing any help today?”

Jungwon throws one arm over my shoulder and presses me tight to his side. His dimples peek out playfully as he responds. “I think we’re okay right now, we’re gonna make some bears for each other. This is my girlfriend!” He looks so proud as our eyes meet, and my stomach twists. Even though we’ve been dating for one and a half years now, whenever he looks at me like that, it feels like the day I first met him.

We’d been at the movie theatre, not together, but coincidentally there on the same day. Jungwon was sitting in the seat in front of me with a couple of his friends, while I was there with my own. His buddies were being idiots and throwing popcorn and other snacks at each other, when a whole bucket came flying at me. Being my easily scared self, I screamed and jumped backwards, simultaneously kicking my legs out and up. It took a few seconds to realize that my feet hadn’t collided with Jungwon’s seat, but instead his head.

I’d been absolutely mortified, and my friends’ muffled laughter didn’t help with that. I’d expected a huge tantrum from him, considering his friends seemed the type to start a huge fight over it, but his reaction was the complete opposite. In fact, he was apologetic and blamed it all on the buffoon who launched the snack at me.

I immediately caught feelings when he laughed and complimented my kick; apparently he knew taekwondo, and he thought I’d be good at it. He got that from a poorly done, unaimed kick to his own skull. To this day, I think I knocked something out of place there, but what can ya do.

Regardless, we ended up exchanging numbers, which is something that confused the hell out my friends and I. A month later, we started going out. I’ve dated some questionable people, so getting the chance to be with someone like Jungwon is a dream come true for me. Another plus, I finally get to check “Build A Bear date” off of my date idea list!

“You guys look adorable together!” Kiana gushed. My cheeks heat up, but not in an awkward way. “We have all our plushes over there. You can take a look and pick one, and then we’ll get that all filled up for you.”

“Thank you!” Jungwon and I say at the same time before strutting towards the plushies.

“We should split up so our bears, or whatever we pick for each other, stays a surprise! Okay?” I’m already looking at each option, and I begin to wonder how I’m ever going to pick just one.

“Since it looks like the queen has already laid claim to this particular piece of territory, I’ll go browse the accessories so I can get your plush decked out in a gorgeous outfit.” He winks and makes his way to the rows of plushie-sized clothing.

The variety of options is amazing. There’s the classic bears, but there’s also other cute things, like lobsters, giraffes, and seals. I’m a sucker for the classics, so I want to pick out a bear for Jungwon.

Two specific bears are in a fight for my love. One is a simple vanilla color with rainbow sprinkle accents, and the other is a pink bear with heart shaped ruffles. Oh god, do I just… buy both? No, that’s be stupid. Eeny meeny miney moe, a classic just like the bear.

I’m not disappointed when my finger lands on the pink bear, meaning I made the right choice and won’t have to switch to the vanilla bear out of a previously hidden lust for it. Awesome.

I peek my head around the aisle and still see Jungwon sorting through racks of outfits. In the time I’d spent picking a plush for him, he grabbed a basket and began filling it with stuff I couldn’t make out. Comfortable with the fact that he isn’t looking, I sneak over to the filling station, the pink bear clutched tightly in my hands.

“Hi! I’d love to get this guy filled, please!” The man working at this station has a name tag that reads, “Jordan”, and he looks equally nice as Kiana.

“Good choice,” He leads me to a filling spot. “Are they for you or for someone else?”

My chuckle causes the worker to smile. I reply while he gathers a few items. “My boyfriend and I came here for a cute date, so it’s for him! This one is super cute so I had to get it for him.”

“Aww, I’ll have to write that down. I'm sure my partner would find it a great idea too!” Jordan sweeps his arm across in a grand gesture, showcasing the variety of hearts and other button-looking objects that sit before him.

“Would you be interested in adding a sound to your bear? You can pick from any of these or you can record your own.”

I pick quickly, sure of what I want to do. “Mm, I’d like to do a recording, if possible. Make it extra special, right?”

“Of course, let me grab that for you and you can record your message!” He gets the heart and let’s me know what to do. Once again making sure Jungwon is not nearby, I record my message and hand it back to Jordan. He puts it in the bear, a small smile playing on his lips. Did he hear me?

“Alright, perfect. Any scents or are you ready to stuff?”

I choose a sweet raspberry scent and get the bear stuffed. It’s fun to push the pedal and see the stuffed animal become plumper, until I finally fill them all the way up. Hugging it feels like hugging a cloud.

I thank Jordan and hide the bear behind my back as I go to the dressing area. Jungwon seems to have moved on, as I spot him at the plushie picking station. I wonder what he’ll get me. Knowing him, it’s going to be adorable.

His eyes meet mine and I suppress a squeal, making sure the bear is out of sight. My strange salute makes him smile and he turns back to picking a plush for me, but not before making sure I won’t look while he gets one.

“So, what would you wear…” I whisper to the pink bear. He seems fashionable and needs something that fits his personality.

Each outfit makes me want to curl up and scream. They’re all so cute and tiny, and I can’t help but want to grab a whole bunch. I create outfits in my head, imagining each on the plushie. Letting the bear try them on seems like a step too far. Instead, I pick up a white button down shirt, pressed pants, little shoes, and a pair of heart shaped sunglasses from my pile and get to dressing.

Putting everything on the pink bear proves to be a struggle. “Come on… tuck in your tummy!” The bear’s legs don’t want to squeeze into the pants I picked. Looks like Build-A-Bear needs more size options. After a somewhat graphic commotion involving lots of pulling, pushing, and whispered yelling, he is finally clothed.

“Jungwon better like what I picked because I don’t think that’s ever coming off.” I brush off my shirt and hope that no one was watching my heated argument with an inanimate object.

I swiftly finish up the washing part of the process, which consisted of pressured air being blown at my plush. I enjoyed seeing the bear’s fur waving around luxuriously. It really fit his vibe. I end up having to consult an employee about what to do next since my amnesiac brain likes to forget simple things: it’s naming time.

After I scan the pink bear’s tag, a naming screen is brought up. I’m given suggestions like Mr. Cuddles, Tiny, and Snuggles, but I choose to make his own name. What do I name you?

Maybe Love? Too plain. Bear? Way too basic. Pink? Pinky? I clearly don’t get around to naming things very often. If it hadn’t been for my siblings, I would have named our dog Cat.

I rack my brain for anything. At this point, the next thing that pops into my head is gonna be his name. No turning back. And my brain provides. Sir Loves-a-lot is inexplicably forged in the depths of my mind, and it shall be the name of this honorable bear.

I imagine a knighting ceremony for Sir Loves-a-lot and enter his name into the computer. It goes through and I get a printed certificate with his name on it. I’m extremely excited to give him to Jungwon and see his reaction.

Jungwon seems to be finishing up at the washing station, so I pay and wait near the entrance of Build-A-Bear. I swing around my finished bear, which is tucked neatly into a bag so Jungwon can’t see it yet. Our date is soon to reach its peak: when we get to see our finished products.

“Hey! Look what I have!” Jungwon skips over to me in a playful manner. His joy envelops me as he gets nearer. His eyes are alight with what looks to be the same thing I’m currently feeling. Is it love?

I show off my bag, my competitive side instantly coming out. “I’ve got yours right here too! If you want to see it… you’ll have to catch me!”

Adrenaline shoots through me as I take off running, Jungwon quickly shifting into a quick runner. My laughs impair my speed as I hiccup and yell, Jungwon’s voice matching my own. We both giggle like idiots while our shoes run thin on the hard ground and our bags crinkle with the whip of the wind.

“Got you!” Jungwon takes care not to throw me onto the ground, instead grabbing my shirt and pulling me to his chest. He lets out an umph as I knock into him full force, still reeling from the sudden shift in direction.

“Jungwon!” A shriek of laughter explodes out of me as we tumble to the concrete with a soft thump. No one is around as we breath off our fit of giggles, still in a heap.

“Looks like my bear made it.” He lifts up his unscatched bag. “Can I say the same of yours?”

A strike of fear hits me, but quickly dissolves when I see my bag looks fine. “I am pleased to report that Combat Bear Number 2 has survived.”

“Combat Bear Number 2? Don’t tell me that’s his name. What a mouthful!” He puts a hand to his chest and sighs dramatically.

“Don’t be stupid, I named him Sir— wait! Don’t try and cheat!” I softly whack him on the shoulder, earning a look of faux-sadness.

“Ouch. But you named him Sir… something. What a noble name! Of course, nothing but the best can come from you.” He holds out the Build-A-Bear bag. “But I’m actually dying to exchange these, so swap?”

“If that isn’t the most relatable thing ever.” I hand him my bag and he gives me his. “You can open mine first!”

“Ooh, don’t mind if I do.” He eagerly opens the bag and pulls out the tissue-paper wrapped bear. The material easily comes off and he holds it up. His eyes seem to glow with delight.

“Oh my gosh.” Jungwon swipes at Sir Loves-a-lot’s fur, fascinated by the heart-shaped ruffles. “He’s so cute! His clothes are... so tight,” His face betrays his confusion, and I snicker as he speaks, “but he looks hella fashionable! I really hope mine will live up to these standards.” He seems to get nervous so I hold his hands to try and calm him down.

“What do you think I named him?”

His mouth shapes into an “O” and he pulls out the certificate. His previously timid face transforms immediately as he reads it.

“Sir Loves-a-lot? Why?! So cheesy but so good!” He crumples onto himself, his head coming to a rest between his knees. I’m overjoyed by his reaction and I press forward to hug his side.

“I love him so much. I’ll cherish him forever.” He looks at me pointedly, almost like he’s trying to tell me something. He switches course though, gesturing to the bag that lies at my feet. “Now open yours!”

I cross my legs to get more comfortable, and I open the bag, wondering what he made for me. My heart dances when I see what he chose. It’s a blue bear with stars in her fur and white wings protruding from her back. I didn’t even see it when I was picking my bear for him.

“Woah…” I hold her up, noticing a soft scent coming from her fur. When I lift the bear up to my nose, I can detect citrus. “Jungwon, you made her smell like lemons! I love lemon… and—and look how pretty! All the stars, and the color… she’s perfect.”

I look at the certificate, all bright and new, and see her name: Mrs. Lovey. Mrs., not Ms.

Jungwon looks at me innocently. “What do you think, am I making my point clear? The future is never far away and I—”

I can’t help but turn away as I feel a prickle in my eyes. Never will I ever cry on a date.

“Awww! Don’t cry, you’ll make me cry!” Jungwon leaps towards me, catching me off-guard. I end up falling backwards with a yelp, but he throws his hand under my head and catches me before I can slam into the concrete.

We stare at each other for what seems like hours but is in actuality only seconds. The silence is loud, but Jungwon slices right through it when he whispers to me, “Is this a kdrama?”

“And… off!” I sit up, hugging my bear closer to me. I’m overwhelmed by Jungwon’s confession. He wants us to really stay together. As in, I’d be his “one”.

“Is—is that what you want too? It’s okay if not, I’ll understand if you wouldn’t be ready, even in the months it would take to get there, unless sooner is better, and I—” He rambles, more emotional than I am, before I put a finger to his lips.

“Yeah, it’s what I want too. I think we should go with your plan, um, wait a little longer since we’re so young and I don’t want to scare my parents.” That earns a laugh out of us both. “But the answer to “would I want it?” is definitely yes!”

Jungwon hugs me tightly, squealing in my ear. I squeal right back, suddenly lighter than ever.

“Dude, I want to say something. Yep, here I go. I— I love you!” Jungwon yells out to me, loud enough to wake up everyone half-way across the world. My heart expands when he says it. I want to scream it back and kiss him under the blue sky, but he continues speaking.

“Okay, look, even though I would have totally respected you for saying you wouldn’t want what I want, I’m feeling so relieved right now. Like whooh! I could jump off a plane! Ride the biggest wave! Sir Loves-a-lot here would come with me, wouldn’t you?” He high fives his bear.

I’m confused when his eyebrow raises. “Did you put a sound in him? Why didn’t you tell me?” Truthfully, I’d forgotten too. However, I smirk as I remember what I recorded.

“Press it.” I urge him to push on the bear’s paw, and he does, putting it near his ear so he can hear it better. The clear sound of my voice comes through, bringing waves of pink, soft love to both Jungwon and I.

“I really, really love you.”

[owl-with-a-pen]

I think it would be hella cute if we got a prompt where Brainy carries Nia to bed after she passes out on the couch doing an article or maybe just being tired in general. I know brainy would just be super soft In that moment and be so delicate with her.

- I'm always up for some Brainia softness! Thanks for the prompt x

Although Nia had mostly overcome her habit of falling asleep at inexplicable angles, she was not without relapse.

At least she had fallen asleep somewhere relatively comfortable, Brainy mused as he watched her from the across the sofa, snoring soundly with her face tucked against her laptop’s keyboard.

Said laptop was working vigorously to keep up with the onslaught of text Nia had inadvertently caused to relay across the screen. Currently, her document was on it’s seventh page of tangential gibberish.

Brainy understood the cause. It was no secret that Nia had been pushing herself harder as of late. Not only had she been throwing herself into every aspect of her superhero work, she was also dealing with a deluge of articles - some of which that were on some very tight deadlines - thanks to one Andrea Rojas. Since Kara had returned to office, instead of laying off of Nia as she had admittedly expected, Andrea had instead found a new interest in her, prompting her for more and more stories big and small that might have otherwise been covered by Kara or other more notable members of the team.

“I just can’t figure her out,” Nia had grumbled to Brainy two nights ago on that very same couch. “I don’t know if she’s using me so that Kara can focus on this whole Super Friends angle, or if she’s actually valuing my work as a reporter. Honestly, I don’t even know if that matters. It’s way more responsibility than she’s ever trusted me with before.”

Brainy had to agree that Andrea’s intentions were certainly difficult to figure out, but regardless, Nia had assimilated to her new responsibilities remarkably well. There was a fervour in her eyes when she worked on these new articles, one that had not been present when her priority had simply been covering entertainment and fluff pieces.

Brainy loved seeing that passion in her work reignited, and desperately wanted to support her efforts in any way that he could, even if it was simply by making sure she still heeded to her body’s basic needs.

Such as right now, for example.

“Nia?” Brainy asked softly, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Nia Nal?”

Nia’s eyes only scrunched tighter shut in response, burying her face firmly into her folded arms.

Brainy smirked. The likelihood of this running smoothly had not been in his favour, after all.

It seemed that direct action would be his only way forward.

He stood from the sofa, walking to Nia's side before waving his hand in front of the laptop’s screen. With that, a connection was made, enough that the keyboard locked, halting Nia’s impressively long and continuous key smash at just over ten pages.

Brainy relaxed his eyes, allowing them to flicker across the screen as he kept his hand hovered above the keys. Once he was certain he had read through and highlighted all irrelevant data, he straightened, linking his hands together. In the same motion, he deleted all words not pertaining to the main body of Nia’s original article before she had fallen asleep, ensuring to back-up the document so that she could read it back at a better suited hour.

Once he was certain that her progress was safe, Brainy snapped the laptop shut, taking special care to slip it from beneath Nia’s chin before tucking it fluidly beneath his arm. Nia jerked slightly from the change in angle, but the sofa’s arm was more than equipped to take up the duty of impromptu pillow in her laptop’s absence.

Still, it was not an adequate position to allow her to rest for the time that her body required.

Brainy was well acquainted with the aches and pains the body could present after remaining in an awkward position for far too long. He could admit that he, too, had a habit of getting absorbed in his work, so-much-so that he had forgotten to move for hours if not days at a time.

At least his physiology allowed for a shorter recovery period. With no implants to assist her, Nia’s body would not be nearly as forgiving.

And so, once Brainy had safely deposited Nia’s laptop on the dinner table, he came back to her, folding his arms in silent contemplation.

What was the most efficient way of doing this?

Brainy’s lips twitched thoughtfully. Perhaps the old-fashioned bridal style was in order.

Careful not to jostle his girlfriend too much, Brainy bent forward, slipping his arms beneath her. Once he was sure he had a secure enough hold on her both her legs and torso, Brainy stood to his full height, taking Nia along with him.

Expectedly, Nia hardly stirred at all. Her dark hair fell about her face as she readjusted instinctively to the new position, a soft incoherent murmur passing her lips before she curled in towards Brainy’s chest, searching out the warmth of his closest life projector.

Brainy took a moment to equilibrate his balance before starting towards the bedroom. As he moved, he couldn’t help but glance down, taking this moment to capture Nia’s peaceful expression once again, the total relaxed nature of her body language as she melted so trustingly into his arms.

Brainy lowered his head, pressing his lips gently into Nia’s hair, swallowing the urge to laugh when she mumbled again into his chest.

From there, Brainy maintained delicate strides as he carried Nia into their bedroom. Once there, he rested his knees against the mattress, lowering her carefully into the awaiting comforter and pillows beneath, folding them securely over her even while her arm still hung limply behind his shoulders, her face pressed adamantly against his chest.

It was not without substantial effort, but eventually Brainy managed to untangle Nia from him completely, allowing her head to rest at a far more comfortable angle against her pillow.

He ran his hand through her hair as an afterthought, brushing away the strands that had tangled across her mouth, tucking them carefully behind her ears.

Nia’s eyes fluttered at that and she tipped her head, blinking up at Brainy in confusion. Brainy's chest warmed immediately at the sight. He smirked, cupping his hand against her cheek, running his thumb along her jaw. His smile widened when Nia sighed, relaxing into his touch. “Brainy?” she murmured, struggling to keep her eyes open.

“It is I,” Brainy confirmed, gentle humour warming his tone. His expression softened. “Rest, Nia, you are in need of it.”

Nia snorted. “Don’t hav’ta tell me twice…” she slurred, muffling a yawn into her awaiting pillow. She hummed softly as Brainy continued the idle motions with his thumb. “Are you coming to bed, too?” she asked.

“Soon.”

Nia nodded sleepily, reaching out for his hand before he could even think of removing it. Brainy watched silently as she took his fingers in hers, slipping his hand away from her face so that she could press a kiss against his knuckles. The warmth of her lips sent a pleasant tingle up his arm, causing him to grin all over again.

“Promise?” Nia asked.

Brainy's chest caught. Honesty, after all, extended far beyond the life or death experiences they faced far too often out on patrols. Not every mark of transparency had to be as profound. Sometimes, it was as simple as this.

He leant down then, kissing his girlfriend’s forehead, folding his hand reassuringly over hers. “Believe me when I say there is no where I would rather be,” he said.

“Good,” Nia said, smiling proudly as she snuggled further into her mound of pillows.

In just seconds, her mouth started to fall slack as she joined the realms of her dreams once again.

There were still a few things Brainy needed to do before joining Nia's side for the evening, but he would do everything in his power to complete those tasks as quickly as possible.

After all, he'd made a promise.

[kinglazrus]

Not Your Danny – Ch 4. Who Understands

Previous | First | Next | FFN | AO3

Word count: 3739

The memorial notebook sits open on Jazz's desk. For the twenty minutes, Jazz has sat here with her rule and pencil carefully tracing out a template for the event schedule. The hour of the event, pencilled in as one to two p.m., is broken into fifteen-minute increments which have three bullet points each. The bullet points, along with the fifteen-minute boxes, are colour coded and measured out to perfect, equal distance.

At the top of the page, the words "Memorial Schedule" are written in a loose, flowing script and dark ink. Eraser smudges behind the ink are the only indication of how much time and care Jazz put into making those letters.

Now, the blank schedule stares up at her, waiting only for Jazz to finalize the plans. The memorial itself is still three weeks out, but it is still too soon. Even though they buried Danny a fortnight ago, the memorial feels more final. Jazz doesn't want to say it, but she already knows why she feels this way.

Danny was a halfa. He was her sweet, human brother, but he was the town hero, too. There's a chance, no matter how slim, that he might still be out there as a full ghost. There has to be a chance. It doesn't matter that he died as Phantom. It doesn't matter that Sam and Tucker themselves were there to see his ghost half fizzle out, see the human body it left behind. There has to be a chance.

The funeral was for Danny Fenton, but the memorial is for Danny Phantom, for the whole city to mourn the loss of their hero. For Jazz to acknowledge that her brother, in his entirety, is gone forever.

Suddenly, looking at the notebook makes her feel nauseous. She closes it and shoves it aside. It's late enough now that she could go to bed, but she doesn't feel tired, not physically. After the fiasco at dinner, Jazz wants to shut everything out for a little bit. Pretend she lives in her own bubble where everything is fine.

How could she have forgotten? Seeing Dani's human face certainly took her by surprise, but she was not unprepared for it. Unlike their parents, Jazz didn't have trouble separating Fenton from Phantom. They were the same to her and looking at Dani's ghostly face was already close enough to seeing her little brother. Instead of the face itself, Jazz was stunned to see Dani in human form at all. At the same time, it brought her comfort. Dani and Danny, no matter how similar, are not the same. But having her here, seeing her do the things Danny used to do...

It's so easy. Having Dani fill her little brother's place on the couch when the watch TV. Having her by Jazz's side when they cook. She can't help it. It's almost like having Danny back, so soon after they lost him. And every time Dani doesn't fill that hole, it hurts in a way Jazz never expected.

She rubs her eyes and leans back in her chair. Maybe she should go to sleep after all.

—

"You want us to host... a memorial?" her mother asked. It was obvious Maddie had been crying that day, her eyes red and puffy. Perhaps not too long before Jazz came to talk to her parents.

Jazz herself had been in tears not too long ago when Sam phoned her with the idea. She nodded. "Yes. I know it's only been a few days, but this is Sam's idea and I think it's a good one. Mom, Dad..." she took a deep breath, bracing herself. "I knew. All along, I knew about Danny being Phantom. And it was so important to him. A memorial to Phantom could help you come to terms with not knowing about this side of Danny."

Maddie's hand, flat on the table, curled into a fist. "Jazz, we haven't even... the funeral is tomorrow. I've been on the phone with Alicia all day because she can't make it down in time. Chartering a plane costs too much and there isn't a flight out for weeks. I know this is important, but—"

"I think it's a good idea," Jack said. Stretching forward, he reached across the table and patted Jazz's shoulder. "But I think what you mother means is that we need time to consider it. It's hard adjusting to all this."

"I know. But promise me you really will think about it? It would mean a lot to him." Jazz waited until her father nodded. "Okay. I'll just... yeah. Think about it."

She left the kitchen in silence. That went okay. A shorter conversation than Jazz would have liked, but small steps are still steps. She needed to text Sam later and let her know the verdict, as tentative as it was. For now, she will leave her parents to think, hoping they eventually agree.

Halfway to her bedroom, a noise from Danny's room made her pause. She couldn't be certain, but it sounded like the squeak of his bed springs. Tip-toeing closer, Jazz stared at the crack under his door. A faint white light shone through.

"Danny?" Jazz whispered.

There came another creak.

Jazz's breath stopped, caught in her throat. She crept closer, pressing her hand against the door, and eased it open. In the dark of Danny's room, the figured outline in glowing light leapt from the shadows, impossible to miss. The aura, far brighter than the dim light of hall, nearly blinded Jazz, but its colour was unmistakable.

She pushed the door open. "Danny!"

The figure flinched and threw themselves into the air, twisting around to face Jazz. She slapped her hand against the switch on the wall, flooding the room with orange light. No longer blinded, she found herself now face-to-face with a Phantom. Not Danny, though, but Dani-with-an-I.

She looked horrible, her white hair caked with mud, dirt smeared along half her face. Suit wrinkled and damp.

"Oh, my God, Danielle." Jazz gasped.

"It's true?" Tears welled in Dani's eyes. "It's true? He's gone?"

"I'm so sorry, I didn't even think..."

That was all Dani needed to hear. She spun away and bolted, flying through the wall.

"Dani, wait!" Jazz called after her, but the young halfa was already gone. Jazz threw the window open, leaning out over the alley to a dangerous degree. Searching the sky, she tried to find and trace of Danny's clone, but everything around her was dark. Not a single glimpse of silver light to be seen.

Jazz pulled herself back inside and dropped to the floor, hands pressed over her mouth. She had forgotten, completely, that there was another person out there important to Danny, someone who wouldn't know about his death right away. In the days since Danny's death, Danielle's existence hadn't crossed Jazz's mind. It made her feel rotten. Dani had been important to Danny, but she slipped so easily from Jazz's memory.

However, through the wave of guilt, Jazz could not forget that single moment before she turned on the light. No more than a second, but still the happiest she felt in days, when she saw the aura of a Phantom and believed that her brother had not died after all.

—

The star shirt fits well, better than Dani expected it to. She drapes her hoodie across the back of Danny's desk chair before sliding in front of the mirror. It fits and it looks good. Looking herself up and down, Dani blushes. She has never thought of herself as a self-conscious person but seeing herself in something other than her regular hoodie fills her with warmth. She likes wearing something that doesn't look two times too big for her, showing off more of her form.

Although she has never said it out loud, that is part of the reason why she likes being in her ghost form so much more. The pants, the crop top, she likes them so much better than her human clothes. Until now, they were her only option, since she didn't want to cart around a backpack full of clothes, but now she has a room. She has a place to keep things, her things.

She could actually have things. The temptation to own stuff has always eluded her, but the longer she stays at Fenton Works surrounded by things that are not hers, the more she understands.

Dani rarely stays in one place for so long. Only a week and one day, but it feels so much longer. Looking at herself in the mirror, she's struck by the realization that this is home now. She has a home. Her mind still struggles to wrap around the idea, but the word does not feel so foreign anymore. After Vlad, all she wanted was freedom, and she got it. But while roaming the world was fun and exciting, it was also incredibly lonely.

She had always had Danny, though. Their relationship wasn't perfect, and they never acknowledged how they were related beyond the loose label of cousins, but she had him. And then he was gone without her even realizing.

Dani didn't know what to expect when Jazz extended her the offer of moving into Fenton Works. And, to be honest, she still doesn't know. Things are strange, and still lonely sometimes, but not bad. That has to count for something, right?

She toys with the buttons of the shirt, wondering if she could somehow tie the bottom, wear it shorter than it is. As she considers the style, her hands drop to the waist of her shorts, bright red and loose. They don't go with the shirt very well. Unfortunately for Dani, she has already been through all of Danny's clothes, and she does not like any of his pants, even if there were some smaller, older pairs that might have fit her.

There is a hint of promise, though. Dani has seen how much junk fills the Fenton garage. They are the kind of people who hold on to things until they absolutely do not need it anymore. Judging by Danny's drawers and closet, clothes get the same treatment as any other junk.

Jazz must have a few old pants lying about. A skirt sounds nice. Dani has never worn one of those, but girls always look so pretty in them.

Her door is open when Dani makes the trek down the hall. Jazz herself is slumped over at her desk, arms folded under her head.

Dani walks into the room and pokes Jazz's shoulder. "Did you sleep at your desk last night?"

Jazz wakes with a start, flinching at Dani's touch. She rubs her eyes, then the side of her face. A thick red mark overtakes her cheek where it had been laying on her arm.

"Dani?" Jazz's voice is thick with sleep. She sits up, stretching her arms and arching her back until it pops. Her neck cracks a few times as she roles her head. "What are you doing?"

"Do you have any old clothes?"

Jazz blinks. "It's rude to walk into someone's room without warning them."

"You were asleep, though. Clothes?"

Blinking a few more times, Jazz clears her eyes and looks Dani up and down. Her gaze lingers on the shirt. "That’s..."

"Found it in Danny's closet. I can't believe he actually wore something like this."

Jazz shook her head. "No, he didn't like it. Sam got it for him as a joke, because of the stars. I don't think he ever wore it."

"Really?" A smile breaks out across Dani's face. If Danny didn't wear this shirt, then technically that makes it hers. She owns something now.

"Yeah. Did nothing else of his fit? It's okay if you want to wear it. I think that would feel better than packing it all up," Jazz says. "You don't have any clothes besides the pyjamas Mom bought, right?"

Dani actually forgot that she has those. "I went through his clothes already. Didn't really like them much. Do you have a skirt?"

Jazz's eyes go wide. "A skirt?" For reasons' Dani can't fathom, Jazz says it like it is the strangest thing in a world. Dani wanting a skirt? Preposterous. "Danny never liked skirts."

There it is. "Duh, Danny was a dude."

"I know, but I mean. He wasn't comfortable in that kind of clothing before he transitioned. Your hoodie and cargo shorts aren't so different from what he used to wear, so I thought..." Jazz trails off, but her point is already made.

"Jazz, I'm comfortable being a girl. I like being a girl. Being made from his DNA doesn't make me his clone."

Jazz opens her mouth to correct Dani.

"You know what I meant." Dani wraps her arms around herself, feeling small like she did her first day here. "I don't know why I need to keep saying this, but I'm not Danny, okay?"

Jazz grimaces. "I know, Dani. I'm sorry if I made you feel like you were."

That isn't what Dani meant, but she doesn't press further. "So, about that skirt?"

—

Later that day, when Jazz asks Dani if she wants to watch a show, Dani says no.

—

"What did you do when you weren't in Amity Park?" Jack asks. The question comes out of nowhere, as they always do. In the few days since he took Dani's samples, she has seen him outside the lab far more often. Joining them at mealtimes, coming upstairs in the evening. Sometimes she hears the heavy beats of his approach moments before he pops into the room with a question on his tongue, like now.

Dani holds a moment, her gaze lingering on the models surrounding Danny's desk, before spinning in the chair to face Jack. "I travelled."

Jack, rightfully so, takes her answer as an invitation and comes further into the room. "Oh, yeah?" He sits down on the bed facing her. "Where did you go?"

"All over. I mostly stayed in the United States, at first, but there's so much stuff to see out there. The pyramids were awesome."

Just as Dani found her rhythm with Maddie and Jazz in her first days at Fenton Works, she and Jack seem to be finding what works for them. She likes the time they spend together. His questions feel genuine. Sometimes, he asks her about what being a ghost is like, what abilities she has. His eyes glow with fascination every time she answers. Dani has never seen anyone so engrossed by a single topic before.

But her favourite times are when he asks about her. What does she like? Does she have any hobbies? She gets the feeling that this is how Jack shows interest in people, by asking about themselves, and she returns the favour whenever she can.

"Have you ever been to Egypt?" Nudging the desk, Dani pushes herself back and forth on the chair, turning slowly in place. Her eyes keep catching on the models she had been examining when Jack entered.

Danny had a lot of models, all of them related to space, apparently. Planets, spaceships, little astronaut figures. Much like the posters on his wall, Dani sees no use for them, but Danny obviously liked them. He has two spaceships that look identical. One sits on his desk, safely kept behind a glass box. The other stands tall on the shelf above the desk.

"No." Jack's voice pulls Dani back to the conversation. "Mads wants to go, though. What was your favourite place that you saw?"

Dani has to pause and think about this. The pyramids are high contenders. She went to Japan for a few weeks last year and explored the natural landscape. There was so much beauty there. She has been to a lot of beautiful places, but none of them are her favourite.

"I don't know where it was. It was back when I could barely hold myself together, when I was destabilizing, remember?"

Jack nods. Dani told him that story only yesterday.

"Flying was really hard then, and it made me tired. I got lost a lot between cities if I wasn't following a highway. When I was heading back to Amity Park, I passed out once when flying." Dani hugs her knees. That was one of the scariest moments of her life, second only to melting in Vlad's lab. Before passing out, she could barely see, the sky and the ground blurring together. Her very core ached and, when the darkness started creeping in, she thought she was done fore.

"I woke up in this woman's home. She found me out in the forest and took me in. Didn't care that I was a ghost. I stayed with her for a few days. She actually... she offered to let me stay forever." Dani said no, of course. She had to get to Amity Park, to Danny, to get fixed. "She didn't even know me, but when I told her I didn't have any family beyond a cousin, she just... said I could stay. I left as soon as I could fly again. Haven't been able to find my way back."

Jack's heavy hand settles on her head. He ruffles her hair, the small act of comfort filling her with warmth. "Sorry you didn't get to take that chance, kiddo."

Dani ducks her head and rubs her eyes. There are no tears, but she needs the excuse to look away. There is a weight behind Jack's words, one Dani can feel, but not decipher. She thinks, perhaps, that Jack's words aren't entirely for her.

"So, what were you doing just now?"

Grateful for the distraction, Dani slides the chair over so Jack can see the desk. "Looking at stuff."

Her endeavour of going through of Danny's things has proved harder than she originally thought. It's so easy to get distracted by some small trinket, and she often finds herself wondering what Danny did with it, why he kept it all. Cheap toys from fast food restaurants. Paper airplanes stuck between book pages. A ball of rubber bands bigger than Dani's fist.

At first, she only wanted to look, commit these items to memory. Jazz said it took time before people put away a lost loved one's things, and even though Dani didn't understand, she would respect it. But Jazz's comment about the clothes has been lingering in her mind all day.

Despite Dani's own assurance of her personhood, was there anything she could like only because Danny did? She thought she might find the answer if she pondered long enough, but so far all its done is made her question why people collect things.

She touches the box encasing spaceship.

"That was his favourite."

Dani starts, jerking her hand away from the glass. For a moment, she forgot he was there. His face is turned toward her, but his eyes fixate on a point to her left. Dani doesn't need to turn back around to know what he's looking at.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Space Shuttle Columbia, the first of the Space Shuttle program. At least that's what Danny said it was. I can never tell the difference."

Dani looks from the Columbia to the second model on the shelf, this one smaller and lacking a protective case.

"Are you sure they aren't the same shuttle?" she asks.

Jack chuckles. "Absolutely. Danny never let it go if anyone mixed the two up."

"What's so special about this one?" Dani taps the Columbia's box.

"It was maybe the third model that he got? The first two were pretty cheap. He saved up for them himself. Took a while. I didn't even realize he had them until he mentioned wanting a third. Didn't even realize he liked space so much... I bought this for him a week later and gave it to him after school."

Dani nods along as Jack speaks, although she doesn't see the point yet. Lots of people have expensive things; that doesn't automatically make them special.

"We built it together. I wasn't interested in stars and astronomy, but Danny asked me to help him with it, so I did. I never got why it was his favourite, though. He had better ones, models he saved up for penny by penny. He made that one"—Jack nods to the model on the shelf—"with Sam and Tucker. But sometimes, I think..."

Jack falls silent.

Dani catches his reflection in the glass display case. He has one hand pressed over his eyes, the other fisted at his side. Dani has yet to see either Maddie or Jack cry since coming to Fenton Works, and she thinks that streak is about to end.

"I know we weren't the best parents. There've been times when we've... neglected our duties to focus on ghosts instead. I never thought about it before, but it couldn't have been easy on a couple of young kids. All I ever wanted was for Danny to follow the Fenton family footsteps. But space was his. And sometimes I think he liked this model the best because it was the first time I showed any interest in something he liked."

Jack shudders as he exhales.

Dani resists the urge to go invisible. This heart-to-heart stuff really isn't her thing. Their little question and answer sessions have been fun, but talking about the woman in the forest was already deep enough for Dani. Now things are getting a little too intense.

If Jack does start to cry, she might flee out of sheer awkwardness. He doesn't—thank God—but when he pulls his hand away from his face, he looks old and tired.

Dani racks her brain for something to say. "I think... maybe... he liked it the most because it showed that you loved him, not just because it was about space. Or something."

Jack meets Dani's eye through his reflection and cracks a smile. "I guess if anyone could say what Danny might think, it would be you."

The words cut through her.

"Right," Dani says, her voice empty. "Sure."

Jack nods, as if Dani has revealed some great truth to him, and turns away. His footsteps are louder as he heads for the door, more like his regular self. Dani has no doubt that Jack is leaving this room feeling brighter than before.

All Dani feels is an uncomfortable twist in her gut.

Previous | Next

[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 20

This is the twentieth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Special | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19 | 20

Next

A crack rings out in Levi’s living room, and Eren grits his teeth, his hand stinging but otherwise alright. The wooden knife is still firmly grasped in his hand, despite the firm impact from Levi’s own blade. Levi is fast, but Eren can see his arms clearly shifting, trying to stab at Eren’s exposed side before he can get his arm ready to block in time. Eren slides his right foot backward, turning his entire body sideways so that Levi’s blade will meet empty air instead of Eren’s stomach—

And a shin slams against the center of his back, knocking Eren onto his hands and knees on the ground.

“Fuck!” Eren snaps, slamming his fist on the ground.

“Out?” Levi asks.

“No!”

Eren rolls out of the way of the foot he knows is coming to slam down on his back and scrambles to his feet, his eyes darting across Levi’s form for some kind of opening, any opening—

Levi’s rushing at him. If he can sidestep, get behind him—maybe an elbow against his back, anything to get this slippery asshole down. Then, a slash at his sides—no, his neck—fuck it, Eren can just stab him straight through to the heart from behind. If he can just do that, Eren will finally win for once.

Except when Eren tries to activate that sidestep, he feels the way he lurches, the way all his muscles buzz and the world temporarily blurs—he’s using his powers.

Eren trips over his own limbs as he attempts to slow himself down, and all Levi has to do is follow him down, pressing a knee against Eren’s sternum, the wooden knife aimed at his chest.

Levi raises an eyebrow. Eren sighs, dropping his own knife on the ground and raising his hands near his head, palms out in surrender.

“Out,” Eren says, and Levi slides off of Eren to give the vampire a chance to sit up.

“You’re getting better,” Levi says.

“What, because it takes me five minutes to get taken down instead of one?”

It’s been a month since the day Eren discovered the Feral King was his older brother, and he and Levi have been in full training mode since then. They meet every other day, for the most part, in order to give Eren more time to practice. (There are exceptions. Sometimes the restaurant gets busy or Eren’s school and work pick up a bit. Plus, he’s still incredibly drunk and incoherent the one day a week Levi gives him blood.)

Eren’s been in a rush ever since he found out that incidents like what happened to his mother and himself aren’t rare accidents. The idea of some feral cult just lurking out there somewhere, waiting to create more victims, to kill more people, get more people addicted, and start the cycle all over again—

It drives Eren crazy. He wants to do something about it as soon as possible. But he can’t do anything until he can fight without being a burden to Levi. The last thing he wants is to fuck up in the middle of a fight and get both of them killed.

“You’re more capable than you think you are,” Levi says. “It just doesn’t feel that way because you’re fighting against me.”

Eren glowers at him, and Levi rolls his eyes, reaching out to ruffle Eren’s hair.

“It wasn’t a brag, and you know that,” Levi says. “I’ve been killing vampires since I was twelve. You haven’t.”

Eren sighs again, rubbing his face with his hands.

“I know, I just—” Eren shakes his head. “It’s frustrating. How am I ever going to catch up? There’s too big of an experience gap.”

“You don’t need to catch up with me,” Levi says. “The King’s vampires don’t have so many victims because they’re great fighters—even if they were, it wouldn’t matter while they’re feral, since their minds are too far gone for that kind of focus. They kill so many people because they go for the weak. People who have never fought a day in their life.”

Eren’s expression goes dark, his hands clenching into fists.

“Like suburban moms who’ve never done a fucking thing wrong,” Eren snaps. “Those fucking scumbags.”

Levi just layers his hand over Eren’s and Eren takes a deep breath, trying to cool down. But he just sees red eyes behind his closed eyelids, and his chest burns—

“Levi,” Eren says, “I need—”

Levi’s hand immediately moves away from Eren’s hand to his head, tugging him down until Eren’s face is pressed into the crook of Levi’s neck. An aching pressure eases in Eren’s forehead—he must have been furrowing his eyebrows into a deep glare—and the fire in his chest settles. Eren takes a deep breath, his nose brushing against the spot of skin where he can feel Levi’s pulse as he curls his fingers into Levi’s shirt.

“Better?” Levi asks, running his fingers through Eren’s hair.

“Yeah,” Eren mumbles, rubbing his cheek against Levi’s shoulder, “sorry.”

“No need for that.”

“Mm.” Eren huddles himself a little closer to Levi. “Thanks, then.”

Eren confided in Levi about the weird phenomenon that happens when his face is near Levi’s neck. He couldn’t avoid talking about it. Eren was always dropping his head there any time he got stressed or annoyed. It was far too obvious for Levi to not catch on. Now it’s become a habit for them to use that to calm Eren down. Luckily, Levi never seems to mind.

Eren asked Levi what he thought it all meant—especially the confusing itchiness that always seemed to kick in too—but Levi just said that he’d explain it later.

It’s been a while since Eren asked, but he trusts Levi enough to keep believing that “later” will eventually come.

“Why don’t we try out a different sparring partner for you?” Levi asks, his fingers still combing through Eren’s hair. “I could ask Furlan.”

Eren frowns. Furlan has been helping Levi out since they were fourteen. Eren really can’t imagine how he’d do much better against Furlan.

“Is he as good as you?” Eren asks.

“Not with knives and stakes,” Levi replies. “He was my backup; I always had him use the crossbow and stay out of any close combat fights. Besides, he should be rusty.”

When Eren’s frown doesn’t fade, Levi chuckles at him, moving to brush a kiss against Eren’s temple.

“Trust me,” Levi says. “You’ll be fine.”

~ ~ ~

“Why is your entire fucking staff here?” Eren asks, dropping his backpack onto the floor beside the front door.

“Not just the staff,” Hanji says, waving their hand. “Hello, Eren! Long time no see.”

Eren turns his tired gaze on Levi, who just sighs and shakes his head.

Everyone who works at Kuchel’s Kitchen is gathered on the limited seating in Levi’s living room, including people Eren has only heard about but never met, like Gunther, Eld, and Oluo—Levi’s daytime employees (Eren only recognizes them because Petra pointed out their faces on the pictures hanging in the restaurant). With the addition of Hanji and Erwin, the house feels incredibly crowded, especially because Eren is used to it being just the two of them.

“They’re literal children,” Levi says. “Threw a fucking tantrum because I only invited Furlan.”

“I wouldn’t call it a tantrum,” Petra says.

“Oh really?” Levi asks. “Then, what do you call all of you collectively threatening to quit if I didn’t let you come?”

“We had to be a united front!” Isabel exclaims.

“Well, it was pretty childish,” Oluo says.

“Says the guy who threatened to quit with the rest of us,” Gunther says with a laugh, smacking his hand against Oluo’s back.

“I’m here because I heard about all the fun from Petra,” Hanji says, “and I decided to bring Erwin along too.”

Eren notices the way Petra’s expression darkens at just the sound of Erwin’s name. Actually, she’s seated on the couch as far away from Erwin’s standing position in the corner of the room as possible.

...Strange.

Eren clears his throat.

“So… Are all of you guys going to beat me up, or…?”

“All of us except Hanji and Petra,” Furlan says with a grin. “They’re going to make sure you don’t die if we’re a little too rough with you.”

Eren’s eyes widen, and he whips his head to look at Levi, but Levi looks completely unbothered. In fact, he even looks a little smug, his chest puffed up slightly. He even meets Eren’s gaze and smiles briefly.

Okay… so his boyfriend is happy to see him get beat up. Great.

Eren sighs and pulls a hair tie off of his wrist to put his hair up in a bun.

“Who’s first?” Eren asks.

“I’ll go,” Oluo says, standing up and dusting off his pants. “I want to see what all the fuss over this little vampire is really about.”

Eren’s eyebrow twitches. Little? They’re nearly the same height. In fact, as Oluo gets closer, Eren can see that the brown-haired man is actually shorter than he is.

Levi’s smug smile is a little more obvious as he hands out the two wooden knives. Asshole.

“Any rules?” Oluo asks.

“Eren can’t use any vampire abilities,” Levi says. “Say ‘out’ when you accept defeat.”

“That’s it?” Oluo asks.

Levi steps out of the way as Eren’s grip on his knife grows tight.

“That’s it.”

Oluo stretches his arms out in front of himself, smirking.

“Alright, kiddo, why don’t I let you get a headstart? Go whenever you’d like—”

Eren rushes forward and swings his knife into Oluo’s as hard as he can from the side, sending the wooden weapon across the room—thankfully in the opposite direction of where everyone is sitting. Oluo’s expression hardens, and he raises his hands to protect his chest and face. A moment later and he’s reaching for Eren’s arms, probably trying to take away Eren’s knife and use it against him. Eren’s knife arm lowers, trying to get the other man in the gut where he’s not blocking—

“Ha!” Oluo says, swinging his body sideways and out of the way as Eren stabs forward, very similarly to how Eren did earlier that week. “Too predictable—”

Eren swings his leg up and around, slamming his shin into the center of Oluo’s back and sending him falling onto the floor. Once he's down, Eren brings his foot down on Oluo’s back just a little harder than necessary, and Oluo lets out a choked sound, collapsing flat on the ground, unable to get up.

“Ah!” Oluo exclaims, his voice a little garbled.

Eren keeps one foot firmly on Oluo’s back as he kneels down on the floor beside him. He presses his wooden knife against Oluo’s throat, though he startles a bit when the man turns his head and reveals blood in his mouth.

“Ah! Ah!” Oluo says. “I bi’ ma’ ton.’”

Eren frowns.

“You bit your tongue?”

Oluo nods, and Eren pulls his foot and knife away.

“Were you trying to say ‘out?’”

Oluo nods again.

“Sorry,” Eren says, annoyance quickly cooling. “I didn’t mean to make you bleed. I guess I… didn’t know my own strength.”

Did he use any vampire abilities? Eren doesn't think so. He can normally feel when those kick in…

The room is painfully silent as Oluo gradually pushes himself to a sitting position, his injured tongue lolling awkwardly out of his mouth. For a moment, they’re just sitting there on the floor, with their spectators watching them in silence. But soon a voice cuts through the silence, sounding mildly amused.

“Well, well,” Erwin says. “This will be interesting.”

And soon the whole room erupts into noise.

“Holy fuck—” “Shit, I’m going to get my ass beat!” “Oh my God—”

Eren turns to look at Levi across the room as Petra hurries to help with Oluo’s bleeding tongue. The man’s smile is no longer quite as obvious, but he’s looking over at Eren with his eyes positively gleaming, his chest and chin still raised slightly.

And Eren realizes that those little smiles and smug looks Levi sent his way weren’t at Eren’s expense. No, it was just the beginnings of the expression that’s shining on Levi’s face right now: pride.

The knowledge makes Eren’s own chest fill with light-hearted, giddy joy, like he’s a balloon being poured full of helium. He grins widely at Levi, and Levi nods at Eren before moving to pick up the other knife that had flown across the room.

“Who’s next?” Levi asks, holding the wooden blade out towards the noisy crowd by the couch.

They immediately fall silent, at least a dozen pairs of eyes focused on the weapon. Nobody seems to want to volunteer.

This is going to be fun.

~ ~ ~

No one else goes down quite as fast as Oluo does, but that’s because no one else is generous enough to try and give Eren a head start. They make Levi count down from ten, and with the people on the couch shouting cheers and playful insults, the whole thing starts to feel more like a game to Eren than a serious sparring match. Isabel spends half her turn darting around Eren’s arms and trying to kick him in the back—“Levi used to do that all the time! I wanna try!”—and Furlan shouts “Out!” in panic when he sees Eren aiming the knife directly at his throat. Eld and Gunther are a bit more serious about it, but Eren scrapes by with wins by tiring them out and surprising them with a few other moves that he’s copied from Levi over the past couple of weeks.

“So,” Erwin says, getting to his feet. “Is it just Eren who must fight without special abilities, or is that a rule for all vampires?”

Levi shakes his head.

“Just Eren.”

Erwin nods, coming to stand in front of Eren, though he frowns slightly and turns to look at Levi again.

“You may want to call ‘out’ for him, Levi.”

Eren frowns, crossing his arms over his chest.

“What? Why?”

“I don’t mean to offend,” Erwin says, raising a placating hand. “You’re clearly capable. It’s just that I recalled when we first met you. I thought it might be… jarring to face a vampire in a fight again.”

Eren’s stomach drops, his grip on his knife getting tight. That’s right… When he first met Erwin and Hanji, just the sight of their fangs made him uneasy. He was hesitant to be touched by Hanji, even when they were just trying to help him. Having a vampire rushing at him, trying to fight him, just like that day—That might—

That might send Eren spiraling again.

“I…” Eren swallows down the lump quickly forming in his throat. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“Why would you bring that up?” Petra snaps, her amber eyes narrowed into a glare as she looks up at Erwin from her spot on the couch.

“I simply thought it would be better to prepare ahead of time. We don’t have to do this—”

“I’ll be fine,” Eren says. “Let’s do it.”

He needs to. If he can't even handle practice right now, he's just going to get himself killed during the real thing. It's better to start here, in a controlled environment, with a vampire who already knows that he might fall apart.

Eren looks at Levi, who meets his gaze for a long moment. When Eren nods at him, Levi takes a deep breath and starts counting down.

“Ten.”

Eren has to remember that Erwin’s a vampire. He’s going to be faster, stronger, more alert.

“Nine.”

Anticipate. That’s what Levi always tells him. If the enemy is faster than him, Eren needs to anticipate what they’re going to do before they do it.

“Eight.”

Erwin’s going to be much faster than him. But he also already feels bad for Eren. He’s already worrying about Eren’s mindset.

“Seven.”

He’ll probably try to make this quick.

“Six.”

What would be the fastest?

“Five.”

Erwin has a tight grip on the knife. He’s going to use it instead of his fangs. Probably because he doesn’t want to scare Eren more than he already thinks he will.

“Four.”

Erwin will probably charge forward, right at him, using the knife for a straight shot at Eren’s chest.

“Three.”

All Eren has to do is dodge to either side the second Levi stops counting.

“Two.”

Fuck. In a real fight, Eren’s going to have to figure all this out in a split second, won’t he?

“One.”

Eren steps to the side, but when he sees Erwin lunging at him, the world flashes in front of Eren’s eyes. Blue eyes look like vivid, bloody red. The room is so dark. It’s empty. It’s just Eren, alone, with the monster charging at him. His mom—where’s his mom? He can hear her screaming, echoing over and over again in his ears. It’s like fucking tinnitus but it’s her voice, her shout of pain—

“Eren.”

It’s a voice, low and soft in his ear. Eren feels cool skin against his cheek, strong arms around him, and long fingers in his hair. It’s still so dark—no, his eyes are closed.

“Eren.”

It’s Levi.

Eren opens his eyes again, sucking a breath into his trembling lungs. He gets an eyeful of pale skin and pulls away slightly, his hands gripping Levi’s biceps as he tries to regain his bearings.

“S-sorry,” Eren says.

“None of that,” Levi says, his voice still quiet but a little firmer now. “It’s okay.”

Eren raises his head a little more, looking around. The staff of Kuchel’s Kitchen is gathered around the two of them, though Hanji is stopping them from coming too close. The heat of shame burns at Eren’s cheeks knowing they all saw him fall apart, even if it was only for a moment. He tries to duck his head against Levi’s shoulder, wanting to hide away from all the concerned stares—

“You asshole.”

Eren raises his head again, surprised to hear Petra’s normally cheerful, sweet voice raised in anger. He finds her with her fist pressed against Erwin’s chest, a fierce glare aimed up at the big blond vampire with his back against the wall.

To Eren’s surprise, he hears Levi sigh. Like this is something he’s used to, something he’s tired of witnessing.

“I warned him ahead of time—” Erwin starts.

“You made him think about it!” Petra exclaims. “We all saw it! He was fine! You reminded him. You put his head there. You started it. You always—You always start everything!”

Blue eyes narrow slightly, and Erwin tilts his head at her.

“This isn’t about Eren,” he says.

“What are you talking about?”

“Petra,” Erwin says slowly, “I understand that you’re unhappy with me about other things. But some things must be done.”

“No!” Petra snaps, her expression warping even more. “No, no. Things happen because you want them to happen—because you’re a sadistic asshole who can’t just let people live in peace!”

“Petra—”

“No.” Petra pulls back her fist like she’s going to hit Erwin, but it only takes a second for her hand to fall to her side, for her voice to falter. “No…”

Eren looks around the room, thinking that one of these people is going to comfort her, going to help calm her down. But these people who Eren has otherwise seen as one big family are averting their gazes, biting back frowns.

Why?

Eren looks at Levi, but Levi just lets out another sigh and shakes his head.

Why?

If no one else is going to help her, Eren will.

Eren pulls himself out of Levi’s arms. Levi doesn’t stop him, and Eren rushes to Petra, grabbing hold of her arm. Petra flinches and hangs her head.

“I’m sorry—” she starts, but Eren just tugs on her arm, trying to lead her towards the front door.

“Let’s go,” he says.

They step outside without another word. Eren closes the door quietly behind him, and Petra heaves a sigh, burying her face in her hands.

“I’m sorry, Eren.”

“It’s okay,” Eren says, sitting down on Levi’s doorstep. “But what… what was that about?”

Petra sniffles, dropping down to sit beside Eren.

“Has… Has Levi told you about how the Feral King led to his retirement?” Petra asks.

Eren's mind flickers back to that day, to invisible blood on pale hands. He bites his lip.

“He has.”

“He’s only ever given Furlan all the details,” Petra says. “All the rest of us really know is that Levi and Uncle Kenny left, and only Levi came home. But I… I’m the one who’s always been patching Levi up. Even if he only tells Furlan, I’ve seen. That night, Levi—”

Petra’s shoulders hunch, pressing her hands more firmly against her face.

“That night, Levi had one of Kenny’s crossbow bolts stuck between one of his ribs. I was—I was so used to scratches, to bruises—but even though he had broken the shaft off the hide the injury, I recognized the tip as I pulled it out. Because Kenny always used to brag about the gold-coated bolts.”

Eren’s stomach twists at the image, and he places a hand on Petra’s shoulder. Eren can’t imagine how he would feel, seeing Levi come home to him battered and bruised—seeing evidence that he had fought with his last blood relative. Knowing all the while that one of them didn’t come home.

That maybe it could have been Levi who didn’t come back.

Levi was nineteen then. Eren wonders how old Petra was.

“I was so happy,” Petra continues, “when he retired. I was so happy to see him pursuing other things, having his own dreams… but then Erwin—”

Petra’s hands drop from her face and slam into her knees, her amber eyes narrowed in anger as she falls silent. Eren bites his lip, thinking back to how Levi originally explained everything to him.

“Erwin… Told Levi about the Feral King,” Eren says after a moment.

“Levi, was out, Eren!” Petra exclaims. “He wasn’t going off and risking his life every day! And I know, I know that we can’t just let the King keep doing what he’s doing, but I—but I just—why did it have to be Levi?”

Eren’s grip tightens on Petra’s shoulder.

So, this was why. Why she was always so angry, and why no one bothered to try and make her feel better.

… Because Levi’s not going to change his mind. They’ve probably all known that for years. And Eren came to Petra’s side, thinking he could help her, thinking he could ease her somehow—

But Eren’s not going to change Levi’s mind either. Changing Levi’s mind never even crossed Eren’s own.

“Sorry, Petra. I…”

Petra shakes her head, heaving a sigh.

“It’s okay,” she says quietly. “I know… Levi’s doing the right thing. So is everyone else. I just… I can’t forgive Erwin. Levi was out, and he was the one that brought Levi back in. I can’t—I can’t just let that go.”

For a second, they just sit there in silence. Eren’s hand falls away from her shoulder, and he stares at his lap. He’s not going to change Levi’s mind. He can’t. But is there… something he can do, to ease Petra’s mind a little? Something he can say? Maybe it’s silly for him to think so.

“Do you fight, Petra?” Eren asks.

“I know how,” she says. “But I haven’t since we got the restaurant. None of us really have, but I don’t even practice. Sort my own little protest.”

Eren nods, staring down at his own hands in his lap.

“I’m… not good enough at it yet,” Eren says. “But I… I’m trying to get better at it so that when the time comes, I can be there for Levi. So that when he’s in danger, I can keep him safe.”

Eren turns to look at Petra, showing her a small smile.

“So, I’ll do my best so that when we go out to fight the King, he’ll come back to you with not even a bruise for you to have to patch up.”

Petra’s amber eyes grow wide for a moment, getting a glossy sheen as she manages a wobbly grin.

“If you can,” she says, “that would be amazing.”

Eren grins at Petra as she wipes her eyes with the back of her hands.

“Just be prepared to patch me up instead, okay? I’ll probably be fucked up.”

“Eren!” Petra exclaims with a gasp, though she’s starting to laugh. “No! That’s not the point!”

“It’ll be fine,” Eren says with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’ll just be all bloody, and beat up, but Levi? Totally fine. Trust me.”

“No, Eren!” Petra says, slapping him on the arm, and now Eren’s laughing too. “You’d better be joking, or Levi’s going to kill me.”

“Yeah,” Eren says. “Obviously.”

...Well, mostly, anyway. It’s a joke in the sense that he’s not planning on doing anything too self-sacrificial. But if Levi were about to get hurt in front of him… Well, Eren’s not sure he’d be able to just stand there and watch.

But that’s just why Eren has to get good at fighting before then! So that everything will turn out fine, for both of them.

“Good,” Petra says, squeezing his arm. “But really, I’m glad that Levi has you. You’re a good guy. He’s lucky to have you.”

“Yeah, I am.”

Petra and Eren both jump at the sound of a voice behind them, and Eren turns to see Levi standing in the doorway, his hand still on the doorknob. Eren’s mind whirls—he was that unaware of his surroundings while talking with Petra? Eren’s sensitive ears should definitely have caught the sound of the door opening—

Eren loses his train of thought when he looks up at Levi and sees the man’s gray eyes clouded, his eyebrows and lips pulled down into a conflicted frown.

“Everything okay?” Eren asks.

Levi’s gaze flickers from Eren to Petra before flattening back into indifference. Eren bites his lip—if there is something wrong, it’s bad enough that he doesn’t want Petra to hear. Eren will just have to ask him again when they’re alone.

“I’m fine,” Levi says. “Just thought Petra might like to know that Isabel and Hanji convinced Erwin to let her use him as a temporary punching bag as a way to make up.”

Petra perks up immediately.

“I’m not sure about ‘making up,’ but I will beat him up,” Petra says brightly, squeezing Levi’s arm as she bounces up to head inside. “Thanks for letting me know.”

When Petra’s gone and it’s just the two of them, Eren sends a questioning frown Levi’s way as he gets to his feet.

Levi meets his gaze and manages a slight smile.

“Later,” Levi says, brushing his hand across Eren’s cheek briefly. “Let your brain rest for a while.”

“The last time you said you were going to talk to me about something later,” Eren says, “later never came.”

Levi rolls his eyes.

“Then I’ll explain both things la—soon. Alright?”

“You promise?”

“I do.”

Eren hums, leaning down slightly.

“I think you might need to do more to convince me.”

Levi scoffs, grabbing Eren by the chin and bringing him even lower.

“You’re such a little shit.”

“Your little shit.”

Levi laughs just after their lips meet because of Eren’s words, so the kiss is a little shorter than Eren would like. But Eren loves Levi’s smile and Levi’s laugh, so he lets it slide.

“Alright,” Eren says, “I’ll wait. But tell me soon, okay?”

Levi shakes his head before reaching for Eren once more, letting their lips meet again before answering.

“I will.”

“Ugh,” Isabel groans loudly from inside the house. “How long are you two going to be disgustingly in love out there? Erwin is literally letting us take turns punching him! Your sweet nothings can wait until later! Come back in here and have some real fun!”

Levi flips her off without even looking back, but Eren grins at her over Levi’s shoulder, the lack of malice in his voice contrasting with Levi's immensely annoyed scowl.

“We're coming!" Eren exclaims, grabbing Levi by the shoulders and spinning him around to face the inside of the house.

"I'm surrounded by children and idiots," Levi says.

"Even me?" Eren asks, and Levi snorts.

"You don't want me to answer that question."

Eren punches Levi in the back, though not hard enough to hurt.

Eren’s eyes wander to the crowd gathered in the center of Levi's living room (Erwin is standing in the center and looks utterly unphased, even as Petra throws a punch at his chest that looks like it should really hurt) and Eren's smile grows even bigger. This is Levi's family. Petra and everyone else care so deeply about him, and even though Levi is always pretending to be annoyed—and sometimes not even pretending—Eren knows that Levi cares a lot about them too.

This is… the kind of family Eren always wished he could have. A big, loving family that sticks around even despite any issues that crop up between them.

Eren wants to get stronger. For himself, for Levi, and for this. This family that Levi has built around himself.

And even though he failed spectacularly during his match with Erwin, there is hope bubbling up in Eren's chest. Hope that he really can.

Eren's going to keep them safe. He swears that to himself.

And maybe, when he's strong enough, he'll make that promise out loud to them too.

[allmysticwords]

BTS Reaction to them cheating on you.

For @micchikari​. I hope you like it :) 

GENRE: Angst

PAIRING: BTS X Reader

TAG: SAD SAD SAD SAD ! EVEN THE PICTURES ARE SAD ! Also slight suggestive content.

Find PART II HERE 

Requestlist | Masterlist 

---

Kim Seokjin

Seokjin was taking a shower and you were still in bed sleeping. Lately, he had been very busy always coming home late and always leaving early. You understood though, idol life was not easy. He always made up for it by talking to you amongst other things before you went to bed and sending sweet texts throughout the day, occasionally meeting you for lunch when you had your break near your office. It was tough but you were happy. Until right now. Jin was in the shower but his phone kept ringing waking you up from your sleep. You don’t usually check his phone, but you picked up thinking that it could be an important call from BigHit. 

But before you could say anything what the girl on the other end of the line said broke your heart, “Jin oppa, I’m waiting for you in the white lingerie that bought me, please hurry.” 

You didn’t quite understand what she said or meant, “Excuse me, what did you say?” you questioned her. 

“Oh, I’m sorry I thought this was Kim Seokjin’s phone.” She said and disconnected the call. 

“It is” you quietly whispered. Just as Jin walked out of the shower and saw his phone in your hand and a distressed look in your eyes. He understood you know. 

“Y/n I can explain” You were frantically picking up all your things and throwing them in your bag. “Y/n wait. It’s not what it seems. Y/n I love you.” 

You put your bag on your shoulders and without looking at Jin said, “no you don’t or else you wouldn’t be gifting lingerie to any other girl.” 

Jin was surprised at your outburst but kept his calm. He tried to hold your hand but you pushed him away. 

“I’ll pick up the rest of my things when you’re not here.” You said as you walked away. 

“Don’t try calling me. We’re done.”

With this you slammed the front door shut both on Jin and your 2-year long relationship, leaving a very sad and panicky Jin on the other side.

---

Min Yoongi

You were walking home from work today to enjoy the nice weather. Lately you had thrown yourself into work to escape the memories and the heartbreak of your last relationship. You were hardly yourself anymore, the chirpy and happy girl was replaced with a tough looking and poker-faced woman. You never went out with your friends; you only listened to English music and avoided any Korean entertainment news at all costs. 

Your breakup with Yoongi had left quite an impact on you. This is why you were taken aback to see him at your doorstep. To say you were ready to meet him again would be a lie. The flashback of him kissing another girls’ lips as his hands roamed all over body made you want to throw up. 

Yoongi got up when he saw you, “How have you been y/n. I missed you so much.” “Why are you here?” you questioned him with absolutely no emotion in your voice. “I had a dream about us. We were happy. I want you back.” He said walking towards you. “And I still have dreams of you kissing her.” “Please leave Yoongi, I don’t want anything to do with you.” You sighed walking away from him and into your apartment. 

“I wrote a song about you y/n. I write all my songs about you.” Yoongi cried out before you could shut the door. 

“Well it’s a good thing I don’t listen to them anymore.” With that you walked inside, leaving a dejected and crying Yoongi behind.

---

Jung Hoseok

You saw it on the news. You saw it on twitter. You saw it in the papers. Hoseok at a club kissing some random girls’ lips. His hand on the small of her back. Both of them swaying to a slow song. The video had made waves in the Korean media and BigHit had no option but to release a statement saying Hoseok and that girl were dating. 

This left you devastated. The fact that Hoseok was kissing someone else while on tour was hard enough but now the whole world knew that the girl was his girlfriend was harder.

Hoseok kept calling you from London. And you kept avoiding his calls. He left you voicenotes and you deleted them. You didn’t want to hear any excuses. You loved him but you would never put yourself through the pain of dating someone who cheated on you. 

After a week since the news broke you saw Hoseok. He came to your place with peonies in his hands. As if flowers could magically heal what he broke. He looked sad, tired eyes and sunken cheeks. You didn’t look any better. To say that you hadn’t been crying since a week would be a lie. 

“I’m sorry y/n. I’m really sorry. Please just hear me out.” “I’m sorry too Hoseok, but I can’t.” “Please leave. It’s over.” 

You couldn’t hear the excuses. You feared you would run back into Hobi’s arms. So you shut the door, leaving Hobi holding a bouquet in one hand and wiping his tears with the other.

---

Kim Namjoon

Lately you and Namjoon have been drifting apart. The work keeps him busy and he doesn’t come home many nights. He says he is sleeping at the dorms, but you suspect that he is in his studio working his ass off for Bangtan. So, you decide to surprise him on the day he texted you saying he’ll have dinner at home. You wore his favorite lingerie, a deep red lace set. You dolled up, carefully doing your makeup and curling your hair. You lit some candles in the room. Then you waited for Joon to come home. He had been stressed lately and you were planning to take all the stress away. Also, you missed him and his touch. When you heard the lock being rattled you excitedly sat on the bed, ready to present a show. However, when Namjoon came in the room instead of excitement and happiness his eyes spoke something else. He wouldn’t even look at you properly. You were confused. So, you walked up to him and stroked his cheek. “What’s wrong Joon, did something happen?” “I think we need to talk y/n” You understood something is wrong. You quickly pulled on your robe and you and Namjoon sat side by side as he recounted that while he was out last week with the boys he made a mistake. As soon as he said this you got up from beside him. He went to take your hand in his but you pushed it away. Folding your hands at your chest you looked at him, “How dare you come see me after that.” “It didn’t mean anything y/n I was just blowing off steam.” “I don’t know how this happened I was just really drunk and stressed and she was there, it just sort of happened.” He was crying. More so because you were completely calm. Expressionless even. “I think you should leave Namjoon.” You said his full name. Not Joonie and not Joon. He knew he had lost you so without putting up a fight he left. As soon as he left you slid down on the floor, crying.

---

Park Jimin

Jimin was taken aback to see you in Paris. He was here for his vacation and saw you walking the cobbled streets with your bag in one hand and your camera in another. He hadn’t seen you for almost a year now. It seemed like he had forgotten how beautiful you looked because as he was looking at you now with the sun shining in your face, you looked ethereal. Your hair was shorter now, but the style really suited you. What he noticed instantly though was how happy you looked. 

He was taken back to the night when you were crying your eyes out because you saw him with another girl at the studio. He never forgave himself for cheating on you. You never forgave him too. Even when he apologized a million time, even when he cried a million times and even when he promised you that you were the only one he loved. It was true. He really did love you. Even now after a year. He hadn’t dated anyone since then. So seeing you here in Paris he thought he should talk to you. 

Until he saw a man coming out of the ice cream store with 2 ice creams in his hand. Mint Chocochip, your favorite. You took the ice cream and gave the man a small peck. 

Jimin could do nothing but stare at the two of you walk away hand in hand. The distance he thought, definitely did you well and he was by no means going to hurt you again by coming into your life.

---

Kim Taehyung

It was 2 am and Taehyung was still not home. It was a regular occurrence nowadays and you didn’t know what to do. Lately it felt like you were drifting apart more and more and only you were concerned about this. Yet, you still waited for him to come before sleeping every night.

He entered the house around 2:30 and thinking you were asleep went to the kitchen. He was on the phone with someone, speaking in hushed tones. “Yeah baby, I just reached home. No don’t worry, she doesn’t suspect a thing.” 

He didn’t realize that you were standing at the doorway listening to his conversation. He turned around from the fridge and you took in his appearance. There were red lipstick marks on the collar of his white t-shirt, his hair was disheveled and as he walked past you barely acknowledging you and into your shared bedroom you could smell a woman’s perfume. 

It was as if he wanted you to suspect things. He didn’t even care. You were angry and heartbroken. You couldn’t believe you ignored the signs. You also couldn’t believe Taehyung didn’t even mind that you knew, he looked almost glad that you understood. 

So that night you didn’t sleep in your bed. You actually didn’t sleep at all. As soon as it was morning, you wiped your tears, packed your stuff and left a note behind for Taehyung who was still asleep. 

“I know. I think I’ve known for a while. What hurt the most was that if you wanted out of this relationship you could’ve spoked to me but instead you did the one thing, I feared the most. But don’t worry, I’ll be okay. Just don’t try to contact me ever again. – Y/n”

---

Jeon Jungkook

You and Jungkook had been dating for a while now, almost 8 months. When Jungkook asked you out, you couldn’t believe it. He was a superstar and you were just an ordinary makeup artist. From the minute you met him you fell head over heels in love with him. And who wouldn’t, he was an angel both inside and out. It wasn’t his looks that you fell for but how sweet and nice he was to you. Jungkook also fell for you. He said you were the normal in his life that he craved. That you were the thing that kept him sane from the glamour of the idol life. But you were scared to be in a relationship with him. You knew he was way out of your league, it wasn’t that you disdn’t like how you looked but you knew you could never compare to the other stars he was always around. And you voiced your concerns to him.

He would however always shut down such doubts. He made sure he told you how much he loved you and how he would never leave you. 

So, the pictures you saw on his phone clearly came as a surprise. You and him were at a café and he had gone to the washroom. His phone was lit up and there was a picture that came up. He and another idol girl were kissing in the picture. She had texted it to him saying how she missed him. 

You were taken aback. The one thing you were insecure about in the relationship is the thing that Jungkook exploited the most. 

You decided to cut off all contact with him after you saw those pictures. He came back to sit on the table with a wide smile but as soon as he saw your face, he knew something was wrong. 

You told him he got a text while he was gone and picked up your things. His eyes widened with panic. 

“Y/n wait..” but before he could say anything else you walked out of the café and his life.

---

-Pratz 

Please let me know what you thought of this :)

[the-cult-of-russo]

Push and Pull (Part 16) (first half)

Pairing: Matt Murdock x OC

A/N: So I had to split this chapter into two posts because it was so long it exceed the text limit lmao but I'm not making it two separate chapters because it would mess up the chapter numbers. I'm posting the next half right after this, so don't worry 😉

Warnings: cursing, angst

-------

She spent the day relaxing and ended up having a long soak in the bath. She put a few drops of lavender and ylang-ylang oil in for good measure. Her body was sore from everything recently and she was enjoying the moment of peace. She wondered how essential oils affected Matt. They had numerous effects on normal people, lavender being calming and ylang-ylang causing an aphrodisiac effect. She wondered if it affected Matt stronger than normal. Maybe that would be his downfall. A bunch of lavender to knock out Daredevil. The thought made her chuckle. 

After a long well deserved soak, she washed her hair and even conditioned it for good measure. With the weather getting warmer and all the physical activity she'd been doing recently, her waves were getting dry and frizzy. Once she was done, she got dried and dressed in her pyjamas for now. Leaving her hair down to dry naturally. She wouldn't bother getting ready until Karen was here to help her. She was actually a little excited about having a girl come over. Brett had been her only friend for the longest time and that was only in a work context. Then there was Foggy. But it wasn't the same as having a girl friend and she'd forgotten what that felt like. The closest being when her sister was close by. She was looking forward to the change of pace.

Hours later, Karen turned up. She looked pretty in a dark green swing dress, her hair slightly curled and pinned to one side. Daphne could see why Foggy was smitten with her. They'd gotten along better than she expected, chatting up a storm, even if some of it was lies on her behalf since she wasn't really going on a date.

"Oh! I love this one. Try this one on!" Karen gushed, pulling out a black dress from the closet. It was on the shorter side and was the kind of dress that clung to her in all the right places. The top part was lacey, like a bralette, the pattern intricate enough that she could get away with it without a bra. Then it turned into a black smooth cotton with the same black lace overlaid on top of it. It was one of her favourites if she was honest. It cinched in her small waist and made her ass and boobs look fantastic.  

After getting herself inside of it, she looked in the mirror. Her hair and make-up hadn't been done yet but she forgot how good she looked in this one.

"Damn. I'd never pull something like that off," Karen grinned from beside her at the mirror. She wasn't wrong. It wasn't the look so much as the vibe it gave off. Karen suited better to prettier things and that wasn't a bad thing.

"I think you look beautiful. Foggy's gonna fall head over heels when he sees you," Daphne smiled warmly as she turned to look at her. Karen blushed heavily and it only made her smile more how much she was clearly into Foggy.

"Thanks. What about Matt though? Like you said, he might not be able to see but he just senses these things. His jaw's gonna fall to the floor like in a cartoon," Karen giggled. Daphne bit her lip with a smirk. She sat down and allowed Karen to mess with her hair as she did her own makeup. She was handy with the stuff when she needed to be but she didn't really like how it felt on her face. She opted to forgo foundation which was the devil in her opinion and instead just framed her eyes with a more natural light smokey eye, winged liner and tonnes of mascara. She then painted her lips with a matte brown colour. She finished the look with one of her silver necklaces. It was a choker style necklace but delicate looking. The thin silver chain wrapped around her neck and had a little crescent moon charm dangling off it.

"I keep wanting to try these ones. I hate when my lipstick just vanishes when I eat or drink," Karen mused as she looked through the make up bag, holding up one of the same types of liquid lipsticks Daphne had put on herself. 

"You should try one," she suggested. Karen looked excited, sitting down on the bed next to her and looking in the small mirror they'd propped up against the headboard. 

It gave Daphne a moment to admire her hair. Karen had complemented her hair immensely to the point it made her blush. She’d always thought of her hair as more of a nuisance because she couldn't be bothered to do anything with it. Karen wanted to keep it mostly down, saying she was in love with the purple waves. She’d pinned half of it up in some intricate twists that to Daphne honestly seemed like witchcraft to achieve. It looked good though. Some waves framing her face and the twists at the crown of her head. The rest of her hair cascaded past her shoulders. 

"What do you think?" Karen asked, her voice filled with uncertainty. Daphne glanced at her, smiling with a nod. Karen had picked a deep pink colour that complemented her skin tone and her dress.

"I love it! You should keep that one. It doesn't suit me at all but it looks really good on you," she urged. Karen blinked at her for a moment before smiling shyly, tucking it away in her purse. 

They both took a moment to admire themselves in the bigger mirror before they grabbed their purses and left. Daphne felt weird walking in heels again. She typically opted for wedges in situations like these because at least she could walk fine in those. Her black simple wedges made her dress stand out more and Karen had to spend five minutes convincing her to leave her hoodie behind and wear her fitted leather jacket instead. She knew her hoodie ruined the look but the comfort it brought her had her whining as Karen pulled her out of the door. 

They took a cab, neither of them wanting to walk in heels to the restaurant and get blisters. They sat in the back and Karen pulled out her phone.

"Oh no. We're ten minutes late," she muttered fretfully. 

"Fashionably late," Daphne smirked, causing the blonde to giggle a little. She could really tell that Karen was excited for this and she felt less bad about lying if it meant being the catalyst for her and Foggy to finally take this step forward. She was excited herself but for very different reasons. She couldn't wait for the food and drink and to try and see how much she could push Matt when he had to behave like this. She wouldn't go too far, not wanting him to ruin the date for the two people actually on a real one.

When the cab pulled up outside of EnchiNada, Daphne pulled some notes from her purse and paid the driver before Karen had the chance. Karen gave her a look but she ignored it. She did just get a huge deposit from her new wealthy client after all. She brought the money not knowing if Foggy would even have enough to pay for all her drinks. She wasn't sure if Matt would throw a tantrum and ruin it since he was so unpredictable, and she'd feel bad if she caused him to ruin the night. If it was genuinely her fault then she'd happily pay for all of them as a way of saying sorry to Foggy. She just hoped Matt wasn't a dick, even when she annoyed him on purpose. He deserved it after how he'd been acting lately. She could have paid for her own meal anyway but Foggy roped her into this and if it went well then she expected that payment. 

They stepped out and Daphne glanced at Karen. She looked ridiculously nervous and it made her smile. Foggy and Karen would be adorable together. 

"Ready?" She asked softly. Karen looked at her and nodded stiffly, allowing Daphne to link her arm with hers. Daphne hoped it helped ease her anxiety a little.

"How aren't you nervous right now?" She whispered, panicked as they walked through the entrance.

"It's the dress," Daphne smirked playfully. Karen giggled and glanced around before quirking a brow at her.

"You're not kidding. I think every guy just stopped to stare at you," she muttered with a light laugh. She was catching a lot of eyes.

Her own green orbs swept the restaurant and landed on the two people she was looking for sat near the back. Matt was already looking in their direction and she saw him say something to Foggy who then also looked over before looking ready to pass out from nerves. Foggy was wearing a white shirt and no doubt dress pants, his hair combed back a bit. Matt was wearing a black button down shirt with no tie like he would in his lawyer mode. The top buttons were undone and his sleeves rolled up a little. His glasses weren't on but she presumed they'd be close by and she could see his cane resting on the table. He cleaned up nicely honestly. She wasn't surprised.

The restaurant itself was beautiful. It was dimly lit and there were fairy lights strung all around the walls. Numerous pieces of Mexican art but not too much. The ambience was nice and chill with some Mexican music playing very quietly in the background. It was packed full of people, chatting and eating and having a good time. 

"There they are," Daphne whispered, gesturing to where the boys were. Karen took a shaky breath as they walked arm in arm to the table. 

"Ladies! I didn't expect you to come together, and late too. I mean just a little. I'm not complaining," Foggy rambled nervously as he stood to greet them, Matt standing too to be polite.

"We had some girl time and got ready together," Karen replied shyly. Foggy reached out and gave Daphne a hug and Karen and Matt exchanged a quick hug. 

"You look… I mean… wow," Foggy mumbled and shyly kissed Karen on the cheek. Daphne was too busy watching the cutest couple in the world with a dopey smile on her face and jumped a little when she felt Matts lips on her own cheek. She should have known since they were on a ‘date’. It needed to look real. 

"You look breathtaking," he whispered, his voice low and making her belly clench. She moved away and looked up at him, his eyes unfocused on her face as his lips quirked up in a sly smirk. So he planned on pushing her buttons too. Game on. She was aware of Karen glancing at them curiously.

"You don't look too bad yourself," she smiled up at him, running her hand up his chest. She felt him tense and watched his adams apple bob as he swallowed. He lowered his head, pulling her seat out for her. She smirked to herself as she sat and noticed Foggy practically mimicking his best friend, watching what he was doing before he pulled out Karen's chair. It was like watching a little brother copy his older brother. It was cute. 

While they waited for the server to come by with the menu, she glanced at the couple sitting opposite her and Matt. They both seemed really nervous and clearly didn't know how to break the ice. It wasn't like they never spent time with each other; they were friends. But the prospect of the date seemed to have them both acting like they'd never met. She decided to help out. Familiar ground to help them ease back into being around each other, even if it was a different context.

"So Karen, what's it like working for these two? Honestly, I'd tear my hair out," she snorted with a warm smile. Karen looked relieved, tension leaving her shoulders and Daphne was pretty sure she knew what she was doing because she shot her a grateful look.

"It's good. I really love it there. Sometimes I wanna smack their heads together, but it's fun," she grinned.

"Yeah but, not me right? I mean smack Matt's head all day long, I get it, but not mine," Foggy huffed playfully. Karen laughed, tucking some hair behind her ear.

"Does that mean I get to smack your head? I think I'd really enjoy that," Matt smirked. Just as she hoped it set them into some easy small talk and then the server popped up and placed the menus on the table. 

Daphne looked at them and frowned, not even thinking when she looked up at the young man serving them with a raised brow.

"Do you have one in braille?" She asked carefully. The server looked to Matt then and looked somewhat bashful.

"We don't, I'm sorry," he muttered. Foggy looked like he was about to open his mouth and he had a grumpy look on his face. Daphne was anticipating one of his rants about establishments and how they don't care about blind people, he'd done it before when swapping life stories with her. She didn't want him to ruin the mood of the date.

"You know what? It's fine. I can read it to him," she shot the waiter a smile and he nodded before scurrying off. 

"I swear, one of these days-" Foggy started grumbling, getting promptly cut off by Daphne. 

"Hey, it just gives me an excuse to kick up the romance, right?" She asked him pointedly. Trying to give him a huge hint. Realization dawned on his face then and he nodded, glancing at Karen with a sheepish smile. 

"I can read it to you too… if you wanted?" Karen asked Foggy shyly. He looked flustered for a moment before grinning with a nod. These two, seriously. 

She scooted her chair closer to Matt who had been silent through the whole thing. He was probably used to it all by now. 

"Ready?" She asked softly. She wasn't going to be an asshole with this part. He couldn't actually read the menu, she wasn't that much of a bitch. 

"Yeah… thanks," he murmured in response. She picked up the menu before listing off what they had, keeping her voice quiet as the other couple did the same. Once again, the pair seemed to follow their example, bringing their chairs closer together. It was quite intimate and it was sweet. 

"I think I'm gonna have the enchiladas. They sound so good," Daphne mused when she’d read it all out. 

"I think that sounds good for me too," he replied. He seemed high strung tonight for some reason, she kept seeing him do his head tilt thing and clench his fists. Something was annoying him and she hadn't even started yet. He moved away from her a little as she set the menus down and the server came over and took their orders.

"And for drinks?" The guy asked politely.

"Uh… just a beer for me," Foggy requested. 

"And me," Matt said with a nod.

"A bottle of tequila sounds good," Daphne said, shooting a sly smirk at Foggy when he looked at her shocked. Didn't expect that did you? 

"Oh, I've never tried tequila before," Karen mused.

"Share it with me. It's so good," Daphne grinned. Karen nodded as the man wrote their order down.

"I see you're a woman with exceptional taste," he commented casually with a glance at Daphne.  Matt sat up straighter and cleared his throat causing the waiter to look back down before leaving to place their order. 

"Wow, it really is the dress," Karen giggled to her, making her snort. 

"What does it look like?" Matt piped up, looking for all intents and purposes like a curious blind man even though she knew better. 

"Well it's-" Daphne started, her mouth clamping shut when he held up a hand and shook his head. He turned his head to the couple across the table. 

"I'd like to hear it from them. We all know how modest you are, Daphne, I want to know what it really looks like," he flashed her a sly grin and she had no idea what he was doing but she rolled with it. At Matt's expectant gaze, Foggy's mouth floundered.

"I… uh… Karen?" He asked, shooting her a pleading look. Maybe he was scared of saying anything nice when he was on a date with someone else. It was hilarious. Karen snorted and shook her head at him, glancing back to Daphne and then Matt.

"It's a black. The top part is lace. It's a really pretty design on it. Then the rest is a black lace overlaying black fabric. She's got a great body so it clings her to her in all the right places," Karen shot her a cheeky grin and she hated that she blushed from it. Karen was obviously trying to butter up her 'date' for her. If only she knew.

"It sounds beautiful," Matt murmured, glancing back at her still playing his little act. 

She decided to play his game and gently took one of his hands.

"Here, you can feel it," she smiled, fluttering her lashes at him even though he couldn't see. Her hand was holding his and she rested it on her collar bone where the lace tapered off into a strap. His finger trailed along and upwards, not about to touch her breasts in front of everyone, and trailed down the back where it was much safer to do so. His touch was feather light and touched her skin as they slid down the strap. She felt her stomach clench as he did it, rousing goosebumps on her skin. A quick side glance caught a devilish smirk on his face, he was doing it on purpose. His fingers trailed further and came to more lace and his hand continued to where it turned into the rest of the dress.

"Okay, Jeez, no heavy petting at the table," Foggy whined. Matt moved his hand with a chuckle as Karen burst out laughing at his outburst.

"Hey, man. I'm blind. I see with these," Matt smirked, wiggling his fingers and making his friend groan in annoyance. Karen seemed to find the whole thing amusing though. Daphne was feeling a little flustered and was more than happy when the drinks were put down. The bottle of tequila was set in the middle with four shot glasses. Of course they'd presume it was for all of them. She guessed she didn't mind sharing some of it. The boys had their beers placed in front of them too.

"Yes!" Daphne grinned, swiping the bottle greedily before starting to pour four shots. She set them out in front of them all.

"Drink up," she smirked.

"I don't think that's a good-" Matt started, she shot him a look.

"Really? You wanna be the Debbie downer of this party, Matthew?" She asked with a sigh. 

"Yeah, Matt. Come onnnn," Foggy pleaded. 

"It'll be fun," Karen grinned in a sing-song voice. 

"I hope you know this is peer pressure," he relented, grabbing the shot glass. 

"To double dates!" Foggy grinned. Daphne almost laughed. They all slammed their shots down and Foggy made a ridiculous noise with shudder.

"Don't be such a baby," Daphne laughed at him.

"Wow that was strong," Karen murmured.

"That's why it's my favourite. One time I got so drunk off this stuff, I woke up on a fishing boat," she snorted, licking her lower lip. Karen and Foggy burst out laughing as Matt looked at her incredulously.

"How?" Was all he managed to get out.

"Honestly no idea. One minute I'm drinking and the next I wake up on a boat full of old dudes that don't speak a lick of English. They were good to me though. Fed me some instant noodles before sending on my way," she grinned at the memory, pouring herself another shot. 

"That's insane! How old were you?" Karen asked curiously. 

"Around 19. My parents chewed me out so bad for that because I missed college," she rolled her eyes, settling back in her chair. She’d only had one shot but the warmth bloomed in her chest and she enjoyed it.

"College? You never told me you went to college," Foggy complained. He sounded so offended and she laughed. Karen gave him a grin, shaking her head at him. 

"Well I mean, I dropped out so it didn't feel worth mentioning," she shrugged. 

"Foggy's gonna cry about this for a week now. He loves to know every little bit of his friends' lives," Matt teased with a grin. Foggy flipped him off making the girls giggle.

"What did you study?" Karen asked. She genuinely sounded interested and Daphne shifted in her seat a little.

"Photography," she explained.

"Of course!" Foggy said dramatically.

"That's where it all started, huh?" Matt asked with a smirk.

"I bet you were a real wild child. I bet the tequila story is nothing for you," Karen grinned at her.

"Are you telling me you never rebelled at all?" She quipped back playfully.

"I guess I did," Karen replied. She was smiling but there was an inflection in her voice. There was something there Karen didn't want to talk about so she decided not to press.

"You heard this, Matt. We scored a couple of bad girls. What kind of lawyers are we?" Foggy asked, acting disappointed in himself. Matt barked a laugh and she giggled when Karen slapped Foggy's arm.

"Right, I bet you two were little angels in college," Karen teased.

"We partied a bit but never anything crazy," Foggy defended. 

"Honestly I didn't party too much. Not a big people person," Daphne defended with a grin.

"Shocker," Matt murmured next to her. She squinted at him as Foggy snorted.

"I mostly got in trouble for fights," she shrugged. 

"Fights like real fights?" Foggy asked, sounding surprised.

"I had issues with using my fists and not my words. I was never actually good at fighting but it's amazing what you can do if you're pissed off enough," she murmured.

"Were they critiquing your people skills?" Matt asked dryly.

"It's like you want me to punch you," she commented with a sweet smile. 

"I'd like to see you try, sweetheart," he smirked, raising a brow. She made a mental note to try and kick his ass next training session. Karen seemed to take their banter as flirting and gave her a look as if she thought the date was going well. 

Soon enough the food was at their table and Daphne was loving it. She wanted to come here at some point on her own. They'd been making casual small talk and the night had actually been going really well. She hadn't even fucked with Matt too much as she kept getting distracted by the drink, amazing food and actually good conversation.

"So I have to ask, how did you two meet?" Karen smiled glancing between Daphne and her fake date. She should have known this was coming. Foggy choked on his food a bit and Karen looked at him worried before smacking his back a little. 

"We met at the precinct, just kinda crossed paths I guess," she shrugged with a grin.

"She had that bad attitude and I couldn't resist," Matt smirked. She rolled her eyes at him and the others laughed.

"Daphne told me you've been training her. Helping her defend herself," Karen mused, just making conversation. 

"Yeah. She's actually doing really good. She's a fast learner," he actually sounded sincere and she couldn't help glowing with the praise. 

"I can't even imagine how scary that must have been for you though. What that guy did… and now he's awake again," Karen said with a furrowed brow. Daphne stilled completely, her head whipping from one person at the table to the other. Matt grimaced, looking down at the table and Foggy looked like he'd seen a ghost. Karen glanced at them before her eyes widened a little.

"Wait. You- you guys didn't tell her?" She asked hesitantly. Daphne's heart went into overdrive and she hated how those simple words had an effect on her. But she was also more bothered by the betrayal she felt at no one telling her. 

"He's awake and you guys just didn't think it was important to tell me?" Her voice was tight and higher pitched than normal and she saw Foggy deflate as if realising he and Matt had ruined the date. She released then just how much Foggy meant to her because she felt bad. She didn't want Karen's association with the date to be a bad one because then she might not have a second one with him. 

"You know what, it's fine. Let's not even think about that right now. Let's just enjoy the night," she plastered a smile on her face with force as she grabbed the bottle and poured herself another shot and drank it in one. 

"Are you sure?" Karen started carefully. She hated the pity she saw in her eyes.

"Mhm. I don't want it to ruin the date," the word date felt like acid in her mouth as she tried to push back the burning betrayal and dose of anxiety all the way down. She gave her another smile and it seemed to do the trick. Foggy gave her a look that was relief mixed with pure guilt and she looked away.

"I think we should get dessert," Karen said after a moment to diffuse the tension.

"Good idea! We'll go up and order it. You guys want anything?" Foggy asked, standing up so fast his chair almost tipped over.

"No, I'm good thanks," Matt muttered. 

"The fudge cake seems good. But can I have it to go so I can eat it later?" She asked politely. So she could eat it in bed tonight when she lost sleep over the mess that the night turned out to be. Karen smiled as she ushered Foggy away and they walked to the counter across the way.

"Daphne," Matt started softly.

"Don't," she bit out with pure anger. She grabbed the bottle but Matt swiped it from her easily and set it back down. The pure need to drink was overwhelming her and she could feel her heart thumping against her ribs.

"I think you've had enough," he scolded lightly. She looked at him with such fury that he recoiled even though he couldn't see it.

"You know what I've had enough of? Lies, people turning out to be shitty. Keeping important things from me," she hissed. She could feel her blood pressure rising with each word and she felt like she couldn't breathe. 

"Come on. Let's get some air," he said firmly, standing up and reaching for her. He grabbed her arm and pulled her to stand and she swayed a little from the alcohol and the anxiety making her head rush. 

"Wait, where are you guys going?" Foggy asked, confused as he came back to the table Karen in tow after they'd placed the orders. 

"Just need some air," Matt murmured, not even sparing them a glance as he ‘watched’ her. They must have seen her anxiety because they just nodded as they sat. Matt led her outside and off to the side out of the way. 

"You know, I'd expect this from you, but from Foggy? And Brett? Why didn't Brett call me the second that piece of shit woke up?" She yelled, not caring if people heard her. Matt didn't have his glasses on and his hazel eyes burned into her as he frowned.

"It was me. We only found out because we were with Brett when he got the call. I suggested we wait to tell you and asked Brett to keep it quiet too," he sighed regretfully. 

"Why?" Her voice was pained and he grimaced, taking a step towards her.

"What good would it do? If I told you earlier when I found out, all that would have done was make you panic sooner. And you were so set on coming here and helping Foggy out and I didn't want you to just lock yourself away," he explained.

"I like Karen, I really do and I think there's potential to be friends, but do you know what a slap in the face it is to have someone's who's practically a stranger tell me?" She was upset, more than upset and her brain was a pile of mush as she tried to sort through it. 

"If I knew this would happen, I would have told you sooner. But it doesn't change anything. He's awake now and there's nothing you could have done differently to change what's happening," he placated. 

She pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes. She didn't want to cry. Not now and not in front of him. She regretted drinking now as it always made her a little more emotional.

"I just want it to end," she lamented. 

"I get it, and it will," he soothed. She scoffed and shook her head incredulously. 

"You don't get it though, Matt. He got in my head! He messed me up so bad that I barely slept because I didn't want to deal with the nightmares. They finally stopped after we slept together and now they're gonna come back and I'm just gonna drown in the fucking anxiety!" She raged, swinging her arms around wildly as she swayed slightly. 

"With all the evidence you have on him, he's going away for life. And I'm not gonna sit here and pretend to know what it's like… what you went through. But I know a thing or two about trauma and nightmares and they get better. Yeah, he's awake, but soon he'll live his life in a cell and be far away from you," he pressed. She bit down on her lower lip to stop it from trembling. Her eyes prickling with tears she was fighting away. That overwhelming helpless feeling had returned along with flashes of Mr Lee's dead body on the floor. 

"Matt… you're a lawyer but you're also a vigilante. You can't stand there and tell me that justice always gets served," she hissed quietly, keeping her voice to a minimum.  He looked frustrated as he tilted his head looking in her direction.

"I know it doesn't. Believe me I do. But I still try to have faith in the system. This should be an open and shut case. The stuff you have on him will be enough to convince a jury and he'll be gone. And if by some miracle he gets out, I'll keep you safe," he sounded almost desperate and she wanted to believe him. 

"Right, what are you gonna do, camp out on my fire escape every night to make me feel safe?" She scoffed bitterly.

"If I have to," he stated firmly. She blinked at him for a moment but her brain was too much of a mess to deal with whatever this was.

"I… I can't sit there in court and face him, Matt. I don't know if I can do it," she whispered brokenly. She hated feeling weak. It had been a rare occurrence in her life and she relished feeling in control. But her attack had flipped her upside down with that and she hated how badly it bothered her. People out there lived through worse things and she was still hung up on this. It made her feel small and stupid. 

"You can do this. You're one of the most headstrong, stubborn people I've ever met. You want to bury this whole thing? Then you go to court and tell them what a monster he is. Tell your truth. Mr Lee's truth. Get justice," he said forcefully as he rested his hands on her shoulders. It was pretty motivational, she wouldn't lie. She'd never seen him in court but she bet he was a great lawyer. 

She blew out a breath, reigning herself in. Panicking was getting her nowhere and there was truth to Matt's words. She wanted to have faith in the system but after everything she saw with Fisk, it was hard to. But she did have a lot of evidence and she herself was a victim and witness. It would be a good case. Once again it would just be a waiting game and she hated it. The thought of looking at that asshole in the eye made her stomach clench with fear. But she needed to take back that control and maybe that was the only way to do it. 

"I uh… always seem to become a mess when you're around," she snorted self deprecatingly as she sniffled. She wrapped her arms around herself as Matt released his hold on her. The night air was a little chilly and she'd left her coat inside. 

"I have that effect on people," he teased and she smiled at him.

"Thanks, I guess… for the pep talk. We should get inside," she mumbled awkwardly. She let her guard down around him too many times to be comfortable with it. He'd seen her vulnerable a few times now and it made her feel weird. She didn't like it. 

"Right. Back to the double date," he smirked, shaking his head.

"I hope it's going well. It seems like it right?" She asked him as they got to the door. She opened it and he took her arm and it looked like she was leading him.

"I'd say so," he grinned, gesturing with his head. She looked over and saw Karen and Foggy sat close together, smiling and talking to each other. She felt a pang of envy watching them. She glanced at Matt as they made their way through the make of tables and people but his head was already tilted in her direction.

"What?" She asked softly.

"Nothing," he muttered, turning away from her again. Weird, but nothing new for him.

They finally reached the table and the pair smiled widely at them. She smiled back as they sat down. They had empty plates in front of them from dessert and in her place was a box.

"How was the cake?" Daphne asked.

"Amazing. The best cake ever," Foggy beamed, looking at Karen every so often like he couldn't take his eyes off her. 

"It was. I think you'll really like it," Karen agreed with a warm smile. She really did like the woman and it would be nice to add to her new collection of friends. Something she never thought she'd want. 

Karen excused herself to go to the restroom and Foggy watched her go with a love sick smile on his face.

"Going well?" She asked him. His eyes dropped to her then and be flushed with a nod.

"Better than I hoped. And I know things went a little… ass upwards at the end but I really appreciate you guys doing this for me. And I'm sorry, Daph," he frowned. He looked like a wounded puppy.

"It's fine. We ready cleared it up," Matt murmured, reaching over and patting Foggy’s arm with a smile. 

"So… I really wanna walk her home. You know, get some one on one time, talk a little. Make the night last a little longer. But I'm just so…blegh ," he made a swirly motion with his hands and Matt chuckled. 

"I've got your back, dude. You both seem to be taking cues from us all night. I think she's as 'blegh' as you are," Daphne teased, making the same hand gesture he did.

"I've not been taking cues from you two!" He defended with a pout.

"You really kinda have been," Matt snorted.

"You're the little brother mimicking his big brother," Daphne grinned. Foggy threw his napkin at her with a playful huff as they all laughed. 

"Oh my god, I've been taking cues from a fake couple on a fake date. What is wrong with me?" Foggy whined. 

"You're just nervous and want to make sure it goes right, there's nothing wrong with that," Matt smiled at him. It was kind of nice seeing Matt be a decent human to his best friend. 

"Thanks, man," Foggy said sincerely. A truly touching moment. 

Karen came back after a moment and Daphne glanced at Matt, acting mask in place. She leaned into him a little and smiled, watching his confused face turn to her.

"It's nice outside. I think we should walk back to your place, see the stars and all that. That sounds nice, right?" She asked sweetly. Matt seemed to follow her lead as he shot her a smile he'd never given her before. She wondered how many ladies had been on the receiving end of it.

"Of course," he said softly, lacing her hand that was on the table with his. He brought it up to his mouth and kissed it. A little over the top but he seemed to sell it well as Karen grinned at them.  Daphne would deny until her last breath that her heart fluttered when he did it. 

"That does sound nice actually," Karen murmured shyly, glancing at Foggy. Foggy quickly shot Daphne a look that she could only interpret as a mental high five before he looked back at the blonde.

"Sounds great," he grinned at her. It was kind of adorable how neither of them knew what to do and seemed to be following hers and Matt's lead, she started wondering just how far she could take it. How many seeds she could plant to get them to make a move on each other. She also felt kind of weird to know just how closely the other pair was watching them. She was very aware she had to stay in character for this to work. Maybe she had too much tequila for her to be overthinking this so much. 

They all stood, Matt grabbing his cane and his glasses. He went to put them on but Daphne stopped him, her hand clasping around his.

"Leave them off. I like your eyes," she murmured, her other hand reaching up to his face. His eyes fluttered shut and he swallowed thickly as her fingertips teased his eyelids. She faintly heard a murmured 'aw' from Karen and she inwardly smirked. She removed her hand and he opened his eyes. It was weird how he seemed to look right at her even though he couldn't. He gave her a small smile and nod, slipping his glasses into his pocket. 

She laced her hands with his and he used his cane as they navigated their way out. Karen and Foggy behind them. Once they got outside, she noticed the pair also holding hands. Matt's lips quirked up and she knew he knew it too. The four of them stopped on the sidewalk, about to go separate ways.

"It's been really fun guys," Daphne said warmly. She meant it too. Apart from the hiccup she'd actually had a good time. Fake date or not. 

"We should do this again sometime," Karen said eagerly. Her cheeks flushed red at her words and she glanced at Foggy like he was going to say no to another date. But Foggy had a dopey grin on his face that he couldn't even hide. She didn't want to say anything about how her and Matt weren't really dating. That was something they'd figure out another time. Foggy could tell her it hadn't worked out and that was that. But they could still all hang out. Foggy and Karen as a couple with her and Matt as 'not really friends but sometimes okay with each other'.

(Continued in next post)

[agoodgoddamnshot]

Little Things - Geralt/Jaskier

Gif isn’t mine

Originally posted on my AO3 

He hears what people say about them. He knows what they must think. How in the names of all of the gods do they even work as a pair? They’re as different as day and night. And maybe at one point in his life, Jaskier would have agreed with them. In the first few months of knowing the Witcher, he experienced first-hand how shut-off Geralt could be with the world around him and those within it.

At some point, and he can’t pinpoint where, that shroud started to slip away. He saw how much Geralt could, and does, actually care. It’s as fierce as the way he fights.

They spend a great deal of time watching each other; when they finally fell into a bed together, they spent most of their nights learning what the other liked, mapping the plains of skin and muscle underneath the other.

But it’s the other things, the little things, that Jaskier thinks about the most.

Their journey to Kaer Morhen is going well. They’re making good time. Winter nips at their heels, and with no whispers from the south about Nilfgaardian movements, Jaskier can tell how anxious the Witcher must be about returning to a safe, neutral ground. Kaer Morhen, for all that he’s heard about it, will see them weather whatever casts itself over the Continent. For a time, anyway. Until they figure out what it is they need to do with their latest edition to their group.

“Jaskier!” Ciri’s voice carries through the air. Quick footsteps snapping twigs tell her where she is. She jogs back towards camp, breaking through the shrubs surrounding their camp. “Look what I found!”

The bard looks up, fingers stilling over lute strings. Their camp is nestled in a thick forest. The canopy overhead had given them enough shelter from the rain a few hours ago. Since it cleared, Geralt has been tending to a small fire and a cast-iron pot hoisted above it.

Ciri drops to the ground beside him, brushing a stray strand of golden hair out of her face. Bundled in a gloved hand are some flowers. Jaskier blinks. He recognises them. An approaching winter has caused the world around them to lose its colour. Everything he’s seen has been turned grey. Even the grass in the meadows is starting to wilt and wither away. But the flowers in Ciri’s hands, winter pansies, are so bright: purple, lilac, yellow. The inside of the petals are stained black, as if an inkwell as splattered.

Ciri watches him with a broad smile blushing her cheeks. “You told me that they were your favourite.”

“You were only a few summers old then,” Jaskier marvels quietly, tracing the rim of a petal with his finger. “How do you possibly remember that?”

“Because you visited the gardens every year when you came to visit,” she explains. “And you always asked the groundskeeper when these would blossom best.”

A lump tries to lodge in his throat. The girl is just so good. Something that he hasn’t seen in the world in a long time; at least, not tarnished. He knows what she’s been through. Or he has an inkling at the very least. He hears here some nights, crying into her pillow, or crawling into bed with them, shaking and trembling that something or someone might carry her away.  

And yet, she remembers things like what flowers are his favourite. Jaskier swallows.

He isn’t going to cry.

He’s not going to cry in the middle of gods know where.

“Thank you, my darling,” he smiles, pressing a light kiss to the centre of her forehead. Ciri’s nose wrinkles. It always does whenever he kisses her. She tries to wriggle out of his hugs and pulls her hand away when he tries to hold it. It’s something she’s done since she was a child. Even all of these years later, his heart tightens when he sees a flash of that young girl in front of him, brief and fleeting like an afterimage.

“You’re welcome,” she smiles, standing up and wandering over to the fire to warm her hands. Jaskier’s eyes follow her until he spots Geralt sitting silently at the other side of the campfire, staring straight back at him with his head cocked slightly to the side. When their eyes meet, Geralt hums, and goes back to tending their dinner.

She needs to know how to fight. That’s one of the many, many, many reasons they’re going to Kaer Morhen in the first place. Who better to teach her these things than the wolf pack in the mountains?

They’re still half a day’s ride away from the keep, but the sun doesn’t stay perched in the sky long enough for them to make any great ground anymore. There’s a village that sits at the foot of the mountain; one that sees them sheltered for the night. Villagers here are just slimmer clones of Geralt, if Jaskier is being perfectly honest. None of them talk, moving around each other uttering noises instead of words. He doesn’t think they’ve actually made eye contact with him in the time since they got here.

While they still have a few hours left of sunlight, Geralt and Ciri use the livery’s yard as a makeshift training arena. In one of the last villages they walked through, Ciri was given new clothes and a wooden sword. She’s faring better with breeches, being able to walk and run without tripping on the edge of a dress. And the clothes they found her in weren’t going to keep her warm as soon as the winds turned cold.

As for the sword, she had been eyeing the two sheathed to Geralt’s back. And Geralt certainly wasn’t going to let her practise with an actual blade.

So that’s why he’s perched on the back step of the tavern, watching them do drills in the middle of a livery yard. He wraps his arms around himself. Despite the fur-line jacket around him, wind still nips at his skin. But he can’t bring himself to stand up and go inside.

Geralt keeps looking over to him. Probably wondering why the bard is outside watching them. Jaskier offers him a small smile whenever their eyes meet.

With learning how to fight, she’s learning that she’s going to get hit. He’s always known her to be her grandmother’s kin – a cub, yes, but a cub that will grow into a fierce lioness like the last queen of Cintra. During their drills, she’ll fall. She trips over her own feet, or her balance isn’t quite right. Sometimes, when she’s sparing some simple moves with Geralt, he’ll catch her legs and trip her.

With every thud, every plume of dust that billows up into the air, Jaskier sits up that bit straighter. She gets back up again. She always does: with a fierce frown etched into her face, sword raised high, trying to get back at the Witcher for not being fair.

The light is starting to fade when she gets knocked down again. Pushing herself off of the ground, she brushes her hair out of her face. No matter how many times she ties it up, it always ends up flying out of its tie and distracting her.

She pushes the hair away with a sharp huff – one that even Jaskier can hear a couple of feet away, with a breeze whistling through the yard.

Jaskier laughs, waving the girl over. “Come here,” he says lightly, “let’s sort this out.”

Ciri sits herself on the step below him, holding her head high and straight. “Could you braid it?” she asks. “It just keeps getting in my face.”

Jaskier cards his fingers through her hair, pulling it all back over her shoulders. He hums. “I don’t know. Maybe we’ll just shave it all off.”

At that, she lets out a sound he can really only describe as a squawk. She spins around, staring up at him with wide eyes. “What?”

“He’s joking, Ciri,” Geralt says softly, bringing the girl’s wooden sword over to her. Geralt’s eyes flicker to him, an eyebrow beginning to arch. You are, aren’t you?

Jaskier laughs. “Of course I am,” he tells the both of them, nodding at Ciri to turn back around. “I’ll have you looking even more beautiful in no time at all.” Geralt steps away, fetching the girl’s coat from where she threw it once their drills started to warm her blood. Now that they’re done for the day, chill will set in. Geralt dusts the jacket off, laying it over her shoulders. Ciri smiles up at him.

It doesn’t take him long to weave her hair into a braid. Shorter, softer hairs still fray her hairline, but a bit of wax will keep them at bay. For now, though, the braid will do. “Not the neatest, but I’ll do it again for you in the morning before we head off.” Jaskier glances over to Geralt. “When will we be leaving?”

Geralt shrugs a shoulder. “If we leave at first light, we’ll be at the keep by midday.” He looks down at Ciri. “How does that sound?” Because of course Jaskier will be awake at that point. The Witcher he shares a bed with will make sure of it, even if it means dragging him out of it by his ankles. It’s Ciri who favours her sleep. But the girl nods firmly. They’re all keen to get to the keep – for the safety and security of having high, well-protected walls around them, but also for curiosity’s sake. No one outside of the guild has seen what Kaer Morhen even looks like from the outside, let alone the keep’s halls.

Ciri gets up first, tugging her coat tighter around herself. Jaskier follows. He doesn’t miss the way the joints in his knees and hips crack at the movement, or how his muscles just protest it, but he blames it on the cold.

Even with the fading light, he spots a smudge of dirt on the arch of the Witcher’s cheekbone. Reaching up, Jaskier dusts it away with his thumb. “I doubt there would be any use calling for a bath now, would there?”

Geralt hums. He leans into the touch. “Kaer Morhen was built on hot springs. The baths there are like pools, big enough for a lot of people.” Something flashes in the Witcher’s eyes. “We could take one together if you like.”

Heat flashes over Jaskier’s cheeks as a slow smile curls along his lip. “I’ll hold you to that.” He tilts his head up, catching Geralt’s lips in his own.

Ciri’s face scrunches up. “Gross.”

Kaer Morhen is both everything he expected it to be, and nothing like it at all.

True to his word, one of the first places Jaskier finds himself being brought to is the baths. They’re below the keep itself, and with every step he takes, following Geralt down spiral staircases, he can feel the air getting warmer and more humid.

When he finally sees the springs, he almost cries. Days-worth of dust and dirt and cold that’s buried in his very bones seem worth it, finally. The speed in which clothes are gotten out of and thrown on to a nearby bench should alarm him. But he’s gathered an armful of glass vials, with oils and soaps and lotions with dried flowers and herbs through them, and he will have the best bath he’s probably ever had in his life.

The instant that hot water kisses his skin, a shiver runs straight up his spine. Geralt wades into the deeper end of the spring, ducking his head under for a moment. It takes Jaskier a moment to plan out the bath – rock formations from the mountain leave little ledges around the rim, almost like benches. Some parts of the bath are deeper than the others. Jaskier sits on a ledge with his vials within arm’s reach. Once settled, Geralt wades back over to him, taking a seat just below him. Geralt leans back, pressing against Jaskier’s chest and settling with a soft sigh. Without thinking, the bard’s hands go to Geralt’s shoulders.

This isn’t a new or an odd thing. He washed the Witcher when he still insisted on keeping his veil of not caring about anything or anyone up. He washed the Witcher when that veil slipped away.

Gathering some oil in his palms, he sets them on Geralt’s shoulder. A silence falls over them; one that doesn’t need to be filled. Geralt’s eyes slip shut as fingers work away every string of tension in his muscles. Jaskier is just content to have his Witcher as pliant as he is underneath his hands.

Some part of him wants people to see this. He wants people to see the man they all fear so much, being soft clay underneath Jaskier’s ministrations. But then, the hackles rise at the thought of other eyes seeing this – something that is for them and them alone. He’d happily gouge out the eyes of anyone who would impose on this.

He doesn’t know how much time passes, but the water doesn’t cool at all. Whatever water that sloshes out of the bath, or escapes outside into the cold, it’s replaced by the mountain. The hot spring smells faintly of sulphur, but it’s not unpleasant. Candles burning around the bathhouse mask most of the smell with dusk rose and something else he can’t quite put his finger on.

The comforting smell of chamomile lilts over the air as he works more oil into Geralt’s back and his chest. After a stretch of silence, Jaskier speaks. “Are you asleep?” he tilts his head. He can’t see the Witcher’s eyes, but he imagines that they’re closed.

A hum rumbles through Geralt. Sort of.

Jaskier stretches back for a different vial of oil; one that Geralt likes, but never actually admits it. It’s for his hair, keeping the already bright strands even brighter. He tries not to move too much. Geralt is reclining against him. And although the water laps gently at them, he doesn’t want it to bother the snoozing wolf too much.

When Geralt speaks again, his voice is quiet. “Why do you do this?”

A soft frown creases Jaskier’s forehead. “Because I want to,” Jaskier replies. He says it as though it were the simplest thing in the world. And to a point, he guesses that it is. He likes looking after Geralt – because gods know that Geralt certainly doesn’t look after himself. Although he doesn’t love Geralt coming back from a hunt bruised or cut or caked in mud or grime, he likes making sure that his Witcher is clean and safe and loved.

Geralt hums, mulling the response over in his head.

Eskel and Lambert take turns tutoring Ciri. Jaskier watches from the forge as the three of them dance in the main practise arena. Although it’s one of the warmer days, the winds are still unforgiving. The lit forge behind him keeps his back warm at the very least; and with one of Geralt’s cloaks around him, Jaskier isn’t too keen on moving from his post.

Ciri listens to the other two Witchers intently – even when they argue among themselves about how best to pirouette with a broadsword. Jaskier can see the faintest of smiles ghosting her lips when a brotherly argument goes a bit too far and both Witchers start squaring up to each other.

Before the first fist can swing, a sharp whinny sounds from the main gate. Jaskier’s ears twitch. He can tell who it is without even looking.

He woke up this morning to an empty bed. It’s not uncommon. Geralt is sometimes so restless that he can’t stay in one place for too long – in a warm bed with a warm body beside him included. But he never ventures far.

Jaskier stretched out his hand this morning and frowned when he felt cold sheets. The tell-tale scent of the Witcher was already starting to thin from his pillow.

Neither Eskel nor Lambert knew where he had gone. And Vesemir just offered a shrugged shoulder. “His horse is gone so he probably went out on a trail,” the elder Witcher grunted, going back to his sword and whetstone.

Geralt rides Roach over to the stables, hopping down and patting her neck. He says something to her, too quiet for Jaskier to hear. He’s quick to slip her saddle and bridle off and get her settled in her stall.

Ciri pays him no mind, using the opportunity of Eskel and Lambert arguing among themselves to practise her stances with her sword. Jaskier tugs his cloak tighter around himself, staving off a stray breeze. When Geralt wanders over, Jaskier sees that one of his hands is behind his back.

Jaskier narrows his eyes. “Where have you been?” he asks, shuffling over a bit so Geralt can take a seat next to him.

He doesn’t. Instead, Geralt looks down at his boots for a second. Wordlessly, he stretches out his hand.

Gathered in his fist, Jaskier blinks at the sight of flowers. Bright coloured flowers gathered in a piece of cloth. They look so small and dainty in comparison to Geralt’s hand. He recognises them instantly. Winter pansies; ones in a rich shade of royal purple, bright yellow, and one that is as white as snow.

Jaskier sits forward, mouth slightly agape. “I didn’t know that they grew this high up,” Jaskier says.

Geralt swallows. “They don’t.”

At that, Jaskier frowns. The trails around the mountain are bare, but he saw some flora growing on the roadside on their hike up. None of it looked as bright as what Geralt has grasped in his hands.

In fact, the last time he saw flowers blooming that bright was at the foot of the mountain.

No.

No.

No, he didn’t—

“Did you...” Jaskier’s eyes flick between Geralt’s face and his hand. “Did you walk back down to the village, just to get flowers?”

Geralt presses his lips into a thin line. He nods.

“For me?”

Another nod.

Jaskier can feel his brain starting to shut down. “The village is half a day’s walk away,” he breathes.

“It didn’t take that long. I took Roach,” Geralt shrugs a shoulder.

“You took-” A laugh wrangles its way out of his throat. It’s ridiculous. It’s lovely and sweet and kind, but it’s ridiculous. He reaches out for the flowers. The cloth is mostly wrapped around their stems. The cut is clean enough that, if he put them into a vase of water, they’ll keep for a couple of days. It’ll be a splash of colour to a colourless winter. They have a faint perfume to them, but nothing too overpowering.

Jaskier pats the space next to him. “Come here, you oaf.”

Geralt wordlessly falls to Jaskier’s side. When he sits, the sides of their thighs press and warmth blooms through their skin. Jaskier lightly ghosts his finger over the flowers’ petals, marvelling at how bright and healthy they are despite winter rolling in. He nudges Geralt’s shoulder with his. “Why did you walk all the way back down the mountain to get me flowers?” he asks with a slight lilt to his voice.

He knows the answer. Well, he thinks he does. He just wants to hear Geralt say it.

The Witcher’s expression is utterly unreadable. He stares off in to some corner of the forge, his jaw working. “Because I wanted to,” he offers after a time.

The smile that spreads across Jaskier’s face couldn’t be gotten rid of even if he tried. He leans against Geralt’s side, pressing a kiss to the arch of his cheekbone. “They’re gorgeous. Thank you, love.”

Even though he knows he’ll blame it on the cold, Jaskier swears that he can see colour wash over Geralt’s cheeks.

[dal3ks]

the interview

pairing: tony stark x female reader 

word count: 1.8k

warnings: none! just a little bit of cursing and teasing! some flirting! 

"so ms. (y/l/n), i have a new assignment for you," your boss slid you a manila folder, "i need you to conduct an interview for me. preferably recorded. it needs to be in my office tomorrow at eleven a.m., no later."

you stared at the folder, opening it slowly. once you read the name of the individual you were supposed to interview, your jaw dropped, "but getting an interview with tony stark is practically impossible! he's a multimillionaire with much better things to do!"

"and that is precisely why i need you to interview him," your boss cleared his throat, "it is extremely difficult to get time with such a prestige man, but, i do have the interview already scheduled for you. unfortunately, i have to run home early today to pick up my daughter from daycare. i do have faith in you, (y/n). you're a fantastic journalist. your last article about spider-man was not only inspirational, but very thought provoking."

"you're just throwing this assignment in my lap because i mainly write about modern superheroes," you grimaced, "spider-man was a fifteen year old boy. he was a breeze. this time around it's an asshole in his thirties. he's cocky and arrogant."

"i mean if that's what you really think, then i can give you an alternative assignment," your boss shrugged, picking through more folders, "how does the  lady-bug crisis in valor, vermont sound?"

you let out a sigh, "i'll do it. just text me the time and address. and just for your information, i do care about the lady-bug crisis. for some reason i cannot write those kind of articles for the life of me."

"well, i know you will exceed my expectations," your boss gave you a genuine smile, "i'll have my receptionist send you the address on your way out. good luck!"

"i'll do my best," you mumbled, standing up from the chair.

on your way out of your boss' office, his receptionist gave you the time and address of the interview. your jaw dropped once more once you realized where the location was. the interview was scheduled at tony stark's mansion. it was also scheduled for eight-thirty p.m., which was kind of late for a single interview.

you sat down at your desk with a huff. even though the man was an asshole, you were sure that tony stark was brilliant and complex. you jotted down some questions in your phone, preparing for a short interview. typically tony stark got bored with all of the questions, and then proceeded to kick the journalists out. hopefully it would be short. you couldn't stand the man.

even though most of your work involved modern superheroes, you shied away from covering the multimillionaire. there was just something about tony stark that irritated you, and you couldn't place your finger on what it was. sure, he was cocky, arrogant, and boasted about himself, but there was just something else you disliked about him.

it was mainly the way he treated women. he used women as eye candy, toys, and much more. you had heard dozens of stories from women reporters and journalists about how he hit on them. with some of the women, he even offered them a night with him. he was disgusting in that matter, and you were sure to keep your guard up around him.

you left work early to prepare for the interview. although you were wearing black slacks and a blouse, you opted to change into a pair of leggings and a crew neck. you felt that it would give you a more "comfortable" vibe, as you wanted the interview to be more casual. you let your hair stay down in loose curls, and you washed off your makeup. the more you dressed down, the better.

also, you wanted to be comfy since you were going to be staying up all night to write the damn article. the deadline of eleven a.m. was ridiculous, but you knew your boss had good intentions. there was a promotion within the office, and if this article was amazing, then you would earn the job. so, there was more at stake than just an interview with mr. stark.

around eight, you left your apartment. you typed the address into your phone, your fingers shaky. even though you had conducted hundreds of interviews with strangers, this one intimidated you slightly. you were afraid that you were going to bore the man.

once you arrived at tony stark's mansion, you swallowed a lump in your throat. you showed your identification to the security guard, who let you in with a grunt. you pulled into the driveway, exiting your car once you gathered your needed materials.

you knocked on the door, expecting to see mr. stark's assistant, pepper. instead, it was tony stark himself, clad in a pair of sweatpants and a metallica shirt. his outfit was more than likely designer, which intimidated you.

"ah, ms. (y/l/n)? come in," mr. stark opened the door, allowing you to step in.

once you stepped into the house, your heart dropped. it was completely beautiful. the floor was a shiny hardwood, and expensive looking furniture was everywhere. surely this was a mistake. you weren't worthy of being in this man's home.

"is it okay if we do this in my lab?" his voice interrupted your thoughts, "i have something i'm working on. i talk better if i'm tinkering with something."

"oh yeah," you nodded, "not a problem, mr. stark."

he scoffed, "please, call me tony. don't be like everyone else."

his sharp comment made your eye twitch, "i'm sorry, it's just that i'm not used to this."

"new on the job?" he began to walk towards an elevator, which you assumed lead to the basement.

"actually it's my second year," you answered, "my jurisdiction is with the heroes of today."

"ohhh fancy," tony chuckled, "i wouldn't call myself a hero, but i guess i'm popular, huh?"

goddamn this man was cocky. you gritted your teeth, "you must be. the media is all over you."

tony glanced at you, actually taking a second to look at you, "wow."

"what?" you raised a brow, your tone sharp.

"you look good," his voice sounded genuine, "you look amazing, actually."

"and how does this correlate with the interview?" you smirked.

"no one comes dressed like you," tony answered, "i like you already."

"thank you," his compliment made you grin, and you started to think that maybe this man wasn't as bad as you thought.

the elevator doors opened, and tony led you to his work area, where he was tinkering with a new version of his iron man suit. he gestured towards an open chair, and you hesitantly sat down.

"before we start," tony cleared his throat, opening a program on his computer, "do you want anything to drink? is the air comfortable? if it's too hot or too cold, let me know."

"that's sweet of you," you beamed, "but i'm fine. thank you, though."

"no problem," tony nodded, then began toying around with the hologram in front of him.

you admired him for a minute as he worked. his dark hair was messy, which you assumed was due to working in his lab all day. his shirt was a little small, as it defined his muscles in his arms and shoulders as he worked. his brown eyes were focused, searching for a new development on his project. you stared for a second, star struck. this man was gorgeous. no wonder ladies dropped their panties for him.

"you okay?" his voice interrupted your thoughts. you glanced up to see him smirking at you, arms folded across his chest, "i believe we were about to start an interview, not a staring contest."

you felt heat rush into your cheeks, "sorry, you're just uh, extremely attractive when you work."

tony raised a brow, obviously enjoying your embarrassment, "yeah? i get that a lot."

"i'm sorry," you could feel the waves of embarrassment radiating off of you, "let's get started."

"how about i shoot an email to your boss?" tony interjected, "and we postpone this whole shindig. you're different, and i want to get to know you better. forget about me, there's hundreds of interviews with me out there. i want to know about you, (y/n)."

"but tony," you began, "this interview could earn me a higher position."

"and i could get you out of that shitty office and promote you as head of marketing for my company," tony scoffed, "you're an excellent writer, (y/n). i read your article on good old spider boy last week. you deserve something more than nine dollars an hour. you'd excel as head of marketing. and if you want something else, you got it."

you blinked, shocked, "tony, i don't know. your offer is gracious but i just can't up and leave. they need me at that office."

"and who's being cocky now?" tony winked at you, "just consider it, all right? i'll send you some answers to your questions later in an email."

"my boss wants the interview to be recorded," you swallowed a lump in your throat. god he made you a blushing mess.

"they'll be sound bytes then," tony sat down on the counter beside you, "speaking of bytes, how about we grab a bite sometime? do you want to have dinner sometime, with me?"

"like a date?" you widened your eyes.

"yes," he chuckled, "like a date."

"i like the sound of that," you murmured, glancing up at him. even though tony was short, you were still shorter than him.

tony gave you a gentle smile, "you're by far the most beautiful woman who's ever walked in my life."

you blushed, "oh, you don't mean that."

"i do," he nodded, "you're drop dead gorgeous. and i like that you came here as yourself, not some version of yourself that you're forced to be. it's different, a nice different."

you found yourself melting under all of the compliments. your mind buzzed, wondering what was going to happen next. one minute you hated the man, the next, you were falling for him. he really was not the man you had painted him to be in your mind. it just took some time alone with him, away from the media and cameras, to see who he really was.

"thank you, again," you murmured, "you're quite handsome yourself."

"thank you," his voice was soft, "so, tell me about yourself."

you found yourself opening up him, memories and stories spilling out of you. and you didn't know it yet, but as he got to know you, as you opened up, he only fell harder and harder for you.

and you found yourself falling for him as well as the night continued.

[panda-noosh]

somewhere in the trees {zuko x reader}

Words: 14.4k 

Summary: Rules are rules - other kingdoms are not meant to mingle with the Fire Nation. Zuko knows he’s in trouble when he comes across an Earth Bender hidden deep within the trees just outside his home.

Genre: angst

Warning: panic attacks

Notes: masterlist - support my writing or ask me about commissions! - i haven’t written for Zuko in ages and it hurt me. 

---

Zuko listens to the drums.

  Dull, throbbing, making his ears pop every few seconds. He leans his head back against the wall, trying his hardest to catch breath that shouldn't have left him in the first place, because he's been doing this for years – for as long as he can remember, in fact.

  Showing his face to the people of the Fire Nation shouldn't be such a hard task when he was raised in the palace, when his father is king and his mother is queen and the world knows him by name. Showing his power should be easy, but when he stands next to Azula, he can't help feeling inadequate, and he hates that. It makes his heart race with a mixture of horror and embarrassment; Azula stands beside him, shoulders drawn back and head held high, and she just does everything so naturally, like she was made for the stage. In a way, Zuko was also made for the stage – he just hasn't quite mastered how to show that yet.

  This particular show took its toll on him more than it ever has before. Azula was gaining some male attention that quickly turned on Zuko; the three burly men fighting for his sisters affection had taken it upon themselves to chastise Zuko for his limp arms, and his lanky frame, and the scar covering one side of his face. They didn't know the true story – gods forbid someone find out the true story – but they jeered him for it anyway.

  Azula had done nothing to help.

  So Zuko left. He scrambled off stage and darted into the woods, and that's where he finds himself now.

  He presses his head against his knees. Around him, a bird chirps, but Zuko doesn't look towards it. He keeps his head down, inhaling and exhaling, concentrating on the steady rise and fall of his chest. He even presses a hand against his collarbone, trying desperately to feel his pulse, to make sure everything is in order because it really, really feels like something is wrong. Maybe it's a panic attack – Zuko has heard of those only a handful of times, and it's always when his father is laughing about them. He thinks people who can't control their nerves are weak, and Zuko has always laughed along with him because he just wants to please the man, he just wants to prove himself, he just wants to be like him.

  The thought draws Zuko up short. His eyes squeeze closed, and he shakes his head, back and forth, back and forth like an animal in distress. The idea – the thought – of ending up like his father is enough to make his breathing stutter, and he's dragged right back to square one before he can even get a hold on himself.

  “No,” he whispers. “No, no, no, no.” On and on, tiny words escaping his mouth. The birds around him chirp and soar. The grass beneath him tickles his ankles. He wonders if he's allergic, if maybe this is just some kind of medical reaction That would be easier to explain to his father.

  “No.”

  “Bloody hell, I heard you the first time.”

  Zuko yells.

  He scrambles away from the wall, shoving himself into a pile of stray autumn leaves. Nettles stab into his exposed arms, and he cries out again before scrambling away, his eyes darting to and fro for the source of the mysterious voice.

  He sees nothing. Just birds and grass and trees.

  He licks his lips. “H-Hello?”

  “Hello.”

  He flinches back. “This isn't funny. Where are you? Show yourself now!”

  “Oooh, the prince finally found a set of vocal cords.” There's a small titter of laughter. Zuko scowls, clenching his fists in the grass. “I don't really like fire benders in my forest, if I'm being completely honest. Your powers don't really suit this kind of area.”

  “You're in our woods – the Fire Nation belongs to me and my family!” Zuko looks around again. “Where are you?”

    “Your woods? When was the last time you came out here and chased off some meddling fire bending teenagers, huh? 'Cause unless you've slipped past me somehow, I've never seen you here before in my life. I'm only being nice now because you're having a panic attack.”

  Zuko's chest constricts. Again, he rests his hand upon his collarbone, tracking the quick thump of his heart. He can feel his pulse in his throat, is made aware of his weakening legs now that he's stood up. His breathing is still slightly laboured, but his confusion has distracted him long enough for his body to settle down for the time being.

  “Where are you?” He knows he's being repetitive, but there's nothing else he can think to say right now. He's stood in this forest on his own, and yet there's a random voice talking to him from nowhere. He's starting to wish he'd never left Azula's side.

  Another laugh echoes through the trees. Zuko flinches back, tugging his hands into his chest; his palms heat up with the warmth of his powers surging to the surface, but he holds it back – there's no point wasting his energy when he doesn't even know where to use it.

  “You're actually kind of cute, you know,” the voice says. “The young prince of the Fire Nation. An idol. Should I feel honoured that I've seen you so vulnerable?”

  “Stop playing these games!” Zuko snaps. “Show yourself now, or I'll get the guards out here to take you from this forest by force!”

    Another laugh, but it's followed by the crinkle of leaves. Zuko spins around, flames immediately engulfing his hands in preparation for whatever protection he is going to have to give himself.

  But then he sees you.

  A little shorter than him, smiling manically, half-knelt in a pile of leaves. You're wearing riding gear, a thick leather vest with matching trousers that show Zuko you're from the Earth Kingdom. He's struck with confusion – what is someone from the Earth Kingdom doing in the forests of the Fire Nation?

  Slowly you rise. Zuko takes a hesitant step back, but he doesn't feel as threatened as he once did, not now that he can see you.

  “I like to make a dramatic entrance every now and then, even though it messes with my knees,” you say, brushing brambles from your trousers. Zuko notices the vines curled round your wrist, disappearing beneath the sleeves of your leather vest. “How do you do, Prince Zuko?”

  “What are you doing here?”

  You roll your eyes. “Goodness me. Why do you get to ask all the questions and just ignore mine?”

 “Because this is my kingdom, and I'd advice you to cooperate before things take a bad turn.”

  Your smile wavers. What was once a manic, cheshire-like grin trembles at the edges, and Zuko hates that he feels a little guilty for it; you look to be around his age, dirt smeared across one of your cheeks. There's a leaf sticking from your hair, a sign to Zuko that you've been living rough these past few weeks. Weeks? Years? Zuko can only guess as to how long you've been here.

  “Well okay,” you mumble. “Clearly little Prince Flame hasn't taken his afternoon nap.”

  “Answer the question.”

  “I live here.” You speak through gritted teeth, the first sign of outward annoyance you've given to Zuko since you first appeared.

  Zuko narrows his eyes. He still holds flames, but you've long since stopped looking at them. Instead, you focus your eyes on Zuko, and he's shocked to see the confidence there, burning behind your irises. He isn't sure whether you see him as a threat or not, but you're certainly not showing any signs of fear.

  Zuko tilts his head. “That isn't possible. We would have known if someone from the Earth Kingdom was living here.”

  You shrug. “Take that up with your men. I've been perfectly content living in my trees.”

  “I wish you wouldn't call them your trees. This is Fire Nation land, and you're currently trespassing.”

  You groan, throwing your head back before you stumble to the side. Zuko takes a step back, holding his hands up a little higher in his attempts to ward you off – in truth, he doesn't even know why he's so fearful. He hasn't seen your power – you might not even be an Earth bender, but there's always a chance.

  “You're so boring,” you say. “I personally think the Fire Nation needs a little bit more diversity, don't you?”

  Zuko stays silent. Something ticks in his jaw. The mere idea of another one of the kingdoms mingling with the Fire Nation nearly makes him laugh – the Fire Nation doesn't make friends outside of the Fire Nation. That's been a rule for as long as Zuko has been born.

  “Of course, it goes both ways,” you continue, lazily waving a hand. You catch a butterfly, uncurl your fingers to reveal it in perfect condition, sitting pleasantly in your palm. “The Fire Nation can come visit the Earth Kingdom whenever they want.” You level a gaze on Zuko. “As long as you're on your best behaviour.”

   Zuko swallows. “My sister will be furious if she finds you here.”

  “Oh, goody!” you exclaim. “Is Azula coming to visit? Should I put on something a little nicer? How does she like her potatoes cooked?”

  Zuko growls. “Do you ever take anything seriously? You do realise you're committing a crime right now, don't you?”

   “I've known that for a very long time,” you reply. “I've just grown to not. . . what's the term? Give a shit?”

  Zuko's eyes widen. His father taught him how to react in a situation like this – when a commoner is disrespecting him, he has every right to punish them however he pleases, because he's prince and that's one of the perks of being a prince.

  But he stares at you now, that smile on your face, the way you walk back and forth in the leaves, and he can't bring himself to say anything. He just watches you closely, hands still engulfed in red hot flames.

  He swallows again, flicking a glance over his shoulder. “Do you have a name?”

  You pause your pacing, tilting your head. “You have an interest in my name?”

  “I have an interest in the names of people who trespass on my land.”

  You smirk. “So you've just admitted to me that you're going to use my name against me? Tout to your father, yeah?”

   Zuko closes his eyes. “I won't tell my father anything. I just want to know-”

  “Y/N.”

  His eyes snap open. “Y/N.”

  “Y/N L/N of the Earth Kingdom,” you clarify. “Eighteen years old, orphan, run-away, all around bad person.” You stretch your arms out and grin. “What a fine pleasure to have your company in my humble abode, Prince Zuko.”

  Zuko silently questions his own sanity when he lowers his hands, dismissing the flames he'd once considered his only protection; now, he doesn't even fully believe you're a threat.

  You smile, letting your own hands drop. “Truce?”

  “How can you actually live here? How can you really make this place your home?”

  “I like nature, Zuko.”

  “And I like fire, but I don't live in flames.”

  “Then how much can you really like fire?”

   Zuko frowns. “You're very weird.”

  You chuckle, and it's a pleasant sound that forces Zuko to halt his grin before it becomes obvious. “So I've been told. I think the death of two parents can do that to a person.”

  “How did they die?” He isn't sure if this is too personal, if he should just back up and leave the conversation at that – he hasn't had the chance to talk to a normal person in quite a while, and his communication skills have become rusty throughout his time locked behind the mahogany doors of the palace. Sure, he enjoys talking to the maids and the cooks, but how real can a conversation be with someone who works for you?

  You continue walking back and forth. You continue to smile. Your voice still holds that humorous edge to it when you say, “The Fire Nation killed them.”

  And in that moment, Zuko wishes he had just kept quiet.

  His stomach reels. His mouth snaps shut, his prepared follow-up question escaping his mind. He stares at you, how you never once waver, how your smile never flickers, and he wonders of your sanity.

  He clenches his fists. “I'm . . . I'm so sorry.”

  “It happened a while ago,” you reply, kicking a stone onto the toe of your boot before burying it beneath the leaves. “I don't remember it all that well. I've been told stories, though.” You look at Zuko and slowly shake your head. “Terrible, terrible stories. Nightmare inducing stories. Stories that include your father-”

  “I'm sorry.”

  You shrug, going back to your pacing. “But what can I do about it now? Nothing. Absolutely nothing.”

  “Y/N...”

  “I don't want pity, either. I just want you to turn and leave me to my own devices, in my own little forest, all on my own.” You stare up at the sky. “This is where I belong, Prince Zuko. I'd appreciate it if you respected that.”

  Zuko knows this is just an excuse, a way to get him out of your sight so you can go back to breaking the law with no consequences. He knows, as prince, he should be dishing out your punishment and taking pride in doing so, but he can't find the strength. He imagines you, a little baby, so innocent and vulnerable, parentless because of the things his people had done out of pure selfishness.

  He bites his lower lip and says no more before backing away. He turns on his heel when it becomes clear you've lost interest in him, slowly making his way back to the palace, back to his life of luxury, back to pretending that everything is fine and the world isn't a corrupt shithole.

  ---

  If there is one thing Firelord Ozai sees as important, it's making his family look as close-knit as possible in the eyes of the Fire Nation.

  Meal times are often practice for this kind of thing, and Zuko hates it. Even when the world is not watching their every move, Ozai likes to make sure his two children are pristine and perfect. He shoves all arguments and all tension out of the way, replacing it with a false sense of happiness.

  Zuko is ruining that image today, and he can't help it.

  It has been three days since he paraded into the woods and found you lurking amongst the brambles. It's been three days since you told him of the happenings that resulted in your parents deaths. It's been three days in which Zuko has been unable to get a grip on his guilt.

  He sits at dinner now, his legs folded beneath the table. His shoulders are slumped, and he's been jabbing at his roast beef since he sat down, having yet to touch a single fine cuisine on his plate; it's an expensive dish, but he can't even bring himself to be grateful for it.

  Azula coughs. “Father. Surely you've noticed Zuko's a little down in the dumps recently?”

  Zuko has to resist the urge to kick his sister. At the head of the table, Ozai frowns, fork lifted halfway to his mouth as his eyes settle on his youngest son, his biggest disappointment. Zuko doesn't even look up from his plate, but instead tries to make himself look as inconspicuous as possible by scooping a pile of peas into his mouth and straightening his shoulders in the most subtle manner he can manage.

  Ozai slowly lays his fork across his plate and forms a tent with his fingers. “Is this true, Zuko?”

  Zuko wants to scream that Ozai doesn't really care, because he doesn't. The Firelord has put him through hell from the moment he was born – he only wants to keep up appearances. He wants to play Happy Families whilst his men and his army go out and destroy real happy families for the sake of rank and reputation.

  The realisation burns bile into the back of Zuko's throat. He swallows it down, looks up at his father and says, “I'm fine. I don't know what Azula's talking about.”

  “Oh, but look!” Azula waves a hand over Zuko's packed dinner plate. “He's barely touched what the chefs have so kindly served him today. Usually he's the first one finished.”

  Only because I want to get away quicker, Zuko thinks.

  Ozai raises a brow. “This is true. Has something been heavy on your mind recently, Zuko?”

  Zuko shakes his head, chewing on a bit of roast beef purely as an excuse to not answer. His voice will break. His father will know.

  But his father knows anyway. Ozai always knows.

  “I don't like it when you lie to me, son.” His voice is low, heavy. “There's too much mistrust in your heart, and it's a problem.”

  “I don't mistrust anyone,” Zuko says. “I'm just not hungry. I've been feeling a little bit ill.”

  Azula snorts, opens her mouth to say something, but Ozai raises a hand and she goes silent immediately.

  “How can you ever expect to rule over the Fire Nation if you can't even handle a simple stomach bug?”

  Zuko's head snaps up. “Father, really. I'm just-”

  “Do you expect me to hand over everything I've worked for to a boy? A boy who is bed-ridden at the first sign of an ache?”

  “I'm fine, father. I just don't feel like-”

   Ozai stands up. Zuko doesn't understand why he is so angry, why the conversation has taken such a sudden and twisted turn. “I am paying people to train you into a Firelord, Zuko, and clearly they are not doing a very good job.”

    Zuko's eyes widen. “They're doing a wonderful job, father. You're right. You're absolutely right. I need to-”

  But Ozai is already clicking his fingers, and servants are already rushing inside the dining hall. Azula stifles her laughter beneath a gloved hand. Zuko's heart thunders in his chest, a million miles per hour, a million thoughts that he cannot bring himself to organise.

  A servant named Beatrice arrives at Ozai's side first. The Firelord doesn't even look at her when he says, “Find Zuko's tutors and kill them. They're not doing their job. They've wasted my hard earned money, and I won't have it.”

   Zuko belches. “Father, no. Please!”

   Beatrice looks between father and son, her eyes wide.

  Ozai clicks his fingers and points to the door. “I've given my orders. Now go, or else you'll be facing the same fate.”

   Beatrice squeaks, bows and scrambles out of the room. Zuko can only stare after her, hands trembling in his lap – that feeling is coming back, that thumping of his heart, the sweat pooling in his palms. His breathing will disappear soon, become some ragged thing that causes physical pain in his chest. Soon, he won't be able to hide it and he'll be back to square one.

  But he can't stop trembling. He can't stop the screams that echo in the back of his mind, the image of his tutors – tutors who have worked so hard to help him become someone he was never meant to be – being brutally slaughtered because Zuko had one bad day.

  Ozai's face is stone. He stares dead ahead, sniffles and says, “Dinner dismissed. Both of you, go to your rooms. I don't want to see you for the rest of the night.”

  Zuko pushes his chair back and darts out of the dining hall, his stomach reeling even though there's barely anything there. Servants ask after him, unaware of the brutalities happening to their co-workers in the next house over. He ignores them, feeling nothing but relief when he finally bursts into his room and locks the door.

  He crumbles to his knees as soon as the door is closed. His body deflates, and a sob erupts. He claps a hand over his mouth, squeezes his eyes closed, says a silent prayer that someone will have mercy on them poor souls, poor, poor souls.

  He knows it's useless.

  It's useless, and he needs something. He needs something, anything to get his mind off it. He can't be in this palace. He can't sit there and listen to the casual chatter of the servants outside the door, the casual patter of footsteps in the hallway coming from people who are either oblivious or just don't care.

  So he gets up and climbs out his window. His legs are too long and his movements are too clumsy, and he ends up kicking the window beneath his own. He quickens his pace when this happens, knowing time is dwindling, knowing it won't be long before whoever occupies that room comes knocking on his door to ask if he's alright – he should probably just climb back inside and feign ignorance. It would be the safer option.

  But as soon as his feet touch the soft brambles, he's running towards the woods and he can't stop even if he tried to. His lungs are burning after only a few seconds, despite his skilled stamina – he's having a panic attack. The running is not helping, but he can feel the stress leaking from his system and he savours that feeling of deflation even as his lungs burn and scream for a mercy he cannot give them because he does not deserve it.

  Lives are being taken because of him. What right does he have to be treated kindly, even by himself?

  Soon, Zuko finds himself surrounded by the familiar greenery he was caged in only three days ago. He falls against the wall, presses his hands into his eyes and says, “No, no, no.”

  “Yes, yes, yes.”

 Zuko doesn't flinch this time, because he knows who it is. He wanted you to appear. He wants to hear your voice.

  He doesn't look up. It takes you a moment, but you finally drop from the canopy and land in front of him; he can't see you, but he feels you staring at him.

  A branch pokes him in the leg.

  “You look a little down, Princeling.”

  Zuko opens his mouth to say something, but words fail him. He instead digs his fingers into his eye sockets a little more, as if this will push all the memories and all the thoughts to the back of his mind – yet another array of horrors he will be forced to deal with later.

  You hum. “Okay, you look a lot down. What happened? Was the steak not medium rare?”

  Zuko doesn't respond. He senses your hesitancy when you slowly kneel down in front of him, gets a shock when your hand rests on his knee.

  “Hey. Look up.”

  Zuko does just that. His eyes meet your own, and he's startled to see you're not smiling. It takes him a minute to even realise you're the same person he spoke to three days ago. You don't quite look the same when you're not grinning from ear to ear, spewing some stupid information that Zuko really doesn't need to know.

  Now, you've got your head tilted and your lips are pursed, and you look genuinely worried for him.

  “Did you know,” you begin, voice a mere mumble, “that people from the Earth Kingdom are actually really, really good listeners?”

  Zuko's heart lifts. His voice is croaky when he replies. “I didn't know that, no.”

  You shift until you're sitting beside him, shoulder pressed against his own. The two of you stare into the forest, the darkness slowly taking shape between the trees as night falls upon the forever glowing Fire Kingdom. Back in the city, people will be lighting lanterns with their hands. His father will be getting ready to address his people – his worshippers – for their good night call.

  “Well we are.” You stretch your legs out in front of you and tap Zuko's knee, gesturing for him to do the same. He hesitates before lowering his legs onto the grass, stretching them out so they surpass your own, exaggerating the height difference between you both.

  You frown. “That's not fair.”

  “I think good height runs in the family.”

  You swat his shoulder. “What do you mean, good height? Do you think being short is bad height?”

  Despite himself, Zuko smiles. “Your words, not mine.”

  You scoff, folding your arms over your chest. “And here I was thinking you were a better man than your father.”

   Zuko's smile collapses. His heart collapses. His fathers words slam back into his mind, and tears are suddenly rising to the surface.

  He looks away, tries to hide them, but you're much quicker than he is. You lean forward, catching his eyes just seconds before the realisation seems to dawn on you. Your own eyes widen, jaw dropping open for a second.

  “Zuko. Woah, okay. What's the matter? Did I say something?”

   Zuko swipes a hand beneath his eyes, shaking his head. “It's nothing.”

  “That's clearly not true.” You move in front of him, knees pressing into the dirt but you don't seem to care. You continue trying to catch his eye, fingers tightening on his knees which are, again, pressed into his chest. “Zuko, why are you here? What happened?”

   “What happened,” Zuko whispers. “What happened, you ask. What happened, Y/N, is what always happens!”

   You flinch back at the steady rise of his voice. “I don't understand.”

   Zuko clenches his jaw. “It's all my fault.”

  “Zuko, you're not making any sense-”

   “They're dead, and it's all my fault!” He isn't sure where it comes from, but a roar of frustration is pulled from his mouth. His hands erupt into flames. You gasp, pulling away from him as he throws the fire against a nearby tree.

  It goes up in flames.

  Zuko's eyes widen. “Oh, sh-”

  You throw your hands out, and immediately the flames are dispelled. You don't even look towards the tree you've just saved, instead keeping your gaze steady on Zuko.

  He looks back at you, eyes wide. “I'm so sorry.”

  “You're angry, is what you are,” you correct, crawling back towards him. “Put those hands away, will you? And take some deep breaths, for the love of god.”

  Zuko trembles. “They're dead, Y/N. Because of me.”

  “You're still not making any sense.”

  “Do I have to? I think I like it more when people can't understand what I'm saying – it makes it less difficult to mess up.”

  You frown. “Well, that's not a very good way to live your life.”

  “It's better than what life is like now.”

   “In what way?”

  You don't tell him he's wrong. You don't call him crazy for thinking like this. You don't look at him like he's got three heads, or like he's some deity, and maybe that's why Zuko's breathing goes back to normal, why he looks you in the eye when he explains the entire situation.

  You nod along to his words, letting him know you're listening even when the story gets hard to tell. Zuko's throat closes up when he describes his fathers voice and the anger, and how he could do nothing about it. He's been trained from such a young age to never defy his father – the scar on his face is enough proof of what will happen to him if he steps out of line.

  When Zuko is finished, he looks away. You go quiet. The only sound is the pleasant chipper of the insects burrowing in the grass; not even the birds are out, having long since taken the darkness as a sign to settle down for the evening.

  Finally, you sigh and say, “Sounds like a tough night.”

  “I should have done more,” Zuko croaks out. “I just wish I knew how to.”

  “You were scared.”

  Zuko flinches. Another thing his father has taught him – it's not right for the future Firelord to be scared of anything. This mindset alone drives Zuko into stupor, a sudden overwhelming urge to defend his own bravery rising to the surface.

  But he looks into your face, and you're smiling a little bit, a little softly, and your head is tilted as you wait for his response. You don't mean any harm by your words – you're just telling the truth.

  Zuko looks back down. “I am. Very scared.”

   “That's alright,” you say. “Ozai is a scary man. Or so I've heard. I haven't really seen him in person, and I don't like to judge people, but he did order the death of my parents, so I think I have a right to say that.”              

       Zuko flinches again. “It's terrible what he's doing, but you can't blame yourself for his evil, Zuko. You're just a boy-”

  “I'm meant to rule this kingdom when he passes on.”

  “Bloody hell, one can only hope that's sooner rather than later, eh?” You nudge Zuko, laughing. He just glares at you. You snap your mouth shut and utter, “Sorry.”

  “What happens if I end up like him?”

  You raise a brow. “What? Killing innocents?”

  Zuko nods, swallowing the golf ball sized lump in his throat. He's never spoken about this to anyone; he isn't sure why he thinks talking about it with you is a good idea, but the words are coming far more easily than they ever have before. He kind of wants to savour it while it lasts.

  “Zuko.” His name is a sigh when you say it. “I know you're upset, but that's the stupidest thing I've ever heard.”

  His eyes snap up. “Why is it?”

  “Because you're in this state.” You gesture towards him, pointing out his curled form, the tear stains on his cheeks, the way his hair is sticking up in all directions. “If someone else being a monster disturbs you this much, I think you'll be driven to insanity if you were to do it yourself.”

   “But I'm his son-”

  “Don't remind me. I might be forced to wipe you out.”

  Zuko closes his eyes. “It's just a fear of mine. I don't think it's irrational.”

  “No fears are irrational. Some are just . . . more justified than others.”

  Zuko sighs and leans his head back against the wall. It really is getting late, and he knows his disappearance from the palace will soon be noted, that he will be in big trouble when he gets back, but he doesn't want to leave. Your hands are still resting on his knees, and he uses that as his excuse to stay seated on the grassy floor – you're keeping him there. You and you alone, and maybe there's more truth to that statement than he wants to believe.

  Zuko doesn't open his eyes when you start moving around. He feels your back press against his feet when you spread out on the grass, and when he finally looks down, he can't help his flicker of amusement at the sight of you laying on your back in the leaves, looking up at the moon. Only one side of your face is completely illuminated, your hair trickling out around you. Zuko takes a strand of it, curls it around his finger.

  “Whenever you become Firelord,” you begin, voice quiet, “you won't forget me, will you?”

  The question is so startling, but there's a peaceful ring to it that stops Zuko from flinching away. “Whenever I become Firelord,” he replies softly, “you'll come and live in the city. You'll have your own little cottage.”

  “Can I have pets?”

  “As many as you want.”

  “And plants?”

  “Of course.”

  You hum, closing your eyes. “Yes. Let's hope Ozai carks it sooner rather than later.”

  ---

  Zuko's life inside the city does not improve, but at least he's found an escape.

  He doesn't like being driven to the point where he feels he must leave his home to be peaceful. He hates that his chambers are no longer good enough, that the only person who can chase his sour thoughts away is a criminal, living illegally in the woods of the kingdom he is meant to rule over in a few years time.

  It makes him feel so weak, like perhaps he isn't up for the job he's been trained for his entire life.

  This mindset does not stop him, however. Feeling weak and inadequate is nothing in comparison to the haunting helplessness he feels when he's left alone with his own thoughts; you're the only person who can chase those away right now, and Zuko isn't ashamed to admit it.

  He also isn't ashamed to admit that these past few weeks have directed him to feelings he never thought safe to feel. He still doesn't think they're very wise, still thinks he doesn't deserve them. That pleasant little fluttering that springs up in his chest when you laugh – what has he ever done to deserve that? Nothing. He's the prince, and that's it. He's a title, a face to flaunt until his real duties begin, and even then, it will always be the commoners doing the hard work.

  But he can't help it, and he's too tired nowadays to fight it off.

  He walks through the woods once again, leaving the flames behind. The lanterns have been lit earlier than usual tonight, so Zuko has to duck behind carriages and bushes on his way to visit you, lest he be seen by night time dawdlers.

  He gets there eventually, though, and his hardship with getting here in the first place all seems worth it as soon as you hop down from your tree and land in front of him, that manic smile plastered on your face.

  This time, he smiles back.

  “Oh, would you look at that,” you exclaim, poking the corner of his mouth. “You look particularly pleased tonight, Princeling.”

  “I am. And you will be, too.”

  You raise a brow. Zuko tries not to blush under your gaze as he gets to work setting up everything he managed to bring with him tonight – a blanket, stolen from the back of one of the expensive sofas in the lounge room; some fruit cut up into tiny squares; slices of fresh ham, stolen from the kitchens without the cooks even realising Zuko had paid them a visit. He even took the risk of pinching a few of the freshest slices of bread, and he lays them out on the blanket now, his fingers tingling from the cold. A little bit of extra thought sends flames through his bone marrow, warming his hands up enough to allow him to set the food out in a nice array.

  He looks up and grins when he's finished. You look back down at him, one eyebrow still raised, your hands on your hips.

  “And you go on at me for being a criminal.”

  Zuko rolls his eyes, grabs your hand and drags you down beside him. You laugh, knees clashing against the blanket, and Zuko watches you shuffle closer to the basket to get a closer look; so often you pretend this kind of thing does not affect you, but Zuko can see the small smile playing on your face, the way your fingers trace idly over the goods he's brought.

  It warms his heart.

  “You can dig in, you know,” says Zuko. “I brought it for you.”

  “All of it for me?”

  Zuko shrugs. “I was hoping we could have a bit of a midnight picnic. No one will miss this stuff back at the palace.”

  You grunt before grabbing a slice of ham. Zuko joins you, and the two of you chat and joke as you fill your mouths with sandwiches and fruit, vegetables cut into little strips that make you laugh because you feel like a little kid again, pinching carrot sticks from the vegetable platter your mother always had out for guests. Zuko listens to you retelling these stories of your childhood, listening for any sign of sadness in your voice, any sign of resentment, but there is none. You laugh and throw your head back, and your eyes twinkle in amusement; you talk about your parents like they're still alive. You talk to Zuko about your parents, as if he isn't part of the Fire Nation, a crucial cog in the machine that once killed the people you love.

  With a mouthful of apple chunks, you say, “My mum would have loved you, I think.”

  Zuko pauses. “Really?” He can't think of a single reason as to why anyone would love him.

  “Yeah,” you reply. “'Cause you're nice, and you treat me well. Honestly, my mum wasn't hard to impress from what I've heard – all you needed was good manners and a good attitude towards her kids, and she was basically adopting you for herself.”

  Zuko smiles. “She sounds lovely.”

  “I'm sure she was.” You pluck at a piece of lettuce, caught between two slices of bread. “I think I would have liked to know her in person, not just through what other people have told me.”

  Zuko swallows the lump in his throat and looks up at the moon. “She's watching over you.”

  “You think so?”

  He points towards the sky. You tilt your head, following his directions. “My uncle Iroh always tells me to look up at the moon when I miss someone I've lost. He told me that's where all the good souls go – to the moon.”

  You chuckle quietly. “Not the stars?”

  “No. The moon. They're all up there, like little astronauts. Living amongst the rocks and the craters.”

  It goes quiet then. Zuko looks over, his heart thumping a little when he sees you, head tilted towards the sky, eyes closed. He wants to kiss you so badly right now, but he holds himself back. He watches you from afar, and that's good enough.

  You inhale deeply before opening your eyes, a slow flutter of eyelashes, accentuated by the slow pull of a smile forming on your face. You turn to Zuko and say, “Your uncle is a wise man. I'd love to meet him some day. When I'm allowed in the city.”

  Zuko nods. He doesn't know why, because he knows it will be a mighty long time before you can ever step foot in the city walls, before he can ever show you off to his family and friends. He nods, but it's more of a hopeful thing rather than an agreement. You smile sadly and turn back to the food, and Zuko knows you understand.

  ---

  Zuko is smiling.

  Perhaps this is the first red flag that sparks in the back of his uncles head. Perhaps Zuko's happiness is enough to make his uncle – and everyone around him – suspicious.

  But Zuko doesn't even care. It's dark, the city lit up only by the lanterns flickering along the street. A few drunken party-goers stumble along, but the light is too dim and their vision is too skewed for any of them to take notice of the prince walking amongst them – strolling amongst them, shoulders drawn back, a tiny smile playing on his face. His eyes are glittering. His heart is full, and for the first time in a very, very long time, Zuko doesn't feel like curling up and hiding from the world.

  Until he hears Iroh's voice.

  He was made aware of his uncles impending city visit a few days prior, but had been much too distracted by a certain Earth bender to make arrangements. His heart plummets when he hears it, the smooth way his name is spoken from lips withered by age and too much smiling.

  Zuko freezes in the middle of the street, hands stuffed in his pockets. It's such an un-princely way to stand, and maybe that's the second red flag Iroh catches onto. Iroh has always known Zuko better than his own father. Zuko has no doubt in his mind that the old man can see some discrepancies in the way Zuko is carrying himself.

  “It's a bit late to be out, isn't it? You'll catch a cold.”   Iroh slowly emerges from beneath a bridge. He's smiling – as per usual – and his hands are tucked into the oversized sleeves of his grey robe – as per usual.

  Zuko turns his head slightly and says, “Uncle. I think the same could be said for you.”

  “I'm fine,” says Iroh. “I've got an excuse to tell Ozai when I get back. You, however, look like you just plan on throwing caution to the wind.”

   That's exactly what Zuko plans on doing.

  “I was just going for a midnight walk.”

  Iroh narrows his eyes. Zuko shifts under his gaze, suddenly desperate to get away.

  “The palace guards permitted that?”

   Anger edges under Zuko's breastbone. “The palace guards permit whatever I tell them to permit.”

  Iroh hums. “I believe they permit what your father tells them to permit, and Ozai certainly wouldn't permit you free reign of the city in the middle of the night.”   Zuko's shoulders slump. He turns to fully face his uncle. “Don't tell anyone.”

  “Where were you, Zuko?”

 “The – The woods. I was in the woods.”

  Iroh's eyebrows shoot up. “What did you see in the woods that has you smiling so big?”

  There's no going back now – Iroh has noticed his expression. Whatever explanation Zuko gives now will drive him deeper and deeper into the mud, and he isn't sure he can afford that with his status. He looks back at Iroh and hollows out his cheeks – this is the man who knows him better than he knows himself. If he can't trust Iroh, then who on this earth can he trust?

  “I was visiting a friend.”

  Iroh pauses. “Friend? You have friends?”

  “Uncle!”

   “I'm just curious! Why can't this friend of yours see you – oh, I don't know – in the day time?”

  “They're not exactly allowed within the city walls,” Zuko mumbles.

  Iroh, again, pauses. During this stretch of silence, Zuko's stomach turns itself inside out. He clenches his fists at his side, resists the urge to tell his uncle to mind his own business, because that's what the old Zuko would have done. The young Zuko, the one with so much unaccounted for rage. Now, however, Zuko is trying to keep himself calm, taking deep breaths as he waits for his uncle to say something – anything.

  Finally, Iroh says, “Ah.”

  Zuko's eyes snap up. “What? You won't tell my father, will you?”

  “The Firelord will find out eventually. I know my brother well, Zuko, and fugitives living on his land-”

  “Y/N isn't a fugitive,” Zuko insists. “They're not causing any harm. In fact, them woods would be nothing but smithereens by now if they weren't there.”

  “Is that right?”

  “And they're kind, too, Uncle. They have this wonderful way with words. They make me feel so normal, and – and I haven't known what that feels like for so, so long.” Zuko shakes his head. “You have to promise me you won't speak a word of this to. . .”

  Zuko glances down at his uncle and trails off. Iroh is staring up at him, an amused smile pulled tight across his face. His eyes are crinkled into crescents, cheeks flushing red with the effort it takes to suppress a burst of laughter.

  Zuko steps back, folding his arms over his chest. “Don't look at me like that.”

  “I'm not looking at you like that.”

  “Yes you are! You look like you're going to laugh in my face.”

  “Why do you always have to rip the joy out of the worlds greatest things?”

   Zuko groans. “Just promise me-”

  “So this Y/N person makes you happy?”

  Zuko pauses. He isn't sure why the question makes his heart lurch in his throat, why he's suddenly swarmed with embarrassed butterflies. Slowly he lowers his hand against his abdomen, biting his lower lip as he processes how to answer without throwing himself completely into the deep end.

  But then he thinks of your face, and your smile, and the feel of your hands against his because Zuko warms you up when it's just a little bit too chilly for an Earth bender. He counts how many nights he's sat in bed, counting down the seconds until he hears his fathers chamber door close so he can hop out of his own room and see you.

  “Yes.” His voice is a croak, barely there, like he's been screaming into the void for the past ten minutes. “Yes, Y/N makes me very happy.”

  Iroh steps forward, places a heavy hand on Zuko's shoulder. “Get to bed, Zuko. I'll keep this between us.”

  Zuko looks up. “Uncle. . . If anything happens to Y/N, I don't think I'll be able to forgive myself. I don't think I'll be able to come out of that.”

  “I understand. No harm will come to your – what did you call them? Friend?”

  Zuko blushes. “Friend.”

  Iroh smiles, small and subtle. “No harm will come to your friend.”

  ---

  The crowd screams.

  Zuko closes his eyes, trailing a hand through his black hair in any attempt to tame it from the bed-head he's been cursed with this morning. It's eleven am, and Zuko overslept due to his late night endeavours. His father had been furious, his sister had been suspicious, but neither of them had time to chastise him.

  Now, he stands by the balcony and waits for the signal to start.

  Azula stands beside him, fixing her make up using the reflection from an empty platter. Her hair, as per usual, is done to perfection, piled a top her head, kept in place by an abundance of hair pins hidden beneath her dark locks. Zuko looks at her and scowls – he's never been able to pull himself together in quite the same way.

  Ozai stands by the balcony doors, getting ready to present himself to the people screaming his name outside. They all hate him; Zuko knows this for a fact. They hate his cruelty and how they have to tiptoe around their own lives to ensure they don't make him angry – but they show up in their numbers anyway, because there's a chance of them getting slaughtered if they don't.

  “You don't look prepared.”

  Zuko looks towards Azula. “What?”

  She gestures to his clothes. He's wearing his fire robes, though they've shifted a little, revealing a lick of collarbone that he awkwardly stuffs back into his collar. “You look like you've just crawled out of bed, Zuko.”

  “Because I have.”

  “You say that like it's a good thing.” Azula rises to her full height. “Do you go out of your way to embarrass this family, or does it just happen?”

  “I slept in. It was an accident.”

  “Mm.” Azula flicks his ear. “Make sure it doesn't happen again.”

  Before Zuko can reply, the announcer is calling them forward. Ozai does only a single swift check of his shoulder, making sure all his ducks are in a row, before the balcony doors are thrown open and Zuko and his family march in front of the waiting crowd. The screams get impossibly louder. The world shrinks to this moment and this moment only, and Zuko feels his cheeks glowing bright red under the critical gaze of complete strangers.

  He concentrates on his breathing, even as he waves and smiles to the people staring up at him. He has to, or else he'll lose it – he lost it last time. He can't afford to make a fool of himself now.

  Ozai speaks into the microphone, voice booming across the screaming crowd. Zuko stands straight backed, arms behind his back, his breath skipping every few seconds-

  Then his eyes meet yours.

  His smile falls. In one second, the demeanour he's been trying to build up, the charade he's been trying to play is completely wiped out and replaced by terror, confusion, panic, all rolled into one. His breathing leaves him in a single breath. Azula glances at him, raises a brow, hisses a warning under her breath, but Zuko can barely hear her over the sound of his own heartbeat.

  You're stood near the front, hands curled around the barriers. By your side is Iroh. He's leaned in, whispering in your ear, talking to you like you're a good friend. You're no longer wearing the vest and the trousers that made you stick out as an Earth bender, but instead wear a pair of oversized Fire Nation robes. There's still a leaf in your hair. Zuko wants to laugh.

  But he doesn't. Honestly, he can do nothing but stare, the crowd making him feel claustrophobic. He wants to be down there. He wants to be beside you. He wants to know how in the hell Iroh managed to get you past the city guards, why he bothered to get you past the city guards.

  His father continues speaking. Zuko fiddles with his thumbs behind his back, waiting for the moment he can scramble off stage and meet you in the middle; you're looking up at him, a grin on your face as Iroh whispers in your ear. Iroh suddenly turns and points in Zuko's direction, but you're already looking at him and Zuko's eyes meet your own, and it's really like nothing else in the world exists.

  Zuko can't contain his excitement. A slow smile stretches across his lips, one you return almost immediately. You bounce on your heels, grabbing Iroh's sleeve and pointing up at Zuko, and he risks it all by giving you a little wave – you grin even brighter and wave back.

  That's what cracks him.

  He turns to Azula before he can think better of it, leaning in to whisper, “I'll be right back.” There is no chance for her to ask what he is doing, because Zuko has already turned and is speeding back through the palace, making his way through crowds upon crowds of special guards, and cooks who call his name with the same confused tenderness they've always given him. He rushes right past them, darts through the back doors of his home-

  Iroh is already one step ahead.

  At the end of the back alley behind the palace, Iroh ushers you forward. You look up, eyes meeting Zuko's, and then you yelp, sprinting towards him. Zuko laughs when he catches you, arms wrapping round your waist, body moulding into yours like he was made to be in this exact position. You nuzzle your head in his neck, arms wrapped right around his shoulders.

  Nothing else exists. Nothing else in the world.

  “You're here,” Zuko breathes against your neck. “How are you here?”

  “Iroh found me,” you reply. There's something in your voice – not exactly emotion, but something similar, something that tugs at Zuko's heart and makes him tighten his grip. “He said he could – he could disguise me, or something. I'm not gonna lie, Zuko, I thought he was mental.”

  “A lot of people do.” Zuko draws away first, glancing at Iroh who stands to the side. The thing about Iroh is, he never gets awkward. He stands around whilst his nephew and this complete stranger hug and greet each other in a more-than-friendly manner, and he just looks proud. He looks on with a small smile on his face, hands folded in front of him, not a care in the world.

  Zuko clasps him on the shoulder. “How did you know where to go?”

  “Because I know you, Zuko.” And it's such an Iroh response – it doesn't even need a reply.

  Zuko turns back to you. His eyes click with yours, and he can't help it when he reaches forward and brushes a stray strand of hair away from your neck. You close your eyes, a rare and brief moment of vulnerability – it's nice. Zuko feels like he can protect you when you're like this.

  “I want to show you everything,” he says.

  Your eyes flick open. “I want to see everything.”

   “Come on. Before my father finishes his speech.” Zuko grabs your hand and darts back into the palace – there is no shame in his movements, not like he once expected there to be. Now, he parades through the cooks and the cleaners and the royal guards, and he introduces you to each and every one of them. His hand remains in yours, and you do not fight to remove it.

  You instead look on in awe, mouth slightly open, eyes wide. Zuko stares at you any chance he can get, marvelling the way such little things take you by surprise – the vase Zuko has seen everyday for the past eighteen years forces a gasp from your lips. You trail your fingers along the mahogany wood that Zuko once believed to be distasteful. You sigh in pleasure when sinking down into the sofa that Zuko thought was getting a little worn out from time and well-use.

  Finally, however, Zuko leads you to his bedroom, and his nerves return.

  He feels stupid for being nervous. He's an eighteen year old man, soon to be the Firelord of his own nation. Bringing someone special – are you someone special? - into his rooms should not be something that fazes him, but it is. The butterflies crawl into his stomach, and he has to drop your hand to disguise the sweat that sheens along his palm. You glance at him, raise a brow.

  “Problem, Princeling?” Zuko purses his lips. You tilt your head. “What's behind that door that's got you so nervous?”

  “I'm not nervous,” Zuko lies. “I was just – uh – this is my bedroom.”

  You nod like it's no big deal, standing there expectantly. Zuko glares at you for a second longer, because he's fully aware that you know exactly why he's nervous – you're just choosing not to say anything, refusing to put him out of his misery in that blunt way you always seem to manage.

  He sighs. “You'll kill me one day.”

  “Shall we go in or do you just want to show me a picture?”

  Zuko pushes the door open. You step inside before him, surprising the prince when you reach back and grab his hand, dragging him in after you. He's been in his room every single day, often locks himself inside just to clear his head, but he's looking at it behind a completely new lens now; he becomes aware of the small mess cluttering the corner, the little bottle of ink on his desk that has fingerprint smudges wrapped round it, the single sandal thrown carelessly to the side as he had no time to put it away this morning.

  And then there's you, standing amongst all of it. Already your fingers are trailing along the dark red wallpaper, eyes scanning the double bed with it's slightly creased sheets and abundance of pillows. There's a tiny smile on your face.

  You turn. “My aunt used to tell me that a bedroom is the window to someone's soul.”

  Zuko blushes. “I think your aunt was mistaken. I haven't had a single say in the running of this room since I was born.”

    “No, no. I think she was right.” You point to the sandal. “Clearly you were in a rush this morning.”

   “My bedhead would have been enough to give that away.”

   You step towards him and run your hands through his dark hair. Zuko scrunches up his nose, glaring, pretending he doesn't love the feel of your fingers scratching against his scalp, pretending he doesn't love your body being so close to his.

  “I like bedhead on you, Princeling,” you say softly. “It makes you look a little less perfect.”

  Zuko raises a brow. “And that's a good thing?”

  “It is when you spend your whole life looking pristine.”

  “I don't look pristine all the time.”

  “That's a lie.”

  “Should I be taking this conversation as a compliment?”

  You grin. It's only then does Zuko realise your fingers are still embedded in his hair, and your body is still dangerously, dangerously close to his own. His fingers twitch, the sudden urge to draw you closer flooding him in two seconds flat. It's difficult to keep himself contained when he can smell the earth and the soil on your clothes – your Fire Nation clothes.

  He looks down and plucks at the red collar of your robes. “Iroh did a good job with this.”

  You pull away. Zuko has to bite his lip to hide his disappointment, though the disappointment dwindles when you twirl for him, robes billowing out around you. “You like them?”

  “You're just the kind of person who suits everything, I think.”

  You scoff. “You know, me calling you perfect wasn't me trying to get a compliment out of you.”

  “I complimented you because I'm a nice person.” He pauses. “And because it's true – you do suit everything.”

  You hum, glancing down at your new wardrobe. “I appreciate it. It doesn't really feel right, though. I kind of miss my Earth Kingdom clothes.”

    “Of course.” Zuko takes your hand. “You won't have to wear Fire Nation robes forever. We can go back to me visiting you, and then-”

  Your head snaps up. “You're not sending me off already, are you?”

  Zuko's eyes widen. “What? No, of course not! I just thought-”

   “You made such a big deal about me coming into your room, and you're already planning my departure.” You pull your hand from his, folding your arms over your chest. “I feel betrayed.”

   Zuko glares; you're doing it again, teasing him. Teasing him because you're you, and that's what you do, but teasing him because he's easily teased, and you know that. You know that, because he's opened up to you in ways he's never opened up to anybody in his entire life.

  He loves you. He knows he loves you. He's known from the moment he realised he couldn't wait to see you again, couldn't wait to risk everything by climbing out his window in the middle of the night just to see if you were still awake somewhere, waiting for him.

  He stares at you now, examines the amused smile on your face as you wait for whatever flustered reply he always gives. You fluster him so easily, and yet Zuko has never been good at that kind of thing.

  He gives it a go now.

  He grabs your hand, draws you forward and kisses you.

  He only meant for it to be a short peck, something to get a feel for the waters. But your response is too quick, and you're melting against him much faster than he expected, and he's plummeting, plummeting, lost in seconds.

  He doesn't register the moment your hands start trailing through his hair. He doesn't register the moment you start pushing against him, guiding him deeper into his own room as if you own the place. He doesn't register the moment he spins and presses you against the wall, his lips still moulding into your own.

   Suddenly it's just happening. Suddenly his stomach is just in knots, and Zuko realises with a start that he's dug himself far, far too deep into this hole, and there's no going back. He's fallen in love with someone from the Earth Kingdom. He's fallen in love with someone he has no chance of ever being with.

  But even as the thought passes through his head, he pushes it away. He's Prince Zuko; he's the shy, easily-embarrassed, anxiety-filled prince that his own nation mocks, but he gets what he wants. Perhaps it's the spoilt rich-kid side of him that has gifted him this drive, or maybe it's just his lips on your own, but he swears to every god that has ever witnessed his life unfold that he will keep you with him. He will not let anything bad happen to you.

  You pull away first, a splutter escaping that you quickly silence by pecking his lips one final time. Zuko laughs against this tiny kiss, chasing your lips when you pull away. You place a hand on his chest and say, “Give me a minute.”

  “Good?”

   “Unexpected.” You fan yourself. For the first time, Zuko has made you flustered. He beams, and you glare at him. “Don't do that! You could have said something first!”

  Zuko curls a strand of your hair around his finger. “That would have ruined the surprise.”

   “Has anyone ever had the nerve to tell you just how much of an ass you are?”

  Zuko grins, slowly leans forward and pecks your lips. “Only you.”

  You open your mouth to respond, but the chance is stolen when Zuko's bedroom door opens and a royal guard steps inside. Zuko scrambles back, running a hand through his mussed-up hair; you stay against the wall, hands curled against your chest, an amused grin forming on your face.

  The royal guard raises a brow, glancing between the two of you. Zuko claps his hands to get his attention back. “What do you want?”

  “Uh...” The guard shakes his head. “Your father's finished his speech and wants to speak with you. As soon as possible, if you will.”

   Zuko's heart thunders, only this time it isn't because he's holding you in his arms. He glances over his shoulder; you meet his eyes, raise a slow brow in a silent offer. You're telling him you'll leave. You're telling him you don't mind going back into those woods, living the rest of your life in the trees you seem so attached to. You're telling him you don't mind, but your hands are trembling against your chest, and then you take a slow step towards him, curling your arm against the small of his back.

  He knows you don't really want to go. He doesn't want you to go, either.

  Zuko turns back to the guard and says, “I'll be there in a minute. Tell him I won't be on my own.”

 The guards eyes widen. “Prince Zuko-”

  “This isn't a debate. Deliver my message, and I'll make my way to the throne room as soon as possible. As requested.”

  The guard swallows, flicks one final gaze in your direction before he bows and exits the bedroom, closing the door behind him. Zuko deflates as soon as he hears the click, slumping back against your warmth. You catch him, curling an arm around his middle, pressing your face into his spine.

  “Don't do anything you'll regret, Zuko. I won't have it.”

  “Do you want to stay here?”

  You pause. “I want to stay with you.”

  Zuko's heart soars. He gently touches the hand you have against his stomach, intertwining fingers. “Then  it's decided. You'll stay with me.”

  ----

  Zuko has never brought someone home to meet his parents. Zuko has never had anyone to bring home.

  A summer fling here and there, a young romance sprouting from the casual touch of fingers, people finding him attractive because he has the word 'prince' tacked on to his name; none of it really meant anything. He never once thought these relationships would grow into something worth flaunting in front of his father.

  Now, he holds your hand and walks into the throne room, unsure how to introduce you, unsure what this is. He's kissed you once. He's felt the affect you have on him, but is that enough for him to label this as a relationship? Will his father even approve?

  Does he need his fathers approval?

  Zuko shakes his head, hollowing out his cheeks as you and him enter the throne room. Ozai has yet to appear, though there are two guards flanking either side of the single throne set upon the dais; there used to be two, but since the death of Zuko's mother, Ozai has removed his mothers throne. More space for his power to radiate.

  You squeeze Zuko's hand, lowering your voice to a whisper when you say, “Is that air conditioning I feel?”

  “You don't have to try and lighten the mood.”

  You frown, pulling away. “Fine. But just so you know, you look like you're going to burst a blood vessel.”

  Zuko opens his mouth to respond, but the door on the other side of the room is thrown open before he gets a chance to. His father says nothing. His face is stone, passive as he approaches his throne and sits down. His hands curl round the curved ends of the arm rests, and he stares directly at Zuko.

  Zuko knows what to do. He's been trained for this his entire life, so it comes naturally to him when he lets go of your hand and steps forward, dropping to one knee. You stare at him with an open mouth, unsure of what to do, but Zuko does not put that burden on you – he lets you stand.

  Ozai says, “Up.”

  Zuko rises. “Father. You requested to see me.”

  “That I did,” says Ozai. Zuko's stomach turns when he notices Ozai's eyes haven't left you. “I asked for my son, and my son alone. Where was the message distorted?”

  “Nowhere,” says Zuko. He takes a step back and wraps an arm around your waist, feeling immediately guilt when your tense body presses against his; he left your side for only a second, but it's clear you're terrified. “I wanted to introduce you to Y/N. I wanted to talk to you about some arrangements.”

  Ozai's left eye twitches. “Zuko, this talk wasn't for you to orchestrate. You left the balcony during the morning announcements. You embarrassed your sister and I, and now people are asking questions. I did not call you in here to discuss what you want.”

  “Part of my explanation for leaving involves Y/N.”

  “That isn't a good thing, Zuko.”

  Zuko's grip tightens – he was prepared for loose threats, but they shake him up nonetheless. You glance at him; Zuko can feel your eyes burning holes into the side of your head, can feel your ribcage expanding and dropping at lightning speed beside him. He rubs a small circle into your hip, and you melt against him a little more.

  “Introduce yourself,” Ozai suddenly says.

  You pause. “Me?”

  Ozai scowls.

  “Oh, me!” You stumble forward, but your hand darts behind you and grabs Zuko's wrist, needing to keep some form of contact. “Uh, good morning, Firelord. Firelord? Your Majesty? I don't – uh...” You turn to Zuko. “Help?”

   Zuko just nods.

  You scowl and turn back to Ozai. “Firelord. My name is Y/N L/N. I'm a – uh – friend of your son. A good friend. Really good friends.” You pause. “I'm in love with your son.”

  Zuko's breath skips. He curls his fingers tighter round your own, a silent message portrayed through nothing more than skinship: I love you too. I love you too. I love you so much.

  Ozai keeps his scowl, but he has not yet dove from his throne, has not yet ordered your death, and Zuko is going to take this as a good sign.

  “In my forty three years ruling this nation,” he says slowly, “I don't think I've ever seen you before.”

  You stiffen. “Really? That's odd. I – uh – pay my taxes and everything, so-”

  “Y/N is from the Earth Kingdom, father.”

  It happens in seconds. Zuko has barely any time to blink before the royal guards are dashing forward, and suddenly you are in their grasp, and your startled cry is echoing off the throne room walls.

  Zuko lurches forward. “Stop!”

  Ozai rises from his throne with a swift calmness that makes Zuko ill; you're thrashing in the guards grip, feet kicking from the ground, but they only hold you tighter. There is a guard at Zuko's elbow, a spear In front of his nose that stops him from getting any closer to you.

  “Father,” Zuko pants. “You must hear me out. You have to give me a chance to explain-”

  “You know the rules, Zuko,” Ozai says calmly. “This little infatuation of yours is a criminal. We do not tolerate criminals here.”

   Zuko shakes his head. He doesn't know why, doesn't know what he's disagreeing to, because his father is technically speaking the truth – you are a criminal, and Zuko knows that, but the rules you have broken are so unfair and so stupid that it makes him angry to hear that label be pinned to your name.

  He looks over. There are tears glistening on your waterline, though you have now gone limp in the guards arms. Your shoulders are pulled back, mouth pulled into a tight line as you try to fight off the rising panic he knows you are feeling – you're trying to seem strong, unthreatened. Zuko remembers the way you had so casually agreed to go back to the woods on your own, how prepared you had been to go back to such a horrendous way of life – was this your way of telling Zuko you were prepared to die, as well?

  Death. Zuko can't even bring himself to think of it. He has to stop this. He promised to keep you safe.

  Slowly, he turns back to his father. “You don't want to do this. Not really.”

  “Now we both know that's not true. I have killed plenty, and I will kill again. That is my job as the protector of this nation.”

   “You're insane if you really believe that.”

  For a second, Ozai pauses. Zuko has never spoken to him like that. “Watch your tongue, boy.”

  “You've always wanted me to be tougher.” Zuko steps forward, fingers curled at his sides. “You're always telling me to be braver, to stop being such a wimp. You've always wanted me to follow in your footsteps, and now I'm prepared to do just that.”

  “Stand down, boy – before you make a fool of yourself.”

  Zuko grits his teeth. His stomach churns, a feeling he's never before experienced slicing through every bit of patience he gathered before walking into this throne room; he prepared himself for hostility, an argument, an explanation his father would never make sense of, but now you're being held by royal guards and Ozai is threatening your life and Zuko can't hold himself back any more.

  He takes another step forward and lets his hands erupt.

  Ozai's eyes widen. Royal guards rush forward, but Zuko is quicker – he sends his hands out in front of him, creating a circle of flames on the ground. Guards jump back, yelping in shock because Zuko – the wimpy little prince – has never shown this side before.

  This wimpy prince turns back to the Firelord and says, “You always thought I was weak, father. The truth is, I just never had anything to fight for. Now that I do, I'm not going to let you destroy it.”

  “Zuko,” you croak out. He closes his eyes. “Zuko, don't do this. Don't-”

  “Shut them up.”

  The royal guard backhands you. Zuko's eyes snap open, and it's reflex when he throws his hands out. He doesn't even think, doesn't will his power to the surface – it's just there, present in a way it's never been before, and the royal guards robes set alight. He screams, letting go of your arms; you crumble to the floor, revealing the slash now embedded in your cheek thanks to the guards ring.

  Zuko darts to your side and grabs your arm. “Are you alright?”

  “Don't do this,” you repeat, clinging to him. “I'll be fine, Zuko. I'll be okay if I have to leave, but I can't see you dead. I won't.”

  Zuko smiles weakly. Tears flood his eyes. “Why do you think I would be any different?”

  “You're the prince,” you whisper.

  Zuko closes his eyes, tracing his thumb along your cheek bone. “So you like to remind me.”

  “Zuko-”

  He spirals up, whirling on his father yet again. His hands spring out, but Ozai is in front of him – much closer than Zuko had once anticipated. The Firelord snatches his sons wrist and twists; Zuko's knees buckle, but he catches himself and forces flames into his palm. Ozai flinches back, giving Zuko just enough time to spin back and throw a fireball against the marble floor. The dais cracks, the throne falling on its side. Flames swallow the plants set up for decoration. The golden doors start to smoke.

  Around him, his throne room crumbles under his sons power, but Ozai stays kneeled on the floor.

  “Come on, father,” Zuko taunts. “You've forced my hand, but now you won't finish it?”

  Ozai licks his bottom lip; blood is pouring from a cut Zuko hadn't even realised he'd made.

   “Look at you,” Zuko spits. “Everybody fears you. You've made everybody fear you, and yet you can't even look me in the eyes right now.”

  “Zuko!” you cry out. “Stop this now!”

  “Listen to your thing, Zuko,” Ozai growls.

  Zuko clenches his fists. “Don't you dare.”

  Slowly, Ozai lifts his head. Blood coats his fingers, his chin, his busted lip the source of it all. His robes are singed, the tan skin beneath bubbling with blisters nobody has ever seen on the Firelord, because nobody can bring themselves to imagine Firelord Ozai losing in a battle involving fire bending; he's the master of it. He is the person every fire bender wants to be.

  But Zuko stands over him now, and his own power is overwhelming him. It mingles with his anger, exaggerated by his dire need to protect you.

  “Is this all it takes?”

  Zuko frowns. Ozai's words do not click.

  “What are you talking about?”

 Ozai slams his hand into the marble and yells, “Is this all it takes?”

  Zuko stumbles back. “I don't – I don't understand-”

  “A single Earth Bender is all it takes to bring your power to the surface.” Ozai laughs, a bitter sound that mingles with the gurgle of blood pouring into his open mouth. “I have raised you from day one, tried to bring this out of you from day one, and all it takes is me threatening your little infatuation for you to finally succumb to it. I feel like a fool.”

   Zuko's breathing quickens. He doesn't know how to reply, having not expected the conversation to take this kind of turn.

  Ozai shakes his head before turning his attention to you. Zuko steps to the side protectively, lowering one of his hands; you reach up from the ground, hooking your index finger through his before you say, “This cut on my cheek feels really deep.”

  Ozai scowls. “How did you ever fall in love with my son?”

  Zuko doesn't need to look at you to know you're smiling through your response. “I really have no idea, Firelord. It just kind of happened.”

  “Y/N is staying with me, father,” Zuko says. Ozai closes his eyes, running a thumb along his bottom lip. “Y/N will stay with me, or I will go with them – whatever happens, we're staying together. You either lose your heir, or you lose your pride and admit this rule you have is wrong.”

  “Wrong?”

  “I know,” you grumble. “Gods forbid anything you do is wrong.”

   Ozai lurches forward. Zuko's free hand erupts into flames; the Firelord pauses, growling at his son. And Zuko knows he's being treated well here, because he's seen his fathers fury. He's been on the receiving end of his fathers fury, knows that Ozai can hurt him in so many different ways if he so chooses – but he's not. He's staring at his son, contemplating something Zuko can't read.

  It makes him nervous. He tightens his grip on your finger, because that's what soothes him nowadays.

  “I've laid out my conditions,” Zuko growls. “All you have to do now is choose which one you prefer.”

   The room goes eerily quiet. Zuko can hear his heartbeat. He can hear the blood pumping through his body, but louder than anything else, he hears your giggling behind him. It keeps him rooted to the spot. He has to fight off his own grin when you shuffle forward and press a small kiss to his palm – a silent good luck. Or maybe it's a goodbye. Either way, it sends Zuko's heart into bliss.

  Until Ozai looks up and says, “If Y/N is what it takes to make you into the Firelord you're meant to be, then I will only be putting myself at risk by sending them off again.”

  Zuko stares.

  That's all he can do as his brain struggles to process the words his father has just spoken – spoken so easily, with no catch whatsoever. His heart thunders. His hands grow sweaty, to the point where you're scowling up at him, wiping your palm on his robes.

  “You're serious,” Zuko says, some of his previous formality slipping. “You're being serious right now.”

   “Don't make me regret it,” Ozai growls. “And don't think this is the end of anything, son. The way you spoke to me today-”

  “Very bad boy, yes.” You jump up from the ground, sway a little as you wrap your arms around Zuko's shoulders. “I'll make sure he sits in the corner and thinks about what he's done.”

  “You're a curse, Y/N L/N,” Ozai growls. “The Fire Nation and the Earth Kingdom aren't meant to mingle; one day, we will burn you out.”

  “Goodness, I hope so,” you reply, before giving the Firelord a cheery thumbs up. Zuko is still in a daze, making it easy to steer him out of the throne room. “Have a good night, Firelord! Thank you very much for this. Thank you!”

  The throne room doors close. Zuko snaps back to himself just seconds before you hop into his arms and squeal in his ear.

  Your legs are wrapped around his waist. His hands are under your thighs. Your fingers are trailing through his hair. It takes a few seconds, but then your lips are on his.

  Everything is happening. It's happening, and it's allowed, and Zuko cannot believe what he's just done actually worked. He can't believe he's actually still alive.

  He kisses you back. You slip down his body, drag Zuko backwards until your back is pressed against the wall and he loses his mind. His hands slip to your waist. He pulls you closer. The royal guards awkwardly look away, but Zuko doesn't even care. He doesn't care. He doesn't care.

  “Gods,” he breathes against your mouth. “Y/N, what have we just done?”

  You snap back, hands curling into Zuko's robes. “Me? I did nothing! It was you that decided to go all bat-shit crazy on the Firelord!”

   “Keep your voice down.” He kisses you again.

  You laugh against his mouth, pushing him away. “This is insane. This isn't right. There's a catch in there somewhere.”

   Zuko groans, slumping his head against your own. “Why can't we just focus on the fact I've just nearly wiped out an entire room of people?”

  You mess with the hairs at the back of his neck. “Is the Princeling tired?”

  “Exhausted.”

  “Why don't we go back to your chambers and you can have a nap?”

   Zuko raises a brow. “My chambers?”

  “Your chambers.”

   Zuko scoffs, grabs your hand and says, “Our chambers. And a nap sounds delightful right now.”

  ---

  Zuko remembers days like this.

  More specifically, he remembers his dread.

  The butterflies, how he had to concentrate just to breathe properly. He remembers Azula sneering at him from across the balcony, telling him to straighten up his shoulders and look the part of the prince he was meant to be.

  Now, he stands on the very same balcony, and he feels none of that. Azula is not present. The only person by his side is you, holding his hand, wearing your dark green Earth Bender robes. Your hair is pinned back with a fancy pin in the shape of a leaf, and as Zuko waits for the screaming crowd to die down, he reaches over to touch it.

  You shoot him a glare. “I swear if my hair falls out of place-”

  “You look beautiful,” he says.

  You purse your lips, look away and say, “Okay. Love you.”

  He chuckles. “Love you too.” He turns back to the crowd. They have yet to fully settle, but he starts anyway – if he were to wait for complete silence, he would be stood there all day.

  “Good morning everyone,” he starts, just as he always does. “I know a lot of you are confused as to why I have called an announcement today. I apologise for any inconvenience, but this is not something I can hold onto any more.”

  The crowd murmur. Zuko inhales deeply, his breathing hitching. He squeezes your hand, his form of comfort.

  “As many of you know, Y/N is born from the Earth Kingdom. They wears their Earth Kingdom robes with pride. They practice Earth Bending in the streets. They brings diversity to our streets of fire. My father made it clear before he died that the Fire Nation were to be seen as superior, that any mingling with any of the other kingdoms was forbidden, wrong.” He levels his gaze. “I am making it my goal to change that mindset.”

  The crowd go quiet. They're uncertain, but Zuko had expected nothing different; for years, it has been drilled into their heads that every other nation is doing something wrong. That's all they've known. Zuko is aware he'll have to be patient to get through to them.

  You squeeze his hand, whispering, “You're doing amazing.”

  Because you've said it, Zuko believes it.

  He straightens up his posture and continues. “From now on, the borders of the Fire Nation will be open to people from every kingdom. Security will be put in place to ensure the safety of the people inside the city, but we will no longer be segregated from other kingdoms – it's unhealthy, and it's wrong. We as a nation can only improve when we welcome other cultures into our own. That is the only way we can grow and learn, and we have been stunting that growth with the ridiculous laws my father put in place.”

  The crowd breaks into murmurs. Zuko glances over to see you smiling – a brighter smile than he's seen you wear in quite a while. You've always told him you don't mind, that you don't expect him to change the laws of the Fire Nation just for you – but it's clear to him now that being the only Earth Kingdom citizen has been eating away at you for a while now. It makes him realise that perhaps you've felt a little more lonely that you've let on in the past.

  He turns back to the crowd. “From here on out, the law of no contact with other kingdoms is dropped. I suggest you all start working on your greetings.”   And before anyone can say anything more, Zuko bows to the crowd and walks back into the palace, you following behind him.

  The glass doors shut. Someone tries to talk to him, a voice in the back of his head that doesn't matter, because his one thought is focused purely on you.

  He spins round, cutting the guard off when he grabs your hands and says, excitedly, “Did I do a good job?”

   “A perfect job,” you reply, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and pulling him in for a hug. “You're very good at this public speaking thing. It's quite attractive.”

  Zuko rolls his eyes, nibbling your shoulder in warning. You scoff and push him away, and it's then that Zuko gets a good look at your face.

  There are tears in your eyes.

  His expression falls. “Y/N...”

  You swipe your hand beneath your eyes. “What? Don't do that voice. It scares me.”

  “Why are you crying?”

  You groan, throwing your head back. Royal guards awkwardly shuffle round the corners of the room, but Zuko pays them no attention. He reaches forward, pulling you towards him so he can rub your tears away.

  “Did I do something wrong? Was there something else you wanted me to say?”

  “No! Zuko, no. No, you did wonderfully out there.” You shake your head, sniffling. “It's just . . . you did wonderfully. I'm so proud of you. And I was just . . . I was stood there beside you, listening to you speak, and I just. . . It became real, you know?”

   Zuko frowns. “Please explain.”

  “It became real. My aunt can come and see me. My people can come and see me stand beside the Firelord – me. The little orphan who nobody could take in because everyone in my village was too poor to feed another person.”

  “So you are just with me for the title.”

   You roll your eyes. “That's just an added bonus.”

   Zuko chuckles, bundling you against his chest. “We're making a difference, Y/N. That's what we always promised we would do.”

  “It's going to take a while for everyone to get used to it. We're going to have to put extra security in for the first few people who come from other kingdoms.”

  “We'll sort it out. We always do.”

  You hum against his chest. “Yes. We always do.”

[sarah-sandwich]

Happy FFWF! Take a moment to ramble about your favorite part or parts of your current wip! It can be the characters, your headcanons, the metaphors/symbolism you use, anything at all! And just for fun: Add a gif that represents that wip!

Thaaaaankkk yoooooouuuu and happy FFWF!!! You’re the MVP for coming up with unique and engaging asks every week!

I’m going to ramble about Paradise (spread out with a butter knife) even though no one here gives a poo.

On the surface it’s this...

but under the tom foolery it’s this

and

but also

It’s a soulmates au but it’s actually about friendship and the importance of creating bonds outside of romantic ones and how the romantic ones should be built on friendship anyway, regardless of what you think about fate or destiny.

It’s Peter centric and at the beginning of the fic he’s alone. He lost all of his friends in one way or another and he’s grieving them while stuck in a cycle of self-sabotage that he can’t even see let alone break out of.

Then against all odds, Wade becomes his friend. In Wade he has someone who understands the Spider-Man side of things and can shoulder the load of keeping NYC safe but also keep Peter Parker fed and rested and ensure he gets enough of a break to spend quality time with Aunt May.

He goes back to school. He starts thinking about the future again.

After some badgering, he accepts a job at S.I. working with Tony in the lab and all of the sudden he’s not starving all the time anymore and he finds Tony to be something of a mentor.

“Stop,” Stark says, stepping between them. “Both of you just… stop. Look, I’ve got somewhere to be so let’s wrap this up.”

“Oh perfect. I’m done so you can just fly back—,”

“I could have flown her out if you would have explained,” he states, cutting him off. “There was time for maybe ‘explosion incoming’ or—,”

“No, there wasn’t!” he snaps, losing the remaining shreds of his patience in one fell swoop. “If you would have run for the fountain when I said to then it would have been fine! Why can’t you trust my judgment without knowing every nitty-gritty detail that got me there? I know I keep saying it, but I’m not a kid! I don’t need a babysitter or—or a daddy-figure or whatever it is you’re trying to be to me. I do okay on my own. Good sometimes even. If you want to team up, fine, but I don’t need anyone to hold my hand or check for monsters under my bed.”

“So hand-holding is off the table?”

“Not now, Wade.”

Stark regards him for a long moment, lips pressed in a hard line while Wade hums the jeopardy theme. Finally, he sighs, “You’re right.”

Peter cocks his head to the side. “I am? I mean, I know I am, but you know I am?”

“Listen, I want you to come work with me. Hear me out! I’ve seen what you can do with dumpster scraps. I want to see what you can do with a real lab. Real equipment. Maybe a mentor guiding you when you get stuck.”

He stares.

HOly shit. HOLY SHIT. Is this real?? 

“You’re shitting me.”

It’s too good to be true. It can’t be— Of course it can’t. How is it supposed to work unless… Oh.

His heart drops. “You want me to unmask.”

Stark shrugs. “Ideally, yes, but we can work around it. You can come in that,” he waves a hand at all of him, lip curled in disdain, “if that’s what it’ll take to get you in the door.”

“I don’t trust your A.I.,” he blurts before he can get his hopes up. “No offense to J.A.R.V.I.S., but the more time I spend in your tower the more mannerisms he’s going to learn and you’ll be that much closer to my identity.”

Stark cracks a smile. “You’re smart, kid. It’s why I like you even though you’re a brat.”

“You should see him play Disney Princess Scene It. Total dunce.”

“Wade! Not now!”

Wade huffs and slumps miserably against the ground. “I’d storm off in a huff if I could. I hate being ignored.”

He ignores him.

“I’ll make a window in the code for you,” Stark says. “It’ll only apply to the lab and the path to your entrance.”

“The Spidey door,” he corrects.

“I’m not calling it that.”

He sighs. What a stick in the mud. “I want to review the code.”

“I’m not letting you look at—,”

“Just the part pertaining to the window.”

Stark purses his lips like he sucked a lemon.

“You gotta trust a little if you want trust in return,” Peter says, wincing as he realizes he’s paraphrasing Aunt May. Christ, he’s gotten old.

“Fine,” he agrees. “Who should I make the paycheck out to?”

He freezes. “Paycheck?”

Stark shoots him an incredulous stare. “Of course. Stark Industries has very strict restrictions on child labor practices.”

“Oh fuck you.”

Stark grins. “So? Paycheck? Do I get a name?”

“Parker,” he says after a beat. Wade stops humming and Stark’s expression goes slack with shock. “Have the checks made out to May Parker and mailed to the F.E.A.S.T. location in Greenwich. She’ll know what to do with them.”

Stark rolls his eyes. “Should’ve expected….” He sighs. “Alright, kid. We’ll do this your way.”

And then his old friends start trickling back in.

He steps out of his room and forgets to breathe. All of his muscles lock and his brain screeches to a full stop.

“Pretty sure you’re supposed to be scared of me,” Wade is telling MJ.

MJ?! In New York?!

MJ (in his apartment!) smirks. Her hair is different. It’s gloriously red as always and her bangs are still choppy but it’s shorter than she used to keep it, barely grazing her shoulders as she tosses it with a practiced flick. “Nice try but I know the truly scary guys have flawless skin and shaped eyebrows.”

“Oh shit,” Wade says, mouth widening into a delighted open-mouthed grin. He cups his hands and bellows, “Vicious and smart, Petey! You better— Oh. Hey, baby boy. You were supposed to go out your window. That’s my bad. I should have been more specific.”

“MJ?” he croaks.

She smiles, bright and beautiful and effortless as always. “Hey Tiger, looks like you hit the jackpot,” she says with a significant glance at Wade that lingers on his biceps.

“I… You… What?”

Her smile dims. “Can we… get a coffee or something?”

“Is everything— Are you okay? Anna?”

Oh fuck, if anything happened to—

“Peter, stop. Aunt Anna’s fine. Everyone’s fine. I was in the city and I thought…” She clenches her fingers once and releases them. She’s nervous. “I thought we could catch up.”

Gwen was MJ’s soulmate. When she died it crushed her and she couldn’t separate Peter from his role in everything so she left. She took off to California to pursue acting and didn’t keep in touch. She’s back for good and they start to mend things. She visits Harry in the mental health treatment facility where he’s been living for the past 10 years since Gwen died and he injected himself with the Green Goblin serum and went berserk. It takes awhile but eventually he gets to a place where he has the staff remove the blacklisting against Peter and asks MJ to bring him with her for a visit.

And suddenly Peter has his old friends back. It’s not the same. It’ll never be the same. They have their missteps and 3 should be 4 but it’s working and it’s good and it’s more than he ever thought he’d get back. Harry is released and him and MJ get an apartment together and they all meet up at least once a week. Everything is looking up. His life is reversed from how we found it in chapter one.

And he still doesn’t know Wade is his soulmate.

“You don’t have a soulmate?”

Deadpool snorts and rolls to his feet, slapping dirt from his suit forcefully. “Can you imagine? What kind of asshole would fuck up bad enough to get landed with me?”

He never questioned it. After five years the specifics of how exactly he knows Wade doesn’t have a soulmate fade. He might have seen the deflection for what it was had they had the conversation later in their friendship, but instead it gets written in stone in his mind that while he has a soulmate, Wade doesn’t and so Wade can’t be his. Until...

Oh my God. It’s Wade.

[sociallyawkward--fics]

If you'd still like more, you could do 35 and 43 for LAMP, thank you for all your writing xy

Aww, thank YOU for reading my writing and sending in this prompt, kiddo!

Also, hey y’all, I am doing some (hopefully shorter lol) stuff for more of the rarer ships, so send me some prompts from THIS LIST HERE and follow the instructions I left in my reblog!

35. “You heard me. Take. It. Off.” 43.  “YOU DID WHAT?!”

Word Count: 776 words

[ao3 link]

—————————–

“You did what?!” Patton asked excitedly.

Roman grinned. “I gave our resident nerd a makeover and I must say he looks stunning.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow from where he lounged on the couch, scrolling through his phone. “More stunning than before? I call bullshit.”

There was a muffled, somewhat embarrassed, “Shut up!” from behind the door.

Virgil smirked and looked up, finding Roman and Patton to also be smirking.

“Now now, Logi-Bear,” Patton cooed affectionately at the door, “Virge may just have a point.”

“I must concede to that,” Roman purred. “After all, how do you improve on perfection?”

“Shut up!”

They all chuckled.

“Come on out, gorgeous. Show them how beautiful you are!”

After a few moments, the doorknob turned, and a bashful Logan stepped out from behind the door. His shoulders were hunched anxiously and his face was tilted toward the floor as he wrung his hands in front of himself.

He was wearing a dress deep blue dress shirt and stark white vest that hugged his muscular form (and when did Virgil forget that Logan was actually so muscular?) beautifully. The shirt was tucked into a black skirt that only came down to his mid-thigh, the whole thing decorated with constellations. Under that was a pair of black leggings that, despite covering his skin, didn’t leave much to the imagination. He wore platform boots that made him a few significant inches taller.

Virgil felt his mouth go dry, eyes drawn to the V of the open dress shirt, where a few buttons were left undone as Logan was sans-tie.

“Hey, love,” Roman purred once more. “Let us see those gorgeous galaxies that you call eyes, hm?”

Logan slowly looked up and Virgil felt a gasp get practically punched out of him.

His hair was curled into a careful wave, instead of it’s usual straight, slicked back style. Roman had gone light on his makeup, thankfully. Virgil was becoming rather certain that if Logan’s makeup had been anything more dramatic, he would have actually passed out from how gorgeous he was.

His skin tone was evened out with what was probably tinted moisturizer, but Roman had enough sense to not put foundation on him and cover his beautiful freckles. The rest of his face makeup was also light, but there was some white eyeliner on his waterline to make his eyes appear even bigger than they already were, and there was a wing of dark navy eyeliner above either eye to make them pop.

“Take it off,” Patton said breathlessly.

Virgil let out an incredulous little half-laugh, but he couldn’t drag his eyes from Logan’s slowly reddening face.

“W-what?” Logan asked, startled and voice strangled.

“You heard me,” Patton said, still just as breathless. “Take. It. Off. Before I literally faint from how beautiful and gorgeous and stunning you are.”

Logan let out a strangled giggle and covered his face. Virgil could see that his ears were tomato red. Roman forced his hands back down by lacing their fingers together and led him further into the room.

Virgil stood from the couch, his legs shaky. Roman backed away as he slowly approached Logan, having to look up to meet his gaze. It was an interesting experience, since he was used to being the tallest boyfriend.

Logan seemed to realize this, too, as he looked down at Virgil. A slow, still slightly-nervous smirk spread across his face as he stood up to his full height, no longer hunching over anxiously. He moved his hand to cup Virgil’s jaw, tucking his fingers up behind Virgil’s ear. 

Virgil felt his eyes widen and the blush that was already slowly forming since he saw Logan flared up intensely. Logan’s smirk grew even more confident. His other hand came to grip Virgil’s waist and pull them flush against each other.

Virgil heard Patton gasp and Roman give a choked-off giggle, but he couldn’t pull his eyes away from Logan’s too see what was going on.

“If I’m beautiful, then you three shine brighter than the sun,” Logan said, his voice deeper than usual.

Virgil felt his knees go weak. Then, Logan leaned down to kiss him, and they actually buckled underneath him.

Logan chuckled and helped him back to the couch. Then, Virgil felt his breath leave him as he repeated the same process with Patton and Roman until they had all swooned.

Logan leaned over the back of the couch with a smug grin, overlooking his captivated audience. “I think I rather like how this makeover turned out,” he purred. “Don’t you?”

They could do nothing but nod. Logan certainly had their full attention. For a long time.

[deliasbabe]

Dancing Through Our House With The Ghost Of You- Part 2

Billie deals with her own ghosts. Part 3 Coming Soon!

Read Part 1 here.

Words: 3,792

Warnings: Strong Language, Angst, Drunkenness.

“Billie?”

Billie glanced up, preparing for another image of you that would only disappear, but once she locked eyes with you she knew it wasn’t a figment of her imagination. You were dressed in an oversized hoodie Billie had never seen you in before, presumably covering your shorts beneath it. Your hair was shorter and a little lighter, falling in loose waves around your chin. Between Billie’s wine drunk haze and the streetlights glowing behind you, you looked ethereal in every way, her own personal guardian angel.

“What are you doing here?” Billie whispered, confused by your abrupt arrival.

You furrowed your brow, before taking in your ex lover’s obviously inebriated state, “You called me.”

She searched her swirling memory for a moment, trying to recall when exactly she would have called, coming up empty. It must have happened if you were here, standing right in front of her. She didn’t respond, didn’t know what she could possibly say, but you knew that. Instead, you kneeled down in front of her so you were at eye level, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear gently. You always knew exactly what she needed. 

“You’re here.” Billie whispered, almost like she didn’t believe it, like any second you would vanish into thin air and she would be alone once again.

You gave a soft nod, “I am. Now let’s get you moved to the couch, hm?” You had dealt with Billie’s breakdowns before, when her job got too heavy and real for her to handle. You knew her like the back of your hand, but you had never seen her quite like this. You grabbed her hand and tugged her up, depositing her on the couch before heading to the kitchen for some wine. You knew for certain she had already had far too much for a casual evening, but even the simple action of holding the full glass in her hand seemed to calm her, or at least, it used to.

You saw the smoke before you had even entered the kitchen, quickly walking over to the stove and turning it off before depositing the charred remains of the forgotten stir fry in the garbage. Billie was never one for eating more than one proper meal in a day, and you usually had to force her to even eat one, so the chances that she hadn’t eaten were pretty high, and you quickly dialed the pizza place around the corner that you always ordered from. It wasn’t the most nutritious meal, but it was something to help avoid the hangover.

When you returned to the living room with two full wine glasses in hand, Billie had managed to get herself curled up under a blanket, and you were thankful you didn’t see the same emptiness in her eyes that had greeted you upon your arrival. You held out one of the glasses, which she took with shakey hands and a small thank you, before you took up residence on the opposite side of the couch, tucking your knees under you in the way you always did, like this place was still your home and nothing had changed.

Billie glanced at you for a moment, “Since when do you drink red?”

You gave a gentle laugh, “It was all you had. Did you just get back?”

Billie nodded slightly, “You look good.”

“Thank you.” You said politely, knowing Billie was always the charmer. But to you, it didn’t feel like a compliment, it felt like a distraction.

“What have you been up to?” Billie asked, making polite chit chat like you didn’t just see her at her worst. It was the only thing she could think of to do. She didn’t know what exactly she had said to you, but it had to have been pretty bad for you to show up after what she did.

You knew it was just her trying to skirt around the pressing issue, likely due to embarrassment. Still, you feared that emptiness returning once again, so you indulged her, “I went home for the summer, spent time with my parents. I just… I needed to get out of LA. It was good for me.”

Billie nodded, she knew you always hated the city, that it made you feel like you were drowning. You two had talked about moving away together, but with her job, she was always tied to LA, or at least California. She still was having trouble saying anything, because there was so much she wanted to say, but the words were tied down, lodged in the pit of her stomach and sinking. 

“Did you find any particularly scary ghosts while abroad?” You ask, your tone slightly teasing, which only made the woman smile.

“No,” She said with a laugh, “I couldn’t understand half of them.”

You snickered, “Kind of fucked up that even ghosts have a language barrier.”

 And oh, Billie was swooning at your candor. It was one of her favorite things about you, how you always seemed to know just how to break the tension, how to draw her out of even her darkest moments and make her see the light. But nothing about this was light, not with the guilt pressing on her shoulders with every kind word you spoke. You should have been angry, furious with her. Every word should have been biting, calloused, cold, but then again, it was you. She focused on her wine, swirling it for a moment, if only to give her a second to think. You noticed, you always noticed. “You don’t want it?” You asked, cocking your head to the side.

“No, I do.” Billie said, shaking her head, “I just haven’t eaten. My dinner is still on the stove.”

“Your dinner is in the garbage.” You joked, “You may have let it cook for just a tad too long.” You watched the medium bite her lip as a blush creeped up her cheeks, an unusual sight, “I ordered pizza. It should be here soon.” Billie met your gaze, but only briefly before she looked away and nodded, finally taking a sip of the wine. “So what happened, Bill?” You asked softly, pushing just enough.

“I didn’t tell you?” Billie asked quietly, shifting her gaze to stare at her lap.

“You said you were seeing ghosts.” You responded.

Billie pursed her lips, “I was.”

“You don’t have any ghosts.” You stated.

Billie gave a soft sigh, “I do now.”

You chuckled softly, “Did someone die while I was away?”

“I saw you.” Billie said bluntly, tired of whatever dance she was forcing you to partake in. Billie always liked games, but she couldn’t bear to do it with you, not anymore.

Billie glanced up as your face fell solemn, and she hated herself for forcing you to take on more of her pain. This was her fault, all of it. She shouldn’t have called you. You were quiet for a moment, nodding slightly, “You haven’t been back since it happened, have you?” Billie shook her head, embarrassed. “Yea, that’ll do it. It happened to me too, when I went back to my apartment.” You said, trying to let her know she wasn’t alone, “That’s why I left for a while, to give me time to… deal with it, I guess.”

“Have you?” Billie asked, secretly terrified of the answer, of being alone in this torture.

You chuckled lightly, “Well I’m here, so I’ll let you be the judge.”

The answer was very you, but it was also very telling. You always dropped everything to be there for her, regardless of what she had done, and although Billie was thankful for it, it also made her heart ache. She hurt you, and you were still here, still picking up her broken pieces when she was too proud to pick up yours. You were ten times the person she would ever be, and you deserved better than her, but all she could think about was how you were inches away from her, how she could lean over and kiss you and everything would be ok again.But before she could make her move, the doorbell rang, and with it the urge was taken out like the tide. 

Billie took a moment to compose herself as you grabbed the food, wiping at her smudged makeup and smoothing down her hair, smiling when you returned with on very large pizza box in hand. It seemed utterly absurd to order that much food for just two people, but you always had been the planner, and you knew the medium well enough to assume it would be days before she made it to the grocery store. At least this way she had some leftovers to carry her through. 

“Let’s get some food in you.” You teased, handing the woman a greasy slice. She nibbled on it for a moment, not really sure she actually even wanted to eat, as you looked around. “Where is your assistant?” You asked.

“Hm?” Billie responded.

“Your assistant?” You asked casually, “I’m sure you got a new one. You used to have me here from the moment you woke up until you went to bed, even when we weren’t together.”

“That’s because I liked you.” Billie said, trying to hide behind a teasing tone. You weren’t wrong, she did have you there constantly, but that was because she had feelings for you. She made it seem like it had always been that way, but the truth of it was it was just you, her previous assistants she hardly ever called on, she just preferred to handle things herself.

“And you don’t like her?” You teased back, watching your ex avert her gaze and shrug, which told you everything you needed to know. “Ah, got it.” You said with a laugh, trying to diffuse the tension.

“It was a long trip.” Billie said defensively. It was a half assed attempt and she knew it, but god forbid she say she actually missed you.

You held your hands up in mock surrender, “Hey, I don’t really have room to judge anymore. Not hard to fall in love with the boss.”

“You can’t tell me you haven’t been with anyone else. It’s been almost a year.” Billie said, knowing she was only trying to crush her own heart, beat it into submission with the idea that you really had moved on, that she wasn’t as important as she thought she was.

You gave a half-hearted shrug, not wanting to make the woman feel any worse, but Billie knew what it meant, because it was you. You weren’t the type to fall into bed with just anyone. Sure, you weren’t a virgin when you met, but your body count was confined to one hand, two fingers. Billie, and that guy from college that you swore you were going to marry, until you realized he was a dick and you deserved better. You always were her better half, the only one that seemed to quell her endless impulses. She was better because of you, and then she had to blow it all to shit.

“Why didn’t you stop me?” Billie asked as your eyebrows furrowed, “That night, when I made you leave. Why didn’t you stop me?” The question seemed out of the blue, but really it was something she had been agonizing over for months. It wasn’t the first time Billie had acted out and tried to break things off, but it was the first time you didn’t fight back, didn’t force her to sit down and prevent the forest fire erupting inside of her. For as rash as she was, you were the voice of reason, or you had been until that night. That night you just let it burn, let her tear down the house you built brick by brick and swim in the ashes, alone.

“Because I knew I couldn’t.” You said after a moment, taking a note from Billie’s book and staring at your glass of wine as you swirled it around the rim, “You had to figure it out on your own.”

Billie set her jaw, hating that you always seemed to be 10 steps ahead of her, “Figure what out?”

“Why did you call me over here, Billie?” You fired back as you snapped your gaze up, almost like a challenge. You had tried to pull the answer out gently, a subtle game of tug of war, but she was locked up tight, and you were tired of being gentle. Being gentle is what got you into this mess in the first place. 

But Billie was her own special kind of stubborn, and your aggression just made her dig her heels in, “I don’t even remember calling you.”

Still, you weren’t going to give up just yet, “But you did.”

Billie straightened her shoulders and picked up her wine, “But I did.”

You let out a barely audible grunt, standing from the couch and collecting the still full pizza box and your wine, heading to the kitchen. You didn’t know why you answered her call, but you did, and now you were here, playing some fucked up game of poker. You both knew why she called, but she wouldn’t say it, and you were about five seconds from exploding. 

“What are you doing?” Billie asked in a sarcastic tone, trying to suppress the overwhelming fear that was carving its way into her bones. She hated this, hated knowing you had the upper hand, that you could say and do whatever you wanted and she would buckle instantly. She hated that her heart raced every time you left the room, that she felt every single millimeter of distance between you, hated that the only thing she wanted was to close that gap and be in your arms. It was easy to say she hated you. Hate was easier to deal with, hate lived inside your soul and no one else’s. Hate didn’t need constant validation or reassurances. Hate was solitary, stable, it didn’t fade with time, not like love did.

“Cleaning up. I’m going to get you into bed and then I’m going to go.” You said flatly, forcing yourself to strip every ounce of emotion from your tone. You couldn’t force her to talk to you, but you could make the decision to leave before she kicked you out again.

“Go?” Billie asked, cursing herself for the tears she felt welling up and the rise in her pitch.

“Yea, back to…” You trailed off before shaking your head, “I have to go.”

Billie cleared her throat, trying to keep herself in check, “You could just stay here.” She glanced back at you and you shook your head, and Billie hated how her chest got tight at the very idea of you being gone, of her being alone in this house once again, “You’ve been drinking.”

“I didn’t drive.” You said, crossing your arms and fixating on a scuff on the floor.

“Y/n. Stay, please…” Billie said weakly, blinking rapidly as if that would make the impending waterworks come to a halt.

“That isn’t a good idea….” You said, pausing for a moment and shaking your head before heading back into the kitchen to finish up. If you stayed, it would only prolong whatever this was. You hated hurting her, but you also hated how she made you feel. She made you feel crazy, and there was nothing you hated more than that.

Billie knew she was royally fucking this up, as she always did. It shouldn’t have been hard, just three words, I love you, and everything would be fixed. What was she so afraid of? That she would lose you? She already lost you, and she would again if she didn’t just say the damn words.

Sucking in a deep breath, she untangled herself from the blankets and slowly walked towards the kitchen, trying to mentally prepare herself. “You know… when I was in Europe, there was this one ghost I met.” She said, waiting for you to show some kind of response before she continued. It took a moment, but you finished washing the pan you were working on and laid your palms flat on the edge of the sink, turning your head towards her, “He had been in the war, shipped out the day he turned eighteen. He didn’t want to go, but he didn’t have a choice. He had a girlfriend, wanted to marry her, but he never told her he loved her. He regretted it, obviously, but he didn’t think he was going to come back, didn’t want her to have to deal with that kind of loss. He didn’t come back, he died in the trenches, but he wished he would have told her, even once. I did some research, found her. She was 85, got married and had six kids, a bus load of grandchildren. I explained everything to her, told her who I was. You know what she said to me when I told her?”

“What?” You asked with a gravelly voice, and Billie waited a moment until you looked up at her, “What, Bill?”

“She said she already knew. She always knew, even though he could never say it. He was the love of her life, of course she knew. He had spent years, trapped by this guilt, and she knew the entire time.” Billie said softly, shaking her head, “All those years… wasted, wandering around, all for nothing.”

“That’s not why he was trapped.” You blurted, clenching your jaw as you wiped your hands on the kitchen towel, “He wasn’t trapped because he thought she didn’t know, he was trapped because she knew and he still didn’t have the guts to say it, because then it was real. Not saying it… it doesn’t make it easier, it just makes you a coward, lets you hide in plain sight. She knew, but there was always an uncertainty about it.” You felt the tears beginning to pile up behind your eyelids, tried to swallow down the thickness in your voice before you cleared your throat, “That’s why he was trapped. That’s what kept him here.”

Billie dropped her head, giving a solemn nod. You were right, you always were right. She was a coward, terrified to give up even an ounce of control. She always was so detached, aloof, at least before you. Now, things were different, and she was struggling to catch up.

When you were the one to break the silence, Billie was surprised, shooting her head up. “I’m glad you were able to help her, though. Make it concrete or whatever. Even if it did take 60 years, it’s better than nothing.” You said, walking towards the center of the room and shuffling your feet, like you were only seconds from gathering your things and walking out the door. 

Your mask was quickly slipping, and now Billie knew for certain that you were still in pain, not that she couldn’t assume it already. You were always just so damn good about hiding your feelings, about putting everyone else above yourself, like you didn’t matter. She could see your hurt plain as day now, and she wanted nothing more than to kiss it away. She could feel the words bubbling up in her stomach, but they would lodge in her throat, making it hard to even breathe. She had to kiss you, had to do it right then and there, because it was the only way she knew how to convey every single thing she was feeling for you. She told you she loved you with every kiss, every touch. It was easy to love you that way, but the words were harder, more complicated and weighted.

She moved towards you without even thinking, and you stepped back, playing that game over and over until you were pressed up against the counter with nowhere to run. “Billie…” You whispered, pressing your hands on her shoulders to keep her just out of range.

“Just let me show you.” Billie pleaded, your faces only inches apart. If you would just release your grip, even just a hair, she would be able to do it.

“We can’t.” You stated, holding firm.

“Why not?” Billie practically whined.

“Because I won’t wait 60 years.” You shot back.

“Do you still love me?” Billie asked.

“You know I do.” You said with a sigh, relieved when Billie finally stopped pushing against you, but she still was close, too close. Close enough that you were teetering on the edge of losing all willpower and burrowing into her arms.

“Y/n, I was scared out of my mind. The accident….” Billie fumbled, trying to put a million complicated feelings into one simple sentence.

You nodded slightly, “I know.”

“I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you. I can’t lose you.” Billie said firmly.

“I told you I loved you and you kicked me out.” You stated, the bitterness creeping its way into your tone.

Billie softened, “I know, and I’m sorry, I am. Sweetheart, you know I care about you.”

You swallowed thickly, “And I care about you, you know I do.”

“Then stay.” Billie said, drawing out every letter.

You shook your head, “It’s not that simple.”

Billie was emphatic now, practically wailing, “It is, I love you and you love me.” She didn’t even realize she was saying it, the words slipping out so effortlessly the second she wasn’t thinking about it. But something changed in the expression on your face, and she had to ask, “What?”

“Say it again.” You insisted.

“What? That I love you and you love me?” Billie asked, the words taking a moment to register, a brief moment of panic rushing through her irises. Her shoulders relaxed, like a weight had been lifted, and she looked back at you. “I love you.” She said, like she was realizing it for the first time, like she hadn’t spent months staring at the wall and thinking it over and over again.

You let out an amused, breathy laugh, “Wasn’t so scary, was it?”

“Terrifying, actually.” Billie said, eyes wide like she was still considering taking it back.

“Only when you thought about it.” You teased, a genuine smile finally gracing your lips.

The medium started fidgeting, like a kid anxiously awaiting a treat, “Can I kiss you now?” She needed reassurance, needed something familiar to remind herself she wasn’t alone in this, that the words didn’t just simply vanish into thin air, that all her anxiety and suffering wasn’t for nothing. Your grin grew wider, and she instinctually stepped forward, leaning into you, but at the last moment you stepped back.

“No, but you can take me upstairs.”