#complicated angst

[leechanpremacy]

Bandaids

Even bandaids are no good for heartaches.

pairings: nonidol!seungcheol x reader

tags: angst, unrequited love, mixed signals, cliffhanger

word count: 15k

notes: just wanted to write a cliffhanger angst 😮‍💨 i’ve been having so much in my plate that i couldn’t even write updates for my twt aus AGAIN 😓😓

You knew Seungcheol as a friend of a friend. Meeting in the porch during a small get-together party by a friend, he was drinking by himself there. You thought of going inside again, opening the door that soon creaked a sound causing the man to abruptly look at you.

Smiling rawly at him, quickly apologizing as you swing the door open, throwing yourself inside.

Then, every party you go, you see him. With long stealing glances and a few kind smiles, you came to familiarize yourself with the man.

You noticed he always wore polo shirts with tight jeans, a dangling silver necklace that complimented his silver watch. His hair that was always slicked back with a few strands covering his forehead. He wore the brightest smile, flashing his gums that triggered his dimples, sipping from his cup as he mingled with people. And as he laid his eyes on you again, both of you had a hard time looking away.

He was the first to approach you, telling you how he’s seen you in the past few weeks in a row. Somehow, both of you ended up being in the same table, sharing drinks and stories as the night passed by.

Its the seventh party tonight and you’ve opted on ditching your friend who was going. You’ve had enough of the alcohol intake and you could feel your social battery is drained.

Instead, you went outside for a walk. Wearing your soft oversized hoodie and a pair or sweats. As you settled down in a convenience store to eat dinner, you began to notice a familiar figure in your peripheral vision.

A familiar figure yet, in a change of setting, became so foreign. It was like seeing your favorite character in a movie in real-life.

The man who you’ve known in parties that always wore polo shirts and tight jeans with chain silver necklaces matching it with a silver watch, was wearing something similar to yours. A white shirt and grey sweats with his parted hair falling down on his eyes. Oh, and he was wearing glasses.

You noticed the beer on his side as he noticed your stare. He too, looked awfully surprised to see you somewhere new. Like the first time, he approached you first. Greeting you kindly, gradually turning the small interaction into big ones.

Days, weeks, months have passed since you two saw each other at the convenience store, you two came from acquaintances to friends. He was someone who you quickly got comfortable with, reason why you were teasing him being late.

“Traffic was that bad, okay?” He reasons out, resting his bag on the table before making his way to the counter. The two of you had something in common, both of you had the same course in the same year and although going to different universities, you didn’t mind sharing knowledges on the course.

The two of you agreed when planning out on a study, the who’s later to arrive will pay for the food. It was your idea, making you excited for those study sessions with Seungcheol. Mainly because you know you wouldn’t pay as you’d arrive early as possible.

Switching their notebooks, they begun to run through what was written and try to comprehend them for a mini quiz later. As you turn to the next page, you cut your fingers with the paper, wincing out the pain that immediately caught Seungcheol’s attention. “Here,” Reaching out a disinfectant and bandaid. Mumbling a thank you to him, “I usually get paper cuts on my fingers too.” He shares, trying to share the pain you have right now.

“I’m starting to think you purposely arrive late so you’d be the one paying our food.” You joked. You hear his familiar chuckles, and even without looking, you could see his dimples alongside his gums, “What I think is that you come here extra early so that you wouldn’t pay for our food,” Grinning at him, “You caught me!” Scrunching your nose at him, sharing giggles at the table.

“You’re going tonight?” He asks, “Yeah, Joshua’s been bugging me lately to come with him again.” The mention of Joshua made the man beside you chortle, “Well, you’ve been missing out on the fun for a while now,” He said in a low manner causing you to look at him,“Really? I’ve been really busy with University. Couldn’t find the time to have fun, unlike someone here.” Jokingly rolling your eyes at him as he eyes you amusingly.

“I wasn’t there to have fun though,” He mumbled. It wasn’t clearly for you to hear to why you didn’t asked him.

Everyone was having a good time playing cards, it was now your turn to pick and unfortunately, you picked the shot card. “I’ll drink it,” Seungcheol said, eyes looking at you. He probably noticed your worried eyes and tired posture. Not long after, he was beside you, clinging to your side as if you’ll wither away if he’s too far from you.

They were planning on letting you stay for the night but Seungcheol offered to take you home. Joshua was supposed to take you home, but the poor man was too drunk to even stand up from his seat. Due to his alcohol intake, he opted to book a taxi rather than to take the risk of driving in influence.

He was walking you to the door, all sobered up from the alcohol intake. Unlike you who walked with two left feet, probably wobbling around if he didn’t hold you by the arm.

“You can walk inside safely, right?” He asks in a slow voice. You just nodded in response. You could hear him sigh but you were too drunk to even care.

He opened the door for you and watched you walk inside. As soon as he sees you laying on the couch, he lets out a sigh of relief before closing your door, not forgetting to lock it.

A few days have passed and you’re still embarrassed to meet him. He’s been bugging you through texts, demanding you to meet him already. But you could swear to God every ounce of your dignity had been drained ever since Seungcheol insistently walked you home that night. You could remember how you almost scared the shit out of him as you told him you felt like puking during the car ride home.

And as much as you tried to avoid his texts and few calls, you know you couldn’t avoid him when he’s outside your block. You don’t even know how the hell did he even got inside the University, but what you know is you missed him.

Who’d knew in a short span of time, you’d grow attach to a man whom you only meet during weekends (which is not consistent) and at night parties that your friend drags you with consistently.

You knew, the grin he gave you was the end of it all. It dawned to you. Just a few days of not meeting him, you knew that those dimples and gummy smiles he wore was something you want to behold at every surprising events.

“Don’t be shy! It’s just me!” He exclaims, grinning at you. Before you get lost at his smiling face, you looked away from him, continued eating quietly.

You could see him pout at you before picking up his food and watched you eat.

He’s outside your block again, but instead of the smiling one you always see, he was glaring at you - well not you, but at the guy beside you. But when his eyes landed at you, the brows that were furrowed now relaxed and the subtle frown on the corner of his lips begun to rise. You now begin to wonder, was he jealous?

“Who was that?” He asks, grumpiness hiding within his teasing eyes and flashy grin. You could only shake your head and smile, “He’s Wonwoo, he was just asking some stuff since he skipped school the other day.” You noticed him nodding his head, the grin widening even more.

That’s more like it, the dimples and his cheeky grins.

But all things come to an end, a laughter rang inside the café. One that you could recognize anywhere. As soon as your eyes landed on him, you saw he was accompanied by someone. A pretty girl in a summer dress, hair flowing down as it swayed gracefully with the wind that the air conditioner was blowing.

“Are you and Seungcheol… Okay..?” Wonwoo cautiously asks. He too, noticed Seungcheol as he followed your searching gaze earlier.

Snapping your head to Wonwoo, “Huh? Why wouldn’t we?” Chuckling as you tried to hide the uneasiness you feel inside. You see him frown, looking straight into your eyes as if he was trying to read what was on your mind.

You looked away from him, giving attention the the pastry in front of you. “But aren’t you two… A thing..?” He to was questioning himself, staring down at you as he waited for your response. But it was hard to look at him in the eye. He can read you like a book, no doubt. And there is no way, you will ever tell a soul - moreover, to a guy you just met a few days ago - about your growing feelings towards Seungcheol.

Chuckling at him, “What? We are not a thing. Definitely not. Just, friends.” He can tone that you were upset. He definitely was piecing it together already. “You don’t have to hide it from me, let it out,” He was more softer compared earlier. Long gone was the intimidating look of his.

He was searching for your eyes, and when he caught it, “So, about the previous lectures, here are some of my notes—”

“Everybody knows about you two. You don’t have to lie, both of you just don’t want to admit anything.” You stopped from your tracks, both of us? Its funny, because as far as you know, its only you who obviously had caught feelings. Seeing how Seungcheol is with another girl today made you think that he just may treat his friends that way.

“There’s nothing to admit, Wonwoo. Really. We aren’t a thing. We aren’t dating nor together.” You were chuckling in between, but Wonwoo squinted his eyes on you before pursing his lips together as he lowered his gaze on your notes that he asked you.

“Hey,” A voice behind you called and just from his voice, you know its Seungcheol. You were done with packing your stuff when you turned to him, “Hey! Fancy seeing you here?” You tried to sound friendly, but it ended up sounding forced. You could swear to God you just heard Wonwoo scoffed at you. You wanted to kick the latter but with Seungcheol eyeing you amusingly, you found it hard to turn your back on him.

“Yeah, was on a blind fate a minute ago.” The way he sounded was too excited. You tried to match his energy, but you just felt drained trying. Wonwoo must’ve noticed the change in your demeanor so he took initiative for answering, “Nice. We just finished having a study session, right?” nudging your side, causing you to quickly smile and nod.

His eyes turned serious all of a sudden. Did having a new study buddy bothered him? Why?

True enough, it might’ve bothered him that you have a new study buddy to why every time you have something to talk about with Wonwoo, Seungcheol just finds out and piques your interests, totally forgetting about the things you were about to consult with Wonwoo - who was currently your partner on a paper.

“You’re going tonight, right?” You did promise Joshua and him that’ll you’ll go tonight, “No. I’m busy.” You wanted to tease him and you though it worked. The pout he wore soon turned into a frown, “You’re going with Wonwoo again, aren’t you?” Wyes throwing daggers as if you have just betrayed your own country.

“I was just joking!”

Alcohol then again filled your body. Everyone was getting loud, the games were in chaos. Everyone was laughing at the most ridiculous and smallest things. You don’t even know how it transcended from Hoshi’s whimsical dance showdown with Dino to a game of spin the bottle.

“Okay! Truth or dare!” Smirking, “Truth, of course.”Hisses from friends and boos were heard. You could only laugh at them while he looked at you in silent.

“Take the risk or lose the chance?” Joshua, who asked the question, earned a few punches and groans. The question wasn’t even that entertaining nor spicy, heck - it was even a basic question.

Your eyes wondered off to Seungcheol’s direction, you could see he was a bit surprised. Considering how his eyes widened a small fraction when he locked eyes with you. You don’t even know how you were looking at him, but he looked like he was expecting your answer.

But you didn’t answer. You looked away from him and smiled menacingly at everyone as you drank from the shot glass.

It was finally Seungcheol’s turn to spin the bottle, he looked confused at first to why everyone was laughing but soon understand why.

“Finally! Finally! Shut the fuck up! I’ll ask! I’ll Ask!”Dino enthusiastically yelled as he pointed to himself.

“Tell us the truth! Are you the twocof you dating?!”You gulped as eyes were on you and Seungcheol expectantly. His leaning arms behind you that had a small distance between your back and his arms were now rested on his lap.

“Doofus! Ask him first if it’s truth or dare!” Joshua claims, eyes looking at you with a bit of worry.

“Ah! Right. Sorry. Cheol, truth or dare?” Laughing nervously, he answered dare. Series of groans were heard from the circle but Dino was the only one laughing.

With a sly smile, “I dare you, to tell the truth.” With panic starting to fill his eyes, Seungcheol looked like he was about to raise hell, “No repeating of previous question!” Saved again by Joshua.

As Seungcheol breathe a sigh of relief, Dino didn’t even considered pausing from dropping the bomb, “Do you Cheol, consider her as more than just a friend?” Expecting eyes were on you and Seungcheol again, but one gaze pierced through your soul.

You laughed, trying to let out the uneasiness inside of you as you locked eyes with Seungcheol. “Best friends?” He said.

Disappointed sighs and groans were their reaction towards his answer, but his lingering gaze stayed on you yet you didn’t bat an eye on him again.

Even with alcohol, both of you still can’t seem to find the courage to take a risk. And they say, drunk people gets easily swayed huh?

—But even if I don’t take the risk, I already have my heart shattered. I want to choose losing the chance as I know— I know that it’d be regret that will be filling up my heart. But why is that, I can feel it shattering just by looking at the eyes of the man beside me. Full of longing and desire. Friends don’t look at each other like that, moreover, friends don’t make you feel like this; aching for more. Wanting to be more.

Even bandaids, are no good for heartaches.

[demigods-posts]

imagine if thalia visited percy on his fifteen birthday. an apology lodged somewhere in the back of her throat. knocking on the apartment door while holding back tears. sally greeting her with the warm smile of a mother. paul welcoming her inside with the kind tone of a father. imagine thalia surprised to see percy and nico bonding over two slices of blue cake. feeling even more alienated as a big three kid. knowing these two had a relationship without her. imagine thalia meeting percy's eyes from across the room. and for a brief second. she swears his previously gleeful gaze turns cold and bitter. and she's waiting for the anger. for the tide to drown her. and she's prepared to welcome it. but then his gaze turns remorseful. and then apologetic. and he doesn't yell at her. instead. he invites her to sit next to him and nico. and welcomes her to a slice of blue cake. because time will pass anyway. and life's way too short for kids like them to not hold each other through it.

[deerspherestudios]

Does Mycheal know that humans live shorter than him?

He does! Has been long aware of it, actually!

[luna-loveboop]

I find it funny that Wild, who has basically a couple years ish of full life experience, comes up with the most insane theories for everything

He assumed that the only other explanation to Four being able to split in Four was. That he was quadruplets who'd been hiding this whole time???

Also apparently he believed that his wolf companion Twilight in botw was a diety (and felt very uhh shocked upon finding out that he was not)

Malon made things worse, telling him about her aliens theory

What's even FUNNIER is that every time Wild expresses any sort of confusion at magic stuff that he's never seen before, everyone else in the chain acts like it's crazy for him to be weirded out by it

Honestly maybe Wild's the only one with his head on straight, rather than everyone else who are just like 'it's magic bro' like no he's right this is weird

I appreciate this because it's very considerate of the fact that he woke up with no memories not too long ago, so he doesn't have much experience to explain the stuff that's 'normal' for the chain. Plus the explanations he comes up with are funny.

:)

.

Art and comic and adorable character by Jojo @linkeduniverse au :D

[nouverx]

Day 5 and Day 6 of Radiostatic Week

Free day (Picture) and one sided attraction. Seems like purple doesn't suit Alastor...

[viixenvi]

𝐉𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐤𝐢𝐬𝐬 | 18+

Summary: You have been planning to steal some information from the Avengers compound. You successfully break in but what happens when the one person you never wanted to see again ends up catching you?

Characters: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader, Steve Rogers, Tony Stark

Warnings: Torture, fighting, reader gets caught and tied up, heavy make-outs, slight flirting, some oral (Nat receiving), reader leaves Nat high and dry, villain fem!reader (Reader and Nat hate fuck whenever they catch each other guys)

This was not my best work, actually kinda bad and not proofread so forgive mistakes and like forgive me if it's bad I just had this idea weeks ago and decided to actually write it at 3 AM

Minors DNI

It was only a matter of time before you could escape. Sneaking into the Avengers compound was hard, it took weeks of planning and landing a job as a maid.

Stark was always hiring and it was just perfect when you got a call back that you had been selected for the job. Of course, this job came with risks to your plan. If you were suspected at all by any of the avengers you'd be finished. Which is exactly why you had a disguise.

Shape shifting was your specialty. It had just happened oneday, you woke up with powers of some sorts. You had no idea how to control them or how you even got them.

You were hoping this hard drive you were planning to take had the answers to some of your problems. You could only change your appearance, make others see you differently.

The only person you had to avoid at all costs was Natasha. She knew things about you that you hadn't told anyone else. You and her had a long history, one that you prefer not to think about. You had fought her previously, working with Loki. That went down hill fast and you managed to stay low since then.

Now you were definitely going to set off their radars. You have a plan though, you always have a plan.

"Can you get the lab too while you are at it?" Tony asks me as I mop the floor. I look up and nod, giving him a shy smile. He walks away, his phone in his hand.

Perfect excuse to be in his lab. You walk towards the lab, your heart racing. It was time, finally. You felt relieved, it was finally going to be over and you'd never have to see the avengers ever again.

"You are not authorized to enter this area." The voice startles you slightly. J.A.R.V.I.S was a pain to deal with.

"Mr. Stark asked me to mop the lab," You tell him. You hear nothing or a minute before the card scanner beeps with a green light and the doors click. That was surprisingly..easy?

This was too easy, you hesitate for a moment. You glance around the lab before your eyes land on a hard drive. It's the hard drive. No way Tony would just leave this out conveniently, not when he knew there was a chance it would be stolen by anyone.

But it's right there, and you don't think you have another chance. So you slowly walk up to the table, pretending to mop and swiping the drive off the table.

It swiftly makes the journey to your pocket and you walk out of the lab, leaving the mop on the floor. You have no idea how you can get out without at least being detected.

Stark was far from stupid, but your powers deceived him enough. Now all you had to do was fake an emergency and leave. You pick up the phone, pretending to get a call and panicking.

You find Steve in the living room, cleaning his shield off. "Can you please tell Mr. Stark I have to leave? There's a family emergency!" You spit out before he can really react. You are in the elevator as he says he will.

Something about the way he looked at you was confusing. He didn't even ask if everything was alright like you thought he would. If Steve was one thing, he was compassionate.

You knew they knew about your plans, or at least that you were there to steal the drive. As if on cue, the elevator doors open and Natasha is staring right at your face.

"Hello милый," her voice is sweet, just like how it used to be. You stand there for a moment, drinking in her features. You had spent the past weeks avoiding her and you never got the chance to really see her.

"Natasha, any chance you can let me go?" You say, one hand on the back of your neck as you laugh awkwardly. She tilts her head and raises an eyebrow. So it's a no.

Her fist raises to your face and you block it, swiping your leg under hers. She falls back and manages to flip onto her feet. You land a punch to her face, which angers her.

She kicks your stomach, causing you to stumble back. Before you can even think, she punches your face. You can feel the blood gushing out of your nose. You wipe it away with your hand while Natasha stands in front of you. She's focused on your face and movements.

You could tell she was analyzing you. You both hadn't fought each other in a while and it was obvious you were holding back. You couldn't get yourself to hurt her.

Natasha runs past you, jumping up off the wall and wrapping her legs around your neck. You pin her arms back and lean down, flipping her over in front of you. She breaks free from your grasp and jumps, spinning and kicking you directly in the face.

You fall over and close your eyes, consciousness barely hanging on. Natasha is a damn good fighter and you could admit it. Natasha hovers over you, pulling the drive out of your pocket.

"Some things don't change," She says just before you black out.

When you finally wake up, pain surges through your body. The familiar metallic taste of blood in your mouth reminds you of what happened.

You move to pull your hands free but it seems they cuffed you with some heavy metal cuffs. They definitely seem to be stopping your powers from being used. You are in a bedroom, which seems to be weird for the team as they have their own interrogation room and cells.

A figure comes into view and you know it's Natasha. "It's funny, you always end up in front of me bound by something," She chuckles. I sigh and close my eyes, the headache pounding in my head is not helping the pain.

"If you are going to kill me, just do it."

Natasha pulls her knife out, pushing the tip under my chin and lifting my head. "Aw, you wound me, baby."

"Don't call me that," You spit, clenching your jaw. You and Natasha always had a love-hate relationship. You were a villain and her job was to kill them.

"Tell me why you need the drive and maybe we can have a little fun," She whispers in your ear. You decide to play along, long enough for her to get you out of these cuffs.

"If I tell you, will you take these cuffs off?" You ask, giving her a defeated look.

"Yes."

"They paid me to take it, said there are plans on it they need. I didn't get any other information. I just know that they can kill me easily." Natasha sits on the chair across from you, spinning her knife in her hand.

"Who?"

"I have no idea. Some alien guy, he's weird looking," You tell her. You try to steady your heartbeat and avoid actions that will tell her you are lying.

Natasha seems to like this answer because she gets up and walks behind you. A moment later, the cuffs are no longer clasped on your hands.

You feel Natasha's hands on your shoulders, gliding down your arms. You almost shiver at her touch. You don't want to play into this, but she has given you no choice.

There's a smile on her face when you spin around, your hands on her waist. Your lips meet hers and the kiss is almost electric. Her lips are soft and you taste the cherry lipgloss.

She pushes you onto the bed but you flip over and get on top of her, unzipping her suit. Her belt is thrown onto the floor, not before you take something out of it.

"Fuck, I need you so bad," You whisper against the skin of her neck. You kiss down it, your warm lips sending shivers down her spine.

Her hands roam your body, pulling up your shirt. You stop her before she can fully take it off. "No, let me take care of your first, baby."

She pulls you into a kiss before you descend down her body, leaving trails of kisses. You pull the rest of the suit down to her ankles, kissing up her thigh.

You reach her lips, kissing them before spreading her legs and pushing your face close. Your tongue glides over her clit, circling it. Natasha moans, lifting her hips up and throwing her head back.

You wanted so badly to finish what you started, but you needed the drive and Natasha wasn't going to distract you again.

So you pull away, crawling on top of her and grabbing her face to kiss her. You carefully place a tazer disk on her neck and get off her before activating it.

Natasha gasps and falls unconscious from the tazer and you cover her up with a blanket. This was payback for the last time she caught you. This was your thing, always leaving the other wanting more. It kept up the attraction.

This time you may have gone too far, but your life depended on getting this drive and you didn't care what you did to get it.

You won this time.

[mediumgayitalian]

prev

———

Hades’ favourite thing to rant about is how much his family forgets about and sidelines him. Nico has literally never once given the lecture his full attention, because why the fresh fuck would he subject himself to that, but he discovers, lying facedown on the floor of Cabin Three, that he must have internalised enough of it to remember some key points.

He is loathe to admit it, but Father is right. How come the Poseidon cabin floors are so nice and comfortable? The floor of Cabin Thirteen sucks. Whenever he has Floor Time in his own cabin, he gets bruised and cold. Injustice.

“Could you suffer quieter? I’m trying to study.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

“I’m not the one groaning in misery.”

“Shut up, Percy.”

Percy sighs heavily. There’s a loud thud as he snaps his textbook shut, and the creak of mattress springs as he shifts.

“You’re so fuckin’ irritating, you know that?”

“Coming from you,” Nico says indignantly, pushing up to glare at him. Percy makes a face back. “I am here, having a crisis, being vulnerable in front of you —”

“Oh my gods.”

“— like you suggested, to rebuild our tenuous relationship —”

“I wish the prophecy had killed me. Either one, I’m not picky.”

“— and you are studying! Nose in a book! You hate reading! You are doing this just to spite me!”

“I am doing this to pass my classes,” Percy snips. “Someone should send you to public school. You need to experience that particular level of hell.”

“Experienced hell already, thanks. Don’t need a redo.”

“Tartarus references don’t shut me up, Zombie Boy. I’ve been there too.”

“Ugh.”

Percy rolls his eyes, turning back to his textbook. Nico contemplates rolling back on the floor to Ruminate and Think (after the second failure in a row he has a much to think about, like what the fuck is he supposed to do, should he even fucking bother, is he doomed to life without love, etc, etc) but finds himself, instead, sitting upright. Watching his — friend. Watching his heavy frown, listening to the bit-back curses and the crinkle of pages when he holds the book too tightly.

He’s moody, today. Sullen. Ate his breakfast in silence and stomped off to the sword fighting arena, raising hurricane downpour around the open theatre to deter anyone from joining him. Coincidentally, Annabeth has not been seen all day.

“Are you okay?” Nico asks quietly.

Percy shrugs, glancing over then glancing quickly away. “Fine.”

“I mean. You flooded half the camp. So.”

“Just drop it, Nico. If you’re going to stay in here, be quiet.”

Nico bites back the automatic, scathing retort. Be quiet, Nicolò! Lalalalala! Don’t tell me what to do! Ugh! I hate having a little brother! Yeah, well, I hate you too!

A quick, cut-off choking sound cuts through his thoughts. He looks up, startled, to find Percy’s face red, to find him swiping angrily at his cheeks.

“Woah,” he murmurs, climbing hastily upright. He ignores the loud chanting in his brain telling him to leave, the discomfort swirling in his stomach at seeing someone cry, seeing another man cry, instead hovering awkwardly. Percy shrugs off the hand he touches hesitantly to his shoulder, and Nico holds it there, suspended, in between and outstretched.

“I’m fine. Leave me alone.”

Nico hesitates. Of all people, he…nobody wants Nico around, when they’re —whatever Percy is. Upset. The only thing he can probably do is make it worse.

But what can he do? Leave him? Get Annabeth? Jason? None of it seems right. Instead he stands, frozen, hand still half-outstretched, eyes wide.

“You can —” He clears his throat. “Um. Did something happen?”

Percy shrugs. His eyes remain glued resolutely to his textbook, although the pages are wet and warped.

“Cause you can tell me, you know. I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything.”

Gods, he is so far out of his depth. Could Kampe come back and attack? That would be easier to deal with. Nico could handle that.

“I don’t —” the pages of the textbook crinkle under Percy’s grip — “it’s fucking stupid, is what it is.”

Hovering is not the right call. He knows that much. He scans the cabin, evaluating his options — sitting back on the floor feels like a bad plan. He doesn’t think any kind of touch would be welcomed, nor is he entirely comfortable in giving it. He doesn’t want to crowd. He doesn’t want to seem too distant.

Slowly, carefully gauging Percy’s reaction, he sits on the bed, across from him. He leaves the textbook between them, letting Percy keep pretending to read it, and tucks his legs up under his knees. He fiddles absentmindedly with his ring, chewing his lip every time Percy sniffles.

“Why’s it stupid?”

Percy shrugs again. Nico resists the urge to shake him. How does anyone deal with this shit? What the hell is he even supposed to do? He’s not Jason. He’s not Annabeth. Hell, he’s not Will, who seems to read emotions intuitively, who seems to know exactly what to do when someone is scared, when someone is upset. Even when someone is angry. He tries to imagine Will, in his position. Sitting across from a crying Percy Jackson, saviour of the world. Yesterday, one of the younger kids had tripped and scraped half the skin off their arm on the basketball court. Will had been there with a soft smile and gentle, glowing hands, speaking quietly and cracking small jokes until the kid was laughing again. Nico tries to imagine that here, soft words and lighthearted jokes. It doesn’t seem right. Would he — touch Percy’s wrist, like he did with Clarisse? Drag the fight right out of him?

Is Percy even angry? Nico has seen him angry before. Murderous. Fuming.

He’s never seen him cry.

Percy’s voice is like palms scraping hard over sharp gravel stones. “I made Annabeth cry this morning.”

The way he says it makes it hard for Nico to actually understand his words. His tone of voice is — volatile, is the best way he can describe it. Loathing. Based on the curling self-hatred dripping from the sentence Nico would assume he’d tried to kill her — he says I made her cry like he doesn’t deserve to live for it. Like he’s hoping to be punished.

“That happens,” Nico says. He swallows. “When you — love people.”

He and Bianca made each other cry a lot. He just never — stopped, never gave her half a second. Sometimes she looked at him and he knew she wanted to hit him. She never did. But he knew and she knew he knew and sometimes it would well up in her eyes, and she would lock herself in the bathroom of their room and turn on the sink and cry and cry and cry. And it ached something nasty in the cavity of his chest.

Percy sneers at his hands, flexing his fingers. “People who love you don’t make you cry. That’s just — hurting. That’s people who hurt everyone around them.”

Nico frowns. “That’s not true.”

“It is,” he says venomously. “I’m supposed to be — I’m supposed to protect her. I’m supposed to keep her safe, keep her from people who cause her pain.”

“People like you?”

Percy nods.

Nico drags his teeth over his bottom lip. He thinks of bleeding fingers clinging to a tiny shaft of rock, thinks of dangerous green eyes, hard voices; thinks of a thick web clinging to a broken ankle and an abyss. Thinks of promises and oaths and choosing. Thinks of falling. Thinks of letting go.

“People who want to harm Annabeth do not jump into the Pit for her.”

The pages of Percy’s textbook have started to dry. The ink has bled, dark splotches in perfect circles. The fountain bubbles gently behind them, mattress creaking under shifting legs.

“You don’t understand what I —” He pauses, swallowing. “Did, down there.”

“D’you hurt her?”

“…I scared her.”

“Oh, well — Christ, Percy! Is that really what this — brooding is about?” He scoffs. “No shit you scared her!”

“…What?”

Percy looks at him, wide-eyed. Nico rolls his eyes.

“Aw, when you were fighting for your life in the place meant to tear your essence into atoms, did you do things that make you question your personhood? Your morals?”

“I —”

“Of course you did, dumbass! Of course you —” he takes a breath, trying to organize the jumble of thoughts in his brain — “of course the physical manifestation of darkness and distortion made you act differently than you would usually, Percy. Of course it — affected you. Gods. Of course you’re struggling.” He flicks Percy’s knee, looking at him with exaggerated exasperation. “Use your brain, why don’t you.”

A small smile quirks the corners of Percy’s mouth, although it fades as quickly as it comes. He wipes his face with his sleeve, breath shuddering.

“She didn’t scare me, though.”

“Not even once?”

“Not in the same way,” Percy admits. “I was scared, once, when I looked at her. In the death mist. But that wasn’t — her, you know? She could never scare me.”

“I mean,” Nico wrinkles his nose, trying to articulate, “I think that’s kind of abnormal?”

Percy tilts his head.

“I just mean that you have a very high threshold, Percy. For…what you’ll tolerate from people you care about.”

“Everyone has that.”

“Not in the same way you do.” He taps his knuckles, considering. “Tell me the truth — if Annabeth stabbed someone to death in front of you, in total cold blood, would you help her hide the body?”

“Yes,” he says immediately. He shrinks, a little. “Oh.”

Nico rushes to assure, placing a fleeting touch on his wrist. “It’s not necessarily a bad thing. I don’t think. It’s just —” He shrugs. “I’m used to scaring people, too. I don’t mean to. I don’t understand it. I don’t understand what I — do, it’s not intentional.”

Percy opens his mouth, but Nico stumbles on.

“But you’re not — a monster, Percy, gods. No one thinks you’re a monster. Especially not Annabeth.”

Percy wiggles his finger under his watch strap, turning it tightly around his wrist, cutting off the circulation. Nico watches but doesn’t say anything.

“You’re not, either.”

Nico blinks. “Huh?”

“A monster,” he explains. “You’re not, either.”

“Oh.” Nico shrugs. “Thanks, I guess.”

“No, I mean it, dude, I — look. Listen.” Percy sighs. “You got baggage. I put some of it on you. I’m sorry.”

Hands around his — throat — angry, angry eyes — harder — bruising — you promised! you promised! you promised!

“It’s fine.” A pause. “I did shit to you, too.”

“It’s not fine. And I know you did. We can still —”

He doesn’t finish his sentence. He sighs again, a long, defeated sound, and curls in on himself.

“One day you’ll forgive yourself,” Nico murmurs. “One day I’ll — me too, I guess. Me and you.”

Percy smiles tiredly. “And we’ll be okay?”

“No. You’ll still be annoying.”

He snorts. “Whatever. Drama queen.”

“Oh, I’m the drama queen, Mr. I Don’t Deserve To Be Loved.”

Percy snorts. He turns back to his textbook, fiddling with the dried page, and snorts again, trying to duck his head. Nico bites the corner of his mouth, hard. Percy glances up again, and Nico meets his eyes, and they —

Gods, they’re bad at this.

But suddenly Percy can’t choke back his laughter, and it’s wheezing and self-deprecating and still kind of teary and Nico is laughing, too, because thank the gods that shit is over. Percy’s red-cheeked and Nico is red-cheeked and neither of them are going to look at each other for a week, Nico’s sure, but for now he can roll his eyes at Percy’s melodrama and dodge his embarrassed shoving, and it’s fine.

“You should talk to Annabeth,” Nico suggests, when the giggling has toned down.

Percy picks at the torn-up skin around his nails. “Probably.”

“Are you going to?”

“Why were you lying on the floor?” Percy asks instead. It is the least subtle subject change of all time, but Nico takes it as the hint it is and drops the subject. It’s not his business, anyway. They’ll talk. He knows Annabeth better than to think she’ll let it fester, at least.

“Oh, you know. Crushing weight of being alive, mortifying ordeal of being known, et cetera, et cetera.”

“Oh my gods. I’m sorry I asked.”

“Well, serves you right then, you selfish bitch.”

Percy snorts. “What, I cry all over you and now it’s your turn to vent?”

“I’m pretty sure that’s exactly how it works. Transactional and eye-for-an-eye. Exactly as friendship should be.”

“You’re not nearly as funny as you think you are,” Percy says, but he can’t tamp down his smile any more than he can stop his eyes from rolling, so there. Nico is exactly as funny as he thinks he is, thank you very much. A regular comedian.

Percy snaps textbook closed and sets it on the bedside table. “So.”

“So.”

Nico squirms. Suddenly he’s not sure why the hell he came in here in the first place. Are the floors in Cabin Thirteen really that bad? Surely not. Surely Floor Time didn’t have to be in Percy’s cabin.

(He blames Father for this. He’s horribly nosy. No doubt he’s passed his nosiness onto Nico, irregardless of his lack of DNA, and made Nico the way that he is. He can’t think of a single other reason he ducked into the cabin after lunch, when Percy still hadn’t shown his face.)

“Dude, come on. You came in here and whined and huffed and made a nuisance of yourself for literally forty minutes, and now that I’m giving you the attention you begged for you don’t want it? Nuh-uh. Spill.”

“There’s nothing to spill about,” Nico protests, “gods, can’t a man just complain in peace —”

“Ha! Not sure you can call yourself a ‘man’ if you’re voice is still cracking, squirt.”

“I literally hate you. Not joking.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Percy raises an eyebrow. “Well, since my guts are already spilled out and flopping all over the floor —”

“Disgusting.”

“—so it’s your turn, now.” He pokes Nico’s bicep. Nico bats him away, rolling off the bed and hitting the floor, scooting over to put more space between them. Thankfully, Percy doesn’t follow, and he exhales, settling his back against the bed frame. The mattress springs creak again as he readjusts. “You can tell me, you know.” Nico can hear the smile in his voice at the cheeky repitition. “I won’t — tell anyone. Or anything. Ahem.”

“You’re so annoying.” Nico picks at a loose thread in the knees of his pants, looping it around his finger.

Will thinks ripped jeans are stupid. He hadn’t said so outright, when Nico came back from his Aphrodite-Cabin-enforced shopping trip, but Nico had noticed his pursed lips and deliberately schooled face. When he’d pressed about it, pestering him until he’d given up with the very southern passive aggressive if you like, Nico, I love, don’t you worry about it answer, he’d gotten a forty minute rant about jeans that “sold less jean for more fuckin’ money” that made him laugh until he cried.

He yanks the thread and pulls. The hole widens.

“Oh my gods, you’re actually whipped. Is that what this is?”

Nico flushes. “Shut up.”

“It is!” Percy grins widely, wicked delight in his eyes. “You are literally thinking about him right now! You might as well be kicking your feet! You —”

“Shut up, Percy, gods.”

“I’ve never seen you so red,” he says instead, because he is incapable of following instructions. His smile fades, face softening into something more pensive. “You must really like him.”

Nico shrugs. Is that what he feels for Will? Gorgeous. I’ve been crushing on you forever. He likes a lot of people. You always know just what I need. A lot of people aren’t Will.

“He’s not scared of me.” No matter how much he fiddles with it, the metal of his ring is always cold. Cold hands, he supposes. He never heats up much. “Or. intimated. Creeped out. He thinks I’m —”

He clamps his mouth shut. A bubble of something expands in his chest, growing out of his lungs, past his shoulders, pushing his throat closed. He swallows, hard, trying to shove it back, but — Nico! Hey! You think I couldn’t stand to see a friendly face? No way, Death Boy, no more Underworld-y magic for you! I can literally feel you fading! My hands are still shaking — here, feel.

“Gorgeous?” The smile on Percy’s face is teasing, but much softer than before. “I heard he — said.”

Maybe it’s the redness of Percy’s nose that hasn’t quite faded, or his still-puffy eyes, but finally the bubble pops, and Nico sighs, tipping his head back until it rests on the edge of the bed. He closes his eyes. After a beat of hesitation, callused fingers brush through his hair, ruffling it, lingering awkwardly before pulling away. He smiles.

“Yes.”

“…Really? He just up and told you, that he had a —”

Percy stumbles on the words. Nico peeks one eye open and grinning wryly. “Yeah. He’s a hell of a lot braver than I am. Or maybe he’s just shameless.”

“He was always really intense about being your friend.” Percy screws up his face, tilting his head as if envisioning it. “I didn’t understand what that meant, at first. I didn’t get…the reason? Behind it? If that makes sense.”

“You forgot about gay people,” Nico says drily. “I know.”

“This is true,” Percy admits. He grins, sheepish. “That’s an L on my part. Every time me and Annabeth went looking for you he’d somehow know about it and ask us a bajillion questions when we got back. I just thought he was really into necromancy, or something, but now it’s like…damn.”

Nico covers his eyes with his hand, fighting back an embarrassed smile. He thinks your eyes are a tie between moonstone and agate, in case you were wondering. There is literally not a single soul in this camp unaware about how much he likes you.

“You’d think it would be easier to get him to go out with me, then.”

“It hasn’t been?”

Nico throws his hands up. “No! He doesn’t — I got him flowers, Percy, and he ground them up to make a poultice. He thought the rock I got him was a bribe. I open every door for him and I always pull out a chair for him at counsellor meetings. I make sure to stand up first when we’re sitting together and offer him a hand. I don’t know what else I can — do, gods.” He makes a noise of frustration, glaring at the ceiling. “I’m being as obvious as I can be. What am I gonna have to do to get him to realise? Fuckin’ — tattoo his name on my forehead?”

Percy slides his hand into his pocket, pulling out his pen. He twists it around his fingers, fiddling with the cap, picking at the plastic casing. He uses the end of it to trace mindless swirls on his thigh, which Nico can’t help but feel is dangerous. One wrong move and he better hope Nico can drag him to the fountain fast enough to stabilize him. But his eyes are far away, teeth gnawing on the inside of his cheek.

“There is a chance,” he says slowly, “that he…knows.”

Nico frowns, turning to face him properly. He looks resolutely at his lap. “What do you mean?”

“Well, I — well.” He does finally uncap his blade, staring at the soft glow of the bronze, rubbing his thumbnail over the leather handle. “I. Knew,” he says haltingly. “That Annabeth liked me. I —”

Nico watches him carefully. This is…news, to him. He didn’t keep up much on camp drama about the two of them — for obvious reasons — but he hardly had to. Even during his brief, one or two day stops at Camp, Percy and Annabeth gossip was impossible to avoid. People talked about them constantly, about how much they obviously cared for each other, how oblivious, especially, Percy was. It used to give him a twisted sort of hope.

“You…knew? And you didn’t do anything?”

Percy winces. “She got frustrated with hiding it. She kissed me, once, before I blew up St. Helens. And I just —” He shrugs. “I couldn’t believe that someone like her would want anything to do with someone like me.”

It’s impossible to miss his meaning, to miss the self-directed bitterness at the end of his words. Nico recognises it because he practically invented it. Someone like me. Someone disgusting, ugly, unworthy. Someone bitter and twisted and wrong. Someone so undeserving.

“I think Will is like me,” Percy continues softly. “That — insecurity.” He says the word quickly, like he might be able to hide it in the rest of the sentence. “I think he thinks very highly of you. And I think it’s hard for him to believe that you want to — to lower yourself, to be with him.”

“That’s inane,” Nico argues. “He’s — bright and kind and smart and — he’s fucking everything, what is he —!”

“He grew up a healer in a camp full of warriors. Full of talented people,” Percy murmurs. “When you’re surrounded by people who know what they’re doing, it’s easy to feel like a loser.”

Nico opens his mouth, closing it again. On principle he doesn’t agree with Percy. It doesn’t make sense. Every single person at this camp has relied on Will in more than one way for as long as he’s been here — as long as he’s been healing them. How could he not know what his purpose is? How could he not realise his talents?

Ace bandage, sound and unwound. Hard blue eyes, self-directed sneer. I’m just a healer.

“He’s not a loser,” Nico says eventually. “I don’t think he’s a — loser.”

Nico thinks he’s quite a bit more than that, actually. In fact if all words in the any language he knows, ‘loser’ is probably the least apt to describe him.

“How do I make him realise? Make him —”

Percy shrugs. “Took Annabeth several years and I still think I’m — well. I still struggle. You’ll have to be patient.” He glances over, and that mischevious smile is back on his face, the one that promises trouble and guarantees Nico an excuse to kick him. “Or, you know, you could just tell him that you think he’s bright, and kind, and smart, and beautiful, and —”

Nico does indeed kick him. He falls back against his pillow, laughing, curled against his side.

“I did not — I did not say beautiful,” Nico says hotly, “that was not on the list, you total jackass —”

Percy only laughs harder, no matter how many times Nico kicks him.

———

next

[yayll]

~ a little something about the complicated way you and Dazai acknowledge each other's feelings ~

"We can't let it end like this. We simply can't."

"Dazai, what are you talking about? I'm literally just going on my lunch break."

"... I'll find a way for us to be together! Someday!"

You've been bickering back and forth with him ever since you stepped foot in the agency this morning, or more like he's been performing a whiney one sided narrative that you and your co-workers are more than familiar with. Though it's only ever directed at you. The confusing declarations of love, the lack of personal space, and then there are the days he won't even look or speak to you at all. It was emotional whiplash, but you did your best to drown out the feelings he evoked in you.

Dangerous ones you wouldn't dare indulge in, because if so, you get the feeling your heart would never recover from a man like Dazai. You grab your wallet, and push in your desk chair when he calls out to you once more in a much more serious tone, one that sounds bored.

"If you must leave, will you please pick up something on your way back for me?"

"What is it this time?"

"Bandages, I suppose"

He says that like it's an afterthought, like he couldn't care less for whatever he was asking for.

He's been asking you to go on odd little shopping trips for him for weeks now, and you being the dog you are, say yes every single time. You think about how Dazai loathes dogs. It makes you physically ill the way you feel about him. Whatever it is. You nod, and reply softly.

"Okay. Sure."

"So compliant! If I didn't know any better l'd say you're madly in love with me. Should we run off into the sunset and get married?"

You simply stare at his sardonic smile for a long while, and he stares back. It's like you're sending each other psychic waves, secret messages only you two could decode. Only you two could fathom. He stares into you with that piercing gaze of his, the one that might as well call you an idiot for ever thinking there's a real person behind his heavenly face. His eyes are pretty, they make yours feel dull in comparison. After a while, a faint half smile creeps onto your lips, trying to feign the same indifference as his. You fail, obviously.

"Mm, sounds too hopeful, even for you."

"Yikes! Right you are. Commitment. How awful.... No one wants that kind of trouble."

Dazai states cruelly, leaning back into his chair at his desk, arms crossed. He has to bite down to keep from smiling and giggling like a fool, as this is exactly what he wishes would happen.

His heart flutters for a brief moment at the visual of such a fantasy, such privilege to have you forever. He knows how badly you secretly want this too, but he doesn't plan on putting you out of your misery just yet. Shame on you to think of him as a real person who's allowed to pursue the things he wants! He continues when he sees you've gone completely silent, standing with your keys in your hand like a mannequin.

"Besides, I'm sure you've met plenty of other guys that are far more suitable for you. I mean, look at me, I used to be a criminal." He winks at you, hinting at his sketchy past. He's such a fantastic performer when he's at his worst.

"... And no one wants that kind of trouble, right?" You echo his past words back to him, once again failing to match his rejection.

"Oh you wretched little creature. Right again!"

You can't take much of this any longer, smiling politely as you simply turn around, and walk out of the agency. Your eyes sting.

Dazai just sits there, staring at the door, counting the seconds until you're back. He rests his chin on his palm, unblinking. He taps his fingers on the desk, and lets out a deep sigh. It's all he does, all he looks forward to every single day you leave.

You finally come back nearly an hour later, carrying a small bag and leftovers from your lunch. He lights up like the moon during the clearest night sky, and stands up immediately. His demeanor completely changes as he flashes you a delighted grin, rushing to you.

"You're back~"

"Yeah, here are your bandages."

"My what?"

"The bandages you asked for..?"

His eyes widen for a moment, and then he chuckles, shaking his head. He flicks his own forehead.

"Of course! Thank you. Now, may I have the receipt as well?"

He looks excited, his open palm cupped in front of you, as if you were giving him a treat. You raise a brow and shrug, handing him the crumpled piece of paper. You don't even question it anymore. He frowns. You think he looks like a disgruntled little kid.

"Ugh. You wrinkled it."

"What? Why does it matter?"

"Well I obviously wanted to keep it, silly goose."

You try to make sense of what he could possibly mean, and you decide it's not worth getting into. You can't afford the heartache nor the brain cells.

"That's the weirdest thing you've ever asked me."

"Not true. I've never asked you for a kiss~"

You almost drop to the floor with the way his eyes darken, despite his tone being the complete opposite. You stare at him yet again for what feels like ages, your heart set ablaze, with Dazai being the pyromaniac who won't let your embers die out of his own amusement. Your voice comes out low, meek.

"Well I'm clearly not the person you dream of, so no."

You could swear his awful smirk falls off just a tiny bit, but any evidence of that is gone in a blink of an eye. His voice comes out soft and laced with a hint of honeyed bitterness.

"And if you weren't, l'd dream of you anyway."

He mutters under his breath as he looks out the window, as if you weren't supposed to hear that. the sun is slowly setting and the moon will illuminate soon after. He wishes he could see what you look like at night.

You roll your eyes because if you don't, you'll bury your face in his chest and sob. Oh, he's the worst. You put on your best cynical voice followed by a scoff.

"That's lovely, Dazai."

"You look lovely." He states simply, still looking at the way the moon ghosts in the sky.

"... Thank you."

"It's my pleasure." He murmurs, solemnly. In that moment, you don't catch it, but he's telling you he loves you too.

And just like that, you slowly walk past him and sit at your desk. You might have a stroke, but you still have reports to finish.

Dazai quietly does the same, sitting down and opening a drawer, and then a secret compartment within it. He glances at you for a moment, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he flashes you an exaggerated smile when you catch him looking, then turns his attention back down, the smile dropping.

He places the wrinkled receipt into a larger stack of countless other receipts, all from past errands you've run for him lately. He smoothes it carefully, for it is a priceless sentiment amongst his collection of the things you so graciously give him. It's pathetic, but it's like holding your hand. It's like kissing you. It's like true love.

[dcxdpdabbles]

Any ideas for Phantom's number 1 fan? I'm so excited to see Tim and Danny run into each other and figure out OH, so this is what's going on. And also being gay cuz would either of them mind too much about being married? Hey- wait- what's this about a child-

Cut to the watchtower just freaking out full panic. Oh God, the world is gonna end. How do we fix this so the ghost king doesn't kill us all???

John Constantine would go bald from how much stress hair-pulling he was doing. They have been searching for a solid week and have yet to find out where Batman's third son went.

He left a very tiny trail across Europe, seemingly as an art thief and hired assassin. It broke Batman's eldest son's heart whenever a new clue was phoned into the Watchtower, which did not make John feel better about placing a bounty on the kid's head.

It was a neceasery but with each passing day it became clear that no one truly understod the Young Justice Robin. He seemed to always be one step ahead of everyone, and covered his tracks so well that it would have taken them months, maybe even years to follow if they hadn't been looking.

But oh, were they bloody looking.

The entire league had come together to trace Young Justice Robin's path, turning two of the main conference rooms into the center hub for comparing and connecting clues.

It looks like a conspiracy theorist's wet dream in there.

Colored yarn strung around the room, screens displaying messages and photos of cities, and multiple tired-looking league members scrambling to make heads or tails of the new personality that YJ Robin had created in every new country.

Frankl, John was slightly impressed by how much work the kid was giving them. Even the tracking spells that should have pointed in his general direction failed because his soul was not being picked up on a global search whenever they cast it.

It was almost as if the kid had left their world. John wanted to hope that it meant he went to a different planet, but he never betted on a horse with a broken leg.

YJ Robin was trying to kill the Ghost King's fiancee, and despite the guards they placed around known stationed natural portals, he managed to slip through.

It was the only thing that made sense, but it also meant they were running out of time. His contacts on the other side had caught multiple whispers that the Ghost King's army was gathering and would be ready for combat any day now.

At this point, he wasn't even sure the King would listen, even if they did manage to stop YJ Robin. Higher beings took a insult far more serious then humans did.

"Well?" He asks just to be a ass when Batman son teleports in. He gone to speak to some Ghost hunter specilists. Not that John put much stock in thier ecto-research. He perfected magic through hard work and numours deals. The thought the scientist thought they could us maths to build similar defenses were laughable.

But the league was desperate for any form of defense against the army in case they could not please the King in time.

Nightwing—even in the Batman suit, John could only see the young man in Blue struggling to keep everything together—pulled a face. "The Fenton's technology is impressive but....they seemed to really empthis that they no longer build weapons. That it wouldn't work."

"I could you that. At the most, they could detect a ghost but that's only a few second before a deadful shiver ran down your spin anyway." John huffs rolling his eyes.

"No. I think they were lying. They seemed really determined to make me believe they had no real means of harming a ghost. And get this: The Fentons dismantled the ghost portal they claimed allowed them to enter a death dimension only two days before we arrived."

Nightwing says with a tone that would have sounded strange in his blue suit. On Batman, it's just the right amount of emotionless that John has to bite his lip to stop him from reaching out and yanking the kid into a hug.

The world was too unfair to the kind-hearted folk like Nightwing.

The boy dressed as a Bat continues, blissfully unaware of how much he breaks John's heart. "They claimed it never worked and were embarrassed they kept it up for so long. I asked Oracle to check their online presence, and they read a lot of articles that speculated what the Justice League was up to days before they tore it down."

Now, John frowned in thought instead of disapproval. He highly doubted those hacks had made an actual portal to the Infinite Realms but they had boasted about it for three full years on their website.

It was the reason the Justice League even bothered to approach them. So why now, did they suddenly tear it down?

"They're trying to cover something up." John concludes watching the other nod in agreement.

The other man's jaw tightens for just a second before he adds "Or they are coving for someone."

Shit.

"Kid made it to the ghost zone, didn't he?" John swears feeling his heart drop down to his knees.

"We can gather that Young Justice Robin has made his way to the Realms and is now an active threat to humankind's survival. He needs to be taken down by any means possible," Batman declares, his voice like breaking glass. It's sharp and cutting, like the shreds of whatever heart was left in Richard Grayson.

John wonders if Bruce knows his son has broken from wherever his soul rests.

"That would explain the army that has gathered under the Ghost King banner," John grumbles, hands twitching for nicotine. "My sources said they are all gathered and practically ready to march."

"Do you know how long we have before they are here?" Batman asks walking into the conference room and grabbing the attention of every gathered hero with one hand motion.

Everyone tenses in a way that could make the weakest of them choke. They know what it means.

A level ten threat will arrive.

They failed to stop the Third Robin. He managed to spend months doing whatever he pleased, and now that the League was paying attention, it was far too late.

Many of them would not survive the upcoming battle. Many of them who did would lose so many loved ones that it would be hard to decide if they should spend the last few hours on the battlefield or in the arms of their families.

Life, as they know, may come to an end. They could become the next Krypton. Somewhere in the crowd, Kara falls to her knees, sobbing and babbling to Roa, begging for her not to live through her planet's destruction again.

A few of the youngest members start to sob along side her.

Wonder Woman, who was standing next to Superman and Martian man hunter, clears her throat. Her eyes are as hard as steel, her stance unwavering under the pressure of hundreds of pairs of eyes that land on her, and when she speaks, it's like the banging of a drum.

"Warriors prepare for combat. We are at War."

__________________________________________________________

Tim doesn't think when he lands.

He scrambles to his feet, and rushes away from the portal as fast as he can, hoping to put as much distance as possible between himself and the Yetis.

His feet fall into the mud, splashing and nearly tripping him over. It darkens out, and there are no cars in sight, but the smell is familiar, and the feeling of the air is welcome.

Before Gotham stands in all her grey dangerous glory, just over a few hills. He is far from the city, on the outside of Crime Alley, he thinks, but he can see the Bat symbol flowing proudly in the sky, can make out Wayne Headquarters, his Nest, and Babs' Clocktower, and it's so amazing to finally be home.

He pushes his legs to go faster, climbing up the hills into the highway. The streetlight flicker as he rushes by, unafriad of coming trafic. No one goes this way anymore. Not since they turned it into a dead end long before Bruce's parents died.

There are patches of broken road pieces where grass and weeds are growing through, his feet slap against the multiple holes, ruining his momentum but Tim can hardly care.

Tim knows how to find Bruce now.

He can help bring him back from the timeline through the various clues his father figure has been able to leave over his adventures. Tim is so close now, he can actually see the finish line.

He just needs to get to the Cave- when Jason and the Demon are not there, preferably. Maybe Alfred would let him in. The old man had always had a soft spot for Tim- and he could build the machine he needed.

That's if he doesn't build it in his Nest.

Tim runs faster, feeling his lungs and legs burn. He doesn't pay it any mind. The time with the Yeti has made him stronger, likely due to the hours of soaking in some private reserve of Lazarus Pit, so he is going at a faster speed.

One that he had never been able to reach before. He was nothing like a speedster or even on his Red Bird, but damn if it isn't exciting to think he may be able to outpace Jason now.

As he approaches, the city becomes more prominent, shimmering in a faint green glow, as if welcoming him home. Tim's face breaks into a smile when he enters Crime Alley, passing the city limits. In Bruce's city, he is safe from Ra because even without Batman, the city has always shielded them from the Ghuls.

Bruce will be back tomorrow, here in the shadows of Gotham's darkness, protecting everyone, and Tim will finally be able to rest. Months of invading the Justice League, working with the League of Assiasn, the Spiders, and his own doubts were finally going to be behind him.

So close. So very close he could taste it.

A scream cuts through the air.

Tim slides to a stop, feet splashing against the puddles of dirty water he hadn't noticed, swinging his head in the direction it came from. Every part of him wants to ignore it because he has to focus on getting Bruce. He does, but the fear in that woman's voice is too thick to ignore.

He glances back to his Nest, torn between his duty and his heart, biting his lip, but a young whimper- a child likely- makes the choice for him. Tim changes directions, going into the alley and coming across a family of three in the middle of being mugged.

It's quick work to get behind the man waving the gun, silent as the shadows, he blends in to mask his presense. He stricks just as the fool pulls the triger, the loud bang echoing in the small space.

The woman screams again, this time louder, with far more fright in her voice, as the boy bursts into tears.

Thankfully, Tim had knocked off his aim, and the bullet bounced off the brick near the man- likely the father- who was standing in front of a frightened woman and small child in what could only be an attempt to protect them.

The brick shatters to peices as Tim reels back his fists, bringing them down in three swift but brutal punches and the gunman hits the ground with a loud thump.

He hadn't even had time to scream.

Tim huffs above him, and the large amount of running finally catches up to him. It's been a long time since he was so out of breath, though sprinting at full force for a solid nearly fifty minutes was a good enough reason.

"Is everyone alright?" Tim pants out, shaking out his hand in a showy way. After all, he wasn't wearing a mask, and right now, this needed to look like Timothy Drake got a lucky burst of adrenaline.

"Yes." The man breathes, sounding shocked. "Yes, we're fine. Thanks to you. Thank you so much, you saved our lives."

"Don't mention it. I'm glad I was in the right place at the right time." Tim looks up at him, twisting his face into the perfect meek civilian persona Timothy Drake is known for, and then feels all the blood drain from his face.

At that moment, he realizes two things.

One, Gotham was many shades of depressing but it was never green. Espcailly glowing green but while he had been runing he had swon he saw it shifted to sit behind a filter that made it appear as such.

And Two, Bruce looked a aweful lot like his father.

"Oh my boy." Thomas Wayne says, wrapping his arm around Martha and little Bruce Wayne's. He sends Tim another grateful warm smile. "I don't think you understand just what you've done here."

No, Tim thinks faintly I really don't think I do.

_____________________________________________________________

Somewhere in the far future, Danny Fenton wonders why his portal-making skill has stopped working. He used it regularly as his search and rescue means but ever since Robin fell into his arms half dead he had not been able to activeate it.

It was almost like it was stolen from him.

If only his parents hadn't dismantled the portal. He could ask Frostbite to check him over.

[the-modern-typewriter]

Its always really great to read your work in my free time. Would you maybe consider a short story involving the hero's sidekick being killed by one villain, so the hero's primary villain goes to their hideout to console them

"Hey." The villain announced their presence as softly as they could, wary of startling the hero.

The hero didn't startle. They didn't even look up, or twitch. They continued to stare at a blank piece of the floor, jaw set, like the flagstones contained all the answers in the universe.

"I - uh - I heard what happened." The villain moved closer, slowly, making sure not to dip out of the hero's periphery vision. "I'm sorry."

The hero was clutching something in one white-knuckled fist - what was it?

"I know my saying that doesn't change what happened," the villain pressed, as the hero continued to say or acknowledge nothing. "But I'm so sorry for your loss. They were a good kid. Brave. How are you..how are you doing?"

It was a scrap of clothing. A bloodied scrap of clothing. The sidekick's uniform.

The villain closed their eyes briefly, releasing a breath. When they opened them, the hero's gaze was locked on them. The villain nearly jumped. The hero's stare was dark, boring into them with a drill-like precision, fierce and hard enough that the hairs on the back of the villain's neck stood on end.

They'd seen that stare before. Just the once.

And what had followed...

They through caution to the wind and crossed the room to the hero's side, kneeling in front of them and taking the hero's jaw firmly in their hands.

They had come expecting tears. Heartbreak. Something they could soothe and console and hold the hero through, perhaps, though the two of them would never speak of it again.

They should have known better.

"I know you want to kill them-"

"-Don't." The hero's voice was raspy, but unforgiving. They let the scrap of clothing fall to the floor, like it was nothing, and not the red flag of a bull fight screaming. "Don't try and stop me."

"You try and stop me. Every time."

"I'm not you."

"No," the villain agreed. Calm against the tempest. They dug their nails a little harder into the hero's skin, grounding. "They actually looked up to you."

"Fuck you."

"I'm not suggesting you don't seek vengeance," the villain said. "I'm merely suggesting you be smart about it. But that's another matter."

The hero bared their teeth, though they hadn't lashed out yet despite the dark look in their eyes, so the villain was definitely taking that as a win.

The villain caressed their cheek; wishing they could find some joy in the corruption of it, in the proof of what so many good people were willing to do in the name of grief and justice.

They couldn't.

Not when the hero looked like that. So hollow. Like if the villain simply scraped out the fury, softened the sizzling hatred a bit, let time heal the hurting, there would be nothing left all.

"Do I need to tell you that it wasn't your fault?" the villain asked.

"I know whose fault it was!"

"Good."

"Are you going to try and stop me?"

"Tonight, yes. Tomorrow...that's on you."

"You didn't even like them."

The villain shrugged. They both knew liking someone wasn't the same as respecting them, and certainly they weren't convinced the sidekick wouldn't come back as a poltergeist if the villain let the hero loose to lay carnage on the very night they died.

No. The villain didn't even like them, but they did like the hero, and they knew what the hero's sidekick would want them to do.

"Is that why you came here?" the hero demanded.

"No. Unhappy coincidence. I came to check on you."

The hero finally wrenched their head free, chair scraping as they surged to their feet. "I don't need checking up on. I'm fine. I'll be fine when I feed that bastard their own windpipe."

There were many things the villain could have said to that, and would have said to that, on any other night. As it was, they watched the hero. Watched the shaking volcano of them, the tremors and ever more devastating fragility of something that might just shatter completely.

"Oh, don't look at me like that," the hero snarled. "And don't you dare say that it's okay for me to be angry."

The villain shut their mouth. About to say just that, and more.

The hero shook their head. They slumped back into their seat, in perfect stillness, as quickly as they'd moved.

"Tomorrow," they said. "Tomorrow, then."

"Tomorrow. If that's what you truly want. Then I'll help you kill the bastard myself."

The hero reached for the scrap of material again, tucking it close against their chest, head bowed. Their fingers continued to tremble. The villain was not stupid enough to consider it weakness.

Tomorrow.

The villain would pick up the pieces after that.

[sandushengshou]

barbie from my shows <3

[coffeeshades]

credits to the gif maker!

LOVE IS COMPLICATED - PART III

summary: the trials and tribulations of falling in love or two idiots who are obliviously in love.

pairing: pedro pascal x actress/singer!reader.

word count: 13.5k

warnings: 18+ (minors dni). filthy smut. angst. cussing, age gap, mentions of drugs and alcohol. no use of y/n, if i missed something please let me know!

a/n: i know i made you guys wait a lot for this but i wanted it to be perfect and i was really busy but it's finally here now! thank you for the love on the first two parts, i love all of you. happy reading!!!

masterlist with next parts!

"Oh yes! I forgot about the most exciting part. It's your friend, Pedro Pascal."

You're not sure who it's exciting for, because it's certainly not you. Sure, Jon had no idea what had happened between you and Pedro, but you were hoping he did at the time. Because if he did, he wouldn't be gushing about how exciting it is that the two of you are going to collaborate.

You try to hide your dismay and muster up a smile as Jon continues to talk about how great Pedro is. You can't help but wonder how you're going to make it through this project without letting your personal issues with Pedro get in the way of your work and finally driving you into insanity. 

Regardless, you know you have to remain professional and focused. It's just a job.

"Does he know about me?" you hesitantly ask.

"Yeah, he's known for awhile." Jon replies, "We asked him not to mention anything, but I've gotta say I'm surprised he actually didn't."

"I've got to say I'm surprised too."

•••

For the next few weeks, the only thing on your mind was Pedro. You couldn't stop thinking about what he might have said or what he thought when he found out you were going to work together. This war between you and your brain was pretty stupid because you could just call him or send him a quick text.

Hey, guess what? We're finally going to work together! :)

Simple as that.

The problem was that you didn't want to be the one to bring it up first. You weren't the type to hold a grudge over trivial matters, but here you were, silently punishing him for what he did last month.

One of your last shows on the tour was in New York, and as usual, you invited most of your friends. Even though Pedro had been living in London for the last few months, you still sent him a text inviting him. He had taken a flight for other stuff, so it was safe to assume he would make the effort for this as well.

You: Hey! I know you're in London, but my show at MSG is next week, and everyone's coming. I would like for you to come too :)

Pedrito: Hi, my schedule here is pretty tight for next week. I'm sorry. Next time?

You: Bummer. Sure.

Despite your disappointment, you understood the situation perfectly. His work schedule has become quite hectic recently, as he has been traveling and shooting movies in various locations such as Hawaii, Boston, and now London. Your schedules no longer seemed to be in sync, and neither of you made an effort to rearrange your plans to fit the other. 

Those months he spent filming with Oscar in Hawaii were by far the worst. Mostly because they were having fun and you weren't part of it. To put it mildly, the FOMO nearly killed you. The group chat and his Instagram were filled with pictures of them surfing, hiking, and exploring the island while you were miles away alone.  

The night of the show arrived, and everything went smoothly as planned, leaving you with a feeling of relief and satisfaction. That later changed when, backstage, in the midst of winding down, Oscar approached you with a smile, "Too bad Pedro couldn't make it, he would've loved this outfit."

You smile as you look down at your own stage outfit, knowing he'd like it because of its purple color.

"Too bad he's in London," you reply back.

Oscar's face falls slightly as he responds, "London?"

You nod as you chug down the last of your water bottle.

"No, he got here days ago," he says, huffing a laugh. "I called him so we could ride together, but he never answered. I figured I would run into him here."

"Oh."

Oscar's expression is slightly puzzled, as if he's trying to connect the dots between the two statements. "Is everything okay between you guys?"

You wanted to lie so bad; say yes and play it cool. After all, that's what you two have been doing for the past nine months: playing pretend. But this whole exchange has caught you off guard, and you're not sure if you want to continue with the facade or finally be honest about the situation.

"I don't know anymore."

Your attention snapped back to the present.

For days, you tried to brush it off and convince yourself that it was no big deal, but deep down, you couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment and hurt. He had been there and chose not to go. Not even a call or text to explain or apologize. Nothing.

So, no. You weren't going to text him first, were you?

Manhattan Beach Studios, Los Angeles.

October 2018.

If somebody had told Pedro three years ago that he would be starring as a bounty-hunting badass in a signature Star Wars series, he would've laughed in their face. But here he was, about to start the table read for the first episode of The Mandalorian, feeling a mix of excitement and nerves as he waited to see how his character would come to life on screen.

It was a pinch-me moment. He had come a long way since his early days as a struggling actor, and he was grateful for the opportunity to work with such talented people on a project that was sure to be groundbreaking. As he looked around the room at his fellow cast members and crew, he couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and accomplishment.

Until his eyes landed on you.

He then felt shame and guilt for how he handled things a month before. He knows he fucked up. You're sitting across from him, the heavy, discerning quality of your gaze sending shivers down his spine. It's as if you're peering right through him, past the gleaming politeness to the rough edges beneath. If looks could kill, he'd be a dead man.

Your expression says, "Wipe that smile off your face. There's nothing to be happy about."

He was convincing himself that he didn't exactly know what drove him not to tell you the truth about his availability. Except he did. His time away from you had allowed him to get you out of his system, and he didn't want to fall back down the maybe-I-have-feelings-for you rabbit hole again. So in true Pedro fashion, he avoided it.

He knew he'd be back in New York for your concert when you texted him. Yet he boldly lied. And it bit him in the ass.

He couldn't throw away all the progress the two of you had made, so he knew he had to make amends for his behavior before it was too late. He made a mental note to talk to you after the reading was over.

•••

The reading was over in what seemed like an eyeblink. You were so thrilled to be part of this, and even given everything that has happened between you two, you would be lying if you said you weren't happy you're doing this with him.

Though you weren't doing a particularly good job of displaying it. You barely talked to him when you got here, quickly exchanging hellos and moving on to something else.

You were settling into your trailer with your agent, going over some details, when you heard a knock. Your agent quickly rises to unlock the door as you continue to put some of your things in a drawer. When the door opens, you hear him before you see him. "Taylor, Taylor, Taylor!"

Taylor couldn't help but laugh at his antics, and you can't either. A smile formed on your lips as you closed the drawer before collecting yourself and remembering that you were really mad at him.

"Pedro, long time no see!" she says as they hug and exchange pleasantries.

Taylor looks my way. "I am going to get some of those snacks we saw earlier," she says, "I'll be back in a bit."

As she exits the trailer, you make your way to the door. Pedro is standing there, dressed in a black sweatshirt, olive green trousers, and white sneakers, which you can only describe as attractive.

Needless to say, he was making it difficult for you to hate him right now.

•••

Pedro's mind goes completely blank when he sees you; it's as if he has forgotten everything else around him and all he can focus on is you, making it hard for him to form coherent sentences.

"You cut your hair," he blurted.

"Yes."

"It looks very pretty; I like it."

"Is that why you came here?" you inquire, "to tell me my hair's pretty?"

"No, I came here to apologize," he replies back as he steps into the trailer and closes the door behind him. He watches you sit on the edge of the sofa that adorned the room, hands on each side of you, waiting for him to continue.

He takes a deep breath. "I know I messed up and hurt you. I just wanted to make things right, kid."

"Why?"

"Because you’re the last person in the world I want to upset. That would be, like, devastating."

"Hmm," you hum, a blank expression on your face, "you're not doing a very good job at it."

Pedro couldn't help but smirk at your jab, "Clearly. You looked like you were plotting my murder in there."

"Oh, I already know where I'm going to hide your body."

His laugh fills the room, and your face softens. He began walking towards the couch, and you both slumped back into it at the same time. "It's nothing really; I'm over it," you say, staring at the wall.

Pedro tilts his head to look at you, "When will you learn that you're so bad at lying that it's not worth even trying?"

You face him, your beautiful eyes catching him off guard. "This is the worst apology ever, by the way."

"I know, princesa," he says softly. "But I mean it. I'm sorry I didn't go, and I'm sorry it took me this long to apologize."

You slowly nod, your face displaying a hint of uncertainty. As if you're trying to figure out whether he's sincere or not, which he wishes you didn't have to even wonder about. "It's okay if you didn't want to go; I just wish you would've said that instead of lying and making me look like an idiot, P."

No, no, no. I wanted to go, but I'm a fucking coward.

Your words pierced him like a dagger, and the pang of guilt washed over him again. He's been drowning in it for the past few weeks, but to actually hear the disappointment in your voice is a completely different beast.

Before he could even muster up a response, you speak again, "But I forgive you."

Pedro's breathing slowed down as you placed a hand on his thigh, and he heard those words. He reciprocated the gesture and then put his hand over yours, gripping it softly, his eyes never leaving yours.

"Good," he says, "because now we can properly freak out about this," excitement overflowing through him as he couldn't keep it in anymore.

He needed to share this with you. When the creators of the show approached him, you were the first person that came to his mind. One of the things you've always wanted to be part of was Star Wars, so he knew you would be jealous to find out he was cast in this and couldn't wait to give you a hard time, just like Oscar did when he got the role of Poe.

That plan quickly fell apart when the creators revealed they were bringing you aboard, and even though it meant he couldn't torture you any longer, he was overjoyed you were going to be by his side in this.

“You must be ecstatic,” you tell him, your hands still connected, "this is a big deal."

"Yeah, who would've thought?"

"I did," you attempt to correct yourself, but it’s too late. Pedro has already saved the words for later in his mind. "I mean, we did! We all did. Your friends, I mean. We knew things were only going to get better for you. Even before I met you, I knew you were going to do great things. Sarah talked about it all the time, too, and we're pretty sure this is only the beginning."

He's stunned at the rambling explanation of your thoughts about his rising career. He looks at you with gratitude in his eyes, feeling fortunate to have supportive people like you in his life who believe in him.

The lack of hesitation in your voice did the opposite of what your words had done; it cooled down the hope that had lit up like a flame in his chest.

"Now, come on, let's find Taylor and those snacks," you tell him as you rise up from the couch and extend your hand to him, "I'm hungry, and we still have costume fittings," you add. He puts his hand in yours, restraining himself and letting you struggle to pull him up as you try your hardest to do so.

"You asshole!" you yell, tightening your grip on his hand, "Stop that and get up!"

He can't stop laughing as you finally manage to pull him up. "you need to work on your strength, baby," he says between chuckles.

You scoff and playfully hit him on the shoulder, "My strength is fine, thank you."

"Ow! Who's the asshole now?" he exclaims, rubbing his shoulder.

“And don't call me baby,” you tell him. "I forgave you, but that doesn't mean I'm not still mad at you."

"I don't think it works that way, baby."

"José Pedro!" you exclaim, clearly irritated.

"Sorry, old habits die hard."

The next two months were amazing, to say the least. It's as if all the two of you needed was to work together on a TV series to realize how much you needed to be together. Just like your on-screen characters, you two were tied to work together by a third thing, that thing being, of course, the child.

Speaking of the child, you were obsessed with it. You couldn't believe a green, Yoda-like animatronic puppet could win your heart in such a short period of time, but here you were. It was magical. Truth be told, everything about The Mandalorian was magical.

Every day you had to step on that immaculate set that's built and surrounded by volume, which creates an infinite sort of visual experience in terms of skies, planets, space, ships, and all kinds of things, was magical.

It just felt like you were stepping onto these highly sophisticated amusement park rides, with very little being left to the imagination because of how incredible the design work is from all the departments.

Another magical thing was seeing Pedro bring the character to life. His ability to convey so much depth and complexity to a character that is mostly hidden behind a mask is truly impressive. From crafting his "Mandalorian" walk and stance to his deep, jarring voice.

That voice.

That voice was made to torture you and send shivers down your spine. That voice made you forget all of your life's problems. Actually, that voice was made for one thing and one thing only, the bedroom.

"Oh my god, it doesn't sound like a bedroom voice!" he protested, as he highlighted lines in his script.

You were joining him and the creators in the recording booth for his voiceover session.

"It does! It's a sexy bedroom voice." you teased, making everyone laugh. "That's not very Disney of you, P." 

He gets closer to the mic and whispers, voice altered because of the modulator, "Bite me."

"See? It works perfectly."

•••

You were having as much fun as you could. Simply put, you two were menaces on set.

You could tell Jon, Dave, and the rest of the crew were patient with your antics, but it was clear that they were also entertained by your on-set dynamic. It's not everyday that you get to work with your best friend, and you two made it everyone's problem.

Although sometimes you have to admit you take it a little too far.

"Catch me if you can, Boba Fett wannabe!" you scream.

Pedro was chasing you through the set with a prop sword, trying to get you to stop teasing him about his costume. "You are one insult away from getting a taste of this sword!"

"Okay, tin can man!"

You were running away from him as fast as you could, hoping to find a place to hide before he caught up with you. You quickly hide behind one of the makeup trailers and peek out to see him come to a stop, catching his breath. He was wearing his Beskar getup, minus the helmet.

“Give up yet, old man?"

He laughs. "We're being extra cruel today, huh?"

Taking advantage of his momentary pause and facing away from where you were hiding, you slowly inch closer to him, trying not to make a sound. As you get within arm's reach, you draw one of your prop knives from your costume pocket and hold it to his back. Using your free hand to hold him steady, you lean in and whisper in his ear, "I can bring you in warm, or I can bring you in cold."

He turns his head slightly, and you can see the smirk on his face. "That's my line, thief."

Before you could pull away, he grabbed your wrist, pulling you back toward him. He takes hold of you and tightens his grasp on your waist. "Let me go, P!"

You struggle to break free from his grasp, but he only holds you tighter. "I am going to squeeze you so hard you will fart," he chuckles.

You snort. "You have such a way with words."

As you try to wriggle out of his grasp, you accidentally elbow him in the face, causing him to release his hold on you and stumble into a piece of plywood that had been propped up.  

"Aw, fuck!" he cries out, clutching his nose.

"Holy shit, I'm sorry!" you rush to him, cupping his face. "Are you hurt?"

He removes his hand from his nose, revealing a cut and a trickle of blood. "It's alright, just a bloody nose," he says calmly.

You touch his nose gingerly, and he winces in pain. "Nevermind, I think it is broken."

•••

You begged Jon to let you ride to the hospital with them; after all, this was your fault. When you get there, the doctors rush to Pedro's side and begin examining him.

If you weren't preoccupied with being mortified over this, you'd laugh.

The scene before you is straight out of a sitcom, with Jon frantically explaining the situation to the doctors, Pedro in full costume with fake injuries and blood that you were pretty sure the doctors thought were real, and you standing there with an expression that screamed: Hey! It's me! I did this!

After a couple of minutes of clearing up that it was an accident and that the blood coming out of his ears was fake and not the cause of a brain hemorrhage, one of the doctors led us to a room to examine his nose.

"It's not broken," the doctor said, as she prepared to clean the wound. "He's just going to need a couple of stitches."

"Oh great, we still need to finish a scene, and they're waiting for us." Jon replies.

"This will take 15 minutes, tops," she says, grabbing a tray of medical supplies. “I will be fast.” 

"I'll call the guys," Jon tells you as he exits the room.

You nod in agreement and stand in a corner as you silently watch the doctor carefully clean, anesthetize and stitch up the wound. You feel relieved that it wasn't anything more serious. 

After she finishes, Pedro thanks her, and she nods with a smile. "You're going to need to take some analgesics for the pain. I'm gonna go grab my prescription pad. I'll be right back."

She exits the room, and you walk over to Pedro. He moves his head slightly, showing off his nose.

"How does it look?" he asks teasingly.

Your cheeks warm with embarrassment. "I can't believe I ruined your perfect nose."

"Who said it isn't perfect still?" he says it as if it were a challenge. His brow is arched, with the tiniest smirk hidden in one corner of his mouth.

"Don't start. I'm mortified."

"Tranquila, princesa. I said it was okay after you apologized 20 times on our way here," he reassures you. "Plus, now we have a funny story to tell during our press tour next year."

You sigh. "I guess you're right."

"You know," he says, "what hurts right now is that today is our last day of shooting. I can't believe it's been two months already. Time fucking flew."

Your heart sinks as you're once again reminded that this amazing experience is coming to an end. The day you've been dreading for weeks is finally here, and you're not ready to say goodbye. It's not like you already know you'll be back next year for the next season, but you're not ready to say goodbye to him and the daily routine you've formed, which mostly consists of breakfasts together, long hours on set, and late-night movie marathons. 

"Yeah, I'm trying not to think about it," you muttered, "gonna miss our little routine."

Pedro studies you. "Maybe we can extend it for a little while longer."

Not knowing where this is going, you raise an eyebrow inquisitively. Pedro smiles, "I..I was thinking maybe... maybe you could come with me to Chile for Christmas with the family." 

Your heart skips a beat as you process Pedro's words. You open your mouth slightly to say something, but you close it again, momentarily speechless, overwhelmed by the unexpected invitation. 

"Uh… I know you probably have plans with your family,” he interjects, “but I thought this would be a good time for you to finally meet my father and the rest of the family, and—" 

Before he could finish, you nodded eagerly, feeling a rush of excitement at the prospect of spending Christmas in Chile with Pedro and his family, “Yes, I would love to." 

You've never seen him smile as broadly as he does now, and you know that you have made the right decision. 

New York City

December 15, 2018

“Dude, he invited you to his hometown with his family, and you still think that man has no feelings for you?” 

“Taylor...” you paused, picking up a clothing item that had fallen to the floor. “It's just a friendly gesture.”

“Yeah, I'm sure he invites everyone to his hometown to spend the holidays with his family. Sureee.” 

You didn't want to go there; you'd promised yourself that you wouldn't get entangled in what ifs, so your friend's teasing wasn't helping you keep those thoughts at bay. 

“I told you, he doesn't like me like that. I know he doesn't,” you say, suddenly remembering that night when you overheard him telling Sarah how he felt about you. “Plus, as my agent, you more than anyone know I can't do relationships right now; my life's too busy." 

Taylor finished zipping up the last of your bags for the trip and gave you a reassuring smile. "I know, but it doesn't hurt to have a little fun, does it? And who knows—maybe he has changed his mind. Just enjoy the trip and have fun." 

No, he hasn’t changed his mind. 

“Yeah, I just want to have a good time, really. Things have been so good between us these past couple of months, It just feels...right again. I don’t wanna mess it up.” 

"Understandable, bestie. However, I think you’re both making a huge mistake.” 

You shake your head in amusement. “Thanks for helping me pack.” 

“Thanks?” she scoffs. "I'm expecting a raise." 

Santiago, Chile

December 20, 2018

After the chaos of the day leading up to the flight, it was actually a relief to be sitting here. The large, comfortable seat, with your feet tucked up under you as you gazed out the jet window, felt very much deserved.  

While the gentle buzz of the flight filled your ears, you laid your head against the window of the plane and watched the clouds and the seemingly endless expanse of sky fly by.

As you began to drift off, you did your best to keep your attention on what was outside the plane rather than allowing your mind to wander to what would await you once you arrived at your destination. The mixture of excitement and exhaustion lulled you into a peaceful slumber, dreaming of the journey that lay ahead. 

•••

The taxi ride from the airport to the Balmaceda-Pascal's was a blur of unfamiliar sights and sounds, but you couldn't help feeling a sense of wonder and curiosity as you took in the new surroundings. As the car comes to a stop in front of the house, you shoot Pedro a quick text. 

You: I'm here, tonto. 

Pedrito: I'll be right outside, tonta. 

Since you still had a few things to attend to in New York, he had arrived two days earlier. After insisting like a madman that he could pick you up from the airport and you insisting like a madwoman that you could easily get there on your own, he gave up and let you take a cab. 

The driver has already gotten out of the car to wrestle the luggage from the trunk. You clamber out after him into the brilliant sunlight, the heat instantly making your travel outfit—which consisted of a pair of black leggings, a sweatshirt, and Pedro's Freaky Tales green hoodie—feel suffocatingly thick. The change in temperature is a shock to your system, having just come from New York's freezing climate. 

“Hey you!” Pedro's booming voice interrupts your thoughts, “Nice hoodie. Where'd you get it?” 

“Um, someone left it at my place a while ago, and I decided to keep it. It's really comfy.” 

Pedro smiles and nods, "It suits you. You should wear it more often." 

“Thanks, but not here,” you tell him, your face flushing from the heat. ”It's burning hot."  

“Welcome to Chile, where it's scorching hot during the winter and freezing cold during the summer,” he says in a joking tone, as he tucks a strand of loose hair behind your ear. “Let's get inside, it's cooler.”  

The moment you stepped into the house, you were greeted by a refreshing blast of air conditioning. The house was lovely. You take in the Mediterranean decor style and the large windows that let in natural light as you look around. On either side of the foyer, stone archways lined the way up two stories to an ornate ceiling.

As you make your way to the living room, you catch a glimpse of the various family pictures that adorn the walls. The living room was spacious and inviting, with plush couches and a fireplace that made you feel right at home. 

Dropping your bags next to the stairs that led to the second floor, Pedro places a hand in your back and gestures you towards a hallway, “C'mon, everyone is out back.” 

At the back of the house, tangled trees press close, the forest extending as far as you can see, and off to the left, in the meadow, a gazebo adorned with wild grapes stands within a smaller thicket of trees. Bright glass-shard wind chimes and cutesy bird feeders swing in the branches, and the path cuts past a row of flowering bushes before curving onto a footbridge and then disappearing into the mountains on the far side. 

It's like something out of a storybook. Charming, picturesque, and perfect. 

“You're here!” A familiar voice drew your attention back to earth. “And right on time. How was your flight?” 

Pedro's sister, Javiera, lit up with a smile as she hugged you tightly. You returned the embrace, grateful for her warm welcome. "It was long, but good nonetheless," you replied with a smile.  

“Well, if it isn't the infamous best friend I keep hearing about?” you turned around to see Pedro's father approach you with a friendly smile on his face. 

"Yup, that's me," you reply, extending your hand for a handshake. 

"I'm glad to finally meet you," he says, shaking your hand. "Pedro talks about you all the time."

“I hope good things,” you chuckle, “and it's great to finally meet you too, Mr. Balmaceda.” 

“Oh, please call me José,” he tells you, waving his hands. Just like his son, you notice that José has a warm and welcoming personality, making you feel at ease. “And please, make yourself feel at home; we're thrilled to have you.” 

“No, he's thrilled to have a world famous superstar staying at his house,” Nicolás, Pedro's brother, retorts back at his father. Making everyone laugh and leaving you feeling a bit embarrassed. 

"Oh, I don't know about being a superstar," you say lowly. 

“Are you kidding?" Nicolás cuts you off as he takes a seat, "Don't be modest. It's literally an honor to have you here." 

“Yeah, you're sooo cool,” Javiera's older son added. 

"Okay, alright, that's enough." Javiera must have noticed your embarrassed expression. She reached out to you and held you by the shoulders, reassuring you. “Let's not overwhelm her with too much praise. Let's give her some space, she must be tired." 

And she was right. The almost 12 hour flight has left you feeling exhausted, jet lagged, and in need of a very long nap. 

"Vamos princesa, I'll take you to your room." Pedro turned around and led the way towards the room while you followed him closely, trying to keep your eyes open and fighting the urge to just collapse on the floor. 

As you reached the second floor, your attention was drawn back to the house. “This place is so gorgeous, P.” 

“We got it a couple of years ago. We wanted something a little bit bigger so we could have everyone over for vacations, and we also wanted something that felt like home, you know?” 

“I love it,” you tell him.  

“This is your room,” he says, jerking his chin at the door on the right, “and this is mine.” 

He opens the door to the room on the left. His room, much like mine, is absolutely huge. The bed is along the wall immediately to your right as you enter, a recklessly comfortable looking king size bed doused under the weight of a fluffy duvet and an insane amount of pillows.

The bedding is bright white and contrasts sharply with the dark wooden floorboards. "Your bed looks like a big fluffy cloud," you say, giggling. 

"It feels like one," he says, smiling. He can tell what you're thinking by the look in your eyes,"Go on, I know you want to." 

Like a little kid, you start running towards the bed, feeling the softness of the plush carpet under your feet. As you sink into the bed, you realize that it's even more comfortable than it looks, and you can't help but let out a contented sigh. 

“P, I’m never moving again,” you say, your voice drifting over to him. 

"Ha. You’ll have to.”

“Hmm, why exactly?” you turn over onto your stomach and lean against your elbows to face him. 

"Because it's my bed," he simply states, "and I have plenty of plans that don't include you spending the entire trip in my bed."  

Bravery takes over, and you give him a playful smirk. "Well, I guess I'll just have to make sure those plans change then."

He chuckles and shakes his head, “Good luck with that, sweetheart.”

You know this is cruel. You were torturing yourself. Being so optimistic was cruel, but because of your longing and deep, hidden desires, you couldn't help but indulge in silly fantasies and play along. 

“Alright, I'll go to mine,” you say with a forced smile as you get off the bed, trying to hide the disappointment in your voice. “I need to nap right now, or I'll die.” 

“I will, uh, come get you for dinner later.” 

“Sure, boss,” you tell him, patting him on the shoulder as you walk past him to leave the room.  

“Sweet dreams.” 

In the past four days, you've learned many things.

First, Chile was sickeningly beautiful. The vibrant colors of the buildings and the breathtaking scenery of the Andes Mountains made you feel like you were in a dream. It spread out beneath you like a patchwork quilt, with each square representing a different aspect of its culture and history. From the bustling city streets to the serene beaches.

The food was also a highlight, and you're pretty sure you gained a few pounds from indulging in the delicious local cuisine.

“Here, try this one.”

“That's the biggest empanada I've ever seen in my life,” you exclaimed as you took a bite of the savory pastry, filled with juicy meat and vegetables. “This is so fucking good.”

Pedro chuckles. “It's filled with a mixture called Pino.” 

“Okay, forget the manjar. This,” you say, mouth full, “is my new favorite thing in this country.” 

Pedro gasps. “I thought I was your favorite thing in this country.” 

You grin and give him a playful nudge. "Okay, fine. You're still my favorite, but this empanada might take the top spot."  

“That's better,”  you look up at him, trying not to melt then and there at the signature wide grin spread across Pedro's gorgeous face. “But you know, there's still plenty of time for me to prove that I deserve the top spot.” 

You chuckle at his remark, feeling a warmth spread through your chest. "We'll see about that, Pascal," you reply, taking another bite of the delicious empanada and secretly hoping he succeeds in his mission. 

•••

Second, Pedro's family were the warmest hosts you could have imagined, eager to share their traditions and stories with you. They accepted you as one of their own and made you feel like a member of the family.

They took you on various adventures throughout the city, showing you hidden gems that only locals knew about. The tradition of taking a trip to a hiking site outside the city whenever all of them got together was in motion and this year it was the Valley of the Moon's turn.

“That hike was so worth it, guys," Nico says, a little out of breath from climbing up the steep trail. 

Damn right, it was. As you're standing atop a giant sand dune, you're bewildered by what you're witnessing. The view as the sun slips below the horizon is out of this world. The ring of volcanoes and surreal lunar landscapes of the valley are suddenly suffused with intense purples, pinks, and golds. It's the most beautiful sunset you've ever seen. 

You quickly grab the camera that's hanging around your neck and start taking pictures, trying to capture the breathtaking moment before it fades away. “Guys, get together!” you shout, “A family photo with this stunning backdrop is a must.”  

As you finish taking the pictures, Pedro's voice breaks the silence, “Javi, grab the camera and take one of us, please.” 

You comply and hand the camera to her. Pedro sneaks a hand around your waist and pulls you close, “Smile, princesa.” 

“Don't tell me what to do,"  you playfully retort, leaning into him and smiling for the camera. 

•••

And third, Pedro has always had a thing for theatrics. Today, some of you decided to take a trip to the beach. The heat was unbearable, and the cool ocean water sounded like the perfect way to beat it.  

He would often come out of the ocean dramatically, splashing water all around and pretending to be a sea monster to scare his nephews. As soon as he saw the waves, he ran towards them and jumped into the water with a loud roar. His nephews laughed and cheered him on as he swam towards them, pretending to be a giant creature ready to attack. 

After spending most of the day in the water, you were sitting down on the sand, attempting to make sand castles with one of Pedro's cousins. The sound of waves crashing against the shore was soothing, making you feel relaxed. “My god, he's like a kid,” you tell her, looking at Pedro as he continued to play with his nephews, now closer to the shore. 

She laughs. “He's always been like this. As a child, he was always playful and energetic, and he never lost that spirit as he grew up. It's one of the many things we love about him."

The sandcastle you were working on was slowly starting to take shape. Pedro's cousin continued to build it and tell you stories about him, letting nostalgia wash over you.

She told you about his grandfather and how he used to take them to watch double features of old movies, and how that heavily influenced Pedro's love for storytelling and cinema. You didn’t know him then, and you'll never understand why it feels like you did. “But you know, one of my absolute favorite memories is when he recited Hamlet here on the beach with Grandpa." 

“Actually, it was Death of a Salesman, cousin.”  

His voice startles you as you turn to see him standing behind you, a small smile on his face. "I do remember that day," he continued as he lowered himself onto the sand behind you, legs on each side of your body. He places a hand on your thigh for a brief moment as he settles behind you before removing it.

You want nothing more than to reach out and put his hand back on you, to insist he keep touching you but you don’t. 

He starts helping you with the sandcastle, and your breath catches in your throat as you feel his familiar warmth spread through your body. Droplets of water from his hair fall onto your warm skin, and the small elephant tattoo on his right inner thigh catches your eye as he reaches for a shovel,  "I was about 14 years old. I videotaped it but lost the fucking camera on the trip back to the States.” 

“Damn, I would've loved to see that.” 

He chuckles in your ear, sending shivers down your spine. “Maybe I can reenact it for you.” 

“Please do.”  

•••

Pedro suggested you two go outside and stargaze with a glass of wine after returning from the beach. The evening summer breeze was much cooler than the daytime breeze. You were both sitting on the back porch, leaning back on the cushioned chair, the wooden floor creaking under your weight.

“Want me to open another bottle, princesa?”  

“Are you trying to get me drunk, Pedrito?”

You can't help but stare as Pedro throws back his head, a bellowing laugh escaping him into the quiet night air. His eyes crinkle at the corners, and he shakes his head, still chuckling. "No, I just want to make sure you're enjoying yourself. And if that means another bottle of wine, then so be it." 

He reaches for your glass, hands touching briefly, and pours you some more. Even in the dark, the blinding white of his smile and the twinkle in those achingly beautiful brown eyes are impossible to miss.

With the moon low in the sky, his silhouette was even clearer to you: the way the bridge of his nose dips into the top of the large glass, the delicate hold of his fingers on the stem, and the mess of his hair.

Cicadas screamed into the night air as the taste of the rich, velvety wine danced on your tongue. Now, slightly tipsy on the red wine, you were nearly too lost in your memory of the moment to notice that Pedro had turned his head from above to look at you. Clearly, your staring had captured his attention, but you went to stare resolutely at the night sky again. 

He sobered quickly, but his eyes never left you. You felt the weight of his lingering stare and were thankful that the darkness of the night and warmth of the fire covered your suddenly flushed cheeks. “Excited for Christmas tomorrow?” you ask softly, trying to break the tension with a light-hearted question. 

“Yes,” he replied with a small smile, "but I'm more excited that you get to spend it with us."

A warmth filled your chest, and if your cheeks weren't already blushing already, they certainly were now, but you wouldn’t look away from him. The meaning wasn’t lost on you. “Thank you for inviting me, really. I thought I was going to be sad, but you guys have made me feel at home." 

Pedro frowns. “What do you mean? About being sad.”  

“I kind of hate this season now because it reminds me how lonely I am,” you chuckle, gripping the wine glass slightly tighter. “And don't get me wrong, I love my family and my friends, but after you spend years with someone, Christmas just feels different without them around, you know? It's like...” you trail off, trying to put into words the feeling of emptiness that lingers within you. “Like there's a void that can't be filled no matter how many people are around you. And-and it's not like I miss that person in particular, I just miss having someone.” 

His unblinking eyes hadn’t left yours, and you continued, feeling vulnerable but also relieved to finally get that out of your system. “I know it sounds silly, but I think it’s just a reminder that things change. you meet people and you love them, and then you lose them. It's inevitable, and it happens to everyone.” 

It falls quiet between you again, the familiarity of the years of friendship meaning you are both comfortable with it. The weight of what you just said still hangs heavy in the air until he nods slowly, breaking the silence. “I get it. I feel the same way somehow,” you tear your eyes away from the constellations above to stare at him quizzically, a raised eyebrow telling him to elaborate. 

He huffs out a laugh, as if he's amused by your confusion or embarrassed by his own vulnerability, and continues, “I guess that's one of the reasons why I don't date. I'm saving myself from that.”

“Yeah, I guess now I am too,” you respond, nodding in understanding.

"Also, not to sound like an arrogant asshole—" 

“Which you probably will anyway,” you add in a playful tone. 

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” he says mockingly. “But my schedule is busy, if I wanna be involved in something, I want to pay attention to it and nurture it. It takes energy to be with someone.” 

“It's not arrogant, it's the truth. I was telling Taylor the same thing the other day,” you tell him. “I can't date because I don't have the time to, but...” 

“But what?” Pedro interrupts. 

“Don't rush me, dude,” you chuckle. “But I'm also human, and I have needs sometimes, and it sucks that I can't just go to a bar like a regular person and sit on the barstool, have a drink, and wait for someone to approach me so we can go to their place and have sex and forget about it the next morning,” you finally admit, staring down at your finger swirling over the rim of your glass. 

“No strings attached," he adds, his voice scratchy. “I, um, ha. I wish I could do that too. You're not alone.”

“Hooking up with someone like that in our world would involve lots of NDAs,” you say, laughing. 

“Oh yes, very romantic stuff.” 

His eyes were doing the thing, the Pedro thing, and you did your best to ignore the way your heart lurched. The moment was charged with tension, and you both knew that there was more to say, and since neither of you dared to break the silence, someone else decided to break it for you, clearing their throat loudly and making you both jump. You turn to see Javiera standing by the door, looking amused and a little bit smug. 

"I just wanted to let you guys know the rest of us are going out for dinner, in case you're interested in joining us," she said, her eyes flickering between the two of you. “Uh, no. Thanks, I'm beat. The wine has made me sleepy.” 

“I'm gonna have to pass too, sis,” Pedro tells her. “You guys have fun.”

“Yeah, you too,” she says with a sly smile. “We'll be back late!” 

After she leaves, you stand up and stretch your arms, feeling the effects of the wine yourself. “Woah. Too much wine,” you chuckle. “I should head to bed now before I regret it in the morning.”

“Me too,” he breathes out as he gets up, collecting his glass and yours. "Goodnight, princesa," he adds with a smile before you head towards the door. “Goodnight, P.” 

•••

As soon as you entered your room, you immediately hopped in the shower, hoping to wash away the exhaustion from the day and also the dirty thoughts that had been lurking in your mind.

The warm water cascading down your body helped ease the tension in your muscles, and you let out a contented sigh. After a few minutes, you stepped out and changed into fresh clothes. 

As you lie in bed, the conversation you had an hour before with Pedro seems to replay in your mind. 

I wish I could do that too. You're not alone.

You promised yourself you wouldn't cross that line again. The last time you took that black, bold line and made it gray, it came with consequences. But you're not known for making the best decisions when it comes to these matters anyway. 

You start to feel anxious and restless, unable to quiet your thoughts or fall asleep.

Perhaps a glass of water will help.

As you walk out of the bedroom, everything is dark, meaning everyone is still out for dinner. You have only the soft glow of the city outside the large windows to guide your way. 

Hesitating as you walk through the hallway towards the stairs, you slow your steps, not entirely trusting your eyes to keep you from running into anything in the dark, unfamiliar space in such low light. Before you reach the stairs, you notice the light underneath Pedro's room, casting a faint glow onto the hallway carpet.

He's still up, you thought. 

Before you even realized what you were doing, you were heading toward his room. 

“Pedro?” you call out his name as you gently knock on the door, “You up?”

“Bathroom! Come in!”  he screams. You reach the doorknob and push it open. The sound of water running fills your ears as you step inside. You plop down sideways on his bed, legs dangling off the edge, and wait for him to finish his shower. The chilly night air seeps in through the slightly open door of his balcony, making you shiver. 

“Can't sleep?” His voice is soft and soothing as he walks out of the bathroom, toweling his hair dry and wearing only black boxers. You avert your gaze, trying to ignore the way just looking at his face, with his golden skin from all the sun exposure, the shadow of dark scruff on his cheeks, and his brown eyes crinkled by a soft smile, makes your heart race. 

“Nope,” you mumble. “Too much on my mind, I guess.” 

“Enlighten me, please,” he quickly replies, returning to the bathroom. You get off the bed, take a deep breath, and try to compose yourself, but the sight of him in those boxers makes it difficult. You know that if you start talking about what's really on your mind, things might get even more complicated between the two of you. 

“Uh...” you huffed out a laugh as the scenario played in your head, your legs almost giving out as you felt your guts twisting. Your mouth fell slightly agape as he stepped back into the room, “What's so funny?” he inquired. You fidget with your fingers and look at him, still chuckling a bit, “That conversation we had earlier. I can't stop thinking about it," 

Pedro leaned against the bathroom door, his face puzzled, reflecting that he had no idea which of the many conversations you two had today you were referring to. “The one about hooking up, I mean. And how you wish you could do that too," you continue, not bothering to try and hide the small beginnings of a smile from Pedro's watchful gaze, entirely more interested in testing the waters than anything else.

“Oh?” is all Pedro gives by way of a reply, not that you mind much since that works just as well as a real answer theoretically could. “Oh," you confirm. This could go either way, but as of right now, you're willing to take the risk. 

His gaze is fixed on you, and you go back to lying on the bed, closing your eyes as if you're bracing for the impact of the unknown. “I was wondering if—and I might be making a complete fool of myself by saying this—but what if...” you trail off. "What if we..?” you can't bring yourself to finish the sentence, suddenly realizing that once you say it, you can't take it back. 

“Fucked?” he interrupts, and your eyes shoot open, surprised by his bluntness. You sit up on the bed, heart racing as you try to gather the courage to speak. “I mean, we-we know each other, and we're both horny, and we wouldn't have to sign any NDAs,” you joke, trying to lift the weight off the air.  

"That's true," Pedro quips quickly, though any hint of eagerness in his reply is tempered by the softness of his voice. You feel the blush that rises in your cheeks at the implication in his words and you look away, seemingly breaking the trance you’ve been in. “Okay.” 

“Okay?” you repeat, dumbfounded.

“Would you rather have me say no?” he chuckles, crossing his arms as he leans one shoulder into the doorframe and deciding that for now he’ll stay where he is, knowing he looks like a smug jerk but unable to help himself. 

“No!” you tell him, rather eagerly. “I mean, of course you can say no. We don't have to do this if you're not into it,” you add softly. 

He says your name and looks into your eyes, "My answer's yes.”

“Okay, but I have some rules,” you get off the bed, body tensed with anticipation. “Of course you do,” Pedro says, arching his eyebrow and giving you a knowing smile. 

“No feelings. This can only happen while we're here. Once we go back to our normal lives, this never happened,” you tell him. He nods, taking a slow step forward and then another, and although there’s still a great deal of space between the two of you, you can feel the tension building. "Also, we can't tell anybody about this, not even our closest friends,” you continue.

He's closer now, feeling his breath on your face, and his hands find their way to your waist. "It's our little secret," he whispers, and you grab his shoulders to steady yourself.

“And no nicknames. No princesa, no baby, no love,” you try to sound stern but your voice betrays the excitement you feel. 

He grins mischievously, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “But there's no fun in that.” 

“Fine. You can call me whatever you want,” you give in, finding his amusement endearing.  

“Well, that was easy,” he chuckles, his grin widening. “Are you done with your rules?” 

“Yes, I guess so,” you stammered, feeling a bit embarrassed for being so easily swayed by his charm. 

“Good,” he says, and you feel a shiver run down your spine as he leans in closer, his breath hot against your ear. “So I can start doing this,” he whispers, his hand sliding down your pajama shorts, sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin. "And this," he adds, as his lips press against your neck. 

When you finally make yourself let go and stop fighting for some false sense of restraint for even one second longer, you notice that something changes in the way Pedro touches you, as if he's more confident and sure of himself.

His free hand moves up to hold the back of your head to hold you in place. You do the same, your hands finding their way to his broad shoulders for support. The tip of his finger under your shorts traces over where you’re slick and too ready for him. His mouth is tantalizingly close to yours, brown eyes staring into yours, pining and desperately waiting. “Can I?” he asks. 

It's humorous and sweet even that he's asking permission to kiss you when one of his hands is already under your pants. Every rational thought disappears, and you crush your mouth against his. 

Everything is slow and heavy, and he never lets his finger slide into you even when you silently beg for it. Just dragging it over and back—too little and too much all at the same time.

He presses the pad of his finger into your clit, and you have to break away from his mouth to groan, overwhelmed, knees wobbly. Pedro laughs quietly and nuzzles against your neck so his beard scruffs. 

“Mi princesa,” he whispers against your neck, kissing it softly, “you make such pretty sounds." 

There is a real chance you could spontaneously combust into flames just from the sound of his voice and his sweet nothings. He continues to draw circles on your clit making you moan and writhe in pleasure, feeling like you're about to explode with ecstasy. As he whispers more sweet words in your ear, you can't help but surrender to the intense sensations he's giving you.  

“Is that good?” he asks, his voice rough, “Does that feel good?” 

“Yes," you whisper, a hand traveling to his hair, tugging it tightly. “Yes.” 

Just when you're about to come undone, he suddenly stops. Your eyes quickly find his for some explanations as to why he decided to put on hold the very satisfying and impending orgasm that was building up within you. “Oops,” he simply states, a grin plastered on his face.  

“I fucking hate you,” you whine, pulling away from him. “I was so close! What you do that for?”

"I have some rules, too."

“Now?” you ask him, clearly frustrated with his antics. “Well, go on.” 

“Actually, it's just one,” Pedro says, arching his eyebrows and giving you a knowing smile. His reaction is met by narrowed eyes, like you’re making sure to watch him closely until you figure out where exactly he’s going with this. "You do as I say. Which also means you come when I say." 

“Sounds—” you're regaining your footing, regaining control over yourself, trying to reinstate some power, but the way he just said those words has taken away any sense of authority you thought you had. His voice is commanding, with no room for compromise or disobedience. “Sounds dangerous, but... alright.” 

“Good girl, now get on the bed,” he says, and the timbre of his voice nearly kills you then and there, the dropping pitch making the words come out rough and serious. Pedro still sounds like himself, since his normal voice is more than enough to make you a little weak at the knees on a regular day, this new variant is a completely different monster. 

You lay there, waiting for his next instruction, as the shadows danced on the walls and the sound of his footsteps echoed in the silence. Once he reaches the bed and fists his hands in the sheets on either side of your thighs, bending down until he’s face to face with you, your eyes level with his. You let your hands roam over his broad shoulders and down his torso, feeling his tense muscles relax under your touch. 

“I need you now, P,” you mumble, and you move your hand lower to hold him through his boxers. He twitches into you. 

“What did I say?” his dark eyes are fixed on you as he reaches for your hand and pins it above your head. "I don't think you fully understand the consequences of disobeying me. We'll do this my way," he whispers menacingly.

This dark side of Pedro is one you've never seen before. The Pedro you know is a sunshine. However, the man on top of you right now is a completely different person, and you're more than the ready to get to know him. 

“Keep your hands above your head. No touching."

Your body is aching for him, all willing and open, but he’s sliding down you, pushing your shorts down as he goes. His soft hands trace your thighs and stops at your knees, “Open up for me.” 

"So pretty," he says, voice thick. You look down to see his face, pupils blown wide. “Can't wait to taste you, baby.” 

You're a wreck. A writhing, moaning, shaking wreck. Shit. You don't even need to be looking at his face to know how arrogant he is right now, not that you could—it's buried deep inside between your thighs. You're desperate to grab his hair just to see where misbehaving will take you, but you settle for the headboard. 

He kisses your cunt, messy and hot. A groan rumbles in his throat and he moves his tongue in circles, exploring every inch of your wetness. You arch your back, lost in pleasure, as he continues to devour you with his mouth. When you look down again, his brown eyes are staring back at you as his fingers slide into you, finding the right spot in milliseconds. It's fucking game over. 

His pace increases as he pumps his fingers in and out of you, perfectly coordinated with his tongue and his goddamn nose. “Pedro...” you whimper, out of breath. “P-Please let me cum." 

“Not yet, baby," he chuckles, fingers continue to expertly tease and stroke your sensitive areas, bringing you closer and closer to the edge of orgasm. "I know you can hold it for a little longer,” you cry out, gripping the bedsheets as you desperately try to move your hips to ride his fingers. Your eyes are watering slightly from how good he’s making you feel. 

“You can cum now.”

Every part of your body spasms, and you scream, everything buzzing and vibrating as you tighten around him, bucking and thrashing, pleasure and electricity flooding your body. Removing his fingers, he starts kissing the inside of your thighs, all the way up to your belly and lips. As you try to catch your breath, he whispers in your ear, "That was just the beginning. I want to make you cum again and again."

You can tell Pedro loves the way your face heats up at his words. “Please do,” you tell him, grabbing the waistband of his boxers, and your wandering hands are met by bare, warm skin and the short, neatly cropped hair that grows thicker the further down your fingers dare to venture.

“I know you said you're in charge, but I really need you to take this off,” you say, losing your ability to wait for orders. To your surprise, he complies and gets off the bed, slides down his boxers, just as you get rid of your t-shirt. You can't help but admire the sight of him fully exposed and ready for you, moving to the drawer to pull out a condom, tearing the packet and rolling it onto himself. 

“You can take a picture, it'll last longer." 

“Don't get cocky.”

Pedro settles between you once again, and you grab his face. His eyes glistened, his hot breath on your skin as he leans in closer. Your thumb brushes against the tiny white scar on his nose. “You've marked me forever,” he chuckles, as he cradles your head and kisses you, his nose brushing against yours. 

You grab his length and give him a slow, steady stroke from base to tip, then back down. His mouth leaves yours as his dick twitches in your firm grasp, causing him to groan involuntarily. The pace of your hand up and down his length never picking up or slowing down, instead maintaining the same teasingly slow pace.

“Are you sure?” he whispers softly.

“Yes.” 

Pedro guides himself over you, the head of his cock slipping over where you’re open, up to rub on your clit so your fingers dig into his shoulders. His nose nudges gently against yours, “I'll be gentle, princesa.” 

“I don't want you gentle. I want you rough.” 

“Is that so?”

You moan, eyes closing. You can't even remember how to breathe, let alone speak. Pedro pushes only his head into you, opening you before pulling out, leaving you contracting around nothing. “I'm going to fuck you roughly, and you'll take it like a good girl, won't you?”

“Yes, P,” you rasp, hands sliding across his back. He's playing with you and knows how to make it almost unbearably good. He pushes deeper into you this time, and you can feel your body resist, protesting that he's too big, too much, and he pulls out. He drags his cock over where you're slick and messy before thrusting forward as far as he can. Your nails sink into his broad shoulders, back arching and pushing your stomach into his. "Oh my God.”

“You feel so fucking good, baby. Like you're made for me." 

Your legs wrap around his hips, ankles crossing at the bottom of his back, to keep him there, deep inside you. His head drops to your shoulders, pressing his lips to your collarbone. You're close, again.

“Please...” you beg, moaning like you've lost all sanity, his mouth pulls away slightly, his breath hot against your skin. "Please what?" he asks, his voice low and husky. 

“More, please, I need more."

The way Pedro's fucking you right now borders on dangerous, making you question lots of things—things you'd rather not think about right now, as he reaches for your hand and places it on your lower stomach. “Feel that?” 

You're not sure who moans louder: you when you realize why he's put your hand here, or Pedro when your walls clench involuntarily around his cock at the sensation. Your entire body tightens as you cry out, coming undone once again. 

He presses his lips against your forehead and rolls you over, his cock still buried inside you. 

“Pedro…that was…” you pant, body on top of his. “Did you come?”

He smirks. “Not yet, because you're gonna ride me now.” 

Despite the fact that your body is weak and spent, the simple thought of being on top of him is enough fuel to make you feel a surge of energy. You straddle his hips, feeling his hardness against you, and sinking down on his dick. 

“Like this?” you ask as you begin to move your body in sync with his, Your hips swirl and grind down, and Pedro's face is filled with pleasure. “Yes, mi amor. Just like that.” 

Every rock of your hips and the way Pedro's pushing into you are the perfect rhythm. His hands grip your hips so tight, you're pretty sure it'll leave bruises for days. You lean down, his mouth close by your ear, as he fucks into you, hearing him whisper things only you get to hear. “you feel so good, baby, taking my cock so fucking well.”  

Everything is so overwhelming—your body responding to his every thrust and word. It's a moment of pure ecstasy, and you never want it to end. Collapsing onto his chest, your fingers reach up to grip his hair. The satisfying sound of slapping skin echoes through the room, and you're suddenly glad there's no one in the house. 

Pedro slaps your ass as you're still rocking back against his thrust. “You're gonna cum for me again, baby?” 

“Yes, yes, yes!” you moaned as your body trembled with pleasure, mouth crashing into his, squeezing him so tight he can't hold back, and you feel him spill into the condom. He curses out your name as he's twitching and spasming inside you.

The post-sex haze settles over you both as you lay there, catching your breath and basking in the afterglow. After a couple of minutes, Pedro finally slips out of you and heads to the bathroom. You manage to get up, body aching. As you gather your clothes from the floor and dress up, he emerges from the bathroom, his face puzzled.

“What are you doing?” 

You chuckle, “Leaving.” 

Of course you didn't want to leave, but since you agreed this was just sex and nothing more, staying sounds like a dangerous situation.

There's no need to make this situation more complicated than it already is, even if you gaslight yourself into thinking this is fine as long as you're both on the same page. 

“No,” he interjects. “Stay.” 

“Pedro, we said—"

“I know what we said, but stay. Just for tonight.” 

You give him a warning look, and he gives you the same look back. “It'll make me feel dirty if you leave." you burst out laughing, and his face turns red. How's this the same man that just minutes ago was whispering the filthiest things into your ear?  

“Okay, I'll stay.”  

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed and no signs of Pedro. If you weren't lying on his bed, legs hurting like you ran a marathon, and your body wrapped in his warm blankets, you would have thought it was all a dream. Because in your dreams is the only place you are together, it's where you come home to him and he comes home to you. 

You could still feel his hands moving over your skin, his breath on your neck, and the way he whispered in your ear, making you feel like the most loved person in the world. 

Except it wasn't lovemaking; it was just sex. 

The warmth of the hot chilean sun spilled through the bedroom window, casting a golden glow on the walls and illuminating the dust particles that danced in the air. The distant sound of soft music and laughter from downstairs made you smile as you sat up against the headboard. 

The sound of the door opening interrupted your thoughts, and you looked up to see Pedro wearing the coziest looking sweater, his dark hair all over the place, and presumably a cup of coffee in his hand. “Good morning, solecito,” he says sitting down next to you. "I made you a cup of coffee, just the way you like it." 

You take the cup from his hand, fingers touching. “It can't possibly still be morning,” you rasp, voice still hoarse. 

“No, it's not," he tells you. “It's 2:30pm.” 

The fear in your face is palpable. “Fuck, did I miss the gift exchange?” you blurt out.

Pedro's pursed lips and guilty expression made it clear that you, in fact, missed the happiest time of the day. “No...” you dragged out, “Why didn't you wake me up?!” you demanded, hitting him on the shoulder.

“I didn't want to disturb your sleep, you looked so peaceful," he replied with a sheepish grin. "But if it makes you feel better, everyone loved what you got them." 

You groan in response. “I hate you so much.”

“Are you always this mean when you wake up?" 

You shrug, bringing the cup to your lips. “Eh, only when I have to deal with people who make me miss the fun part of Christmas." 

“Let's talk about how my dad got the better gift, by the way,” he tells you, moving his hands energetically. “And how I'm definitely not jealous at all.” 

“I had to impress him, and you can never go wrong with a Rolex,” you remark with a grin. “Plus, you deserve it after doing the most evil thing you could do to me.” 

“You mean caring for your wellbeing and letting you rest after the very... eventful night you had?” he says teasingly. “Shut up,” you reply, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. In true Pedro fashion, he dramatically dodges the pillow and grins slyly, "You can't silence me that easily."

“I have other ways,” you quickly reply.

Oh, how you love to play with fire. 

Pedro raises an eyebrow and chuckles, “Is that so?”

You hum. The tension is palpable in the air as you look into his eyes, trying to read his face. You wonder if he can hear the rapid beating of your heart. 

“Wanna see what I got you?” he asked, breaking the silence that had settled, his eyes still on you. 

“Dying to,” you say, pretending not to notice how he changed the subject, setting the coffee mug on the nightstand, “but first I need to shower before I go downstairs.”

“No need,” he reaches for his front pocket, pulling out a small wrapped package. You eagerly take it from him, eyes lighting up with excitement.

“Espero que te guste.”

Tearing the paper off and opening the black box, you find a beautiful necklace with a delicate gold chain and a small emerald pendant. “Now I feel like an asshole,” you say, immediately regretting getting him a bunch of funny socks. Your eyes are still fixed on the necklace. 

Pedro laughs, your favorite sound in the world, “Hey, I love my socks. You didn't have to get me so many though,”

“I didn't know which ones you'd like better, so I got you a bunch of ‘em,” you say, a hint of embarrassment in your voice. “This is so beautiful," 

“It's your favorite gemstone," he says softly, as if it's the most obvious thing in the world. Your eyes meet his, and for a split second, everything is okay.

You rush forward to embrace him, catching him off guard by the way he chuckles and says oh. He wraps his arms tightly around you, and you nuzzle into his neck, feeling the soft fabric of his sweater and the familiar scent of his cologne. “Thanks so much, P,” you say, voice drowning on his skin.  

“Merry Christmas, mi amor."

No strings attached, spontaneous, fun, and only while you're here. That's what you and Pedro agreed upon when you decided to have sex five nights ago. But the way he has you pinned against the shower wall and making your legs tremble with pleasure right now has you thinking of a way to make him not want to do this with anyone else.

The slick, wet sounds of Pedro's fingers pumping in and out of you filled the bathroom as you moaned in bliss. “Can you be a good girl for me and be quiet?” his nose brushes against yours, “We don't want them to hear us, do we?” 

You shake your head, blown away, feeling suffocated, as he drags two fingers over your swollen clit. Your jaw sags as the pleasure floods your body as he applies more pressure to it, causing you to grumble in pleasure. As two fingers slide into you, deliciously stretching you, he covers your mouth with his, absorbing your satisfied moan.

He pulled his mouth away from yours, and the water slipped through his hair, dampening it and sticking it back on his forehead. "Open your mouth," he says, a glint in his eyes as you look at him, bewildered. He presses two fingers against your tongue and the sweet-salty taste fills your mouth as you suck on his fingers. “See how fucking good you taste.”

You hum, wrapping your arms around his neck, “I need to feel you inside me."

Pedro lets his hand wander around your hips and slowly drags it down, lifting your leg and securing it around his hip. He took the space between your thighs, aligned himself with your entrance, and pushed in, giving you a split second to adjust before pulling out and thrusting back in.

He was moving faster, and you felt like a ragdoll in his arms, so euphoric from your high that he could do whatever the fuck he wanted to you and you'd gladly accept it. 

“F-faster, please,”

You've had sex in a variety of positions over the last few days, but there was something about this position and the access it provided that you found incredibly satisfying. His wet, solid chest pressed against yours, his hand tight against your thigh as he buried himself deep within you.

Pedro let out a low groan, one you were all too familiar with by this point, indicating that he was about to finish. His hips trembled and he let out a final grunt, his breaths ragged and heavy as he came inside of you, mouths meeting in a kiss. 

The two of you stood there, still in that proximity for a moment, full of love and softness because above all else, he was your best friend. 

“Can I wash your hair?” 

“Only if you let me wash yours after,” he replies, reaching for the shampoo bottle.

“Deal.” 

Since they had a low-key Christmas consisting mainly of hot chocolate, fuzzy sweaters and movies, the family decided to plan a big New Year's Eve celebration to make up for it. Which prompted you to take a quick trip to the city yesterday in search of a dress because you hadn't packed anything fancy. 

Pedro insisted that you didn't have to stress over that, to which you obviously objected.

“Sorry, but I'm not taking fashion advice from someone who has like three t-shirts and a pair of jeans,” you said, scrolling through your phone in search of stores. “You wound me, baby,” he replied, putting a hand on his chest in mock pain. “But if you insist on shopping, let me take you.”

“No, you still have to help Javi with the party,” you said, getting up from the the couch. “I'll drive there, and I'll take Pedro and Bruno with me.”  

Pedro looked at you slowly, processing your statement, looking uncertain.

“Google Maps is a thing, and we'll be fine. Now give me your keys.”

“I like it when you're bossy,” he said, his voice lowering with a hint of a smile. “They're on the counter."

And thanks to the heavens, you decided to make an effort and find something suitable for the occasion because they went all out. 

The bass pounded through the walls as the guests danced and laughed, enjoying the party. The colorful decorations and delicious food made it a night to remember.

“Oh my god, they're gone,” Javiera groans, referring to the tray of now empty lemon bars that were apparently the highlight of the dessert table. “I wanted another one!” 

“I made another batch, I hid them in the oven,” you quickly tell her, feeling a little proud of yourself over the fact that people were enjoying what you made. “I'll go get them.”

“I will come with you.”

Once you both reach the empty kitchen, you go straight to the oven, pulling out the tray of lemon bars and setting it on the kitchen island. 

“Thank you for taking Pedro and Bruno out yesterday, by the way."

"I had so fun much with them. They're great boys and even better fashion advisers,” you tell her, gesturing to your burgundy dress. 

“Glad to know I've taught them well,” she says laughing. 

As you cut the bars into perfect squares, Javiera grabs one and takes a bite, savoring the tangy sweetness. "These are amazing, you should consider selling them," she exclaims, closing her eyes in content. 

You smile. “In another lifetime, I own a bakery in a small town with a living unit attached to the top. I have a beautiful green kitchen, and I don't feel the need to prove myself to people."

Javiera gives you a warm smile as you grab the powdered sugar. “You know,” she says reluctantly. “I see things and I feel things,” you stop what you're doing to look up at her, confused. “My brother's just scared.” 

Confusion is quickly replaced with clarity as you realize where she's going with this. You open your mouth to say something, but she shuts you down. “He's created this wall to protect himself, he's been through a lot, and he has convinced himself that this is enough, that he doesn't need more, but I know better.” 

A sigh leaves your lips, all of those feelings bubble up until you can't get a good breath, until you’re drowning. She continues, “I have seen you two together, friends don't look at each other like that." 

You know that she's right, but things aren't so simple. Not when it comes to this. 

“Maybe in another lifetime," is all you tell her, grabbing the lemon bars and heading out of the kitchen. 

•••

The backyard is a wonderland of string lights and bunting, the air is filled with the sound of laughter and music as people dance under the stars. You were lost in conversation with Pedro's father. He shared more stories of his youth, what got him to pursue medicine, and how he met Pedro's late mother, leaving you feeling nostalgic for a time you never knew. 

He catches you looking away, follows your gaze straight to Pedro, and smiles knowingly. “I hope you have a good flight tomorrow.”

“Thank you,” you say, blushing a little at your own transparency. “Thank you for everything, really.”

“We hope you come back soon, It was a pleasure to have you,” he tells you, placing a hand on your shoulder, reassuring you. He walks off, pausing for a moment to talk to Pedro. Smiles were exchanged, and then he continued his way.  

Pedro looks exceptionally good tonight. Hair perfectly styled, white shirt perfectly stretching over his back. You drink up his movements as he approaches you, a smile plastered on his face.

“Who did your hair?” you ask him, knowing damn well this was someone else's doing because he didn't know how to do it. “My sister,” he replied, chuckling. 

“She's doing the Lord's work,” you tell him, folding your arms, feeling exposed by the way he's staring. It's comical that you feel this way, as if he hasn't seen you naked for the past week. 

“I'm gonna have to hire someone to do my hair at all times if you like it this much.”

“I like it either way,” you admitted, "but I just think it looks extra good when it's styled like this." 

His mouth splits into quite possibly your favorite of his various smiles, the one that makes it look like there's a secret tucked up in one corner of his mouth. “Dance with me?”

“Always.” 

You take his hand and pull him to the deck, beneath the twinkling lights and away from the crowd, while the Bee Gees' “How Deep Is Your Love” plays like the universe just wants to mock you. Pedro folds your hand up in his warm palm, and you rest your cheek against his shoulder, closing your eyes to focus on how this feels. 

It feels right, it feels perfect, and it feels like it's gonna end. 

He nestles his mouth into your hair and breathes you in as you sway. His sister's words ring in your ear once again: My brother's just afraid. 

You allow yourself to imagine this feeling lasting. A world within a world just for you and Pedro, where people just let you both be. Where you belong to each other. And then you invite reality forward to change the story. 

You're working all day, taking endless flights to different locations, because you're trapped in a cycle of wanting to do more and never feeling like it's enough. Pedro exhausted from long days of shooting, press, taking endless flights, and getting pulled down by gravity. 

Unaswered texts. Missed calls. Grief. Hurt. Distance. Missing each other. Fighting. Falling apart. 

And you realize you're afraid too and this can never be.

“Pedro.”

There's a lengthy silence. His voice is a raspy, growly mutter. “I know. But don't say it.”

You don't look at each other. You just need to hold on to each other because if you look, you'll see that this make-believe game is over. You both feel the warmth of each other's embrace and the unspoken words between you. The silence is comforting yet suffocating.

His arms squeezed around you as everyone started to countdown. Cheers filled the air. Fireworks broke out over the sky in a thousand different colors. He tells you happy new year, and you say it back, never letting go. 

Even though you never said it to each other, you both knew. The love was there, and it didn't change anything. 

Maybe in the future, maybe in another lifetime.

Reblog or like if you enjoyed it, thank you for reading :) (i know this ending feels like this is it for them HOWEVER i will be making several other parts because i can't stop writing about this lol)

[pocketgalaxies]

the truth is that bells hells can talk all they want about being on the same page and sacrificing themselves for this greater cause but they haven't even figured out that they're all part of this cause for different reasons. and orym choosing to go on this mission because he lost his family to these people and he believes this group is the only one who can help save the world and his leader is asking him to is very different from imogen choosing to go on this mission because she eventually realized she could never, ever hope to outrun something that has been haunting and chasing her her entire life.

orym is asking for her to be ready to face the worst case scenario head-on because this is war, but for orym the worst case scenario is failure. for imogen the worst case scenario is far beyond that – it's giving up her soul to this entity and becoming complicit if not an active participant in the methodical destruction of the world. and it's betraying the warnings her mother has given her for years, and it's living but completely losing herself in the process, all in an attempt to protect a world that has been nothing but cruel to her and a pantheon of gods that has never loved her.

and how would she face the fact that she's spent so much time and energy trying to convince herself that her mother can't be saved and her mother is the enemy, with this external pressure from both the party and the most powerful people in the world that she has to be ready to kill her? what do you do when you've forced yourself to hate your own mother and end up becoming just like her anyway? and how can you possibly risk giving in when giving in would mean that you hated your mother for nothing?

and ashton says let's not pretend this isn't going to happen one way or another. when imogen has been desperately clinging to the hope that she can resist this and that she has a future, a life after this where she can live in a cottage with the love of her life and she can have peace. when imogen has believed with her whole being that losing laudna to delilah isn't an inevitability, and all she wants is the rest of the party to do the same for her and predathos, and they just won't. and then wonder why she is so terrified of facing predathos when he tempts her with the rarest, simplest pleasures of belonging, of being understood, of being believed in.

[strawberryspence]

Okay yeah this is going to be corny whatever. They deserve the corniness. Eddie calls Steve sweetheart and yeah, Steve loves every bit of it. But the first time Steve calls Eddie a petname, Eddie freezes and he tears up.

Steve has been calling him Eds since they became friends and Eddie loves it. Only Steve calls him that and it's a nickname for his nickname.

Eddie also knows that Steve wants to call him something. They once talked about it when they start dating. Eddie explaining to him why he calls Steve sweetheart. Steve said nothing was good enough for Eddie, baby or babe is sweet but it's just not Eddie. He wants it to be good because Eddie calls him sweetheart and means it.

The thing is Steve doesn't know this kind of love. He grew up alone, with parents who showed him that love was sleeping in two separate rooms and still going together out of town, with parents who forgot holidays and birthdays. He's only starting to learn what love is after Nancy, the real one, without bullshit, with the help of the kids, and Robin and Eddie.

Eddie's kind, has the kindest heart Steve's seen on anyone. He's been given the toughest shit from a young age with his family situation, struggling to be gay and being bullied. The whole Vecna debacle proves this, like what town goes after one guy without zero evidence? Despite all that Eddie is still kind. He forgives Steve, without a moment of hesitation, when Steve apologizes for all the shit he did in high school. He helps the old lady at the grocery store even if she lectures him about satanism. He helps swing the random kid on the swing even if their mom glares at him. He can't adopt random pets, but he has about 6 cats he has to feed everyday. Steve sees it everyday.

Eddie's gentle. Yeah, laugh it up. But he is, Steve says. He hides it well, Steve will give that to him. Eddie's gentle in his black shirt, ripped jeans, dark eyeliner, rings that could make your nose bleed and a tough exterior that could scare you away. But he is gentle. Gentle with the way he holds Steve when the nightmares catch up on him, the way he paints miniature figurines, the way he draws on El's tattoo with a marker, no matter how many times it has been, the way he wakes up Wayne, always with a cup of coffee. Steve sees it everyday.

Eddie's brave. He still doesn't believe Steve that he is, some days he believes it, but there are days that he still doesn't. Still regrets running away from Chrissy and not helping Fred. Steve reassures him that he is brave. He is brave in the way he loves so loudly and so openly. He is brave with the way he expresses his true self so freely without fear. He was brave, when he followed them to the Upside Down, was brave with Chrissy and Fred, was brave in his almost last moment. He is brave for continuing to fight every day. Steve sees it everyday.

Eddie's a lot of good things, and Steve can list it all in one sitting if he wants to.

Steve's watching the latest episode of Golden Girls when the timer beeps. Eddie's in the kitchen, sitting on the breakfast bar, writing like a maniac for the next campaign.

"Eds! Can you please get the cookies? I don't want to get up! The guy Rose slept with died on her bed!" He can hear Eddie laughing from the kitchen as he shouts an Okay.

Steve's immersed on the episode's story, just as Eddie comes waltzing into the room, gloved hand holding the tray full of cookies.

"Sweetheart, the cookies came out good!"

Steve nods, he doesn't even look at the tray, not wanting to miss a piece of this episode, "I know."

Eddie cackles, setting the tray at the coffee table, "Can I have one? Or is it only for annoying, invasive 16 year olds?"

Steve snickers, still not paying attention, "Of course you can have one, love."

Eddie freezes, just standing there, one hand reaching for a cookie, one hand still wearing the mittens. Steve immediately clocks this, is it Vecna again? That can't be they killed him.

"What? What's wrong? Are you okay?" Eddie nods, but something is wrong, Steve knows because Eddie's tearing up. He hits mute on the tv, focusing his full attention to Eddie. He'll just watch it on a rerun.

"What happened? You're scaring me, love." Eddie makes another chocked out sound, collapsing beside Steve as Steve scoops him into his arms.

"You... You called me love."

And yeah, Steve did. He didn't plan it, it wasn't even on the list of petnames when Steve was deliberating what to call Eddie. It just slipped out.

But it made so much sense. Love is... love is the warmth of a cup that says "worlds best uncle" full of coffee in the morning. It's the soft, worn out yellow sweater you wear on bad days. It's the beat you tap your hands to, a song that saved your lives. It's fresh baked cookies. It's in kind gestures, gentle hugs and brave actions.

Love is kind and gentle and brave. Love is who Eddie Munson is.

"Yeah... I guess I did."

Eddie smiles at him, tears still brimming in his eyes as they look at each other.

He looks soft. Maybe Steve will add that to the list of what love means for him. Soft.

"You still want that cookie, love?"

Eddie nods, "Please, sweetheart."

Steve sees it everyday. He sees love. He wakes up with it everyday, cooks with it, sleeps with it, reads with it.

Yeah, love really is the perfect petname for Eddie.

[abernathyvalois]

being 14 is the closest to god you’ll ever feel

[spacedace]

Snippet/prolog thing from a DP x DC fic that lives almost entirely inside my head outside of this & a few other bits.

Please feel free to take this as an overly long prompt haha

If anyone wants context to this let me know and I'll be happy to info dump at you lol

-

The kid had been eleven the first time John Constantine met her.

A little ghost girl, too small for the crowns and dominions that were rightfully hers, wandering the world alone and unattended because to stay in one place would drive her mad - or worse. He didn’t think himself as having a particularly soft heart, but there was something about little Stella Phantom that grew on him - a bit like a mold, he liked to explain. Maybe it was the way she swore like a sailor and kicked a demon in the low hangers with a feral grin the first time he met her. Maybe it was just how lonely she looked, small and slight in the large world she was so obsessed with exploring.

She had a family. A Grave of her own that worried about her, but who couldn’t follow her on her constant travels no matter how much they wanted to. Proof that being some of the most powerful beings in existence wasn’t enough to prepare you for parenthood.

Somewhere along the lines she started following John around. Interested in what he was doing, where he was going, who he worked with. It hadn’t taken long to get her folded into JL Dark. Zantanna had blanched when he’d shown up with little Elle, pulling in the big wigs from JL Light to argue about the ethics of involving a child in their work. As if Supes and the Bat had legs to stand on with their own brood so often in the thick of danger. Elle was safer under his watch than she’d be under the loose oversight the Titans had or whatever fresh hell was going on with Young Justice but hell if anyone would listen to him on that front.

He lost the war when she met Superboy Jr. and Robin V.

She’d adored them from the start, delighted at having children her own age around to spend time with. They formed a little team, working together here and there, then more often as they got older. She still worked mostly with JL Dark, but she was growing up. Spreading her wings a bit.

Elle was seventeen when the Bonds first formed. The spider-silk thin threads finally winding themselves into the heavy binds that spilled out of her Core and reached out for anchoring in the boys. It was sickeningly sweet, in the way puppy love always was. She was too young for Core Bonds like that to settle, of course, in the way children were always too young when they fell in love the first time. It was normal though. Ghost children the Realms over made Bonds only for them to fade or change as they grew, almost never anchoring to anyone til they were full grown.

She’d blushed as red as Marvel’s suit when she realized John could see them, stuttering and embarrassed. He’d teased her about it for a long time, about how much she’d grown up, how much trouble she was going to cause, how he was going to have to fight the big bad Bat and his pet boy scout when she inevitably dishonored their poor, innocent sons. It was entertaining, endearing.

He waited for the Bonds to fade or shift. Weeks. Months. Years. As she turned nineteen, he started to wonder if they would stick around. If in another few years they might strengthen, begin the slow process of anchoring.

She was twenty-one when her boys - calling themselves Flamebird and Phoenix now - started dating each other.

The Bonds remained, steady and solid and painfully unanchored.

John stopped teasing her about them.

They hadn’t changed to accommodate platonic bonds, nor had they faded any. Their tendency to tangle around her like snare was another point of concern. Core Bonds weren’t meant to cause difficulty for the ghost they were born from, and they certainly weren’t meant to wrap around the ghost’s limbs and body in painful loops like that. They weren’t supposed to hurt.

When she was twenty three he started suggesting it might be time for intervention. The irony that he of all people would be trying to get someone to take steps to cut out the thing harming them was not lost on him. Nor was the way the fond feelings he had for the girl had skewed decisively paternal over the years in a way that his younger self would have mocked him for endlessly.

He felt better about broaching the subject knowing that her Grave had been suggesting the same thing. That he wasn’t overstepping the bounds of whatever odd partnership they’d developed over the years. John was, he had very reluctantly come to accept, the girl’s mentor if nothing else. His job was to teach her and guide her, not be her parent.

No matter what his old, battered heart might try and suggest.

Even still, he couldn’t help but be concerned.

She was twenty-five when they got temporarily launched into that broken, bleak world. When they met the Elle and Flamebird and Phoenix of that horrible dimension.

The three alternates’ bonds were anchored completely, tying the triad together in threads of silver and green. Not even Other-Elle’s complete, sickening deterioration into something cannibalistic and feral had been enough to break them. He can’t imagine how much it must have hurt to see that, for his girl to glimpse a world where something she’d longed for for so long happened, only for it to seemingly be at the expense of reality itself.

He helped cover for her, after their two groups had been mixed up and separated for the night - or what might be called night in a world that no longer had any light to make those kinds of distinctions in time. When she came back with the Flamebird and Phoenix of that world, after their little separation from the larger group he kept her two boys misdirected. Distracted Nightwing and Zantanna so they didn’t go asking too many questions he knew Elle wouldn’t want answered. The Bat John was helpless to do much about, but thankfully the big brooder seemed too intent on the desolate, lightless world itself to notice the way Elle’s gaze was going distant, bittersweet at the edges.

He didn’t know what, exactly had happened in the hours she was gone. He could guess, from the way the Other-Phoenix and Other-Flamebird looked at her, the way she avoided her boys. Loneliness and desperation made for an easy slide into bad decisions. John might just have to admit that Zantanna had been correct, all the times she’d said he was a bad influence on the girl. Not that there was any surprise there.

Elle’s Bonds were even more of a knotted mess than before. Offered something so close to anchoring only to find no purchase. They twisted about her throat like a noose now, ready to strangle the life out of her one day.

He signed off on her leave of absence when they finally made it back to their home dimension.

Anyone else would want details to write down. Would want to know the specifics of why and for how long and a whole mess of other details she either wouldn’t or couldn’t answer. He’d get his ass roasted over the fire for the mess the paperwork was in, but that was fine. He’d endured far worse for far less important reasons.

Personal leave, he’d written.

Duration of leave: indefinite.

Reason for leave: None of your fucking business, Bats.

They shared a cigarette on one of the high catwalks in the Watchtower watching dawn break on the world below. Grateful to see the sun and stars again after those two days in utter blackness. They didn’t talk about her Bonds. About what happened. About how she hadn’t talked to her Boys since coming back. Just stood and smoked. He pretended not to notice her tears. She pretended not to notice his. Neither of them had ever been any good at goodbyes.

When the time came she bumped his shoulder in thanks - for the cigarette, for the company, for the years of friendship and family - before turning and stepping through the bright purple door standing impossibly in the middle of the walkway.

He glimpsed the green of the Infinite Realms and the distant shape of her Lair beyond. A world of worlds, paradise to one that never stopped, always off to find something new, something never seen before. It was against all odds that she’d even stumbled upon this one in the first place. A small speck in the crushing infinite.

When the door closed it did so slowly, a painful whine and a soft, mournful click all that marked her leaving.

John watched it bleed out of existence, and wondered if he’d ever see her again.

Six months later, the stars started to disappear.