#distracting them with wild tales that are very true (though only he knows this)

[pyjamacryptid]

little girl, a patient: can I have a lollipop

doctor merlin in the 21st century: can you have— I have created butterflies from nothing and horses from smoke. I have seen empires rise, fall, crumble, and start from nothing but a fish in a poor man’s hand. I’ve fought witches and failed them too. I’ve laid waste to armies and blessed nations of people with health that will never make up for it. I have pantsed Kings and kissed Queens. I have stood upon the precipice of this world and called forth the ocean only for time to swallow me whole and spit me back out. And I would do it all again if I could grant you, dear Matilda, a lollipop.

little girl: strawberry?

merlin: say no more, Tilda, this should clear up the taste of that cold medicine right away

[delopsia]

Little Wolf | Rhett Abbott x Reader

Word Count: 6,300 Cross Posted Here on AO3 Warnings & Notes: 18+, Fem!Reader, wolf!reader, outlaw!Rhett, unprotected sex, mild breeding kink, pregnancy, usage of firearms (you get shot at), general running from the law stuff with a dash of running Perry over💃 and a cute little bonus scene at the end

"Quit staring at that saloon girl before you make her uncomfortable."

"I'm sorry, ma'am; I just thought she was pretty. Didn't mean nothin' by it."

Curse your sensitive hearing.

Shifting your gaze to the floor, you tilt your head back down, feigning interest in this old lumberjack's tall tales. His hand trembles as he lifts his glass of beer, the golden liquid sloshing around the inside. Yet, that cannot and will not stop him from downing the entire glass. A skill acquired only after decades upon decades of afternoon drinking and drunken midnights.

This isn't usually your cup of tea, but it's the only thing stopping you from burying your face in your palms and screaming into them. 

No good woman should be so affected by an outlaw like Rhett Abbott. Fugitive. Rogue. Robber. Wild-eyed cowboy with a smile that warms your heart like an open campfire.

You need to stop this.

Whoever thought it was a good idea to place a Saloon and a Jailhouse in the same building should be hauled out back and put down with the nearest rifle. Because how the hell is a woman meant to focus on her job when there's a good-looking outlaw just waiting to meet her eye?

"D'you know that Abbott boy?" Your ogling has been caught, that old gentleman's eyes may be clouded, but they're sharp as a tack. 

"No sir," folding your hands in your lap.

"'ts for the best; that's the kind of man you want to stay clear of," as if to punctuate his statement, he slams his glass against the old oak table, "fetch me another one of these, would ya?" 

Your nose twitches. 

Though you've only been working at this establishment for three days, you've learned something very key. All the men in this town are the damn same. Nice until they feel they no longer have to be. Their sweet tones are nothing more than a clever ruse, fading away the moment they want something.

The glass is sticky in your hand as you carry it back to the bar; had he been nice about it, you would request a new one. Lumberjack will have to get over it.

Every movement you make is carefully watched by dazzling ocean blues, the kind of color that threaten to drown you in them. Rhett Abbott. Jailed for the attempted robbery of Luke and Billy Tillerson and the suspect of Trevor Tillerson's murder. The ghosts of this town whisper their mountainous accusations as if they are true.

One mouth tells you with confidence that he is a wanted killer, and another claims him to be responsible for destroying his crops and killing his milking cow. This morning the mailman accused him of breaking into the mailroom because a handful of letters were misplaced. 

It's difficult to pry your thoughts off that quiet outlaw. 

Your senses have always been rather sensitive; maybe those are to blame. Ears always managing to pick up on his noises, the way he hums when you look at him, beckoning you to speak to him. Nose so sickly aware of the peppermint he's sucking on, eyes always straining to catch glimpse of his handsome face in your peripheral.

When you're not entertaining customers, your fingers distract you with daydreams of what it feels like to touch his hair. Running your hands through it, watching how those eyes flutter. You have to toy with the leather body harness beneath your dress to keep from losing your mind.

Even when you're forced to pry the jeweled dagger from your boot, daring this old lumberjack to try and touch your ass again, you can't forget him.

"Who gave you that dagger there?" The bartender asks you in passing; you've already forgotten his name, something along the lines of Kirk. 

"My husband," it slips from your mouth so quickly that you've hardly processed his question. The bartender's eyes narrow. "He uh...passed a few years ago."

"Ah," visibly taken aback, "well, I'm...I'm sorry to hear that." 

That outlaw keeps staring. Filling your bones with jelly and forcing every last second of your shift to drag by like molasses. Almost. You're almost free when the bartender abruptly stops you. 

"I need you to stay and close up for me," he's not telling; he's ordering, "I need to tend to a family matter."

Before you can utter a word, the door is slamming shut, echoing through the unfamiliar, empty saloon. So quiet that you can hear the faint breathy noise that leaves your outlaw. Even the sound the lock makes as you slide it closed sounds far too loud.

"So watcha fixin' to do now, little wolf?" 

A tiny shiver runs up your spine. 

Ugh, wait, no, that's not something he's allowed to elicit out of you yet. 

"I 'oughta rip those iron bars off the wall and kick your ass," growling, you turn to face him, eyes ablaze with something new. Something that only Rhett Abbott does not fear. "How am I supposed to get you out of this one?"

Rhett taps on the bars with his boot, "rip these off the wall and kick my ass."

The twitching of your tightly-wound muscles threatens to do just that, but that creates noise. Noise attracts nosey onlookers. Nosey onlookers attract men with firearms; you'd like to avoid getting a scar on your other hip.

Or right between the eyes, for that matter.

Boots click across the floor as you approach his cell, heart hammering a little heavier with every step. All it could take is one wayward visitor to see you interacting with the outlaw, and your plan will be foiled. But you can't help it. It's been three weeks since the last time you've see his face. 

Your hand shakes worse than the lumberjacks when you reach through the bars, only steadied by the scruffy cheek that leans into it. It's hard to believe that this is where he's been this whole time, and not...

"We were almost out of there," kissing your wrist, "we had the money, but then Perry—"

"Perry caused this?" That lying, good-for-nothing moron. "He told me he didn't know what happened to you."

Dryly, Rhett laughs, "he outta know. He's the sidewinder that pulled a LeMat on Trevor when he didn't need to." 

And if that's not enough to get a rise out of you, you don't know what will. Liquid fire bubbling in your veins, threatening to take over if you don't get a handle on it soon. It collects in your ears, joints, and tailbone, tingling as the blood there begins to boil. 

"I hid the money in the old milk crate by the well," all this, and he's still managed to get away with the money. "All we need to do is break outta here, pick it up, and we're set."

"Set until when?" His hair is tangled, catching on your fingers when they try to run through it, "until the next time Perry asks you to help him rob someone?"

Those perfect features contort, smile falling, eyes searching your expression, "what do you mean?"

"I thought you were dead," your voice breaking, as watery as your eyes, "do you know how fucking horrible that feels? To watch the clock pass the time you were supposed to be home?"

Rhett's gaze drops to your hip, reaching out to touch it. Palm so warm that you can feel it radiating through your clothing. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't what I'm looking for, Rhett," how are you meant to sound serious when you've every reason in the world to melt into a puddle of tears? "I don't—we can't keep doing this. One of these days, one of us isn't going to make it, and what then?"

His hand tightens, stopping you from moving away. 

"What happens to that family you've always promised we'll have?" This isn't the time nor the place to be discussing matters such as these, but now that the dam has broken, your mouth can't stop moving. "Or what happens to the poor bastard that has to suffer through losing their partner over some fucking money?" 

By the time your words have stopped, you've become breathless, so worked up that you've forgotten to take a breath.

Rhett's silent, but you can hear the gears turning in his head as he processes your words with care. Each syllable carefully wrapped and understood. A new habit developed after he mistook your words during an argument a few months ago. 

But then he stands, reaches through the bars, and pulls you into him the best that he can. This old iron makes this hug the chilliest one you've ever felt, but the kiss pressed into your temple threatens to change that. 

"We won't have to do this again," he says, after a while, "there's more than enough money to get us by for the rest of our lives." 

You're about to speak, but he's already heard the words that lie unspoken on your tongue.

"As soon as we're out of here," Rhett's hands curl around your cheeks, cradling them like glass. You nod. "I promise I'll give you every bit of that lil' family you've been wantin'."

Weak, you blink until your vision is no longer blurry, "even if I want eleven kids?"

"You scare me," he chuckles, "but if you want eleven, then I'll give you eleven."

And you'd kiss him, but he's talking again.

"On one condition," stealing a chaste peck from your lips, reading your mind so, so easily, "you gotta quit tellin' everyone I'm dead."

Beaming, you lean up to catch him again, savoring how those chapped lips feel against your own, bitten and swollen, "I think I can live with that." 

Voices echo just outside of the building; men, multiple of them, maybe five or six. An icy hand grips your heart like a vice. Squeezing. Sending snow flurries tumbling through your body. Shit, shit, shit. 

The bartender's coming back. 

"I don't—" tripping over your own tongue, "do I? Now?"

"If you think you can do it quick enough," but he already knows you can because he's stepping back before his sentence is finished. 

But that ice has already settled in, and as you pull on these thick, cold bars, you find that you've got the key in the ignition, but you can't turn it. Again. Harder this time. An old engine in your gut twitching and grinding as it attempts to start. No dice.

A tingle is settling into the tips of your ears. Familiar. Telling. You've almost, almost got it. Metal groans as it distorts. Muscles trembling with the effort of it all. But you can only move them an inch at best. Not enough for Rhett to squeeze through.

The front door handle rattles. 

"Hold on," licking the pads of his index and middle fingers, he reaches behind your neck. Wet fingers find two pressure points at the base of where your neck meets your skull, pressing down. 

A shiver ripples down your back. Shaking pools of fire from the crevices of your spine, flooding your bloodstream until your eyes glow with it. Is that your heart or a heavy fist beating on the front door? You can't tell.

That old iron squeals as you bend it. Ears pinned. Jaw clenched under the strain of it. 

Ears pinned.

Shit.

"Maybe I gave you a little too much juice," rambling, Rhett squeezes through the gap you've created. He just barely fits through, "how long?"

Something heavier strikes the front door as you scurry out the back; you've no idea where you're going. Have no memory of when Rhett grabbed your rapidly warming hand. Winding past corner after corner, a maze that doesn't guarantee a safe exit. With every step, your heart rises higher into your throat. Fragile; one wrong move, and you'll burst. Every inch of your skin tingles, invisible pins and needles prodding at you. 

"Few seconds," your voice is already fading. 

Wood splinters as you take a hard right. Racing down a hallway that's identical to the one you were just in. Are you going the right way? How is Rhett so sure that you're supposed to go left here?

Joints are starting to swell. Difficult to move, like they've been filled with putty. In your mouth, your tongue feels too large, so heavy that you can't form a word. 

Rounding another corner, your vision begins to collect with spots. Static clouding your vision. Foreign voices are yelling for you to stop. Rhett's saying something about 'this is the one, this is the door'. And it doesn't matter if this is the door or not.

because you can't stop moving.

Your shoulder hits something heavy. It should hurt. You know it should. But the feeling is lost to the overwhelming ringing in your ears as you burst out the door. Muscles shift. Bones crack as something familiar washes through your body. 

Time stops. 

Or at least, it feels like it does. Hyperaware of every little pop and crackle of bone and muscle, how delicious it feels to stretch these muscles after weeks of disuse. 

The next time your eyes open, your view of the world has shifted. Higher than before, too aware of the newly formed snout in front of you. 

"Come on," someone's tugging on the leather harness around your torso; Rhett, "come on!"

Stumbling over your own four feet, you start to move, racing alongside him toward the back of the building. It's a straight shot out of town from here. You can come back for the money in the milk crate—

something whizzes past your ear. 

No, no, no, that's the Sherriff. 

Spinning on your heels. Turning back. Rhett skitters past you. Unable to come to a stop. Fuck, fuck, fuck. People are spilling out of their homes. Men, women, and children alike. All to watch the spectacle of a wolf and an outlaw. Fuck, fuck, fuck, where do you go?

Your answer comes in the form of a tug on your harness, a familiar weight settling on your back. There is only one man on this earth who is crazy enough to climb on top of a wolf. Firm legs squeeze on your ribcage. 

Forward. 

Blindly, you follow his lead, unsure of where he's sending you. Dirt kicks up under your feet, sending a plume of it floating through the air like a veil. The main stretch of town isn't but five paces ahead of you. 

There's pressure on your left.

Veering in that direction, a stray bullet whizzes overhead. The tip of your left ear begins to sting. It's impossible to focus on. Not when your sharpened gaze fixates upon a familiar grey cowboy hat. There's a face you don't want to see.

"Perry?" Rhett echoes your thoughts.

A tacky button-up jumps out in front of you. Arms outstretched. Rhett's weight shifts left. Heavy enough to send you moving leftward too. The man's fingertips graze your flank. Nothing more. 

"Stop!" Perry's shouting, waving his hands above his head, "stop!"

Rhett's ears aren't sharp enough to pick up on it. You're unsure if he'd listen, even if he could hear that far. The fragments of a buckshot squeal past. Once on your right. Then overhead. Perry's not moving. Rhett's not telling you to stop.

Five strides away. Raising your head uncomfortably high.

Four. Bracing for impact.

Three.

Perry realizes your intentions too late. His head knocks painfully against your breastbone. Knocks the breath from your lungs. With an audible thunk, his back hits the ground. Below your feet, his body is surprisingly squishy. 

If anyone asks, you didn't realize he was there.

By the time you stumble into another town, dark has fallen. You've long since returned to your former body, dressed in nothing but Rhett's button-down. The remnants of your dress are nothing but tatters, clinging to your exhausted frame. Had you known you'd be doing this, you would have planted a bag of clothes to pick up on your getaway. 

"Have those ears gone down, Princess?" Rhett's hands squeeze your naked thighs, where they're wrapped snuggly around his hips. 

The left one twitches; God, that's sore. "Not yet," though you're hesitant for them to morph back. Still processing that you're now missing the tip of your left ear. 

It's hard to miss the big 'Hotel' sign that displays proudly at the edge of town, just as visible as Perry had been when you ran him over. You hope you broke a few of his ribs. Maybe an arm. Something he'll have to live with the pain of.

"Tail?" His question is met with a swift thump from the foreign appendage right against the curve of his ass. 

Squirming, you pull yourself a little higher, eager to leech off more of his body heat. Your chin is sore from resting on his hard shoulder, and there's only one other place you know to rest your head.

"What're you doin'?" Rhett's words are slightly distorted from how you've squished your cheek against his, rough stubble tickling your sensitive skin. 

"Capitalizing on the situation," shivering at the breeze that wanders under your meager clothing, "you haven't cuddled me in three weeks, mister." 

That get's him; it always does. 

Dramatic, he rubs his cheek against yours, grinning when you giggle and return the motion. Every second of it is worth the irritation it may cause to your skin later; it's been so long since you've seen those hooded eyes crinkle, can't remember the last time you got lost in the sea of those ocean blues. 

Just before reaching the hotel, Rhett stops, "think those little legs can hold ya up now?" Even though he's asking it, he lets you squirm down from his back. There's only one way to find—

your ass hits the dirt. Tail pinned between you and the ground, each and every muscle in your legs cramping. This whole wolf thing was a design flaw.

"Guess I got my answer," as if you weigh nothing, Rhett scoops you back up, cradling you in his arms. Limp, your legs dangle, skin twitching with the worst of the cramps. In hindsight, maybe you should have at least stretched before you, and your husband decided to play horse and cowboy. 

"Are you about to put me between these shrubs?" You chirp, painfully aware of the answer. 

"Yes, ma'am," placing you between the two towering plants, he ruffles your ears, the motion flopping them back and forth, "can't have no outlaws gettin' ahold of ya, now can I?"

He doesn't leave you there for too long. But it gives you enough time to fully take in your surroundings. This town is large, you've barely even seen a quarter of it, but it's uniquely quiet. Residents have long since tucked into their beds, ready for tomorrow to come. The only sign of life is the light that peers through the windows of the local saloon, a muffled piano playing, accompanied by the cheers of a couple of men singing about a ball of fire.

They seem to be having a great time.

"Room eighty-six," Rhett announces, and to any onlookers, they'd probably think he's talking to a bush, "you look mighty cozy down here." 

"Man," pouting as he scoops you up again, "I was just starting to make friends with these guys."

There's nothing quite like the struggle of trying to unlock a door while you're being carried like a bride, but you make it work. Only dropping the key when you're halfway into the room. 

The next thing you're aware of is your body soaring through the air. Stomach curdling as you fall into the soft mattress, surrounded by the fluffy comforter. 

"Did you just throw me?" Incredulous, you sit up, mouth agape. 

That shit-eating grin of his is all the proof you need; guilty as charged, "What can I say? You're the perfect size for tossin' on beds."

Your ears flatten against your head, "quit calling me little."

Bending down to meet your eye, Rhett reaches out with a singular index finger. You know it's coming, but you're too stunned to dodge it.

The asshole bops you right on the nose.

"But you're my little wolf," he says it so innocently that you nearly drop the argument right here and now. 

Your legs may be out of order for the time being, but there is no amount of exhaustion that can stop you from grabbing the collar of his shirt and yanking him down, falling into a messy heap on the bed. Devilish hands dance at your sides in perfect unison with his laughter.

"Big mistake, darlin'," placing big, wet kisses against your exposed neck, making you squeal. 

Heels digging into the bed, you try to push yourself out from under him. Those tired muscles are giving it everything they've got, slipping out from his grasp with surprising speed as you roll over onto your belly. You've still got some fight left in you.

"Ah, ah, ah," he tuts, and his hands catch on your harness, yanking you right back down, "where you think you're goin'?"

Fuck this stupid fucking enchanted harness. You knew it would bite you in the ass one of these days. Floundering only makes it worse; because he takes hold of the base of that flailing tail of yours and squeezes. 

The gasp that it wrenches out of you is so instinctive that you hardly realize it was you who made the noise.

"Sweet, sweet little wolf," there's pressure between your shoulder blades, pushing you into the mattress. Ass in the air, all for him to see. "Look at you, so fuckin' pretty in my shirt."

It's hard to miss how he makes sure to tuck your tail between your legs when he leans down to rest his body against yours. There has only been one instance where he hurt you by trapping it between your bodies, but he's made sure never to let it happen again. Wet kisses pepper over your neck, sucking gently beneath your ear in that annoying fashion that makes heat blossom in your core.

"Rhett—" 

"Y'can play coy all you want," teeth nipping where ear meets skin, "but that little tail's a waggin'." Curse your instincts.

Canting your hips back into his, you crane your neck to the side, swallowing his groan with a kiss. The angle strains your neck, not made to be turned in such a way, but you can hardly focus on it. Rhett's lips taste like heaven, entertaining so delicately with yours that it quiets all the noise rattling around your head.

"You'd best be careful with those hips of yours," he grumbles, though there's no attempt to stop you from blatantly grinding on his rapidly hardening cock, "or I might wind up givin' you that baby earlier than you thought."

Your tail smacks his inner thigh. "Maybe that's what I was wanting you to do."

And that is the last thing you say before your back is hitting the bed again, head spinning to catch up. The moment your thighs part, he's settling between them, hips forcing them wide. Oh, it's been so long since the last time you've felt that pressure between your legs, old jeans rubbing against what little of your panties remain. 

"Yeah?" God, those eyes have nearly gone black, "that what you want me to give ya?"

Nod.

For a hot, burning second, he's quiet; you can practically see those gears turning in his head. Did he just realize you were being serious?

He grabs the edge of a pillow. "Lift your hips." You don't know what for, but you obey.

Oh.

The pillow feels strange beneath your hips, forcing your back into the most delicate of arches, putting you on display for his greedy eyes to swallow up. The pillow is pretty flat, but it feels massive at this angle. 

You hardly expect the gentleness that comes with this. How carefully Rhett comes to lay on top of you, tummies pressed together as he drowns you in another kiss. Fitting against you so perfectly, shoulders just broad enough to cage you in, hands that know you like when he rubs behind your ear. You're far from a feline, but he just about makes you purr against his lips. 

Nothing can stop you from tangling your fingers in the curls that rest against his neck, drinking in that heavy grumble as his mouth opens to yours. A little swipe of his tongue against yours, retreating, before he comes back even bolder, tilting his head to the side to properly explore you.

Nails bite into his shoulders as hips grind against yours, jean-clad cock so close to where you want him. Taunting enough to make your head spin with want and need.

Then he's leaning back, peeling that white t-shirt from his body, distracting your hungry eyes with miles upon miles of perfect, milky-white muscle. The curve of his pectoral fits perfectly in your hand, jumping when you flick your thumb over a dusky pink nipple. 

"Don't know why we even kept these on ya," one little pull is all it takes for the fabric of your panties to give way, mere shreds of what once was. 

It's almost strange not to see him fumble with one of his gaudy bull rider buckles, too big for practicality but not big enough to carry the smugness of placing number one in this past season. Just big enough to confine the heavy cock that falls free as he steps out of his jeans, smacking against his thigh.

"'ts the matter?" Cocky as ever, "fixin' to start droolin'?"

"Uhuh," shameless. Absolutely fucking shameless. Shaken into a stupor over the sight. 

A wandering index finger slides up between your folds, glistening in the poor lighting of this hotel room, and rises to Rhett's thin lips. He smiles at your taste.

That dripping head nudges against your entrance, applying enough pressure to feel you flutter but not enough to press in. On their own, your hips squirm, changing the angle and letting him slide up between your lips. Oh, that's—that's different.

"'Dya like that?" Tentative, he does it again, length messaging your neglected, swollen clit. "That tail of yours is just a goin'." 

All on its own, it thumps back and forth between his thighs, unable to get a full swing in. One of these days, you'll remember to control it, but today isn't that day. How are you meant to stop when he chuckles at how it's tickling him?

"What would you do if my tail weren't there to tell you what I liked?" Intentionally flicking it up to smack against his heavy balls. God, how his breath hitches at that. 

Your smug satisfaction is short-lived, cut off by the blunt mushroom tip that pushes into you, forcing your lips to part with a gasp. Completely bare, raw, withnothing there to stop him from delivering upon that promise he made. You've done it like this before, but something about the intent makes it feel so much different. 

"Fuck," bracing his weight with his right hand, planted next to your head, while his left traces the stretch of your quivering entrance. You can only imagine how obscene this must look from his perspective; those eyes shamelessly fixated on how he disappears inside. 

Easing into you inch by inch is an overstatement because Rhett's moving millimeter by excruciatingly slow millimeter. And you are going to lose your ever-loving mind if he doesn't hurry up.

"Patience, wolf," he hisses, although, by the sounds of it, he's struggling with the concept of patience himself, "don't want you sore for the next round."

Blink. 

Double blink.

"What?" Leaning all the way down now, forearms caging you in as he touches the tips of your noses together, "don't tell me you thought I'd only cum in you once, darlin'."

Riled up by his own words, he slides deeper, quicker, fat head nudging against a little bundle of nerves on its way past. It's impossible to stop the high-pitched whine that ripples up from your chest, spasming around him as his hips become flush with your own. 

"At this rate," you're trying to hit him with your tail again, but it's disappeared; only those expressive ears remain, perked high on your head, "we'll be dead by round two."

Rhett's not the wolf here, but he's the first to growl. You know you've gotten into his head when he wrenches his hips back, leaving you so abruptly empty that you worry he's pulled out completely. Only for him to slide back in so fucking slowly. Has you squirming by the time you feel his swollen balls meet with your ass again.

"So tight for me, sweetie, fuck, you feel good," starting to work his hips properly now, still irrationally slow, each meeting of your hips so sharp that the room resonates with the sound of your bodies smacking together. "Y'like that? All nice and slow?"

Whimpering, you nod, hands smoothing up his biceps and across his shoulders, nails biting into what skin they can get ahold of. Careful not to draw blood, though Rhett's never complained about having any more marks added to the catalog of scars he carries.

"Can you tell—" cut short by a thrust that rips the words right out of your mouth, "can you tell that I haven't been fucked in a while?"

As if to return for the way your nails are raking down his back, he nips at your jaw, tugging the skin between his pearly white teeth, "believe me, you ain't goin' that — oh, that fuckin' long ever again."

Soothing over the freshly bitten area with a kiss, Rhett leans back onto his haunches. Big hands seizing each of your thighs, guiding them up until your legs are properly hitched on his broad shoulders. 

"I know I said I was goin' slow," his eyes fluttering as he picks up his pace, "but I can't hold back when it comes to this cute little pussy of yours."

The pillow is doing you no favors, tilting your hips to the perfect angle as he starts to fuck you in earnest. Nothing can stop the way he massages that gooey spot that never fails to make you whine into the open air, your sounds dancing with the deep, guttural sounds you're downright milking from the cowboy. 

A calloused thumb nudges past your parted lips, pacifying your cries as you suck on it, working the pad of it like you would the head of his cock.

"That's a good girl," his praise makes your ears flutter with pride; your tail is back by its own accord, wagging double-time like you're a goddamn labrador, "so sweet for me."

Those grunted words travel directly between your legs, heat stirring as you feel yourself grow wetter. Even more so when he plucks his thumb from your lips and begins to work over your neglected clit, rubbing the swollen little button in tight little circles that never give you a chance to recover. You've nothing but the sheets to ground yourself with, clutching the fabric so tightly that you fear they'll rip.

"Look at you, little wolf," he marvels, in absolute awe of the sight below him, "fuck, you're gonna look so beautiful, all swollen with our baby."

You can't tell if it's due to his words or the slight change in angles, plush head kissing a certain little bundle of words, but whatever it is, it's got your legs trembling around Rhett's shoulders. They can hardly stay up, shaking so hard that they slip right off. Only allowing Rhett to come back down to meet your lips, giving you no escape from how his cock plows right into you.

"Gonna fill this little pussy of yours up with my cum," and that's not just a warning that he's murmuring against your mouth; it's a promise, "over and over, until your cunt is so swollen and sore that you can't take any fuckin' more of me."

Humming, you force your quivering legs to hook around his hips, heels digging into his ass, "please, Rhett—ah~!" That thumb is spinning harder against your clit. Too much, too much, but not fucking enough. 

"Jus' keep takin' my cock for me," the motion of his hips are becoming unstable, falling out of their rhythm, "'m breed you like y've been beggin' me to."

And he doesn't need to tell you he's close; those breathy little grunts are enough of a sign all on their own. Each whispered, thrown-away obscenity kindling the fire that's growing in your core, cinching you tighter and tighter around his fat length. His thumb is falling off your clit, gripping your hip to prevent you from sliding up the bed, but that doesn't matter.

Teeth sinking into that pretty collarbone, clenching and unclenching around him. Electricity rippling from the tips of your toes up to where he's ruining you, your eyes fluttering into the back of your head as you cum around his cock. Muscles tighten, trembling so hard that you can feel the shockwaves up in the tips of your ears. 

So completely, utterly lost in the abyss of it all that the shaky moans you're working out of Rhett feel like heaven. His hips stall as an unfamiliar heat spurts against your swollen walls, filling you so, so well.

You can't move as your orgasm leaves; it takes all of your energy with it. So exhausted that it takes you a moment to hear the 'I love you's that Rhett is whispering into your skin, following each reminder with a chaste kiss. 

"Y'still with me, little wolf?"

Weakly, you nod, "uhuh."

That earns you an amused chuckle that shakes his whole body, reminding you of the length that's still lodged deep inside of you. Your eyes flicker to where your bodies meet; how obscene it looks to be split open on him, even after you've both cum.

"G'na stay in you," running his thumb against your cheek, Rhett smiles with all the sweetness of a pound of sugar, "can't risk any drippin' out, now, can we?"

"I can handle a little risk," flicking your tail up to smack him in the ass, can't help but laugh when he jumps, "just means you'll have to cum in me again."

Rhett rolls his eyes so hard that he winds up giving himself a migraine.

"Excuse you."

Rhett stops in his tracks, a deer in headlights, as he peeks back around the corner, "did I knock another pillow out your nest?"

No, your pillows are all accounted for, and so are your blankets and the box of snacks by the freshly built bedside table. You're not worried about those, even in the slightest. The silence only serves to make your husband nervous, placing the cardboard box he's carrying onto the floor.

"Darlin'?"

It's impossible to fight the shit-eating grin that spreads across your face, "come here."

He's got no idea what you're summoning him for, but those shoulders visibly drop as he crosses the room. Clueless as you take his big hand and guide it to your swollen belly. 

Those eyes of his go comically wide. "Good lord, 'r those little bank robbers havin' a brawl in there?" God, you hope they have his eyes.

"They've been keeping me up ever since you left," you'd roll onto your back, but you're genuinely concerned about what organs they'd crush, "make your kids quit heckling me."

There's that laugh you were looking for, so completely amused by the little kicks against your poor belly. He's got nothing to say, too busy leaning down to press kisses to your tummy, chuckling with every unruly kick. There's no telling how many are in there; Rhett's thinking two, but you're concerned that there's a third hiding next to your liver. Or, it could be just one very, very unruly baby with just as much rebelliousness in them as their father.

"I know y'ain't fixin' to listen to me," he says, in between kisses, "but please quit kickin' the over lovin' hell out of your momma's belly."

Another kick. You think that one was aimed at his nose.

"We've got our work cut out for us," your words strained around a yawn, watching contentedly as he settles down next to you. 

It's hard to cuddle when you're this pregnant, but Rhett's figured out how to comfortably make it work. Foreheads pressed together, one hand reaching over to rub the back of your neck, ghosting over your ear on its way. It's a strange feeling; you don't think you'll ever adjust to having the tip of it missing.

"Can't be any worse than what adventures we used to get up to," can robbing the wealthy be compared to raising children? 

Another yawn overtakes you, lasting so long that those damned wolf ears spring out. Curse pregnancy and making it so easy to shift forms that you do it by accident.

"I hope they get your little wolf thing," Rhett muses, scratching behind them, "I can hear the little tails thumpin' already."

That...might be your own tail that he's hearing. Thumping away against the mattress, such a common thing as of late. In the past, it would have bugged you, but Rhett loves it so much that you can't hate it. 

"Do you want me to stay and take a nap with you?" 

Practically purring, you nod, "you just read my mind."

You can't reach your favorite blanket, a fluffy, pale pink thing that was given to you by the elderly couple next door. Rhett's got it, pulling the material up over your exhausted frame and tucking it in. The wife really wasn't kidding when she said it was the perfect thing to snuggle up in, warm but not too much so. 

Rhett's chest is the perfect pillow to snuggle up in; big, inviting and made just for you. He presses a kiss to your forehead, "I'll be here when you wake up, little wolf."

"Thank you, Mister Outlaw."

[flowercrown-bard]

Flora and –yikes! - Fauna

pairing: Geralt/Jaskier

word count: 3k

read on AO3

thank you @kitcatkim for letting me use your idea with the two flower crowns <3

summary: Jaskier is making flower crowns, naturally. Too bad no one warned him that bugs like to swarm around flowers

Content warnings: bugs, insects

--- "Geralt, wait!"

Jaskier didn't give Geralt the chance to protest or grab the scruff of Jaskier's neck to keep him in place. As Jaskier ran towards the wildflowers blossoming in a patch next to the road he could practically hear Geralt rolling his eyes in the way he grunted.

"Jaskier, we can't keep stopping every other minute just for you to gather flowers." Despite his words, Jaskier could hear him bring Roach to a halt. "What are you even going to do with them? Don't tell me you spent your last coin on a vase."

Jaskier huffed indignantly but didn't bother turning around to fix Geralt with a glare.

"Of course I didn't. If you please to remember, I used it to buy some more bandages because someone didn't bother to restock before rushing into a hunt."

"I remember," Geralt grumbled but there was something strange in his tone. Something that wasn’t gruff or dismissive at all. Something that might have even been the exact opposite of that. Jaskier couldn't name it but it made his heart skip a beat. "But fine. We can take a break. Roach could use it anyway."

She didn’t. She was stubborn enough to make it known when she wanted or needed to slow down and she had done no such thing since the last time Jaskier had made them stop.

"Make sure she doesn't eat my flowers," he called over his shoulder.

His smile widened as he plucked the most beautiful blue flower and added it to his already impressive collection. Maybe he had gathered too many flowers, but how was he to know how many he needed? He had never done this before. It wasn't as if he could just pluck flowers out of flower pots at Oxenfurt and he would rather not dismay a town's residents by raiding their gardens.

Besides, no garden could grow such beautiful flowers as blossomed on their own in the wild. At least that's what Jaskier hoped Geralt would think. He never seemed to appreciate the carefully cultivated beauty of cities when instead he could have the open road and woods.

Jaskier eyed his flowers critically. Though most of them had differently shaped and shaded blossoms, most of them were blue. Perfect to bring out his eyes. Hopefully. Surely.

Satisfied and a little giddy, Jaskier marched over to Geralt and thrust the flowers into his hand.

"Hold this," he said, fighting the unreasonable blush that crept up his cheeks.

Geralt's brows pinched together in confusion and he looked almost flustered. Still, he didn't hesitate to close his hand around the flower stems, perhaps a little too tightly, as if he was afraid of them falling if he didn't clutch them in a death grip.

"I-Jaskier, what are you-"

"I need both hands to do this," Jaskier explained and began searching for the best flower to begin with. Not that he had any idea what constituted as a perfect starter flower, but as long as he scrutinised the bouquet, he surely looked competent and there was nothing more attractive than a person who knew what they were doing.

Geralt frowned. "And what exactly is it you need both hands for?"

"Why, making a flower crown, of course." Jaskier beamed up at Geralt and randomly pulled a flower out of Geralt's grip to begin. "I mean, really, it's a shame that I haven't thought if this before. But a bard out there in the wilderness without flowers on his head? That's just wasted potential."

Geralt gave an amused hum. "Are you sure you want to put flowers on your head?"

"Absolutely." Jaskier's voice left no room for argument. "I am going to look beautiful with it."

Geralt is going to look at him and think him beautiful.

"What does it matter? There's no one here to impress."

Jaskier's hands faltered and just for a second his eyes darted up to glare Geralt.

"Who says I want to impress anyone?" His voice definitely didn't waver and there was no way to interpret his words as defensive. "Can't I just want to be pretty for the sake of being pretty?"

Geralt grumbled something dismissively. It was wishful thinking, but to Jaskier is almost sounded like "You don't need flower crowns for that."

More to hide his burning face than anything else, Jaskier turned his attention back to the flowers and started weaving - or rather chaotically knotting – them together.

Geralt let him work in silence, but whenever Jaskier glanced up to pull another flower out of the bouquet, he found Geralt's eyes on him. It made his neck feel hot and his chest tight.

Somehow, as if by some miracle, he finished the flower crown. It wasn't stunning by any means, but it was passable. Kind if pretty even. Actually, for a first try it was downright amazing.

Filled with excitement about his craft, Jaskier hopped the crown around his arm so he'd have both of his hands available again and made to work on Geralt's crown.

"Looks like you got too many flowers," Geralt said, lips twitching up.

"Don't be ridiculous." Jaskier rolled his eyes good naturedly and bound some more flowers together. "I'm making a second crown."

"You know Roach will eat the flowers before you'll be able to put them on her head.”

Jaskier's hands froze and his heart jumped into his throat. He had forgotten to ask Geralt if he even wanted a crown. Judging from how he didn't even think about wearing the crown himself, it was quite clear just how much he didn't want it.

Jaskier's eyes went to Roach, silently begging her for help, but the horse was just munching on some grass, giving him an unimpressed and perhaps slightly judgemental look.

"It's not for Roach." Jaskier blurted, thoughts stumbling over each other to find an excuse. "It's for me. They’re both for me. Obviously. Why would I wear just one crown if I could have two and be doubly pretty, am I right?"

He grinned at Geralt in a way that begged please kill me now and let this embarrassment be over. But Geralt didn't grant him that mercy but at least he didn't call him out in his nonsense either. Instead his lips quirked up and he handed Jaskier another flower, unprompted.

While working on the second crown, Jaskier started talking again. One might also say he was rambling. Anything to distract Geralt from the way Jaskier's cheeks were bright red and he was still cursing himself for his stupidity on the inside.

He told Geralt about how he had always wanted to wear flower crowns ever since he had read a story book about a princess with flowers in her hair as a child.

Occasionally, Geralt would grace his tale with a hum or a barely noticeable upwards quirk of his lips.

Jaskier took that as encouragement. He continued to talk about how his sisters used to wear flower crowns when they were young, about how Jaskier had always been envious about how pretty they looked with pink, blue and yellow flowers in on their heads. He reminisced about all the times he gifted flower crowns to his dance partners during Belleteyn and never got any in return.  

More than once it looked as if Geralt was going to open his mouth, but then he always thought better of it and contented himself with listening to Jaskier.

It was only when Jaskier eventually ran out of flower related things to talk about that Geralt spoke up again.

“You’re getting better,” he commented, nodding towards the now finished second crown.

Jaskier’s face lit up but he forced his voice to sound nonchalant and teasing. “Why Geralt, is that a compliment?”

Geralt’s lips twitched. “Don’t let it go to your head.”

“Oh, that’s exactly where it’s going.” Jaskier winked and put both crowns on his head.

He felt a little stupid wearing both of them, but the sheepishness was quickly overshadowed by the giddy excitement of finally making his childhood dream come true.

A small giggle escaped Jaskier and he didn’t care how silly he probably looked; there was just too much joy bubbling up inside him that needed to be released somehow. He twirled and threw his head back laughing. Quickly he realised his mistake, when the crowns threatened to fall off. His hands flew to the flowers to hold them in place.

When he came to a stop, he found Geralt’s eyes fixed on him with an unexpected softness, though he quickly schooled his face into a neutral expression when he caught Jaskier’s eyes. It wasn't fast enough for Jaskier to miss and try how he might, Geralt would never be able to hide such a fond look from Jaskier.

"So?" Jaskier made a point of fiddling with the crowns as if he was righting a fancy little hat. "How do I look?"

Geralt contemplated him a long moment with a complicated expression. "Happy."

Jaskier's moth went dry. The way Geralt had said it made it sound like he meant so much more.

"Geralt-"

He let go of the crowns, but the universe saved – or damned - him from doing something stupid like take Geralt's face in his hands and kiss him. Now that he wasn't holding onto the flower crowns anymore, they immediately fell over his eyes.

Jaskier let out a little noise of surprise that very much wasn't an undignified squeak.

Geralt chuckled and had Jaskier not been squeezing his eyes shut to avoid having leaves poke them, he would have glared at Geralt.

As if was, he found that he couldn't be upset even when Geralt was making fun of his misfortune. Geralt's laugh was too beautiful a sound to ever want him to stop. Especially if Jaskier was the one making him laugh.

"Guess there were too many flowers after all," Geralt said and Jaskier could practically hear his smug smile.

Jaskier tried to lift the crowns, but he couldn't tell where one ended and the other began and he absolutely wasn't going to risk them falling apart because he tugged on the wrong one.

"I just miscalculated a little," Jaskier grumbled, but his own lips were stretched wide grin. "You know you could do the noble thing and save me from my predicament."

Almost immediately he felt the lightest touch on his cheek. For a second, Jaskier's heart sped up at how tenderly Geralt was touching him. But then it hit him.

Even if Geralt ever were to caress his cheek softly, he would not be able to do it that softly. In fact, the touch was so light it almost tickled.

Jaskier furrowed his brows and his heart began racing in earnest for a very different reason.

"Geralt?"

Something buzzed right next to his ear. Something that sounded very big and very crawly.

"Geralt!" Jaskier almost shrieked, but all the reply he got from Geralt the traitor was another laugh.

Another light touch as something landed on his skin, this time on his hands.

Immediately, he pulled them away from the flowers and clutched them protectively against his chest. He needed his hands. He couldn't let some insect sting his fingers.

He wanted to call out for Geralt again, demand that he help him, but the bug on his face chose that moment to crawl closer to his lips.

Jaskier snapped his mouth shut and held his breath.

"Now there's that blessed silence," Geralt teased as if he didn't even notice the danger Jaskier was in.

Mentally, Jaskier took back everything he had thought before. Right now he wanted to wipe away the smirk that undoubtedly was on Geralt's face. And if Geralt didn’t stop laughing, Jaskier was going to write the most scathing song about him, once he could open his mouth again.

Oh gods, but what if keeping his lips pressed together wasn't enough? What if one of those crawling things decided to go up his nose?

The buzzing around his head got louder. More insects landed on him and Jaskier could do nothing but keep his eyes and lips shut and pray none of the insects were dangerous.

He was tense as a bow string and his heart was thumping like a rabbit’s foot hitting the ground.

He could feel tiny legs all over him, could hear nothing but that horrible buzzing. He couldn't stop the whimper that escaped him.

"Jaskier?" All traces of humour were gone from Geralt's voice. In fact, he sounded concerned.

Oh. Oh no. If Geralt was worried, that could only mean that something truly bad was happening. Maybe one of the bugs had a venomous bite. Maybe one of the things on Jaskier's head was the larva of a giant centipede. Maybe one of them was a were-bug and Jaskier would get turned into a disgusting insect himself!

Jaskier wanted to leave. He just wanted to go back to civilisation where he was safe from those tiny monsters. Adventure be damned. Inspiration be damned. Flower crowns be damned. He would be happy if he'd never have to see another insect again. If being pestered by swarms of insects was the prize for walking the Path, Jaskier would not shed a single tear abandoning it. Good riddance.

If only that didn't mean that he'd also lose Geralt...

"Jaskier?" Geralt repeated, softer this time. He sounded closer.

Strangely enough, the touch if the insects disappeared and got replaced by another sense of tickling, but this was one warm and almost glowing. It washed over his skin and spread wider around him. Slowly, the buzzing grew more distant until it disappeared fully.

A warm hand brushed Jaskier's temple and the crowns were pushed back onto the top of his head where they belonged. Well, we're one of them belonged.

Carefully, Jaskier opened his eyes again. He let out a tiny gasp and then his breath got stuck again for a different reason. Geralt was standing surprisingly close to him, their chests almost touching. The hand not occupied with the flower crowns was twisted into an uncomfortable looking shape.

Quen.

A dome of warm golden light surrounded them. Jaskier hadn't known the sign could be used to keep bugs at bay, but as far as he was concerned insects did definitely count as fiendish enemies and he wasn't about to complain about the protection. Especially not since Geralt was looking at him with his brows knitted together in soft worry and his hand left the crowns to caress his cheek instead.

"I take it the story about the princess didn't warn you about the bugs?" Te corner of Geralt's lips twitched into a half-smile.

Jaskier shook his head and swallowed. "No, definitely not." He leaned into Geralt's touch. It was warm and comforting and Jaskier never wanted him to let go again.

Maybe... Maybe if this touch was the reward he got for bravely withstanding the terror of the insects, he could face the bugs again sometimes. Maybe. Perhaps being in nature wasn't too bad if he had Geralt with him.

"There's one thing the story did teach me, though."

"Oh?" Geralt's brows rose a little.

"At the end the hero gets a kiss." Before his bravery or foolishness could leave him, he leaned forward and pressed the softest kiss against Geralt's lips.

He expected the kiss to be over quickly, little more than a brush if lips, but Geralt's hand on his cheek travelled to the back of his head, holding him close.

Jaskier lifted his own hands, burying them into Geralt's hair. Geralt let out a soft sound and then a second hand found its place at the small of Jaskier's back.

Jaskier pulled back, just enough to speak, his lips nearly brushing against Geralt's with every word.

"Geralt, put the damn Quen back." His eyes narrowed. "I am not kissing you with bugs crawling all over me."

"Perhaps you could give one crown to me and share the burden?"

Jaskier drew back suspiciously. "You mean that?" he asked slowly, his insides twisting in excitement. "You would really wear my flower crown?"

Geralt shrugged. "I don't want you to complain about the bugs and the leaves in your hair," he grumbled, but his eyes shone with a fondness that made Jaskier's heart swell. The hand on Jaskier’s back gave a small squeeze and tugged him closer. "And I happen to like my hand right where it is."

Jaskier lifted his chin defiantly, mischief and another, softer emotion lighting up his eyes. "You can pretend not to like my voice all you want, but you just traded your blessed silence for my comfort. I know where your priorities lie."

Geralt hummed quietly, the smile on his lips getting wider and his thumb caressed Jaskier's cheek, coming to rest at the corner of his lips.

"Maybe I don't mind your voice too much when you're talking about something you like. Or when you're singing. Or laughing." He leaned forward, too fast for Jaskier to react and stole a quick peck. "And I prefer keeping you silent by kissing you."

Jaskier rolled his eyes and snorted. "Who knew you could be such a romantic," he deadpanned and shook his head fondly. "Truly, you know how to charm a man with your words."

"It's working isn't it?"

"Perhaps."

With a mental strength Jaskier didn't know he possessed, he let go of Geralt's hair and lifted one of his flower crowns off his head to put it on Geralt's instead.

For a long moment, he just stared at Geralt, admiring him. The colours of the blossoms contrasted beautifully with Geralt's hair. But that wasn't what took Jaskier's breath away. It was the fact that Geralt actually looked happy like this. Happy to be with Jaskier. Happy to make him happy.

"You know" Jaskier said with smug satisfaction as a bug with shimmering green wings landed on Geralt's forehead, "you're lucky I love you more than I hate bugs."

Geralt snorted. "Now who's the romantic?"

Jaskier could have answered with a quip if he wanted to. He most certainly had multiple quick-witted responses to that.

Too bad that he too liked kissing Geralt's words away.

And so that was what he did.

They only broke away again when Geralt's crown fell into his eyes. Jaskier burst out into a well-deserved laugh at Geralt's dumbfounded look. As much as Jaskier liked kissing him, he found that he also rather liked the way Geralt's eyes lit up when he joined the laughter.

He could get used to this. In fact, as he buried his face in Geralt's chest to stifle his giggles and could feel Geralt's heart beneath him, he knew that he could battle any creepy crawlies if it meant that he got to keep this.

---

tag list: @snowfea @diedfromembarrassmentlikeasim @thebloodletter7 @eleos-fawn @palefuckingmeme @irongal21 (sorry for tagging you unasked, but you seemed to like the idea when I posted it a while ago so I figured you might like this too)

[seyaryminamoto]

Underneath Starlit Skies: Sokkla Saturdays 2021

Day One: Happy Family

On FF.net // On AO3

"Well, goodness. I can't believe he actually pulled it off."

The building awaiting them inland had never seen more beautiful days, Azula had no doubts about that. Few people had seen the Ember Island villa in its previous prime, and only two people out of the many who would spend the week there had any notion of what it had looked like in the past. Yet the decaying estate that had seemed moments away from becoming uninhabitable had been part of yet another of many renewal efforts following the end of the Hundred Years' War: all the weed growing on the roofs had been removed, the rooftiles themselves had been replaced, the gold finish of the crests had been cleansed and renewed, the paint on the walls was vivid again, and the blocked out, old window frames had been replaced by elegantly patterned woodwork that crisscrossed over the glass.

Beyond that, however, Azula found the building itself had been expanded. Her childhood's vacation villa had seemed large when she was but a little girl, but it certainly was much larger now: the grounds around it had been terraformed in current times, allowing the villa to spread wider and larger, with a brand-new annex area that had been build to provide visitors far more rooms to choose from… a necessary luxury, Azula knew, for the countless guests the villa would soon host.

"Huh, so that's the place?" Sokka asked, stepping closer to where she stood, by the ferry's railing, and wrapping an arm around her waist. "Looks… cozy."

"Cozy?" Azula smirked at Sokka's deliberately arrogant declaration. He snickered as she elbowed him gently in the ribs. "Come on, it's practically a palace of its own."

"Maybe, but it's not that fancy once you get used to fancier…" he smirked: he pressed a kiss to the top of his wife's head, and Azula instinctively leaned into him. "You've spoiled me rotten over the years and you know it. I used to be so much humbler…"

"So, I ruined you, is it?" Azula asked, turning in his arms, eyebrows raised skeptically. Sokka snickered and nodded, prompting her to laugh again and shake her head. "You've never known any shame, and I love that about you far more than I should."

"Who says you shouldn't?" Sokka grinned: Azula took his bait, leaning in to press her lips against his…

"Mom, Dad! Ew!"

Their kiss broke off as Azula sighed, glancing hopelessly at Shun: the boy squirmed and stuck his tongue out at their blatant display of affection, as he always did.

"Guess now we know who says I shouldn't," Azula smirked, shaking her head at her son, who pouted stubbornly. Sokka, however, scoffed and waved a hand in Shun's direction.

"Never mind Shun, he's just grumpy I've got your attention for now," Sokka said, proudly. Azula laughed as Shun gasped in outrage. "You'd think he'd be used to it, he sees us doing this all the time, seriously, ALL the time…!"

"He's a stubborn one. Wait until he finds someone to kiss too, we'll return the favor tenfold," Azula taunted Shun, who blushed furiously while Sokka laughed proudly.

"Sounds like a plan," he said

"No! No kissing! I won't kiss anyone!" Shun determined, stubbornly.

"See? That's why your mom comes to me: if you won't even kiss her cheek, I have to make up for it," Sokka declared proudly: Shun was still far too young to learn how to navigate the waters of verbal fencing with his father and Sokka, unlike him, had countless years of training in the arts of how to turn someone's words against them. He had done it thousands of times to Azula… just as she had done it thousands of times to him. Shun, however…

"Ugh!" was the little boy's final, eloquent declaration before he stormed off, pouting irritably, on his way to the side of the ferry where his sisters were.

"Ah, sweet victory…" Sokka smirked, tightening his embrace around Azula.

She couldn't hold back her smile, comfortably nestled in his arms, as her eyes raked their ferry all the way to where the children sat: Hotaru had kept Yuuna distracted with wild tales of hybrid animals, an effective way of ensuring the young waterbender wouldn't do anything chaotic with her powers, such as accidentally building up waves that could disturb the progress of their vessel, or even breaking the hull by practicing her ability to freeze water. She had much to learn yet, but their youngest had a knack for choosing to learn it all at the worst possible timing: Sokka and Azula had taken turns keeping her busy so far, but Hotaru had graciously relieved them from the job at the last leg of their journey. Shun joined the two girls now, sitting on the floor before them, much more interested in listening to his older sister's stories than in watching his parents' relentless displays of affection.

"It feels like we set out barely a few minutes ago…" Sokka smiled, glancing back at the house with amazement. "I really hope our little vacation doesn't go by in a blur. It's been a while since we took any breaks…"

"It has. But now that things have calmed down a bit, I think we could afford doing this sort of thing more often," Azula said, with a weak smile. "Zuko did say he wanted to make this a yearly event, at the very least… he might have to make it more frequently than that, though. Some of our expected guests would surely appreciate taking breaks from the harshness of winter once in a while…"

"For that matter, he ought to rent the house to them in winter so they can flee from the nasty weather," Sokka suggested, with a smirk. "Which could mean we would get two vacations a year… that's a pretty good deal, I think."

"I think so too," Azula said, relaxing comfortably against his chest.

The sea's salty scent, the sun's bright glow, the beauty in the colorful scenery before them… all of it heralded good things, even if Azula suspected it painted a prospect far too good to be true. Even if the years had mellowed them out, she was quite likely to butt heads with her brother over anything and everything… and Sokka was bound to do the same with his own sister, whenever she arrived. Then, there was also the matter of having far too many children, of variable ages, running around within a single house… it was difficult enough keeping track of Yuuna and Shun most days, Azula hardly wanted to imagine how much more difficult it would be to handle their childish antics when combined with those of her brother's children, too… as well as all the kids that might just be part of their grand revelry. At this point, Azula wasn't sure who had confirmed attendance and who hadn't: for once, she had nothing to do with the organization of an event. Zuko had handled everything himself, therefore, she would have nothing to do but kick back and enjoy whatever madness this week had in store for them.

Even the dock, rundown and unusable as it had been the last time Azula had so much as glanced this way in Ember Island, had been rebuilt and strengthened by solid, beautiful workmanship into a magnificent pier: the manatee-whales carrying forward their ferry slowed right beside it, and the activity of the ferry's workers signaled to the children that the journey was finally at an end. As tame as she always was, even Hotaru couldn't hold back the bright smile and enthusiasm that rushed over her upon realizing they had reached their destination.

"Alright, time to reel in our three little storms," Azula smiled, clasping Sokka's hand and yanking him towards the kids, who had already leapt to their feet, beaming brightly.

"That's the house, Mom?" Hotaru asked, gold eyes bright with illusion. "It's amazing!"

"Well, it certainly is now," Azula smiled, nodding as she cast another glance at their destination. "Your uncle's done a surprisingly great job at making it better than it ever was."

"Do I get to pick my room?!" Shun asked, beaming brightly. Azula raised an eyebrow.

"I wonder about that. I mean, there should be enough room for everyone in there, if all repairs and construction were finished on time…" Azula said, tapping her chin. "But I wonder if Zuko has already decided on our sleeping arrangements, beforehand…"

"Like… a room for each family?" Hotaru asked. Sokka winced visibly at the notion.

"No… more like rooms for each set of parents, and the kids can all sleep in the same tiny room," he decided, smirking. Azula rolled her eyes and elbowed his ribs again, prompting him to chuckle… yet it didn't seem the kids were all that displeased by the idea.

"Maybe girls would share, and boys too…?" Hotaru said, smiling.

"Me and Hotaru!" Yuuna exclaimed, wrapping her little arms around her sister's leg. Shun pouted upon realizing he wouldn't be with his oldest sister too, but he crossed his arms over his chest and smiled shortly afterwards:

"That's fine, then! I'll be with Renshu and Iroh!" he declared.

"And Yuudai," said Hotaru, smiling weakly. "I guess he'll have to be in charge of making sure all of you behave yourselves?"

"Heh, I was just kidding around. Who'd have thought they'd actually like that idea…?" Sokka spoke quietly to Azula, who chuckled and shook her head.

"We'll see about all this once we're at the house, kids. Now, then…" she withdrew from Sokka's embrace most unwillingly, yet as disappointed as he was to let her walk away, he knew she meant to speak with the ferry's sailors, ensuring they would bring their luggage safely to the house.

Azula thought they hadn't brought excessive amounts of luggage but, considering the potential chaos that never failed to swirl around children – someone might spill juice over their clothes, any accidents could result in scraped knees or elbows, their possessions could be mixed up with those of their cousins, among countless possibilities –, they never could be too prepared. Each child had a small bag to carry themselves, as Sokka had taught them to pack essentials and carry them in a personal bag for any trip they might take, in case anything unpleasant happened. The two of them had bags of their own… though Sokka, as ever, was carrying his wife's. At this point, Azula was well past the point of trying to reason with him about the futility of letting him carry her emergency supplies, he'd make up any goofy excuse to continue doing it… and in the end, it was rather gallant of him to do so, anyway.

Once she had settled everything with the sailors, Azula finally returned to her family: the ramp that led to the dock had already been set down, and it seemed Shun and Yuuna were ready to race down to solid ground, eager smiles on their faces as Sokka held them back, by the scruff of their respective outfits.

"Ah, Mommy's back now, see?" Sokka smiled at Azula, and the kids grinned brightly too. "We're all stepping down this big ship together, alright?"

"As it should be," Azula determined, stepping up and wrapping an arm around Hotaru's shoulders. Her oldest daughter smiled at the gesture, watching fondly as her younger siblings put on an act of trying to run down the ramp, despite their father still held them back. "Though I have the feeling you three ought to climb down first, not sure Hotaru and I care to compete over who touches land first."

Her words wound up offering her children an idea she hadn't truly planned on giving them: Yuuna and Shun smiled viciously at each other, a telltale sign that chaos was about to begin, and Sokka only had time to yelp before the young waterbender raised a burst of water, hoisted from the sea around them, right into her brother's fistful of flames.

"Ack! No crazy bending, you…! Hey! Hey, now!" Sokka squealed: the resulting steam from his children's joint attack had seen him releasing them from his hold… and now the two kids ran down the ramp, laughing happily, while he pouted at them. "How dare you…?! I should have you grounded! Azula, can I ground them?"

"Asking me for permission to ground them isn't exactly productive when it comes to enforcing your authority, Sokka…" Azula smirked, as Hotaru laughed beside her. Sokka pouted before rising to his feet, hands fisted on his hips.

"Unacceptable! I am going to ground you, yes I will!" he declared, his voice cracking in the typical way it did whenever he was joking.

He strode down the ramp in an awkward gait, and the two kids, already standing on solid ground, only giggled guiltily as he approached them.

"Who'd have thought…? You two, little troublemaking rascals… you're always at each other's throats, but you're the best of friends whenever it's convenient, huh?!" he huffed, stepping down onto the solid ground at the end of the dock. "How shameless. Is this behavior acceptable for the children of Sokka, the great warrior of the Southern Water Tribe?!"

"Yeah!" Yuuna declared, shamelessly, as Shun laughed carelessly beside her. Sokka's eyebrow twitched.

"The fact that you're impossibly cute just… makes it so damn difficult to discipline you. Curse it," Sokka lamented himself, sighing and surrendering by dropping on his knees. "Azula! Make them behave themselves! I am hopeless!"

"What makes you think I'll do any better than you today?" Azula laughed, climbing down the ramp alongside Hotaru. "I have to save up my energies for arguing with my own brother, mind you…"

"And I have to save mine for my sister too," Sokka pouted. "No idea when Katara will get here, though, but still…"

"Aunt Katara!" Yuuna smiled, throwing her hands in the air: a light burst of water burst from the shore, accompanying her movement.

"Uncle Zuko is better!" Shun decided, grinning proudly. Immediately, Yuuna pouted and scowled at her brother.

"Aunt Katara!"

"Uncle Zuko!"

"Aunt Katara!"

"Uncle Zuko!"

Azula rolled her eyes over the pointless argument between the children, even if she did so affectionately, as Sokka rose to his feet again. Hotaru smiled awkwardly, stepping forward between her siblings.

"Now, now, no need to argue about that, you can both love Uncle Zuko and Aunt Katara, you don't need to pick either one…" her attempt to mediate, Azula suspected, wouldn't be all that successful, but the good-natured Hotaru had to try anyway.

"Uncle Zuko is in the house already, right, Mom?" asked Shun, beaming brightly before shooting Yuuna a mischievous smirk. "Race you there!"

"Oh! I'll win!"

"Hey, I didn't say you could get started yet…!"

Yuuna took off in a hurry and Shun wasted very little time following and catching up to her. As he was two years older than his little sister, his legs carried him forward much faster, no matter how short they both were.

"Hey! Slow down, you…! Oh, hell, who do they take after?" Sokka groaned, rubbing his forehead and shaking his head.

"Must be their uncle Zuko," Azula responded, matter-of-factly. Her husband smirked.

"And their aunt Katara," he agreed: both laughed at their devious shirking of any responsibility over the typical arguing between their youngest children. Hotaru smiled and shook her head as well, used to her parents' mischief, a much more contained form of mischief, yet still as entertaining as that of Shun and Yuuna.

As much as their youngest were as wild as ever, Sokka and Azula intended to enjoy this summer escapade as best they could, and that included basking in the mischief their children could weave. They walked the trail Yuuna and Shun had taken off on, with Hotaru in front of them, calling out at her siblings to be careful and sighing hopelessly upon realizing they weren't listening to her at all.

"Now, now, Hotaru… you're not responsible for your siblings' recklessness, we've told you so many times already," Azula said, and Hotaru smiled somewhat shyly at her. Sokka nodded sagely.

"Azula's right, as usual," he said. "Have fun and relax, kiddo. Your mom and I will prevent those two from setting the house on fire…"

"Or flooding it," Azula pointed out, at which Sokka grimaced.

"Zuko would lose his shit if they did, wouldn't he?"

"Now, don't say that or I'll actually want to see it happen…" Azula said, unable to convey her thoughts without breaking over a mischievous snort of laughter. Sokka gasped, though his outrage, as always, was a poor mask for his genuine amusement.

"Come on, now, Azula: play nice or it'll be obvious those two aren't taking after our siblings. Who're we going to fool if you keep laughing at that idea…?" Sokka scolded her playfully, leaning into her ear to speak through an awkward grin… fully aware, of course, that his laughing daughter could hear him, too.

"See why I have to keep tabs on them?" Hotaru laughed. Azula shrugged guiltily, and Sokka's attempt to play the straight-laced father crumbled into dust as he laughed against his wife's cheek. "If only I were half as good at it as Rei is, though… I wish she were here today."

"Hopefully she'll make her schedule work for it the next time," Azula said, with a fond smile. "There's a lot of people who should be here, really…"

"But they have to hold up the fort, right?" Hotaru asked. Azula nodded.

"We'll have to give them some downtime of their own, once we go back home," Azula said. Hotaru grinned and nodded.

"Maybe me, Shun and Yuuna could join them on their vacation too, while you and dad, uh…"

"Work?" Azula asked, amused. Hotaru blushed and shrugged.

"Guess that wouldn't be fair…"

"Oh, it'd be fine, totally fine," Sokka said, squeezing Azula's shoulder. "We'll just pretend we're working while they're gone, Azula, totally. Maybe we can redecorate everything in the silliest of ways, change everyone's belongings from room to room…"

"Well, that sounds hilarious, admittedly, and yet it's still too much work," Azula pointed out. Sokka huffed.

"Then we'll set up pranks! That should be more fun, even if it still takes some effort…"

"Now that does sound appealing…"

"Oh, Mom, Dad…!" Hotaru laughed, looking at them in disbelief as Sokka grinned shamelessly.

"Never underestimate your parents, Hotaru: we're dangerous in ways you cannot even begin to imagine!" Sokka said, menacing. Azula scoffed, shaking her head.

"She'll never believe that about her dork of a father, so you'll have to try a bit harder to sound convincing."

"Oh, but she'd believe it about you, then?" he asked, amused.

"Of course! I'm completely respectable, imposing. Everyone cowers when I amp up my authoritarian side…"

"Heh, I sure as heck don't cower before you."

"Because you lack common sense, obviously, but everyone who doesn't…"

"No, it's actually because, unlike everyone else, I can see right through every last bit of you…!"

"Hey, now. No naughty talk."

"Naughty why? I didn't mean that! Though, uh, now that you mention it…"

"Sokka!"

He laughed deviously again, though he knew better than to press their playful argument any further in that direction: while he and Azula weren't half as careful about their intimate time together as they definitely should be, it seemed they had safely preserved their children's innocence so far. Hotaru shot them a confused glance now, and Azula offered her a tight-lipped, guilty smile as the three of them continued walking in new silence: their eldest had yet to receive the famous 'talk', and Azula wasn't sure whether it was wise to continue putting it off or not. Hotaru stood on the verge of her teenage years as it was, and even if she hadn't developed much of an interest in anything to do with relationships, it was entirely possible her friends and acquaintances might talk about it far more often as she grew older. They'd have to do it sooner or later… but for now, Hotaru and her siblings were better off enjoying their childhood innocence as best as possible.

Yuuna and Shun had reached the building at last, but it was Shun who had climbed the steps faster and reached the front doors first. Yuuna pouted and stomped on the wooden floor in a typical childish tantrum, while her brother stuck his tongue out with a smug smirk.

"Got you!"

"No fair!"

"Gotta run faster next time," Shun shrugged carelessly, and Yuuna huffed, little fists tight: even at a distance, Sokka recognized the vengeful mood of his youngest daughter and rushed faster to the building to, hopefully, deflate the situation.

"Wow, wow, wow, you guys! We're all happy here, all friends, no need to give each other the stinkeye…!" he said, grinning awkwardly as he leapt over the steps that led to the front door. Yuuna huffed, folding her arms over her chest and turning away from Shun. "Oh, Yuuna…"

"I won, Dad!" Shun declared, proudly. Sokka grimaced.

"Yeah, and you're older and bigger than your little sister, so don't make fun of her or else, when she grows up too…"

"I will freeze your boogers!" Yuuna declared. Shun flinched, and Sokka snorted.

"Well, that's creative, but Yuuna, please don't do that," Sokka said: Shun instinctively covered his nose with his hands… then he huffed and lowered them again.

"Joke's on you, because I have no boogers today!" he said: drawing in a deep breath and enjoying the lack of friction between the air and his nose.

"Then I'll take out mine and…!"

"Yuuna…!" Sokka exclaimed, grimacing as he grasped his daughter's shoulders. The stubborn waterbender pouted at him – the hairdo she'd sported hours ago, a perfectly smooth top-knot, had already come undone and frizzed out in every possible direction. "You can beat your brother at something else later, I bet you can! But… wait, that's not even it! You shouldn't be beating him at anything, and he shouldn't beat you at anything either, because we're all family and we're all on the same side! Right, Azula?"

His wife had finally reached them, and to Shun and Yuuna's immediate horror, there was a humorless frown on their mother's face. They both winced, hands behind their backs, and Sokka raised an eyebrow upon realizing Azula had drawn her strongest hand already. Well, so be it…

"Aha. Looks like you're in trouble now, you two," he said to his youngest, with a proud smile. "So… what do we say when we do something out of bounds, or fight over silly things?"

"Sorry, Mom," the two kids chorused. Sokka's eyebrows twitched.

"W-what about me…?" he asked, softly.

Hotaru, behind him, snorted with poorly stifled amusement. Azula, however, stepped forward, still the pristine and perfect image of authority that often was the only thing that could get Shun and Yuuna in line whenever their sibling bickering seemed to reach dangerous heights.

"You are already aware of the terms and conditions for any arguments and conflicts that may arise in this family," Azula said, with her terrifying business voice. Her children winced, and even Sokka gazed at her warily upon hearing it. "Unless I expressly authorize you to resolve your conflicts by your own hand…"

"We must defer to Mom or Dad," Hotaru recited, smiling proudly. Azula nodded.

"Thank you, Hotaru. So… what do you have to say for yourselves?" she asked.

"Shun made fun of me because he won…" Yuuna pouted. Shun huffed.

"Yuuna tried to cheat!" Shun growled.

"If she tried to cheat and you still won, is that really a problem anymore, Shun?" Azula asked. Shun blinked blankly and lowered his gaze. "As for you, Yuuna… as tempting as it can be to pull tricks and pranks on others to get ahead, a victory gained through breaking rules will always be questioned. Do you understand?"

"Yes, Mom…" Yuuna pouted still. Azula breathed deeply.

"If you have anything else to say, this is the time for it," she said, ceremoniously. Sokka smiled, watching as Shun and Yuuna squirmed in front of her.

"Shun… doesn't have any boogers," Yuuna pouted. Shun huffed.

"She said she'd freeze them if I did," he mumbled. "She shouldn't threaten me, right, Mom?"

"Indeed, and you shouldn't goad her into threatening you either," Azula said. Shun pouted but nodded. "If that is all, then it is time I say my piece: as we're all aware, we'll be dealing with actual rivals and enemies once we cross that house's threshold next. It's a whole different world in there than the one we know, dangers of the sort we can't even fathom: our family must stand together if we're to face these threats. If we play pranks, it's on our rivals! If we make fun of someone, it's not of our family, but theirs! If we threaten them…!"

"We shouldn't threaten them!" Sokka scoffed. Azula blinked blankly and tapped her chin.

"Yeah, I guess that wouldn't be acceptable under most circumstances, huh…?"

Her last playful statements had finally broken the very strange tension in the air: both Shun and Yuuna laughed together at their parents' banter, and Azula smirked at them both as they gazed at her with hopeful eyes.

"Either way, just behave yourselves, you two," Azula said, leaning down to pull them in for a hug, one in each arm. Yuuna and Shun let their mother reel them into her arms, comforted and eased immediately by her embrace. "We're here to have fun, after all. We can do that without fighting too much, can't we?"

"Yes, Mom," they said in unison. Azula smiled and pulled back, caressing their soft hair gently… though she focused more on Yuuna's head than Shun's.

"And what did you do to your hair tie this time…?" she asked, with a sigh. Yuuna grinned widely.

"The manatee-whale took it!"

"The manatee-whale…" Azula repeated… then she sighed and shook her head as Sokka laughed, stepping around them on his way to the door. "And why did it take it? It didn't have any hair to tie up, did it?"

"For his daughter!"

"Ah, that makes sense! So very generous of you to share with the manatee-whale! Guess it's a good thing I brought a spare hair tie, then!"

"No! Mommy, no!" the child laughed as Azula snarled playfully and reeled her into her arms.

"Not just one spare, actually: I have about ten, hidden in each bag we brought on this journey! So, no matter what happens, you won't escape from me!" she declared, causing Yuuna to laugh and squirm, reaching for Shun in hopes he'd help her out in this difficult ordeal.

"She's just going to take them off, Mom," Shun said, grinning complicitly at Yuuna, whose wild smile matched her brother's.

"No, no, no! This reckless hair must be tamed! I will accept no other answer!" Azula growled playfully: Yuuna's legs wiggled as Azula held her and, at last, Shun reached out to grab his sister's hands, as though to help her out of their mother's grasp. If her duty as a mother was to become the common enemy for her children to join forces against in order to teach them how to get along, Azula would be all too happy to fulfill it.

Sokka smiled fondly at the silly battle waged between Azula and the two kids: Hotaru stood by quietly, no doubt relieved her siblings had set aside their latest conflict as quickly as they had. Azula typically left the more light-hearted side of parenting to Sokka, who never failed to make fun of himself if that was how he'd make his children laugh and forget their grievances, but whenever her playful side came to light, Sokka's heart could only ache with intense, heartfelt love for the woman he'd married.

Still, they weren't here to play around at the front door: Sokka turned to the twin crimson-and-gold door and reached for one of the knockers… then he smirked and reached for the other one, too. With a mischievous smirk, he swung one forward, pulling the other back and starting a wild, knocking rhythm that immediately cut across Azula's silly spat with Yuuna.

"What…?! Sokka!" Azula scoffed, as he continued to slam the knockers into the door with unnecessary power. "Cut that out!"

"Sorry! What did you say? Can't hear you with how loud this is!" he called back, still slamming the door wildly.

Azula rolled her eyes, setting down Yuuna at last – allowing the child to bask in her victory, with her hair still wild and loose – before marching towards Sokka. The two younger kids laughed loudly at their father's antics, as they always did, while Hotaru covered her face with her hands, giggling into her palms: Azula grabbed Sokka's shoulder upon reaching him, forcing him to spin around and wind up facing her, directly. The guiltiest, yet proudest of grins graced his handsome face.

"Really, now? You just can't see any doors like these without doing that, can you?" she asked, with her eyebrows raised. Sokka let out a goofy laugh before shrugging. "You do realize Zuko fixed this door recently? I don't even know if it's the same one, but whether it is or not, you could've done serious damage…!"

"Eh, I would've paid for the damages if I had to, but this is too much fun not to do, Azula," he said.

"I wanna try it!" Yuuna squealed, rushing up at her father. Shun, tailing her grinned just as madly as his sister did.

"Me too!" he exclaimed, and Azula raised her eyebrows meaningfully at her guilty husband.

"Look at what you've done now. Look at it and regret it for as long as you may live," Azula said, in a dramatic, threatening voice that, naturally, Sokka only took as a joke: he laughed with abandon as his wife shook her head, smiling weakly… and her eyes fell upon her flustered oldest daughter, who stepped closer while eyeing them with light amusement, and with evident bashfulness. "We're all embarrassing Hotaru, see?"

"Oh, come on, Hotaru could never be embarrassed because of me. I'm the coolest dad there is," Sokka declared, proudly.

"Really, now?" Azula asked, smirking.

"Of course! I'd win every belching competition, that's cool as heck!"

Shun and Yuuna laughed harder after that, while Hotaru shook her head and gazed at Azula hopelessly. Azula smiled, reaching out to clasp her shoulder.

"The only one of us with a shred of common sense. What have we burdened you with, my poor child?" she said, reeling Hotaru in for a one-armed hug the girl accepted gladly.

"With laughing myself to tears, apparently," she admitted, hugging her mother back. "It'll be great to see everyone, but I'd never get bored even if it's just the five of us."

"That's great to hear! Means we can start a comedy troupe if we're ever short on money, Azula," Sokka declared, beaming. Azula snorted and shook her head, squeezing his forearm gently…

Just then, the front door swung inwards: the two younger children gasped in delight when a dark-haired girl, close to Hotaru's age, poked her head out the door with curiosity.

"Ah! Uncle Sokka, Aunt Azula!" she exclaimed after an instant, beaming. "I thought, w-well…!"

"That it was a battering ram? Yeah, well, that's what your uncle is like, as you already know," Azula answered: her niece couldn't help but laugh at her explanation regarding the wild knocking, as she pulled the doors fully open, welcoming them inside. "You look lovely, Zi."

"So do you, Aunt Azula!" the girl exclaimed, reaching to embrace her visiting relatives quickly: she started with Azula and moved to Sokka next.

"Look at you, little Zi! Though you're so tall by now that I'm not sure I'll be able to call you that forever," Sokka smiled, embracing his niece tightly. Zi chuckled as she pulled away.

"I doubt I'll ever be taller than you or my dad, though," she said, turning her gaze to her cousins next. "It's so good to see you guys!"

"Hi there, Zi," Hotaru smiled warmly, accepting her own embrace gladly.

"Hey! Hey! Is Uncle Zuko inside?!" Shun exclaimed, jumping excitedly in front of his cousin. Zi let go of Hotaru and smiled at him next, leaning in to hug him far more briefly than she'd hugged the others so far.

"Of course! He's working in the kitchen right now, and he'll be thrilled to know you've arrived!" she said. "He did say you'd likely be impossibly punctual, and he was right to say so."

"I would not stand for anything else. My family keeps its every appointment and sticks to schedule…" Azula declared in a playful, haughty tone. Sokka chuckled, as Zi moved to hug Yuuna next.

"I wonder if Zuko has a whole itinerary planned out for this week, actually…" Sokka said, stroking his stubble thoughtfully.

"It's likely he does. The real question is if it won't get derailed at some point through the week…" Azula pointed out, to her husband's amusement.

"You're so cute, Yuuna, adorable as always!" Zi said, beaming as she smoothed her youngest cousin's hair: Yuuna offered her a toothy grin, and Zi gasped in delight. "Look at that! You have so many teeth now!"

"They grow out! Like trees!" she declared, and Zi laughed at the comparison.

"Well, your smile definitely is the prettiest I've seen," she said, beaming as she rose to her feet… and turned to Hotaru, brimming with excitement. "Mari's been waiting for you, though! She said you have to join her at playing fire kuai ball! Come, come!"

"Oh, fire kuai ball? Uh, sure?!" Hotaru grimaced, glancing at her parents with uncertainty as Zi grabbed her wrist and yanked her inside the house.

Azula's placid mood froze over at that sudden shift in the conversation, and Sokka raised his eyebrows. It was Shun who spoke first, though, yanking at his mother's hand.

"What's 'fire kuai ball'?" he asked.

"Probably something I invented and patented…" she admitted, prompting Sokka to look at her questioningly – though with amusement. "Though I have no idea if that's what they're trying to do, and even if it is, I'm not sure they should be doing it at all. Hell, and here I thought our kids were the wild and crazy ones…"

"Well, just you wait: Mari's totally going to be crushed by Hotaru at this game, you'll see!" Sokka declared proudly, to his children's delight. "We should go in now though, shouldn't we? Bet Zuko will want to know who brought a battering ram on his perfectly refurbished door…?"

"And I bet the battering ram in question is so very pleased with himself over what he did, isn't he?" Azula said. Sokka only smirked proudly, prompting her to smile and bump his flank gently with her shoulder as they entered the house: Shun clung to Azula's hand, while Yuuna held onto Sokka's. "You're incorrigible."

"And you're beautiful."

"That's neither here nor there, but thank you."

"Huh, and here I thought we were just flinging compliments at each other."

"Incorrigible isn't meant to be a… oh, never mind, you're just happily proving it further," Azula finally surrendered, and Sokka grinned most proudly anew upon defeating her at their careless argument.

The inside of the house, Azula found, was simultaneously familiar and utterly unrecognizable: Zuko had supervised the work during his downtime, whenever his duties allowed him to visit the beautiful island. While Azula hadn't been completely sure of what to make of his determination to renovate their family's old, rundown villa initially, now she found herself smiling at the finished result: the polished wood on the floor, the luxurious carpets, the beautiful, new décor, replacing the old, sober – or perhaps, somber – paintings…

"So, what's the verdict?" Sokka asked her teasingly. Azula smiled and shrugged.

"Surprisingly good, I'd say. I'd thought there would be too many unpleasant memories in this place, but… if anything, it looks like it's ready to see new memories made in it, instead."

"Sounds ideal, then," Sokka grinned, pressing a kiss to the side of her head. "If you don't think it's bad, we can come here all the time, from now on! Not like Zuko can stop us anyway, he's not moving here permanently, after all…"

"He's not," Azula laughed. "But we do have enough things to deal with that I doubt we can have too many escapades to Ember Island, anyway."

"Do we have a playroom?" Yuuna asked. Sokka turned his smile to her.

"Pretty sure you'll have something bigger than that: there's a whole beach waiting for us to have the time of our lives in it! You can build sandcastles, you can bury your cousins in the sand…!"

"Swim all you want, sunbathe if you think you can handle the heat…" Azula continued, and Shun grinned brightly.

"And chase turtle-crabs too, if you dare," Sokka said, eyeing Yuuna meaningfully: the young girl gasped with excitement over the prospect of seeing hybrid animals she had never encountered before.

"Yes! Let's go now!" she said, pulling at her father's hand: Sokka laughed as Azula smiled too.

"We have to greet the rest of your uncle's family first, Yuuna. And we can take you all to play after everyone's here, alright? Shouldn't be long before everyone arrives," Azula said, gesturing at a long, open corridor ahead.

The kitchen was at the other end of the corridor, which ran along a large, beautiful stone courtyard with a functioning fountain at its center. Where it would have been, however, a beautiful location to admire in any other circumstances, it was difficult to focus on the architecture of the courtyard when it seemed to be the place where Mari's odd fire kuai ball game was being developed.

"Look, look!" Mari was telling Hotaru: she held a strange ball, crafted out of what appeared to be some form of metallic thread: there was a second ball within the first, made of flammable material, and the four newcomers happened to enter the corridor by the courtyard just in time to see Zuko's oldest daughter setting the inner ball on fire.

Hotaru gasped in amazement: Zi had clearly seen the trick before, and she giggled at her cousin's reaction. Their two younger siblings, Iroh and Kerra, had launched into full-blown celebration over the lighting of their ball, as Mari tossed it in the air and took to bouncing it off her body.

"Gotta see how long you can handle the heat before it's too much!"

"Oh, wow: they really are about as crazy as ours. Good to know," Sokka said, as Azula's jaw dropped.

"Mari! I told not to play that way: you could get hurt!"

Suki's voice seemed to thunder across the building: Yuuna, Shun and even Hotaru seemed to freeze upon hearing their aunt's fierce scolding… yet while Zi flinched, and Iroh grimaced, Kerra and Mari only seemed perfectly content to continue testing their mother's patience.

"Oh, relax, Mom! I've got this!" Mari laughed recklessly: Azula ran her fingers over her hair, watching the scene before her in utmost astonishment.

"Well, safe to say that's NOT the kind of fire kuai ball I would play, but…"

"What did you do, then?" Sokka smirked.

"Set a regular ball on fire, of course…"

"That's still crazy dangerous!"

"Oh, don't fret, I only did it to finish off the opposing team and nobody got hurt," Azula said, waving a hand dismissively at her disbelieving husband. "I mean, yes, they probably had to buy another net, and another ball, but still…"

"I love all the stories of your childhood dearly, you know that?" Sokka said, prompting Azula to laugh and shake her head. "A powerhouse since before you learned to walk and talk, as far as I can tell…"

The sounds of their conversation served to alert the two adults in the kitchen that their newly arriving guests – whom Zi had checked on – had been exactly who they had been expecting: Suki stepped outside the kitchen with a fearsome scowl, and it seemed that was far scarier than her earlier shout: Mari caught the ball and snuffed out the fire quickly, smiling awkwardly at her mother.

"I know, I know! I'll play the nice and boring way! It's okay!" Mari laughed nervously: Suki rolled her eyes and shook her head.

"Play with your cousins and don't cause trouble with your wild firebending ideas, you hear me?" she said, shaking her head before glancing at Sokka and Azula, her stern scowl morphed into an apologetic grimace. "Goodness, I swear they're not trying to hurt your kids, I do…"

"We believe you," Sokka laughed, as he and Azula stepped forward to greet Suki.

"I suppose that's what we have to look forward to, in the future?" Azula smiled, casting a glance at Mari: the oldest among the children so far, she always seemed to take a role of leadership with her siblings and cousins, all of whom flocked to her naturally. "The teenage rebellion stage…?"

"Oh, Mari's been there from the moment she was born, as far as I can tell," Suki smiled, finally reaching her sister-in-law and offering her a warm embrace. "So good to see you both, Azula, Sokka."

"Same here!" Sokka grinned, hugging Suki next. "I'd compliment you and Zuko for all your work with this place, but I actually have no idea what it used to look like before…"

"Oh, you don't want to know," Suki laughed, shaking her head as she pulled away from him. "All manner of leaks in the roofs, weeds sprouting EVERYWHERE: it was madness. But, admittedly, the house was still less rebellious than Mari… I sure hope you two aren't causing your parents any trouble, Yuuna, Shun!"

They smiled guiltily and shook their heads: Suki shot them a knowing grin and rose to her full height after leaning down to address the children.

"I have the feeling you two have your hands full with these two as it is, though," she said. Azula laughed and shook her head, as Shun tugged at her hand.

"Can we go see the game too?" he asked, beaming. Azula let go of his hand and caressed his hair gently.

"Be careful," she warned him. "And don't be too competitive, alright? I know winning's fun and all…"

"But I should enjoy the game and not just focus on winning, yeah…" Shun sighed, marching off towards the others without another word: his nonchalance upon reciting those words suggested, quite strongly, that he had no intentions of abiding by them.

Unlike him, Yuuna didn't even wait or ask for permission to take off: she released Sokka's hand, yanking hers from out of his, and raced her brother – this time without even issuing the challenge verbally, though he took it up without needing her to do so – all the way to where the other children had been playing. Iroh, Zuko's only son, smiled brightly and ran up to Shun, while Yuuna and Kerra were quick to reach each other as well, the two youngest, and the most mischievous of the two sets of children – albeit sometimes it seemed Mari might outdo the two young, unexpected benders with her inventive, wild ideas.

"Zuko will probably be surprised to learn you're trying to teach Shun not to be so competitive…" Suki smiled. Azula sighed and shook her head.

"He and I are a lost case, everyone knows that," she said, with a shrug: Suki laughed at her direct, blunt delivery. "But if I can keep those two little rascals from being as prone to fighting each other as Zuko and I were, I'll certainly try… though they're quite adamant to become exactly like that, somedays."

"Oh, come on, now: you've literally come up with a thousand strategies to make them stop going after each other and redirect their energy to something more productive. You're doing great," Sokka smiled, wrapping an arm around his wife's shoulders.

"Literally, a thousand? No, it's only been about nine hundred, don't exaggerate…"

Suki laughed at their silly exchange, unsurprised to see the camaraderie between the two spouses only ever seemed stronger whenever she saw them again. Whatever they might worry about, the truth was that they, and their children, were one very happy family.

"Well, if you really have cooked up all those strategies, we could certainly use the advice: Kerra and Iroh are taking after you and Zuko a bit too much lately too…"

"Oh, of course," Azula sighed: Suki had turned to the kitchen again, and the two of them followed her. "It's like a curse in this family, isn't it?"

"Oh, come on now, Katara and I weren't much better," Sokka laughed: Azula offered him a worried grimace. "What, you think that makes it worse? You really think this sort of stuff is hereditary?"

"Two generations, four sets of siblings, boy and girl, only with a small age gap between them, all of them butting heads over ridiculous and genuine matters alike: do you really think there isn't a pattern here?" Azula asked. Sokka bit his lip and shrugged.

"Well… maybe we're all just prone to bonding through bickering."

"And through threatening to freeze each other's boogers in their nose, too…"

"Oh, spirits: Yuuna said that?" Suki gasped, once they reached the threshold of the kitchen. Azula smiled awkwardly.

"I'm pretty sure she must have found out they could be frozen the last time she caught a cold, and… well, you know how she is. Everything weird, everything unexpected, everything anyone else wouldn't think of, all of it is just second nature to her…"

"Sounds like she's the perfect blend of her parents to me."

Azula's smile gained a dangerous glint upon hearing her brother's voice, once they entered the kitchen: he smirked right back at her, hard at work with the meal he and Suki had been preparing for the first day of their week in Ember Island.

"Who was trying to tear down the door earlier? Bet it was Sokka," Zuko said, sharply: his brother-in law only smiled proudly.

"You're smarter than you look, after all!"

"And you're not," Zuko retorted, prompting Sokka to gasp in outrage as their wives laughed at their typical banter.

"Why, you…! Huh, that was a pretty solid exchange, Zuko: you should join us, then! Azula and I, we're totally going to start a comedy troupe to make some more money on the side, it was all Hotaru's idea…!"

"It was your idea, don't pin this madness on her," Azula said, smiling and shaking her head. "And besides, you said we'd do it if we were short on money, which we aren't, so…"

"Now, now, Azula, I know you need some convincing, but think about it! The audience will laugh plenty at our jabs at each other, but they'll laugh even more when Zuko takes everything seriously and plays the humorless guy to all our funny banter! It's perfect, just like it was right now, see?"

Azula smiled dryly before glancing at Suki.

"Just out of curiosity: where did you stash the lychee wine?"

"Azula!" Sokka gasped, as Suki chortled and laughed too: even Zuko was unable to hold back a chuckle at his sister's bold question. "You're the most ambitious person I know, how can you close your mind to the possibilities?!"

"You're impossible," Azula smiled, shaking her head and burying her face in her hands.

"Guess he's already practicing for the comedy act?" Suki smiled. Sokka huffed proudly.

"And I'll get lots of practice for the rest of the week, you betcha!"

"What have we signed on for?" Zuko groaned.

"Well, now, you did decide to invite us: you knew exactly what you were signing on for," Azula smirked, stepping forward. "Want help with any of this?"

"Woah. Can either of you be any help with cooking?" Zuko asked, puzzled, stopping on his motions while molding a rice ball.

"I don't see a top-of-the-line cook around here… guess you forgot to hire one," Azula said, gazing across the kitchen with a knowing grin. "Thus, I expect we'll have to work together to keep all our children stuffed with healthy food and taking enough naps so that we, in turn, can actually relax at some point or another in this trip…"

"Heh, well… you do have a point," Zuko smiled, shaking his head. "They're already a handful on their own, but putting all seven together… playing with fire is the simplest thing they would be likely to do."

"And they already did that on the first day of these vacations. Hell knows what else they're bound to do while we're not paying attention," Suki sighed, gazing wistfully at the courtyard from the kitchen's door.

The children seemed perfectly happy to meet again, for the first time in many months. As usual, the youngest four seemed to flock together as the older three did the same: Mari smiled as she handed Zi the ball before hugging Hotaru, who returned the embrace gladly.

"It's so good to see you!" Mari exclaimed. "Hope you've been doing well! Well, you and all of your family, of course…"

"Everything's okay," Hotaru confirmed, with a gentle smile. "Well, other than Yuuna and Shun butting heads all the time, but…"

"Oh, I say let them: same thing I say about Iroh and Kerra," Mari smirked: Zi sighed beside her and shook her head. "Maybe we should have the four of them in an all-out bending brawl! Don't you think that would be cool?"

"Why don't you ever have a perfectly peaceful idea…?" Zi asked her sister, with an awkward smile. Mari scoffed, taking the ball from Zi's hands.

"Because that wouldn't be as much fun! Come on, live a little, Zi!" she snickered, tossing the ball in the air and bumping it higher when it bounded on her head. "We should just practice for the real kuai ball games later, we're totally going to do some sort of family brawl after lunch, Hotaru!"

"We are?" Hotaru asked, puzzled. "But I've never played…"

"Oh, no need to worry! All you have to do is make sure the ball won't hit the ground!" Mari grinned, doing exactly that: she passed the ball to Hotaru, who caught it quickly. "Well, not by catching it, exactly…"

"You have to keep it rolling," Zi explained. Hotaru hummed, raising the ball gently and tossing it at her, "W-wait, not at me…!"

Zi raised her hands defensively, and the ball bounded in the wrong direction, falling on the ground.

"Zi! You shouldn't be such a scaredy-cat!" Mari laughed, grabbing her sister's shoulders. Zi pouted.

"I don't like that ball! It's cool for your tricks, but it hurts! Right, Hotaru?" Zi asked, looking at Hotaru's hands, hoping to confirm she, as well, had been hurt by the metal string that composed their ball. Hotaru, however, smiled awkwardly and shrugged.

"Must be because I hit it myself and nobody flung it at me… sorry," she said. Zi sighed, and Mari rolled her eyes.

"Oh, fine, then! We'll get the regular soft ball for now, but we're totally doing at least one round of fire kuai ball later by the beach, alright?!"

"But I'm not a firebender, I can't do that!" Zi grimaced: her sister smirked deviously as she turned to Hotaru again.

"Come, we have a normal ball upstairs! It's in our… oh wait! You guys don't have rooms yet, right? We should help you pick them!"

"Ah, we were talking about that earlier," Hotaru smiled. "How many rooms are there…? And how many people will come?"

"Dad invited lots of people, but one of them already said he can't make it. He can't travel down here from the Northern Water Tribe all that fast," Mari said, with a shrug. Hotaru raised her eyebrows and nodded. "Kat-Kat and Aang should be here, though… guess they might be running a little late."

"I think some of my mom's friends are coming too," Hotaru said, smiling a little.

"Then it really is a lot of people," Zi said, eyes wide.

"Do you think that means we'll have to share rooms?" Hotaru asked, glancing between both her cousins.

It surprised her to see that both Mari's golden eyes and Hotaru's violet ones would gleam brightly at that notion: the sisters exchanged a joyful smile before Mari clasped Hotaru's shoulders.

"You have to share with us!" she said.

"I wanna be with Hotaru!" Yuuna suddenly blurted out, running up to her sister and wrapping her arms around her leg.

"I gotta be there too," Kerra decided, stomping hard on the stone floor, and a light tremor shook the courtyard. Zi flinched.

"Hey, Kerra, Dad said no bending indoors, okay…?"

"This isn't indoors," Kerra said, smugly. "You can see the sky here!"

"It's still part of the house!" Zi grimaced, urgently.

"You don't even need to bend in protest at all, though: of course you can stay with us! We'll have a slumber party, all five of us!" Mari declared, proudly, and the other four girls smiled brightly at her.

"Yeah!" Kerra exclaimed: Yuuna danced happily in place, still clinging to her older sister's leg.

Naturally, the two boys in the courtyard couldn't join in on the enthusiasm of their siblings. Iroh pouted, glancing at Shun with uncertainty.

"Do you want to share rooms too…?" he asked. Shun shrugged.

"If you want," he replied, smiling. "Would be fun, I think…"

"Yeah!" Iroh responded, his mood immediately improved. "We should tell Dad, then…!"

"He should join us," Shun laughed, though Iroh smiled and shook his head.

"He'd bring Mom if he does, and then it wouldn't be a boys' room," Iroh said, yanking Shun to the kitchen area with him. "Come on, let's ask if it's okay…!"

"Sure! I haven't even said hi to him yet," Shun smiled, tagging along with his cousin as they made for the kitchen, where the four grown-ups had huddled up while the kids talked in the courtyard.

It seemed Sokka and Azula intended to help, yet Zuko and Suki had a tight system in process already, and most the work was well and truly done: Azula slapped Sokka's hand away from the finished tart pie intended for dessert, and he giggled guiltily at her when the kids stormed in.

"I'll be good, Azula, I'll be… oh, hey! Good to see you, Iroh!"

"Hi, Uncle Sokka," Iroh said, smiling reverentially at him: Shun's own admiration, however, was reserved for his own uncle, elbow deep into washing dishes in the sink.

"Ah, Shun," Zuko smiled upon catching sight of the young boy. "It's good to see you, kid."

"It's good to see you too, Uncle Zuko!" he exclaimed, smiling. "Iroh and I, we want to share rooms!"

"You… you do? Why?" Zuko asked, puzzled: his eyes shifted towards his son, who smiled and shrugged in his direction.

"The girls want to share, too," Iroh said. Zuko's eyebrow twitched.

"Which girls? All the girls?" he asked, puzzled. Iroh shrugged again. "Are they nuts? There's like twenty rooms now after all the expansion, and renovations…! And they just want to share?"

"Guess it's because it's a special occasion," Suki smiled at him. "Just remember what they were like back in the day, when Mari and Zi had to share a single room…"

"They were so thrilled to have rooms of their own when they finally did, and now they're all bunking up together?" Zuko sighed, shaking his head. "Well, I guess we'll have to think on how they could do it, not sure there's any rooms big enough for five beds. You two should be fine, though…"

"Yeah!" Shun grinned, throwing a triumphant fist in the air when Zuko addressed his final sentence at him and Iroh. "Thanks, Uncle Zuko!"

"Such a nice, obedient boy, so respectful with his uncle…" Sokka recited with a small voice, a skeptical smile on his face. Azula smirked, nudging him with her elbow.

"You love to make a fool of yourself for his amusement, don't pretend otherwise now," she said softly: Sokka could only laugh guiltily at her assessment.

The knocking sound by the front door resounded in the large house once more, though it wasn't quite as wild and reckless as Sokka's previous knocking. Zuko glanced at him meaningfully, gesturing in the door's direction with his chin.

"Heard that? That's how normal people do it."

"Boring people, you mean," Sokka declared, proudly. Azula laughed and shook her head, reminded of Hotaru's previous claim that she'd never be bored with their family.

"I guess someone else is here, though…?" Suki said, fiddling with her apron's fastening to take it off.

"Or it could be our ship's sailors bringing our luggage, heh…" Azula smiled awkwardly. "We can check on the door if you want, you guys should stay here."

"You would? Oh, thank you," Suki smiled: she stopped attempting to unfasten the apron, only to struggle fastening it in place all over again, an awkward smile on her face.

"Heh, sure thing," Sokka smiled as Azula pulled him with her through the door. "Oi, Shun! Don't cause any trouble for your aunt and uncle, alright?"

"I won't!" Shun stated, proudly: his eagerness to gain Zuko's approval seemed to ensure he'd stay on his very best behavior, so both Azula and Sokka could trust he'd obey whatever orders Zuko might give him.

Once again, Sokka and Azula walked hand in hand, with Sokka swinging their arms carelessly: his wife smiled fondly at him, slipping her fingers between his as they marched to the door, the sounds of their daughters' upbeat conversation with their cousins following them all the way across the corridor.

"It does seem to be a much nicer place than it ever was," Azula admitted, smiling as she gazed about herself. "Though I am curious about these expansions Zuko did. This place should have been big enough for at least our two families, though with however many guests we might have, I wonder if it will be big enough, in the end…"

"Well, with the kids being so eager to share rooms, I don't think we'll have to worry about having proper privacy at night, huh?" Sokka said, smirking at her and wiggling his eyebrows. Azula smiled, squeezing his hand gently.

"Is that the main thing you're thinking about, really?"

"Well, it's always at the top of my priorities, if you must know…"

"How utterly shameless of you," Azula said, playfully. Sokka sighed and shook his head in fake penance. "And here I thought it was at the very top of them, at all times…"

"Ah, I disappoint, then?" he asked, amused. Azula laughed and yanked him close, pecking his lips quickly before they finally reached the door anew.

"As if you could ever let me down," she said, offering him a much more earnest answer than Sokka had expected. He smiled warmly at her as Azula pushed open the door they'd closed earlier… to find, as predicted, the sailors with all their belongings. "Ah, I'm sorry the door was closed…"

"Oh, no matter!" said the sailor in charge, smiling broadly at her. "We've brought everything as requested! We'll be taking off now, and we'll return in a week, as agreed?"

"Please do," Azula nodded graciously.

"Another ferry's coming in now, too," said another sailor, already picking up his bags. "We're going to try to get out before they dock in, give 'em more room to maneuver."

"A good call," Sokka smiled, stepping among them and hoisting some of the bags himself. "I'll give you a hand, then, we should be done faster this way."

Azula relinquished her hold on Sokka's hand most unwillingly, despite knowing his help would certainly speed up this process. She watched and directed the sailors, ensuring they stashed the bags inside without obstructing either the way upstairs or the corridors that led deeper into the first floor of the large building. Within five minutes, everything had been set down on the vestibule's corner and the sailors had returned to their manatee-whale-led ferry: Azula and Sokka watched them from the front door, with Sokka waving in the sailors' direction. Azula cocked her head to the side, studying the creatures as they turned around and took the ferry into the sea again.

"Looking for Yuuna's hair tie, even now?" Sokka asked, amused.

"Just wondering where it's keeping it, you know? Since it has to bring it back to its daughter and all…" Azula said, smiling and shaking her head. Sokka laughed, reeling her in for another hug.

"The other ship's over there, though," he said, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. "Think it's the last one to arrive?"

"Possibly. I think the other guests would come here with your sister and Aang," Azula said: her arms snaked around Sokka's waist, and she pressed a kiss to his bare skin, left exposed by his sleeveless, wide-necked shirt.

"Well, now…" Sokka smiled, looking at her with a devious smirk "I know we're alone for the first time in what feels like forever, but are you really looking to have some fun right now?"

"Are you opposed to it?" Azula asked innocently, her eyelashes fluttering exaggeratedly, bringing Sokka to laugh as he cradled her face in his hands.

"You could ask me to conquer the world with you and I'd just ask when do we start, Princess," he said: Azula's eyes narrowed at his familiar taunt, but his lips were on hers before she could rebuff it.

Which, come to think of it, was exactly what she'd wanted, so, as much as the urge to retaliate had surged, she set it aside quickly enough, wrapping her arms around his neck, letting him pin her to the frame of the open door as his tongue slithered past their lips, seeking hers.

It wasn't as though they never were free to act on their passion, their three kids would always fall asleep soundly, so the depths of night were always theirs for the taking. Yet the more they worked together to ensure their children grew up as healthy and happy as possible, the more their mutual passion would surge and rise… and the less chances they'd have to let it unwind, as even in their downtime they had to deal with Shun's typical complaints whenever their parents were far too affectionate in his presence. Their respective duties also kept them too busy on most days, so unless they took a break casually at the exact same time, they'd seldom be free to kiss at will, to hold each other, even to make love wherever it suited them… though they certainly didn't intend to go that far right now. This was just a quick release of joyful passion, that was all it was…

Or all it should be, anyway.

"We… have to keep our heads level, now…" Azula managed to say, between frantic kisses she pressed upon Sokka's face. He laughed at her request, as his hands carelessly traveled over her light outfit – she didn't expose much skin yet, but she'd likely change into a bathing suit later and… oh, the mere thought made his heart race wildly.

"Kinda tricky… you're making it tricky," he chuckled, kissing her voraciously again. Azula moaned heartily, embracing him tightly.

"My fault? It's totally… not my fault…" she whimpered: her hands slipped down his back, to his rear, squeezing it gently…

Sokka groaned in a throaty way, and Azula leaned into his ravenous devouring of her neck, head thrown back, a blissful smile across her features: her eyes opened, though, and she noticed, with remorse, that the next guests were just docking in.

"They're going to catch us doing this… and then they'll never stop teasing us for it, right?" she sighed remorsefully. Sokka hummed, raising his head: his face was covered in her shade of lipstick, and Azula laughed as she took notice of it. "Well, even if we stop now, this makes matters obvious enough, doesn't it?"

"So, why stop at all?" Sokka asked, with a mischievous smirk. "Why should we hide from anyone anymore, Princess?"

"Keep that up, Sokka, and you're really going to get it…"

"Am I?" he smirked. Azula laughed, pulling him closer: her golden eyes bore into his, but her desire was abloom, much as his own was, goading them both into succumbing further into their passion.

"You asked for it, then: come and get it," she hissed, her lips hovering a breath away from his: he cut the distance in an instant, following fit with her challenge.

Finding them in the midst of such heated exchanges was no surprise for most the newcomers, though it was fortunate that the youngest people in the group had lagged behind: Haru laughed at the shameless display of their friends while Ty Lee hooted in the distance.

"You guys sure are in the mood to party! This vacation's going to be a blast!"

The sound of her voice broke off their wildest kiss yet, though Azula groaned as she broke off the contact most unwillingly. Sokka chuckled, pressing his lips to her forehead one more time:

"We'll continue later, don't you worry," he said. Azula smiled, raising a hand to wipe off the many stains of lipstick on Sokka's face.

"I'm not worried at all. Just looking forward to it, as I always am," she said. Sokka grinned, venturing one more devious kiss to her lips before turning to greet their friends.

"Hey, guys! Been a while since… WOAH!"

Sokka was always one for exaggerated reactions, Azula knew as much… but when she turned her head to the side, she was tempted to let out an exclamation as loud as his:

Ty Lee, clinging to Haru's arm with the most enthusiastic grin possible, sported a prominent pregnancy belly, starkly noticeable, as she was already clad in her beach attire, unlike most everyone who intended to change after lunch.

"Are you… are you for real?!" Azula gasped, looking at Ty Lee in amazed disbelief. Her friend giggled guiltily, leaning into Haru, who smiled widely at their friends.

"Remember that the last time we met she'd had some strange cramps, and food didn't seem all that tasty to her…?" Haru said, with an innocently soft voice.

"I told you. Oh, I told you what it was, Mai told you what it was, and you didn't listen!" Azula laughed, stepping forward as Ty Lee squealed, stepping forward and wrapping her arms around Azula once her friend reached her.

"Okay, okay, I know I should've had it checked out, you guys said so, but then I didn't, and I thought I was just sick and then I started to put on weight, and…! Well, here we are. I can't believe we're joining your group now," Ty Lee sighed, with a wistful smile. "I so enjoyed being the free-spirited, childless aunt…"

"Well, you enjoyed it because you loved the children in question, and you're going to love this one too," Sokka smiled, stepping up to hug her too. "Congratulations, you guys!"

"Thank you," Ty Lee said, with a high-pitched voice. "Oh, I really don't know if I'm excited or horrified, even now…"

"How far along are you?" Azula asked: Haru and Sokka had shaken hands by now – or forearms, rather –, and the earthbender stepped forward next to hug the royal.

"About four or five months, it seems… oh, it's been a whirlwind, but I'll wrap my head around it eventually, I will," Ty Lee said, with a sincere laugh.

Azula smiled fondly as Haru stepped back anew, placing a loving hand on his wife's belly. It was no secret Haru was open to having children, but he had never pressured Ty Lee on the matter. They had been married for a fairly long time, with a rhythm of their own, and it didn't seem likely that they'd try to have children… but Azula highly doubted they'd tried this time, either. This was, in all likelihood, the consequence of a short period of carelessness, and while it seemed Ty Lee might be deeply uncertain of how to raise a child, she'd have more than enough people to offer her plenty of support and help when she needed it.

The person with the most experience on the subject had hiked up the road after Ty Lee, followed by her own husband and her two sons: it was hard to believe Yuudai was already a proper teenager, yet time hadn't passed them by in vain. The young man looked much like his father had, back when Azula, Mai and Ty Lee had first met him in Ember Island: Ruon Jian no longer sported the same luxuriously stylish hair from his youth, but it seemed his son had taken after him fairly well in that department.

Their second child, however, was the odd-one out in a family as restrained, proper and ideal as Mai and Ruon Jian's was: Renshu was a chubby boy of Shun's age, with short brown hair and large eyes. His main similarity with his mother was the blank, unreadable expression on his face. But where Mai always seemed to be observing her surroundings, judging situations and weighing her choices with perfectly subtlety, Renshu simply watched for the sake of it, and was perfectly happy to convey his thoughts with absolutely no restraint or consideration of the circumstances. Out of so many chaotic children in the villa right now, Renshu was a particularly odd one, yet he seemed perfectly content exactly as he was.

"You seem very surprised, all things considered, Azula…" Mai pointed out, with a smirk, upon reaching the front door. "Here I thought you'd just laugh in Ty Lee's face for not listening to either of us."

"Maybe I still will, though probably after we have a couple of drinks," Azula smiled. Ty Lee pouted at those words. "Uh… yeah, we'll drink your share, too."

"That's the part that sucks the most about being pregnant. Got to forsake so many fun things…" Ty Lee sighed. Haru chuckled and shook his head.

"You'll go all out with everything again right after this is over, okay?" he said. Ty Lee grinned and nodded.

The new arrivals greeted each other gladly, and many friendly hugs were exchanged. Sokka compared Yuudai's height with his own, finding he already reached the level of his shoulder, and the shy but proud teenager smiled for it.

"Dad thinks I might outgrow him, but I don't know…" he chuckled. Sokka patted his shoulder firmly.

"Keep on eating the right way, and having a healthy life, and you might do just that!" he told him: Yuudai smiled and nodded proudly…

And then a small hand reached out to tug at Sokka's trousers.

Renshu's clear amber eyes met his mere instants before the boy blurted out:

"How many rooms are there in this house?"

Sokka blinked blankly before crouching down and smiling awkwardly.

"Not entirely sure, but probably about twenty? I guess?" Sokka said. Renshu cocked his head sideways.

"There are fifty-seven in the Palace," Renshu said, matter-of-factly. "That I know of. Maybe there are secret rooms that I don't know of. Do you know if there are hidden rooms here?"

"Not particularly. Looking to build one, are you?" Sokka asked, amused. Renshu shook his head.

"I don't have a shovel," he said. Sokka heaved out a disappointed breath, punching the air before him.

"Well, damn. I bet there's some sand shovels in the house, but they're probably not good enough to build a big secret room, sorry to say."

"I don't need to build one. I was just curious," Renshu said, bluntly and simply. He still didn't show any sign of amusement, remaining as inexpressive as ever. Sokka smiled and patted his head.

"Well, good then. Keep being curious, I guess…?"

"I would say 'don't encourage him' but I doubt it'll make a difference," Mai sighed, leaning down near Renshu. "Did you greet your Aunt Azula and Uncle Sokka properly?"

"No," he said, simply. Mai's eyebrow twitched.

"Didn't I ask you to do so earlier?"

"You did. But I didn't do it," Renshu responded, matter-of-factly, as always. Sokka couldn't hold back a chortle as the boy turned his attention to Azula next. "Is Shun here?"

"He's inside, yes. In the kitchen, the last I knew…" Azula said. Renshu glanced at his mother.

"I will go see Shun," he declared: without even waiting for Mai to give him permission to do so, Renshu slipped between Azula and Sokka and entered the house, as though he knew it by heart despite it was his first visit.

"I… want to get mad. I do. I want to discipline him, so he actually learns to greet people the right way, at least," Mai said, eyebrow still twitching. "But… I just can't do it. He just asks me why he has to do the things I ask him to, and it's exactly what crossed my mind when I was his age, and then I end up with an existential crisis while he goes back to drawing on the walls, or whatever he's up to…"

"Well, fortunately Yuuna's easier to reel into control than that," Azula smiled awkwardly. "Though she has a knack for questioning things very similarly."

"I think he sees her as a kindred spirit because of that, actually," Ruon Jian laughed. "He says he spends more time with Shun because Yuuna doesn't like him, though."

"What, really?" Sokka's eyes widened. Azula smiled awkwardly.

"Bet she told him so, blunt and clear, to his face," she said, rubbing her forehead with her fingertips.

"And Renshu apparently wasn't bothered by it one bit," Ruon Jian laughed. "But I guess I'll keep an eye on him as best I can, so he doesn't end up angering her somehow…"

"A wise call," Azula smiled, gesturing at the house. "Well, now, you have more people to greet inside, right? And Ty Lee probably ought to sit down, or maybe go to the bathroom…"

"Joke around all you want, I do have to go…" Ty Lee whimpered: Haru wrapped his arms around her and ferried her inside, only slowing down to ask Azula for directions to the nearest bathroom.

The house had been empty for years, vacant of all brightness and enthusiasm… but Azula, who had seen it in its previous glory, was sure it had never been quite as bright and beautiful as it was now. The chatter of cheerful voices, the laughter, the sounds of children playing… back in the day, it had been her, Zuko and their parents, with a handful of servants to provide for them. Today, it was a gathering of friends and family, of many people she valued dearly, and her heart could barely keep up with the delightful feelings this new atmosphere elicited inside her.

Countless greetings were exchanged, so many it was hard to keep up with them: upon poking their heads in the kitchen again, Azula and Sokka were delightfully amused to find Zuko had the three young boys, Iroh, Renshu and Shun, working together making rice balls with unusual discipline and determination, while most the girls had taken to practicing bouncing the kuai ball between themselves – they were deliberately lighter on Yuuna and Kerra, but the two spirited young girls would strike the ball as powerfully as their arms and legs allowed them to, anyway.

Merely ten minutes before the meal was finished and served, the last arrival finally flew in through the stone courtyard itself, causing the girls to stop playing and start cheering at the sight of the massive sky bison. Appa roared a greeting at the whole group, and Aang waved at everyone, as spirited as ever, beaming while Katara nestled comfortably on the saddle – she held the twins in her arms, each one glancing outside the saddle from over their mother's shoulders.

"Hey, guys!" Aang grinned: Mari rushed towards him quickly, though she leapt to hug Appa's horn first.

"Appa! It's been forever since we last met!" she exclaimed, dramatically. Aang, of course, laughed at her emotional greeting.

"We literally visited you guys a month ago!" he said. Mari stuck her tongue out at him, unable to stifle a grin.

"That feels like forever to me!" she declared: Aang airbent himself off his seat on Appa's neck before hugging the young firebender.

"You're still as feisty and fun as ever, aren't you? Hope you're keeping your dad on his toes still!" he grinned. Mari smiled broadly and nodded. "Great!"

"If this were about anyone else, I'd tell you not to encourage her… but yeah, keep messing with your silly dad, Mari," Katara laughed from the saddle.

Aang smiled and stepped closer to the bison's body, creating small gusts of air with which he brought the two toddlers down to his level. Katara was free to climb safely by herself then, leaving it to Aang to hold their children, and his smile couldn't have been brighter as he regarded the sizable crowd around them.

"Hey, everyone!" he exclaimed: Katara stepped forward, greeting each child happily, smiling at the cluster of people who remained inside the house's corridor. "Hope we're not too late for lunch!"

"Just on time, if anything!" Sokka called back, grinning at them and waving. "Hope the journey was okay for your little clouds!"

The children in question, mostly identical, glanced at Sokka from a distance: he couldn't quite tell apart Tashi, the boy, from Tallah, the girl, while they were so far away. As much as Aang had a duty to see to the recovery of the Air Nomads, he and Katara had taken their time before starting their own family: as ready as they had hoped to be, however, Katara had been taken by surprise upon sensing two new heartbeats inside her, two sources of new chi, rather than one. Their two babies weren't as much trouble as many others could be… at least, so far. Tashi did have a penchant for crying for attention, but he was easily soothed by either of his parents.

Katara greeted Sokka with a tight hug, as ever, once she reached him. Sokka squeezed her tightly, causing Katara to protest by smacking his arm gently.

"I know, I know, nobody likes an annoying older brother," Sokka grinned shamelessly, to his sister's amusement.

"Well, I do know someone who likes my annoying older brother, somehow," Katara smirked teasingly, turning her attention to Azula: she sighed dramatically, with a leisurely shrug.

"What can I say? A goofball like him has his charms," she said: Sokka snickered, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively in her direction, and Azula laughed as Katara stepped forward to embrace her too.

"Well, being a nasty younger sister usually makes you immune to those charms, as you well know," Katara laughed. Azula nodded sagely.

"Indeed, someone likes my annoying older brother too. Utterly inexplicable," she rebuffed playfully as Katara pulled away, smiling. "How are you faring? The twins still keeping you up at night?"

"Oh, yeah," Katara grimaced, though she smiled soon enough again. "They're adorable, of course, but I can't remember the last time I got any sleep."

"And you won't remember it anytime soon, guaranteed," Sokka declared, at which Katara only sighed in defeat.

"This just makes me feel bad about our parents. Were we all this much trouble all along, really?" Katara asked. Sokka offered her a tight-lipped smile and a nod.

"Probably worse, even," he determined. Katara shook her head, laughing as she covered her face with her hands.

"Then the next time I see Dad I'm going to apologize for all the hardships I gave him… as should you, Sokka," she said: he scoffed, waving a hand in her direction.

"You're still trying to win more points with him, after all these years…? I'm onto you, see? I'm so onto you," he said, making a gesture with his hand to ensure Katara knew he was watching her. The waterbender rolled her eyes, glancing at her sister-in-law in disbelief.

"Those are the charms you fell for, huh?"

"Irresistible like no one else I've ever known," Azula said, gesturing at Sokka dramatically: by then, Sokka's playfulness broke at last with laughter, and his wife and sister followed him into it shortly.

The playful banter would have continued on, even if Sokka's goofier side seemed to have receded slightly by then: Katara was just explaining Toph had been unable to join them, for she was too busy these days – she had claimed she needed to know about this big vacation six months in advance to find any room in her schedule for it –, when Suki's voice echoed through the courtyard, calling their many guests for lunch at last.

Once again, Azula was reminded of how much emptier the house used to be once everyone gathered at the large dining room to enjoy the meal: in the past, she, Zuko and her parents had eaten in that same room, and while those days had been far less unpleasant than the many years that followed, Azula had only realized how large the room truly was, and how empty it had felt, now that it was anything but: everyone crowded boisterously around the long table, the smaller children propped up on many cushions so they could reach their plates without much struggle. Dishes would be passed from one end of the table to the other, laughter bounced on every wall and smiles seemed to decorate every face… unless they were busy eating, of course.

Azula and Sokka made sure to help Yuuna with her meal, ensuring she took small bites rather than chomping down on everything on her plate, as she intended to. Then, Azula also had to reel in Sokka by dropping a fair share of vegetables on his meat-exclusive plate – he had done it to mess with her, she knew, but her retaliation saw them bickering playfully, picking each other's meal while Yuuna, sitting between them, watched their apparent fight with absolute delight. Hotaru and Shun, at the other side of the table, could only laugh between bites of their own, though they were easily distracted by their cousins and friends, too.

Once the food was almost fully spent and everyone was satisfied, however, Mari leapt to her feet, with a wicked smile on her face.

"And where are you going?" Zuko asked, following his oldest daughter with his gaze.

"To the beach!" she responded gladly: she didn't wait for her father to finish his next sentence before sprinting through the corridors, headed to her chosen room.

"You have to wait at least ten minutes after you…! Ugh, she's unreal," Zuko sighed, shaking his head. Suki smiled and squeezed his hand.

"With how long it ought to take us all to get ready, it should take her longer than ten minutes to get into the water. Hopefully our reckless girl will be fine, Zuko" she told him. He smiled back, though the sight of Kerra rushing off after her sister didn't reassure him much.

"Our reckless girls, you'll mean… plural," he raised his eyebrow, and Suki laughed and nodded.

"You did plenty of hard work as it is, dear. Don't fret much more than you already have. Your big meal was a success, your plans for the vacation have worked wonders… we're doing great."

"We are… but I'm exhausted, and it's only just started," he admitted, with a weak grin.

"Well, maybe we all can take turns cooking!" Aang suggested, surprising Zuko. "You know, each family can have a turn or so? How about it?"

"Huh… that sounds like a plan," Zuko smiled, glancing at the rest of the group… though his eyes slowed at Azula and Sokka, and his grin soured. "Though someone will have to be there for backup when it's their turn, huh?"

"Oh, they might just wind up doing something other than cooking if left alone in the kitchen," Ty Lee snickered, a hand over her mouth as though to block her words from being heard by the happily bickering couple. "We were on our way up the path to the house, you know, and those two? They were seriously DEVOURING each other against the door, just like that…!"

"Alright, you've convinced me: anyone can cook… except those two," Zuko decided, prompting those sitting near him to laugh at his decision.

He wasn't completely uncomfortable these days over his sister's blatant displays of affection with her husband, but he certainly didn't want to witness them at their most romantic… or their most passionate. Yet it was exactly what Zuko had unintentionally signed on for upon inviting them to his freshly refurbished beach house: even if Azula and Sokka had their kids to look after and think of, it didn't seem anyone could pry either of them off each other. They went everywhere together, either holding hands or embracing each other's waist, even as they checked on the rooms Zuko and Suki had assigned for them and their children. They carried the family's luggage upstairs with their children's help – Hotaru assisted them far more than the other two, who had to settle for either carrying smaller bags or carrying large ones together, which turned out to be a rather catastrophic choice since both wanted to outrun the other, again, even while making their way over a flight of stairs. In the end, though, once everyone's goods were properly distributed in their rooms, it was time to get ready for what the children looked forward to the most:

"Be careful when you go out to swim, alright?" Sokka told Yuuna, after Azula helped the child change into her one-piece swimsuit. "Remember what I've taught you… and try not to bend too much while you're there, don't freeze people even if they annoy you, all our usual rules…"

"Can Aunt Katara bend on the beach…?" Yuuna asked, raising an eyebrow. Sokka grimaced.

"Yeah, well, she's all grown-up so if she wants to do it, I can't stop her. I've tried to stop her from bending in awkward situations since I was littler than you are, right now, and she never pays me any attention," Sokka said, with a resigned sigh. "But that's neither here nor there… you are a good girl, right? So, you'll be good and do as you're told. Okay?"

"No!" Yuuna grinned: she ran out the door, hands in the air, laughing carelessly on her way downstairs again.

Her father, of course, was left frozen on the spot, an eyebrow twitching. Azula behind him, placed her hands on his shoulders before slipping them around his neck, offering him a gentle hug.

"We'll make sure nothing happens. Don't fret," she said, pressing a kiss to the top of his head.

"Sometimes I think we're the best parents ever, and then sometimes I wonder if we're getting everything wrong," Sokka confessed, glancing at her from his kneeling position, where Yuuna had left him. Azula leaned over him, smiling warmly.

"Well, you told me that your father said to you that there was more worth in growth than in perfection, right?" Azula asked, pressing her lips to his brow. "True wisdom right there. We may never be the perfect parents, but…"

"But we'll grow along with our kids and do it better every time?" Sokka finished. Azula nodded proudly, and Sokka grinned, leaning in to kiss her, no matter how awkward their position might be. "I love you, Azula."

"And I love you, Sokka… though I wish we could love each other quite a bit more freely than we can, right now," she said, with a lop-sided smile. "We have to change too, and, well…"

"We can't afford to do anything naughty because our kids might just freeze the beach while we're not paying attention?" Sokka asked, with a sad smile of his own. Azula laughed and nodded, helping him stand up.

"We'll have to save it for later, I suppose. If we still have any energy by then, that is," she pointed out. Sokka cupped her face between his hands, kissing her lips softly.

"I'll make sure to save my very best just for you and our nice and cozy little room," Sokka said, smirking deviously. "Though I guess, if the kids aren't much trouble, we can at least indulge in, well, enjoying each other's scenery, if nothing else?"

"Don't we always?" Azula smiled, pinching his asscheek and guiding him towards their room, out of Yuuna's shared one with Hotaru, by the two girls' design. It was entirely possible they'd go forward with Mari's wild plans for a sleepover in her large room, but their two daughters would keep their belongings here, at the very least.

While knowing they had very little time for privacy, Sokka and Azula still locked their room's door, helping each other into their respective swimsuits while trading no end of mischievous kisses and caresses. It seemed impossible that the two of them would truly make their way to the beach instead of surrendering to their urges, but against their instincts and impulses, they finally made up their minds, gathered their beach bags and ventured out of the house, hand in hand… or hand-on-rear, when they decided to tease each other, halfway down the beach.

The children were already playing loudly by the sand: Kerra, in particular, seemed thrilled to fling bursts of sand at her brother, while Yuuna splashed by the shore, laughing with her cousin at Iroh and Shun's protests over how their two younger siblings had joined forces against them. Hotaru and Zi stood with Mari, as usual, though her mischievous streak had been interrupted, it seemed, by Yuudai: the taller teenager stood with the three girls, talking animatedly despite it was quite clear, even at a distance, that the one who did the most talking was Mari, who frequently smiled, unusually bashfully, at Yuudai.

"Hmm… that's either Zuko's worst nightmare or his dream combination, isn't it?" Sokka asked Azula, as they walked together down the sand. "He did love Yuudai quite a bit, but…"

"He couldn't be more protective of his kids if he tried? Yeah," Azula agreed, nodding. "Well, they're all kids anyway. I say let them have their fun, as long as they don't get hurt or do anything all that stupid… though of course, if it's Hotaru who's involved in something stupid I'm definitely going to stop being as calm and collected, but she's not likely to be…"

"Mari's a wild one, but I hope both Zi and Hotaru can restrain her, to a fault," Sokka smiled. He and Azula had finally reached the playing grounds, and he raised a hand, placing it by his cheek in order to call for his children. "Yuuna! Shun! Hotaru! Did you put on your sunscreen before you ran out to play?!"

The three kids, each busy with their own groups, flinched and filed towards their parents, guilty grimaces on all their faces. Azula couldn't muffle a smile as they approached, beelining towards Sokka.

"Sorry, Dad…" Shun mumbled. Sokka harrumphed dramatically, setting down his bag and pulling out the sunscreen.

"Alright, those of you brave enough to try doing it yourselves, put out your hands!" Sokka said. Shun and Hotaru both did, while Yuuna showed plenty of sense, surprisingly, by not following suit with their example. "Oh, really, now? You're ready to apply your own sunscreen, Shun?"

"Yeah, I am!" he decided, beaming brightly. Sokka scoffed.

"Well, then, let's see how it goes," he said: he opened the flask with their best sunscreen lotion, pouring a small amount upon each extended hand… and upon Azula's too, as she leaned down right in front of Yuuna, ready to cover her body with it. The little girl raised her head proudly, eyes tightly closed as her mother ensured to cover every exposed bit of her daughter's body until the sunscreen blended perfectly with her skin.

Hotaru only missed a few bits, and Sokka instructed her about which ones, so she could cover everything properly too. Shun, however…

"You… think that's okay?" Sokka asked, with an awkward grin. Shun pouted.

"Well, I didn't get it wrong, did I…?" he asked.

"You have handprints all over your arms, your face is all covered in lotion, your back is mostly exposed…?" Sokka pointed out, rounding the little boy. Shun winced, cheeks reddening. "See? You're already getting sunburnt!"

"I'm not!" Shun cried out, the intensity of his blush strengthening, to Sokka's amusement.

"Come on, I'll handle your back. Spread the bits on your face more evenly, down to your neck too…"

Shun obeyed without much protest, still flustered: Azula smiled at him, and the boy withdrew his gaze from hers.

"Come on, Shun… no need to be so embarrassed," Azula said, reaching out to caress his long hair gently. "Is it you don't want your cousins to think you're being babied or something?"

"I-…! T-that's…! W-well…!" Shun couldn't seem to gather his thoughts, let alone when his mother laughed softly.

"Don't worry about it: look at them, they're an even bigger mess than we are," Azula said, smirking before gesturing at her brother's family.

Zuko and Suki had only just arrived too, and Suki had rushed to collect Kerra, who insisted she didn't need any sunscreen whatsoever: Zi apparently had applied hers all the way back in the house, and Mari kept claiming she had done the same thing, but Suki seemed to believe otherwise – Azula immediately suspected Mari had no interest in letting Yuudai see her applying sunscreen awkwardly, going by how disheartened she had been when the older boy had stepped away from their group, rallying with his family underneath an umbrella: Mai would never visit a beach without guaranteeing she'd have some form of shade, after all.

"Me next! Me, Mom!" Iroh called out as Suki covered a groaning Kerra with sunscreen.

"Yes, yes, you're next, Iroh…"

"I already applied it, Dad, you don't have to make me do it again, do you?"

"Well, if you already did it, a second coating can only do you good…!"

"Dad!"

Although his previous concerns had weighed heavily on Shun's mind, he now had no choice but to laugh at his relatives. Azula smiled fondly at him, pressing a quick kiss to the top of his head once Sokka was done patching up his uneven sunscreen work.

"Have fun in a reasonable way, alright? All of you. No crazy attempts to race with tiger sharks underwater or anything like that, Yuuna," Azula said, pressing a kiss to her daughter's hair too: Yuuna's eyes brightened.

"Are there tiger sharks in Ember Island?!"

"There aren't supposed to be, no," Azula smiled, shaking her head. Yuuna blew a raspberry and shook her head.

"Boring!"

"Oh, now, you have a whole beach to have fun in!" Sokka told Yuuna, leaning down and resting his weight on his knees. "Bet you can find something other than tiger-sharks, maybe a turtle crab, and…"

"And I'll bend it at Shun!"

"Wait, no! You shouldn't…!" Sokka gasped: Shun winced as his sister took off in a mad race towards the shoreline, laughing happily as she looked for any animals to toss at her older brother.

"Okay, I'm going to go hang out with Mari and Zi now…" Hotaru smiled awkwardly… only for Shun to grab onto her leg, still glancing in Yuuna's direction worriedly.

"Take me with you! She wouldn't dare attack you!" Shun whimpered. Hotaru laughed and shook her head.

"Oh, Shun…" she smiled, wrapping an arm around her brother's shoulders before glancing at her parents. "Is it okay, then…?"

"Sure, but if you go into the water try not to go too deep, alright?" Sokka advised her. "And take breaks if you do, once in a while. No need to go too crazy swimming all day long. And…!"

"Go, Hotaru," Azula cut him off, with a smirk: their daughter laughed at Sokka's heartfelt pout, as Azula wrapped an arm around his waist. "I'll keep your protective father in check, alright?"

"Sure thing," Hotaru chuckled: she guided Shun towards the others again, and the boy kept shooting wary glances at where his youngest sister now played with something or another that she'd found in the water. In all likelihood, Yuuna had already forgotten her previous intentions to mess with Shun, distracted by whatever unusual discovery she'd made, as ever happened with the innately curious girl.

Sokka released a deep breath, running a hand over his hair as he took in the good weather and the beautiful horizon. He turned a smile to Azula, whose eyes were set on him.

"Well, we can relax now. If just for a bit?" he said. Azula shrugged, dropping her head on his shoulder.

"Until we decide we have to join in the wild games just as well, I bet," Azula said. Sokka chuckled. "We could wind up racing each other in the water, you know we could…"

"I bet, but it might be better if we wait until the kids have had their fun first. Gotta keep an eye on them, even if we're giving them some space to go wild…" Sokka said, with an awkward smile. "Sometimes I think we worry too much…"

"Then Yuuna wants to play with tiger-sharks and, if anything, you start thinking you don't worry enough?" Azula guessed. Sokka laughed and nodded. "Same here, really. I suppose it won't be all that relaxing to watch them running wild, but at least we can sit down, talk, enjoy the sea air and the sunlight until we feel all dry and drained…"

"What a beautiful picture you paint, wife of mine," Sokka smirked. Azula chuckled against his chest, but he proceeded to do exactly what she'd told him they could.

Sokka pulled out a large towel and set it down on the sand: he meant to help Azula sit first, but she made him take his seat only to nestle on his lap, shameless and comfortably. Sokka groaned as he dropped fully on the towel, bringing her with him as he did.

"This is getting dangerous, Azula," he pointed out: she simply smirked, enjoying the feeling of his naked chest against her cheek. "We're too exposed for any naughty shenanigans, you know we are."

"I do, but you can't hope I'll simply sit away from you when I can be far more comfortable on your lap, Sokka," she said, sighing happily. "Though… come to think of it, isn't it our turn to apply the sunscreen?"

"That… will only make things worse," Sokka said, looking at her warily. Azula laughed, urging him to sit up with her. "Azula…?"

"We totally should have done this indoors, but what the heck. May we end up so sticky with lotion we won't want to touch each other at all later…"

"That is literally impossible: you could be covered in the contents of a swamp bog, and I'd still want to touch you."

"Aw, so romantic…" Azula's eyes fluttered in his direction in the most mocking manner possible, as Sokka smirked knowingly.

"You wouldn't return the favor, though, I know as much. Prude, prissy Princess…"

"How dare you!" Azula scoffed, feigning offense as Sokka laughed. "I absolutely would return the favor… while complaining the whole time about how disgusting it is, how bad it smells, how wrong it is for me to do it, all perfectly normal things…"

"Suits you just fine, yeah," Sokka smiled, leaning quickly to kiss her laughing lips. "You're too clever for me…"

"As you are for me. Sneaky Sokka," she said, narrowing her eyes. His own grin widened further. "You know I'm making you pay for all that teasing tonight…"

"And you know I'm looking forward to it, Princess."

She couldn't help but shake her head in disbelief as he grinned proudly: the first bit of lotion she poured on her hands landed smack on his chest as she chided him for his misdemeanors, and Sokka laughed even harder as their attempts to help protect each other with the sunscreen became a playful struggle they enjoyed delightfully.

Their playfight was mostly ignored by the children, and dismissed by the other adults, who each seemed to have found distinct, safe spots in the beach to set up their stations at. Everyone seemed ready to relax gladly… everyone except for the children, who were already playing in the water, laughing loudly, splashing everywhere, racing each other and coming up with whatever mischief might come to mind.

The natural ringleader of most mischief, Mari, rallied Hotaru, Zi and Yuudai with her, after some initial fun in the water. Her dreams of a kuai ball match only seemed closer at hand, now that all necessary preparations were properly finished.

"Do we have a net, though…?" Hotaru asked Mari, who shot her a clever grin.

"I made sure Dad bought one before we came here! I'll go fetch it, we'll set up the court and then…!"

"Then we'll play… against who?" Zi asked, raising her eyebrows. "I think Dad said it's usually four against four…"

"Oh, it can be less than that," Mari decided, grinning. "I have it all figured out, Zi! Just follow me!"

Zi sighed but did as her sister told her: the two sprinted back to the house while Yuudai and Hotaru lagged a few paces behind, uncertain of whatever Mari had in mind.

"Is she always like this?" Yuudai asked Hotaru, amused.

"Well, we don't get to spend that much time together, but… yeah, for as long as I can remember," Hotaru answered, grinning. Yuudai chuckled and shrugged.

"Guess I'll have to get used to it, then. Nobody in my family is that energetic…"

"Guess not," Hotaru smiled, glancing in the direction of Mai and Ruon Jian.

The pair seemed perfectly content to nestle together under their umbrella while their youngest son dug a hole in the sand, not far from where they sat. As strange as Renshu could be, their family, it seemed to Hotaru, was by far the calmest of the group… though Katara and Aang, the former of whom sat with her twin children near Ty Lee and Haru, weren't all that chaotic either, at least not so far. Once their children were older, though…

"Well… we could have even bigger games when everyone's old enough, come to think of it," Hotaru laughed quietly. Yuudai smiled and shrugged.

"Maybe, though if your little sister and your little brother get to play this game, I may be too scared to join in," he confessed. Hotaru chuckled, though she couldn't fault Yuudai for thinking so.

Fortunately, Shun and Yuuna were having too much fun, swimming in the shallow area of the shore while under Aang's supervision – the Avatar was a magnet for the younger kids of the group, and even Kerra was swimming with him right now, listening to his instructions on how to swim backstroke without sinking – she wasn't particularly proficient at staying afloat compared to the other three, though.

By the time Kerra finally started getting the hang of the swimming style, soaring between waves that Yuuna relished in, Hotaru, Yuudai, Mari and Zi had returned from their venture into the house: Mari and Yuudai shared the weight of the two tall poles upon which the net, carried between Zi and Hotaru, would be hoisted.

Every set of eyes turned towards them as they started setting up the game: Mari drew a large circle in the sand around the poles – when they seemed to be unstable in the sand, Haru gave the group a hand by strengthening the sand near the poles they were setting in place, ensuring they would remain steady in their spot. Once the net had been set up, the four oldest children in the group were finally ready to play, and Mari's grand scheme would finally unfold…

"Wait, what?! B-but I can barely play! I should be teamed with you!" Zi whimpered, reaching for her sister, who huffed and shook her head.

"Hotaru's going to be a great teammate for you! Come on, Zi…!" Mari said, nudging her sister, who pouted and grabbed onto her arm.

"But you two are the tallest in the group, we're going to be crushed…!" Zi grimaced. Yuudai smiled and stepped forward.

"She does have a point," he said to Mari, whose plans were suddenly derailed by Yuudai's words. "Don't worry: I can play with your sister, and Hotaru can be on your team. Makes sense, right?"

"B-but…" Mari's eyebrow twitched: Hotaru smiled happily at her, and she couldn't seem to protest against that. "Fine, then, fine… but I'll choose teams for the next game!"

Most eyes were drawn to their kuai ball court by then: even the children by the shore seemed to slow down on their swimming training – though Renshu continued to build his hole, with absolute determination. Azula and Sokka, happily cradled in each other's arms once more, watched with amusement as their daughter took her position with her cousin.

"Two firebenders against two non-benders…?" Sokka asked, raising his eyebrows.

"You're not about to say that's an unfair deal, are you?" Azula smirked.

"It wouldn't be, if the two non-benders weren't… Zi and Yuudai?" Sokka smiled, poking her ribcage lightly: Azula squirmed against him, drawing closer to his bare chest. "You know I can keep up with any bender I bump into, but Zi barely could handle her mom's Kyoshi Warrior training, if she even did…"

"Well, when you put it that way, I suppose we're about to witness… a bit of a massacre?" Azula asked, amused.

"Let's see if they surprise us," Sokka bit his lip: Mari had already raised the ball, flinging it into the air and slamming it hard with her hand.

Yuudai wasn't particularly athletic, but he kept up fairly well with his opponents. Zi, however, fell to shambles with every strong spike by either Hotaru or Mari. Yuudai attempted to receive their attacks, to pass the ball to Zi so she could hit it back to the other court… but by the time she seemed to get the hang of the game, she and Yuudai were down to a mere two points just before Mari kicked the ball powerfully for her final tenth point.

Another round saw only a mild improvement on the opposing team – though they kept the ball rolling for longer on each point. Still, Hotaru and Mari triumphed again, ten to six, and Zi appeared too disheartened to try playing any further. Yuudai took his loss more gracefully… but he still requested for a break, to Mari's utter chagrin.

"B-but… this was when we switched teams," Mari groaned, pressing her face to the ball. Hotaru sighed, patting her cousin's shoulder.

"It was very intense. Maybe we all can use a break now," she said, with a carefree grin. Mari pouted in her direction, but it seemed pointless to her to play against Hotaru alone…

So, she let her cousin go, and so she stood, alone on the kuai ball court she had been so determined to set up. She let out a groan, wondering if she should go for a swim for now, or if she should just wait until the others were ready for another round…

"Well, now… that's just rude. They ditched her? Unacceptable!" Sokka declared, brow furrowed playfully. Azula shrugged.

"It is a shame… but sadly most the other kids are way too young to play with her," she said: Yuuna and Kerra ran up to Mari, no doubt asking if they could play with her, but Mari only smiled and shook her head, responsibly declining to play so intensely with two kids who were about half her age.

"Well, who said only kids get to play?"

Sokka's words seemed to set off a strange switch inside Azula's head. She glanced at him with a raised eyebrow, and he smirked right back at her: her lips shifted into a smile, and Sokka knew she'd understood his intent right away.

"Besides… as far as I know, Mari thinks you and I are about the coolest parents there are. We can't let her change her mind, now, can we?" he snickered, nudging Azula again. She laughed, shaking her head… and making to rise to her feet.

"We really can't let her down. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if we did," she decided. Sokka snickered, pushing himself up to his feet as well.

Mari had successfully convinced the two younger girls to go back to Aang when she heard the footsteps on the sand behind her: she turned quickly to find her favorite set of aunt and uncle were approaching her kuai ball court… and her eyes gleamed when they stepped inside the circle she'd drawn earlier.

"Well, well… I can't pretend I know exactly how this game goes, but I think I caught the gist of it earlier," Sokka smirked: Mari's smile couldn't have been broader as she glanced between both Azula and Sokka. "What do you say about teaming up with us, then?"

"I…! T-that would be a dream come true, but…! Are you guys sure?" she asked, smiling nervously. Azula laughed and nodded, reaching for the ball her niece was still holding.

"I was known to tear kuai ball courts to pieces, in my youth…" she said, dramatically: Mari snorted and laughed, handing the ball to Azula. "Of course, I will try to be civilized today and not wreck your nice net. Looks brand-new and everything…"

"It is!" Mari exclaimed, beaming. "You guys sure, then? Though… I don't know who we'd play. Seems like everyone else wants to take a break…"

"Oh, pfft, there's no need to worry about that," Sokka smirked, glancing over Mari's head: he didn't doubt, not for a second, that their attempt to join Mari would go answered by other fully adult players… and he wasn't surprised to see exactly who would step up to the challenge.

"Hey, now… you guys are playing with Mari?" Zuko's voice reached them: he and Suki had stepped up to the edge of the kuai ball court, and Zuko stared at his sister skeptically. Azula simply answered him with a nonchalant shrug.

"Why, I don't see a problem with that," she said, wrapping an arm around Mari's shoulders: the girl smiled wildly upon finding her aunt was on her side, in every sense that counted. "You'll need one more team member to make things even, though… or, well, as even as can be."

Sokka snickered at Azula's very obvious taunt… the funniest part about it was that he knew, of course, that it would pay off perfectly: Zuko seemed to see red at Azula's insinuation that an even number of team players couldn't possibly suffice to defeat her, Sokka and Mari…

"Mari should be playing with us, if anything!" Zuko huffed: Mari chuckled and shook her head. "Y-you… hey! I taught you how to play!"

"I want to be on Aunt Azula and Uncle Sokka's team!" she said, proudly. Sokka laughed, throwing his own arm over Azula's, his free fist into the air.

"The girl knows two champions when she sees them. Can't blame her for that, now, can you, Zuzu?" he snickered: Azula couldn't ever help but laugh upon hearing her husband addressing Zuko with his despised nickname, and it was clear Zuko's patience was now at an end.

"Well, then, if that's how you three want it…!" he said, turning around quickly. Suki, beside him, sighed.

"You're sure about this? It is Mari…" she asked. Zuko scoffed.

"I'm fighting those two. I'll keep Mari out of it," he assured her, before his eyes fell upon his ideal final member for the three-member team. "Katara! Want to kick your brother's ass?"

"Woah!" Katara gasped at Zuko's sudden proposal. She had been talking with Ty Lee about her pregnancy, sharing stories about her own process, enjoying the previous kuai ball games just fine while they chatted, Tashi and Tallah nestled comfortably on her lap. The chi-blocker snickered, nudging her with her knee to join in.

"You can leave your two lovely kiddos to me and Haru, go on now!" Ty Lee said. "I'd join them myself, but as you can tell…"

"Are you sure?" Katara asked, with a weak smile. Both Haru and Ty Lee nodded, reaching out to hold one child each. Katara laughed and bowed her head in their direction. "Well… great. I guess I'm off to a new iteration of sibling wars, here…"

"Have fun!" Ty Lee called after her.

"Good luck!" Haru said, too. Katara smiled at the two of them, waving in their direction.

Aang, still in the water, watched as his wife approached the kuai ball court, slack jawed. Katara waved in his direction, so he shook his head and smiled brightly before cheering her on.

"You can do it! You can beat them, Katara!" he called out.

By then, though, the kids around him had rushed out of the water, delighted by the notion of the all-out brawl about to take place in the kuai ball court: the teams were assembled now, and the six players were ready to get going. By now, the three who had retired earlier seemed most eager to return to the game soon… but for the time being, Yuudai, Hotaru and Zi would sit with their younger siblings, watching the game from the sidelines – surprisingly, even Renshu seemed to stop digging his hole, and he sat on his brother's lap while watching the court intently, waiting for the match to start.

Each team had huddled up, and Mari's eyes brightened upon knowing she'd be a first-hand witness to her aunt and uncle's impeccable strategizing abilities today. Yet, when it came down to it…

"Well, team captain Mari… what do you think we should do?" Sokka asked: the youngest team member gasped, glancing between them in utmost confusion.

"I, uh… I'm the captain?"

"You're the one who came up with this idea. So… yes, I'd say you are," Azula smiled, nudging her gently. Mari giggled, biting her lip.

"Then, uh… I want to hear what you guys have in mind, first?" she said, too bashful to try and think of any strategies herself – she doubted she'd come up with anything on par with what either of these two could think of.

"Hmm, well… Katara and Suki are bound to be a problem," Azula pointed out, casting a glance in their direction. "As much as you're her daughter…"

"Yeah, Mom's not going to hold back with me. Not at all," said Mari, shaking her head.

"But your dad's another story," Sokka smirked: Azula mirrored the expression immediately.

"Therefore, I think the proper strategy as good as speaks for itself," she said. Sokka nodded "You should take a center-back position, Sokka…"

"I'll receive every ball I can," he said, with certainty. "And then I'll pass it forward, to either of you guys…"

"Oh, no. Not to either of us," Azula's smile gained an even more dangerous edge. "There's one sure-proof way for us to score, Sokka… and we're going to make the most of it."

"You sure?" Sokka asked. "Might be he'll catch on eventually… or the other two will."

"If they do, we'll still be so far ahead that we'll be practically guaranteed to reach the ten points before they do," Azula determined. Mari, beside them, chuckled.

"You guys are incredible. You take even this so seriously… uh, I take it seriously too, don't get me wrong! It's just, well… uh, never mind. So! What's the rest of the plan, exactly?"

Both Azula and Sokka shared another complicit smirk before conveying their ideas to Mari. The young firebender's eyes widened, as the most ironclad plan came together right then and there…

A mere minute later, everyone was ready for the game to start. Mari stood outside the court's line: she tossed the ball high in the air and kicked it powerfully towards the other side of the court.

Katara received the ball, impressed by the power it had packed: Zuko kneed it, giving the ball plenty of altitude for Suki to slam it hard with her hand…

But Sokka leapt forward just in time, stopping the ball from dropping in the sand. It hovered right above him, and Azula dashed forth, passing the ball to Mari, who was already mid-jump…

In the middle of the air, as she was, Mari smirked upon finding the exact place to slam the ball towards:

It wasn't as fast as the spike Suki had pulled off earlier, but this one landed on the ground, right in front of Zuko's unmoving form.

Both Suki and Katara gasped, finding Zuko hadn't made the slightest effort to receive the ball: meanwhile, the other team celebrated their first point quite rowdily.

"O-okay, sorry about that," Zuko swallowed hard. "I'll do better next time."

"You'd better," Katara retorted: Zuko scoffed at her. "You didn't call me here just so I'd wind up on a losing team, now, did you?"

"We're not going to lose, that's exactly why you're here! Just make the most of your chance to mess with your brother, as you always do!" Zuko grunted. Katara, despite herself, smiled at Zuko's words.

"Well, you can never go wrong with messing with your annoying older brother, that much is true…" she said, knowing Sokka, already in position again, heard her loud and clear: he stuck his tongue out in her direction, and Katara smirked as she readied herself to respond to this next service by Mari.

Again, they managed to keep the ball in play: it was Katara who dealt the spike this time, but while it was too fast for Sokka to react and receive it with his hands or feet, it bounced against his head and didn't hit the ground. Azula gasped as he rolled back on the sand, but she rushed to get the ball anyway, as it seemed to be about to fall out of the court.

With a powerful kick, Azula returned the ball to her last teammate: once again, Mari hit the ball powerfully, and this time it landed two paces next to Zuko.

"Zuko!" both Suki and Katara cried out: he flinched, knowing exactly why he was messing up… and suspecting why it was happening, too. He shot a wary glare at his sister, who had rushed up to her husband. Sokka had a groggy expression on his face, but he, of course, asked the one question Zuko expected him to ask…

"Did we pull it off?" he said, rubbing his forehead with his fingertips.

"Yup. Two to nil," Azula smiled, pressing a quick kiss to his brow. "You're impossibly heroic, even in friendly kuai ball matches."

"No idea how friendly it is: we're at war with our siblings, feels to me…" Sokka smiled, as Azula helped him to his feet.

"No need to worry… we've got this, Sokka," Azula said, smirking in the direction of the opposing team.

"Come on, Zuko. Get it together," Katara hissed again. He huffed, frowning.

"I will, I will. I know what to expect now…" he said.

But he was wrong, again: this time, when he prepared himself for Mari's spike, Azula spun in a circle and kicked the ball Sokka had sent her way, right into the sand. Katara lunged for it, but she couldn't stop the powerful kick before it landed.

"You guys are AMAZING!" Mari laughed, rushing in to hug her aunt and uncle, whose smirks couldn't have been more irritating for their siblings. Suki sighed at the obvious, rising competitive spirit of both Katara and Zuko, running a hand over her hair.

"Come on, come on, take it easy, you two," she said, patting their shoulders. "We can do this. Just… don't send it at Sokka this time."

"Sure thing," Zuko huffed. Katara didn't appear to enjoy that particular order, but she nodded in Suki's direction.

Upon the next of Mari's serves, Suki passed the ball to Katara, who slammed it hard close to the net. Azula's attempt to dig the ball failed, but she only laughed off her first lost point as the others basked in their success.

"Guess they were onto us much faster than expected," she smiled, as Sokka helped her up.

"I'll be more careful, then," Sokka said, eyeing his opponents warily. "I'll be ready to jump forward whenever I have to…"

"Be ready to do more than that, if need be," Azula said, patting his chest affectionately. "No one here's bound to have a more powerful arm than you. If you don't receive it, you might just be able to spike it…"

"Huh… you sure about that?" Sokka smiled. Azula winked at him.

"Trust me."

"Always," he responded: Azula smiled brightly at his answer.

Zuko served this time: he shot the ball powerfully at Sokka, unable to make the ball land anywhere else: Mari attempted to spike it at Zuko again, but Suki leapt in the way of it, flinging the ball upwards for Katara to set it properly and for Zuko to slam it again…

But this time, Azula and Sokka had changed positions.

She received the ball, rolling on the sand as a result: Mari watched in sheer awe as Sokka seemed to levitate, gearing up with an attack that none of the other team's members were prepared for.

The ball slammed powerfully into the sand, still spinning in place as Sokka dropped on the ground again, a proud smirk on his face.

"You guys just…!" Mari gasped, her hands over her mouth as she gazed at them in amazement.

A cheer broke from their many onlookers. Hotaru, Shun and Yuuna cheered for their parents' teamwork, while many of the others clapped at the way they'd obliterated the defense of their opposing team. Most of the audience wasn't surprised in the least to see Azula and Sokka gaining such an advantage over their opponents, though the opponents in question weren't all that pleased about it.

"Guess they're taking us seriously now, huh?" Zuko said, with a proud smile that waned quickly. "Though that may not be a good thing for us anyway."

"We're NOT letting them get a win so easily. We're fighting this, to the end!" Katara declared: it would be Azula's serve next, and they were ready quickly to receive the ball.

They did fight, and quite bravely: they managed a couple more points later on, though only after Azula's serve scored two more for their side. By the time it was Sokka's turn to serve, everyone was ready to receive a powerhouse of an attack… that wound up going too far, landing outside the court and leading his three opponents to sigh in relief.

"Ugh, damn it. Should control my power better…" Sokka pouted: Azula eased him by kissing his cheek.

"Being so strong and fierce may lose us a few points in the game, but it wins you quite a few of them with me, just the same," she declared, wiggling her eyebrows: his previous irritation was eased quickly by her teasing. "Come on, then. We're not that far from crushing them completely."

Katara's serve wasn't as powerful as her brother's, but strong enough to cause Mari to roll in the sand after digging the ball right on time. Azula passed it, Sokka smacked it… but Zuko dug it too, much as his daughter had. Suki was the next to spike, though Azula received it, handing it to Sokka, and Sokka set it for Mari…

Another spike, and another out-of-bounds blast.

"Oh, damn it!" Mari huffed: her parents cheered on the other side, and their little audience seemed to cheer for them as well.

"Calm down, calm down. We're still ahead, and we'll stay ahead," Azula smiled. "If things take a bad turn, well… we'll just have to take extreme measures."

"I wonder what that means," Mari glanced at her aunt, who smirked deviously.

"I have no choice but to hold back so far, is all… I'd rather not go the extra mile unless we really have to," she said. Mari gulped but smiled. "Sokka's holding back too, so…"

"You guys are terrifying… and you're also the coolest people ever," she laughed. Azula smiled, winking at her niece before Katara served again.

This time, Mari's showdown with her mother kept them stalled in a point for almost three minutes: Sokka swept in eventually, slapping the ball right past Suki, at such speed neither Zuko nor Katara could reach it.

"Yeah! One last point and we're done!" Mari cheered: it was her serve again, and she hoped to do it right…

Her father grimaced when she took her position: he loved his daughter dearly and wanted her to be happy… but he didn't want his sister and her husband to thwart his team. It was a troubling conflict of interests… but it was one that caused him to do his best, even when the ball his daughter served went flying right in his direction.

He managed to dig it, handing it to Katara, who passed it over the net immediately: Azula struck it, making it hover just long enough for Sokka to knee it higher yet… and then Mari swept in, kicking the ball towards her father anew…

Suki leapt in front of the ball, passing it to Katara. Zuko jumped over Suki, shooting her a complicit smile before spiking the ball… and Azula received it, hard enough and in such an angle that it bounced right into Zuko's face.

Suki gasped, but Katara rushed after the ball anyway. Azula grimaced as her brother found his bearings… and glared at her for making the ball rebound that way. She shrugged apologetically, but she had little time to repent: Katara had managed to save the ball, Suki was in position to spike it…

Mari dug it this time, falling face-first in the sand to save a ball that would have almost certainly left a sizable hole in the sand if it had touched the ground. Azula turned quickly, ready to set the ball… and Sokka leapt powerfully, right above her.

Azula smirked, passing him the ball just in time for him to smirk knowingly at her. With a blow as strong as that of his failed serve earlier, but from a much better vantage point, Sokka dunked the ball in the sand, just before the other three could jump quickly enough to reach it.

"We won! We… YES!" Mari screamed, leaping to her feet: Sokka had stumbled on the sand, dropping atop his wife as the two of them laughed over their victory, rolling under the net.

"Ugh! This is exactly why I didn't want them to win!" Zuko groaned, covering his eyes from the sight of his sister kissing her husband in the most shameless manner possible – Shun did the same thing among the public, while everyone else just laughed at their reactions.

"If that was how it was, you should've been smarter about receiving your dear daughter's powerful spikes," Katara smiled, patting his shoulder sympathetically. "We lost, but I'd say we were a pretty good team, though!"

"Better than expected, considering you'd never played with us before," Suki laughed, hugging Katara to thank her for the game.

"You guys are crazy!" Hotaru laughed, entering the court and approaching her parents. They were still locked in each other's embrace, laughing carelessly at their latest successful venture.

"What do you want us to say? We're just naturals at kuai ball!" Sokka grinned, raising his head to glance at his daughter. "Or, well, I am."

"It's just the first time you play, and you crushed the competition so thoroughly," Azula smiled fondly as she cupped his face. "We were always meant to be, Sokka, I knew we were…"

"Was there ever any doubt?" Sokka snickered, prompting Azula to kiss him one more time before sitting up, utterly proud of her victory.

"Thank you, guys," Mari smiled, stepping closer to her two teammates. "That was… the best kuai ball game, EVER!"

"Woah, really? We can't try to outdo it, then?"

Yuudai's voice startled Mari: she turned quickly towards him, her cheeks flushed. He smiled at her and nodded in acknowledgement.

"You're really good at this game, keeping up with two grown-ups in your team and three in the other one… maybe you should try to make some sort of professional career out of it," Yuudai suggested. Mari snorted and shook her head.

"Is there such a thing? I doubt it… though, if there is, I definitely have to think about it," she smirked, to everyone's amusement.

"Well, then… you up for another round?" Yuudai asked, with a shrug. "Pretty sure a lot of people want to join in now…"

He wasn't wrong: Zi was back on board too, inspired by the showdown between her parents and her sister. Hotaru seemed perfectly enthusiastic as well, so their previous group was ready… while Aang had rushed in to ask to be part of the game as well, delighted to test his ability to handle a game so different from the ones he used to play with his fellow airbenders. Ty Lee had spurred Haru to take part in the game too, in her place, and Ruon Jian had stepped up as well, despite admitting he hadn't tried his hand at kuai ball since a very long time ago. Out of those playing the last game, only Suki and Mari remained in the court: Azula and Sokka stepped out and joined their youngest children, who seemed all too thrilled for their victory in the last game.

"I want to play!" Yuuna insisted, once Shun darted off to watch the start of the next game. Azula smiled, smoothing the girl's disorderly hair.

"You're not quite ready to play against your big cousin just yet…" Azula said, but she smirked soon enough. "But we could start preparing you for that, someday."

"Yeah!" Yuuna grinned, clasping her mother's hands: Azula smiled at Sokka, who nodded approvingly.

"We've got a smaller ball in our bags. Want to practice with that one?"

"Yeah, bring it over," Azula said.

Yuuna couldn't have been more excited, though her enthusiasm dwindled when a boyish voice spoke up to Azula suddenly.

"I want to learn to play too."

Azula glanced down at Renshu: he stared at her with the same straightforward bluntness he ever exhibited, and Yuuna grimaced over his presence immediately. Azula smiled, though, and nodded at Mai's second son.

"If you want, sure thing. Might be the next time we come here, the four of us will be a great team," Azula said. Yuuna stuck her tongue out at the notion, just as Sokka returned to them, the new ball in hand.

They started in the sand, simply passing the ball from one to the other… but as Yuuna seemed unamused about having to pass the ball to Renshu, Azula and Sokka decided the child needed a new variant added to the game, to distract her from being cross with the little boy: they entered the water, making it so they stood in a square, with Yuuna and Renshu closer to shore, while the two grown-ups stood deeper in the water.

"Alright, then! Remember: there's no bending in kuai ball…" Sokka said to Yuuna, though Azula snorted.

"Well, now, I never heard of that rule…"

"Hey, now," Sokka eyed her meaningfully: Azula offered him a guilty grin before he tossed the ball at her. "Come on, start passing!"

The water slowed their movements, thus, it forced them to make bigger efforts to reach the ball. Even though the kids weren't all that deep in the water, the ball slipped out of their small hands a few times… though when it happened to Yuuna once, she bent some nearby water quickly to ensure the ball would return to her hands, hoping no one would notice she had broken the passing pattern. Yet, of course, everyone did… and one of them would never fail to point out whatever he'd noticed:

"You used your bending," Renshu said. Yuuna pouted. "It's not allowed."

"… Tattletale," Yuuna pouted. Renshu blinked blankly.

"I just told the truth," he said, simply.

Flustered and irritated, Yuuna responded to Renshu's accusation by tossing the ball at him when he didn't expect it. It bounced cleanly off his head, and both Sokka and Azula gasped at her choice: Renshu, however, didn't seem bothered by it at all.

"Yuuna! There's no need to do that, Renshu's a friend…!" Sokka said. Yuuna bit her lower lip, glancing at her parents apologetically.

"Sorry…"

"It didn't hurt. It's a light ball," Renshu said: it seemed as though he had no idea what was there to be worried about, altogether. Yuuna glanced at him with uncertainty…

Then, she used her bending again to have the ball float into Renshu's hands again. The young boy seemed puzzled when the ball returned to him… and then he smiled.

"Woah. W-woah…!" Sokka gasped, reaching for Azula's arm: his wife actually laughed at the sight of the boy smiling, for neither of them had seen it before.

"Thank you," Renshu said, still grinning at Yuuna before tossing the ball at Azula again.

Azula and Sokka remained amused and amazed by the boy's unusual display of emotion as the ball came back into circulation between them. They'd definitely have to ask Mai later if he'd ever reacted this way to anyone else… but for now, they cherished having witnessed such a rare sight with Yuuna, who had relaxed a little upon realizing that perhaps Renshu wasn't bad company after all. As awkward as she was around the boy before, now she seemed much quicker to smile in his direction whenever she passed him the ball.

In the meantime, two more games passed by in the kuai ball court: at first, it was a game with Mari and Yuudai, finally on the same team, paired with Haru and Suki. On the other team, Hotaru, Zi, Ruon Jian and Aang had done their best to win, but the Avatar's frequent, instinctive airbending had caused the game to stop, and for points to be annulled, because of the evident unfairness that Aang himself acknowledged as such between awkward, apologetic smiles. In the end, Mari was happily triumphant anew, though her streak ended when the next game saw the young players teaming up against the adult ones: even without airbending, Aang's height offered him quite an advantage over his opponents, much as Suki's agility did. Haru's quick digs saw him receiving even the most complicated balls, more often than not, and as much as Ruon Jian seemed to have no special skill of his own, he passed the ball to everyone who did, always ensuring they could take the points when the opportunity came up.

The defeated teenagers weren't all that discouraged, though: the grown-ups they'd been playing seemed too tired to continue, but Mari knowingly glanced at her previous partners, finding they were finally getting out of the water with the two children they had been playing with:

"Hey, Aunt Azula, Uncle Sokka! Want another round?" she asked, with a mischievous grin. Sokka scoffed.

"Aren't you exhausted yet, Mari? Goodness, what do your parents feed you that you still can go for another game…?" Sokka asked, running his hand over his wet hair. Mari snickered and shook her head.

"Oh, come on! You totally can take another game! Though I guess you'll need two more teammates… oh, I know! Dad, Kat-Kat!"

"Woah. Did she just…?" Sokka froze: Azula grimaced too as both Zuko and Katara, who had sat out the last two games, glanced at Mari in confusion.

"You can have your rematch: join Aunt Azula and Uncle Sokka to beat me!" Mari said, with a vicious smirk.

"Wait a minute…!" Zuko gasped. Katara scoffed.

"I wanted to beat them, not you, Mari!" Katara said, bluntly: her earnest answer amused Sokka and Azula, as Mari smiled and shook her head.

"Now you guys can try to work together to beat me and my team, then! Should be lots of fun!"

"Well, now… playing against Hotaru? That sounds so wrong…" Sokka said, glancing at Azula with uncertainty. His wife scoffed.

"You're not going to be as silly about that as Zuko was, now, are you? It's a game, not a battlefield…"

"As far as I can tell, every game is a battlefield of its own," Sokka smiled, as they entered the court. "But anyway, she's definitely trying to coax those two to join in because she assumes we're going to fail if we work together with them, right?"

"Right… and we can't give her the satisfaction, can we?" Azula asked, raising her eyebrows. Sokka snickered and shook his head, glancing at Katara.

"Come on, Katara!" he called for her. "I promise I won't kiss Azula every point we score…"

"That's something you ought to be promising this guy, not me," Katara smirked, pointing at Zuko, whose eyebrow twitched at her words. "You guys are for real? Us against them?"

"Well, why not? We're always at odds, the fun siblings and the boring ones…" Sokka said, with a melodramatic sigh.

"And after calling us that, you still think we're going to join in?" Zuko growled, rising to his feet.

"Well, now! I didn't say which was which, you jumped to conclusions all on your own!" Sokka grinned. Zuko huffed, kicking sand in his direction and shaking his head as he and Katara joined their siblings on their side of the court.

"I'm joining in, alright… but only because Mari wants me to," he said, proudly. "And we're going to lose, deliberately, so that she and Zi can be happy."

"Wait, wait, wait, that defeats the whole point of playing…" Sokka said, grimacing.

"Your daughter is on the other team too, how are you even questioning this?" Zuko asked, eyeing Sokka with uncertainty.

"Oh, our daughter will be fine if she loses," Azula smirked, glancing at Hotaru, who grinned and waved in her direction. "It'll just toughen her up, if anything…"

"Toughen her up…?" Zuko grimaced, glancing at Mari. "Not sure I want mine to be toughen-…"

His words seemed to die out in a sputter, his brow drawn together upon noticing Mari wasn't as attentive to him as Hotaru was with Azula and Sokka: instead, Mari's attention was completely enraptured by Yuudai, who seemed to laugh happily at whatever his unusually bashful daughter was saying to him…

"W-what is… w-what is…?" he asked, blinking rapidly as he raised a hand towards what was happening on the other side of the court. "Hey now, that's not… t-that's not allowed…"

Azula, Sokka and Katara glanced back at Mari: it only took an instant for all three of them to understand what was bothering Zuko so greatly all of sudden… and it only took another instant for a clever idea to transmit between all three of them, wordlessly.

"Well, well… maybe Mari had a reason to want to play with that particular team, huh?" Azula said, tapping her chin thoughtfully. Zuko's face seemed to spasm now, and Sokka could barely hold back the laughter that threatened to break him. Katara stepped up next:

"That's definitely flirty body language, yes," she said, supporting her weight by setting an elbow on Zuko's shoulder. "Oh, my, what a mess…"

"He's not… what the hell does he think he's doing?" Zuko asked, with a dangerous smile.

"Well, now… Mari's not bound to take it very well if you snap at her right now," Azula said, smiling at Zuko. "She's just being a teenager, after all. But the one you're definitely worried about is…"

"Him," Zuko finished. Katara smirked.

"And there's no better way to deal with this apparent threat… than by playing at your very best, isn't that right?"

"I…! I…!" Zuko huffed, releasing a small puff of fire with a hard breath through his nose. He turned quickly, his back towards the net as he snarled viciously. "I'm taking him down."

Azula punched the air triumphantly as Katara giggled to herself, just as bad at containing her amusement as Sokka was. Within moments, they'd huddled up, and their strategy meeting began.

There wasn't much to instruct Zuko over: his eyes shifted in every direction with concerned fury, and it was clear he'd do a much better job this game than he had in the previous one he'd played. They would take a different formation now, with Azula and Katara at either side of the court, Sokka taking the back, and Zuko standing closest to the net.

"Alright… brace yourselves!" Sokka called, as Mari readied herself to serve. Azula winked at Hotaru, opposite to her on the court, and her daughter grinned happily at her mother.

The ball flew powerfully, right into Sokka's ready arms: it bounced off Azula's palms next, in Zuko's direction…

The firebender leapt in the air, readying a spinning kick that he aimed flawlessly at Yuudai.

The young man stretched his hands out, trying to receive the ball, but it bounced wildly off his hands, slamming unevenly and bouncing out of the court. Yuudai winced, and Mari gasped, rushing towards him.

"You okay, Yuudai?! Dad! Take it easy!" she huffed: Zuko's eyes seemed to glower, and Mari flinched at the sight of it. "D-Dad…?"

"Oookay, Zuko! Nicely done! Good job!" Sokka smiled, yanking the firebender towards them: he still was seeing red, evidently. "Hey now, buddy, it's cool that you're taking it seriously but…"

"She… she just ran off to check on him, she…" Zuko huffed. Azula hummed.

"If you aim so that the ball doesn't touch him, she'll have no reason to worry about him, you know…?" she said. Katara and Sokka glanced at her in disbelief. "What? We should redirect his rage, not make him lose it. Not until we're at least five points ahead…"

"You're so competitive, you guys…" Katara smiled, shaking her head.

"Well, you can always let the rest of us do most the work and just be here to even our playing numbers, if you really don't care for victory that much…" Sokka said, nonchalantly. Katara's placid smile shifted into an irate scowl. "Or maybe not?"

"You… you're such a pain," she hissed, bumping him as they took positions again: Azula and Sokka exchanged a wicked smile before Shun came rushing back towards them, carrying the ball that had fallen out of the court earlier.

Azula served, Hotaru received it: Zi had very little confidence with spiking properly, so she set the ball for her older sister. Mari attempted her previous technique, hopeful that her father wouldn't be able to handle receiving this time…

Zuko leapt, arms extended in front of the ball. It bounced right back into her side of the court, and Mari gazed in shock at her father's disgruntled expression as Yuudai dove in to save the ball before their team lost another point. Zi hoisted the ball again, and this time it was Hotaru jumping, to spike…

Her father received it, grinning wildly at his proud daughter.

"Nice power there, Hotaru! That's my girl!" he roared: she blushed but smiled proudly as she returned to a defensive position.

The ball was Katara's to spike this time: sharp and eager to prove she was as fierce as the rest of her team's members, Katara mercilessly aimed her spike towards Zi's vicinity. The young girl squealed and shifted out of the way of the ball, and Katara's viciousness faded into remorse.

"Zi! I didn't mean to freak you out, I…!"

"Zi! Don't fear the ball, you should know better than that after all these games!" Mari stepped in, blocking Katara from view as she scolded her younger sister. Katara blinked a couple of times but sighed, guessing she'd apologize properly later.

"That's it, much better!" Sokka grinned at Katara, with a thumbs-up gesture. Katara sighed shaking her head.

"I'm letting you guys drive me crazy, aren't I? I really am…" she sighed, returning to position.

The next point lasted just two back-and-forth exchanges before the ball fell right into Zuko's hands: he slammed the ball powerfully at a corner near Yuudai, and he failed to reach the ball. Azula congratulated him for a better result now, but Zuko, clearly, wasn't satisfied… let alone was he when Yuudai himself blocked his next spike successfully, and Azula failed to dig the ball just before it fell within fair grounds.

"U-uh… I'm sorry?" Yuudai whimpered, face to face with Zuko's fearsome glare: Katara had to reel him back in, while Sokka took care to check that Azula was alright after lunging for the ball and failing to retrieve it.

"Don't mind him, don't mind him…" Mari huffed, hands on her hips. "I have no idea what's wrong with Dad right now, but… we did it! First point we've scored so far, you guys! Let's keep it rolling!"

And so they did: another mistake by Zuko resulted in a spike that collided with the topmost border of the net. Hotaru leapt in the air powerfully, kicking the ball with plenty of power, right beside Katara.

"Woah! You go, Hotaru!" Sokka roared, clapping as Azula nodded in her direction.

"Magnificent form, too. Nicely done," she said: Hotaru blushed, scratching the back of her head as she smiled shyly. Mari, beside her, huffed and shook her head.

"If only my parents were as cool as that…" she said: Zuko overheard her, and he gazed at her, stricken and distraught once again.

"Calm down, Zuko…" Katara warned him: he glanced at her in distress, though.

"Am I… losing her?! Am I losing them?! Is he going to…?!"

"To do what? He's sixteen!" Katara laughed, hands on her hips. "Come on, quit being such a dumbass about this, whatever it is. I know we thought it'd get you to do a better job, but you're actually doing worse now…"

"M-Mari hates me…" he whimpered. Katara groaned, shoving him towards the net before glancing at the other two.

"No more Zuko spikes or kicks. I think you guys broke him by accident," she said. Azula and Sokka raised an eyebrow, puzzled, but willing to abide by Katara's counsel.

Thus, the game became, by all effects, three-against-four. Zuko only seemed to pass the ball, leaving the other three to receive, set and spike together – even so, their physical superiority saw the opposing team, inexperienced and much too young, trailing behind by four points when they'd reached their eighth.

"Awesome work, Yuudai!" Mari exclaimed, rushing in to hug him quickly after he spiked and scored: Zuko's protectiveness reared its ugly head again at the sight, and he growled under his breath, waiting for the ball to reach him soon. Maybe Mari would hate him, but he couldn't let her throw her whole life away over some… some summer romance? Was that what this was? It couldn't be…!

The mere idea seemed to break what little sense he still had left: when Azula set for Katara, Zuko rushed in instead and kicked the ball powerfully, again at Yuudai… and this time it slammed right into his face.

"Yuudai!" Mari gasped: the ball dropped right in front of the net, and the young man flopped on the sand, a groggy smile on his face. Zuko scoffed.

"That's as far as this goes, Mar-…!"

"ZUKO!"

A sudden, thunderous, unexpectedly loud voice seemed to freeze the whole game. Zuko, naturally, was the most terrified one as Mari helped the still-groggy Yuudai up to a sitting position. The wounded teenager smiled awkwardly at his teammate… and then he glanced at his mother, who stood at the edge of the court, glaring fiercely at the fully-grown firebender responsible for Yuudai's many difficulties over the course of this game.

Zuko swallowed hard, eyeing Mai with utmost terror: he couldn't remember having angered her to that extent ever before… though it suddenly dawned on him that Yuudai was no common, random teenage boy. He was Mai's son, much as Mari was his daughter… and Mai would want his head on a platter after what he'd done.

"I… I… l-lost control…?" Zuko acknowledged. Mai's eyes glowered in the sunset, brighter than the last slivers of sunlight.

"You'd better not lose control again. You hear me?" she hissed. Zuko swallowed hard and nodded. "And even if you don't… this is not over."

Zuko gritted his teeth, watching as Mai stepped into the court, marching to check on her son – he seemed to be mostly fine, though he continued to smile awkwardly as his teammates talked to him. Yet, after convincing him of leaving the court to treat the unsurprising nosebleed that poured down his upper lip after a moment, Mai herself took his position. The three teenage girls watched her in sheer astonishment, and Mari gulped before bowing her head in their only adult teammate's direction.

"T-thank you for… filling in? Didn't expect that…" she admitted.

"I have to fill in for him. And I have a score to settle with your father," Mai hissed. Zuko gritted his teeth, shrinking in place: only one point remained, so perhaps Mai's motherly fury wouldn't reach him…

His hopes were unfounded: as soon as the ball was on her side of the court, Mai was merciless.

It hadn't really surprised Azula to find her friend could be quite so efficient and powerful upon setting her mind on something, but she couldn't remember Mai ever being a particularly impressive kuai ball player… and yet, all of sudden, she was the best one on the court. Her millimetric precision, her powerful attacks, her quick assessments on where to block, her leadership with the other girls… and her vengefulness at Zuko, too, saw the score slowly closing in until it stood nine-to-eight, even if still in favor of the team with the two sets of siblings.

"This is bad," Katara said, smiling awkwardly at her teammates. "They're going to kill us if we keep this up, so… you two? Got any big ideas in mind?"

Azula and Sokka glanced at each other: so far, the games had been nothing but entertainment. Taking them seriously would likely kill part of the fun – and admittedly, it had been fun for Zuko to cower under Mai's fury after his earlier outbursts. Yet neither of them liked losing, and they had no intentions of doing it now.

"Zuko," Azula said, glancing at her brother: his face, shoulders and chest sported a few circular red marks, where Mai's powerful spikes had struck him in retaliation for his cruelty with her son. "I'm going to need you to be ready to receive the next ball."

"But Mai's serving…"

"Exactly," Azula said, eyes narrow. "If we move fast enough, if Katara can toss it our way…"

"One of us can do it?" Sokka asked. Azula nodded.

"We can try to, anyway. We'll keep the ball rolling until the right chance comes, at least. But stick to receiving properly now, alright? No more blocking attempts, or spiking. Got it?"

Zuko nodded meekly, willing to do whatever was necessary to end his current torment: Azula clasped Sokka's hand firmly, and he smiled proudly at his wife.

"I have no idea what we're going to do to get this last point… so I guess we're going to wing it, huh?"

"Well, on some measure, yes," Azula smirked, shrugging. "We're going all out, though…"

"You sure? Won't set the net or the ball on fire if you do?" Sokka asked, amused. Azula shrugged.

"It's been known to happen…" she admitted, twirling a lock of hair between her fingers. Sokka chuckled and shook his head.

"Oh, I love you."

"I love you too," Azula retorted with a complicit grin, squeezing his hand before taking her position.

Mai served: as predicted, the ball soared powerfully towards Zuko, not intended to find purchase in the sand, but to smack the firebender's face. Zuko kicked the ball upon receiving it, and as much as it was a reckless move that saw the ball floating far too high in the sky, Katara still rushed towards it.

"Got it, got it…!"

Her eyes flickered down to Sokka and Azula, who exchanged a knowing look. To her utter confusion, Sokka gathered Azula in his arms, leaning down with her…

Katara tossed a high set in their direction, and just so, Sokka tossed Azula into the air.

She soared, startling everyone else in the court, even Mai, whose focus so far had been exclusively on Zuko: nobody was prepared for Azula to turn around in midair, packing a powerful kick of her own that saw the ball shooting at lightning speed, right back to the sand…

It sank in the middle of the opposite team's side with a burst of sand, as good as leaving a crater in its wake.

Katara gasped in amazement. Zuko blinked blankly, relieved, the four at the opposing team simply stared at the crater in shock, and the public froze entirely as Azula fell back again… right into her husband's waiting arms.

"And that's ten!" Sokka roared, hugging Azula tightly as they spun in circles. "We did it! You did it, Azula!"

"You're the one who threw me up there, you're the one who did it!" Azula laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck: by then, their public had launched into a loud celebration, the children squealing with joy – or simply clapping, in Renshu's case –, the grown-ups laughing at the typically unpredictable antics of the impossibly competitive couple who embraced willfully in the middle of the kuai ball court, with Sokka still holding Azula across his arms as he smiled proudly.

Hotaru watched them with amusement, letting a few chuckles tumble past her lips as she glanced at the sand crater near her, where the ball had been buried a good meter underground. Mari's own reaction was laughter, though she turned to Mai soon enough, thanking her for filling in for Yuudai, who now sat with Ruon Jian by the courtside, waving at them and letting them know they'd played brilliantly, a damp cloth under his nostrils.

"Mom! Mom, you flew like a bird!" Yuuna rushed into the court, jumping happily at Sokka's feet. "Like a dragon!"

"Oh, that's because we're a family of dragons, Yuuna, I always tell you as much," Sokka chuckled, pressing a quick kiss to Azula's cheek. "And your mommy is the best dragon of all!"

"Well, now, I wouldn't be half the dragon I am if you weren't the amazing wolf that flings me six feet into the air… or however many they were," Azula laughed, pressing a kiss to his lips. "We really are the best team there is, aren't we?"

"Always have been," Sokka grinned brightly, burying his face in her neck: Shun had joined them by then, but he grimaced at the displays of affection between his parents, sticking his tongue out at the sight of them, cuddled up together that way.

All wild tempers had flared at their worst during the games: a mere few moments after it ended, Zuko went over to apologize to Yuudai, who smiled awkwardly but accepted the apology graciously.

"I know I shouldn't have played so roughly, I just… got carried away. I was completely out of place," Zuko sighed, lowering his head in a heartfelt reverence.

"It's okay, really. It was just a game," Yuudai said, with a kind smile. Zuko grinned back and nodded.

"That's right, it was just a-… wait, what?" Zuko's brain seemed to short-circuit over the possible interpretations of Yuudai's words, but this time, Suki slipped nearby quickly and yanked him away from the teenager.

"Good job apologizing, don't mess it up now," she said, with a dry grin. Zuko scoffed.

"But he just said it was a game: what was a game? The kuai ball, o-or whatever he's up to, with Mari…?" Zuko whimpered. Suki rolled her eyes.

"Probably just the kuai ball game? Come on, Zuko, we raised Mari right, didn't we? That's what matters most. And Mai must have raised Yuudai right too, but, beyond that, picking a fight with him means picking a fight with her, and you don't want to do that again, now, do you?"

Zuko grimaced over the question: Mai's good-mannered smile at Yuudai shifted into a merciless glare upon realizing Zuko had glanced in her direction: yes, perhaps Suki was right.

"I'll… shut up now," he decided.

Suki smiled, nodding at her husband before turning to the rest of the group, all of whom were finally calming down after the intense game:

"So…! Dinnertime?"

Their last meal of the day wasn't served within the house: instead, they ate around a large fire, roasting food together, enjoying leftovers from lunch, as well as a few desserts that had been ready for the meal. The sky darkened gradually, and the stars were a beautiful spectacle to behold for everyone: laughter rang across the beach as stories of all sorts were shared, great anecdotes from the old days, tales that most everyone either held dear or found intriguing, as was the case for most the children who hadn't witnessed them directly.

By the time the last of the food was spent, several of the families retired to the house again: Ty Lee and Haru took off with Zuko and Suki's family, and Katara and Aang followed shortly afterwards, carrying both their kids. Mai slowed down next to Azula and Sokka before taking off with her own family, however, finding the five members of the self-proclaimed dragon-and-wolf family were quite comfortable lying on the sand, facing the sky, not too far from where the fire still burned.

"You'll take care of that?" she asked Azula, gesturing at the burning wood. Azula nodded reassuringly.

"Have a good night, Mai. Sorry we beat you," she smiled. Mai scoffed.

"You're not sorry at all, but I don't mind. At least you two were the ones who scored the final point," she smiled despite herself, raising a hand in farewell before taking off after her husband and two sons.

Azula closed her eyes, sighing happily against Sokka's chest: he had taken to sitting against a tall rock, and Azula had joined him there. Then Hotaru had taken her seat by Azula's free side and Shun by Sokka's: Yuuna had climbed their laps, sitting with one small leg over each of their thighs… and by now, the three children, so energetic as they had been through the day, were exhausted and drained after so much fun on their first day of beach vacation. They had fallen asleep gradually, but by now it seemed they were so deeply unconscious that their parents would likely have to carry them into the house later… but only later. For now, they basked in the peaceful feeling of sitting together near that fire, with a dark but beautiful horizon spreading before them, with countless bright stars gleaming above them.

"Well… that was quite the start for this vacation, wasn't it?" Sokka smiled, glancing at Azula with a heartfelt smile. She grinned back, pressing a quick kiss to his shoulder. "Think we can keep up the momentum if there's more games later? We should never lose at kuai ball, you and me…"

"Won't be long before they realize what the true challenge will be, for us…" Azula said, softly. Sokka gasped, in feigned outrage.

"What… making us play in opposing teams?! Now, that's forbidden. Absolutely," he scoffed: Azula only laughed, pressing another kiss to his shoulder.

"If you get away with that, then yes, we'd definitely destroy anyone who plays against us. It goes without saying," she declared, raising her head towards him. Sokka offered her a wild grin before kissing her lips quickly.

"You're my every dream come true, Azula. You know that, right?" he asked, smiling fondly at his wife. She raised her head to kiss him again, prodding his nose with hers.

"You're my every dream come true too, Sokka, though… right now, one particular dream comes to mind," she admitted, raising her eyebrows. Sokka hummed.

"What's that?"

"Well…" Azula started, glancing about herself with uncertainty.

She had been in this beach, in this place, so many years ago. She had played with her brother, she had tried to gain more approval and attention from her parents here… yet even though time had colored the memories into much fonder recollections than they used to be, back when she'd lived them directly, she'd known no peace, no true happiness, in those days. Right now, gazing at her sleeping children, and then at the man she had raised them with, a spark of very familiar, overwhelming joy danced inside her chest, filling her with the certainty of having experienced, for as many years as they had been together, exactly what she had dreamt of, if subconsciously, since she was a child…

"I guess I always wanted to know what it felt like, being part of a happy family," Azula said, with a small smile. "Been ages since the question's been answered, of course… but in moments like these, it's like all the happiness is renewed and strengthened all over again. Doesn't matter how tired we are, doesn't matter how much trouble these three can get into… all of it is part of our happiness, just as well. I… I'm seriously proud of us. Of everything we've built, Sokka."

His affectionate smile melted her heart all the more, no matter how many times she'd seen it before: he pressed his brow to hers, and she released a breath, as though hoping to let out some of the overwhelming, blissful emotions that surged inside her chest that way…

"So am I, love," he said, softly. "I did know what it felt like, myself… being in a happy family, I mean. But this feels… it feels even better than anything ever did, in the past. Not just because of how much has changed, all over the world… but because I got to build this happy family of our own with you: there's no greater honor or happiness to be found in this world than that."

Azula smiled warmly, leaning in for another kiss that Sokka relinquished gladly. They'd head indoors soon, they couldn't stay out in this beach forever, before the flickering embers, underneath a starlit sky… even so, that moment they shared, the comfort of their embrace, in the company of their children, nestled in the ever-surging love that only strengthened further between them all, was but a crystallized instant of bliss that encompassed eternity.

[stutterfly]

Snow, Don’t Tell (M) | PJM

Granny Park’s Gossip:

Jimin is the sweetest boy around, no comparison. Always ready to listen to my stories, visits me regularly and tells me all sorts of tales about those friends of his. Might as well adopt them all, I know so much about them! Jiminie’s the best grandson anyone could ask for, really, a little angel, and his little gang of friends is quite the hoot. He’s been a little quiet about himself lately, though. Kept going on and on about that neighbor of his, how cute she always looks and how he likes to help her with her groceries, but I think maybe I teased him just a little too much about that crush of his. Maybe he’ll figure out a way to get closer to her this holiday season, because who knows how much longer he’ll pine over the girl if he doesn’t. 

       ❄  Word Count: 27.2k

       ❄ Pairing: Jimin x Reader

       ❄ Genre:  Neighbors AU / Friends to Lovers / Fluff / Smut / Humor

       ❄ Rating: 18+ / Explicit

       ❄ CW and other tags: heavy sexual tension, grinding, groping, swearing, kissing, biting, hair pulling, fingering, masturbation, teasing, edging, hickeys/ bruising skin, oral sex (male and female receiving), praise kink, love kink, mentions of threesome, hinted foursome, penetrative sex, protected sex, pinching, pierced nips, tiddyfucking, dirty filthy talk, whiny Jimin, Jimin is a Snake spilling all the tea about his friends, angst, mentioned alcoholism, mentions of toxic parents, some negative self-talk which is quashed by the prince himself, feelings of self-consciousness, insecurities about education, basically a slowburn speedrun that’s wet and wild, second-hand embarrassment, exhibitionism/voyeurism, Jimin is everyone’s therapist, reader is a mess, jimin is a mess too The Snowball Effect Collab Masterlist  This is the first fic the series/project The Snowball Effect. Please click the link above to see the summaries and genres for each fic! Also, while each of these fics can stand on their own, they all end up at the same place, occurring simultaneously. There are also little easter eggs and secrets for the other fics woven throughout each of these! For the biggest, fluffiest Snowball Effect experience, we highly recommend you read each of them! Do not repost.

══✿══╡°˖✧✿✧˖°╞══✿══

‘Thank you’ is a powerful phrase. It can hold so much joy, affirmation, and even love. True gratitude is more than a word; it's a feeling. It's those unexpected, kind gestures when everything is falling apart: the small smile across the room to ease the tension, the jokes shared to lighten the load of a stressful existence, or the quarters spent drying a neighbor's laundry.

There's nothing quite like being appreciated, nothing quite like someone else being thoughtful for once, nothing quite like someone saying, "I know you didn't have to do it but you did, and I can't express what it means to me." Okay, so sometimes they don't say it, but it's strongly implied.

Around this time each year work grows incredibly stressful. Everyone is trying to push their work onto someone else's desk and leave the office in hopes of enjoying some time with family and friends. Taking off the last two weeks of the year seemed like a no-brainer. So why is it so hard to turn off the screen and actually do that?

Click. Click.

Another email answered, another client getting their response before the new year. Dark, tired eyes lazily drift across the computer screen, fluttering a moment until he catches his head leaning forwards and sits up straight with a shake of his head. How many more emails can there possibly be? Jimin stretches his arms towards the ceiling and slowly rolls onto his back, resting his head against the plush carpet of his living room. Aren't vacations supposed to be a time of relaxation and fun? Isn't he supposed to be able to turn on his out-of-office message, leave the post-it note on his monitor, and trust in his coworkers? A heavy sigh escapes him and a frustrated groan rumbles in his throat. "Why can't I just turn it off?"

Stifling a yawn, he pulls the phone from his pocket to check the time. Six fifteen. Why am I so tired already? Should I get some dinner?

He blinks a few times, feeling his eyelids grow heavier with each pass they make across his eyes. Still holding the phone, his hand slowly descends until the device is pressed flat onto his chest. He's teetering into a dream when the unmistakable jingle of keychains clattering against one another echoes in the hallway. His eyes immediately snap open, and he brings his phone up again. Oh shit. It's Thursday.

The device slips through his fingers and smacks against his forehead. As he rubs his temple to soothe the dull ache beginning to form, he ponders whether the phone is to blame or if work is the true culprit. Resting his head against the plush carpeting, he blankly stares at the ceiling and loses himself in quiet meditation, thoughtlessness consuming every second that passes. A small sound pokes through the barrier of silence, a muffled humming just barely passing through the wall beyond the couch.

Jimin lifts his head just enough to peer down his body, focusing just beyond the laptop at the wall separating his apartment from yours. The humming continues and he curiously tilts his head towards the sound, as though he can make his ears listen harder than they already are. What are you singing tonight, Snow?

He rolls over, twisting his torso just enough to rest on his elbows as he closes his eyes, hoping turning off one sense will heighten the other. Instead, he begins to imagine you frantically ripping off your work clothes in an attempt to enjoy your evening as fast as possible, quickly donning some thin tanktop you've saved as your last article of clean clothing for the week. You're always braless in the laundry room, your cold, hardened nipples poking out from beneath the flimsy fabric stretched tight around your chest. But it's never thin enough to be as transparent as he would like. His tongue darts out to wet his lips briefly before dragging his teeth over his bottom lip.

The humming wavers between louder and softer as you run between rooms, no doubt collecting everything as fast as possible in case he beats you there. Should he let you win this time?

"Baby, you're a fiiiiiiiiirework!" you belt out, very off-key before mumbling the rest of the lyrics you clearly don't know and slowly going back into a hum.

Laughter spills from Jimin's lips like a water fountain in hopes that it's loud enough for you to hear. When you continue on your tune without missing a beat, he leans back, his laughter dissipating into a wide smile as he slowly rises from the floor.

The laundry bin sits by the door, a pitifully small amount of dirty clothes resting in the bottom of it. He presses his lips together a moment before gathering clean clothes from the hangers in his closet and tossing them on the pile. Opening the door, he grabs the basket, casually strolling past your door and down the hall into the laundry room.

No one else seems to do laundry on Thursday nights. It's no doubt why you chose it as the time to do yours. One of the two washers is always busted. Tonight, however, both seem to be functioning. That won’t do. Jimin hoists himself on top of the machines, giving himself enough leverage to unplug the one that’s always falling into disrepair. Luckily the service ticket has been discarded recently. He pulls it from the top of the exposed trash bin in the corner and places it on top of the “broken” washing machine. He quickly starts loading his laundry into the functioning machine, humming the same tune he heard you singing earlier.

You don’t mind working during the holiday season. Everyone has somewhere to go, family to see. You gladly volunteer to work the shifts no one wants to distract yourself from the fact that you don’t. Overtime pay doesn’t hurt either. It’s easier to take your mind off of the disappointment that family-oriented holidays bring when you have cute little customers to send home happy and clean. Unfortunately, you always seem to get filthy in the process of making that happen.

The pile of dirty fabrics layered in your laundry basket tells you that you should probably start a load before showering if you want to have anything semi-clean to wear tomorrow. Plus, if you want to beat your neighbor to the good machine, you’ll need to hustle. Despite the sweat dripping down your neck, you don your favorite zip-up hoodie to attempt to hide the fact that your bra is in the bin with all the other items slated for a good wash.

You catch yourself in the mirror just before picking up the basket, oversized jacket sliding one of your shoulders and exposing your skin to the chill of the apartment. You’re torn between wanting Jimin to see you like this and hoping that you’ll only see him after showering, as you’re fairly certain you still smell like wet dog.

There’s an undeniable tension cutting through the air any time you’re in a room together, but you’re too much of a chickenshit to do anything about it. You’ve convinced yourself that there’s no way someone as perfect-looking as Jimin could be actually interested in you. You want the flirting and the nights spent watching garbage TV together to lead to something real, but fantasizing about how you’d knock on his door simply to confess your attraction is a lot safer than actually doing it.

Down the hall you go, lifting the heavy basket just past the threshold and dragging it across the carpeted hallway. You pop out one of the headphones in your ears so that no one can sneak up on you as you round the corner to the laundry room. Kicking the basket with your foot, it smacks into the door and you awkwardly reach over the pile of clothes to swing it open. The plastic scrapes across the tile and your field of vision travels from the floor to the machine currently filling with water.

Jimin sits on top of the washer with one leg crossed over the other, hands folded around his knee. A smug grin adorns his features as his eyes roam over your form, drinking in the surprise you offer so freely.

"I beat you again this week, Snow," he teases, bouncing his crossed leg a few times with a mischievous tilt of his head.

A puff of hot air passes through your parted lips, clearly not expecting the man to be waiting so patiently for your arrival. Your nose scrunches up in disapproval as you take a few steps towards him, hands on your hips. "You know I get home late on Thursdays. Can't you let me win for once?"

"Oh, you want me to take it easy on you?" He tuts, tongue poking into the side of his cheek for a moment. He uncrosses his legs and uses his palms to lean forward, raising his eyebrows. He pauses once he's inches from your face, letting the shallow space between you build the tension you've become accustomed to. "That doesn't sound like any fun."

You bite your bottom lip, suppressing the urge to close the distance between you. "What sounds like fun to you then?"

The way his smile falters as his eyes fill with devious wonder causes your heart to skip a beat. You swallow hard as his gaze blatantly drops to your chest and his tongue slowly rolls across his lips. Your first instinct is to cover the nipples you know are practically poking holes through your tanktop, but you power through the shame burning your cheeks long enough for his eyes to finish their journey down your body. When they settle on yours again, they definitely seem darker, full of hunger.

"I can think of a few things," he murmurs in a low voice, barely above a whisper. "But they're a secret." He giggles, a shy smile cutting the devilish tone from his words.

It's a deep enough cut through the thick tension that you can take a step back and release the breath you've unknowingly been holding. You roll your eyes and sigh as you note the repair ticket on the machine beside him. "Well, looks like I'll have to wait until you're done." You hoist the basket of dirty laundry onto the seemingly broken washer beside him, carefully taking out the small container of detergent stuffed towards the top. The words come out before you can stop them. "Do you have a big load?"

He drags his teeth over his lips a few times and allows his smile to grow impossibly wider. "You're talking about laundry, right?"

You clumsily fumble with the bottle of detergent until it hits the washer with a loud bang, trying to recover from your poorly-worded question as you position the container upright and eye the empty bin beside him."Yes. The load! It looks! ....Big... A big... Load. Did you stuff it all in there?" The thoughts pricking your tongue are short and choppy, full of regret and horny confusion.

There's no way to hide the mental images playing in your mind of Jimin taking you from behind, emptying himself into you. There's no way to hide the way you want to sink to your knees and take him into your mouth until he gives you the load you can't stop talking about.

He purses his lips and raises his eyebrows at you again, offering another chance for you to rephrase. You squeeze your eyes shut, wishing you could phase through the floor instead of dealing with the meltdown your brain is obviously having. "I just... Don't break it by stuffing it too full, y'know?"

Jimin snickers behind his hand. "Don't worry. I was able to fit everything in, but it's a reasonable size."

"Knock on my door when you're done," you say quietly, ashamed by the lack of bloodflow in your own head.

You turn to leave but Jimin grabs your wrist, causing you to spin back towards him. "Wait..."

He leans in, strawberry blonde hair falling across his face as he tries to get your attention with eyes that threaten to pierce into your very soul. His head swerves left and right and you mirror his movements to avoid eye contact.

“Look at me,” he pleads, throaty whine ripping through the base of his chest despite the smile on his lips. “Please?”

Your eye flicker to meet his, a pout staining your features that you hope will mask your embarrassment long enough to return to the safety of your apartment. “What?”

“Would you… Like to come over and watch a movie?” Despite the cheesy grin on his face, his voice falters and the tips of his ears are bright red. “I ordered pizza. I don’t think I can eat it all myself and I don't like leftovers.”

You know he has his shy side, but any time it peeks out from behind his confident persona, it still manages to catch you off guard. You do your best not to sound too eager, but you can feel the butterflies fluttering against your stomach and traveling up your chest. They’re telling you to screech your answer until your lungs quit burning.

It’s not like he’s never invited you over his apartment before. You've shared many pizzas, and takeout boxes over trashy reality TV for the past few months. But this thing you two have been dancing around is finally pushing your hormones to a breaking point. He seems interested, but always hesitates, letting moments pass that would be better spent pressing himself into your body or running his tongue across your neck.

It occurs to you that maybe he just likes to tease for some harmless fun and the prospect of things going any further with you isn’t part of the game. Maybe you’re just projecting your desires onto him. His jaw goes slack as you lean towards him, melting beneath his gaze. Dark eyes drift across your chest again, shamelessly spacing out when they settle on the pebbled nipples beneath your shirt.

Then again, maybe you think too much.

Every conversation is deeply rooted in lust, but the flirtatious banter is always coated with a fine film of pleasantries that mask your true intentions. Could he feel the same? If you can just get the static in your brain to subside long enough to form a coherent thought, to allow you to properly express your feelings, maybe you could get an answer out of him. Pushing down the excitement brewing in your gut, your eyes dart away and you nervously clear your throat.

“I… have to clean mastiff spit out of my hair,” you begin, your heart snapping in two when you catch the smile fade with the light in his eyes. “But… I’d love to come over when I’m finished.”

He visibly perks up and hops down from the washer, casually gesturing at the digital timer on its screen. “Meet back here in twenty?”

You unconsciously bite your lip, grinning like an idiot as you make your exit. “It’s a date.”

As the door to the laundry room clicks shut, Jimin bobs his head in disbelief a few times. This time you used the word ‘date.’ Tonight can’t be another movie night where he freezes up. No horror. No action movies or thrillers. It’s time to pick out some cute rom-com for you both to giggle along to, hopefully with an extra mushy scene he can use to set the mood. He jumps in the air, unable to contain his excitement. His cheeks are beginning to hurt with how much smiling he’s been doing, but he doesn’t care. You said it’s a date.

A shiver wracks his body as he closes the door to his apartment. He frowns at the number on the thermostat, quickly pressing the button to raise the temperature until it's obnoxiously higher than it should be. There. It should warm up in no time. He seeks the instant gratification of warmth, however. When it doesn't come he decides the next twenty minutes will be best spent in a hot bath.

He grips the edge of the cold fiberglass surface with his hands, sinking into the steaming water slowly with a satisfied sigh. He tilts his head back, resting it on the tile behind him. The sound of water rushing through your showerhead carries through the wall and he stills all movement, careful not to disturb the surface of the water until he hears the sliding of curtain rings along a metal rod. The pressure of the water pounding against the tub dulls in volume, clearly finding another target to assail. You hiss a string of curses that indicate the temperature is too hot for your liking, but it's far too easy to hear sin in each little gasp you take.

Jimin submerges his hand in the water, leaving the other gripping the edge of the tub. His fingers squeeze the inner flesh of his thigh before forming a tight fist around the base of his hardened cock. He stills, feeling the familiar needy pulse echoing against the grip of his palm, urging him to offer some kind of relief in the form of movement. But he’s determined to listen, straining his ears for any indication of your body’s positioning; what he wouldn’t give to be able to see you right now. What would you do if this wasn’t here? Would you watch me too?

Realizing he’s not going to get much more out of the wall behind him unless you decide to sing, he closes his eyes. It’s almost too easy to imagine the water pelting the tender flesh of your breasts. He can thank the thin fabric of your tanktops for that. The cleavage and pebbled nipples constantly drawing his attention away from your face has created a mirage in his mind that’s almost believable. Stray droplets roll down your body in places he knows his tongue could do a much better job covering. His thumb brushes up and down preemptively against his cock, doing everything he can to show restraint just in case you decide to part those pretty lips of yours and sing for him.

Finally he drags his palm up his shaft, finding a rhythm that begins to ease the throb building in his abdomen. He thinks of standing in that shower with you, strands of sopping wet hair sticking to his face as his mouth collides with the delicate skin of your chest. He thinks of tonguing one nipple and licking a stripe to the other. He thinks of using his hands to massage and squeeze at the heavenly mounds of flesh before him as the water beats down on the pair of you. Most importantly, he thinks of you pleading for more. All restraint he previously showed comes crashing down for a fraction of a second. The moan that rips itself from his throat is shameful enough to bring a blush to his own cheeks, and it’s absolutely loud enough to carry through the walls. Did you hear that? ...Did you like it?

Before he can consider pausing to listen for a subtle response, the loud thud of what sounds like a heavy plastic container hitting your floor breaks him from his daydream. Did I catch you off guard? Jimin does nothing to subdue the cackle spewing from his mouth. You certainly didn’t earn your nickname for your grace. Gradually he picks up the pace, allowing his fist to glide from the base of his cock to the exposed tip poking out of the water. The wet sloshing sound his fist makes as it bobs up and down is enough to drive him over the edge, imagining what it might be like to fuck himself down your throat. A growl starts low in his chest and builds into a whine as it tumbles from his mouth.

The glistening studs in his nipples rhythmically heave with each greedy breath, already cold and hard from the exposure to the air. His free hand instinctively moves to pinch the bit of flesh trapped between one of the studs. The sting adds a new wave of pleasure to the way his hand plunges down into the water and up again. He pants into the air, wishing you were the force guiding the hand over his shaft, creating the pressure and wetness trapped between his fingers.

He thinks of you on the other side of this wall, soapy suds running down your perfect tits, your stomach, your legs. What he wouldn’t give to be on his knees between those legs, latching onto your pussy and performing sinful tricks with pressured flicks of his tongue. You might want to get clean, but he wants to make you filthy, even as soft citrus-scented suds dribble down your body and onto his face. Would your legs buckle under the pleasure? He considers hooking his arms around your legs and leaning you back against the wall for better leverage, sucking on that sensitive, swollen bud as the water cascades down his back. What do you sound like when you really sing?

Almost perfectly timed, a moan breaks through the sound of his frenzied pelvic thrusts sloshing up into his fist. A particularly jagged exhale leaves his lips as he slows, the water undulating like angry waves crashing into one another. Click. Click. Click. The sound of the water pressure in your shower changes drastically. Jimin’s whole body convulses as he realizes what you’re doing. He plants his feet on the wall above the faucet, bending his knees so he can sink down into the tub up to his jaw.

He’s been in your apartment. He’s seen the handheld attachment. Closing your transparent shower curtains for company doesn’t mean it’s suddenly invisible. He holds back a curse as you cry out in pleasure again. This time you sound close to the wall beside him. Too close. You’re doing this on purpose. Do you want me to listen? Two can play at this game, Snow.

He drags his teeth over his lip and pumps himself fast, water spilling from the tub and flooding the cold tile flooring. Loud, unrestrained groans fill the air as the water sloshes between his palm and cock, creating a very wet, obscene squelching sound. He straightens his legs against the wall to bring himself up to a relaxed position as he gasps for release, trying not to drown in the water rolling back and forth in the tub.

It’s almost too cute the way he imagines your face is changing color right now. To his surprise you immediately retaliate with a slew of vulgar curses and frantic pleading. Electric butterflies pulse through his abdomen, quickening the pace at which his climax is travelling. It’s so close now; he can’t even pretend like that didn’t just affect him.

“Y/N…. Please… Come over… Ah...” he moans against the wall, knowing you’re panting just on the other side.

“Oh, fuck… I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum. I’m gonna cum,” you warn in a shrill whisper, volume growing with each repetition until you’re practically shrieking. Just at the peak of your frenzied inhales, your voice dips into a low breathy whimper that he can barely make out. “Jimin… I’m cumming. Fuck...”

He slows his movements so he can better listen to you reach your climax, hearing his name on your lips just before losing the ability to listen to anything over his own thrashing in the water. His palm glides down his cock and back up, desperate to meet his own release. He’s got your voice in his head notifying him you’re about to cum on repeat. It drives him over the edge.

He groans, using pressure and strength to stroke himself one last time as ropes of white begin to shoot straight up towards the ceiling like a fountain and land back in the water. He pumps himself through it, riding each wave of pleasure until he’s sure he’s milked every drop of cum from his cock and the fountain of white subsides. He falls back and lets his arms go limp in the water. Now he’s the one who needs a shower.

Despite wanting to show off a little skin for your date with Jimin, there’s a chill in the complex that seems to permeate deep into your skin, digging straight down to your bones. Even the memory of your bold behavior in the shower can’t keep the heat circulating through your body. By the time you realize how long it has taken you to will yourself from the steamy bathroom, apply some “low-effort” makeup, and wiggle into a pair of fleece-lined leggings, you’re ashamed to have missed the window for your meeting by ten minutes.

You sprint down the hall in an oversized hoodie, desperate to apologize for your tardiness. The electric hum of the dryer greets you, and the washing machine previously occupied by Jimin’s belongings thrums nearby, but he’s nowhere to be found. Your laundry bin sits on top of the washer, its contents within the machine below. The backside of the repair ticket has been scribbled on and left beside your bin. ‘Are you still coming, Snow? ;)’

The ticket crumples in your palm as you stuff it in the cavity of your sweatshirt and make your way back towards Jimin’s door, holding back the nerves swirling in your chest. You want to scream in excitement, but that’s probably not an acceptable reaction, even though you reason with yourself that it is a very human one considering how long you've waited for an opportunity like this.

The door swings open before you can knock, a very bundled up Jimin puffing his cheeks out at you. For a moment you mistake his expression for one of annoyance at you. "The heat is out. Can you believe it?"

"What?"

"I just got an email from the leasing office. They don't know when it will be fixed. They're urging people to buy heaters and get reimbursed for them later," he mumbles, looking down at his phone and re-reading the message as you brush past him, immediately discarding your furry slippers as you go. The carpeting in his apartment feels so much better than yours.

"That explains why I can't stop shivering," you sigh. On your next inhale, the smell of pepperoni wafts into your nostrils, and you make a beeline for the small dining room table across the room, noting the closed box on top of it.

"At least they're offering to take money off of rent 'due to inconvenience.'" Jimin scrunches up his nose, shuffling his sulking form towards you. "But I don't want to go buy a heater."

You already have a slice of pizza stuffed in your mouth when you absentmindedly try to answer. "Ihaabwon." The words are a garbled mess.

His eyes meet yours and you nearly choke, embarrassed for trying to speak with your mouth full. The hand still clutching his phone falls to his side and he grins at you with devilish intent, eyes crinkling in the corners. "You're so cute when your mouth is stuffed."

You chew a few times and swallow hard. When you find the nerve to speak, your voice comes out smaller and softer than you'd like. "...I have one. I'll go get it."

Damn it. What happened to being bold? Maybe you'd be faring better if your heart wasn't pounding so damn fast. Despite this, none of your blood seems to be circulating properly to your fingers, your toes, or even your brain at this junction. You're suspicious it's all being funneled into your swollen clit, which has only just stopped tingling from the barrage of pressure you'd exposed it to. Regardless, you gobble down the rest of the slice as you exit, telling yourself you can't let your nerves get the better of you again. Tonight has already proven you can be braver than you think, and it's time to embrace it.

It's about twenty minutes into the movie when you finally work up the courage to place your hand on his, finding it just as cold and clammy as yours. He gives it a gentle squeeze and twines your fingers together without looking away from the screen. Your rapid heartbeat threatens to give away every ache his touch soothes. You do your best to focus on the flimsy plot of the film, but all you can think about is how nice it feels to finally have his palm pressed against yours.

The space heater across the room rattles, fruitlessly pumping out a stream of hot air that never quite makes it over to the pair of you. It’s now that you’re just noticing the soft glow of yellow string lights, creating a cozy atmosphere that you wish could be half as warm as it looks. You chew your lip as you pretend to watch the screen, feeling the weight of his head coming to rest on your shoulder. You try to avoid the thought of how badly you have to pee right now, resisting the urge to bounce your leg to stave off the sensation. The universe is too cruel.

Suddenly Jimin’s pocket begins buzzing. He pulls out his phone and silences the vibrations, groaning as he turns his face towards your shoulder. “Ugh. Laundry is done. I need to go get it...”

As he rises you feel his hand turn over yours a few times, gently caressing the length of your fingers as though he’ll never feel them again. You move to stand but he presses his palm into your shoulder, encouraging you to stay put. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it, ok? Keep my seat warm.”

You melt into the cushion, grinning foolishly at the wink he gives you before wrapping a blanket around himself and leaving. Trembling hands fumble for the remote control, pausing the movie to hopefully drag out the time you’ll spend with him tonight. You have ample time to relieve the pressure on your bladder, nearly breaking your neck on the wet, slippery tile of the bathroom.

Despite the crumpled proof sitting in your pocket, or your aversion to speaking on what you suspected was only a fucked-out fantasy, the amount of water lingering on that floor confirms its authenticity. Can you really pretend like you didn’t get off just listening to him moan and touch himself? Can you really pretend like he didn’t get off listening to you? You settle down in front of the space heater, warming your fingers on the hot air with a satisfied sigh and spacing out as you lose yourself in the memory.

Jimin returns from laundry duty after a few minutes, but you’re focused on the heat, closing your eyes and trying to get the chill out of your bones. He waddles his laundry bin to the corner of the room, setting it down before creeping up behind you. Soft fleece wraps around shoulders along with his curve of his arms. It’s warm, incredibly soft, and it smells of fresh linen fabric softener.

“You weren’t keeping my spot warm.” The chiding nature of his tone is undercut by the breathy whisper and pillowy lips thawing the cold shell of your ear.

“I’ll make it up to you,” you promise, eyes still closed when you turn your face towards the tickling sensation.

"Oh? Really?" Supple lips skim against your cheek, but he doesn't move any closer. "How?"

You exhale a ragged breath, trying to find the will to close the distance between your lips. All it would take is a nudge, just a subtle turn on your part to do so. But, like always, you freeze. How ridiculous is it that you can mutually masturbate, but sharing a kiss is somehow beyond your courage?

"I'll... keep you warm now. I'm all toasty, see?" Your palm, now slightly less frigid but still equally clammy, cups his chin as you tap your fingers against his cheek.

"I see..." he hums in disapproval, weight of his chin resting on your cold hand. "It seems like you need more time to defrost, but if you come back to the couch with me we can share this blanket I threw in the dryer with your clothes for a few minutes.”

"Hmph, are you saying I wouldn't do a good job keeping you warm?"

You can feel the twitch of his lips against your palm, shy smile forming. "Your hands are still so cold! I'm sure you have your ways. But..." He pauses, gentling bringing his thumb and forefinger across your jawline before pressing them together below your chin. "I'd love to see what they are."

You half-giggle, half-scoff at him. He’s laying it on thick tonight, but it’s not like you mind. In fact, you don’t want the night to end because of it. You both settle in on the couch with Jimin draping the soft blanket across you, remnants of a faint heat in its fibers. Just as the movie resumes, Jimin starts curling the blanket in his fingers, which causes the material to billow in his lap. It’s not like it’s a small blanket, but over the course of a few minutes you’re left with practically no coverage.

“Thief,” you finally accuse, fingers clutching the remaining edge slipping past your shoulder.

He blinks and stares back at you with a surprised smile. “Hmm? We’re sharing aren’t we?”

You roll your eyes and snuggle closer in an attempt to siphon back some coverage. Still his fingers twine the blanket in circles, inching the material further off the slope of your body. Your fingers slither across his chest and down the curve of his arm in search of the hand robbing you of heat. Neither of you are even pretending to watch the movie anymore. He tries to slink back into the cushion, smiling at your futile attempts to free the fabric from his grasp.

“You stop that,” you whisper, leaning against his chest and losing yourself in the way his eyes seem to twinkle in the golden glow of the lights circling the room. When you finally make contact with the fist curled in the blanket, he immediately drops the fabric and clamps down to lace your fingers with his.

“Make me,” he pleads through half-lidded eyes, tongue swiping a quick line across his lips.

You return the pressure on your palm with a squeeze of your own, pressing the back of his hand into the cushion beside him. “Fuck,” you breathe.

Your eyelids flutter for half a second; the electric chill running through your body may be caused by the temperature or simply the way his neck dips to lower his face down to yours. Either way, your breath hitches and you hook your leg over his lap. He takes this as an invitation to slide his free arm around your back, ready to press you even further into his body should you give him a signal to proceed.

You lean further across his lap, arching yourself up into him. “Is that what you want? You want me to make you?” you whisper curiously, lips grazing his as the questions spill from them.

“Please,” he whines breathlessly, voice cracking.

You close the gap with a sly, teasing smile, hungrily smashing your mouths together as though tasting every bit of him will sate that hunger. The hand currently sinking into the couch flies up to his jaw, thumb tracing a line over its contours as you’ve been aching to do for ages. He uses the opportunity to cradle the back of your head, gently positioning it in a way that puts less of a strain on his neck while the hand at your back coaxes you desperately towards him in a lopsided embrace.

The ebb and flow of your kisses have your heads bobbing in time with one another. He inhales greedily over your mouth, immediately coming back down to suck your bottom lip between his teeth. A small satisfied sigh lingers in your throat, and you feel his hand clamp down on the thigh you have spread over his lap.

Just as gravity starts to drive your form further from his embrace, you shift your weight and shimmy your arm out from where it’s trapped against his body. He allows you to pull away for just a moment, your lip snapping back to you with a soft, wet smack. You flit your tongue out to savor any sliver of himself that he’s left behind, already missing the way his tongue tastes when trading exploratory flicks with yours.

Planting your palm into the cushion beside his head, you gain enough leverage to fully straddle his pelvis. You tower above him, relishing in the wonder carved into the way he watches you, mirth creasing thin lines into the outer edges of his eyes. Your thumb glides across his cheek a few times as you lightly cup his jaw with your fingertips, your gaze darting between the reflections of light dancing across his eyes.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” you admit.

“I’ve wanted you for a long time,” he confesses, maintaining steadfast eye contact as he fights the blush prickling the tips of his ears.

It takes all of your self-restraint not to immediately ask why. Instead a joke forms on your tongue before you can quell it. “It’s the smell of wet dog, right? Drives you crazy?”

He giggles, throwing his head back with a loud inhale. “Irresistible!”

A shy smile parts your lips and you descend on him, crashing your mouth down on his to mute the sound of his laughter. Those gentle giggles quickly morph into muffled moans as your tongue dives into his mouth. It takes less than a second for him to counter your intrusion by sliding his tongue against yours rhythmically and you lose yourself in that hypnotic tempo.

His hands settle the top of your knees before his palms start running up to the crease where your thighs meet your hips and then back down again. Your hips involuntarily begin rocking to combat the need building between your legs, but your leggings have pulled away from your skin in the area you crave friction the most.

A staggered whimper breaks out between your frenzied panting. Whether the sound came from him or from you, it’s hard to tell. The few times you’ve opened your eyes to make sure you haven’t been dreaming, he’s looked just as fucked out as you feel. He starts drawing deep circles along the inside of your thighs with his thumbs and your need for him challenges your need to breathe. Gasping for air between wet, sloppy kisses, you card your fingers through his hair, knotting them in place as you roll your body in time with the tongue gliding against yours. This time he blows a puff of air as he moans into you, greedily latching onto your lip and biting down as the sound leaves a croaky trail in his throat.

Sliding his hands along the tops of your thighs isn’t enough. He spreads his fingers; the edge of his thumbs flare towards the inside of your legs, forging a path up towards your clit. The way the material stretches away from your body causes him to abandon his route in favor of following the fabric tucked in that v-shaped channel leading up to your hips. His touch is too light with the layers you’re wearing, but you don’t have time to file a complaint before he slides his fingers beneath your sweatshirt, clamping them down on your skin.

“Ah!” you hiss between kisses, hips wiggling at the chill creeping up your spine. “Your hands--” You don’t get to finish your sentence before he’s biting down hard again and dragging your lower lip through his teeth. “--arr sho--” Your lip snaps back to you, breaking away just long enough to speak in broken gasps before he closes the distance again. “-cold!”

He laughs against your whine, gripping your back and sneaking both thumbs beneath the waistband of your leggings. “Weren’t you going to warm me up?” You can feel him guiding your hips, dragging them in asymmetric loops over his lap.

“Weren’t you going to share the blanket?” you chide, breaking the kiss again.

He grins, gripping a corner of the blanket and throwing it over your shoulder. “I did. Now come back.” He eagerly tries to goad you back to his lips, but you pull back just a bit.

“There are better ways I can warm your hands,” you mumble, yanking his hair to the side to expose his lovely neck, golden skin riddled with goosebumps. Your mouth gets to work kissing and sucking on the sensitive, uncovered bit of flesh, gushing a little bit when he groans beneath you. But it’s not enough. If only your pants weren’t in the way, you could certainly warm more than just his hands.

He gives your hips a firm squeeze, digging his fingers into the soft flesh at your sides. “What ways are those?”

“Take off your sweater,” you tempt in a whisper, dragging your tongue up to his ear. “And I’ll show you.”

He frowns as you lean back, giving him space to do as you’ve suggested. Instead, he tugs at the hem of your sweatshirt, frown morphing into a devilish smile. “You first.”

“I… don’t have anything on underneath,” you admit, shying away from him.

He slips his hands around your jaw, pulling you forward. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

“There’s no heat,” you remind him, mimicking his movements and tapping your fingers against his cheek.

“So you want me to take off mine?” he asks, feigning offense. He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth, dipping his head forward and following your movements. “That seems kind of unfair, don’t you think?”

Your confidence wanes and you squirm under his scrutiny, feeling particularly stupid for trying to be sexy. Sexy isn’t your thing. Floundering under pressure and saying something dumb is definitely your thing. Sweat runs down your neck, despite the fact that you’re still a walking popsicle. In your defense, the art of botching conversations is a skill that runs in your family.

"You're right," you agree, shaking your head. "I'm sorry. It's freezing. I'm an idiot."

You begin to climb off his lap, but his hands catch your hips and bring you back down. "No, no. You're not." He gently presses his lips against yours. "Don't worry. I know you've got me covered."

With a shit-eating grin, he tugs down on the blanket half-draped across your shoulder. You feel him wiggle beneath you before he leans back and shrugs his arms through the holes of his sweater, hastily working the material over his head. At least he has a t-shirt on; you don't feel quite so bad now. The flicker of static charges the air around him, strawberry blonde hair fanning out like it has its own sense of gravity. Without a second thought he moves back in to kiss you and an electric shock zaps the place where your lips connect.

"Ah!" you recoil at the sensation and he giggles between peppering your jaw with kisses. It takes all of your willpower to push him back against the cushion. He even gives you a little pout, his bottom lip protruding.

"You're worse than my clients," you tease, flicking your tongue out at him. "Be a good boy."

"I am," he insists while cupping your jaw and trying to drag your neck low enough to latch his lips onto. When he realizes you aren't having it, he snakes his hands down to your ass and gives both cheeks a firm squeeze.

"Liar." Grinning like an idiot, you grab his wrists and pin them to the cushions while you descend, watching his eyes as long as possible before you press your lips against his neck. You catch a bit of skin between your teeth and he hisses like steam is about to start pouring from his ears. Pressing down with the flat of your tongue, you explore the expanse of his neck for the sounds of pleasure you yearn to hear.

"This..." he exhales a lazy moan, trying to fight his body's will to give in but you can already see his resolve is flimsy. "...isn't fair..."

A deep, throaty moan vibrates beneath your tongue; your pussy throbs at the way the croaky sound crosses over into a melodic hum as you massage wet circles deeper into that spot where his collarbone and neck meet. Another moan escapes him between shaky breaths, higher pitched this time, and twice as needy. His wrists twitch against your palms, fingers digging into the cushion beneath him. Yeah. You want to live in this spot indefinitely.

"Hey..." he trails softly, head falling against the back of the couch. "... You're... Don't leave marks... Snow... hey... Ah... Y/N..."

Your lips smack as you come up for air. He's too drunk on the endorphins swimming through his veins to see your hesitation at the use of your name in lieu of the cute nickname you've grown accustomed to hearing. "You want me to stop?"

He whimpers, self-control buckling faster than you can even get the question out. "No, don't stop. Please, don't stop, Y/N."

He doesn't need to say it twice; you’ve been waiting far too long for this. Your tongue is back on that sensitive spot right by his collarbone and he's moaning against your ear in less than a fraction of a second.

“Mmm… you're gonna make me wear high collared shirts, aren't you?" he whispers, half shaming your actions, half just thinking out loud. There's a subtle attempt to grind his pelvis up into the space between your thighs.

You can’t help but laugh against him, tilting your head back just enough to inspect your handiwork. There’s a criss-crossed reddish-purple mark marring his skin, a placeholder to remind you where to place your tongue later. “It kinda looks like a heart if you squint. Don’t worry. It’s low enough the only way anyone will see it is if you’re walking around shirtless.”

He sighs, picking his head off the couch and trying to peek down at it. “I guess I’ll look at it later when I’m thinking of you on top of me like this.”

Your pussy clenches around nothing as he smiles innocently at you.

“...Are your hands still cold?” You’re already dragging his limp wrists up your thighs to the hem of your oversized sweatshirt

The hoods of his eyelids shade the glaze in his eyes, but do nothing for the way his jaw falls open as you continue dragging his hands upwards. You hiss as his fingers apply pressure to your body as they travel upward, leaving chilly streaks in their wake. Without hesitation, you chew your lip and cup your hands over his, pressing them into your tits. You look into his eyes for comfort as blood rushes to your cheeks. His pupils are completely blown out and you feel his labored breathing quicken.

“Is this okay?” you question, experimenting with a slight roll of your hips.

His eyelids flutter a moment as he massages your breasts, squeezing, pushing, pulling them. Your hands fall away to let him explore the hidden shapes beneath your sweatshirt.

“Is this okay she asks…” he giggles mockingly to himself before kneading his thumbs across your hardened nipples. “Do you want to know how much I’m enjoying this?”

He drops one of his hands and uses it to place yours over his pelvis. You press down with your fingers, feeling the solid erection tucked into the band of his pants.

“I tried to hide it, tried to get it to go away,” he hushedly admits, teeth briefly nipping at your earlobe. “But I’ve been like this since you walked in here.” He pauses, savoring the way you whimper when he drives his tongue into the valley behind your ear. “And everything you’re doing is making me harder.”

“Jimin…” you moan, feeling his cock twitch under the layers of fabric beneath your fingers.

“You sound like an angel saying my name like that.” Both his hands are back on your breasts, fingers digging into your flesh in ways that have you arching your back.

“An angel? Me?” Your lips curl into a crooked smile. “No one’s ever called me that before.”

As you rub two fingers back and forth over the hard shape in his pants, he clamps down on your ear with his teeth and lets a muffled moan escape with his breath. “You’re right. You’re corrupted. An angel with horns. I swear I can see them.”

“Oh, so I’m a devil now? Make up your mind, will you?” You press your lips into a thin line, trying to conceal the satisfaction in your expression when he pulls back to glare at you. Good thing looks can’t kill. His stare is as icy as the room. Is he legitimately pouting at you for teasing him? He’s the king of teasing; he’s just mad you’re just dishing it back in heaps tonight.

“No, you’re an angel with horns,” he insists, glowering as you continue to stroke him through his pants using just your fingertips. He responds by pinching both of your nipples hard, causing you to cry out and grind yourself down on his thighs. You think about slapping his hands away, but the way his fingers now work soothing circles around the sensitive nubs has you leaning into his touch, aching for more. You roll your hips forward, grazing his dick with your pelvis. But it’s not enough and he can tell.

“You won’t get what you need that way.” He clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth and leans forward.

You instantly cling to his shoulders, feeling like he’s about to push you off the couch. His hands clutch your back as he safely dips you onto the floor. The way he towers over you as he drops to his knees has you regretting your decision to not wear panties underneath your leggings. The wetness that just gushed out of you is definitely soaking through. You lean back on your elbows, giggling like a schoolgirl as you inch yourself backwards, closer to the heater. Your eyes never leave his form as he grips his t-shirt by the collar and pops it over his head in one swift motion.

You blink, exhaling a held breath as you catch the glint of silver studs protruding from both sides of hardened brown nipples. The piercings come as a surprise, but you’re excited by the thought of clamping your mouth over them. Your eyes continue hungrily scanning the smooth expanse of his chest as he drapes the blanket across his back with a small shiver. A tattoo lines his ribs, scrawled in hasty bold letters: ‘NEVERMIND.’

He smirks, crawling over you and slotting a knee between your legs. Your fingertips gingerly brush across the inked skin in wonder, not able to take your eyes off of it. “Is there meaning behind that?”

You verbalize the thought without thinking, knowing he’s probably been asked that a million times. You know not every tattoo has to have some deep profound meaning, and you feel a little foolish for asking what might be a personal question. But every thump of the heavy beat in your chest tells you that the more you ask, the more you learn, and the harder you fall. You’ve been falling for months now, but at least it’s not such a lonely descent anymore.

He plants a gentle, chaste kiss on your lips before pressing his forehead to yours. “It’s a reminder to not care what other people think.”

“Does it work?” you ask while trailing fingers through his hair. “I feel like I could use that advice daily.”

He laughs, although you swear he looks sad as he thumbs your cheek. “Do you think I would have waited so long to have you like this if it did? I care too much about what others think. I always have. I was scared you’d see what a mess I am and you’d never look at me again. I couldn’t bear the thought.”

Your stomach does a somersault. “I think… You’re the sweetest person I’ve ever met. Definitely the hottest.” That pulls a shy grin from him. Your heart is soaring, telling you now is the time to be honest. “Jimin, I... feel happiest when I get to talk to you, even for just five minutes. I love hearing you talk about your granny because it gives me hope that families don’t have to be so messed up. I don’t have parents to call and talk to about my day. I used to be sad about that. Then you started doing laundry on my night. And you always make a point of asking about my day. It’s such a small thing, but it makes me so happy.

“Because you listen to my rambling and instead of calling me dumb or hurrying me to the point of my stories like everyone else in my life, you always look at me like…” you pause, trying to push down the tears you can feel building, but you know your eyes are going glassy because his brow furrows in sympathy.

A subtle frown takes hold of his mouth and his eyes soften, leaving an ache in your chest that makes it harder to go on.

“...like you actually like listening to me. I can’t describe how much that means to me because,” you continue, struggling to breathe and speak at the same time, “I’m used to being ignored or talked over. You’re the first person in a long time to make me feel like I’m not a burden. Or… a grade-A fuckup.” A choked laugh escapes with your held breath. “You think you’re a mess, Jimin, but look at me. I’m a mess. And yet, when I’m with you, I feel like it doesn’t matter. I don’t know how to describe it, but there’s something about you that makes me feel...”

Goddamnit. You’re blowing it. Jimin’s hovering above you, shirtless, after just making out with you and now you’re turning things into a sob-story. Tears well up in your eyes and your throat closes, forbidding you from saying anything else. Are you shaking because you’re cold, or because this is almost too much to handle? You should get up. You should go back to your apartment and cry it out and apologize in the morning.

You push him back and sit up, intending to do just that as the tears in your eyes use gravity to their advantage. You move to wipe your eyes, but Jimin’s fingers catch them right as they begin to streak down your cheek.

“Complete? Less alone?” he wonders, trying to get you to look at him. “I listen to you because you deserve to be heard. You’re funny and cute and smart. And you always have a good story about dogs. How can anyone not want to listen to you?”

He throws his arms around your quivering shoulders, bringing you into a tight hug. “I’m sorry that people have been so cruel, that life has been so unfair to you. But I… will always ask about your day. Not because you need to tell me, but because I want to know.”

He sniffles loudly and your hands fly to his back to comfort him. “Maybe it’s okay that you’re a mess because I am too. Let’s be a mess together, okay?”

He pulls back and now it’s your turn to wipe the tears from his eyes. You share a warm smile when your eyes catch the flash of red lace on his shoulder, making your heart sink into the pit of your stomach.

You gulp as his eyes follow your gaze to your favorite pair of red panties clinging to the fleece blanket. You immediately try to snatch them, but he beats you to them and closes his fist around the lacey material.

“Wow you already took these off for me?” he asks with a sly grin, knowing damn well that they must have stuck to the blanket he briefly tossed into the dryer with your clothes. You stumble over your own knees as you reach out to take them back.

He puckers his lips and feigns surprise, forcing air through his teeth as he raises his eyebrows. “Oh, they’re a little wet!”

You wish the floor would open up and swallow you whole as you snatch them from his grip.

“Don’t be so embarrassing,” you mumble, stuffing them into the pocket of your hoodie.

“But you’re so cute when you get shy.” He goes in for a kiss, but misses your lips as you turn your head away. Not to be dismissed, he moves towards your ear, ghosting his fingertips around your hairline.

“Besides,” he continues, lowering the usual melodic tenor of his voice to a sultry bass, “I know that’s nothing compared to how wet you are for me now.”

He knows. Of course he knows. Ashamed by the truth in his statement, you bury your face into the warmth of his neck, letting a high-pitched whine flee from your throat, which quickly turns into a muffled screech against his skin.

He laughs at the ridiculous sound. You’re so weird. How can you be so weird and still turn him on? “See? You’re so cute. Hey, don’t hide from me!”

He takes the opportunity to slide his hands under your sweater again, fingers pinching the soft flesh of your waist. You bolt upright and grip his wrists like you’re about to snap them in half.

“Such a brat. I take back all the nice things I said,” you whisper, rolling your eyes. Even as the words are coming out, you’re bringing his hands to your chin and kissing the brim of his curled knuckles.

“You can’t,” he weakly drawls, losing himself in your touch.

He walks his fingers over your bottom lip and drums them against the inside of your mouth, watching your lip snap back to you with each slow, alternating swipe. You dart your tongue out to coat the pads of his fingers, wanting to tease the wet heat of your mouth closing down on him. But the way his eyelashes hopelessly batt as he tries to close his eyes and compose himself has you sucking his fingers into your mouth in an instant. Hollowing your cheeks, you trap him in the slick pressure chamber between your cheeks and your tongue. His jaw hangs open as he watches you slowly glide them in and out of your mouth.

An uneven breath hitches in his throat. “Don’t be a tease,” he pleads.

You pause, chest burning as his eyes bore into yours. His fingers coast out of your mouth with a gross popping sound and you kiss the tips of them before speaking, “Then don’t be a brat.”

Pulling the blanket over his shoulders, he wraps an arm around your neck, the weight of his body pressing you back. The distance between you quickly fills with muffled moans and the wet smack of your lips hungrily sliding against one another.

“I want to feel you,” he murmurs between open-mouth kisses, fingers diving under your sweatshirt and slowly working the material up your stomach.

“Me too,” you say, brain short-circuiting as his mouth licks a hot stripe down your neck. “I mean, I want you to feel me too. Not that I don’t want to feel you. I want to feel you. A lot.”

He smiles against your skin. The fabric of your sweatshirt bunches up just below your breasts and he pauses, waiting for a possible objection. “Do you want me to keep going?”

“Please,” you breathe, already wiggling your arms out of the sleeves. Between the chill of the air and Jimin’s sharp inhale, your nipples grow rigid. You’re pretty sure they’re hard enough to cut glass. His eyes roam your chest, drinking in the sight of your beauty just as you finish dragging the sweater over your head. He forces himself to tear his eyes from the sight of your pebbled nipples heaving up and down with each shallow breath your lungs take in.

Blinking a few times, he drags his eyes up and giggles when he sees the static in your hair.

You recoil and quickly criss-cross your arms to cover your chest, mistakenly believing he’s mocking your body. You think you’d be used to people laughing at you by now, but it still catches you off guard. It’s like a swift punch to the gut when you consider your foolish optimism. Armed with knowledge of the meaning behind his tattoo, you truly hoped Jimin could see past the years you spent ripping yourself apart in attempts to please others.

It’s been tough, but you’ve been able to pick up the pieces of your shattered self-esteem since moving away from the city. Leaving behind the hate and negativity binding you back to that world seemed impossible at the time, but you’ve made such progress, such strides away from all that. You’d like to think you possess a resilience, a hard shell that protects you from cruel people now, but it turns out you’re just as soft and vulnerable as ever.

It’s been years of tying ribbons decorated with hope and cheerfulness over the despondency branded into your core. And it feels like everything you’ve worked so hard to become unravels in an instant. You feel like melting into a puddle of tears. You feel like an idiot.

“Are you okay?” His smile falters and the laughter previously ringing throughout the room dies on the tip of his tongue. Anxiety drenches his face as he looks upon you, his stomach flip-flopping with the concerns building in his throat.

“Sorry,” you apologize, unable to hide your shame for not living up to whatever expectations he might have had. Still, you cling to the shred of dignity that remains lodged in the back of your mind. “I know I’m not… Like… The best looking, but it was kind of mean to laugh.”

“Oh…. Oh no… Y/N, I wasn’t laughing at… I would never… I was laughing because of this…” He drops his finger to your nose and you’re shocked by sharp a jolt of electricity. He makes a big gesture around his head to try and explain. “Your hair was fluffy. It was cute.”

He does his best to hide the tremble of his fingers as they brush the hair from your eyes and slowly trace jagged lines down your body. “I think you’re beautiful. And I will never. Ever. Be cruel to you. I will never hurt you.”

“Promise?” you ask, feeling foolish for falling apart so easily under a false assumption.

“I promise,” he insists, innocently brushing his lips against yours.

You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling him into both a deeper kiss and embrace. The cold sting of the metal studs at his nipples gives you goosebumps, but the skin-to-skin contact has you moaning into him and craving more. Your tongue plunges into his mouth and he responds with an enthusiastic grind of his hips.

“Fuck,” you pant, already not-so-subtly yanking the fabric of your leggings down.

“Let me help you,” he offers.

Your hands, which have been trying to work the material down your hips without lifting your ass, abandon their efforts in favor of groping the small of his back and lightly massaging the back of his neck. He smiles sweetly, lifting himself up enough to trail a hand down between the two of you, letting it take a detour along the curve of your breasts as it goes. When it finally meets the fabric still gathered just above your sex, he pauses and then dives his fingers below the material instead.

You gasp as he rubs his fingers along your folds, seeking access to the prize hidden beneath. The slick, sticky coating now drenching every bit of your cunt allows him to glide through almost too easily. Suddenly he’s rubbing small, quick circles against your slippery clit and your can’t help but throw your head back against the floor. Lucky for you the carpet softens the blow.

“Does it feel good?” he asks with a pleased hum as his lips close around a pebbled nipple and swathes his tongue over it.

Your head lolls from side to side as you massage your fingertips into the base of his scalp. “So fucking good, Jimin.”

He moans at the sound of his name rolling off your tongue, deciding it’s time to rub your clit with his thumb instead so he can dip his fingers inside you. His knuckles rub against the damp fabric of your leggings as he teases your obscenely wet entrance with a finger. Quickly deciding two is far better than one, he plunges them inside your dripping cunt while keeping a steady pressure on your clit.

You gasp, squeezing your eyes shut as he curls his fingers up to experience the contraction of your walls before he starts languidly pumping those delicate digits in and out of you. Digging into his back with your fingernails and knotting your other hand in his hair, you cry out a sound that makes his cock twitch against his belly.

He drags your nipple through his teeth as he pulls back, watching the jiggle that ripples through your breast before turning his head to rest on it. Suddenly his fingers disappear from your cunt and your walls spasm, weeping at the loss.

“So wet…” he whispers, sliding all of his fingers along your folds and gathering as much of you as he can.

You’re so fucking embarrassed. You’re not just wet, you’re salaciously wet, like a goddamn waterfall of pussy juice. Just as you’re about to apologize, he drags a wet, sticky trail up your belly with fingertips that have been drowned in your essence. You lose the will to speak as he looks up from his resting place on your tits.

“Is this all for me?” he inquires with a face of stone, eyelids half-closed as he spreads his fingers apart to let you see the glistening trails connecting them.

You manage to squeak out a pitiful, “I’m so sorry!”

Why you’re acting like you’ve physically harmed him in some way has him beyond puzzled. “Sorry? But, why?” He blinks, furrowing his brow. “I’ve never had someone this wet for me…. From now on…” he shyly trails off, bringing his fingers to his kiss-swollen lips and flicking his tongue across each one. His voice drops an octave. “I’ll be thinking about this every time I cum.”

With that he dips one into his mouth, eyes fixed on yours. You can’t look away, can’t even blink when he moans, eyelids fluttering as he deeply inhales your scent. “Delicious….”

You watch, speechless as he takes turns plugging his fingers into his mouth until he’s licked them all clean. “You taste sweeter than I imagined, Snow.”

When you don’t react, and stare at him like a terrified deer in headlights, he leans forward and hovers above your mouth. “You okay?”

Smelling yourself on his breath, your eyes close and you pull him into a deep kiss. He already tastes so fucking good. But he tastes heavenly when he’s wearing you on his tongue. “You’re... ” You try to shake the stupor out of your eyes, but you’re so smitten. “Amazing.”

He grins, pressing his lips to your cheek, then your neck, then your collarbone. He swipes his tongue across an area that makes you tense and he decides to revisit it, sucking a red mark of revenge into your flesh.

“I want you so fucking bad. Please, Jimin,” you whimper his name like he’ll take pity on you and climb back up your body to give you another taste of his mouth dripping with your juices.

Instead, your fingernails claw channels into his back as he forgoes the spot at your neck. He descends, leaving hot, open-mouthed kisses on every bit of exposed skin he can around both of your tits. “I want...” He laps the sticky trail he previously made with his fingers, following the path from your nipple down to your waist. “To make…” His tongue makes a lazy circle around your belly button before coasting down to the band of your leggings. “You cum for me.”

Your walls try to clamp down on something, anything, but there’s nothing inside your cunt to satisfy the craving driving you mad. You don’t have time to ruminate on this because he’s already yanking your leggings down your thighs, pulling them off and tossing them across the room. Your first instinct is to lock your thighs together to hide yourself from his gaze, but his palms catch your ankles as he moves to slot himself between your legs.

“Finally,” he breathes, running his hands up the inside of your calves, past your knees, slowing when he reaches your thighs. “Can I...?”

He seeks your approval, but you’re already throbbing with need, nodding and biting your lip to keep yourself from screaming yes. “Please, Jimin. Please.”

You tense as he presses his palms into both of your thighs, spreading you wide so he can see your glistening pussy. “Beautiful.”

Your cheeks are on fire, but you don’t have time to dwell on that either because Jimin is diving his tongue into your cunt like a man starved, lapping up your juices with a shameless slurping sound. And it feels like you’ve reached fucking nirvana.

“Oh fuck,” you cry out, tone laced with whiny need. All you can do is twist your fingers around strands of his hair as your head slams back against the floor. If it weren’t for this carpet, you’d probably have a concussion by now.

The more you whimper, the harder he pushes his jaw into you, swiping his tongue into the entrance of your cunt and collecting as much of your sweetness as he can. He flicks his tongue in messy circles along your labia, taking his time as he works his way up to that sensitive bundle of nerves above.

You swear that he must have some sort of supernatural gift for eating pussy because you can already feel the orgasm building in your gut. You flex the muscles of your stomach, trying to will yourself to hold on just a little longer. Clenching your jaw, you tighten your grip in his hair and swallow hard. He groans against you as you tug at his golden locks, sending soft vibrations straight to your core.

The forgotten movie continues playing nearby, but all you can hear are the deep inhales he's taking through his nose as he keeps is mouth clamped down over your clit. The wet squelching of his tongue mixing saliva with your own bodily fluids should be grossing you out, but it fills you with a new wave of desire that pushes you closer to the edge. You've only ever gotten close this fast when you're alone. How much of his soul did he have to sell for this sinful ability?

You moan his name again as you slide one hand to your tit, groping and pinching your freezing nipple in multiple directions. He lifts his mouth to hungrily gasp for air while continuing to sweep his tongue over your vulva. When he catches the movement of your hand tweaking your nipple, he groans and passionately moves his lips over your clit like he's trying to make out with it. Your eyes roll back and you whine loudly as he pulls himself off you long enough to speak.

"You taste so good, " he whispers, sounding out of breath, like he might have been suffocating himself in your cunt for fun. "Does it feel good?"

He brushes his fingertips over your swollen clit, knowing damn well you're pulsing with need. You prop yourself up on your elbows and look down at him. He cocks his head to the side, allowing his hair to fall across his face, waiting for you to answer.

You answer with a roll of your hips, trying to increase the pressure of his fingers on your bud by wrapping your legs around his back. He obliges your need for a moment, basking in the feel of your body desperately grinding onto his fingers, but he pulls them back and tuts at you with a sweet smile on his face. It's subtle but Jimin can feel it: the tremble of your thighs.

No matter how much you try to hide it, he knows. You're already so close that you're literally shaking. Will you beg me, Snow?

His eyes settle on yours as he slowly moves his fingertips back to your clit, only granting featherlight touches until you answer his question. When you push your hips back down for more, he moves his hand away again, grinning like a madman at the frustration staining your features.

Maybe you forgot what he asked. Raising his eyebrows, he trails his fingers up and down your thighs in teasing repetitions, always retracting them the moment he starts to give you what you want. "Tell me it feels good."

"You know it feels good," you whimper as his thumb swipes over your entrance.

"How good?" He stills, hovering his fingers over your clit. You can feel him teasing faint circles over it, denying you any sort of pressure until you answer.

"So fucking good."

He licks his lips, and spreads your folds open with his fingers. "Tell me how much you want me."

"I want you so fucking bad. I can't think about anything else. Please, baby."

A mischievous grin spreads across his face. "Baby…" he parrots back in a whiny voice, mocking you while kissing a line down your inner thigh. He swipes his tongue slowly up your entrance, quickly licking your clit like it's his new favorite flavor of lollipop.

"Jimin, please," you protest, throwing your head back so you don't have to look at him.

"What?" He slows his pace, kissing your swollen bud and rolling it against his tongue, pausing to whisper into you. "Tell me, baby."

With all mockery removed from his tone, the innocent word sounds absolutely sinful falling from his lips. If you're being honest, you never want him to stop saying it.

"You're evil," you breathe. "Please, don't stop."

You squeeze your thighs around his head as he massages his tongue against a particularly sensitive spot.

"Ah…! There! Right fucking there!" Your elbows ache as you try to stay propped up to keep your view of his beautiful face buried in you. "Jimin… Jimin, you're gonna make me cum."

Dark eyes peer up at you, sucking your labia through puckered lips before pausing to pant against you. "I know… Will you touch your pretty body for me, baby?"

Your thighs twitch at the request. He takes the opportunity to slide a finger inside your cunt while he tongues your clit. You lean back even further, mouth silently hanging open like you're about to start wailing. Instead you grab at your breast like it's your lifeline, catching your nipple between shaky fingers. Finally you give up on watching and throw your head back, resting it on the floor and running your fingers through your hair to keep from shoving his head down.

The quiver in your thighs grows stronger and you find yourself involuntarily bouncing to fight the sensitivity mixed in with pleasure. He clamps a hand on your hip to try to keep you from bucking him off the wonderful spot he's found. You clench around his fingers, aching for his return when he lifts his mouth from your clit.

"Look at me," he pleads, reaching his thumb up to tease the place he's left covered in spit.

You struggle to perch yourself on your hands, running on pure adrenaline from the most intense edging of your life. Fingernails dig into the carpet on either side of you, arms shaking like they're made of jello. "Jimin… I can't. Not when you're looking at me like that."

He cocks his head to the side curiously. "I'm not sure what you mean?"

You beg, not as a "please," or "come on," but his name expressed as a hopeless sigh; it sounds criminal when you say it like that.

He cracks a smile. "Let me help you."

He slides the hand currently at your hip around your side and presses against the curve of your back. Slipping his fingers from your cunt, he shoves them into your mouth and forces you to bend forward and watch as he descends to replace them.

"See how good you taste?" He whispers it like it's some forbidden secret he's chosen to share. Not giving you a chance to respond, he works his tongue along every delicate fold he can, savoring the tremor of your form as he turns his attention to that wonderful spot he found earlier.

Release is closing in fast as he batters his tongue against your clit. You mindlessly suck your taste from his fingers, letting a culmination of saliva and your own juices seethe from the corners of your mouth to coat your chest in a messy drizzle.

"Fuuuck," you whimper, bobbing your head over them like they're the cock you're craving. The pleasure between your legs is all-consuming, causing your eyes to water as you clench them shut. You feel your orgasm cresting with each quick swipe of his tongue. You force your eyes back open, fearing he might stop and tease you again if you don't.

"Ahhhhm," you moan as his fingers tug your jaw down and you grind your clit hard against the velvety smooth comfort of his lips. "Gonna cum."

Keeping his dark, hungry eyes locked on yours, he releases a groan that vibrates into your core. Your hips stutter against him and suddenly tense. The only form of movement your body offers is the violent tremor deep in your core as you give in to the crashing waves of your orgasm.

Your sharp intake of breath and heavy, spit-soaked moan is almost enough to make him cum on the spot. The quick battering of his tongue never falters and he lets you ride out the high until your body can process movement again. Aftershocks wrack your core until you're bucking your hips in an attempt to free yourself from the overstimulation.

He considers standing his ground to try and give you another, but he climbs up your body instead. Your arms wobble as he presses himself against you, lips and chin glistening in the low light. Despite the sweat running down his forehead, he shivers when you run your tongue over his lips to commit to memory how good he tastes when he's wearing you.

You reach down, palming his length through his pants, feeling the leaking tip poking out the band at his waist. "I want to make you feel good. Please let me make you cum."

He takes in a ragged breath against your kiss, "I'll be right back."

Before you can process the words, he's gone, leaving you as a panting mess on the floor. The heater sends a flow of hot air towards you but you can still feel the cold nipping at your sweaty skin.

Jimin practically sprints back to you, tearing the condom wrapper open with his teeth. When he sees you lying naked on his floor, he pauses to take in the sight. This better not be a really vivid dream.

You look up and he's looking back at you, smiling in a way that melts the chill off every part of your body. You grin like a smitten fool, unable to focus on anything but his kind eyes, even as he's tugging his sweatpants off and rolling the condom down his shaft.

By the time you realize you have a chance to look at his dick and commit the sight to memory, he's already slotted himself between your legs. He pulls the forgotten blanket over his back and lets the weight of his chest come down on yours.

He brushes the hair from your forehead as you wrap your arms around his form in an intimate embrace. He studies your face a moment, wondering if it's too soon to tell you how much he cares about you. It's the little things over the months he's fallen for, small pieces of you that have burrowed into his heart to build a larger, stronger form of affection. This feeling is more than just a shallow attraction, but will bringing that up make you run away?

It's worth the risk. If you don't feel the same, then he can't bear to have you like this even if his body is screaming for it. It can't be meaningless. Not with you.

He offers a gentle kiss, fingers trembling as they cup your chin. He lets the whisper rest against the surface of your lips. "I love you."

Your heart skips a beat and you hug your arms tighter around him. Love is a strong word. Especially for you. Growing up, you experienced what two people called love for the sake of outward appearances, but it was really only a mask they wore to conceal their hatred of each other. How can you say you love him when you don't even know what real love is like?

He waits for the response buried in your throat, trepidation taking hold of every thought outlining the possibility of reciprocation and twisting it into a mental lashing. Has his sensitivity on this matter really messed it all up? His eyes flicker between yours, pursing his lips and holding back a sigh when the answer doesn't come. He can’t tell what you’re thinking but heaven knows he’s trying to nurture the power of telepathy right now.

You know he wants the truth, whatever it may be. You swallow, chest tight as you try to form the words. You think of the kindness shown by others in your life, all the good experiences mixed in with all the shit life has thrown in your face. Jimin falls into the extremely good category, like the "I didn't know I could feel this good" category. You can't imagine a day going by that you don't talk to him. You don't want to.

"I don't have a good example of love-love to go by," you begin, watching him try to hide the disappointment in his face. "But I'd like to think this is what it's supposed to be."

Tears sting your eyes. Vulnerability is hard, but you're willing to take a chance on him and he realizes how big that is for you. Salty sweet tears of relief run down his cheeks as he kisses away your shared insecurities.

He could spend forever tangled in your embrace, innocently kissing away your worries and fears. Your fingers drag their way through his hair and you rut your hips into him, grinding your pelvises together. Being this intimate is new and exciting, but it's leaving you too vulnerable and is becoming an increasingly prominent source of anxiety.

Gripping the edges of the blanket at his back, you pull it across his shoulder blades as though it will cover the goosebumps speckling your chest. "Mmm. Please don’t make me wait any longer.”

He steadies himself on his elbows, fingers dancing with strands of your hair against the carpet. He rolls his hips against you a few times with a smile, letting his dick slide against your soaked, sensitive clit before lifting back and lining himself up properly.

“Tell me you want me,” he whimpers, the tip of his cock teasing your entrance with shallow taps. You try to lure him in by contracting the muscles in your pussy touching the head, hoping the feeling is enough rather than words. You’re having a hard time with those right now.

“Aaah…” he moans, dipping his head to your neck a moment. “You really are impatient.”

Slowly, he glides himself in about an inch, feeling you tense at the intrusion. The stretch makes you breathe a moan into his ear, causing him to snap his head back up to make eye contact with you. His chest is heaving as he waits, trying to give you time to adjust without blowing his load immediately. The way you’re trying to torture him by squeezing your walls around him is not making things easy.

“More, please,” you sigh, gripping the thick meat of his ass and pulling him towards you. “I want you.”

Finally, he gives in to the pleasure. His eyes roll into the back of his head as he bottoms out in one smooth motion. You squeak a brief sound of satisfaction, enjoying the dark hunger blazing in his eyes when they focus back on your face. He tries to reel the self-control back in, dragging his cock out at a leisurely pace before slowly working it back in. The last thing he wants is to hurt you, for this to be an unpleasant experience. But god. You feel so good. Too good.

“I always want you,” you breathe, hooking your legs around his waist and rolling your hips up to meet his as they come back down.

It’s difficult to think when you’re such a gorgeous mess beneath him. With your eyebrows knitting together, jaw hanging open, an apologetic look in your eyes as your hand shoots up to grip the back of his neck for better leverage to thrust yourself back up at him: you’re the epitome of perfection. His pace quickens with a spike of adrenaline surging through his veins. Soon his mouth hangs open, mirroring yours as he’s overwhelmed with the sensation of your tight, wet hole squeezing his cock like it’s the only place it’s ever needed to belong.

“J-Jimin,” you whine, looking down to catch the way your own tits press together, bouncing in unison with your writhing bodies. You try to see past your tits, hoping to catch a glimpse of his length disappearing inside of you, but the shadows cast by the blanket make it hard to see much of anything. So you drag your eyes back up to meet his, absolutely destroyed by the wonder painted all over his features. He’s looking at you like you’re the most perfect human he’s ever seen.

Because you are.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispers, bringing his open mouth down over yours.

With your tongues duking it out with each other, he pistons his cock into you with a vigor unlike anything you’ve experienced in your life. The squelching of your pussy while being mercilessly pounded is background noise to the sound of his balls slapping against your ass. You groan a garbled sound into his mouth, trying to remember how to breathe and process pleasure at the same time.

He moves to your neck, latching onto a sensitive spot immediately. This combined with the weight of him pressing down on your chest has you heaving, exposing more of your neck for him to explore. Your sweaty bodies slide against each other and you roam your fingers through his damp hair, savoring the feel of his tongue gliding up and down your neck until he settles on a place that makes you curl your fingers around those strawberry blonde locks.

You never thought you’d feel safe like this, and yet here you are. You’re about to lose yourself in the emotional implications of your progress when he slips right out and thrusts up against your clit, immediately apologizing. You cry out at the loss, wishing he could fill you up all day every day for the rest of your life. Because without him you feel so empty.

He chuckles nervously. “Slippery… Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

You smile, placing a small kiss on his lips. “I’m fine. But I think you’re working too hard. Why don’t you relax?”

You place a hand on his chest, facilitating the switch in your positions. Jimin rolls flat on his back with a grin, blanket trapped beneath him. There’s nothing to hide behind now. You finally take in the sight of his cock standing at attention, its beautiful girthy form being suffocated within the cream-covered condom. It’s a perfect size. Not too big. Not too small. Most of all it’s wide enough to fill you up, and so fucking delicious-looking. You could pop the condom off and take him into your mouth right now. He must see the thought cross your mind as you lick your lips because he grabs your wrists and guides you up to meet his face.

“Come back to me. Your Prince Charming would like to kiss you,” he coaxes in a cloyingly sweet tone. “There will be time to kiss me elsewhere later.”

“Oh, you’re my Prince Charming?” You can’t help but smile. He makes your heart swell with joy, even when he’s being a brat. “How long have you been holding onto that one?”

“Since the day I decided you were Snow White,” he says breathlessly.

“I told you that animals don’t actually like me as much as you think they do. Birds poop on me all the time.”

“And I told you Granny says that’s good luck.” He presses his lips to your cheek and grabs your waist. “I just wanted to sweep you off your feet,” he sheepishly admits, eyes darting away for a moment.

You straddle his waist, aligning yourself with his cock. “And tell me, what do you want now?”

“I want…” His eyes glaze over as he feels you sink down, grunting a weak “please” when you’re flush with his pelvis, unmoving. His hands link themselves with yours as you lean over him. Instead of looking anywhere else or trying to get you to move your hips, he stills and looks deep into your eyes. “I want to be your happily ever after, my lovely princess.”

His words catch you off guard and tears begin falling with your stunned blinks. He’s always looked at you like a princess, hasn’t he? It doesn’t matter how screwed up you may feel, or even how screwed up you actually are. He loves you. He cares for you. And he wants you to see what he sees so badly that he will point the mirror on the wall towards you every day until you see that you truly are the fairest of them all.

“Please don’t cry,” he says, wiping the tears from your cheeks. There are already tears forming in his eyes too. “I just want you to be happy.”

“I am,” you smile, lowering yourself to press your chests together. His arms wrap around you, offering comforting strokes with his fingertips against your back. His cock is still buried in your pussy and it’s distracting. He would love nothing more than to thrust up into you and spill himself in your guts.

“Tell me you love me,” you beg in a hushed whisper, kissing him like he’s the only form of oxygen you’re going to get for the rest of the night.

“I love you,” he whispers back between greedy, sloppy kisses.

You roll your hips, granting the movement he’s been craving as you slowly bounce on his cock. When he groans you clench around him and pick up your pace, hoping that you’re not as sloppy as you feel. Between the tears and the emotions swirling in your chest, your hips are a stuttering mess. If you are being a terrible top, he doesn’t say anything. He rocks himself with your slow, fucked out pace, hitting a heavenly spot inside you with each pivot your hips make to meet his again.

“I love you,” he repeats into the air as you lean back and steady yourself by placing your palms on his chest. He squeezes his eyes shut as you begin a new, rapid tempo that threatens to make him cum in seconds. He slurs out a whine of incoherent sounds, indicating you’re bringing him closer to the edge of release.

The shy, proud grin spreads across your face like wildfire as you watch him physically struggle to compose himself. “Got a big load for me, Charming? Or is it reasonably-sized?”

His face is flush and those big black pupils are dilated so wide you can’t tell them apart from the irises anymore. He wants to tell you to slow down so he can drag this out some more, but his climax is racing the words trapped in his throat. He grabs your hands and pulls you down close to him so he can kiss you again and again.

“Y/N… Ah…. I can’t....” He’s sucking air through clenched teeth between kisses, trying his best to push back the tightness in his balls.

“It’s okay, Jimin. Let go. Cum for me.”

With that he quickly wraps his arms around your waist, digging his fingernails into your sides as he takes control from beneath you, fucking you hard and fast as he chases his release. Your body shakes as he relentlessly thrusts those sinful hips upwards in quick, powerful strokes, holding you in a tight embrace like you might float away if he loosens his grip. You moan into each other’s mouths, the muffled sounds mingling as you crash your tongues against one another.

“I love you,” he whispers again, desperately this time.

“I love you too,” you respond breathlessly, doing your best to keep up with the insane tempo he’s set.

“Oh,” he quickly gasps, unable to fight the curse on the tip of his tongue. “Baby… Fuck... I’m cumming.”

The rhythm of his thrusts somehow increases in speed and you’re relieved to hear him gasp out the affirmation of his release. A small part of you is worried you won’t be able to take much more, even though you really want to; it’s been some time since anything has been between your legs that didn’t run on batteries. This is so much better.

Needy moans spill into your mouth with your name on repeat between breaths. He pumps himself into you with one last burst of power. Once. Twice. Three times. His hips shake beneath yours and fall limp against the floor as he chews on your bottom lip. Jimin cumming is hottest fucking thing you’ve ever experienced in your life and tonight you’ve heard it twice.

He allows your lip to snap back to you and plants a kiss on your forehead before rolling you over onto your back and slipping himself from inside of you. “Will you stay here tonight?”

You nod with a tired smile. “If you still want me.”

“I always want you,” he whispers with a shy kiss to your cheek. “The bed’s a bit more comfortable though.”

“I really didn’t mean to say it,” Jeongguk whines, face buried in his hands as he sits on Jimin’s couch.

Jimin puffs his cheeks, sparing a glance at the clock on his phone. He made plans to watch a movie with you once you got home from work. And by watch a movie, he means to disregard the movie as background noise and fuck you senseless. What he didn’t plan on was his friend stopping by for an impromptu therapy session; it happens often enough that he usually is prepared for such an event. But there’s only been one thing on his mind for the past week, and it’s been bent over every surface in this apartment every day the moment you get home. He’s eager to keep that streak going.

You’ll be home soon and Jeongguk doesn’t show any signs of leaving. Jimin decides to text you, letting you know the door is still unlocked, but he has company so don’t come running in while tearing your shirt off unless you want to entertain them both. He smiles when he hits send, eager for a response. It’s at this moment Jeongguk looks up at his friend, realizing he’s enamored with his phone.

“Are you even listening to me?”

Jeongguk looks crushed, sinking back into the cushion and rubbing his thumbs over the yellow plush dog Yoongi had constructed for Jimin at work. Its silky fur is comforting to Jeongguk, but not enough to soothe the ache in his heart. He fucked things up with this new teacher and he really doesn’t know how to smooth things over. Where does he even begin?

“I’m sorry,” Jimin says, quickly pocketing his phone and making sure Jeongguk knows he has his full attention. He places a hand on his knee and squeezes. “It’s okay. Just apologize to her.”

"How can I do that when every time I talk to her I can't even think straight? I mess up everything that I do when she's around," he groans, clearly resigned to his own hopelessness.

"How can you possibly mess up two words?" Jimin asks, quirking an eyebrow at his friend. He reaches for Jeongguk's jaw and begins practicing ventriloquy as he opens and closes it in time with his advice. "I'm. Sorry."

Jeongguk playfully slaps his hand away, "It's not that easy and you know it." He sighs heavily. “Besides. You know me. I already messed up an apology. ”

The smile falls from Jimin’s face. “What happened now? Don’t tell me it’s worse than the balls conversation.”

Jeongguk tents his fingers on either side of his temples and inhales deeply. On exhale he screeches, memory replaying his most recent mistake one more time.

“...That bad, huh?” He frowns, crossing the room to get him a beverage.

Jeongguk runs his fingers through his hair a few times before he snatches the banana milk from Jimin. He’s just gotta focus on something else. Anything else. He starts chugging the bottle, milk spilling from the corners of his mouth.

“Hey, slow down. I’m gonna be sick if you throw that stuff up.”

Jimin reaches for the small, plastic jug but it’s already empty by the time Jeongguk allows him to take it.

Jeongguk whimpers, “Not even banana milk can fix this.”

“Jeongguk. Tell me what happened.” It’s rare that Jimin ever gets stern with any of his friends, but sometimes they have a habit of getting in their own heads. He can pull them out by telling them what they need to hear, even if it isn’t always nice. He’s got a nagging feeling in his gut that this might be one of those times.

His friend leans back into the couch with palms pressed against his forehead. “I whipped a tennis ball across the court, but it fucking went out the door to the hall and hit her while she was walking by.”

“It was an accident!” Jimin insists.

“I know! But she! Doesn’t!” He pounds his hands into his forehead like it can knock the memory from his brain.

“Why not?” Jimin asks, suddenly suspicious. “What did you do when you realized you’d thrown something at someone? You apologized, right? Right?”

Jeongguk grits his teeth a subdued screech in his throat. “I ran over when I heard her scream and I was panicking so I just! I said ‘I’m so fucking sorry!’”

“That’s good--”

“And ‘Are you okay?!’”

“Sounds like you did fine---”

“But my brain couldn’t decide which one to say first so it merged them together! And I screamed at her!”

“Oh no.”

“Are you fucking sorry?! I screamed it Jimin. Are you fucking sorry! All of my students standing there watching me have a mental breakdown when she’s the one hurt.”

He’s practically in tears, damn near hysterical. Jimin offers a sympathetic grimace before going in for a big, comforting hug.

“Jeonggukie, it’s okay.”

“Not it’s not! I can never face her again. I can never face my students again. I’ve never been more embarrassed in my life.”

Jimin squeezes him tighter. “You’ll get through this though. You know how I know?”

“How?” The words are muffled when spoken into the crook of his neck.

Jeongguk has buried himself dangerously close to the spots you’ve been claiming for yourself. He hopes his friend doesn’t notice the red bruises you’ve left behind.

“Because. I can think of a million other things that you’ve done that are way more embarrassing than this. And you’ve lived through them all. If anything your students will see you as someone they can relate to.”

“And Frizzle?”

“You have to do something genuinely nice for her and express your sincerest apologies. Take her somewhere nice for dinner. Admit you screwed up and you want to make things better. Explain how your life is a chain of embarrassing experiences. Tell her some stories of your other fails so she doesn’t think you’re being cruel. If you can’t think of any, I can make you a list. I really do remember things you’ve done that are worse than this, you know. ”

“No! No. I guarantee I’ve blocked them out for a reason.” The black-haired man sighs. He seems to at least be comforted by the thought that the situation isn’t totally unsalvageable. He stands with a lopsided smile. “Thanks, Jiminie. I love you.”

Jimin’s mouth curls into a smile as he goes in for one more hug. “You never forget to pay me, Jeonggukie.”

Jeongguk steps across the threshold and is greeted by the very woman he’s been complaining to Jimin about for the better part of an hour. Every muscle in his body tenses and freezes in place. She’s just come out of the apartment next door. Jimin cocks his head at his friend, curiously watching the blatant change in body language.

“What is she doing here?” Jeongguk hisses at Jimin like the woman isn’t standing close enough to hear.

“Of course you’d be here. Don’t worry, Mr. Jeon, I’m on my way out, unless you’ve got something else to pile on to my hazing?”

Jeongguk clamps his mouth shut and tries to move out of her way, but she moves in the same direction. Both of them immediately try to go around, mirroring each other’s actions. This must be her. Jimin rubs his temple as he watches the awkward dance Jeongguk and “Frizzle” do as she tries to move past him. For a tall, muscular guy, Jeongguk seems to shrivel in stature the longer he stands there looking at her, stuttering out half of an apology before finally gripping her shoulders like he’s going to pick her up.

“Please let me go,” he murmurs, swallowing hard, despite the fact that he’s the one with his hands on her.

Jimin runs his fingers down his cheeks like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Jeongguk’s aloof nature seems to have been amplified tenfold by the presence of this woman, which is an impressive feat. He’s got it so bad for this girl he really can’t think straight.

Jeongguk takes a deep breath and books it down the hallway, forgetting about his friend entirely. He gets to the stairwell and hunches over the bannister to screech like a pterodactyl, hoping to release some of the anguish tearing at his chest. He sighs, composing himself as he ascends the steps, patting his pockets for the comfort of escape. His heart drops. That familiar jingle of keychains and metal is missing. “My keeeeeeys!”

It’s then he realizes he’s going to have to walk back past you in shame to collect the missing item from Jimin’s apartment. Jimin wishes he could undo all of the secondhand embarrassment he just experienced. Being that this will be burned into his memory for some time, he slinks into your apartment for a healthy dose of distraction.

The scent of cinnamon and vanilla hang in the air. You've been baking to keep yourself busy. You thought about asking your guild if anyone wanted to play online for a bit, but you really weren't in the mood for video games. You knew what to expect and yet you still find yourself disappointed by the lack of Holiday cards and letters.

Even if they don't give a shit about you, you still find your heart breaking, wishing you could know if your parents are doing okay. Maybe they're finally getting better. Maybe they're finally getting that divorce they desperately need. You whisk the batter, losing yourself in a sea of possibilities, regardless of whether it matters in the first place.

Then again, maybe they're doing better now that they don't have you around to use as a point of contention. They could be happy now that the supposed source of their misery is absent from their life. Your jaw tightens along with your grip on the mixing bowl cradled in your arms.

They probably don't think about you at all. How many times had you walked back from school alone in the dark because they forgot to pick you up? How many times had they straight up forgot you existed? They don't care. They don't even think about you. In fact, they're probably so drunk mom is passed out on the couch and dad is in a similar position in his office with a bottle of scotch and a nub of a burnt out cigarette hanging from his mouth.

You're mixing quickly, scraping loudly against the ceramic bowl in an attempt to drown out the anger in your head. It might not be enough to cover your incessant thoughts but it sure as hell camouflages Jimin's approach.

You bite your lip, white hot tears stinging the corners of your eyes. It's stupid. Why do you care so much when they obviously don't? You feel manic having the day off of work. There's too much time to think now that you don't have your customers to dote on and care for. You don't realize how slippery your fingers are now that they’re coated in a layer of sweat. The bowl slips from your hands and shatters against the floor, coating your floor and feet in a pasty splatter of dough.

“Are you okay?” Jimin asks, scooping his arms around your waist and dragging you away from the mess.

You nearly jump out of your skin when you feel his embrace pulling your backwards, voice vibrating in your ear. You stumble backwards, losing traction over the spilled batter. He’s careful to get you away from the shards of glass littering the kitchen tile as you fall.

“I thought you had work to do,” you say, embarrassed by your lack of finesse.

“I finished up early. I… knocked but you didn’t answer,” he replies, taking a moment to inspect your face.

The mixture intended for cookies haphazardly sprinkles your cheeks and your eyes are still glossy from the tears gathered in them moments ago.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, concern dripping from the two simple words.

You hate making him worry so you force a counterfeit smile to split your lips. “Nothing!”

“I can tell you’re lying,” he insists, wiping your face with his fingers. “It’s okay. You can talk to me.”

You hang your head low and press into his shoulder. “I was just thinking about my family. Please. It’s not important.” Another phony smile adorns your features as you look up at him. “But I’d like it very much if you could take my mind off it.”

He offers a warm smile and decides not to press further. He knows enough of your past to know you’d rather not speak on it unless you’re the one offering information. Despite the curiosity nagging at the corners of his mind, he plants a kiss on your lips instead. “Any requests?”

“Take me away from my own brain.”

He giggles, ready to make you forget every word you’ve ever learned that’s not his name, but he pauses, briefly recalling the reason he stopped by in the first place. “Oh wait. I wanted to ask you about that.”

You half-laugh, half-scoff. “It’s okay. I’ve accepted there’s no escape.”

Jimin shakes his head at you. “No, I mean would you like to get away from here for the night? My friends and I go to Taehyung’s parents’ cabin every year on New Years Eve. It’s like a little tradition.”

You blink at him. “Oh you mean Mr. Kim--er,” you correct yourself when he cringes. “Tannie’s dad? Wouldn’t it be weird if I showed up? I don’t want to intrude… And I would feel so awkward not knowing any of your friends.”

“They’re all really laid back. They’re like an extended family. Let me tell you about them,” he suggests, twining his fingers in yours and waving your hands around. “The drive to the cabin takes a couple hours. That’s plenty of time to give you a history lesson.”

“I don’t know…”

“You know,” he begins, swiping his batter-coated finger with his tongue. “Granny says it’s good luck when you kiss someone you love on New Year’s Eve at midnight.”

You roll your eyes, fighting the cheesy grin you feel coming on. “Is that so?”

He nods enthusiastically, sparing a glance at the shards of glass and spilled batter scattered across your kitchen floor. “Besides, what better way to keep your mind off of... everything?”

The man can be subtle when he wants to be, but you still follow his line of sight to the mess creeping down the slight slope in the tile.

“I have to sweep this up,” you mumble, ignoring giving him a finite answer as you cross the room to gather cleaning supplies.

There’s a protest caught in his throat that dies the moment you bend over to search for the dustpan in the closet. He saunters over, licking his lips and letting his fingers dig into the soft flesh at your hips. Your eyes go wide as his length presses against your ass, already half hard. He offers a playful thrust as a joke, but if you drop your pants then the joke part of that thrust is totally cancelled. You sigh loudly and arch your back, slowly rising to looking over your shoulder at him. He swears time stops for a moment as half-lidded eyes chant his name without you saying a word.

“I really have to clean this up. It’s wet. The-The spot on the floor is wet.” You stumble over raspy and frantic words, all the moisture missing from your mouth. He tests your resolve by sneaking a finger below the band of your jeans, skirting his digits just outside of your underwear before pressing the silky fabric into your clit. With just a few slow circles, he has you moaning and weakly leaning back against him for support.

“You’re right. It’s a little wet. I should help you clean this up, don’t you think?” His breath is hot against your neck as he dips his hand lower, sneaking along your pantyline before pushing the barrier aside to dive in your cunt without warning.

You’re practically melting as he pumps his fingers into you, tongue dragging over your neck in a teasing swipe. It takes all of your willpower, but you grip his forearm with a groan. “You’re evil.”

“I’m Charming,” he insists with a grin, complying with your unspoken request to abandon his endeavors.

“I need to clean this before it gets in every last crack.”

Jimin opens his mouth to say something crass but gets distracted by your smiley kiss.

“We’ll get to that later. Go. Sit over there,” you instruct, pointing to the empty chairs on the other side of the bar-style counter.

He sulks over to the counter and sits with a huff, planting his elbows on the edge and resting his cheeks on the flat surface of his palms. It’s hard to ignore his bottom lip protruding in a pout as you get to work cleaning the mess you’ve stupidly made. Hard, but not impossible.

When it’s clear you’re ignoring him, he sits up straight and folds his arms over his chest, a puff of air passing his lips as he takes in his surroundings. Suddenly, his eyes zone in on the familiar form of a package containing delicious pastries only made in one shop.

“Mistledough? You went to Mistledough?” he asks excitedly. You must have met Jin, if that’s the case.

You laugh, “Oh yeah. I stopped in to get some baked treats for the pups a couple weeks ago and this smooth-talking guy comes out from the back with a big smile. His shoulders are so big and his waist is so tiny that he looks like a dorito. Right? Anyway he’s doing this whole bit about how good this stuff is and how happy he gets when pretty girls come into his shop to order it. He definitely knows how to advertise because I bought a whole package of them without even trying it first. It’s… so good though. Have you ever had it? What I have now might be a little stale, but I’m sure it’s still fine to eat. Do you want some?”

You poke your head above the counter to see Jimin’s arms crossed over his chest. He isn’t looking at you but he definitely looks annoyed. Is he seriously still pouting because he has to wait ten whole minutes to put his fingers back in you?

“No,” he pouts quietly, entire demeanor flip-flopped in an instant. “I don’t want any. I know what it tastes like.

You frown, thinking maybe it’s something you said. “Do you not like that place?”

Jimin puffs his cheeks out and removes the thick black frames from his face to clean them with his shirt. “No, that place is fine.”

Anxiety races in your chest, heart snapping in two at the sound of his cold tone. “I’m sorry,” you say, gripping the dustpan tightly like he’s going to break things off. “Is it… Did I do something wrong?”

He catches your eyes, immediately filling his gut with guilt. “Ah, no, no. I’m sorry.” He licks his lips and rolls his eyes away, not wanting to look at you when he admits this. “It’s just… That handsome, wide-shouldered guy... That’s Seokjin. He’s my friend, but--Ah the way you talked about him just now, I got jealous. I’m sorry.”

Relief washes over you like a tidal wave. You cock your head to one side and stand to lean over the counter. No one’s ever been jealous of you before, or in regards to you; it’s kind of baffling that you don’t have the brain capacity to be flattered. “Jealous? Why?”

He spares a look at you and darts his eyes away. “Because.” He sighs loudly and slinks back in his chair. “He’s tall and those big shoulders let everyone know how strong he is. People can look at him and say wow, that guy is so handsome. He just… exudes manliness. Do you know what people say about me?”

The slow blink and the way he swallows tells you that he’s having trouble expressing the distasteful things he must have heard over the years.

“Jimin.” Your fingers grip his chin. “Nevermind what people say. They don’t matter. Do they?”

You tilt your head, trying to get him to look at you, gaze remaining steady on his eyes until he meets it.

“No…”

“You matter. But you’re hard on yourself. Do I matter?”

“Yes…” he breathes, offended that you’d even ask such a question.

“Well then you should listen to me. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re sweet and cute. I think you’re sexy and fun. I think I love the beauty of your soul as much as I love your handsome face. I think your height is not a measure of your worth and I’m not sure why it’s important to you, but I will hug you all day every day to remind you that you’re the perfect height to always bury your face in my tits.”

He laughs, visibly relaxing despite the blush creeping in his cheeks. “You’re good to me.”

“I think,” you continue, suddenly feeling shy yourself. “You don’t have anything to be jealous about. This world only has one Jimin. One who is perfect as himself. And I care about him so much that I want to go with him to a cabin where I won’t know anyone because when he’s around, my heart hurts less and the world feels less cold and when I’m with him, despite my paranoia and concerns about being murdered... he makes me feel safe. I love him.”

He smiles sweetly, leaning in to plant a kiss on your lips. “Who’s that Jimin? He sounds amazing. But I’ll have to teach him a lesson for stealing your affection.”

You roll your eyes and shake your head, nuzzling your nose close to his. “You dork.”

“You’re coming with me then?”

“It’s a date, my prince,” you reply with a grin.

“Thank goodness. I already cancelled my ride.”

The snow whips against your windshield wipers. Heat blares through the vents, the radio playing softly in the background. Jimin looks over at you, placing his hand on your thigh. You smile, giving it a firm squeeze and pressing it to your lips while your eyes squint through the blinding white obscuring the road.

“Do you see a sign to get back on the highway?” you ask, trying to bite back the anxiety brewing in your belly.

The “EXIT ONLY” sign responsible for your detour had been obscured by the heavy snowfall. Being that the inclement weather has put you in an unfamiliar area, you’re hopeful that the poorly plowed backroads are a short-lived side trip.

“Don’t worry. There has to be a way to get back on,” he assures you, giving your fingers a squeeze as he squints out the passenger side window. “Oh! That sign says there’s a gas station ahead. Maybe we could ask in there?”

You eye the instrument panel of your dashboard. The needle indicating the fuel level of your tank hovers two lines above “E.” You promptly go back to watching the road, wind whipping snow off nearby trees. You’re taking it slow as you come around a curve, but your tires spin when they hit a patch of ice.

“Oh shit!” Releasing his fingers, you throw your arm up to shield Jimin’s chest as do your best to turn your steering wheel into the skid as the vehicle veers off the side of the road.

The car makes a skewed slide to the shoulder of the road and continues to glide onto the snow-covered grass, coming to a complete stop before hitting any of the nearby trees. You exhale a ragged breath and look over at Jimin.

“Are you okay?”

He nods, carding his fingers through his hair. “Are you?”

“Yeah.” Your response is sturdy, composed, but its foundation is a lie that could come crumbling down at any moment. Shaky fingers reach over to click the hazard button in the unlikely event that anyone else drives by. You haven’t seen another car in over twenty minutes, but it’s still best to err on the side of caution.

“Just icy. Gas station?” you ask, trying to get your bearings. You don’t think the car did a 180 but you’re a little shaken up and could use a break.

Jimin points in the direction the sign indicated. “Not too far, I think. Are you sure you’re okay?”

You nod silently, checking your surroundings as you attempt to back up. The wheels beneath the car spin in endless cycles, bringing you nowhere. You swallow hard, turning the wheel in the opposite direction and trying again as you apply more force to the gas pedal. When the car doesn’t budge, you fear the worst and place it in park. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you slip on a pair of thin gloves and open the door to inspect the terrain.

With your first step outside your stomach drops with your legs on the slippery surface below your boots. You clutch the door but it’s too late; your legs split and you fall to the ground with a painful smack. You can’t help the pained whimper that spills out of your mouth in short, embarrassing bursts. You’ll be fine. You just need a minute.

“Snow! Are you okay?” Hearing your cries, Jimin quickly dons his mittens and gets out of the car.

As soon as he rounds the front of the car, passing the light on the driver’s side, his boots lose all traction. He stumbles forward a bit, trying to regain his footing before his legs finally slip from beneath him. The impact his ass makes on the ground beside you makes you wince. He grimaces, sucking air through his teeth as he leans back. Even still, he reaches out and touches your cheek with a puffy red mitten, opening his mouth to ask if you’re okay but not able to manage anything other than a broken groan.

You look up at him as he leans over you, feeling the fingers trapped beneath the fuzzy mitten at your cheek. Suddenly you start to giggle. Despite not knowing the source, seeing your amusement causes the groan in his throat to transform into a breathless laugh.

“We really are messes, huh?” you say, pulling down on the red scarf adorning his shoulders to bring him down to meet your lips.

His mouth is hot, leaving behind breathy vapors in the air as he sucks your bottom lip, turning the innocent nature of the kiss into something more passionate. Before your brain can register the action, his tongue already propping your mouth open. If the wind wasn’t whipping snow on your exposed cheeks, he might have been able to keep you warm and make you forget your surroundings completely.

Reluctantly you push him back. “Jimin we have to get up. What if another car comes and rear ends us? We would die.”

He sighs, wincing as he struggles to stand on the slippery surface. “Okay, but be careful getting up.”

He circles the car, inspecting for any signs of damage as you crawl on hands and knees towards the front of the car. Placing your cheek on the ground you look beneath to see if anything might be caught underneath. When you both come up empty, you carefully get back in the car.

Jimin looks over at you suddenly, an expression of realization coating his features. “Did you turn traction control off?”

You slowly close your eyes and run cold, wet gloved fingers down your face. “I’m an idiot. I should have thought of that.”

Jimin shrugs and kisses your cheek with a proud smile. “I just passed my driver’s test so it’s all fresh in my mind.”

Before long, you’re back on the road and rolling up to a pump at the gas station. Jimin disappears inside while you work on filling the tank. It’s filling painfully slowly so you start playing with the layer of snow on the top lip of the pump. You begin to gather snow, picking some from the ground and rolling it around to form a tiny, perfect snowball.

The bell on the door jingles as Jimin exits, a look of concentration on his face as he looks up and down the road beside the lot. An abrupt wave of cold shocks his system as a snowball disintegrates against his chin. He looks around for the culprit, but the only person in the parking lot is you. He blinks a few times, realizing you’re cackling like a witch as you screw the cap back on your tank.

Instead of forming his own snowball to throw back, his bottom lip protrudes in a pout and he puffs up like a bird who’s had their feathers ruffled one too many times. He must still be sore from falling. You start to feel guilty and start to apologize as he draws near, pulling him into an embrace. He leans into you, walking you back until you’re pressed against the car. You blush, feeling the weight of his body trapping you as he pushes his mouth onto yours. He removes a glove to fist your hair between his fingers and gives a sharp tug. Once again, he takes the warmth you offer and turns the heat up. Is this what he’s like when he’s annoyed and horny? You’ll remember to be bratty if this is what it earns you.

You pull back a moment, searching the darkness in his eyes for the need buried in them. Pulling his scarf aside, you latch onto his neck with the heat of your mouth, making sure to suck and tease the spot you know drives him crazy. You feel him lean into you with a moan as he swipes his hand erratically over your car. Feeling pleased with yourself, you grind your hips up into him.

You don’t see the snow he’s gathered into a pile on the top of your car, but you sure as hell feel it when swipes it all over the edge with one hand and holds the collar of your coat open with the other. The snow transforms into water almost immediately, leaving icy trails down your back and soaking into your clothes.

You screech against him just as he takes off running across the parking lot, giggling like a madman. He played you. You wiggle what snow you can out of your coat and give chase, gathering snow in your hands as you go. He holds his hands up as if to surrender and repeating a slew of “sorry”s, but something about the way he’s laughing the whole time makes it feel a bit disingenuous. Soft snowballs smash against his legs. You wish you had better aim.

As you move to gather more snow, he’s already firing off the ammunition he’s secretly gathered, pelting your coat with white. Running up to him through the barrage, you find he’s empty and he puts his hands out again. Seeing the snowbank behind him, you push him back into it, allowing a cushion of cold to break his fall. The melody of his laughter rings through your ears as your climb on top of him and sprinkle what’s left of your fistful of powdery snow all over his face.

You’re both laughing so hard you’re crying. After taking a moment to calm his laughter, he sits up on his elbows and removes a loop from the scarf at his neck to drape it around yours.

“Come on. Let’s get to the cabin so we can warm up.”

You wet your lips, the cold immediately freezing your spit. “What you’re not warm?”

“You pushed me into the snow. I’m cold,” he whines.

“You covered me in white,” you say, not thinking about the words until they’re out.

Jimin quirks an eyebrow with a knowing smile. “I thought you liked that. You were begging for it yesterday, weren’t you?”

“Shut up and kiss me.”

“You’re friends with Hope on the Street? J-Hope? Really?” you ask in disbelief. The guy is somewhat of a celebrity so it’s a little unnerving knowing he’s going to be at this cabin. The segment he did on puppies recently really brightened up your day.

“His real name is Hoseok,” Jimin says with a nod, crunching into a potato chip. “He also goes by Hobi.”

You can’t stop yourself from asking. “That whole dildo thing everyone says? Is it true?”

Jimin coughs out the chip he had been chewing and you immediately apologize, but he laughs. “What have you heard? I’m not much of a gossip.”

You shake your head defensively. “I’m not either! It’s just… There are so many rumors. I’ve heard it was a vibrator, cucumber, a cordless mic… And it’s always an absurd length, like twelve inches or something like that.”

Jimin laughs so hard he snorts. “Oh my god. No! Okay, I’m going to tell you the truth, but you can’t tell anyone I told you, okay?”

“...Okay,” you agree, not realizing the pit you’ve fallen into.

“If you promise you won’t tell…” he trails, looking out the window.

“I pinky promise,” you say as you stick out your little finger. You’re too curious now. You have to know.

“Don’t let on that you know, either,” he continues as he links his pinky with yours and looks over at you. “Promise?”

Your eyes dart over to his for a split second before focusing back on the road. “I promise, my prince.”

He smiles, taking the opportunity to hold your hand while he talks. “Hmm. By the time we get there hopefully you’ll feel like you know them a little. I’ve told you some pretty tame stories so far but… The truth is that we’ve all known each other since we were kids. So I know all of their dirty laundry.”

He wiggles his eyebrows at you even though you can’t pay attention to his suggestive facial expressions. Why do you feel like you’re getting more than you bargained for?

“You’re such a dork. Just tell me about J-H--Hoseok.”

“So impatient,” he teases with a sigh. “I mean honestly it’s not that bad. Hoseok and his girlfriend, Cat, have been together for a while now. They were… experimenting in the bedroom together. The dildo they were using was pretty small and she lost her grip on it. That’s really all there is to it. Someone must have heard him talking to the nurses.”

That makes total sense. Of course everything gets blown out of proportion. Poor guy.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t let it get to him at all. He keeps a smile on and can talk around pretty much everything. But when you put him with Cat, together? They have no shame and if you’re not careful they’ll drag you into their filthy games.”

“Have they dragged you into them, Jimin?” you ask with a smile, genuinely curious with a side pang of envy. Whoever is dating someone as fine as J-Hope must be hot as hell. Just imagining Jimin being thrown into that mix has you salivating, wishing you could have been the meat in that sandwich instead.

“Maybe,” he sheepishly rubs the back of his neck. “B-But that was a long time ago.”

“Too bad,” you suck your teeth. “Sounds like it could be fun.”

Jimin’s eyes go wide and he swallows a nervous laugh, not wanting to accept the possibility so easily if it was only meant as a joke. “I mean if you’re interested I can always ask if they might want to.”

You laugh nervously, not expecting that possibility. “I… haha, let me meet them first. They might hate me for all you know. I tend to talk when I get nervous and then mess everything up.”

“It’s part of your charm. You’re cute when you get shy. You have this… innocence that’s endearing. They’ll love you. You’d probably be their new favorite... toy...” he trails off into a breathy whisper, losing himself in some daydream.

“Are you sure you won’t get jealous?” you ask, snapping him back to reality. “Mistledough man had you so moody.”

“Ah, Seokjin. You know, I once caught him jerking it to a muffin.”

You blink a few times. “Seokjin is the bakery dorito,” you affirm, keeping your eyes on the highway. “And you caught him jacking it … Jimin. Tell me mistledough is cum-free.”

He laughs. “Seokjin would never. Don’t worry. It wasn’t at the bakery.”

“But… why…?”

“I don’t know. I never received any context for it and I was too afraid to ask. Honestly, I think it’s his messed up relationship with his ‘not girlfriend.’” He uses air quotes to signify his distaste for the situation. “Pumpkin. At least he calls her that. Everyone else calls her Grump.”

“Oof. She a bitch?”

“If you were at the shop, you must have seen her.”

You pause to recall the day you’d stopped in. “There was this one girl that was staring at me but I figured it might be someone I knew from high school so I avoided eye contact. Got this chill down my spine though.”

“Yeah that’s her. She’s a little rough around the edges, but she’s secretly soft on the inside. She just needs time to warm up to people. I think she has a hard time showing affection. We’ve all known her almost as long as we’ve known each other. She just needs to get laid. Scratch that. She needs to get laid by Jin. They’ve been dancing around it for over a decade, Snow. Imagine if you and I never… for over ten years.”

You exhale air through puffed cheeks. “I’d have moved on after two. You’re lucky you made a move when you did.” You give his hand a playful squeeze. “Why haven’t they yet?”

“They’ve both been in love with each other for so long I think they’re blinded by it now,” he guesses with a shrug. “They’re so in love that they can’t even see it anymore. Maybe they never did. But there’s always this air of jealousy that makes it impossible for either of them to be happy with anyone else. I should probably sit them both down and talk them through it, but sometimes Seokjin… Ah, he closes his ears to anything he doesn’t like. Maybe this year will be different. She always comes so if you think she’s glaring at you, she probably is, but don’t take it personal.”

You nod in quiet contemplation for a moment before moving on. “Tannie’s dad?”

“Ah. Taehyung. He’s probably my closest friend. Don’t tell the others. Him and Star have been together since college and are so perfect for each other it makes my heart ache. They’re really… unique. It’s okay if you think they’re weird because they are. But that’s their charm. They listen to really old records and wear vintage clothes and talk about art all the time. It used to make me cringe at first but now it makes me happy. It’s probably because I don’t live with him anymore.”

You spare a curious glance at him “You lived with him?”

“Roommates right after high school. Before he went off to art school and got his degree. Then I went off to uni for business and marketing.”

“Ah, right. College. That thing that most people do after highschool. I’m dumb.”

Jimin frowns, knowing it’s a sore subject for you. “You’re not dumb. Be nice to yourself. It’s not your fault you never got a chance to go.”

Your fingers grip the steering wheel tightly, enough so your knuckles pale. “I know I’m not dumb. I could have been a vet by now. I was smart enough for it. I could have done it.”

He reaches out to place a reassuring palm on your shoulder. “You can still go back, you know.”

You shake your head, swallowing the bitter pill that you missed your chance for that kind of life. Things are different now. You like your job. You like your life. You don’t need to use schooling as an escape from your home. Maybe it’s time to let go of the resentment. You can still be smart and not go to college. You can still enjoy a job that doesn’t require a degree.

“I need to work on not being so bitter about my past,” you answer with a shake of your head. “I like where I am now and if I don’t, I can always change. Thank you for helping me remember that. So.. where were we? Taehyung?”

“Ah, I caught him sucking on her toes once,” he says very matter-of-factly.

“What?!”

“When he moved out and told me about his roommate, I thought he’d be living with another man. He invited me over to meet them. Imagine my surprise when I came by. The door to his room was wide open and he’s sitting there licking up the bottom of her foot, putting her toes in his mouth.”

“What did they do when they saw you standing there?” you purse your lips, wondering if Jimin had been a part of this couple’s sex life as well.

“Oh, they tried to laugh and play it off like ‘Oh no we were messing around... it’s not like that... Why would be doing something like that? Da da da.’ All the excuses, you know? But I saw it and I can’t unsee it. He had a boner and she looked like she was enjoying it.” He shakes his head.

“I still think it’s funny you know him. He pampers Tannie. A lot. Like he spends an absurd amount on that dog. He loves him so much. It’s so cute. Wait… Does that mean you know other Mr. Kim? Moni’s dad?”

Jimin looks over. “You know Namjoon too?”

“This isn’t so bad. I’ve at least seen these people,” you say, mostly to yourself as a comforting thought. “Actually, I gave him a dog treat for Moni and he just… Jimin, he ate it right in front of me. I didn’t know what to do so I just smiled.”

Jimin start roaring with laughter. “That sounds like Namjoonie. At least that was edible. I watched him drink perfume once. He said it smelled so good he wanted to see what it tasted like. I’m not sure how drunk he was, but he had to be pretty far gone. You know he’s really intelligent, but he makes some really bad decisions. He will deny this until the day he dies, but I was there for his ‘bad boy’ phase back in high school. He purposefully failed classes because he thought it made him look cooler and he’d always brag about blowing off dates with girls and pretending to be a loner. Not to mention he always wore some kind of black t-shirt with a fake deep quote on it, he had a leather jacket, painted his fingernails black, had a mohawk...”

“Really? That guy? Did he have a motorcycle too?” you snicker. “That would really sell it for me.”

“He may have painted blue flames on the side of his bicycle,” he jokes. “Do I have to worry about him stealing you too?”

You roll your eyes. “Tell me about another one and I’ll tell you who’s the most dangerous. Right now, you’re still winning.”

“Yoongi looks the most intimidating. He looks like a bad boy, covered in tattoos and piercings. He even has his dick pierced. I’ve seen it. Yes, it looks painful. People say he comes off as cold, but he’s really not.”

“Like Grump?”

“Hmmmm… Different. Have you ever heard of Inkspires? It’s the tattoo shop across town.”

You think for a moment. It’s not like you live in a big city, but you’re not sure you’ve ever had a reason to go to such a place. You rack your brain trying to think of the place he’s talking about. When you shake your head, he seems a little sad.

“Don’t worry. You’ll know them once I’m done. I’m working on rebranding them. Pro bono. I’m working to make it something everyone will recognize. Jisoo’s got a lot of ideas and I’m excited to bring them to life. It will take some time, but I think it will be worth it.” He smiles. “I think he might be bringing his new girlfriend. What did he call her? Plum? Melons?” He snaps his fingers. “Ah, Peaches.”

“Peaches?”

Jimin shrugs. “They started dating recently. I don’t have all the details yet. It’s kind of a big deal. He usually doesn’t bring a date. He usually doesn’t date. And unless something has changed-- which I don’t think it has-- he's still a virgin.”

Your mouth falls open. “Really? How? I mean, that’s kind of impressive, honestly. The world is so busy trying to sell sex. How do you keep away from it?”

Jimin shakes his head. “Trust me, I know. My whole business is embedded in it. I guess he’s never had anyone he really wanted to share the experience with. I told you, he’s a real soft-hearted guy. He works part time at Construct-a-Cub during the holidays. He donates a lot of stuff to charities for children.”

“Wow. He sounds like a really good person,” you say, genuinely stunned by the kindness people can show.

“Don’t be fooled. He’ll tell you he hates kids. Secret softie. But similar to Grump, if you think he’s being cold, he’s probably just wary. Give him time and he’ll warm up to you. Keep an open mind. And don’t judge a book by its cover.”

You nod. “Of course.”

“He’s the one who actually did my tattoo and piercings.”

“I meant to ask about those…”

“Tae, Guk, and I decided we were all gonna get them right after college. Kind of a celebration pact type thing. Tae chickened out after watching us go and since he already paid for it, Star ended up getting hers done in his place.”

“Ouch,” you hiss through your teeth, mentally conjuring the level of endurance that might take.

“It really wasn’t that bad.” He laughs. “I was surprised by how little it hurt compared to what I imagined.”

“Did you watch?”

“Hmm?”

“Star getting hers done.”

Jimin licks his lips and stares out the window with a shy smile. “Yoongi offered to kick everyone out, but she insisted we stay. Tae didn’t talk to us for a week. He’s a baby sometimes. He knows she only has eyes for him. I think she’s an exhibitionist. Don’t be surprised if you catch her walking around naked.”

You hold back a snort with a pang of irrational jealousy. “What? For real?”

“I’m joking. Kind of. She’s soft and sweet and as a couple they’re pretty reserved. But I’ve heard them competing with Cat and Hobi for loudest cabin sex.” He lets out a heavy sigh. “And I guess that just leaves Jeongguk. Where do I start? He keeps humiliating himself in front of his coworker. He’s got a big crush on her but his brain just melts any time he’s close to her. For instance, he started going on about how heavy it is to carry around his balls. He kind of put his foot in his mouth, since he was talking about soccer balls. You know, he kind of reminds me of you. Almost like you’re related.”

“Jimin!” You choke on your own spit, trying to focus on the lines separating the lanes.

Jimin raises his eyebrows, feigning innocence. “What?”

“How did you know?”

“Well, it’s pretty boring actually. After I came out of your apartment covered in your juices, he accused me of eating someone’s pussy. I showed him a picture of you and he told me you guys are cousins.”

“Okay forget I asked. Please don’t say any more,” you plead, gripping the steering wheel tightly. “I can’t believe this shit. Why are you friends with my cousin?... That means… That Taehyung… oh fuck. I’ve been playing video games with Mr. Kim for years. Oh god. I’ve been talking about you to both of them in-game. Oh god, this is so weird. Let’s go back to when I didn’t know my cousin has been friends with my boyfriend for literal years. Our town is small, but how fucking small is the world when I moved from the city and I’m still dating my cousin’s friend?”

Jimin smiles. “It doesn’t bother me. Does it really bother you? He’s happy for you.”

You bite your lip. “It’s just weird. I’ll need to adjust to the fact that you two know each other at all. Oh my god. I should have known. In-game. He named his pet Tannie. God, I’m so stupid!”

After a minute of listening to the soft sounds of the radio, he looks over and asks, “Am I still winning?”

“I don’t know. Yoongi’s sounding pretty sweet right now.”

He gasps, acting surprised by your answer. “No,” he whines.

You twine his fingers in yours and bring them to your lips. “Don’t worry. I’m yours and yours only. I belong to one charming, snake of a prince. What are your secrets anyway?”

“You really want to know?”

You cock your head to one side and spare a fleeting glance at him. “Spill ‘em.”

“You have to promise not to tell.”

You smile, seeing the exit you need to take quickly approaching. “If you tell me I’ll wrap these lips around your cock when we get there. Wherever you want.”

“...That’s not a promise, Snow.”

“I guarantee you it is.”

You shiver as Jimin wraps his arms around you, sinking his chin into the crook of your shoulder. A heavy sigh reverberates against your ear as he presses his hardening length into your ass. “So?”

“So what?”

“Not too awkward right?” he confirms, holding your waist and swaying back and forth.

“Yeah, I almost forgot my cousin showed up with my bestie. Definitely don’t want to be around to hear them go at it. I really don’t need that image in my head. How far is our room from theirs?” you ask, reaching behind you to run your fingers across his pants in the place he needs you most.

He inhales deeply and purses his lips for a moment. “I don’t know. We change it up every year. First come...” He hikes your dress up and slides his hand over your thigh, teasing the sensitive bud beneath your panties. “First served.”

You groan as he licks a line from your collarbone to your ear.

“What do you think? Now that we’ve had dinner, can I have dessert?”

You shiver and turn your face to give him a quick peck.

“Mmm I don’t know. Maybe I want dessert,” you counter, licking your lips and sparing a glance down to the place your fingers are massaging.

A whine rumbles up and out of his throat as his hands roam the exterior of your dress, gliding up your sides until he’s cupping your breasts in his palms. “You make this dress look good.”

Deft fingers play with the button on the back of your neck, making quick work of the zipper concealed beneath. The fabric of your party dress falls away from your body and pools around your feet. “But it looks better on the floor.”

He doesn’t give you time to ruminate on how exposed you feel. He’s already spinning you around and pushing you towards the guest bed you’ll be sharing for the night. As you fall back against the cold comforter, he’s working the buttons off his shirt. Not fast enough. You’ve been wanting this all day. The notches on his belt are so small the buckle gets stuck; you nearly snap the metal with how quick your fingers are moving. He offers a surprised gasp as you drag his boxers down with his pants, thick cock springing free from its confines

You pump him with your hand once before taking him in your mouth. His hands, which had been fumbling with the last button on his shirt, fist in your hair as you bob up and down over his shaft. It takes all his restraint, but he tightens his grip with a moan and pulls you off him. You give him a confused pout, trying to move your mouth close enough to take him back in. He allows you to move forward just a little, your lips ghosting over the tip before he yanks your hair to force you to behave.

“You said it could be wherever I choose,” he murmurs, losing himself in the way you’re flicking your tongue out in attempts to coax him back into your mouth.

“So where do you want me, baby?” You want him so bad. You need him. And from the way he allows you to brush your lips against him again, he feels the same. You lick your lips in anticipation, causing a shiver to wrack his body as it passes over every sensitive nerve ending on the head of his throbbing cock. “Please.”

With just a word, he allows you to take the tip in your mouth, tongue gliding across every last bit you’ll give. He bites his lip hard and reluctantly shakes his head, pulling you back again. “Not yet. I want to make you sing first.”

“What am I singing?” you confusedly ask, knowing full well you’re probably tone-deaf. But you’ll do anything he requests if he’ll let you suck his dick without being a total tease.

He giggles, watching the desperation in your eyes cloud your understanding. Leaning down, he presses his lips to yours and slips his tongue between them, tasting the faint traces of himself left behind.

“Sing my name,” he pleads between open-mouthed kisses, hands sliding around to cup your jaw. “It sounds like heaven spilling from your lips.”

He pulls back long enough for your eyes to flutter open and see the love coursing through every last bit of his soul. He reaches down and splays his hands over your hips, thumbs curling around the band of your red panties before working them down your thighs in a playful wiggle. You pop open the last button on his shirt as he plunges a finger into you.

“You’ll ruin your shirt if you don’t take it off now,” you say, a not so subtle attempt to get him to remove it so there’s only skin touching skin.

He rolls his eyes, shaking the fabric from his arms. “Take your bra off for me?”

You discard the undergarment quicker than his shirt can fall to the floor, pulling his body down on top of you so you can feel that closeness you’ve grown accustomed to sharing.

“Jimin, I want you,” you whimper, running your fingers through his hair as he clamps his mouth down on your neck. That elicits a moan from him against your throat as he sucks a line of kisses down to a softened nipple.

“Yours would look good pierced,” he comments, squeezing both with his fingers before moving his hands to massage the flesh surrounding them.

“I’m good,” you laugh, watching the fascination in his eyes as your nipples pebble at the loss of the pleasurable pressure.

He hums a sound of indifference, pushing your tits together and burying his face between them. He’s sure to dip his tongue in the cleavage he’s created for his own benefit.

“Get up here. I miss you,” you whine, twining your fingers in his hair and guiding him back towards your mouth.

His mouth hungrily crashes down on yours and has you gasping for more in seconds. “Please… fuck.” He sucks your bottom lip through his teeth. “Jimin, please fuck me.”

His breath is haggard on inhale as he allows your lip to snap back to you. “But I haven’t even made you cum yet. What kind of boyfriend would I be?”

You take his hand and direct it to the slick, sticky juices coating your sex. “An amazing one. You make me wet without even trying.”

Jimin gasps, sliding two fingers past your lips and filling your pussy just to be sure you could take him. He pops his fingers out of you and brings them to his mouth, rutting the tip of his dick against your clit. Your body spasms as he rubs the entirety of his shaft against you. He grins when you lock your arms around his back and dig your fingernails into his muscles.

“You sure you don’t want me to make you cum first?” he offers again with a roll of his hips.

“I want your cock inside me now,” you whisper in a low, raspy tone, hot breath tickling his ear.

His hips stutter as he draws his pelvis back and you feel his tip teasing the heat of your entrance. When he pauses, you roll your hips beneath him, enticing him to continue his journey as the head circles your labia. Unable to exert any more self control, he sinks into you in a slow descent until he’s buried in you to the hilt. You both let out a held breath and moan against each other pitifully.

“Shit! Sorry!” Suddenly he pulls out and scrambles off of you like you’re made of lava, crossing the room and rifling through his bag. When he turns around, he's tearing the condom wrapper with his teeth, a sight you’ve grown so accustomed to seeing you should have known you were skipping a step.

“At least you remembered,” you sigh, getting into a comfortable position against the pillows. “I probably would have let you cum in me.”

“Now you tell me,” he jokes, dragging the condom down his shaft with ease.

“This isn’t the olden days, you know. Women have birth control,” you tease, spreading your legs and rubbing circles into your clit as he climbs on top of you.

“Oh so you want me to rip this condom off and fill you with my cum? Watch it drip down your leg when we join everyone at midnight?”

The thought turns you on more than it should. You increase the speed and pressure of your fingers against your clit. “Yes…” you whine.

He leans back on his knees as he slots himself between your legs, pressing his sheathed cock into you as you touch yourself for him.

“You want everyone to know you’re mine, don’t you?” he asks, thrusting himself up into you at a steady pace.

“Yes, Jimin…”

“All that sweetness. That innocence. You want everyone to see what a bad girl you really are. You want to show off for them, show them your pretty pussy. Full of my cum. Don’t you?”

You’re so fucking close. Everything he says is just getting you more worked up and you whimper, nodding like you’re a bobblehead without a brain.

“Say it, Snow,” he demands, slowing his pumps to a stop.

“Please,” you beg, desperately wiggling your hips to feel him again. “Please fuck me. I want you to show everyone how well you fill this tight pussy.”

“Oh, that’s it baby. Touch yourself for me. You getting off thinking about that?” He grunts as he resumes fucking himself into you, slinging your legs over his shoulders to hit deeper without hindering your ability to touch yourself. “I want you to tell me. Tell me who owns this fucking pussy.”

You clench around his cock, not used to hearing such filth come from his mouth.“This pussy is yours, Jimin. Use me like your little fuck toy.”

He tenses, throbbing inside you as he growls,“Tell me you’re my cumslut.”

With one hand pressing circles into your clit and the other squeezing your breast, you search his face, hoping to find yourself in it. You’re so far gone you can’t even register the lewd sounds of pleasure spewing from your mouth.

“Use your words. You can do it,” he whispers, beaming with pride.

“I’m... your cumslut,” you whisper between frenzied panting. “Fuck. Jimin. I’m close.”

He slows his pace, bending himself over you to move in for a messy kiss. “Such a good girl, my little cumslut. Squeezing my cock with that tight pussy… Want me to fuck you raw, don’t you?”

“Fuck. Yes. Fuck me raw baby. You feel so fucking good. I want you to cum inside me,” you confess loudly, not caring who might hear. “Take it off, baby. I want you to fill this pussy. Leave me dripping...”

His mouth comes crashing down on yours again, muffling the sounds of your obscene begging. “That’s too bad. Because I’m gonna fill that pretty, filthy little mouth instead.”

Your climax hits you faster than you can vocalize it. “I’m…”

You gush around the cock pistoning into you and when he feels your walls clamp down, he stays inside to subject himself to the delicious torture of every twitch and pulse you deliver.

“That’s it, princess. Good girl,” he whispers, sweetness in his voice returning.

His forehead drops against yours and he rides out your high with you, pressing his lips to yours until your hands fall limp against the mattress.

“That was…” you pause, heavy breaths mingling with his. “...amazing.”

“You still want dessert?” he questions with a grin.

“Finally. Give it to me,” you plead, kissing his lips again and again.

“Not here,” he whispers, a devilish smile gracing his features.

The water is warm and inviting. The bubbles bursting from the jets below offer pressure in all the right spots in all the right ways. How he had convinced you to enter the jacuzzi with him completely naked is beyond you. You’re terrified someone might walk in, but he assures you everyone is lost in their own world.

You lean forward, pressing your tits together as he positions his dick between them and starts with lazy thrusts. You stare up at his fucked out expression, savoring the way his jaw hangs open as he watches his cock slip between your wet breasts. A shy smile crosses your face when you realize he’s looking in your eyes rather than at the lewd act of his shaft sliding between two perfect mounds. He’s lost, a disoriented smile setting up camp in the corners of his mouth.

You look down and stick your tongue out to brush the head of his cock every time it comes up towards your face. He slots his fingers in your hair, curling strands into his fist.

“Do you want to fuck my throat?”

He nods weakly, guiding you back against the seat of the jacuzzi. You pump your fist over his cock a few times as he towers over you. Relaxing your jaw, you take him to the base, tongue wiggling against his balls. He loses his footing for a moment, slipping against the bottom of the hot tub.

“Maybe you should sit down,” you suggest, his dick coming out of your mouth with a loud pop.

“Can you hold your breath for that long?” He sounds unsure, even as he’s settling in the space across from you.

“Think of it as an edging session,” you giggle, taking a deep breath and submerging yourself in the water.

When he feels you take him into your mouth again, his jaw goes slack as he stretches out his arms across the side of the hot tub and tilts his head back.

“Hey, did you come alone?” Hobi’s voice breaks his moment of peace.

Jimin panics, hands diving into the water to keep your head beneath the surface. Hopefully the bubbles from the jets will obscure your form. He wracks his brain, trying to think of something to say as he stares blankly at Hoseok and Cat, who are now standing in the doorway with eyebrows raised.

You grip his legs and fight against his hands, shooting up from the water with the grace of someone who just got a bunch of water up their nose and nearly drowned. You cough and sputter, swiping water from your eyes as you see two figures standing in the doorway. Recognizing one as J-Hope, your heart sinks. Jimin mentioned he was running late when he didn’t show up for dinner.

This is how you meet Hope on the Street. Of course it is.

The hot chick next to him must be his girlfriend. Realizing you’re completely nude, you sink down in the water to your chin and smile as sweetly as you can.

“Hi, you must be Hoseok and Cat! Jimin’s told me so much about you.”

Hoseok sputters, laughing with his mouth wide open. You recoil at the sound, wishing the jacuzzi would melt your bones and just leave you to live your life as a puddle from now on.

Cat lightly smacks him in the shoulder. “Yeah, that’s us. We’ll hang out later, give you guys some space. Sorry!”

She shoves her boyfriend through the door, leaving you alone with Jimin.

“I want to die,” you say, clapping your hands to your cheeks. “I wish I had drowned instead.”

“It’s not that bad, really,” Jimin says, pulling you back to his body.

“Hope on the Street just cackled at the sight of me coming up for air after sucking your dick. Hell of a first impression,” you grumble, rubbing your temple.

“We can ‘walk in’ on them later if it makes you feel better,” he suggests with a laugh.

You disappear under the water, picking up where you left off. If they were going to catch you giving him a blowjob, you might as well finish it. The taste of chemicals is already on your tongue; it can’t be for nothing.

“I love you,” he says when you come out of the water for air.

“I love you too,” you murmur, shyly kissing his lips before descending again.

Every time you resurface, he’s waiting, bringing you to his lips with a sweet kiss. You can tell he’s close, but you’re having too much fun popping out of the water to kiss him. Finally, he’s had enough of the edging and has you kneeling in the center of the jacuzzi, sloppily thrusting himself deep into your mouth.

“I’m gonna cum,” he warns. “Is this okay?”

“Mmm-hmm,” you mumble a sound of affirmation against his cock, only choking slightly.

The grunt of his release comes with the bitter tang of his cum hitting the back of your throat as he bottoms out. You swallow it bit by bit, doing your best not to sputter and choke with the way he’s tightly holding the back of your head in place. He loosens his grip and pulls back, catching the tears in your eyes and concernedly swiping at them with his thumbs. You swallow what’s left in your mouth like a champ.

“You okay?” he checks in, settling into the water with you. “That was too much, wasn’t it? I’m sorry.”

You shake your head with a giggle. “I like when you’re rough. I’m just… out of practice.”

“We can work on it then,” he whispers with a grin, pulling you into an embrace.

When he brings his lips to meet yours, butterflies tickle your insides like it’s the first time. You lose yourself in his touch, in his kiss, in his everything. Being with him still feels like a dream. Never in your life could you have imagined loving someone could feel so good, so pure, so right.

“Hey it’s probably almost midnight. Do you wanna go do the countdown with everyone?”

You respond with a nod. “Champagne?”

“Of course.”

He gets out first and you watch the water roll off his body as he extends a hand to help you out of the hot tub. Pruny fingers grasp his, hoping he knows just how much he means. You’re ready to face the new year together and you’re ready to jump into this found family head first.

Heading for the door, you pause, turning back to look at him. “Aren’t you coming?”

With a laugh, he comes up behind you, draping a robe around your naked form. “You might want to put this on.”

What would you do without him? You swallow hard, donning the robe and smiling at him. He links his fingers with yours and you head inside together.

[dragonrajafanfiction]

Yamata-No-Orochi (Part 2) Princess Tutu

Princess Tutu is a must watch if you haven’t seen it. It’s a bit after the MCs time though so she wouldn’t have been able to see it.

The throbbing bass from the speakers sync with the flashing lights of the dance club at Takamagahara. The crowd is thriving today. You can see glimpses of the masses of people in the pulsing of light. They appear like brief colorful snapshots on the floor below your center platform table.

The Romanceable MC contest continued despite the tragic death of Chance. The official narrative was that Chance died bravely defending you from street hooligans, which is horribly ironic, because that was something that you specifically told him not to do. Now Club Takamagahara was holding another Princess Night with the theme of Knights in Shining Armor. Men walked around like living walls of muscle wearing silver helmets, silver studded leather straps and bronze colored leather subligacula.

It was the exact opposite of what Chance’s life was. He was no knight. He would have been the first to admit that. He was on the underbelly of the world as a gang member, the lowest of his kind as an unstable hybrid and even then he lowered himself further, running sex dungeons for money to maintain the balance between his humanity and his raging dragonblood. And he still smiled and he still dreamed of a Hokkaido winter wedding.

Your chest constricts involuntarily.

“Are you going to be alright? You don’t have to be here.” A voice murmurs in your ear. Diamond is the only contender next to you. As a cowboy style performer, he has no need to dress up like a knight. Cowboys, like handsome knights, are just another font of masculine charm and marital fidelity. They work hard out on the lonely trails, wrangling sheep and cattle but they are true and come home to you, their sweet prairie wife. As sheriffs, they run out the outlaws in the town. “

You look up at him, his eyes are a welcome distraction. “You don’t have to be here either.”

He huffs. “Well, you can’t hurt too bad, if you come up with a sweet comeback like that.”

“Why are you here? Armani and Calypso have backed out.” Rumor had gone around that Chance's killing was related to an out of control fan who had fallen in love with you and had used his yakuza ties to put out a hit job and kidnap you. The other suitors didn’t mind losing a little dignity if it meant living another day.

“I used to work at Bliss Hall, also known as the Paradisio. I knew shady stuff went down. And when the gang war came there, I looked down the barrel of five guns while they interrogated me and patted me down. They determined I wasn't involved and let me go. So… if I was going to die of gang violence I probably would have already.”

“So why are you here?” You reach for the glass of champagne in front of you. Even though you were underage, you were already accustomed to the taste of drink and the smell of tobacco. Your high level of dragonblood didn’t let you get drunk easily as the men found out on your first day as the Main Character on this show. Chu Zihang checked the records on that night, and you had drunk two full bottles of vodka before you even felt the slightest bit tipsy.

He reached for his own glass. “I'm still a competitor. And I'm curious how Chance won three star-hearts in a single night. Is giving up your life the way to your heart? It’s a high price to pay and a lonely existence for you.”

Your mind flashes back to Renata and Chance. “I can see why you're second in the ranking. You dress much flashier than Kazama. But you’re no less of a sharpshooter.”

He presses his hand to his chest and bows.

“I don't need riches or beauty. So if you offer me those things, I'm not attracted. When I first came to Japan,  I didn't care about anything.  I felt my life was over. I was just trying to wait until the end and I wanted my life to end. But every time I reached for the end, there was a man who kept telling me no. I should not try to end my life and, even if it looked like my life was over, I shouldn't just take that conclusion at face value. His final lesson was I shouldn't just accept the inevitable death of others. It took a few times to accept those three lessons, but it was what I needed.”

“What happened to that guy? He sounds like a real keeper.”

You huff. “He was very happily engaged when we met.”

Chances eyebrows lifted. “I bet.”

“But I never forgot what he taught me. Chance helped me to speak those words from my own heart and my own experience. It's one thing to learn a lesson. When you teach that lesson to others, then you know it's part of your life. To see him listen to me and put what I learned into action because he loved me? How could my heart not overflow? Chance didn’t just accept his fate. He didn't just give up his life for me. He fought for us to be together. He… he wanted to live. I needed that in a person.” You run your hands over the empty glass in your hands imagining his smooth childlike face, so peaceful in the rain. “How many people are there out there who can look fate in the eye and say… ‘How about no?’”

Diamond reaches over with a champagne bottle and refills. “Oh You need someone who can rewrite the script! Like in Princess Tutu.”

You blink. “I’m sorry, did you just say ‘Princess Tutu’?”

“Oh come on, don't tell me you've never heard of Princess Tutu. It's just the best anime ever!”

You’re speechless. It was like this suave handsome Ikemen had suddenly turned into Lu Mingfei. “No, please fill me in.”

“Okay, hear me out. Once there was a writer named Drosselmeyer, who had the power to make his stories come to life. He especially loved to write stories with tragic endings! But he died before he could finish his final tale, called The Prince and the Raven, leaving the two title characters locked in an eternal battle.”

“After many years, the Raven managed to break free into the real world, and the Prince pursued him. To seal away the Raven's evil, the Prince shattered his own heart with his sword, causing him to lose all his memories and emotions. Without his emotions, he is reborn as Mytho.”

“Drosselmeyer, now a ghost, decides the story must have an ending. He finds it in the form of a little duck, who has fallen in love with Mytho. He gives her a magic pendant that can transform her, first into an ordinary human girl, then into the graceful ballerina Princess Tutu, another character in the story. As Tutu, it's Duck's job to find all the scattered shards of Mytho's heart and return them to him.”

“What's more, Duck learns that part of Princess Tutu's story is that she can never confess her love to Mytho, or else she'll turn into a speck of light and vanish. However, it becomes clear that Mytho wants his heart restored, so despite interference, she persists. She finds a friend in Fakir, a man who is the son of Drosselmeyer who also has the ability to bring his stories to life.”

“After most of Mytho's heart is returned to him, the seal trapping the Raven begins to break. Finally able to feel love again, Mytho realizes he loves Rue, another character – not Duck. Duck also discovers her pendant is the final shard, meaning she must give up her life as a human to return it. She eventually finds the courage to do so, and becomes a humble duck again.”

“Mytho and the Raven battle once more. When the fight turns bleak, Mytho considers shattering his heart to seal the monster away again. Duck begins dancing to show him he must not give up. As she does, this guy named Fakir writes a story about how she never stops, no matter how many times the Raven's minions attack her. They make that story a reality! This gives Mytho hope, which gives Mytho the strength he needs to rescue Rue and defeat the Raven. Mytho asks Rue to be his princess and they return to his kingdom inside the story. Duck and Fakir continue their relationship, even though she's stuck in her duck form. With nothing left to do, Drosselmeyer departs in search of another story.”

“The point is, you're Duck and you need someone like Fakir who can defeat Drosselmeyer by rewriting the script!”

When thinking about a ghost behind the scenes writing a script, it was clear who the Drosselmeyer in your life was. Z had rescued you and taught you to fight so your life could continue even though you didn’t really understand why. You were just like a duck receiving the pendant. But Z also had plans for you. He'd also forbidden you from confessing her love to Ruri Kazama before you even had feelings for him, only for you to meet him and suddenly he’s a potential contender for your heart with a clear connection with your past?

Z had a script.  And falling in love with Ruri Kazama didn't fit. Why was your love interest so important? Who are you supposed to fall in love with? Caesar asked that in a roundabout way. Why did the person you fell in love with matter to him, if he wasn't your boyfriend?

Chance said that Izanami loved Izanagi on a whim, as a hobby, while she used him to help her live forever.  She loved him and turned him into a monster. She needed him, and consumed him.

Z appeared and kissed you after you entered the MC contest. “I want to get to you before those idiots.” He’d said.

He entered the competition only after you nearly gave a star heart to Ruri Kazama. “I know how the story ends.” He’d said. 

Pursuing Ruri Kazama or anyone else would defeat his script! Whatever script Z wrote required that you love no one but him. 

Your hands tighten on the wine glass and Diamond massages your back. It's not that you had no feelings for Z at all, but Z was acting like Izanami, hiding his true intentions while making overtures of affection.  There's only one way to be sure you weren't going to end up a duck or a monster at the end. Force a confession out of Z!

You look up at Diamond. “Thank you.” Your eyes are sparking with something like anger. You felt fierce and wild inside realizing that you’d been led along by this stranger, assuming that ‘keeping you alive’ was good enough of a good ending to your story. But Izanagi was ‘kept’ alive… as a sacrifice to the White King. Until you understood Z’s intention, there was no telling where he was leading you.

You stand up and lightly tap your glass. The host of the Takamagahara lowered the music and all faces turned to your center platform. “I would like to thank you for coming out tonight. I’ll let you get back to your dancing in a moment, but first I would like to award 3 star hearts to Diamond, for opening my eyes to the truth tonight.”

You spoke looking down on your audience like royalty. Standing in your sparkling silver cheongsam, you looked like royalty. Diamond’s eyes opened wide and he hastily swallowed his Champagne before he could choke on it. He had been kicking himself for speaking so foolishly to this woman. She’d fallen into a deep silence and he figured he’d just killed all his chances of a win. But she liked it!

“And I would like to announce the winner of the MC Romance contest. He knows who he is. He has a deep connection to my past, and I would like to explore that connection further. If you’re listening.”

You raise your eyes to the cameras that broadcast your face to hundreds of screens around Takamagahara. Spectators pushed each other to get a good view and the loud hall descended into a deep silence.

You didn’t remember the tune, but you would always remember the words and you speak them, closing your eyes and placing your hands on your heart. “All happiness may be a fleeting blossom in the shadow of the moon, but I am in that shadow waiting for you in a field of those flowers. Won’t you join me? Together we will dance in the depths of Yomi!”

The hairs rise on the necks of every patron of the Takamagahara. Eyebrows knitted in confusion, hushed puzzled whispers were uttered involuntarily. Your words sounded nothing like a love confession, more like a forbidden incantation written in secret by a practitioner of black magic!

The flashing lights suddenly go dark, every large display screen clicks off in a successive wave. You turn around in horror as those screens replace your face with the words “GAME OVER” in bright burning red text!

The words were on every screen in the room. Your eyes scan the room and immediately spot Caesar moving towards you on the left. You quickly descend from the platform and hurry to him. He covers you, sweeping over you with one arm. “Get downstairs. Now!” 

His eyes meet with someone else's, likely Chu Zihang’s. “Don’t take the elevators, he can probably control those. We’ll take the stairwell.” He said.

You enter the beige corridor of the stairwell. It’s also pitch black. Not even the emergency lights are on. The basement is only one flight down and you can see to the bottom. A lone shadowy figure staring up at you with furious red gold eyes. You leap back and try to pull Caesar out, back to the crowd. “No! Caesar! Run!”

Caesar’s eyes blaze gold and he levels the Desert Eagles in the direction where you’re fearfully looking, but then he lowers them. He didn't hear anything, or see anything.

“Don’t! Don’t hurt him!” You beg.

“Z’s here?”

You gasp. “Yes. He’s mad.”

“Then we can talk?”

Your eyes swivel to and fro from Caesar’s eyes to Z’s eyes which apparently only you can see. Caesar still held his Desert Eagles but there was no fear there. “Yes.”

“Alright… Z. You’re running Takamagahara. The MC love contest was your idea right? What are your plans for MC?” Caesar asks. “I get the feeling you don’t have her best interests at heart.”

Z chuckles from the bottom of the well. “This conversation will have to wait. I’m a bit busy with another client.”

You’re shaking so much you hold on to Caesar’s arm to just keep yourself upright. “He’s gone.”

“What did he say?”

“He said he’s busy with another client.”

The door opens, scaring you both. Chu blinks at both of you in the dark stairwell but then he looks at Caesar and holds his questions. “We’ve got a problem. The Uesugi girl and Lu Mingfei have run into trouble. The whole area around the Robuchon restaurant is blocked off and it’s complete chaos. We’ve got to find Lu Mingfei and make sure he’s alright.”

Caesar gathers his arm around you and together you leave the stairwell. “MC, come with us. I don't want you and that Uesugi girl to meet, but until I figure out what Z is… I don’t think you should be alone.”

[umbry-fic]

A Palette Full of You (6)

Summary: Glimpses into Colette and Lloyd’s lives as they grow up together, learn who they are, and fall in love with each other.

(Written for Colloyd Week 2021)

Fandom: Tales of Symphonia Characters: Lloyd Irving, Colette Brunel, Zelos Wilder Relationships: Colette Brunel & Lloyd Irving Rating: G Chapter: 6 of 6 Word Count: 3442 Mirror Link: AO3 Original Post Date: 15/06/2021

Chapter Title: Ace Up Your Sleeve

Chapter Summary: Colette finally comes to the end of a long journey and finds the answer she didn't know she was seeking all along.

(Colloyd Week Day 7: Free Day)

Notes+Warnings: Last chapter of my multi chapter Colloyd week fic! Zelos is also... Demisexual! Warning for mentions of acephobia.

Thank you to anyone who's read all the way through and big thank you to everyone for a great Colloyd week!!!

Chapter list Full fic Previous chapter

~~~

17-years-old

“You haven’t been listening at all, have you?”

"What? Uh, no! You - you were talking about denominators?" Colette snapped to attention, scrambling for an excuse as she was met with Zelos' searching stare. Her friend was sitting across from her, their fingers drumming impatiently against the long table they were seated at in the common area by the bookstore, a dozen other students seated at the other long tables and quietly murmuring amongst themselves.

"You haven't written anything down," Zelos muttered, tapping the open exam paper in front of Colette. What they said was true - there were no new markings in green ink on the paper, only the blue ink that had been scribbled down during the exam and the red crosses left behind by the teacher. "It is a bit annoying to have been talking to a brick wall for the past five minutes, you know."

"Sorry for wasting your time." Colette bowed her head, feeling rather horrible. She was the one who had asked Zelos to help her explain some of the midterm questions that her teacher had skipped over. Zelos was a surprisingly good math teacher when they felt like it, giving calm and comprehensive explanations that seemed distanced from the usual flirty and boisterous Zelos. Not that Colette could tell they were being flirty - it all just came off as normal conversation to her, even though Sheena often complained they were.

Yet she'd gotten distracted.

"It's alright; no hard feelings or anything. What's got your attention so badly, though?" Zelos enquired, raising one eyebrow and beginning to play with the ends of their ponytail.

“Um... That…?” Colette stuttered, waving her arms in the vague direction of Zelos’ school bag. Oh, this was so awkward.

“That…?” Zelos echoed, staring at their school bag with their brow furrowed, before seemingly coming to a realisation as their face cleared. “Oh! What? The frog pin?”

Yes, that was what she'd been staring at for the past ten minutes: the new pin. Next to the familiar enamel pin of a grumpy kitten playing with a ball of yarn that was purple and yellow in colour, was one of a derpy frog sitting on a lilypad. It was cute. (Add frogs to anything and it would be cute. That was a principle she strongly believed in.) But what was confounding her was the peculiar colouration of the lilypad: purple, white and grey.

“Uh… Yeah…” Colette averted her gaze as her fingers jumped from place to place, trying to expel all of her nervous energy - picking at the folded sleeve of her white blouse, fiddling with the school badge pinned over her breast, smoothing out the wrinkles in her green skirt. She hadn't brought up the curiosity eating away at her because she hadn't wanted to force Zelos into a spot where they felt like they had to answer.

Silence reigned for a few seconds as she began to panic. As she’d feared, Zelos didn’t want to talk about it. Oh, what to do? She didn't want to offend them or anything.

“It’s a cute pin! That’s all!” she blurted out, hoping that would give them both an out from this situation.

Zelos let out a loud exhale, placing a hand on their forehead in exasperation. "You could have just asked, you know? I wouldn't have pinned it there if I didn't expect questions. For anyone else, I would just answer that I like the colours. But for you, my trusted friend, I'll tell you the truth. It's the asexual flag colours. I got it from the same place as the cat one; they released a new frog line just last month. Cute, right?”

“Very,” she chirped, relieved that Zelos wasn’t mad. “Frogs are always cute, no matter what they’re doing. But, uh... If you don’t mind me asking another question, what do you mean by asexual?”

She'd heard that word once or twice from Sheena when she was working on her bio homework, but never in the context of people. Surely it was something relating to gender or sexuality, considering the yarn tangled in the kitten's paws was in the non-binary flag colours. She knew that much, even if she wasn't on social media a whole lot.

If she knew more, then she’d better understand her friend! That had always been one of her greatest desires - to learn more about her friends, all of whom were their own unique persons, holding diverse qualities and each facing their own set of challenges. If she didn’t have the necessary information, she couldn’t support them to her best capabilities.

“I can't explain the whole thing right now, but it's basically a spectrum," Zelos replied flippantly, raising a finger. "It means feeling little to no sexual attraction. You know, never looking at anyone and thinking you want to… do it with them.” Zelos cocked their head, gaze slipping towards the ceiling. “Is that a good way to describe it? Hm...”

But their words were washing uselessly over Colette, who had frozen into a statue. Her heart sat unmoving in her chest, her mind both running on overdrive and feeling incredibly sluggish as she struggled to process what she'd just heard. It felt like she was pushing through water, the pressure pressing against her.

"There's a word for that?" she couldn't help but blurt out, eyes wide in shock as her fingers opened and closed uselessly. Time itself seemed to have ground to a halt, her heart unable to decide how she wanted to feel. She was stuck in limbo.

"Well, yes? It's an entire identity - Woah, Angel, you all right?"

Zelos laid a worried hand on her shoulder, just now noticing the wild look on her face.

"There - there's a word for how I feel?" she whispered as she placed her shaking hands in her lap.

Ever since she'd fallen in love, she had lived each day with the question of why she was broken buried in the back of her mind, casting a constant miserable cloud over her. She didn't want to keep waiting for the day where she would want what everyone else did, for she had no hope that day would ever come. But she had thought she had no other choice, her heart shrivelling in her chest every time she was told that everyone was supposed to be attracted to someone.

This was an answer she hadn't known had existed, and had just somehow fallen from the heavens in answer to the prayers she had hesitantly made for something or someone to fix her. But if there was a word that belonged to her, an identity that meant she wasn't broken, she would gladly accept it. She couldn't describe the immense relief she felt, like the invisible shackles chaining her down had finally been unlocked with the key of knowledge.

"Oh. I... I had my suspicions, but I didn't want to assume," Zelos muttered, their expression equally as shocked as hers as they removed their hand. "So... You..."

All along, she'd thought she was alone, the only one in the whole wide world who felt this way. But there were others. Even someone right across from her, a friend who had experienced the same thing the entire time.

She wasn't alone.

It was liberating to know that.

"I... I think so?" The relief had been replaced with an almost dizzying excitement, one that made it hard to speak. Or focus. "Can you tell me more?" she asked eagerly, leaning closer. The fires of curiosity had now reached an all-time high, her need to know overtaking all else. She wanted to know everything.

"Calm down, calm down! I can talk to you about it after school," Zelos replied with a happy chuckle. "Right now, though, you should go back to class. The bell's going to ring soon."

Her gaze snapped to the wall clock, which showed there were only 8 minutes left till her GP period. "Oh, you're right!" Springing to her feet, Colette stuffed her math paper into her school bag, frantic energy unable to leave her body. "But promise you'll tell me more? Please?"

"It's a promise, Angel. I'd be happy to."

Giving Zelos one final wave goodbye, Colette started running up the stairs, a huge grin on her face. She couldn't explain why she was so happy, fireworks exploding in her chest.

Only that the world that had always been against her had finally started to make a tiny bit of sense.

~~~

18-years-old

“Lloyd?” Colette said quietly, setting the plate in her hands down on the study table. She smoothed his wet hair out of his eyes, only for it to fall right back into place.

It was quite late, the digital clock on the study table displaying 07:30 in red, blinking digits. Sheena and Zelos had already quit revising and left at six, saying they were going to get dinner together, but Lloyd had insisted on staying to continue. “Only a month left to As,” he’d muttered, head buried in his A4 notebook full of econs notes and eyes frantic with worry.

“Lloyd?” she said, a little louder this time. But he showed no signs of stirring, eyes still firmly closed, breaths steadily trickling in and out of his nose. They’d migrated to her room after Sheena and Zelos had left, Lloyd using the study table while she took residence on the bay window, having shifted all of her soft toys to the bed. She’d returned from making a sandwich in the kitchen (without tomatoes, of course), to find him slumped over on the desk, his pen on the floor.

Colette sighed. She didn’t have the heart to wake him up now, not when he looked so peaceful, lit by the warm light of the table lamp. He could stay.

She opened the drawer of the study table, gaze landing immediately on the folded up letter that had Lloyd’s name written on the cover. Reaching out to touch the smooth paper, she wondered if today was the day she would finally have the courage to give it to Lloyd.

Over a year had passed since Zelos had introduced the word asexual to her. As promised, they'd gone over the entire concept with her, an activity that had taken hours, until she was utterly certain the identity fit her. Scarily so. It explained all the little moments throughout her life that she'd had no explanation for until now. She'd spent a whole day afterwards just being stupidly euphoric, unable to wipe the large smile off her face, overjoyed that that were so many others like her all around the world, a loving community who shared her experiences and would accept her with open arms.

The euphoria she had felt at that moment had dimmed, of course. But she was still much happier than she ever used to be, now armed with the knowledge that she didn't need to change. She wasn't broken, for there was nothing to fix. This was just who she was, and she no longer had to force herself to act in how society deemed right or feel awful for not being able to do so.

But there was still fear involved. Keeping secrets from Lloyd was just... not in her nature. Every second that she was alone with him was a moment where she wanted to inform him of her life-changing realisation, for while telling him would not change much, it would be authentically living her truth. Even if she never confessed her feelings, she wanted to tell him as a friend, a companion. The words she wanted to say burned on her tongue, but every time she opened her mouth nothing came out, the jitters in her stomach overpowering her will. Zelos was the one who had suggested writing a letter. Easier to express in text everything she wanted to in one go without all the stutters and awkward pauses that would no doubt come from a face-to-face encounter.

Picking the letter up, she slowly slid it under Lloyd’s open right hand, praying that he didn’t wake up right at this moment and heaving a sigh of relief when he didn’t. She was staking everything on him heeding the first line she’d written, almost a month ago, pouring her heart out onto paper with shaking hands. Please, read this to the end. And at the end of it, she prayed that he’d still be willing to talk to her.

She had read countless horror stories. People who refused to believe asexuality existed. People who argued that no one could know they were asexual until they’d had a sexual experience, who then turned around and argued in the same breath that those who’d had sexual experiences couldn’t possibly be asexual. People who continued to claim that asexuals just hadn’t met the right person because sex was what made us human and people who didn’t feel sexual attraction must be cold, unfeeling monsters with standards that were way too high. People who stared at you with pity and tried to comfort you for “missing out”. People who told you they could "fix" you.

Lloyd was the most accepting person she knew, and she didn't believe he could ever be that way. Still, there was no guarantee how this would end. At least she had the advantage of being in the safety of her own home. She could kick him out if she needed to, even if cutting him out of her life would be akin to ripping her own heart out. But better to rip the bandaid off now than let the secret lurk in her heart.

Straightening up, she shut off the table lamp to give Lloyd some peace. She made her quick retreat out of the room, heading to the kitchen and placing the sandwich into the fridge. Lloyd did so love his sandwiches cold.

The only thing left to do was wait.

There was no sound filling the living room but the ticking coming from the analogue clock hanging on the wall that Dad still refused to replace, even after twenty years. It was always in need of a change of batteries or a tuning.

Adjusting her position so her head was pillowed on one of the many cushions, her eyelids unwittingly shut. She hadn’t noticed how heavy they’d felt until now, when she had nothing to do. After a whole day spent splitting her head over chemistry mechanisms, sinking into the soft leather without any chemical equations to squint at felt like heaven. Maybe she deserved a little rest.

Just a little…

~~~

“Colette.”

She groaned, rolling onto her side away from the voice’s origin and throwing her arm over her face.

Who…? Where…?

“Colette!”

The voice was a little more insistent this time, a hand gently shaking her by the shoulders.

Knowing she had to wake up now, Colette opened her eyes, staring with blurred vision at the cream couch cushions. Craning her neck, she spotted a blob of peach and brown hovering over her that eventually solidified into Lloyd’s face.

“Lloyd…?”

“Hey.” Lloyd moved his hand to her back to steady her as she slowly sat up, rubbing at her eyes. He took a seat next to her, their shoulders pressed together. “Sorry to wake you up, but I need to tell you I’m going home soon.”

“Oh! That’s good...” Colette mumbled groggily, having still not fully come to her senses. She couldn’t quite recall what had occurred between studying and falling asleep here. She could remember that Lloyd was supposed to go home.

There was something else, wasn’t there…?

“I guess we’re both tired. If you were going to sleep you should have just done it on the bed, silly,” Lloyd admonished her, poking her arm. “Too late for that. At least you had the good sense to sleep on your back. Mine hurts.” He threw his arms over the back of the sofa, stretching his back, joints popping.

“Ah, right. Sorry for not waking you up sooner… It’s just… You looked like you were having a nice nap.”

“No, it’s alright,” Lloyd placed his hand over hers, interlocking their fingers and squeezing. “I did enjoy it. I needed the break. And thank you for the sandwich. It was delicious"

"No problem." She yawned, giving her own long stretch.

“Anyway… The other reason I woke you up was to tell you I read your letter.”

Lloyd held up a familiar sheet of paper, the crease where it had once been folded in half clearly visible. Her stomach sank immediately into a pit of dread as she bowed her head, her free hand curling into a fist.

There it was. That was what she was forgetting. But she’d made the choice to go forward, and there was no backing down now.

However, now that the moment of reckoning was here, only the worst-case scenarios were running through her head. She was ready to pull away and run, pulse skyrocketing.

“Hey! Hey. Don’t panic.” Lloyd’s thumb started drawing tiny circles on her palm, a motion so familiar to her that she instinctively started taking deep breaths to calm herself down. It was like he'd predicted she was going to bolt like a frightened rabbit. “The first thing I wanted to say was thank you for telling me something so important to you. I know how scary it is. Remember when it was my turn?”

“You…? You weren’t scared at all!” Colette protested, raising her head and meeting Lloyd’s gaze. The light tone to his voice was reassuring, as was the smile on his face. No condemnation to be found there, just a sweet happiness that warmed her own heart. “You figured it out so quickly and just blurted it right out!”

“I was petrified, trust me, even if it I didn't show. I don’t even know what possessed me to say it in the first place! But remember what you said to me, back then?”

“I like... boys too. Both girls and boys, you know?”

The whisper rang out in the silence, Lloyd facing away from her as she looked up from the comic she’d been reading, the two of them curled up together in the safe darkness of the tiny pillow fort they’d constructed in the living room.

“Okay,” she answered after a pause. “Uh… Well…”

She didn’t quite know how to put her thoughts into words.

“Who you like doesn’t change who you are!” she declared with gusto. That sounded cool. Right? But it was true. Lloyd would always be Lloyd. Silly, awkward, kind Lloyd.

In her eyes, there was no other possibility.

Colette still strongly believed that. She always would. But she had never thought those words would apply to her, a girl who stood by the sidelines looking in on a world she couldn’t understand.

“Those words meant the world to me, you know. And it's the same for you; I’d be a hypocrite for saying otherwise. You’re still the same person, Colette. Nothing’s changed. And although I can never see the world through your eyes, what I can do is listen to you. And that’s exactly what I plan to do.”

Colette sniffled, shoulders shaking as tears pooled in her eyes. She had thought she could get through this without breaking into tears, that she could sit and calmly accept whatever news she would receive. Clearly, that was not the case.

But it wasn't weak to cry.

Lloyd’s arms wrapped around her, a comforting embrace that she never wanted to leave.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” Lloyd whispered into her ear, pulling her closer. “You’re just you.”

With shaking arms, she returned the embrace, burying her face in his shoulder as the tears overflowed. This time not out of overwhelming fear like she had on the rooftop, but out of incredible, crushing relief, the last of the weight leaving her shoulders, leaving her so free it was terrifying.

“And I’ll keep telling you that, as many times as you need to hear it. Just like you did for me.”

She already knew that all of the things he said were true - they were sentiments Zelos had already expressed, that she had already read on internet forums. But she'd underestimated how it would feel to find acceptance in someone who she loved with all her heart, and who viewed the world through a completely different lens.

To know that one was accepted, for every part of them… Wasn’t that the most beautiful thing?

“Thank you,” she choked out amid all the tears.

And for the first time in a truly long while, Colette thought that everything would be alright.

[freddiesaysalright]

Tale as Old As Time - Chapter 5

Rami!Prince Adam x Reader

Summary: A prince cursed. A young woman aching for adventure. The classic tale of seeing beauty within.

Word Count: 4.6k

Tag List: @psychosupernatural​, @someone-get-a-medic​, @bensrhapsody​, @deakyclicks​, @crazylittlethingcalledobsession​, @minigranger​, @crazyweirdocalledfriday​, @the-moving-finger-writes​, @assembledherethevolunteers​, @rose-writes-prose​, @queenlover05​, @26-7-49​, @drowsebaby​, @im-an-adult-ish​, @xviiarez​, @rogerina-owns-me​, @brianssixpence​, @mirkwoodshewolf​, @seven-seas-of-ham-on-rhye​, @queenmylovely​, @queen-paladin​, @hah0106​

A/N: The grand finale! Thanks to everyone who has supported and loved this story!

Warning(s): Mild descriptions of violence

Moodboard

Prologue  Chapter 1  Chapter 2  Chapter 3  Chapter 4

Chapter 5 here we go!!!

When you arrived home, the windows of the house were dark, save your father’s bedroom. You released Dotty into the pasture and flew inside. You already heard your father coughing. 

“Papa!” you cried as you burst into his room.

Your father was lying in bed, barely conscious. He didn’t acknowledge your entrance. You went to his side and took his hand. His skin was as cold as ice.

“Papa?” you whispered, looking desperately at his tired face. “Papa, it’s me. I’m home.”

“Y/N?” came a voice from the doorway.

You looked up and saw Lyle standing there. He had a bowl of something steaming on a tray, but he nearly dropped it upon seeing you.

“Lyle!” you sighed gratefully. “Please, tell me what’s going on with my father.”

“I’m afraid it’s taken a turn for the worse,” he said. “It’s odd, since his sickness isn’t very aggressive. But it could be the stress of losing you and his confrontation with Victor.”

Your brow furrowed. “What?”

Lyle explained to you that after you left, and Paul returned, he had gone straight to the village, looking frantic. He ran into Victor, who decided at that moment to talk to Paul about the marriage. He gathered the whole town into the square and announced your engagement. But Paul retaliated. He publicly stated that he had not given his blessing to the marriage and did not approve of the match. Then he said you had been taken captive by some monster living in the old palace. He asked all the men to gather their weapons and follow him there to rescue you. Unfortunately, no one believed the story. 

“No one believed him?” you questioned.

Lyle raised an eyebrow at him. “Well, it’s not true, is it?”

“It is true!” you insisted. “Only, he’s not really a monster. He may look frightening, but he’d never hurt anybody.”

The pharmacist’s eyes went wide. “Y/N, you can’t be serious! You must realize how this sounds -”

“Well, then what do people think happened to me?” you wondered.

“They just thought you’d gotten lost,” he explained. “Victor told us you had gone to the big city. He led a search party for you, and they looked for weeks, but eventually, most of them assumed the worst. However, Victor has continued to look daily.”

You rolled your eyes.

“Are you really going to marry him?” Lyle asked.

You shook your head. “No, I couldn’t now. Not when I…” you trailed off. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t love Victor and I’ve decided to end our engagement.”

“That’s a relief,” Lyle said. “He doesn’t deserve you.”

You smiled at him. Afterward, Lyle told you to get some rest after your journey, and that he would keep an eye on your father. As you crawled into your bed, the difference was clear. This didn’t really feel like home anymore. You missed Rami and the castle now just as much as you’d missed your father when you were there. Your heart was torn in two.

Rami had given up on sleep. He remained sadly next to the rose, watching as the petals wilted and fell. He let out a soft whimper. He missed you so much already and it had only been a day. How did he expect to go on with his life now that he had known you? Now that he had lost you? It seemed impossible.

The next day, you woke and went to make yourself some breakfast. You opted for your preserves. Lyle emerged from your father’s room.

“How is he today?” you asked.

“Much the same,” Lyle said. “I’m sorry I don’t have better news, Y/N.”

“It’s alright,” you sighed, though you knew it was a lie. “Can I make you some breakfast?”

“Sure,” he agreed.

You opened the jar. Your father had already been into it, apparently, but you stopped and stared at it. They were grossly discolored. 

“That’s odd,” you said. “I made these to last all winter. This is a relatively fresh jar. How could it be spoiled already?”

Lyle shrugged. “It was your first try at it. Don’t be too upset you got one wrong.”

“I didn’t get it wrong,” you insisted. “I know I did everything right.”

“Y/N, don’t be stubborn, anyone could have made a mistake,” he replied.

You frowned at him, but he ignored you. You went to get a new jar and you used that instead. 

You and Lyle cared for your father all day. There was no improvement. You were suspicious of this rapid development of new symptoms. Symptoms he had never shown before. Fever, chills, nausea, and delirium. Paul would call for you as you stood beside him, completely unaware that you were home. He hardly noticed Lyle either. Another hopeless feeling came over you. For a distraction, you went to begin dinner. Lyle agreed to stay for the meal, since you were certain your father had no more money to pay him.

Just as you were placing the soup in front of Lyle, the front door opened. There stood Victor, who was taken aback by the sight of you.

“What are you doing here?” you demanded, putting your hands on your hips.

“Y/N!” Victor cried, shifting into his normal, annoying disposition. “I’m so happy you’re safe and home! I was just coming to check on Paul.”

He started to cross the room - arms open - but you dodged the embrace. You doubted every word he said. Victor was vain and proud, and he would have no kindness toward someone who had humiliated him.  

“Victor, we need to talk,” you said. “I heard about what happened with my father, and I think we should clarify some things.”

His brow furrowed. “I...alright.”

You led him outside to spare Lyle the discomfort of having to witness your break up. Victor seemed agitated, like you’d just caught him in the middle of something. You pushed this observation to the back of your mind. Victor was almost always up to something.

“I agree that our engagement needs clarification, Y/N,” he began, resuming his usual air of arrogance. “Your father had everyone confused. Especially with all that talk of a beast.”

“Well, whether or not you believe in the beast doesn’t bother me,” you said. “My father was right. I’m not going to marry you.”

His eyes went wide. Something flashed behind them, so quickly you almost missed it. His whole face shifted. He looked dangerous.

“What?” he returned.

“I’m taking back my acceptance,” you said. “What I’ve learned these last few months being away is that I need to live my life for me. I won’t imprison myself by becoming your wife.”

He scowled. “Is that so?”

“Yes,” you said assuredly, trying to conceal how frightened you were. 

He looked sharply away, releasing a low breath, before facing you again. 

“Who is he?” he questioned.

“Who is who?” you shot back.

“The other man, Y/N!” he shouted. “There’s someone else, I know it!”

“It’s no longer your concern, Victor!” you returned. 

A beat passed and you collected yourself. 

“Good day,” you said calmly, and started back inside.

You didn’t get very far. Victor snatched your wrist and yanked you back toward him. You yelped in surprise and the sudden pain from his twisting your arm. He grabbed a fistful of your hair with his free hand, and his nails scraped your scalp. You winced as he forced your face within inches of his own.

“You really were at the palace, weren’t you?” he said. “The beast your father spoke of is real, isn’t it?”

“Let me go,” you replied, struggling against his grip. 

“Isn’t it?!” he demanded.

Fear struck your heart. You had never seen such a wild, inhuman look in Victor’s eyes before. He was crazed.

“I - it’s true,” you admitted. 

He laughed a mirthless, empty laugh. “You are just pathetic. Don’t tell me you love this beast!”

“He’s not a beast, Victor!” you snapped, gaining courage for Rami. “He’s a prince!”

“A prince, is he?” he mocked. “Don’t be ridiculous. The prince was killed by the same monster that killed the king and queen.”

“The only monster I see is you!”

He glowered at you and brought your face close to his again. 

“I’ll have you for my wife, Y/N,” he spat. “And I will eliminate anyone who gets in my way.”

You felt his breath hot on your face.

���By the way, how’s your father been enjoying his breakfast?” he sneered. 

Your eyes went wide as a chill ran up your spine.

“You poisoned him?!” you gasped.

“I will eliminate anyone who gets in my way,” he repeated. “But I can see my methods with your father are far too time consuming. I will remove the beast much faster.”

He glanced at his sword.

“I won’t let you!” you cried, and tried once again to wrench yourself free. You could only wince as his grip tightened.

“You can’t stop me,” he said.

With that, he began to drag you toward the cellar. You fought fiercely against him, but he was too strong. He hurled you down into the darkness. You scrambled to your feet and tried to charge back up the stairs, but the cellar doors were slammed in your face. You heard him slide the wood through the handles to lock it.

“Don’t worry, Y/N, you’ll live in the palace again when I buy it,” he said. “And you’ll remember who you really belong to with the beast’s head mounted on our wall.”

You sucked in a sharp breath. As Victor’s evil laughter died down and you heard him gallop away on his horse, your mind began working on ways to get out. You could call for help, but Lyle would not be able to hear you from the house. Your father made the cellar soundproof years ago so he would not disturb you while you read. This was the first time you had ever regretted it.

You put your hands in front of you and began to make your way slowly through the darkness. It was pitch black in the cellar, which only heightened your panic. You had to do something to get out. You had to reach Rami before Victor did.

Rami left his room for the first time since you left, that evening. He had no real destination in mind, but the sight of the rose was beginning to make him ill. It felt like looking at his own doom.

He found that a stroll around the castle didn’t help his gloomy mood. Everything now reminded him of you. He passed the library and peeked through the doors, half expecting to see you asleep at one of the tables. Only, it was empty. He went to the dining room and recalled the first time you had dined together after learning his name. It felt so quiet now without your voice. As he went past the ballroom where he had danced with you, just nights ago, a sharp pang hit his heart. With a low growl, he slammed the doors shut.

“Prince Rami?” asked Mrs. Carson. “I know you’re not alright, so I won’t ask that. But I will ask this - is there anything we can do for you?”

Rami shook his head. “Nothing matters now.”

She sighed and watched him walk on, heading back toward the west wing.

“Would you like to take a turn around the garden, sir?” she called after him, but he didn’t answer. “Prince Rami?”

He ignored her again and then disappeared down the corridor. She shook her head. As she turned to go back to her own room, she saw Daisy coming down the hall.

“Mrs. Carson, would it be alright if I went down to the village once a week?” she asked. “I know Y/N had to go, but I’d really like to continue my lessons with her. D’you think she’ll still have me?”

Mrs. Carson smiled. “Of course she would, Daisy. I think we can spare you once a week.”

“You don’t think the master will mind?” she wondered.

“Not at all,” Mrs. Carson assured her. “He wants you to learn, and he can eat sandwiches for his meals one day out of seven.”

Daisy beamed. “Could I go down to the village tonight? To check with Y/N?”

“Sure,” Mrs. Carson said. “You may take the guest horse down. But I’d suggest staying the night with Y/N if you can. It’ll be late by the time you get there.”

“Alright,” Daisy agreed. “Will you tell the master?”

“Of course.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Carson!”

She took off down the hall. Mrs. Carson chuckled to herself. Perhaps Daisy would be a reason for you to return, if Rami was not enough.

The housekeeper continued her rounds. She was putting some linens away when she heard a scream from the main entrance of the castle. She jumped, dropping the linens, but took off in the direction of the cry. She was not far, and when she arrived moments later, she understood. Thomas was sprawled out by the front door, bleeding from his head. Anna was beside him, in tears.

“Oh, Mrs. Carson, look!” she cried. “Something awful has happened!”

Mrs. Carson knelt down and patted Thomas’s cheek.

“Thomas!” she said desperately. “Thomas, are you alright?”

Anna put her fingers to his neck. 

“He has a pulse,” she said. “So he’s alive, just knocked out.”

“But who would have done this?” Mrs. Carson wondered. 

“Look!” Anna gasped, and pointed to the tile floor. 

Mrs. Carson followed her finger and then she saw it. Large, dusty boot prints. 

“Someone’s here,” Mrs. Carson said grimly.

Anna gulped.

Rami was in his room when he heard Anna scream. He left there and headed toward the stairs to investigate. Only, he was brought to a halt when he saw someone he did not recognize standing in the hallway. His hackles rose and he started to growl.

“Who are you?” Rami demanded. “You’re not welcome here!”

The man was tall and handsome. And his clothes indicated he had some money. Not royalty money, but enough to afford finer fabrics. He swiftly unsheathed his sword and brandished it.

“I’m Y/N’s fiance,” the man said. “You will no longer terrorize this palace.”

Rami froze. Fiance? You had never mentioned a fiance - or any other man in your life besides your father. Since when were you engaged? 

“Fiance?” he questioned.

The man began to laugh. “My name is Victor Prouvaire, foul beast. For my dear Y/N’s honor….”

The man continued to speak, but Rami didn’t hear him. All he could feel was that his heart was impossibly more broken than when you left. He was suffocating all of a sudden. His eyes stung with fresh tears. You were engaged. To a handsome, strong, rich man.

He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he almost didn’t catch Victor charging at him. Rami quickly dove to the side, narrowly avoiding the stroke of Victor’s sword. Rami turned and ran back toward his room. 

Meanwhile, you were still locked in the cellar. The only thing you had managed to find was your father’s rubber mallet. You were whacking away at the doors, but the block holding them shut was stronger than the swing of your arm. You were already out of breath and sweating. 

“Come on!” you shouted as you gave it one more thwack.

Nothing happened. Exhausted you sank to your knees. 

“Oh, no,” you whispered to yourself. “Rami, I’m so sorry.”

You sat still for a moment, trying to think of any other solution or way out. Then you heard a slow clip clop of horses hooves. You thought at first that it was Victor, but the horse’s steps weren’t heavy enough to be his.

You only had one shot. You banged your fists against the door as hard as you could. 

“HEEEEEEELP!” you screamed. “HELP ME, PLEASE!”

“Y/N?”

The voice you heard could have knocked you off your feet with the relief it brought. 

“Daisy!” you cried. “Daisy, hurry, unlock the door!”

You heard the block slide out and then she tugged the doors up and open. You ran up the stairs and pulled her into the tightest hug you’d ever given anyone.

“Y/N, what’s happening?” she wondered. “Why were you locked in there?!”

“It’s a long story,” you said. “But we’ve got to get back to the palace as quick as we can, Rami’s in trouble.”

“W - what?!” she stammered. 

“There’s no time to explain, we’ve got to go now!” 

You quickly mounted her horse and helped her up behind you. She put her arms around your waist and you urged the horse forward. You galloped back into the woods with only one goal in mind - save Rami.

Rami was struggling to keep avoiding the swipe of Victor’s sword. He didn’t want to hurt Victor if he was someone you cared about, no matter how much it hurt Rami to think it.

Rami wanted to avoid his own room, so he led Victor into a guest room. There the struggle continued. Rami was dodging every stroke until he was backed against the window. Victor moved to lop Rami’s head off, but the prince ducked. Victor shattered the glass window, and Rami quickly jumped through it onto the balcony.

“What’s the matter, beast?” Victor taunted. “Too heartbroken to fight back?”

Rami didn’t answer. Mostly because it was true. He had no heart to fight. His heart was with you in the village. It would remain with you until his dying days.

“Did you really think she would love you?” Victor continued. “What woman could ever love you, when she could have me?”

Finally, Rami was backed up onto the railing of the balcony. He growled nervously. He had to make a move or risk falling to his death. With a snarl, he struck out with his paw. Victor had been drawing his sword back, so Rami hit him square in the jaw. Victor reeled back, and Rami moved to run past him back inside, but there was a crack of thunder. The sound caused Rami to lose his balance and he tumbled off the rail. 

He reacted quickly. He twisted around and snatched the rail in his paw. His hind legs just barely touched the roof of the room below. But rain began to spill from the heavy clouds above, making his grip on both things slippery. 

Victor got to his feet, a wicked gleam in his eye.

“Oh, I’ve got you right where I want you now, beast,” he said. “Y/N is mine!”

Thunder boomed and lightning flashed, lighting up Victor’s deranged face. He raised his sword over his head, preparing to deliver a devastating and deadly blow. Rami squeezed his eyes shut and thought only of you. If these were to be his last moments, he would remind himself of his dearest friend, and the only woman he ever loved.

“NO!” someone screamed.

Rami opened his eyes and looked up through the rain. You had cast yourself between him and Victor’s sword, and you were struggling with the man, pushing him back away from the balcony.

Rami took this moment to heave himself up. He was astonished to see you, but pleased. He was even more grateful that you were there to protect him. Victor dislodged himself from you and shoved you hard to the ground. Rami saw red and let out a roar as he threw himself at Victor. 

Victor, caught unaware by Rami, dropped his sword. You grabbed it and walked over to where Rami had Victor pinned to the floor. You pointed the sword at Victor’s throat.

“Get out,” you said. “You are never to come near me or Rami again, do you understand?”

“I understand,” Victor said reluctantly. 

You glanced at Rami. He met your gaze and nodded. He released Victor, who got to his feet. You hurled the sword over the balcony. Victor gasped when you did.

“You can’t use it to threaten anyone else,” you said. “Now leave us alone.”

Victor looked between you and Rami and with a huff, started to walk away. You and Rami only had eyes for each other.

“He said he was your fiance,” Rami began.

“He was,” you admitted. “But I called off the engagement.”

Rami took your hands in his paws and pressed them to his face. His warm, soft face.

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said. “Is your father alright?” 

“He will be,” you said. “Once I tell the pharmacist to treat him for poisoning.”

“Y/N, are you seri -”

He was cut short when Victor appeared again, this time with a dagger, which he plunged right into Rami’s side. You let out a scream of horror as he howled and reared back, inadvertently taking Victor with him. Victor stumbled when Rami thrashed, and then the former hit the balcony rail. Fearing Rami would topple over it, you grabbed his arm and pulled him toward you. 

Victor, however, was not so fortunate. He slipped on the wet stones, went over the railing, and was not long or quick enough to recover and grab on to something. You heard his yell fade as he fell into the darkness.

You eased Rami down to the ground, cradling his head in your lap. His labored breathing frightened you.

“Easy, Rami,” you said soothingly. 

“I - I’m so happy you came back,” he panted. 

“Don’t talk now,” you replied gently. “Just hold on while I get you some help.”

You started to get up.

“No!” he protested, keeping you to him. “Don’t leave me. Please.”

You turned your head and shouted for Mrs. Carson, hoping she could hear you.

“Just hold on, Rami,” you went on.

“Y/N, I need to...I nee...there’s something I must tell you,” he said.

“Don’t worry about that right now,” you returned, adjusting his jacket to cover him tighter. “You’ll have plenty of time to tell me.”

He shook his head. A lump appeared in your throat as your lower lip quivered.

“Rami, please,” you whimpered. “Don’t leave me. Please…”

He offered a weak, shaky smile. “I’m j-just happy I could see you...one more time…”

“Rami…” his name fell feebly from your lips.

“Y/N…” he breathed.

His eyes closed softly. His head slumped to his right. His chest stilled.

“Rami,” you said, clutching handfuls of his shirt. Tears slid down your cheeks. “Rami, don’t leave me.” 

You became frantic. “Rami, please! Please!”

You tried to shake him, but he was too large and too far gone. You didn’t hear Mrs. Carson, Anna, and Daisy approach - they had put Thomas to bed - and they watched you call for their master. Daisy clapped a hand over her mouth. Anna looked away. Mrs. Carson had tears down her own cheeks. 

“Rami,” you sobbed. “I love you.”

You rested your head on his chest and wept openly. It seemed impossible that you should lose him now when you had come so far. Rami had become your best friend and the love of your life. He saw you for who you were - as more than a pretty face. And you saw him for who he was - a kind, gentle, and generous prince. It couldn’t be true that he was gone.

“Girl,” said a smooth, sultry voice from above you.

You looked up and saw the most beautiful woman you had ever seen. She was gold and glowing. You might have mistaken her for an angel if the air around her didn’t suddenly feel dangerous.

“Do you speak truly when you say you love this creature?” she asked.

“He’s not a creature,” you returned defensively. “He’s a prince.” You paused to take a deep breath. “And the love of my life.”

The woman opened her hands and between them appeared the rose from Rami’s room. It had just one more petal. You watched with bated breath as it came loose and flitted down. The rose lost the pink hue around it. 

“The curse is broken,” she said. “Just in time.”

You narrowed your eyes at her, realizing who she was. The enchantress who had done this to Rami in the first place.

“You’re horrible,” you spat. “It’s not just in time. It’s much too late.”

She smirked at you and it sent a chill up your spine.

“Not quite, girl.”

The rose stem turned to bright pink dust in her hands. Then it all turned gold. The particles fell over Rami like fresh snow. They then sank into his fur. A soft glow began peeking through, as if coming from inside him, and his body began to rise off the ground. 

“Stand back,” the enchantress instructed you.

You hesitantly released your hold on Rami and got to your feet. Mrs. Carson  took your arm and pulled you over to them. All eyes were fixed on Rami’s slowly ascending form. The glow inside him grew brighter, and then beams of light emerged from all over him - his mouth, his eyes, the tips of his fingers and toes. You gasped as you watched his body contort and change with the movement of the light. His paws turned into human hands, his back legs turned to human ones, his shoulders shrunk and lost the hair, his face was completely engulfed in light. The wind picked up and then Rami was returning to the ground. He was smaller than before, and had lost his coat. He was a fully formed man.

He lay still for a moment on the ground, and you feared that it hadn’t worked. You were too frightened to approach. You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding when he finally stirred, pushed himself onto his knees, and then rose to his full height. He examined himself and a smile formed over his lips. He whipped around to face you.

“Y/N?” he questioned.

He was so handsome. He had smooth skin. A strong jaw. Thick, curly, dark hair that reminded you a lot of the fur you had become so familiar with. His body was lean and healthy. He looked like a hero to you.

Mrs. Carson gave you a nudge toward him. You inched over.

“Y/N, it’s me,” he said, holding out his hand.

With a full stride, you came closer, reaching out for him as well. When your hands clasped, you felt his warm skin for the first time. He pulled you slowly forward until you were face to face.

“Rami?”

He looked deeply into your eyes and nodded. Those beautiful eyes you had come to know were there. You saw behind them the Rami you loved.

“It really is you!” you cried.

You threw yourself into his arms. He spun you around and you laughed together in celebration. Your heart felt so light, it could have floated right out of your chest. When he set you down, he cupped your face in his hands.

“I love you,” you said again.

“I love you more,” he returned.

With that, he kissed you. A passionate, jubilant, true love’s kiss. Neither of you noticed the enchantress disappear from the balcony. Daisy, Anna, and Mrs. Carson were all dabbing their eyes.

“Mrs. Carson, are they going to live happily ever after?” Daisy asked.

“I believe so,” Mrs. Carson sniffled.

You and Rami giggled at each other, cheeks aching from all the smiling. Then, you kissed your handsome prince once more. As you would do for the rest of your days.

***

With Rami returned to himself, you went to the village to get your father. Rami paid for him to be treated, and cured, with a doctor coming to check on him periodically to be sure. The villagers were thrilled to have their prince. Many people came to work at the palace, including Elaine, who had taken to Daisy. You and Rami married as soon as you could. It was a grand and beautiful affair. And Daisy was right. You lived happily ever after.

~The End~

[imaginaryelle]

Fic: And One He Writes Himself

(also yesssss. \o/ headcanon, but even though everyone blames wwx for the new rules, lwj going off script 100% freaked the clan out way more and imo would make the clan elders far more likely to chip out some more lines on the wall than anything wwx could do alone, lol)

@vera-invenire​​, here it is! Thanks very much for the prompt, I had a lot of fun writing for it :D Many thanks also to @morphia-writes​​ and @miyuki4s for their wonderful beta work, you are all awesome people.

Tags: CQL-verse, Chief Cultivator Lan Wangji, Wangxian, five times fic, pining, getting together, first kiss, long distance relationship (with meet-ups)

Length: ~6k (AO3 link here!)

**

1: Do Not Use Clan Techniques Inappropriately

*

To His Excellency, the esteemed Chief Cultivator, Hanguang-jun, the letter begins.

How will you ever know which letters are mine if I start them so formally? I promise, I promise, never again. Forever onwards you will be only Lan Zhan in letters, no matter what I have to write on the address.

But Lan Zhan, did you know? I’ve heard the most outrageous rumor lately. It’s the talk of traveling merchants and wine houses everywhere that you used the Lan Clan silence spell during the last cultivation conference. On every sect leader! Lan Zhan is so cruel. How could you do such a thing—and not invite me to see it? A baker in Yingchuan said Sect Leader Ouyang turned redder than his robes, and that Sect Leader Yao risked his throat and mouth still trying to speak. I’m tempted to call on Jiang Cheng and extract a full account from him, but we’d probably only fight again. Especially if you used it on him, too! Perhaps Jin Ling will be more accommodating for his long-lost uncle. Can I even think to trust a version of the tale from our dear Sect Leader Nie? I’m sure he managed to keep his voice unhindered, sly fox that he’s become.

It looks as if the rain is letting up, so my caravan will be leaving soon. I’ve heard all my life how beautiful Kuizhou is and now I finally have the time to visit. Have you seen it? I’ll send sketches of the landscape in my next letter; if you’ve been, we can compare notes, and if you haven’t perhaps they’ll help you decide if the rumors are true. For now, I can only offer this picture of your Gusu mountains. Think of it as a promise that I’ll come see them again someday.

Yours,

Wei Ying

P.S. I know you won’t tell me the story yourself, but I plan to beg you for it anyway. A tale like this is too good to keep behind your lips.

Lan Wangji reads it twice, committing the ebullient flow of Wei Ying’s writing to memory. The drawing is inked in a looser hand than he remembers from portraits and rabbits so many years ago, but he recognizes the landscape as the ridge on which they bid each other farewell, as seen from the trail towards the Qingling mountains.

He sets it to the side, smooths it carefully, and tries to take up his work again. The Jin Clan’s collected accounts of the last twenty years are neatly stacked before him, the white-gold bindings gleaming in yellow lantern light. He even manages to open one before his mind flits away, following the swooping energy of Wei Ying’s brush strokes into the night. He puts down the ledger, snuffs out the lantern, and stands. Perhaps he will check on the rabbits before curfew.

There is no announcement to go with the new rule listed in the main courtyard; it simply appeared on the Wall one morning, and then in all the library copies on the day after. But rumor swirls, of course, even in this place where gossip is prohibited. Perhaps especially here, behind white-and-blue sleeves in the juniors’ classes and through barely-moving-lips in the crafting, sword and music halls. As seems to be happening ever more frequently in the past few months, the name on the wind is Hanguang-jun.

Lan Wangji walks the wide, wandering paths between the back mountain and the Jingshi with the crisp folds of Wei Ying’s letter pressed between his yi and hanfu, over his heart. “Inappropriately” is a qualifier with more leniency than he is used to hearing from the Lan Clan elders. He wonders, with a sudden surge of surprise, if they are just as unsettled by and unprepared for his appointment to the position of Chief Cultivator as everyone else. Or perhaps it is simply that they have all attended more cultivation conferences between them than he ever wants to imagine. He can’t be the first Lan to have such an impulse. Loudly proclaimed falsehoods are, after all, exactly what the silencing spell was created to counter.

Yes. He is secure in his judgment. He has no doubts.

If the Sect Leaders cannot restrain themselves to speaking the truth, they will not speak to him at all.

*

2. Do Not Bother the Kitchen Staff

*

It’s supposed to be a surprise. A good surprise, for Wei Ying’s first visit to Cloud Recesses since Lan Wangji’s appointment as Chief Cultivator. He’s been working on it for weeks, ever since he received the letter declaring Wei Ying’s intent to visit for Qixi: he knows that Wei Ying’s greatest complaint about Cloud Recesses is the food, and so he will make certain Wei Ying has at least one meal more fitting to his tastes.

He knows it’s foolish, wishful thinking, but the idea that if he could just fix this one thing Wei Ying would stay has snuck into his mind, and so he purchases dried chilies and their oil from Yunmeng and spicy peppercorns and ginger from Caiyi, and rises before five every day for two weeks so that he might visit the kitchens and learn enough to prepare something simple.

If the kitchen staff are curious about his presence, they never let him see it. Li Jing seems pleased enough to teach him—stern and exacting, but never cruel—and pronounces the dishes of hot clear noodles, freshly pickled mushrooms and spicy tofu soup Lan Wangji produces “acceptable,” which is the highest praise she ever gives anyone. He makes them again the afternoon Wei Ying arrives, so that they will be ready for the evening banquet. He leaves a preservation talisman over the tray, and a note: For Wei Wuxian’s Return.

He doesn’t have time to check on it again. Wei Ying arrives like a spring storm, wild and sudden and casting the quiet paths of Cloud Recesses into disarray. He flits here and there like a blown leaf, greeting Lan Sizhui with an enthusiasm that violates at least three Clan principles before teasing Lan Jingyi with familiar humor and then complaining aloud—and loudly—that the rabbits still don’t like him. Never once does he venture further away than the reach of Lan Wangji’s shadow, and rarely even so far as that, but it is still not quite enough to quiet the tangled threads that pull and knot in Lan Wangji’s center. The press of paper against his chest is a habit born of a new kind of waiting, and now that Wei Ying is here, in front of him, the warmth it brings is more distraction than comfort.

Evening comes quickly, sweeping over Cloud Recesses with a cool, creeping fog and painting the mountain peaks in lively shades of red. Wei Ying tips his head back to watch a pair of cranes fly overhead and Lan Wangji watches the tilt of his mouth as he smiles and the line of his neck as he turns and waits.

He would have preferred a private dinner in the Jingshi, where Wei Ying might pair his special meal with his favorite wine and there would be no audience to comment on a lingering touch of fingertips as the cup passed between them. But it is not to be: his uncle is eating alone to aid his recovery after several days’ work refreshing the outer wards and his brother is still in seclusion, and so it falls on Lan Wangji to be present in the main dining hall for the evening meal.

Wei Ying pouts at this revelation but he joins the crowd without much protest—with so little in the way of objections, in fact, that Lan Wangji is certain he has some small rebellion in mind. As he is a single note of black and red in a chorus of white and blue, whatever it is is sure to be noticeable, but perhaps the food will be distraction enough. It is at least different from what Wei Ying has been served in Cloud Recesses before. Different enough that he frowns at it, and then opens his mouth to speak before he catches the slight shake of Lan Wangji’s head: silence during meals. Instead he fishes a whole dried pepper out of his soup for inspection and shoots Lan Wangji a questioning glance. The look of glee on his face when Lan Wangji nods is so captivating that Lan Wangji hardly even looks at his own portion before he starts eating.

It’s not that he doesn’t notice the unexpected added spice; his mouth burns after the very first bite, but Wei Ying’s surprised pleasure is worth any momentary discomfort. Even if it means he can’t actually taste most of the meal. It’s only when Lan Jingyi makes a faint choking noise that he realizes anyone else’s food has been affected. He can see the moment Wei Ying notices it too—his lips curl in like he’s clamped them together with his teeth trying not to smile, and his eyes widen even as he determinedly doesn’t look at anyone. Lan Wangji keeps his own eyes lowered as he examines the room. He is abruptly thankful that his uncle is not present, but many of the other elders are not so lucky. Several have already gestured for more tea or rice, an action that quickly ripples through the attending juniors as well.

The prohibition against talking during meals has never felt so smotheringly present as in this moment, watching faces turn red behind fiercely-clutched cups of tea. It’s Lan Bai who stands from his table and glares at Wei Ying, his face transformed more with emotion than the spicy food. He doesn’t speak—silence during meals—but he flaps his sleeve derisively and starts to sweep contemptuously past them, and Lan Wangji knows he will go straight to the Grandmaster, and then to the Sect Leader if he is still unsatisfied, because he always does. It will be an unpleasant waste of everyone’s time and an unnecessary stress on both of them because Lan Wangji already knows this incident is highly unlikely to repeat itself. It can only have happened at all in Li Jing’s absence, which means she has been called away earlier than expected for her grandchild’s birth in Caiyi.

“Do not be picky about food,” he reminds Lan Bai, and even the clicking of chopsticks stops in the wake of it. Lan Bai looks so affronted that for a moment Lan Wangji thinks he will actually argue the point.

Anything that might have been said is promptly forgotten as Wei Ying hurriedly stands and runs from the hall. He makes it just outside the doors before laughter bursts out of him, loud and joyous and likely audible to the whole of Cloud Recesses. Lan Wangji holds Lan Bai’s gaze. He will not have this falling on Wei Ying’s shoulders, and he is no longer just the Second Jade of Lan, too young and too-headstrong, who spends too much time away from home. Out of the corner of his eye he sees Lan Sizhui nudge Lan Jingyi, and both pick up their chopsticks. Slowly, the normal sounds of dinner resume, if with a great deal more tea than usual. Slowly, Lan Bai manages a rather stiff bow and excuses himself without further dramatics.

After he’s gone Wei Ying returns, mirth still spilling from every movement. He finishes his meal without speaking but it’s clear, as cultivators file out of the hall in silent rows, that he has plenty to say.

“That was—” He laughs again in the quiet of the Jingshi. “Lan Zhan, I can hardly believe someone so righteous as you would do such a thing. And to so many at once! Do you know how many times I tried to get into the kitchens when I was a student here?”

“It was unintentional,” Lan Wangji admits as he pours wine into Wei Ying’s cup. The incident is, in retrospect, rather reminiscent of a childish prank, and he should not be surprised to learn that Wei Ying might have planned something similar. “My preparation of your portion was not meant as a general instruction.”

Wei Ying accepts the cup with a soft brush of fingertips and a grateful smile, and then stills with it halfway to his mouth.

“Lan Zhan.” He sets the cup down with a sharp click. “Are you—Lan Zhan you made that? You—” his gaze drops for a moment and then he slides around the corner of the table to sit beside Lan Wangji instead of across from him. “You cooked that? For me?” His eyes are very wide, all traces of humor gone.

Lan Wangji hesitates, his fingers curling deeper in his sleeves. Perhaps his confidence was misplaced.

“Was it unpalatable?” he asks, because of course that’s possible. He hardly knows what the dishes are supposed to taste like to someone who actively enjoys them.

“It was delicious,” Wei Ying assures him. He reaches out with both hands and finds Lan Wangji’s fingers, and then his wrist. “Perfect.” He laughs, the sound a little watery. “I can’t believe—” he squeezes Lan Wangji’s hand, “—no one’s cooked just for me since—” he breaks off and turns away. His breath shudders through his frame.

Lan Wangji turns his wrist and links Wei Ying’s fingers through his own. This is perhaps not the reaction he hoped for, but he is hardly unfamiliar with the ways grief can lie in wait to ambush the most vigilant of minds.

“Sorry.” Wei Ying’s grip tightens. He manages to meet Lan Wangji’s eyes before ducking his head again, his chin tucked to his chest. “Sorry, sorry, this is—I don’t know why I—”

“It is alright, Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji guides his head back up and wipes the tears from Wei Ying’s cheek with his sleeve. “I’m here,” he promises. For you, always here for you, goes unspoken, caught somewhere deep in his chest.

Wei Ying’s face crumples. “Lan Zhan,” he says, the syllables half strangled on a sob, and he leans first into Lan Wangji’s shoulder and then sinks lower, until his head rests on Lan Wangji’s forearm above their joined hands, and he cries. It is not a particularly comfortable position, but Lan Wangji does not protest, even when Wei Ying’s tears soak through his sleeves to dampen his skin. He is, for a moment, at something of a loss for what to do. A faded memory comes to him of another night in this room, so long ago it’s more feeling than image: his mother’s soothing warm hands on his back and soft humming above him. And then another memory: Lan Zhan, won’t you sing for me echoing back at him from two decades passed.

He strokes Wei Ying’s shuddering shoulders, and he hums, soft and soothing, and he holds Wei Ying’s hand until he quiets, wrung out and limp with exhaustion.

Tomorrow he will rise early and prepare another meal for Wei Ying’s breakfast, shuttered away from curious eyes and open judgment. Tomorrow there will be music, and stories of mountains and rivers they never saw in their youth. Tomorrow they will walk the paths of his home side-by-side, and visit Little Apple and the rabbits, and he will watch Wei Ying revel in the afternoon sun. Tomorrow, together, they will build a lantern and release a promise to the heavens.

Tonight, he unbinds Wei Yings hair and combs it smooth with long, slow motions. Tonight he guides Wei Ying carefully to the bed and removes his boots and sees him settled under the blankets. Tonight he holds Wei Ying’s hand in his own and sits vigil against any specters of memory or dream that might come to haunt him, and for tonight—for tonight, that is enough.

*

3. Do Not Be Overly Affectionate in Public

*

“Pssst. Wei-qianbei.”

Wei Wuxian stops, much to Little Apple’s annoyance, and lets one hand slide down to Chenqing as he inspects his surroundings more closely. Cloud Recesses’ main gate is just around this bend in the path, and sometimes he thinks the donkey might be looking forward to their arrival even more than he is.

“Wei-qianbei.” A flash of white on the mountainous side of the path reveals Lan Jingyi, stumbling down to meet him with Lan Sizhui at his side and a gaggle of other young Lans in his wake.

“A-Yuan,” Wei Wuxian greets Lan Sizhui with a grin, “and so many upright young Lans. Whatever could you all be doing outside your own warded walls?”

Lan Sizhui steps forward. “Wei-qianbei,” he says with a bow, proper as anything, “before you meet with Hanguang-jun, there’s something you should see.”

Wei Wuxian purses his lips, considering. “How many rules are you planning to break with this venture?” he asks.

“Um. None.” Lan Sizhui looks back at his companions and then nods firmly. “It’s actually the Wall of Discipline we want to show you.”

Wei Wuxian clicks his tongue in disappointment. Youthful creativity squandered once again. “Really, A-Yuan, don’t they teach you Lans anything about negotiations? This proposal is not at all appealing to me. I’ve seen enough of those rules to last a lifetime. Or two.”

“We know that.” Lan Jingyi folds his arms over his chest and smiles like he has something to be smug about. “But we think you’ll want to see this one.”

Hm. There’s a bit of cunning in Lan Jingyi’s expression that Wei Wuxian must admit is refreshing to see in a Lan. And he’ll have to walk past the rules anyway, on his way to the Jingshi. It can’t really hurt to take a look.

“You see?” He gestures at Lan Jingyi. “This is much more intriguing. Take note.” He ponders for another moment, then nods. “Alright,” he agrees, nudging Little Apple back into motion. “But it had better be quick.”

They get some curious looks from the cultivators on gate duty, and it takes some time to get Little Apple settled, but soon enough they’re in the main courtyard, staring at the engraved hunk of rock that dictates so much of life in Cloud Recesses. Wei Wuxian isn’t certain what he’s supposed to be looking at. Yes, there’s a new rule: Do not be overly affectionate in public. He’s just not certain what was so important about it to merit a special visit.

“It was added months ago,” Lan Wangji says, appearing at his shoulder. “Shortly after your departure.”

Wei Wuxian looks up at him, searching for some hint of what he’s supposed to be understanding here. Lan Wangji is doing his best impression of an implacable jade statue, which generally means he’s having some very pointed thoughts indeed. Wei Wuxian leans in to jostle his shoulder and gets a faintly amused deepening of the corner of Lan Wangji’s mouth in response. Success.

“How long was that, a few breaths?” Lan Jingyi asks to their right, too-loud as ever. “A count of ten?”

“I’m not certain that breaks it,” Lan Sizhui says, softer, “You’ve never been punished.”

That prompts Wei Wuxian to watch Lan Wangji more closely, waiting for confirmation or denial. But surely not. Surely they couldn’t mean...

Slowly, ever so slightly, Lan Wangji nods.

Wei Wuxian stares at the characters so carefully etched into the rock and struggles to contain his laughter.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, trying to hide his snickering behind his sleeve. “Lan Zhan, they can’t be serious. This sounds like they think I’m going to ravish you in the central courtyard.” It’s a joke. Very much a joke. He would happily ravish Lan Wangji in private, of course, if he could ever be certain Lan Wangji was interested in such pastimes, but—

“It’s not you they’re worried about,” Lan Jingyi says, though his smirk slides off his face almost as soon as it’s out of his mouth. Lan Wangji’s gaze settles on him for a moment, until Wei Wuxian draws his attention back by tugging at his sleeve because that—that doesn’t make sense.

“Lan Zhan,” he says. “Is this—this can’t be about Qixi. Can it?”

Lan Wangji looks away. The tips of his ears are turning pink.

“It is?” Wei Wuxian thinks hard, but he can’t remember anything from his last visit that would be drastic enough to prompt a new rule as a response. He frowns. “But we only built a lantern together. Building a lantern is hardly debauchery in public.” Even if it had felt like a bit more than just building a lantern at the time, with the mix of hope and nostalgia rising in his chest.

“Wei Ying is shameless,” Lan Wangji observes.

“I was a perfect gentleman!” Wei Wuxian protests. Well, alright, perhaps he had been overly touchy in his affection for Lan Sizhui. Or overly loud, at least. And there had been, admittedly, several moments where he’d had to to sternly restrain himself from kissing Lan Wangji in full view of all his elders and students. He had restrained himself precisely because he hadn’t wanted to spend the precious after-dinner hours of the festival writing lines or banished to kneel somewhere as some sort of penance. And also because even he wasn’t so shameless as to subject his first kiss to such a display. What if he did it wrong? Getting it wrong in front of Lan Wangji would be bad enough, but the whole of his clan as well? It hardly bears thinking about.

And yet, Lan Jingyi had said…

Wei Wuxian does have some well-worn memories of that time, of Lan Wangji’s steady presence at his side and the jumping, choking pulse of hope and want thrumming under his skin. There had been moments. When Lan Wangji plucked leaves out of his hair after an afternoon’s game with some of the younger Lan disciples. When their hands had touched over and over and over again as they built their shared lantern. The way Lan Wangji had looked at him after they’d released it. The mornings, when Lan Wangji presented him with breakfast made especially for Wei Wuxian, and the evenings too, when they played together, sharing songs both old and new, or simply sat together in easy quiet with a cup of Emperor’s Smile passed between them: one to pour, one to drink, fingers brushing. Moments when he’d thought—maybe that kiss was going to happen.

Maybe Lan Wangji had thought that too. Maybe—maybe he was waiting for Wei Wuxian to move first, maybe—

“Lan Zhan.” He reaches for Lan Wangji’s sleeve again. Lets his fingers slide down to linger on Lan Wangji’s own.

Lan Wangji turns, just slightly. Just enough to actually be facing him. There’s a quickly muffled noise to their right, which Wei Wuxian resolutely ignores.

“Lan Zhan,” he repeats, softer. “I really… I really do like you.” He shifts closer.

“Wei Ying.” Lan Wangji’s fingers clench around his hand, and Wei Wuxian squeezes back.

“I like you so much,” he says, “and I wish...” He drops his gaze to Lan Wangji’s lips. “I wish...” His words dry up. All he can do is squeeze Lan Wangji’s hand tighter and stare at him and hope that—that his intent is clear. That Lan Wangji… understands and—

And then Lan Wangji is kissing him, moving their linked hands up to Wei Wuxian’s jaw and holding him still with Bichen pressed against his side and kissing him, and Wei Wuxian suddenly remembers the rules—rules Lan Wangji is breaking! For him!—and their audience, and he can’t stop the blush that burns on his face and neck but he’s not going to stop kissing Lan Wangji either.

“That definitely breaks it, right?” Lan Jingyi says in a whisper that is likely louder than he thinks it is, and Lan Wangji pulls away.

Wei Wuxian, embarrassingly, whimpers a bit, which turns into a only-somewhat aborted exclamation of surprise as Lan Wangji turns and starts dragging him along in the general direction of the Jingshi.

“Lan Zhan!” He jogs a little to keep up. He wonders how many rules they are breaking now—they’re not exactly running, but they’re certainly moving faster than usual. He’s definitely making noise. Is kissing someone still an impulsive act if he’s spent months and months thinking about it? And he’s quite certain that anyone looking at his expression, at least, would mark him down for “excessively happy” because the smile he’s wearing feels like it’s been stamped onto his face.

“Lan Zhan!” He stops in the Jingshi’s doorway and clings to the wall a little and waits for Lan Wangji to look at him along the taut line of their still-joined hands.

“What is it?” Lan Wangji’s voice is unexpectedly flat, and his grip on Wei Wuxian’s hand tightens as his eyes drop to that point of connection. As if he is perhaps afraid Wei Wuxian will try to slip free now.

“I just wanted to say, it is an honor to break the Lan Clan rules with you.” Wei Wuxian’s grin widens as Lan Wangji’s gaze narrows. He loves that glare so much. So, so much it feels like emotion is going to burst out of him like a breaking dam. “And,” he adds, gleeful and almost giddy, “I’m happy to help you break that one again any time you like.”

There is a moment of considering silence.

“Perhaps,” Lan Wangji allows, a smile pulling at the edges of his lips, and Wei Wuxian steps over the threshold and lets himself be pulled in like the moon pulls the tide—surging, crashing, and eternal.

*

4. Do Not Speak to Wei Wuxian

*

There is a new rule on the Wall of Discipline. Lan Wangji glares at it, which has little effect except to make his lover cling to his sleeve and laugh at him.

“Unjust,” Lan Wangji mutters. The rule has, admittedly, come in the wake of three separate disturbances to the Lan Sect’s calm, quiet existence, but Wei Ying is not to blame for them. If anything, it had been Lan Wangji himself who asked his young students the question: Who is just, and who is evil? Who is wrong and who is right? Who decides what is black and what is white? And how will you tell the difference outside these walls? 

Just because Wei Ying is present in Cloud Recesses does not make him responsible for disruptions, even if he does take a certain amount of glee in watching such debates unfold.

Wei Ying’s glee is currently threatening to completely undo him as he collapses under the force of his own humor, more and more of his weight coming to bear where he holds Lan Wangji’s wrist.

“Lan Zhan,” he gasps, laughing enough to be hardly intelligible, “this is my favorite rule.”

Lan Wangji steadies him and waits, patiently, for an explanation. There usually is an explanation even if it is not always something Lan Wangji himself would consider reasonable or logical. Wei Ying tries to speak three times, each instance interrupted by a fresh peal of laughter before he finally heaves a few calming breaths and stands straight.

“Lan Zhan,” he says, wiping tears from his eyes, “with this rule, any time your uncle yells at me, he must break it. And the other elders! How will they punish me for talking at meals and running in the courtyards if they can’t speak to me?”

Lan Wangji’s lips twitch. “Ridiculous,” he says.

Wei Ying smiles, wide and exuberant. “Yes, yes, yes, so many of your rules are ridiculous,” he agrees, which is not what Lan Wangji meant, but he is well familiar with Wei Ying’s opinion in this matter. “But Lan Zhan,” he continues, “this one is silly. If only speaking to me were such a danger then you, you! Hanguang-jun, the Second Jade of Lan, the Chief Cultivator! You would be entirely beyond hope.” He shakes his head, incredulous and dismissive. Matter closed.

The implication, Lan Wangji is certain, is meant to be that he is obviously still an upstanding member of the Lan Clan, committed to its principles. This is true, but is perhaps truest in Wei Ying’s eyes, and in his own self-perception, rather than that view belonging to his Clan’s elders; Lan Wangji’s interpretation of the rules differs from his Uncle’s, and he knows the friction that causes is unlikely to resolve itself quickly. And then there are the rules he breaks willingly, repeatedly. The rules he is breaking right now, standing here with Wei Ying without attempting to hide either his affection for the man before him or his critique of an elder’s decisions. Speaking to him, as is apparently now prohibited. Lan An’s principles—and his exceptions—are well known to the Lan Clan elders, but Lan Wangji is still certain his ancestor would be much more forgiving of his transgressions than his living relatives are.

“Lan Zhan.” Wei Ying leans into him, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Do you want to know the best thing about this rule?”

Lan Wangji nods, and Wei Ying presses his lips tightly together, perhaps suppressing another laugh.

“Lan Zhan,” he whispers, leaning ever closer, until his hair brushes Lan Wangji’s ear and his breath is warm on Lan Wangji’s face. “Just think,” he says, conspiratorial and jubilant oh-so-dear, “I can never be punished for breaking it.”

*

5. Do Not Vandalize Sect Property

*

Their belongings are packed, the weather is clear, and Wei Ying is eager to return to the road. Lan Wangji, if pressed—by Wei Ying, in a quiet moment caught between breaths, private to themselves—might allow that he is also pleased to be leaving Cloud Recesses, at least for a time. To go night hunting again, to use his cultivation skills where they are most necessary, and to extract himself from the incessant politics of squabbling clans. To spend time with Wei Ying, and only Wei Ying, and to see the world as Wei Ying sees it. He has dedicated months of planning to this journey. Weeks of work to guarantee that they will not be interrupted, and that the cultivation world will weather his absence without more than the usual level of strife between sects. 

Still, he stops in the courtyard, before the Wall.

“I will meet you at the back gates,” he says.

Wei Ying shoots him a curious look. “Is this about whatever had you talking to Zewu-jun for days and days?”

“I will meet Wei Ying at the gates,” Lan Wangji repeats. This topic is only tangentially related to matters he has discussed with his brother recently, and it only concerns Wei Ying in the way that most of Lan Wangji’s life concerns Wei Ying—his thoughts ever returning to him like the flow of rivers into the sea. There will be time to inform him of this later, when they are alone on the little-used mountain path to the southern provinces. He retrieves a bundle of bok choy and carrot tops from his sleeve and holds it out for Wei Ying to take. “For the rabbits.”

Wei Ying pouts, but he takes both the vegetables and the direction. “Secret Lan Clan business,” he mutters. He frowns and shakes the carrot tops at Lan Wangji. “You could have told me you were planning something.”

Lan Wangji could have, it’s true, but he knows Wei Ying. Even the hint of something unusual is enough to keep his interest for days—often long days, featuring frequent leading questions—ambushes from a probing enemy. And this is Clan business. Clan politics. Involving Wei Ying even as an observer courts resentment at best and chaos at worst. Wei Ying himself at least seems to realize the same. He sighs and waves the topic away.

“If you take too long the rabbits might start to like me best,” he teases instead, turning away and deliberately avoiding Lan Wangji’s skepticism.

Lan Wangji watches him until he’s out of sight and waits several slow, steady moments longer. He has gathered an audience, eyes watching from latticed windows, just-barely-open doors, and entirely-too-convenient conversations stopped just far enough away to allow observation. But that has been true of his life for years now—eyes wherever he goes, whatever he does. Here, now, perhaps it will actually be useful.

He approaches the wall and runs two fingers along the top edge, where he can feel the protective layers of generations of cultivators’ wards and talismans sunk into the stone. He could break them, with enough effort, or unravel them with the right array, but it won’t be necessary. What he has planned should not interfere with any of them. He steps back, pulls a talisman from his sleeve, and centers himself. He’s still not certain the words are exactly right, but they are the closest he could get.

It’s easier than expected. Perhaps due to something in his bloodline, or his cultivation level, or the memories he can bring to bear, stretching back past this handful of years, past Wei Ying’s resurrection, past his death, past Lan Wangji’s own injuries and seclusion, stretching back across long years to a childhood spent etching rules into his bones in the hope of one more afternoon listening to his mother talk and laugh and sing.

Or perhaps not. Perhaps the Clan has simply depended more on custom and reverence to protect the Wall than he anticipated. Perhaps they thought to ward only against actual damage. Whatever the reason, it is only the work of a few heartbeats to write the seal, focus his intent, and let it go.

The ink shines against the stone, stark against the carvings: An attempt to control others is a loss of self.

It won’t scrub off, or be easily banished. It will wear away with time, and rain, and wind, as all the world does. It will last weeks, at least. Perhaps months. Long enough. He suspects, in the utter stillness that the courtyard has suddenly become, that even a day would be long enough.

He does not look at the watchers in the windows, or across the courtyard. He turns and walks away, looking only forward. To Wei Ying, who is sitting on the ground near the back mountain gate with a leaf of bok choy in one hand as he attempts to coax a rabbit ever closer.

Wei Ying, who pouts as Lan Wangji approaches and the rabbits immediately lose interest in his offering of treats, instead gathering around Lan Wangji’s ankles. Wei Ying, who stands and tosses the leaf aside with a disappointed sigh more befitting of a child than a cultivator of his talent.

“Important Clan business done with?” he asks.

“Mn.” Lan Wangji gently nudges the rabbits away and steps over them, joining Wei Ying and Little Apple at the gate’s threshold. Wei Ying nods a few times, like he’s not really aware of his actions.

“You know, Lan Zhan.” His voice is oddly low, the words stilted. His hands move aimlessly in the space between them. “If you’d rather stay here—if you don’t want to come—”

“I want to, Wei Ying,” Lan Wangji assures him before that line of thought can go any further.  He takes Little Apple’s lead and holds Wei Ying’s gaze. “The paths we walk do not need to be lonely ones.”

Wei Ying smiles, his eyes overbright, and something between a sigh and a laugh bursts from his lips. “Lan Zhan,” he says in something closer to his normal voice, “you just say these things and I can’t—” His hands rise warm and familiar to Lan Wangji’s jaw, and their lips meet, and Lan Wangji stands still and steady and kisses Wei Ying for as long as it takes for Little Apple to become agitated and shove her head into Wei Ying’s hips, pushing him back. Based on the displeased scrunching of Wei Ying’s face as he glares down at his donkey, Lan Wangji is certain they would both agree it wasn’t nearly long enough. But there will be more chances. More long afternoons, more starlit nights and soft morning sunrises to share. He watches Wei Ying shake his head fondly and rub the donkey’s ears. Watches him grip Chenqing at his belt and turn with a smile.

“Alright, Lan Zhan,” he says, the corners of his eyes crinkling with good humor and excitement and what Lan Wangji has tentatively started to think of as love, right there on his face for the whole world to see. “Where should we go first?”

[arielsojourner]

Still wanting to marry this fic Part 4

There is suddenly a plot. I wasn’t planning a plot. WTF? I wasn’t even planning this part (or any other parts, I had other dragon!Jaskier plot bunnies) but then I read the comments to my post and suddenly IDEA. It is wild how that happens! You can thank Ciri for this part. She didn’t want to leave things (or Geralt) alone so here you go! 

 So have another ficlet where dragon!Jaskier attends a music festival and causes a riot. My love of  @nemainofthewater‘s Shining Universe/dragon!Jaskier universe knows no bound  (her fic can be found here, READ IT AND MY OTHER FICLETS FIRST OR THIS WILL MAKE NO SENSE: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22562836?view_full_work=true ). 

Other ficlets (both connected and unconnected to this plot) are on my Tumblr under the tag #dragon!jaskier.

*

Geralt was climbing the most insane cliff side he’d ever seen over a turbulent sea. Geralt was doing this because if he didn’t Ciri said she would never speak to him again. 

At first in the face of that threat, Geralt had rejoiced. Fine! Don’t speak! He didn’t like a lot of noise when he traveled anyway! But then she’d followed through on her threat. She actually followed through! No one (Jaskier) had ever managed to successfully follow through on that threat! Not in 20 plus years! They (Jaskier) had always given in in under an hour and begun talking and singing again. But Ciri not only followed through she kept it up. For days. She spoke to Roach. She spoke to people on the road. She even spoke to a monster he was trying to kill but she wouldn’t. Speak. To. Geralt.

Not until he apologized to Jaskier.

Which was why he was now climbing this stupid gods be damned cliff. Because his child by surprised would not speak to him, would pretend to be deaf around him, until he hunted down the bard and apologized and the bard accepted his apology.

He never should have told Ciri about Jaskier. He should have held his tongue. He never had a problem holding his tongue around other people (Jaskier) before! But nooooo, she pestered him and prodded him and when she’d confessed she’d seen Jaskier fly off with a dragon of all things, Geralt had given the game away and she had pounced!

(“A dragon? What dragon? Jaskier was with a dragon?”

“Ah-ha! So you do know him! I never said his name was Jaskier!” She crowed. “You lied when you said you didn’t know him! He said he’d known you, had been your companion for 20 years! Tell me about him! Why is he with a dragon? How could you have traveled with him for so long when he’s so young? Is he your son? I thought Witchers couldn’t have children! Is he a mage? He said he was there when my parents got married! He said my father was a hedgehog! He said my mother had powers! What was he talking about? Tell me and don’t lie! I’ll know if you lie!”)

Geralt had caved like he hadn’t caved to anyone (Jaskier) in years. Slowly, in fits and starts, over many days, Ciri had pulled it out of him, one tale at a time. The Devil of Posada. The djinn. Her mother’s betrothal banquet. And finally, finally the mountain and the dragon hunt.

Ciri was very quiet by the end of the tale. She looked at him with  disappointment, some measure of pity, and a healthy dose of “You are a colossal idiot. Why do I love you again?”  If he was being honest with himself he would say he knew that look all too well, though it had been sometime since he had seen it on anyone (Jaskier’s) face.    

“You’re going to apologize,” Ciri said firmly and there was no argument in her voice, she sounded as commanding as her grandmother ever was. “You’re going to find him and you’re going to apologize to one of your oldest and dearest friends for being a-a horses ass and taking out your hurt on him just because he was there.”

“Don’t swear.”

“I’ll swear if I damn well please! You need to do this. You didn’t see his face when I was cruel to him, and said that he was a liar because I believed you instead. He was–he was so hurt that you’d never told me about him, that you pretended you never knew him. He asked if you were happy. He told me that was all that was important to him. That you were happy.”

Geralt turned away at that, unable to look in those earnest blue eyes that were so familiar to someone else’s (Jaskier’s) blue eyes. He felt a deep well of shame inside him that this time he couldn’t just push away or ignore or drown with drink or killing monsters. He had been cruel to someone who was kind to him and there was not much lower or more despicable than that, a person who repaid  caring with disdain and hatred.

“I don’t know where he is,” he finally said. “No one’s seen him for years before the festival. The songs mentioned a dragon kidnapping a bard. I-I asked Yennifer to look for him once, but she couldn’t find him.”

“Well obviously he’s with his father who’s a dragon and his sister who’s a dragon. You just told me Borch was a dragon in human form who rescued a dragon’s egg. So he’s with Borch. They must have adopted him or something like that. Like you did with me. We just need to find Borch and then you’ll find Jaskier. Simple.”

Not simple, Geralt was finding as he clung to the cliff side, inching his way up the sheer face to the opening that was barely visible but that Geralt had to trust was there. If he made it to the top and Jaskier wasn’t there Geralt was not going to be happy.

“Hello there!” a voice called from far above.

He knew that voice. Borch. He’d found the dragon’s home at last.  He risked lifting his chin to look up and saw the large scaled face peering down at him.

“Borch,” Geralt said in relief. “Don’t suppose you could give me a lift?” he asked.

“Sorry, no.”

Geralt gaped for a moment and then banged his forehead once against the cliff. “Fuck.” Ciri had warned him.  She’d told him Jaskier’s “family” was very caring and protective of him. That protection obviously meant protecting Jaskier from Geralt!

Well, he was just going to have to prove Jaskier’s family wrong, wasn’t he! With a grunt, he reached for the next tiny handhold with his finger tips and pulled himself up another few inches. His fingers searched for the next handhold above his head.

“Slow going?” Borch asked.

“This is not as easy as it looks! I would appreciate it if you wouldn’t --urg-- wouldn’t distract me!”

“My apologies,” came the sardonic response.

“Fuck.” It bared repeating as he pulled himself up another few inches, a rain of dirt filling his mouth. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

“I do hope you’re language improves on your journey up to our home. I’m not in the habit of letting my children hear such curse words no matter how satisfying they are to say. I’ve just gotten Julian to stop saying and thinking them and you shan’t be talking to him if that is all you have to say.”

With a snarl, Geralt risked a glare up the sheer cliff side to where the dragon rested on the ledge, clawed arms folded as he took his ease in the afternoon light. “I am talking with Jaskier and I’ll use whatever language I fucking want to!”

“It would be a pity, Geralt of Rivia, for you to have made it all this way only to be sent straight back down this cliff again. The choice is yours, however. You are coming uninvited into our home and such language is not permitted in our home or around my children.”

He really didn’t have much of a choice, he realized. Borch could pluck him off the side of the cliff and throw him into the sea. He could reach the top only for the dragon to bat him off the side and even he would probably not survive a fall from this height.

“Fine. I’ll fucking watch my language after I scale the cliff. Happy?”

“I’d be happier if you would go back down but I know too well how stubborn you can be. Take your time,” the dragon called closing his eyes to take a nap in the sun.

“Fuck,” Geralt growled as he struggled for his next hand hold. “Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.”

Better get it out of his system now, because dragon or no dragon, he was getting up this cliff and talking to Jaskier!

*

I have no idea where this came from. I have no idea what to write next but I hope you enjoyed this extra ficlet you sparked with your comments. :) Again, all hail and thanks goes to the amazing original author. I am just loving her dragon!Jaskier fic. I love ever bit of it to pieces. Go read and comment if you haven’t already! New chapters up daily. She is amazing!

[kimberly-spirits13]

For Wandering Dreamers (Pt 1)

Pairing: Damian Wayne x reader

Synopsis: After hearing your parents argue about something for what feels like the zillionth time that night, you escape to your books and comics for some escaping of reality. Just as the argument ends with slamming doors, a note and locket landed on your bed. Inscribed on the note was a promise of new adventures and a better life awaiting you.

Warnings: Mentions of fighting and terrible parents, attempted rape on random person (not character or anyone significant), language

Word Count: 2482

You shut the door of your bedroom after hearing your parents arguing about something for what felt like the billionth time that night. Just for precaution, you locked it hoping that they wouldn’t come in to get you to settle an argument. Oh, how you hated life. It was a terrible, worthless, annoying piece of garbage that eventually fucked everyone over. The only thing that you had to distract yourself was your books, and your comics. It was a world of escape that was so simple, yet so complex and distant. The objects were for any lost soul, bound to a place and reality where they could not help the need to float away from at times. Seeing the problems of the characters play out on the pages and eventually be solved was a comfort for some. It was to you at least. You sat down at your bed with one of your books. Tonight, you would be embarking on the adventures of Batman in your graphic novel.

           It didn’t take long before you were totally and completely engulfed in the book. The action of it all and the keen problem solving of the world’s greatest detective was enough to pull anyone in. You almost didn’t notice the strange piece of paper and pendent drop onto your bed. You wouldn’t have if you didn’t hear a door slam in the background. You looked down seeing the gold piece of paper. It looked like it had fallen from the heavens the way the color was so untarnished. The pendant looked that out of a fairy tale, gems of all sorts outlining it and a silver base. You saw that in elegant white lettering was inscribed a message. It read as so,

           “Pack your things and leave your cares for new adventure awaits everywhere. To and froe, here and there, the words inscribed will take you erase all cares. Reality will sleep and dreams come to play but you may return any day. No time will change and life you may live but for a lovely vacation, at your service this pendant is. Take the pendent and repeat the top, for awaiting you are worlds of unmatched beauty and action. Made for lost souls and wandering dreamers, here you may leave this place of pain- stricken fever.”

           “This is a joke.” You mumbled aloud. And then again why not test it to find out, “Fine.” “If this really is some magical pendant or something to take me away, I’m ready to go, 100%.”

           You noticed that it was a locket, large enough to store the little note. So, with this, you folded gently the piece of golden paper and tucked it ever so neatly into the locket. You then decided that you would take your most valuable asset. Books. It was important that you took ones that you might find most important and then a few that you hadn’t read. There should be food on the worlds. I mean, there always is. But then again... You grabbed your hidden food stash and notebook plus a few pens.

           “Well how do I know where I am going?” You asked to the paper.

           Another piece dropped on your bed and you look up. This one wasn’t in rhyme so you assumed that whoever was making it just got tired of having to make up weird quest like pieces to please the book worms.

           “To assure your location think of the place you would like to go as you repeat the verse.”            

           “Thanks.” You said half expecting to see another piece float down with a, “You��re welcome.” scribbled on it.

           You thought of where you wanted to go and then looked down at your Batman book.

           “I want to meet the people that raised me.” You stated grabbing that book and your entire DC character guide.

           You had learned from all of your studying how to solve mysteries. You had decided at a young age that the only way to not end up like those around you was to do better than everyone else around you. That wasn’t a hard thing to do, however, it meant long hours studying and working to be the best.  You had however thought that if nothing else worked, bringing this to the cave would be a sure- fire great way to make Batman take you in. You also took your knife that your Karate teacher had gifted you once you joined the adult league at the youngest age there. They knew that it was something that you might need even though a few months of boxing and years of Karate was already under your belt.

           You stuffed all of this in your bag including some hygiene things and a few sets of new clothes. Man, your bag was stuffed, however the duffle would just have to carry all of this. The back of your book had a map of the DC World. In it, was a map of the Batcave and from different shows that you had seen you had noted the best ways to get inside. I mean sure, you could just go get yourself into trouble or go just knock on the front door, but, this sounded more fun. You started to read the note before thinking about something, you had better take your phone and charger just in case.

           “Okay here we go.” You read the top part of the note aloud thinking of where you wanted to go.

           Without any more notice, a bright purple mist was spiraling up your legs, and then torso, and then you were completely wrapped around in it before it suddenly disappeared. You looked around seeing that you were in an alley way and your bag was on your back.

           “Oh, thank God.” You sighed in relief glad that your things came through, “Okay first order of business.” You got your knife out of the side pocket of your bag and then locked it so that no small potential Robins could pick pocket you. The knife was for extra protection. You knew that the street life in Gotham was wild so it was better to be possibly over cautious than sorry.

           “Alright, next I need to get to a roof top.” You mumbled looking around for a fire escape or something to aid you.

           “Watcha doin on a night like this pretty?” You heard from a small distance away.

           “Please, l-leave me alone. I have kids to get back to.” There was a woman’s voice along with the other.

           “Come here sweetheart, if you play nicely I might just let you go.” He said before you heard a slap and then him becoming visibly angry, “Why you little bitc...”

           “Great Gotham! Didn’t your mother ever teach you how to treat a lady?” You asked the man throwing an empty beer bottle at his head. “Oh, thank Gotham for having the drunks.” You thought.

           He looked at you and dropped the woman before running at you.

           “Aye mate!” You said in a funny accent, “I guess she never did.” You stabbed him in the shoulder causing him to holler out in pain before you drop kicked him and knocked him out with the base of the other bottle that you found.

           “Ms., please call the police. I suggest that you find somewhere safe. I can walk with you if you’d like. I’m a black belt.” You remarked to the terrified woman, “Hey, you’re alright now, and your kids will still have a mamma to come home to.” You helped her up and then pointed to an open drug store, “I know that this is Gotham and it sucks at night, but it might be your best chance.” “I’ll stay here and make sure that he doesn’t get away.”

           “T-thank you.” She said, “Do you need any help, a young lady shouldn’t be out here at night.”

           “Oh, no thank you. I am just fine.” You answered, “Now please, I don’t really know how efficient the GCDP is after 9 so if you don’t mind, my cell is dead.”

           She nodded and crossed the street to the Gotham Drugstore.

           “Well, I guess B will have to wait for a few minutes.” You said.

           You stopped suddenly when you heard someone drop behind you.

           “Supervillain or Bat?” You asked.

           “Robin actually.” You heard in response, “That was impressive from someone just off the streets. Is it true that you are a black belt? Karate I presume?” He asked just as you turned around.

           “Omg you’re Dam...” You stopped yourself, “I can’t say that with him here never mind.” “Oh, I’m Y/N to answer your question, and yes I am a blackbelt in Karate. Glad that you noticed.”

           “Wait... you know my name?” He asked, “How?” He took out his swords and you took a nope step backwards.

           “Woah, calm down there. I’m from a different universe where you and this entire universe are in comics.” “Cliché I know. I just discovered I could travel here 10 minutes ago.” “I have proof too.”

           “Fine. Come with me.” He said as he grabbed your waist and shot the grapple up making the two of you fly to the top of the building.

           You blushed for a quick second almost noticing that he did the same.

           “Show me your evidence.” He demanded.

           “Very well.” You plopped your bag onto the rooftop and pulled out the Batman comic and character guide.

           “Damian Wayne?” You looked up at him as he sat down.

           “C-correct.”

           “And Nightwing is Dick, Hood is Jason, Red is Tim, Batgirl is Steph, or is she Cass right now?” You asked.

           “No, Brown is Batgirl.” He affirmed.

           “Okay so that means Black Bat is Cass, B is Bruce, Batwoman is Kate, Oracle is Babs...” You were about to go on before he stopped you.

           “Okay, okay, I believe you please don’t share this to the entire city.” He smirked some.

           “Oh, trust me, I won’t.” You put your hands up and showed him the pendant, “I came here because this necklace thing and a note on how to use it landed on my bed in the said different universe.” “It’s addressed to lost souls and wandering dreamers but my first thought was to come here and meet the heroes that raised me as a kid.”

           “Excuse me for being so brash but, do you not have parents?” Robin asked.

           “Poor excuses for them.” You answered, “But yes, I do.” “However, I was never raised by them at all. It was always books and comics that did. I learned to solve mysteries and started homeschooling on top of regular school at a young age (I actually do this with a friend of mine it isn’t easy but we have big dreams lol). Wonder Woman and Batman taught me a lot so I just wanted to come and meet them.”

           “And you thought saving a civilian was the way to do it?” He asked interested in your story.

           “No actually, I know where the cave is and figured I would go there as a start, but you know Gotham is weird like that.” You answered laughing some.

           “You know where the cave is?” He asked floored at the statement.

           “Duh, there’s a map in the back.” You smiled some flipping it to the very back of the book, “There’s also the Fortress of Solitude.”

           “Impressive. Wait... do you know who the Joker is?” Damian questioned as you packed the bag up.

           “Give me a place to stay and I might just help with that.” You replied standing up and giving a hand for him.

           “Deal.” He then stopped, “If you really know where the cave is, show me.”

           “Okay.” You shrugged, “What building is this?”

           “We’re near the bank, it’s this way.” He took you to the bank top and you smiled looking over what you knew as Gotham.

           “Alrighty. Let’s go.”

           The two of you made it to the cave in what was almost record time, though he wouldn’t admit it, he was very much impressed by you in multiple ways. The two of you walked in talking some before you were stopped.

           “Robin who is this?” A stern voice came.

           “Batman this is...” You cut Damian off.

           “Mr. Wayne, I’m Y/N. I came from a different universe where you guys are all in comics and books and basically are fictional.” You said, “And it is totally normal that I know who you are so you can stop internally freaking out.” “Also, the famous Batman “I am the night” monologue is fabulous and I recommend you do it more often.” You laughed some at the last part as Bruce was shocked to see that you knew all of this and that his son of all people was okay with you.

           “Show him the books Y/N.” Damian suggested.

           “Oh yes. Good idea.” You said opening the bag, “It isn’t every day you get to meet your childhood hero so I’m over here internally freaking out to be honest.” You smiled flipping to the page that had Batman plastered all over it before passing it to Bruce who now saw no point in keeping his mask on since now he knew that you knew who everyone is.

           “So, “The Adventures of Batman”?” He asked giving the famous bat-smirk.

           “Not only that, but you have a ton of animated series, movies, and even appearances in things like “Justice Leauge Unlimited” and a bunch of other forms of entertainment. The others do as well.” “You guys, well Wonder Woman, not really Clark, yourself, and a bunch of others were better parents then the ones I have at home. I practically dedicated my life to learning everything that I could and solving cases because of you all.” You took the book back, “I figured that bringing this book would help solve even more and maybe get Timothy to sleep.” You smiled some packing it away.

           “Father, Y/N took down someone that was 2 times larger than her and was going to rape a young woman.” “Apparently she’s a black belt in Karate which is believable with the form that I witnessed.”

           “Well, Y/N. Do you have anywhere to go?” Bruce asked, “I trust that my son knows what he’s doing and don’t entirely doubt your story.”

           “I mean I have no where besides home in the different universe. Trust me when I tell you that I do not want to go home.” You said in a serious tone throwing Bruce off some since you had been so kind and upbeat, “It’s not pretty there.”

           “Very well, I will have Alfred show you to your bedroom.”

           “I GET TO MEET ALFRED?” You almost blew up in excitement, “Sorry, Alfred is just awesome.” You laughed awkwardly some.

           That was the most eventful night of your life, and unbeknownst to you, life was only going to get wilder.

Note: I have been wanting to write this for a minute. I know that it is a bit cliché, however, I wanted to put a spin on it with the book and mad detective skills. I remember back when my family was going through some pretty shitty times, music and books were my go to escape when sleep stopped working. Also, as stated in the story, my friend and I do actually do homeschool on top of actual school. He wants to go to Harvard and I Oxford so we’re working hard lol. Anyways, I hope you’re having a wonderful week. If you have any requests, please feel free to send them in. If you pick up on anything you’d like to correct me on, please go right ahead and message me, I love fixing mistakes and being better at writing. I hope that you have a lovely week and stay safe and healthy. 😊

(PS: Thank you so much for all of the sweet messages! They make my day when I read them.)

[unlockthelore]

Wander

Hiei found his thoughts wandering as the night stretched on and sleep seemed impossible.

From the series Growing Pains on Ao3. For more updates, follow the growing pains tag on this blog.

I want to go home.

Hiei could hardly put into words how he detested this world. Ningenkai was a cesspool reeking of humans, dressed in fine lies based on moralities kept only by those in power to ensnare the masses. Humans could keep their platitudes. He hardly needed to hear Reikai propagation either. There was no saving this world and it didn’t take a genius to notice. Demons were woven into tales describing wickedness and destruction, but humans were worse. At least demons didn’t hide their true nature to feel better about themselves. 

Hiei breathed in slowly and lifted his chin, allowing the back of his head to touch the wall behind him. It was easier to ground himself in the moment as he stared out the window. Sarayashiki’s glittering lights, blurred through sluices of rain rolling down the cool dark glass. The neighborhood, muted in color and quiet, save for the sleepy twittering birds in the cherry tree out front and occasional roll of wind across the house’s shingled roof. His heart shivered with nagging guilt and rage of being in this world, enduring another night’s passing in solitude and failure.

Well, partial solitude. Hiei’s shoulders tensed as a soft sigh rippled through the silence and a tingle of energy coursed from elbow to fingertip. He flexed his fingers to settle sudden pinpricks gouging his skin and glanced toward the far side of the room. His apprehension raised exponentially as slivers of moonlight illuminated furniture, personal possessions, and the being tucked beneath powder blue blankets on a narrow bed tucked in the furthest corner. 

Deceitfully frail and vulnerable while in the throes of sleep, Kurama rested with his blankets tucked up to his nose, vibrant red hair splayed messily over a cream-colored pillow. It annoyed Hiei how deceptive his very existence was, how easily he could maintain this illusion, and how effortlessly he could find sleep on this unbearably quiet night.

Though what Hiei hated most of all was how on edge Kurama could leave him simply by sighing in his sleep. Warily, he eyed shadows lingering out of moonlight’s reach. It was the writhing ones he was cautious of. Vines and tendrils awaiting their master’s command to tear him to shreds if he so much as breathed wrong. Emotions stirred in his chest as he thought of the fox’s preparations. True, Kurama offered his room as shelter should Hiei need refuge from the rains, but Kurama hardly trusted him in his domain. It was a hollow-hearted attempt at maintaining their unsteady alliance and Hiei knew he should’ve found it revolting, but he was… impressed. 

Kurama may pretend to be human but there were layers to his being, and Hiei could hardly understand his urge to peel them back one by one, by claw or fire. It wasn’t as if the fox wouldn’t allow such a thing. Kurama was annoyingly determined to prolong this ruse for his mother’s sake. A sentiment Hiei found increasingly annoying with how much he had to perpetuate for the human woman’s comfort and Kurama’s impersonation of a normal boy - but it was either that or invoke Kurama’s wrath, and Hiei wasn’t sure which was more profitable or alluring. 

“Having difficulty sleeping?” 

Hiei emerged from his thoughts with a sharp intake of breath like a man gasping for air after he’d been drowning. And drowning he’d almost been. He stared into a pair of eyes as green as the fields he’d ran through since the time of his abandonment. Achingly familiar yet bearing depths he couldn’t explore, and felt the itching pull beneath the skin to tread closer to. Finally, he remembered who those eyes belonged to.

Nature might have tolerated Hiei but it adored Kurama. The verdant depths pulling Hiei toward him would ensnare him, just as quickly as they could glimmer while his life reached its end. Immediately, he snapped the thread drawing him into Kurama’s lull and narrowed his eyes, viewing the still fox beneath dark eyelashes.

Hiei curled his fingers into a fist and braced it against his bent knee, glowering at Kurama as he chastised himself on how he could allow him to affect him this way. Questions of what the fox knew and meaning behind his inquiry flooded his mind. 

“Would you prefer I had music playing or something of the sort to ease the quiet?” Kurama asked, rubbing his eyes like a sleepy child. “It’s often noisier in Makai, even in the night, there’s rarely stillness. Something is always creeping about ready to strike…”

Hiei wanted to scoff. The only thing ready to strike right now was Kurama’s plants and Hiei himself if he needed to defend his life. Yet, mental exhaustion and curiosity were at war with derision. He wondered where Kurama laid his head during his days as the King of Thieves. None would be foolish enough to challenge him even while he seemed defenseless. Did his very presence clear the woods around him, ward off predator and prey alike? 

Who would be foolish enough to wake a slumbering Youko Kurama after all?

“Hiei…?” 

Hiei snapped to focus and stared at Kurama, now half-sitting up and looking at him openly. His bed-ragged hair spilled around his ears and dusted across the top of his shoulders where it curled at the ends. His skin always seemed so soft and smooth, as did most of him, and Hiei knew if he touched him then he would feel the power coursing beneath his skin. Somehow, he knew and he wasn’t sure why he wanted to know if it were true.

How did those hands touch so gently but execute sharp movements with a precision as beautiful as it was deadly? Hiei cursed himself internally, turning his head away. He didn’t want to be caught lingering on Kurama’s hands or any part of him at all. Suddenly, this  room which was certainly big enough for them both was suffocatingly small.

Hiei thought of leaping out into the night and going elsewhere. The rain had stopped long ago and by now some of the trees would have dried enough for him to find a place to sleep. Although, that would mean leaving behind Kurama. Perhaps it was the mental exhaustion or his reminder of their alliance - but Hiei knew leaving the fox was not an option.

He swallowed thickly and the longer the silence stretched on, the more he was aware of Kurama’s gaze on his back, awaiting an answer. Normally, the fox would resign himself when Hiei’s silence lingered but he seemed uncharacteristically determined to draw a response out of him this time. Hiei inhaled and fought to keep the air from rattling in his lungs; he timed it for a few seconds then allowed himself to exhale. Kurama couldn’t see how he affected him. Hiei hardly understood it himself, and anything he didn’t know but allowed the fox to be aware of was a disadvantage he couldn’t allow.

“… There are trees near here,” Hiei began as he unfurled his fist. He paused to give Kurama a side-long glance. “Ones that aren’t strangled by buildings… or humans.”

Kurama studied him for a moment. Hiei wasn’t sure what he saw but the fox seemed to accept his non-answer, combing his fingers through his hair. It was distracting and Hiei almost quipped for him to stop it. 

“Well then,” Kurama’s eyes flickered from the alarm clock on his bedside table to Hiei and the quip died on his tongue as a smile curved the fox’s lips. “Shall we go?”

Hiei blinked at the offer. Kurama had been strangely accommodating as of late and left him at a loss for what he wanted. He would never want to place himself in the fox’s debt, but this was a proposal with no foreseeable benefit aside from a bit of peace. Slowly, Hiei nodded and his heart skipped a beat as Kurama rose from the bed smoothly then began to issue orders - if his bedroom plants’ quivering was any indication. 

Why would he want to accompany me, Hiei thought.  He’d been fairly certain Kurama was deeply asleep and he rarely ventured from his home during the night. Especially considering his vessel needed rest and Shiori was vulnerable. Hiei followed Kurama’s movements with his eyes, quirking a brow as he sifted through his closet. 

A dark beige coat pulled was from its hangar and slipped over the fox’s shoulders, broad shoulders tensed as they pulled backward to accommodate the coat’s rise. His hair tucked beneath its collar was pulled free in one fluid movement, rustling as he shook his head slightly, reminding Hiei of Makai’s reddened sky. Green eyes cut toward him suddenly, wide and piercing with their vague intrigue. 

Hiei turned away before he could give something away and slid the window open, leaping out into the night.

His foot barely grazed the thin powerlines, steel scraping against the soles of his boots as he descended to the empty streets below. If there was one similarity to Makai that the Ningenkai had to offer, it would’ve been his wariness when in the open. In Kurama’s bedroom, Hiei only needed to keep an eye on one being. Yet outside of his bedroom and even his home - the world was filled to the brim with nuisances and nothings vying for a chance at the fox’s territory.

Aligning himself with Kurama granted Hiei no small amount of enemies but even with the prickling sensation on his skin, and the feeling of eyes watching him, he welcomed the challenge.  A soft thud caught Hiei’s ears and he looked back in time to catch Kurama gracefully rising from a crouch. The fox tossed his head from one side then the other while surveying the nearby houses. Hiei knew he would be looking for potential onlookers and quelling his uncertainty of his secret’s keeping, distracted long enough for him to glance him over. 

It wasn’t often Hiei saw Kurama barefoot and felt an old argument form on his tongue. Then, Kurama faced him. There, just below the surface, Hiei caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. It was the same something he’d gleaned when they quarreled in the kitchen before their alliance truly began. Something wild and familiar, disappearing from sight before he could grasp it. 

Kurama’s head inclined slightly, his brow raised in a silent question: What is on your mind?

Hiei turned his head away. A familiar gesture: None of your business.

Like that the moment ended and they fell in step, walking down the street in the night’s stillness. Once Kurama’s home was out of sight, the fox started to lead him through the concrete and asphalt maze. Hiei gazed up at the dark and quiet houses, glaring disdainfully as streetlamp buzzed while insects droned around their glowing lights.

“How far is it?” Hiei asked, and he could feel Kurama’s eyes on him but refused to meet his gaze.

“Five minutes from here,” Kurama assured as he led him down another street, seeming not to notice when Hiei glanced back to memorize where they turned. “It won’t take long.”

Hiei’s nose wrinkled. This wasn’t a common route he’d seen Kurama on. Had the fox sought refuge elsewhere in the night long before they met? Taken back roads to not be noticed by others. A slight thrill coursed through him at the thought. 

“… How do you do this?” Hiei asked, continuing when he heard Kurama’s questioning hum. “The quiet.”

This time, he glanced at Kurama and noticed him looking ahead, and the light illuminating every detail of his face. “You grow used to it after some time..” Shadows lingering beneath his eyes were dispelled when he blinked and glanced in Hiei’s direction. “I had little option when I had no true control over this vessel.”

Vessel. It wasn’t often Kurama referred to his own being as a ‘vessel’. At times, he seemed to be crossed between referring to it as a body or himself. Shuuichi and Youko Kurama were referred to as separate entities but the only one he could see was the being before him now. 

Hiei tore his gaze away from him and tasted the question on the tip of his tongue but swallowed it, replacing with another. “What did you do then?”

“… My mind drifted often,” Kurama murmured, sounding wistful. “I dreamt when my body needed rest and when I awoke, mother had me with her.” 

Is that why you trust her so, Hiei thought. For the woman to have taken care of him well in a state where he was helpless would have taken sacrifice on her behalf. Perhaps he felt there was a debt to be repaid. Honestly, he couldn’t make sense of it even now. 

 Kurama led him down a side alley that ended in a wide road, parting on one side and another to pathways leading toward homes - and a shopping district if he remembered right. But a head, the asphalt and concrete gave way to dirt-paved roads sinuously traversing trees and shrubs. Hiei sniffed the air. Petrichor emanated from the drying grass, and an earthy must exuded from damp tree bark.

From the corner of his eye, Hiei saw Kurama’s mouth open but he bolted forward and scoured the park trails and grasslands until he found a suitable tree. Its bark was still damp but the leaves were thick and fairly dried, only the outer ones hanging at the end of their boughs dripped water. Hiei pulled himself up and settled on one of the branches, crossing his legs and settling his back against the tree bark, the stretch of his cloak across his knees providing a suitable place for his hands. He breathed in the musky, freshness of a world washed free of human stench. 

His nose twitching when wildflowers and a subtle vein of vanilla, sweet but not overpoweringly so, interrupted his thoughts. Opening one eye and gazing down at Kurama standing beneath the tree with his hands tucked in his pockets, head tipped back as a breeze swept through the thicket and grass rippled in waves. He seemed at home like this. Wholly in his element amidst all that adored him and while Hiei knew he should’ve felt wary with all of this, and the fox’s capabilities, it was mesmerizing. 

He debated for a moment, the pulling itch beneath his skin returning and he knew if he reached out with youki or hand, he’d never be able to touch him. 

He’s too far, Hiei thought and clenched his hands into fists, staring intently at the top of Kurama’s head. 

“… Are you going to stand there the entire time?”

He saw the slight tense in Kurama’s shoulders then the subtle note of relaxation. Curious. Why was he relaxing around him? 

Slowly, Kurama tipped his head back and his hair’s curl brushed against is cheek. What would it feel like to tuck it behind his ear as he’d done before? “Would you prefer if I left?” He asked, a touch of amusement lilting his words although there was a thin line of seriousness. Kurama would likely leave if he asked him to or demanded.

Hiei reveled in that, was confused by it, and disheartened. He huffed and raised a brow at him, remembering directness was key. If not he would surely find some loophole and he didn’t want to fight him when he was this comfortable. 

“If I wanted you to leave, I wouldn’t have let you lead me here,” Hiei retorted flatly, furrowing his brow. “Get up here.”

To Hiei’s surprise, the branch shivered and in the blink of an eye, Kurama was situating himself on one side of it. His legs dangled over the side and he reached up to pluck one of the leaves, twirling it between his fingers. Hiei eyed it with the scrutiny one would give an assailant with a knife. With a leaf in hand, Kurama might as well have been wielding one after all.

Unperturbed by Hiei’s watchfulness, Kurama gazed forward at the treetops and twirled the leaf idly between fingers and thumb. “During moments like this, I find myself longing for Makai…”

Hiei raised a brow. That was news to him. He’d almost considered the fox had grown used to his human captivity or was waiting for an opportunity of some kind. More than that, the sudden confession was odd. Kurama seldom spoke his thoughts so clearly and earnest. 

“Then return,” Hiei replied. It was a simple solution to a simple problem after all.

As if reading his mind, Kurama huffed and muttered, “It isn’t so simple.” 

Hiei leveled a flat glare at him. Of course it was simple. Though before he could state his argument, Kurama’s potential reasoning came to mind, and once again the fox made him wonder if he could read minds.

“I can’t leave my mother behind,” Kurama said, stealing the reasoning in far more sentimental words than Hiei would use.

Hiei wrinkled his nose and looked him over. Was he speaking to the fox within the boy or the boy masquerading as a fox? Where was the divide between the two? Where did Shuuichi end and Youko Kurama begin? The pull was now a shove but Hiei resisted its lull, pressing his claws to the palm of his hands to keep himself grounded.

After a moment of silence, he grumbled, “… She isn’t your mother.” 

Kurama blinked at him and Hiei wondered if he had offended him. The tree wasn’t swallowing him whole or piercing him with a thousand green needles, so he deduced Kurama was either unmoved or contemplating his death. The glimmer in Kurama’s eyes dulled and he turned his gaze away, taking with it a bit of Hiei’s piece of mind. He seemed almost… disappointed. 

“Perhaps not in blood, but she is my mother,” Kurama explained, and despite the gentleness in his voice, his words were firm. “I will not abandon her.”

Hiei opened his mouth then snapped it shut at the mention of abandonment. Discomfort squirmed inside him. It wasn’t his intention but saying it wouldn’t have settled this unease between them. Hiei almost thought of leaving, finding another tree far from Kurama where he could brush off this feeling like the rain dripping from the tree’s crown. But instead he stayed and allowed his mind to temporarily succumb. A young girl smiled at him from the back of his eyelids, her bushy turquoise hair tied up with its reddened six-point ribbon blew westward on a frigid breeze. Crimson eyes curved and downturned, squinted as she smiled brightly, pure white snow surrounding her and glowing in the moonlight. Yet, she stood out in it all.

She was the only thing that mattered.

He reached out to her in his mind but her image wavered along with the landscape, rippled like the water’s surface and when it vanished, only showed his own lone figure - lost and aching. Hiei opened his eyes and tipped his head back, resting against the tree bark. Kurama was still there, staring off into the distance, and if he noticed the distraction he hadn’t said.

Hiei wasn’t sure what he would tell him if he did. Likely nothing. His business was his own. Just as Kurama’s was his own. Realizing the boundary he overstepped, Hiei nodded curtly.

“Hmph, so that’s how you survived.”

Kurama glanced toward him, his lips parted slightly then pressed into a thin line. “She protected me to the best of her ability, even though she hadn’t needn’t to..” Hiei could have sworn he’d seen regret and a softness to his eyes but it was lost as Kurama’s fringe fell over his eyes. “It is my turn to be a better son for all she had done for me.”

A better son, Hiei thought. 

He refused to let his mind wander to his own mother and closed his eyes. “Does a better son sit in trees past midnight with apparitions?”

Kurama chuckled, though it was more of a rumbling sound, muffled behind his smiling mouth. “.. No,” he said, and the warmth in his voice caught Hiei’s attention. “But no one is perfect..”

“… Then be as you are.”

He could feel Kurama’s eyes on him and dismissed it entirely. The fox may not have been perfect but he was as he was. And Hiei knew more than anyone, the pursuit of perfection was futile. Silence lulled over them but Hiei could hear the quiet shift and scratch of bark over cotton. Was Kurama moving closer? He felt his presence, but he’d always felt his presence close to him.

Quietly, Kurama muttered, “Perhaps I can do that…” and Hiei wondered if he was mishearing the tender contemplation in those words.

They sat in silence for a while longer and Hiei felt the lull. He couldn’t fall asleep but his tension loosened, and he felt himself relax. Seconds ticked into minutes then stretched into an hour and he wondered if Kurama would eventually tell that it was time to go back. He did have to go to school tomorrow. 

But nothing came, and the longer they sat, the less comfortable it was - and the more curious. Hiei began to slowly open his eyes and peek at the fox, only to open them wide as he noticed Kurama’s head bobbing lightly. His eyes were closed and in the soft glow of the street lamps, he seemed just as he’d been in his bed. 

Vulnerable.

Something in his chest fluttered to life and Hiei glanced around then focused on Kurama. If he fell forward, he would have potentially hurt himself if he didn’t wake up and catch himself before. Even then, what would it do for his reputation if he were caught falling out of a tree? Hiei frowned and stiffened up when Kurama’s head fell forward again, turning himself sideways and inching closer. The air electrified around his fingertips as he reached out to steady him with a light touch to his arm. Kurama’s breath hitched and Hiei froze, a thousand curses on the tip of his tongue for Kurama putting him in this situation. Though when Kurama didn’t stir, Hiei sighed then shifted closer to let Kurama lean against him. 

This had to be some kind of trap. A trick. Even a test. Kurama dozing off and seemingly allowing his openings to show, leaning against Hiei of all people. Hiei waited for the surprise to come. For this ruse to fall - then Kurama sighed and pressed his cheek against Hiei’s shoulder, his hair falling over his eyes. 

Hiei’s heart fluttered and he knew this was doing something to him. His ears twitched as a steady beat caught his attention. It was slow, even, but unmistakable.

Kurama’s heart.

The sound was so much different than a demon’s. Hiei blinked slowly and let his eyes drift shut. 

It was a nice sound.

[concussed-to-pieces]

Devotion

Fandom: WWE

Pairing: Drew McIntyre/Named OFC

Rating: Holy shit M.

AN: Heard through the grapevine that my boy Drew might have done the Lord’s work recently. In honor of that momentous occasion, I dusted off what was originally meant to be part of @hardcorewwetrash ’s Summer Writing Challenge (because, you see, I am a terrible person and never managed to get my act together for that, I KNOW YOU’RE SHOCKED). So now for Valentine’s Day you get old gods, boardroom meetings, wilderness excursions and past life reminiscing. Basically, my brand. 

Enjoy!

[!TRIGGER WARNING!: For mild ’breeding kink’, graphic violence and death. Stay safe!]

[!WARNING!: Rife with historical inaccuracies. This also may be considered religiously offensive, for which I apologize and advise you to proceed with caution.]

.........

The devotion was what caught his attention in the beginning.

Truly, the fact that he had solidified on 'he' in the first place spoke volumes. Take one of the faithful. Always prodding at him, making him toss his head in dismissive annoyance. Take one of the faithful. 

The incense was lit in the chapel for yet another vigil, another plea. He tasted iron when he appeared, the atmosphere thick and stifling with the whine of the fair-weather faithful hoping for their fortunes to improve. Godhood was barely above a burden and the Higher in the pantheon well knew his grievances. 

He was Actaeon, ruler of forests and wilderness, his domain stretching from proud mountain peaks to secret moors that man had yet to tread. It fell on him often to mediate in this modern age, where the incense was few and far and boardroom meetings broke untold hours. Greedy men overreached again and again, hand over fist in a mad dash to their own demise.

He had settled on the name Drew McIntyre, and through it all Drew sat. Certainly, he had traded the gilded pauldrons and breastplate for a razor sharp suit, but his story was lauded as a cautionary tale and little about him looked tamed despite that. His piercing blue eyes still glowed when his irritation reached a boiling point, his mouth set in a grim line that was about as hospitable as a kodiak's roar.

I will give you nothing, said those cold eyes, and it will be far more than you deserve. 

Hunter, the man who had once been known as Hades, was at the head of most conference tables. Always clad in some kind of glamour that hid his true form, flanked by his loyal Persephone Stephanie and Cerberus split into three bodies. 

Back and forth they went, Actaeon halting progress and Hades or Zeus or Dionysus or whoever demanding more from him. More land, more resources, more more more. Drew took sadistic pleasure in entangling the god-moguls and their flunkies in red tape, dangling fertile rainforests in front of their noses only to snatch them away due to easily-overlooked technicalities.

After the Fyre festival fiasco at least Dionysus (calling himself Dolph these past few centuries, who knew what the next would hold) was humbled, twiddling his thumbs and staying relatively quiet during meetings. Drew got the feeling that it boded ill though, since it meant that the reveler was actually listening. Possibly. Cerberus, or rather, the three men that Cerberus had become, always confiscated all cell phones before their meetings commenced, so Dolph (and anyone else for that matter) had no distractions.

Whenever Zeus was involved, the shouting matches kicked off quickly. At Hunter's behest he grudgingly went by the name Vince, though even after all the years he still sometimes failed to respond to it. He was not nearly as powerful as he once was, of course, no one believed like they used to, and he clung to the old ways while Hunter struggled to reason with him. All the eldest god wanted to do since he and Hera had become estranged was lift weights and watch professional wrestling; it was a miracle that he even made appearances anymore. 

…

The ruler of Hell always put Drew up at the same damn hotel chain every time he managed to drag the belligerent patron into their meetings. Hunter didn't lack devotion. His contract with old man Vince involved such incredibly far-flung stipulations that for all intents and purposes, every exchange of goods in human hands netted him some percentage of adoration. Hades operated by the philosophy that 'absolute power corrupts absolutely, but slightly less than absolute couldn't hurt, could it?' 

The chain of hotels was one of those oxymoronic minimalist-yet-decadent types, decorated sparsely with furniture that boasted too many sharp edges. Drew always felt uncomfortable and he was certain that was the intention. Hades was all about subtle threats. 

You're on my turf, wild god. Better remember that.

Drew was on a first-name basis with most of the concierge staff in every location he frequented, accepting his room key with a roll of his eyes and some tired comment about how he was back in town for business. 

Running into an animal not in the lobby was...unprecedented. 

He stared down at the cat. The cat stared back up at him, licking her chops while she lounged in the middle of the hallway. Her muzzle was speckled with the remains of whatever she had eaten last and Drew immediately extended a hand for inspection. 

He wasn't as well-respected amongst the more domestic animals and the cat took her sweet time meandering towards his fingers. Once she reached them though, she was all purrs and apologies. Lost, she hummed, her whiskers tickling his arm. Help me?

"Where's your keeper, little miss?" Drew asked in a gentle voice that most humans hadn't had the privilege of hearing. 

The cat offered him a look that was a shrug, shaking her body to jangle the tag on her harness pointedly. 

Drew chuckled, picking her up and cradling her in the crook of one arm. "We will do our best then, won't we?"

…

They didn't wait in the lobby for very long. Fifteen minutes maybe, Drew sprawled indolently in a chair that wasn't quite large enough for him. The cat purred away in his lap, happily kneading and getting white needle-like hairs all over his expensive suit pants. Not that Drew cared, he'd sooner rip the whole damn suit off and saunter back to the wilds where he belonged. 

Patience, Actaeon, he reminded himself with a heavy sigh. A few more days in this brimstone nightmare.

One of Aphrodite's own appeared before him looking attractively distraught and his breath hitched, sending the large man into an embarrassing coughing fit. The woman gestured at the cat in his lap and Drew hurried to stand, floundering with the slumbering feline. "Ah, I had no idea that-" He began, somewhat confused that she didn't seem to recognize him.

"Thank you so much for finding her!" The woman said fervently, grasping his hand.

Drew received no supernatural warmth from her touch, just mortal worship so heartfelt it hit him square in the chest. She wasn't one of Aphrodite's? How could someone so beautiful simply...exist? Surely, there must be some mistake. What was this feeling of deja vu that threatened to overwhelm him?

"She was no trouble." Drew assured, "Came right up to me when I got out of the elevator. I'm Drew, by the way. Drew McIntyre." He raised an eyebrow pointedly. 

No realization of his true identity seemed to be forthcoming, the vision in front of him introducing herself in turn as Lyssa. The name alone sent another jolt through him, much to his chagrin. Her smile was like the sun and Drew wondered if she was possibly one of Apollo's creations. Apollo had no real touch for beauty, though. Hephaestus? 

"Can I get you a drink or something? I'm only in town for a conference, so I'm a little booked as far as breakfast would go." She sounded self-conscious, fidgeting with the cat's fur instead of making eye contact. 

"How about dinner?" Drew asked, startling himself with the ease of his own suggestion. "Maybe tomorrow night, depending on when you fly out of here?"

He needed to talk to Aphrodite. Immediately. 

…

Alicia took one look at him and tried to shut the door in his face. Drew barely caught the edge with his hand, giving her a smile that bordered on a sneer. "You've improved your craft, love." His tone was half impressed, half dangerous. "Setting one of your beauties on me? One who doesn't even know who I am?"

"You've got some real nerve coming here at this hour." Aphrodite muttered, the flawless woman clutching at her silk bathrobe. 

"It is noon, woman."

"Never mind that, what the hell are you talking about?"

Drew shoved his phone in her face, startled when she immediately looked (of all things) jealous. "I'm talking about this one. She's got a cat. And she's been crafted by you."

"She's not one of mine. Hera above, I wish I could take credit for that." The goddess replied crossly. "As far as I can tell she's the real deal." Drew was speechless and Alicia seemed to realize, a smirk turning her mouth up at the edges. "You're infatuated, aren't you?"

"No." Drew said firmly. 

"Mm, you're really going to lie to me about matters of the heart?" Aphrodite crooned. "It's been millennia since your little incident with Artemis. Still sensitive? I would have thought you'd forget."

"I was torn apart by my own dogs. Sensitive doesn't begin to cover it." Drew fidgeted with his phone, closing out the Instagram page. "I dinnae what to do." He admitted.

"Take her out, knock her up, tell her the truth or don't, and welcome another litter of demigods into the human world." Alicia said in a deadpan tone. "You really are so boring sometimes. It's no wonder you're the one who always gets your memory stripped, you're practically mortal levels of boring."

"I…" Drew hesitated.

Aphrodite softened, her sharp contours glowing ever so slightly in the dim hallway lighting. "You deserve adoration just like the rest of us, Actaeon. I know you've basically appointed yourself as nature's protector and as such have decided to distance yourself from humanity's praise, but humans need gods like you. Ones who don't play games with them." She said gently.

"If I do this, she...Aphrodite, mortals are so…"

"I know, they are short-lived. It's better to take your happiness where you can find it though. Don't live a lie, Drew." Alicia tapped her fingers to her lips and then pressed the kiss to his cheek. "For luck and nothing more. I know you wouldn't want my help anyways." Her laughter was a merry sound, bright even in its falsehood. 

…

It's better to take your happiness where you can find it.

The goddess of love's words haunted Drew while he prepared for this little...appointment  with Lyssa. 

Don't live a lie.

Was that what he was doing by shutting everything out? The whole debacle with Artemis, while indeed millennia past, still turned his stomach. His own fine hunting dogs tearing him apart would never leave his long memory, regardless of how many times Zeus humbled him and cast him to Earth with no recollection of who he was. Was he hiding? Was he really so afraid that something like that would happen again? He had traded his mutts in with his pauldrons, but he still occasionally felt echoes of their presence. As though he could turn around at any second and see them all eagerly awaiting his orders.

Drew huffed at himself, squaring his shoulders while he retied his tie and struggled with his top button. He wondered vaguely whether it would still be so difficult if he had picked a more feminine-presenting form as opposed to masculine, though he liked the form he had settled upon. Perhaps a bit too much. The broadness of his shoulders could be a little...difficult to fit into the dress shirts he was made to wear, so the battle of buttons was a familiar one. But that same broadness emphasized his physique and catered to his not-insubstantial pride. He had lasted this long, and what was the point of even having a form if you weren't content with how it appeared?

His reflection studied him from the mirror, blue eyes clouded with rumination on his past. His neck strained at the highest button with every swallow and so finally Drew sighed and left the offending button undone, carefully slipping his tie out of his collar after a moment of thought. Better to seem casual than tightly-laced. 

…

"So, to business, if this is something you want to pursue." Lyssa folded her hands. "I'm not looking for anything serious at the moment. If you're married or romantically involved, I'm not interested. I can't afford to be pulled into a pissing match, not with my career at stake.  That clear enough?"

"Crystal." Drew chuckled, appreciating her plain speech. "Games like that don't yield fruitful results. I'd rather be trusted." 

"Well my cat trusted you, so that's a step in the right direction." She smiled at him and Drew nearly choked on his drink. "You already have my number and I have yours from the cat debacle. What's your schedule look like?"

"I am free this evening, if you have the time. When does your flight leave tomorrow?"

"It's an eleven o'clock. I'm already packed, so I guess tonight will work fine." Lyssa sounded for all the world like she was planning a meeting. 

"Come with me?" Drew requested, rising from the table and offering his arm. She took it without hesitation or shyness, strolling to the elevator with him. "I understand the anonymity of this setup may be what you find most appealing. Rest assured, you will hear no questions from me unless you wish them asked." Drew deliberately kept his tone light. 

"I appreciate that." 

His own rising apprehension aside, Drew did his best to relax. It would do him no good to display the tension he felt. It was better to keep this as businesslike as possible, for his own comfort as well as hers. If they continued on in this manner, maybe he would learn why he felt like she was so damned familiar.

...

It was always attached somehow. He had never really noticed it before Lyssa, but now it gnawed at him. He wondered whether this hunger was why Aphrodite had been so glib about him spawning a litter. Did she know? Did she put the fire there to begin with? 

He knew he was being irrational. Aphrodite couldn't come close to his control, time beyond time having passed since the carefree days of his youth. Actaeon had failed, but Drew McIntyre would not. This arrangement didn't have to sour with reproductive ruminations. It didn't have to, but…

There was no harm in fantasizing about it. The desire to take Lyssa's unwitting worship and make it something...real.

She had, of course, been very up front with him. She was on medication, he would use protection, it was all standard procedure as they were both responsible adults. There was a relatively low risk involved and honestly Drew wasn't particularly keen on raising a brood in the first place, just being involved in the creative process. The notion excited him much more than it should have: the idea of coupling with her, breeding even, until she was overflowing. Being a god, it was far from an impossible task. Drew wasn't ashamed to admit he could behave more like an animal than a man, this fallible flesh doing him in time and again. At least she could keep up with him when it came to sexual appetite.

She would text him occasionally even if they hadn't planned on meeting up. Hell, even if they weren't in the same state. Just little snippets or questions about his day, maybe a picture of her cat.  Drew found himself slipping into the habit of checking his phone regularly, coming to learn that she frequently went hiking when she wasn't involved in business. She claimed to love the woods more than anyone and the God of the Forests had to suppress a roaring laugh at her declaration.

Not even Zeus himself could have rid Drew of his grin when Lyssa casually mentioned that she wouldn't mind some company on her next camping trip. He had been having a terrible day, but that message lifted his spirits instantaneously. He pondered at that for a split second, somewhat confused. Since when had he become so attached?

"Is that a smile?" Dionysus queried from across the boardroom, his eyes wide over the Greek salad he had ordered for the lunch break. "It is! What happened to brighten you up, Doomsday?" Dolph practically bounced around the table to plant himself in the currently-unoccupied seat beside Drew, batting his eyelashes at the large man. "Aw c'mon, you were so chipper a second ago!" The blond whined.

"I have a migrating headache." Drew said dryly. "It comes and goes. Seems t' increase whenever you're around." 

The reveler's response was an ear-to-ear grin and he leaned forward to rest his chin in his hand. "Do tell." He purred. Roman (the largest portion of Cerberus) looked up curiously, as if he sensed the shift in the atmosphere of the room.

"No." Drew snapped, already inches from wringing Dionysus' neck. "Whatever I'm pleased about has nothing to do with ye an' yours. Dinnae try my patience." 

"Psh, ever since Artemis you've been so-" Dolph didn't even get to finish his sentence before Drew was towering over him. 

"Actaeon." Hades' glare was smouldering at the edges. "Not in the conference room. You know the rules."

"Easy now, boys." Vince chimed in, clapping his son in law on the shoulder. "We don't want anything getting out of hand, do we?" Outside, the clear sky rumbled threateningly. 

Hunter sighed in annoyance. "Old man, you know you can't do that shit anymore. It upsets their meteorologists."

"I am Zeus! Why the hell should I give a crap about their silly weather men?"

"Enough. And you, Actaeon-"

"Dionysus never takes me up on my offers." Drew's teeth were bared in an infuriated grin. To his right, Alicia clicked her tongue as if to voice her disapproval.

"Whoa, whoa! I'm more of a lover anyhow, you know that!" Dolph looked wildly uncomfortable, like he had just realized that maybe pissing off a person who stood head and shoulders above him was a bad idea. 

Actaeon exhaled hard, forcing himself to take a step back from the situation. "Later." He said finally, entertained by how Dolph's face paled beneath his fake tan. 

…

"I needed this more than words can express." Drew breathed, his hands carding through her hair in an oddly affectionate way. Well, oddly affectionate when he considered the position they were in. Lyssa's nose pressed to his pelvis, throat flexing around his cock, every swallow making Drew grunt or snarl. "You are too good at this." 

He knew he had to keep his voice down. They might have parked the rental a good distance away from other vehicles, but it would do them no good if a passerby noticed her face in his lap. Drew half-groaned at the idea of being interrupted, feeling her tongue bathing the base of his cock as best as she could. 

"I'm close Lys, can I…" He trailed off, gritting his teeth when she pulled off his cock and started stroking his shaft with her hand. She rested the engorged head of his dick on her tongue, maintaining eye contact as she did. Drew had to remove his hands from her hair, one gripping his thigh and the other clenched into a fist so tight his knuckles ached. "I'm coming, love, I-" He choked his words off as best as he could, trying to stay silent. 

Drew was not a particularly quiet individual, especially during lascivious activities. He liked to think it was part of his charm, the blunt and brazen honesty of his own failable flesh. Lyssa certainly seemed to appreciate it, if the way she squeezed his thigh while she swallowed down his release was any indication. 

He went boneless in the driver's seat, panting a little. She rested her cheek on his thigh, smiling up at him in a manner that was wholly self-satisfied. Drew chuckled, running his fingers through her hair one more time. "How is it possible to enjoy you as much as I do?"

"You're just easy to please." Lyssa teased, giving him a soft bite on the inside of his thigh before beginning to straighten herself out. 

Drew followed suit and then stepped out of the small car, stretching his arms overhead with a drawn out hum. A deep inhale filled his lungs with the fresh forest air and he sighed happily. Nothing better than that smell. 

Her forehead bumped between his shoulder blades and she stayed there for a good minute, her arms around his waist. Drew felt something stir in his body, satisfaction, contentment and he cleared his throat, resting his hands over her own on his stomach. "Thank ye for invitin' me. I promise it'll be worth it." He murmured. 

"Mm, I'll hold you to that." 

After collecting their backpacks from the trunk, the two of them set out down one of the many trails. Not that Drew particularly needed a trail, but he knew that bushwhacking on their first outing into his domain might set her on edge. 

He let her lead the way and they made quiet conversation as they hiked, Drew keeping an ear out all the while for any nearby beasts. She seemed entranced at the way the birds drew close to them, a hummingbird boldly zipping back and forth in front of her nose at one point. 

Drew laughed at the obvious plea for attention, extending a finger to the tiny creature. "Feisty today, aren't we?" He asked softly once it had landed. "You eat well enough with all the feeders around." 

The bird voiced its grievances with hummingbird feeders, much to Acaeteon's amusement. In the meantime his hiking companion shrugged out of her backpack and shuffled closer, her eyes fixated on the complaining bundle of feathers. "How did you do that?" She whispered.

Drew tilted his head. "They come to me." He replied nonchalantly. "This one wants me to grow him more red flowers. I am no miracle worker, little one."

"Oh sure, yeah. He's talking to you. I'll bet." Lyssa gave him a smirk. 

"How else do you think I got your cat back to you so simply?" Drew asked, raising an eyebrow. "She is a headstrong beast."

"Well so am I, but here we are."

"True enough." Drew shooed the bird off and sidled up to embrace her from behind. A teasing finger toyed with the fabric of her t-shirt across her chest, making her laugh quietly and tap his hand away. "Not nearly stubborn enough to resist me." Drew continued, his voice low and gravelly while he pressed close and palmed her breasts. 

Lyssa gasped, her eyes darting back and forth as if worried that someone might see them in this predicament. "Drew-" Her indignant hiss of his name tapered off into something a little less stern than she probably would have liked. Her nipples woke under his circling assault, pressing hard against Drew's questing thumbs.

"What's wrong, Lys? You've gone quiet." Drew whispered raggedly, "Did you see something? A beasty, come to devour you whole?" His left hand slunk past the waistband of her hiking shorts, questing blindly downward for what he sought.

"You're not being fair, you got off in the car." Lyssa protested, her voice cracking slightly. "Don't tease me, Drew-"

"I'm no tease Lys, I intend t' deliver on any threats I make." Acaeteon mouthed at her ear and reveled in the way that she went pliant against his body. Her worship was sweeter than all the praise of humanity, her trust in him explicit and heady. "With just my fingers, lovin'? The first of many, we'll say." Drew promised.

"I'd love to see you try."

Drew's strong fingers tweaked one of her nipples at the same time that his other hand found sanctuary in her underwear. "Naughty girl." Lyssa sighed and writhed back into him, blissfully ignoring that they were still very much out in the open. "I love how quickly you change your tune when you want somethin'." Drew chuckled, fingers stroking and then spreading her slick folds open. 

When Acaeteon took on a task he deemed important, he poured himself into it wholeheartedly. Not many things outside of his interactions with Lyssa really warranted that level of commitment. 

"Lys." He breathed while she choked on her breath and shuddered through an orgasm. "You are not making this easy on me."

"I asked you to come with me for a reason, Drew." She panted when she could talk again, whimpering quietly after he withdrew his fingers and licked them clean.

Drew kissed her fiercely, tongue licking into her mouth to give her a taste of herself. "And what reason might that be?" He asked once they had parted again.

Lyssa stared up at him in a daze for a good few seconds before snapping out of it. "What? Oh! Oh God. Um, later. I'll tell you later. Look, we still have a long way to go!" She floundered, struggling to get back into her pack. Drew rolled his eyes but remained silent, choosing instead to help her put herself to rights and buckle her straps.

...

The campsite she had picked was conspicuously secluded, which Drew made a mental note of. Lyssa seemed excessively nervous for someone that Drew had already been intimate with, the young woman getting their tent poles mixed up several times despite her familiarity with said tent. 

"You seem tense, Lys." Drew teased once she had finally gotten everything squared away. "I hope I didn't wind you up too much."

"Drew, I…" Lyssa trailed off, sighing. "I want to ask you for something. And I'm sorry if you think it's weird or...like, if I make you uncomfortable. I promise I would never want to make you uncomfortable."

Drew raised an eyebrow. This sounded more serious than he had anticipated. "Speak your mind, love. Whatever it is, I'm sure I can handle it."

Lyssa looked so pensive that Drew was legitimately concerned, the smaller woman taking her time to settle into a chair beside the fire pit. They hadn't lit the fire yet as the summer weather was warm even in the evenings, but Drew had made certain to find a small amount of dry firewood for safety's sake. "This is super dumb and if you want we can just forget it." She announced firmly. 

Drew couldn't help but laugh, doing his best to mask the anxiety gnawing at his gut. "I think I'll be the judge of that, love. What's this turrible question of yours?"

"I kind of...I mean I've...look." She exhaled and glared up at him with a strange ferocity. Drew's pulse quickened at the intensity of her eyes. He felt like he was being appraised, but also, strangely, like he had done this all before. "I've got this...thing that I like."

"Ye. Bit difficult t' miss, love." Drew grinned and she buried her face in her hands, groaning loudly until he apologized and promised not to make any more jokes about his thing she liked. 

"This is hard to talk about so please, just let me talk." Lyssa said sternly. "This isn't something I've told anyone else and I've never acted on my...urges...before." 

Urges. Actaeon's mind raced. Mortals had very few urges that they catered to, what on earth could she be talking about?

"I've always had this...kind of...thing for. Um. Someone having multiple orgasms. I-In me." Lyssa had actually closed her eyes to say it, her knuckles white with the grip she had on her trekking pole. "Like sloppy, barebacking I guess? Breeding? I dunno. I've seen some stuff and I feel like I'd want to try it out, but I've never met anyone that I trusted like that u-until you of course and I really didn't want to get gangbanged so like it's really cool that you can do multiples, your stamina is insane-" 

She carried on rambling as what she said rang in his ears. Breeding. Drew was upright before he realized, stalking across their campsite with a certain, single-minded intent. "Lys." He said hoarsely, kneeling in between her legs. She kept her eyes closed, like she could ignore him somehow. Her face was all red and Drew wanted to laugh, to ease her worries and make light of this, but he couldn't find the ability. "I will do whatever you need me to, lovin'." He murmured. "If it's breedin' you want, it's breedin' you'll get."

Lyssa peeked at him. "What, seriously? J-Just like that? You don't think I'm fucked up for wanting something so weird?" Her faith in him was like warm sunlight after winter. 

"I wish ye'd told me sooner, truthfully." Drew admitted, "could have saved a bit of trouble for the both of us." He took her hand and kissed her knuckles. "How much preparin' do you want?"

"Pre...Preparing?" 

"Ye. Do y' want to eat? It'll be a long night. "

"I-I mean we already ate lunch--" 

"That we did." She was adorably flustered about this whole thing. "What will you say when you want me to stop, love?"

"I'll say...um, I'll say." Lyssa glanced around. "Tent?" She suggested.

"It has to be somethin' you'll remember. If you'll remember that an' use it, absolutely." Lyssa nodded jerkily and Drew exhaled hard, rising to stand once more. "Alright." He muttered, stripping off his shirt. "Up."

"Up?" Lyssa squeaked.

"Ye." Drew lifted her from the chair, her legs instinctively wrapping around his hips. The large man buried his face in her neck, littering the sensitive skin with kisses and chuckling as Lyssa squirmed in his arms. Her little gasps spurred him on and he fought with the drawstring of her shorts, settling for lacing his fingers at the small of her back to support her while she struggled to undo them herself. 

"Drew, you gotta' put me down-" Lyssa began. 

"This is takin' too long." Drew interrupted, itching to rip the shorts clean off. He sulkily dropped into a crouch, letting her stand so she could actually slide the shorts off and save them from the terrible fate he had planned. "Underwear too, come on."

"So impatient! Guess I should be happy I'm not the only weirdo around." Lyssa teased breathlessly, obliging him with the underwear.

"Bra. Unless you want it ripped."

"Don't you dare."

"I will. Get it gone, love."

Lyssa grumbled, "fine, but I'm leaving my shirt on. Last thing I need is someone coming across us totally naked."

Drew was relatively certain that he was sliding into an Old God headspace, his mind running wild with the idea of reveling naked in public like Dionysus. In the meantime, Lyssa put her hands on a nearby tree trunk and just looked back at him as if to ask what he was waiting for. Drew growled a little louder than he meant to, the telltale sheen of slick on her inner thighs more than enough to stir his blood. 

"I will fill you until I'm empty." The wild god assured softly, fingers dragging through her hair. "Until I am entirely spent. Over and over until your hunger is satisfied."

"You sure do make a lot of nice promises." She replied faintly, arching her back. 

"I'm going to breed you, love." He warned. 

"I certainly hope so?"

"Excellen'." Drew unzipped his jeans and freed his cock, loving the way she shivered. "To business. You remember what ye say if y' need me to stop?"

"Y-Yeah, yeah, tent." Lyssa nodded.

"Very good." Drew slid his cock along her entrance, the heat of her taking his breath away. She was already soaked, ready for him, and he permitted himself a momentary loss of self control. Drew kicked her legs a little further apart, roughly shoved his hands up underneath her shirt to cup her breasts, and then sheathed himself in one steady motion.

Lyssa panted out his name as he started to move, the wild god feeling her worship wash over him. It had never been like this before. There was always the catch, the desire to be granted something in exchange for their meager adoration. But here, now, in the sanctuary of the wilderness, Lyssa gave freely of herself to him out of sheer faith that he would be able to fulfill her.

It was intoxicating, heady and rich like his first breath of mountain air atop Sgùrr Alasdair. Drew inhaled sharply and proceeded with his task. He had promised to breed her, and so he would. 

"Lys," he murmured as he sank onto his haunches and took her with him, settling her into his lap more firmly. "I will need you as close to me as possible, love. Don't want to waste a drop."

Lyssa barely managed another nod as his hand wrapped around her throat to hold her steady, her own hands grasping hungrily at his still-clothed thighs. Drew rocked his hips up against her, jolting her entire body with every thrust. His other hand yanked her shirt up over her breasts, baring her to the world. He was enjoying this, he realized dimly, this salacious act stoking something long dead in him back to life. 

His first orgasm struck at the same moment as hers, Actaeon grinning fiercely at the way she arched and crooned to him. But he ached for more. She had asked to be bred and Drew would oblige.

"I want you to grind against me until I paint your insides again." Drew snarled, his shoulders taut. "We will sire demigods, lovely and terrible as the sun."

"You say such nice things it's not even fair-" Lyssa protested, making him laugh breathlessly. His release trickled down his shaft, further slicking her needy body. Lyssa's moaning rang in his ears and Drew bit down softly on her shoulder, laving the spot with his tongue afterwards. 

He would give her exactly what she had asked for. Until he was spent. Until he gave out. In the face of such freely-given worship, what else could he offer?

...

The dream bled in slowly, firelight the first thing she noticed...

"Lady Lyssa?" The voice of Sir Drew roused Lyssa from her musings and she looked up from the fire. The large knight was studying her, his curiosity bordering on impertinence. "Pardon me, Lady Lyssa, but yer hem is smoking."

Lyssa squeaked and frantically floundered back a pace from the small fire. Digging her fingers into the dirt beside her, she smudged out the lazily-smoldering lace on her skirt's hemline. "Thank you, Sir Drew." She sighed sadly, holding the now-ruined lace up to the light of the fire. "Just one more thing I've lost, I suppose."

Drew bowed. "I am n' longer a knight in your father's employ, m'lady. I have nae such title." His rich brogue washed over her, giving her the peculiar feeling of being warmed from the inside out. 

"You're leagues more of a knight than that scum my father was willing to sell me off to." Lyssa huffed in aggravation, hugging herself for warmth. "You're still Sir Drew to me."

"Your kindness is, as always, a beacon of light in dark times." 

"I'm not being kind, I'm being honest." She muttered. 

Drew fidgeted with the penannular brooch on his shoulder, sliding the ring to loose the needle and unwrap the thick folds of his tartan. In a few moments, the heavy woolen garment was draped over Lyssa like a shawl. "There's no need for you to be close 'noigh to the fire that y' hem is burnin'." He said gruffly, now clad more plainly in his armor alone. "I can't have you catchin' your death."

Lyssa buried her nose in the tartan, the durable fabric worn soft in patches from years of use. "Thank you, Sir Drew."

"I am sworn to keep y' safe to the best of my ability, Lady Lyssa." He puttered around the fire, snapping a few branches over his knee to feed the small blaze. "The chill from the moors can get into a man's bones. God-fearing country it might be, but I wager that there may be older gods roamin' these lands at night." Drew mused quietly, almost as if he was talking to himself.

Lyssa pursed her lips and clutched the tartan a little tighter. 

Drew seemed to notice her discomfort, turning to offer her a quick grin. "Afeared of the dark, m'lady?" 

"Not of the dark, but what's in it. And you saying unsettling things like that is hardly helping." 

"You've naught to worry about while I'm here, Lady Lyssa. I'm much more fearsome than whatever ye could think up." The knight assured her, his eyes unnaturally blue even in the golden light of the fire. 

Far off, a wild creature howled. Lyssa tried not to jump, she really did, but there was no hiding her flinch.

"It's just a wolf, Lady Lyssa. They'll stay away from the fire." Drew soothed, one large gauntlet hovering above her shoulder. She found herself wishing that just once, the knight would drop his polished veneer and hold her.

"I'm sorry, Sir Drew. It has been...these are trying times. I don't mean to be so fragile." Lyssa mumbled, shame catching her words in her throat.

"It is nae easy feat t' leave hearth and home behind. There is no need t' apologize." Drew assured her. "I only hope we can get y' safely t' the coast."

"I have no doubt of that with you at my side, Sir Drew." 

"I must confess, I am a bit concerned about what y' father and betrothed will do to me once yer safely away, m'lady." Drew placed his hand over his heart. "But my own fears are naught in the face of yer peril, and so they will be laid to rest in as timely a manner as I can manage when yer safe." 

"Drew, do not say such terrible things!" Lyssa protested. "As if you would not be accompanying me!"

"Yer father took me in when I was but a lost stripling wanderin' the moors, Lady Lyssa. He gave me a purpose, a goal. I cannae easily forget that." Drew murmured. "Not even for you."

Dismay gripped Lyssa's throat like an iron claw. "Surely after all these years of faithful service, you've earned a moment of selfishness?" She felt at that moment as if she would have made a deal with the Devil himself to keep her devoted knight by her side.

"Aye, true enough that might be." The blue-eyed man allowed, a rueful smile touching his mouth. "But one often leads to another, as the sayin' goes. I'm loathe t' leave ye all the same."

"Is what I want not part of your plans either, Drew?"

"Lady-"

"It's bad enough to be treated as if I am being unreasonable for not wishing to be auctioned off with the summer home as an attractive virginal decor piece, but to have you spouting such ridiculous platitudes is-!" Lyssa sputtered furiously, her words failing her in her rage. Drew merely sat there in silence while she stomped her feet. "It's outrageous to assume that I could get far on my own. I've barely ventured off the estate since my father acquired his lairdship."

"Are y' sayin' ye would go willingly to that mon, trot yerself off t' market?" Drew challenged, "If I wasnae here, ye'd lay down for some elderly laird to further yer sire's plans?"

"Never." Lyssa barely suppressed a horrified shudder at the notion of sharing her wedding bed with the repulsive man her father had chosen for her. Drew's blunt, honest way of speaking had her all flushed in the face. "I don't know what I would have done. Perhaps I would have died." 

An ugly oath left Drew's lips at her flippant words, the large man muttering an apology for his rough language. "'Fraid I'm showin' my hand a bit, Lady Lyssa. Y' shouldnae say such turrible things." 

"Would you miss me, Sir Drew?" She teased, the laughter leaving her tone when she saw the way he was looking at her. 

"Like the moon misses the moors, Lady Lyssa." Drew had never been one to use flowery terms, so this unexpected foray into almost poetic territory left her a bit breathless. 

Lyssa clutched the tartan, his tartan, even closer. "It is rude to jest so, Sir Drew."

"I am not a jesting mon, Lady Lyssa." Drew's eyes had softened. Normally they were sharp and calculating; the knight took his duties very seriously and it was rare to see him at ease. Not that he was particularly lax at this moment. His sword was still belted to his hip, though he had left his claymore on the ground beside the fire.

"I know. I am grateful for that, Sir Drew." 

He leaned in closer, improperly close, and yet she felt no need to scold him. He often wore his long brown hair braided while he rode to keep it from impeding his vision, but a few enchanting strands had managed to work themselves free during their hurried flight from her father's estate. They gave him an air of dangerous sensuality, the unfamiliar sight of him even slightly unkempt enough to send Lyssa's imagination running wild. 

"I would miss you more than I can articulate." Drew sounded sincere, his voice dipping slightly. "The idea of...the idea of you sufferin' under someone y' do not love and didnae even choose, it is." He paused, obviously searching for the right word. "Intolerable." His burr rolled the word thick, sending an indulgent shiver down Lyssa's spine. "I am naught but a lowly mon who's broken his vows of service t' yer household, Lady Lyssa. But I swear on my life that you shall be free as a bird from this," He gestured vaguely, "nightmare y' been trapped in."

Lyssa rested against his shoulder, the firm press of his armor cool on her burning cheek. "Sir Drew, you are no longer in service to my father. You agree, yes?"

"Aye. Much as it pains me, I've betrayed my master." Drew sighed. 

"And I am fleeing from my title, my lands, everything I once held dear, yes?" Lyssa's grip on the plaid whitened her knuckles. Drew's reply was a slow nod, the knight's brow furrowed in confusion. "I would very much like to do something then. As one soul to another, without the concerns of titles or birthrights getting in the way." Quickly, Lyssa leaned upwards and pressed her lips to his slack mouth. 

Drew started, grabbing her arm to prevent her from retreating after her unwisely bold choice. Lyssa was certain her cheeks were even rosier than before, squirming under the intensity of the look he was giving her. "Y' can flee from yer title an' lands, but I willnae let ye flee from me." Drew murmured finally, cupping her face. "Why would ye torment me so, Lady Lyssa?"

"Just Lyssa, my dear Drew." Lyssa took a deep breath, "I can think of no other way to convince you to stay with me. I have no dowry now, no land, no-" Drew kissed her roughly, the fondness in his expression when he pulled back catching Lyssa even more off guard than the kiss. "Drew, I…" She swallowed hard, nerves twisting her words into a tight little ball. 

"The kiss wasnae t' yer likin'?"

"No! No no, the kiss was perfect. I'm all out of sorts." Lyssa confessed, "I had not realized that you, er, reciprocated my feelings. That should make what I'm about to ask of you a little simpler, but…oh dear, I had not thought out how I would do this."

"I will do my best t' aid ye however y' need, my lovely Lyssa." Drew replied firmly.

"I'm certain you will, and from what I've heard this is not a particularly unpleasant task. F-For someone like you, anyway!" Lyssa felt like she was drowning. "Drew, I would implore you to grant me this one request. I will never ask for another thing as long as I live."

"Speak your mind, Lyssa. Whatever this request is, I'm certain I can fulfill it." 

"I need you to deflower me." Lyssa blurted out in a rush, then buried her burning face in the tartan spread across her lap. "If that...issue is removed, I'll be of no real use to my father and he may let us continue in peace." She soldiered on, her words muffled by the fabric. 

Drew made a sound in his throat that was distinctly foreign. "I...dinnae think I heard ye right. Did you say-"

"Oh, don't make me say it again!" Lyssa begged, thoroughly humiliated. "This is all so embarrassing, Drew, please-" 

The tartan was tugged from her unwilling grasp, Drew's heavy gauntlets somehow deft enough to fold the sturdy fabric. "Many's the night I thought of such things, Lys. 'Tis nae shame in it." He assured her, a teasing smile on his mouth. 

"Maybe not for you." Lyssa retorted. One of the aforementioned heavy gauntlets tucked beneath her chin, tugging her eyes up to meet his own. 

"I am deadly serious, Lyssa."

"Yes, well, so am I." The young woman huffed, feeling thoroughly foolish and exposed without the warm drape of his plaid to shield her. 

"I hate that y' come to me with this request out of necessity. I had hoped…" Drew trailed off, shaking his head. "I suppose it doesnae matter now. I will serve ye in this manner as well, my love."

"Love? Drew, this i-is a matter of...you don't have to--I assure you I don't need to be coddled-"

"Hush, Lys. I want to." He murmured. 

His enthusiasm was evident in the way that he swept her up into his arms and carried her to their humble shelter, in the way that he didn't seem able to stop kissing her. The large man appeared to get himself out of his armor by swearing alone, his mumbled apologies doing wonders for Lyssa's nerves as he fought with the various buckles and latches. 

She couldn't help but get caught up in it all, hungry for the new sensations he graced her with after he abandoned removing his greaves in favor of other activities. Drew was, of course, miles more experienced than her, his rough touch equal parts soothing and maddening.

Lyssa had been warned about the pain by well-meaning housemaids, unable to keep from cringing when Drew finally settled in between her legs. "I...Drew, please just…" She struggled to get the words out, making him pause.

"Shall I stop, Lys?"

"No, no. I have to do it. I just know it will hurt." 

"You could lie to yer father, if ye are truly afeared of this. I willnae do anythin' without y' wishes." Drew assured her, smoothing her hair away from her face. "I won't tell a soul about what has already happened."

"We must do it." She insisted, frowning fiercely. Her hands clenched into fists on the sheepskin beneath her. "I am prepared, Sir Drew."

"I would give my damned life to have our first time together be out of newlywed affection, Lys. It wounds me than I cannae give y' any better than this." Drew sounded distraught about the whole thing, and that was enough to get Lyssa's undivided attention. 

"You...want to marry me?" She asked softly.

"Christ woman, I don't know how much more plain I can be." Drew shook his head, smiling sadly. "I would marry ye in a heartbeat. Tis' bittersweet, this act, stealin' away what I would have wanted y' to give to me willingly."

Lyssa sought a kiss which Drew gladly delivered, the young woman whimpering into his mouth. "I will be brave for you, Sir Drew." She gasped, wrapping her arms around his neck. "I leave myself in your care."

Drew returned her embrace, sliding one hand beneath her body to cradle her against his chest. Lyssa felt him prodding at her entrance and she turned her head away, too scared to watch. He was patient though, gently coaxing her to ease into the motion of it so that when he did finally breach her, it was as if he was coming home. "Gods, Lyssa." He choked, shifting his hips to settle himself. 

Lyssa felt hot all over her body, the pain melting into pleasure that seared her core and left her panting for breath. She was wet enough that her slick ran down her thighs, coating Drew's groin with her arousal. The knight groaned. "Is it alright?" Lyssa asked shyly, her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck. In reply, Drew exhaled an oath and she felt him tense.

"Perfection, Lys. You are Gods-given perfection." He said hoarsely.

The distant sound of an approaching horse was what roused the two from their post-coital drowse. Lyssa was unsure if she had truly been sleeping, or simply lazing beside the large man. The contentment leaked away, leaving her cold and wishing wistfully for more time. 

She rolled onto her stomach, stretching. Drew kissed her forehead and then draped his tartan around himself, securing it with his brooch at the shoulder. He had never actually removed his greaves; they rattled slightly when he stood. "Stay here, my love." His smile was tight.

The instant he left the tent Lyssa was hurrying to redress herself. A terrible feeling came over her, almost as if she was having a premonition. Fear and despair waged war in her heart while the galloping hoofbeats grew ever closer. 

"Ho there, Drew of McIntyre!" 

Lyssa squeezed her eyes shut in dismay. That voice belonged to the son of the laird she had been promised to. The flaxen-haired man was not an overly intelligent individual, as made abundantly evident by his lonely arrival. 

"Greetings to ye, Dolph." Lyssa was immensely jealous of how calm Drew sounded; why had she not insisted that he gird himself properly in all of his armor? "What brings ye to my humble hamlet?"

"You can drop the act, you shameless Scot." Dolph announced pompously. "The very notion that you thought you could get away with this-"

"I'm afraid I've no idea what yer on about, Dolph." 

"My father's betrothed! The audacity of you, stealing the poor girl away in the night like you're a damned highwayman." Lyssa lifted up the rear of the tent and slunk out, risking a peek around the corner. Dolph had dismounted to thump a finger into the center of Drew's broad chest, the blond looking disheveled and annoyed. "You must return her at once, or I'll-"

"Aye? You'll what." Drew growled. 

Dolph squinted suspiciously up at the taller man. "Drew, I see no reason for you to be so heinously uncooperative. Unless…" The blond trailed off. "Oh. Oh ho, McIntyre! It's to be like that, is it?!" He yelled, his hand flying to the guard of his rapier. "Your crimes will be punished tenfold, baseborn, if you do not produce Lady Lyssa!"

"Ye would attack an unarmed mon, Dolph? I knew ye were a coward, but this is a bit too rich for me." 

"Pick up your blade then, you cur!"

Lyssa inched backwards to the small copse of birch trees where their horses had been secured, her hands shaking nearly too hard to untie her mount. The gentle mare nudged her sleepily, nosing at her dress' pockets for a treat. Lyssa pressed her forehead to the animal's side, inhaling deeply in an attempt to calm her frantic heartbeat. It will be fine.

The ringing of steel on steel and a scream of outrage from Dolph shattered her attempt, the young woman wheeling to face the campsite. 

Drew and Dolph were trading blows beside the fire, their swords gleaming in the hellish light. "Drew!" Lyssa cried before she could think better of it, covering her mouth a second too late. 

The larger man glanced towards her, distracted, and Dolph seized the opening. The blade of his sword pierced the unarmored man's chest and stabbed deep. The two men froze, Drew staring at Lyssa and Dolph staring at his sword as though he couldn't believe what he had just done. 

"I…" Dolph began warily, jerking his rapier free and taking a step back. The blade was brilliantly red. Drew collapsed to his knees, dropping his own sword to press the folds of his now-ruined plaid against the mortal wound. Dolph's face hardened and he readied his blade once more.

Lyssa bolted forward at the blond man, not entirely certain what she was about to do. She had no weapons of her own. All she had was her body. "No!" She screamed, flinging herself between Dolph's sword and Drew's hunched form.

The pain was real, tangible, no dream. It stole the very breath from her chest. Yet she clung to Drew even as Dolph's blade slid home between her ribs.

"Lady Lyssa…" Drew whispered, a shaking hand coming up to tenderly cup her face and wipe away her tears. "Dinnae fret, my love. We will meet again." His other hand grasped in the disturbed dirt around the dying campfire, landing on the pommel of his faithful claymore. "I swear it."

He gripped her tightly and with a roar of exertion, he swung the large blade one-handed. All Lyssa could recall was his eyes, fearsome and brilliant in the dark of death that enveloped her. 

God-fearing country it might be, but I wager that there may be older gods roaming these lands at night...

…

Lyssa jerked awake, uncertain of her surroundings. For one terrifying moment her dream seemed like reality, the tent overhead the tent that she and her knight had-

"Drew?" She called, fumbling out of her sleeping bag. "Drew?" He wasn't in the tent beside her. Lyssa rushed to pull on her socks and boots, half-frantic now. 

She poked her head out of the tent, squinting in the pastel blue light of dawn. The forest was lively around the tent, birds having their morning chatter. Drew's boots were missing from the shelter, as well as his towel and grooming kit. Perhaps…

Lyssa struggled upright, flushing a little at how difficult it was to just move. Delicious memories warmed her from the inside out, stirring her blood. She felt almost guilty, giddy and still panicky at Drew's absence. 

It turned out she hadn't needed to worry. Drew was perched on a smooth rock beside the river, tiny travel mirror in one hand while he carefully shaved. A small turtle had taken up residence on the rock as well, basking comfortably in the first warm rays of sunlight. 

"...and I said that of course, of course I'm goin' to have an issue with him litterin', it draws the bears in. And do ye know what that fuck said t' me?" Drew paused, like he was waiting for a response. "Nae, he said 'why should I care, I'm here for a day hike and bears only come out at night'. Truly, the mon wanted to die." The large man sighed, another sure stroke of the razor ridding his neck of stubble. "So then-" 

"You two enjoying your conversation?" Lyssa teased, deja vu striking her hard when Drew turned to give her a quick smile. It was as if she had done this all before, but how could that even be possible?

"Ah, I see I'll have to work harder next time. Ye can still walk!" Drew jibed, making her blush hard.

"I had the weirdest dream, then I woke up and you weren't there."

"Oh? Do tell, love. I'm not quite done here anyway."

Lyssa settled onto the riverbank alongside the rock, pulling off her boots and dipping her feet into the chilly water. She didn't speak for several minutes, just listening to the river and the quiet scrape of Drew's razor on his throat. "I dreamed that we were in Scotland."

The razor noise stopped abruptly. 

"Old Scotland, though, not like modern day. You were a knight and I was some sort of nobility. I guess...I think I'd been promised to an older guy? Like an older guy wanted to marry me and you were helping me run away because I didn't want to marry him." Lyssa hugged herself, pointedly staring down at the water in an attempt to avoid the look she was sure Drew was giving her. "It was so real, less like a dream and more like a memory. I could feel it, how scared and uncertain I was, as though I had really gone through that experience."

"You dreamed of Scotland?" Drew's chuckle sounded strange, forced. "Dinnae realize I had that effect on folk."

"I don't think I've ever even seen a picture of Scotland, but somehow I know that's where it was. I'd bet on it, I'm that sure." Lyssa insisted, still staring at the water.

The large man cleared his throat after a minute and moved to splash some water onto his face. Lyssa noticed that he had nicked himself while shaving, the blood blotting his neck. Drew didn't seem particularly concerned about it though, scrubbing roughly at his face to rid himself of any leftover residue. "In your dream, was I still Drew?" The question was posed casually, like he was asking whether she had seen his keys or phone.

Lyssa smiled, feeling oddly wistful. "You were, one hundred percent."

Drew's shoulders relaxed slightly, the planes of his back becoming less pronounced. "Good."

…

McIntyre.

Lyssa's heart sank at the list of pages that came up just by searching that one name. Motto Per Ardua, dominion over Glencoe, Hebrides, a clan that kept to itself for a majority of history...maybe she would have better luck researching their tartan. Something to confirm her suspicions.

However, the very first image had her staring wide-eyed at the screen. There it was, plain as day, a background of forest green and navy shot through with bands of red and white. She remembered the rough and worn patches of it, the way the white bands were more prone to snags than the red. How could she have known that was their plaid?

She reached for her phone, but then paused. Drew had been strangely standoffish since they had returned from their camping trip, still eager to engage sexually but not so much in conversation. If anything, it was almost as if he was sexually frustrated. Lyssa felt weird about the whole scenario, flattered by the attention but unable to forget that incredibly realistic dream…

Speak of the devil, her phone vibrated. 

-I know this is tactless of me, but there's rumors of a spot opening up at HHH. Still looking to jump ship from your current endeavor?

Lyssa laughed aloud, picking up her phone and typing out a reply.

-Gods you're mean. I miss you too.

-im serious Lys.

She raised an eyebrow at the missed capitalization. Normally Drew was fastidious about his texting. 

-I think you'd do well in this position. When can I see you again?

-Why? Is it because you liiiiiiiiike me? Do you miiiiiiiiss me?

-I thought THAT was fucking obvious.

…

"Dolph!" Drew roared, his hands around the reveler's neck before he had finished saying his name.

Dolph squawked, eyes bulging slightly. "What?! What did I do?"

"You killed her, that's what you did!" Drew snarled. "Ye miserable, low-lyin' scum!" His blood was boiling, brogue tar-thick in his mouth. He was certain he must sound like a raving lunatic.

"Drew, please." Alicia said quietly, touching his shoulder. "I didn't explain things so you could fly off the handle-"

"Trust me, love, this ent flyin' off the handle." The large man seethed, "you prick. You prick!" 

"I'm still very confused-" Dionysus managed to say.

"Actaeon, he wouldn't remember either. Both of you had been tossed for some crap you pulled. You were just acting out your mortal roles, it's no one's fault."

"He's about to shuffle me off the mortal coil-!" The blond squeaked, thrashing in Drew's iron grasp. "Aphrodite do something!"

"What the hell are you idiots doing?" Hunter asked incredulously as he emerged from his office. "Can you two stop fucking with each other for five minutes?" 

"I am about to make an opening in this company's ranks. We could use a new social media director." Drew replied curtly, as though he wasn't choking the current social media director to death.

"Not like that, you're not!" Hades snapped. "We have interviews, paperwork. That kind of shit. We play by their rules, Wild God, otherwise we get pantheon gaps and that crap ends well for no one."

"I resign--!" Dolph gasped, waving his hands in the air. 

At those words, Drew slacked his hold slightly. "Swear it on yer soul." He demanded. 

"Yes, absolutely, whatever you want." The blond wheezed. "I'll fill out the forms Hunter, I don't care, just get me the hell away from him!"

Hades sighed, rubbing his temples. "Dare I ask who you have in mind for the position, Actaeon?"

Drew's grin in reply was slow to come, his dimples displayed prominently for a brief moment. "Oh, ne'er ye worry. You'll meet her soon enough."

…

“You've got some explaining to do, McIntyre.” Lyssa said firmly, her hands on her hips. Her cat undermined her authority thoroughly by winding around Drew's ankles, purring loudly. “Why am I having Renaissance faire dreams, accurate ones?” Your family plaid, the moors... She bit her tongue and waited impatiently for his answer.

“Would that I could explain, Lys.” Drew looked pained, “I doubt that ye would even accept the explanation if I gave it.”

“If I'm going to be working at the same company as you-”

“Ah, ye. See, I'm not the only one there with a little...oddness about them, love. I'd warn ye not to pry, but I know that's a damn lost cause.” Drew rested his hands on her shoulders, blue eyes searching her own. “All I ask is that ye are careful. Old...older...er, people work with us.”

“Just like the old gods that wandered the moors at night?” Lyssa challenged. Drew closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in an exasperated gesture. “How long are you planning on lying to me, McIntyre?”

“Christ woman, I'm not lookin' to get ye killed again!” Drew snapped, then swore under his breath. “Look.” He finally said fiercely, “You died in my arms once. You gave me everythin' you had, down to lettin' me thieve yer fuckin' innocence away on a filthy sheepskin. I was supposed to keep you safe. Instead, we bled out together, 'twined in plaid and cinders.” Drew pressed his forehead to hers. “I can't do that again. Please...don't make me.” He begged, his voice cracking.

Lyssa sighed, folding her arms but not pulling away. “Am I going to regret taking this position, Drew?” When he hesitated, she puffed out a breath. “Okay, fine. At least answer this: are you planning on telling me what's going on?”

“Gods, Lys, you have no idea how much I want to.”

She patted his elbow, then pulled away. “Great! I'll make us some tea and start to fill out that transfer paperwork. In the meantime, you can get started with that explanation you owe me.”

“Now wait a minute,” Drew began to protest, catching her hand before she left the living room. “Lys, ye know I cannae-”

Lyssa tapped his nose, barely stifling her laugh at how his eyes crossed momentarily to track her finger. “You can, and more importantly, you will.” She gave him a peck on his slack mouth and then slipped free of his hold to head for the kitchen. “Love you!” She sang.

...

After she left the room, Drew touched his lips, the dark-haired man still a little bewildered at the abrupt turn the day's events had taken. “I...I love ye too, Lys.” He said softly, probably too softly for her to hear.

It was better that way. Less complicated. Yet as she pored over the forms he had brought and attempted to pry scraps of information from him, Drew couldn't help but feel at peace. Brittle, fragile, intoxicating in its novelty, her trust in him stole his breath and her questions kept coming.

He would tell her the truth in its entirety someday. For now, however, he would let her spin whatever wild ideas she wished. It was better that way, after all. Mortals were so short-lived, and it was better to take his happiness where he could find it.

[marmolady]

Growing Pains: Part Two

PART ONE    PART THREE

Main Pairings: Estela x MC/Taylor (f)

Summary: Post-ending. For Liv and her mothers, Taylor and Estela, a turbulent period of transition is afoot. Set primarily in the distant future of 2033.

This was only going to be a two-parter, but this installment got so long-winded I split it. So, you can look forward to Part Three soon-- and art for the second and third parts as well. 

Word Count: 5636

WARNINGS: Mentions of transphobia.

More Liv fics here: Livita, Teething Problems,  Milestones and Memories, Mutual Comfort,  All That Matters

Reviews and reblogs are hugely appreciated!

Tagging: @brightpinkpeppercorn, @mrsmontoya, @saivilo, @edgydepressedchoicesthot, @sceptilemasterr, @quinnkellys-wife, @greengroove​

San Trobida, 2006

The scratch of her pen on the notebook was not enough to keep the voices in the room next from reaching Estela’s ears, even muffled as they were. She’d pause to concentrate; math wasn’t her strong point, it tended to require a lot of hard thinking, and she’d catch a few more snippets of conversations she knew very well she had no business hearing. Whether she was supposed to or not, she always kept an ear out for her tio’s voice, or his name being mentioned. How could anyone expect her not to? Of course she’d want a heads up if something was planned that would take him away for days at a time. Sometimes the people who left on these missions didn’t come back. Tio Nicolas had a very important job to do, and it made Estela proud, but she was forever holding her breath, waiting to hear whether her uncle would be on the front lines or safe at home. All strategy talk soared straight over her head, but she knew what it meant when Nicolas was called to action.

Then came the voice that Estela had been waiting to hear. Immediately, she scrambled to put her things together, ready, so ready to go home.

The door creaked open, and her mother was standing there.

“Estelita, I’m so sorry I’m late,” she said, a little breathless, as though she’d been rushing to get to the secret house. There was no doubt in Estela’s mind that she had been. “I had some important things to sort out with my manager. No doubt it will be worth it, but I hate leaving you here.”

Estela jumped up, already set to go, and gave Olivia a one-armed hug. “That’s okay. I managed to get most of it finished without help.”

With a sigh, Olivia kissed her daughter’s head. “We’ll finish it off together tomorrow, I promise. But for now, I think we could both do with just putting our feet up. Come on. Let’s get you out of here.”

Having slipped through the hallway quietly enough to not disturb anything important, the pair drove off into the night. It had to be getting on for nine by now. Dinner had been a slapped-together rush, as it always was when Nicolas had to go out in the evenings. Estela knew her mother would’ve taken a break for something to eat at work, but probably when they got home, they’d share some cocadas and hot chocolate. As per tradition. Estela noted the clear agitation in her mother’s demeanour; it seemed that Olivia could really use cocadas and hot chocolate tonight.

“Are you okay, Mami?”

Olivia grimaced. “I really don’t like you being at those meetings. I know you’re in a separate room, but a kid your age shouldn’t be exposed to-- it’s just not right. The fact that I let it happen at all, I-- I’m sorry, mija.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I’m fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough. You deserve better than that.” Olivia looked to her daughter with the fondest of smiles, though guilt shadowed her features. “It took a bit of negotiation, but I’m changing around my shifts at work. I’ll be going in for five--”

“In the morning?”

“It won’t be for a few weeks yet, unfortunately. But this will work better for all of us. I’ll be finishing when I’d usually be having lunch, leaving my afternoon free to do your lessons. Early mornings mean nothing to me if I get to be with you.”

Then Estela was smiling back. “It’s gonna be like every day is half a Mom day off. I’ve missed hanging out with you; it gets kinda lonely.” It wasn’t Tio Nicolas’ fault. The work he had to do was important; it would change San Trobida forever. Spending quality time with the tag-along ten-year-old couldn’t be a priority.

“I know. And I’ve really missed you too. I feel as though you’re growing so much, and it’s passing me by. Now, we’re going to be a team. Together, you and me are gonna kick elementary school in its ass.”

Estela burst out giggling. Unlike Nicolas, her mother only brought out the unsavoury language on special occasions. So… she was stressed but… feeling optimistic? That things were going to get better?

“I think Tio taught me some moves for that.”

Olivia rolled her eyes with an affectionate scoff. “I’ll bet he has.”

______________________

USA, 2033

Estela lay in bed with her eyes closed, though expectation of getting back to sleep had long since passed. There was little point anyway, Liv would be up at the crack of dawn, as she always was before the reunion trip. For the time being, there was nothing to distract Estela from her thoughts, just the gentle sound of Taylor breathing beside her.

Drowning in thought seemed to just be Estela’s state of existence these days. Liv needed her to come through, to magic up way to ease her through the turbulent period of preadolescence. It had been a heavy burden on Taylor as well, and it was all Estela could do to try and relieve it-- it certainly seemed to her as though Taylor could well be suffering from post-partum depression, and what she didn’t need was any guilt. In the end, Liv had handled the baby Michael situation like a champ; she’d given him a cuddle on his first day in the world, but then was happy to return to something close to normal. In her own loneliness, she’d been the snuggly little rock that Taylor had so needed. Estela had done her best, of course, but it was hard to shake the feeling that she just couldn’t do enough for either of them.

That was going to change. That year, when they went to their reunion on La Huerta, they wouldn’t be coming back. Between herself and Taylor, there had been so much back and forth about how best to get Liv through the next couple of years to high school, but in the end, they’d kept coming back to home-schooling. Liv needed a break from the social stresses of being shut up with dozens of pre-teen kids all day. Taylor needed to reconnect with herself as a mother. And she, Estela, wanted to hang onto her little girl, to hold her tight and make the most of what should be the best years of their lives; after all, you could never know just how precious those years would become.

Taylor rolled over with a muffled groan, her face registering surprise as Estela’s eyes flickered open.

“Hey,” she said. “Given up on getting back to sleep?”

From the sound of Taylor’s voice, she too had been wide awake and lying there in silent thought for some time herself.

“Mmm… the same as you, I’m guessing.” Estela reached and stroked a stray hair from Taylor’s face. “How are you feeling?”

“I… well, tired.” Taylor chuckled darkly. “You know, the usual. But, on top of that… my stomach’s so full of butterflies I could throw up.” She leaned her face into Estela’s touch, seeking comfort, reassurance. It was a subtle movement, tiny, but there was no doubt that it had been read and understood, for in seconds, Taylor had been swept into a close and warm embrace. She squeezed back, hanging on as if for dear life.

“It’s weird…,” she choked out. “I never thought I’d feel like this before a reunion. I’m almost dreading it. Part of me just wants to see everyone-- but I’m terrified of what I’ll feel when I see Michael again.”

Estela pulled away just enough that she could press a kiss to Taylor’s forehead. “I’ve got you,” she whispered. What more did she even have to offer? She couldn’t make this easier. In the weeks since the birth, they’d kept their distance. Taylor hadn’t been up to anything more than the briefest of visits prior to Jake and Sean returning home with the baby. The step about to be taken was huge. This was a full week of close proximity, with emotions running wild all over the place. She kissed Taylor again, and again. “I’ve got you.”

“It’s just been so hard. I feel like I’ve just about clawed myself out of the slump, but what if I take one look at him and I crash all over again? I can’t run away from this-- I know that will only make it worse in my head.”

“The option is always there, okay? If we get to the airport and you can’t do it, taking care of yourself first isn’t running away.” At the look of protest she received, Estela added, “I know, I know that right now, we’re going with ‘plan A’. You’re going to get through this, mi amor. From the moment you step onto that plane, you’re gonna have the world’s best support network right there. So, whatever this brings up for you, whatever it is you need to feel, you can feel it and know we’re on your side.”

Taylor heaved a sigh. “This will be good for me. Of all the things I’ve had to face… this shouldn’t be so scary.”

“Well, we’re out of practice. Tell me the last time you had to face down a heavily armoured pack of mercenaries? Or a sea monster with control over the weather?”

The sigh became a snort of laughter. “True. It’s no damn wonder we’re going soft. I’m pretty sure the scariest thing I’ve had to deal with in the past ten years was that time I thought Liv had come home from school with headlice.”

Estela gave an exaggerated shudder. “Joder. Even the thought….”

Taylor giggled into her wife’s shoulder, and relaxed there, letting the tension flow from her body. “I love you,” she breathed.

“I love you too.”

For a little while, they held one another, then all too soon came the tell-tale thumping of kid footsteps.

“I swear she gets earlier every year,” Estela chuckled against Taylor’s temple. “When is she gonna turn into a teenager that we have to drag out of bed with a mechanical crane?”

“Ugh, I know.” Taylor couldn’t help but smile. Recently, she wasn’t sure how she’d have dragged herself out of bed each day if it hadn’t been for Liv. She sat up. “Okay. Let’s do this.”

____________________

Liv bounced her way down through to the departure lounge at Northbridge airport, leading her three cousins in a merry dance.

“Can you see them?” Immy cried out. Four-and-a-half, she was the slightly younger of Aleister and Grace’s twin girls.

“Immy, inside voice, please,” Grace urged, following behind the excitable children with a trolley.

Attempts at calming the horde were all for naught when they turned the corner to find Zahra and Craig waiting for them, their flight having come in some hours before.

“Eh, look who it is… all the l’il brats.”

“Chyeah, it is!”

Craig hoisted Liv into the air as she squealed.

“We were trying to keep them all calm, what with this being a public airport and all, so thanks for that.”

“Sorry, Mom,” Liv laughed. “I’ll save most of my jumping up and down and yelling for when we get there.”

“For the pool party!” Craig hissed under his breath.

Zahra was scowling. A friendly scowl, her friends knew by now, but a scowl nonetheless. “Have I ever told you people how stupid it is that we all drag our asses back to Northbridge each year rather than just fly to Costa Rica from wherever the hell we are? No?”

Taylor pulled Zahra into a crushing embrace. “It’s tradition! Just like my great, big Reunion Zahra Hug! One of only, what?-- three-- scheduled Zahra Hugs I get each year!”

When she managed to extricate herself from Taylor’s embrace, an then another one from Liv, Zahra’s attention was caught by young Immy, who appeared to be twisting herself up like a pretzel next to the walkway out to the Jake’s plane.

“Uh, you all right there, pipsqueak?” Zahra asked, just about managing not to smirk at the exaggerated runner’s stance the small girl had taken up.

“I’m getting on the plane first,” Immy proclaimed. “That baby’s gonna be up the front, so I won’t be. And Reggie says you’re more likely to survive a crash up the back. I’m not dumb!”

“Ha. No, you are not. Saving seats up the back for your parents, or can we join you? Between you and me, the pilot’s a walking disaster.”

“Hmm.” Immy stood up straight and looked Zahra and Craig over. “If you’re smart enough to come to the no-baby, no-dying seats, you can sit with me. Mommy and Daddy know about natural selection; they’ll understand.”

Craig’s mouth fell open. “Ice cold.”

Zahra sniggered appreciatively. “Craig,” she said, as Immy returned to doing stretches beside the walkway. “If anything happens to Aleister and Grace, we’re keeping this one. Kid’s going places.”

A short distance away, Taylor was oblivious to any jostling for positions on Jake’s supposed ‘death-trap’. Sean had come around the corner, grinning broadly and pushing a small pram. The world seemed to slow. Taylor knew Jake was calling out a greeting, but she couldn’t make out a word.

Sean approached, and greeted Taylor with warmth enough that it roused her from her anxious stupor. “Taylor, hi. It’s so good to see you again-- come here!”

She’d needed that hug. She buried her face in Sean’s chest and exhaled. It’s okay. It’s okay. “It’s so good to see you too.”

“Aaand, here’s L’il Captain Cranky.” Jake the pram closer. “Looks like you caught him in a good mood. Must be a special occasion.”

Taylor felt her heart skip a beat. Her mouth was suddenly dry. There he was. Tucked up in the pram, swaddled into a cozy bundle… fuzzy hair surrounding his calm face. She felt Estela’s hand on her shoulder, a quiet gesture of support. But maybe… maybe she was okay?

“Hey there, little man!” she purred, reaching to stroke a chubby cheek. “I can’t believe how much he’s grown already. Nice work, Top Gun.”

“Aw, shucks. I do my best. Haven’t got him flying a plane yet, but we’ve got time. You wanna hold, Princess?”

“If I won’t disturb him?”

“Nah, course not. If anything, it’ll get him more settled before the plane. Believe me, y’all are gonna want to pray this good mood lasts.”

“Hello….” Taylor’s voice shook with emotion. For so long, she’d feared this moment. Having that little baby in her arms for the first time since leaving the hospital. The distance had been for everyone’s benefit; certainly she wasn’t emotionally ready for a good while after the birth. This was okay, though. This was just her being cuddly Auntie Taylor. She was looking at that baby and was just damn proud that she’d been able to give her friends such a precious gift. When she looked at at Michael’s fathers, she was grinning from ear to ear. They were so happy. “Guys, he’s just… amazing. And I can’t wait to see his two daddies in action.”

“What, you’re flying all the way to La Huerta just to watch the competitive diaper changing?”

“Can I give him a pat?” Liv piped up, peering over her mother’s arms at Michael.

“He’s not a dog, weirdo,” Reggie teased.

Liv brushed off her cousin’s remark, and gently stroked the baby’s leg. Since he’d gone off to live with Jake and Sean, her insecurities had faded dramatically. Looking at Michael gave her warm, fuzzy feelings, but she was sure this wasn’t what having a sibling felt like. This was just another cousin, albeit an extra special one, having been a visitor for so long.

Sean watched quietly, his eyes full of affection. This would be one reunion trip that he’d never forget.

“Liv, if you like, you can have a cuddle with him on your lap when we’re on the plane.”

“Ooh! Yes, please!”

Then, Michelle and Quinn made an appearance, with six-year-old Isla and two-year-old Conor in tow. And of course, they made a beeline straight for the growing crowd around baby Michael.

“Hey, Meech! Meech!” Craig called out.

“You’ll be lucky,” Zahra scoffed. “We all know these people are suckers for babies….”

________________________

La Huerta, 2023

Her arm wrapped around the little bundle on her chest, and Estela’s arm wrapped around her shoulder, Taylor walked proudly out to the central rotunda in Catalyst Village, where the group had gathered for brunch-- not breakfast, for some of the number had desperately needed a sleep-in after the night before.

It was not a new thing for Taylor and Estela to join their fellow Catalysts-- their family-- for reunion festivities, but this was something different. What they were sharing now was themselves at a most monumental turning point, vulnerable as they tumbled into some wonderful unknown. Holding onto her baby daughter and stepping out into the sun, Taylor couldn’t feel any trepidation for what lay ahead, she was simply ecstatic.

There was a cacophony of gasps and coos, oohs and aahs as they approached, all eyes going straight for the tiny person Taylor was holding.

“Hey,” she said, unable to repress the grin that was fast spreading across her face. “Do you think we might have room for a new member of the gang?”

Estela was beaming, alight with elation and love. “Everyone who hasn’t met her yet, this is Liv. Olivia Andromeda Montoya. Our little girl.”

Quinn clapped her hands to her mouth. “Oh, you guys! She’s divine! Oh my god….”

Taylor walked over to Grace, who had little Reginald perched upon her hip.

“Would Reggie like to say hi?”

“I think Reggie would love to,” Grace said softly, smiling at her young son’s wide-eyed expression. He certainly didn’t meet many babies living on La Huerta. “Look, honey! Who’s Auntie Taylor got? Who’s this?”

“Buh-buh-buh?” Reggie reached out a chubby hand and patted the blanket.

“See, Reggie?” Grace cooed. “This is the baby from Tia Estela’s tummy. This is baby Liv.”

“Ih.”

“That’s it, sweetheart. Nice and gentle.”

“Good boy, Reggie,” Taylor said. “Looks like this could be the start of a beautiful friendship.”

One of many. Taylor knew it as she did the rounds. Their family welcomed Liv with the joy of close relatives, as if she were theirs, born into the fold and taken with open arms.

The baby stirred, and Craig made a sound of a higher pitch than anyone present had previously thought possible, which promptly earned a glare from Estela and made baby Reggie, now sitting on Aleister’s lap, burst into tears.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake, you idiot!” Aleister hissed, as he tried to placate his son.

“Um, Craiggers, I think Estela would prefer it if you didn’t make the baby want to crawl back up the hole she came from.”

“Yes, that would be preferable,” Estela growled.

Liv grumbled, her face screwed up in protest.

“Sorry, mija. You’ll learn to love these people, trust me.”

“You really think so?” Craig asked jovially. “Thanks, Estela! I’ll babysit for you anytime.”

Quinn chuckled. “I hope you realise that there’s going to be some heavy competition for babysitting privileges. Bubba’s gonna be spoilt rotten!”

Taylor could feel it. From every one of her friends. Liv was their family, and they loved her.

Baby girl, you are so, so lucky.

___________________________

La Huerta, 2033

Finally, home.

Taylor didn’t know if she’d ever been more ready to step foot back on La Huerta, but from the moment she stepped off the plane, she felt lighter in herself than she’d done in weeks.

It became clear very quickly that she wasn’t alone in that sense of relief. As if by magic, her effervescent Liv was back; the cloud that had been hanging over her head unable to follow into what was the family’s sanctuary. Liv had been seated next to Quinn and Michelle’s daughter, Isla, through the flight; the younger girl all but talking Liv’s ear off. Then, once they’d hit the beach, Reggie and the twins had joined them, and play had come effortlessly. Now the intrepid adventurer she was meant to be, Liv was accepted and wanted; in her element with people she could trust. And Taylor felt herself letting go. For this shining time, she didn’t have to worry about her daughter at all.

Feeling that her loved ones were contented, far more so than she'd seen them in months, Estela wandered over to join Aleister on the beach. She settled down in the sand beside him, looking over the children as they splashed about in a sparkling sea.

“This is nice,” she said, stretching out her body and feeling the sun’s rays. All this fresh air and sunshine, she knew, would do them all good, especially her wife. “I’ve missed this. I think we all have.”

“How is Olivia? Since the, er, unfortunate incident?”

“Well, school’s been harder. Actually, it’s been absolutely horrible. But it’s done and finished. She’s not going back there. I’m just so damn relieved neither of them got hurt. I never thought it would be Reggie getting in a fight.”

For several long moments, Aleister silently watched his son playing in the waves, swinging his little sisters around in his arms and flinging them into the water. Reginald wasn’t a fighter; that he’d been pushed to violence spoke volumes of just how much that school had failed him-- and Liv, who’d valiantly had his corner, oblivious even to what had triggered the outburst.

“For the longest time, Reggie wouldn’t say what the fight was about. We could both tell that whatever it was had hurt him terribly. What we learned after several long talks…. The other boy had been saying things about Erin. I don’t know the details, nor do we want to, but they were cruel.”

Estela’s eyes had grown wide, then hardened with outrage. “Oh, shit. God, poor Reggie.” She shook her head, anger bubbling up inside her. How the hell was this still happening? How dare they? “Did the staff know exactly what happened?”

“At the time, no. Reginald refused to repeat what had been said. By the time Grace and I found out it was so long after the fact that when we brought the information to the school, they let it slide. To say I was fuming….”

“And these people are expecting you to happily enrol the girls at this school when that’s the care given?”

“Our thoughts precisely.” Aleister’s expression softened as he looked out to the beach. In the shallows, his daughters were jumping over small waves as they rolled in, and squealing with laughter. “I won’t have her be made to feel alone. This is all… new. For her, for us… she needs to feel safe to develop into a self she’s comfortable with. When you told me that you were taking Olivia out of school, my immediate gut reaction was fear. For Reginald.” He scoffed. “How utterly ridiculous that I should feel as if my son would need a bodyguard in his own school? And the more we’ve talked, it has gotten all the clearer that what we have in place isn’t working. We set up our main bases of operation on La Huerta and in San Trobida. The only reason we came back to the States was for the children’s education. Grace would have happily stayed in our La Huerta home; for so many years it was our sanctuary, the place that allowed us the freedom to truly grow. I think….” He hesitated. “If you don’t return to the States, it is likely that we will join you. As you say, it’s only matter of two years, or even one, before Reggie and Olivia will be changing schools as it is. We want to have that time with him. And for Erin… it’s time she needs to grow into herself.”

“Wow. That’s big… that’s huge. So, you’re just going to stay on La Huerta?”

“Perhaps. Certainly, in the short-term it is the ideal solution. But when we do enrol the children in a mainstream school, well… we’re considering moving the family to San Trobida in the future.”

Estela felt certain her eyes must have near popped right out of her head. “You would move to San Trobida?” With your transgender daughter? The initial wave of something close to panic subsided. The southern parts of the country were, these days, refreshingly egalitarian. Reforms had been sweeping under the democratically elected government, and the free San Trobida had embraced a fast-moving shift towards social equality. They weren’t talking about the same country that she attended school in some twenty years ago. “You’re… you’re serious?”

“I’m sorry, have you mistaken me for the type of person who uses humour to diffuse serious conversations? Yes, I am serious. I’ve seen first-hand what has been happening there, in no small part thanks to the mountains of our father’s fortune that you’ve quietly invested, and I would proudly see that growth continue.”

It was true; Estela’s home had come so far. The pull never lessened; nowhere else save for La Huerta could give her that same feeling. But growing up with ‘we’ve got to get out of here’ hammered in had lasting effects, as did the horrifying violence witnessed. How much would it take for her to believe in a new, better San Trobida? If it was just herself and Taylor, it’d be different, but they had Liv. It was why testing the waters with home-schooling between San Trobida and La Huerta had looked so promising.

“My mother wouldn’t recognise it,” she admitted, shaking her head. “She would have gone back to the university in San Trobida City, I’m sure of it. She’d help it get back to its former glory. We probably would have stayed in Las Rocas-- I can imagine her face if I could tell her it’s now part of what they’re calling ‘the Costa Libertad’! Maybe… maybe she’d have said I should stay.”

“If you don’t mind my saying, I’ve always thought you’d do what you saw fit, and to hell with what anyone else advised. Certainly, that’s been my experience.”

That made Estela chuckle. “I think I’m used to being more sure. Don’t worry; I haven’t lost my pig-headedness. I can still dig my heels in like nobody’s business.”

“That, I have seen for myself. But it is wise to have an open mind and get some balanced perspective before that stubborn streak of yours rears its ugly head.”

Estela bit her lip. If Liv flourished during time spent in San Trobida in the next year of home-schooling, it really would be hard to leave, especially if Aleister and Grace’s family were considering immigrating.

What more could you wish for?

“I’ve been resistant… for a long time,” she said, thoughtfully. “But every time I go back, San Trobida is looking more and more like somewhere we can be happy and safe. You know, Livi is my tio’s sun and his stars. I want her to have him there for her the way I did, the way he wants to be there for her. It is… hard to shake the fear, though. If I misjudge it; if I put too much hope in my home and she gets hurt or…. I don’t know if I’m too broken and traumatised to be rational about this.”

“And what does Taylor think?”

“Taylor would live in San Trobida. It’s simple to hop to and from La Huerta. That’s good for her; to be that close to Diego now he’s there almost permanently. She wants to be a bigger part of the forward momentum for young queer people. But, she worries. I know I’ve influenced that.”

“I feel that’s fairly inevitable,” Aleister conceded. “If there’s one thing I’d give Taylor, it’s that she’d very emotionally perceptive.”

“Yes, that’s her. I’d rather she didn’t take on board all of my baggage, because, let’s face it, that’s a whole lot of shit to carry. But if she wasn’t so empathetic, she wouldn’t be Taylor.”

“If we were to take Taylor and Olivia out of the equation, where would you want to be?”

Estela grumbled, damn well aware that Aleister knew the answer to that.

“I’d want to be home,” she said simply.

“You never were one for straight answers. Do you know how many headaches you’ve given me over the years?”

“Isn’t that what little sisters are for, hermano?” Estela laughed. Aleister had been forced to develop some amount of patience with her; by her reckoning, it had been good for him. Certainly it had put him in good stead for handling his more obtuse children, namely Immy.

“Like I said, we’re going into this with some flexibility. We don’t know what will be best for Liv, for all of us. We can start here, spend some time with Diego, then live back with my Tio for a few months. Then, I dunno, maybe travel around the world a little bit, expand Livi’s horizons. But down the road…. If settling in San Trobida is the direction you want to head in, that will be one hell of a pull for us.”

It’s just about decided it. That’s gonna be us. Our family. Our home.

[hollywooduniversityalumnus]

1. burning glances, turning heads

He really should know better, Margot thought, to expect that his class would be paying attention on a Friday afternoon before the long weekend.

As Professor Hunt, the surliest yet most accomplished educator to roam the halls of Hollywood University, all but threw Lance Sergio out for being extremely obvious about taking excessively filtered selfies during the lecture, she took the opportunity to lean over to Addison, poking her with the eraser end of her mechanical pencil. The blonde, as if being suddenly woken, started, causing her gel pen to make a squiggle just off the doodle she was mindlessly making on the edge of her paper.

“What?” Addison asked, voice barely louder than a whisper.

Margot shrugged. “I’m bored.”

“I think we’re all bored,” Addison teased. “But at least some of us are more subtle than others.”

She nodded towards the front, where the professor had turned his attentions to Jenni Whitman, whose open laptop screen displayed one of the trashier celebrity gossip websites. Beside her, Bianca Stone surreptitiously slipped her phone into her pocket and bowed her head over her notebook, as though trying to commit the blank pages to memory, and Shae, another of Bianca’s friends, panicked and stuffed her phone in the front of her shirt, making a strange lump in the fabric.

As Jenni, too, packed up and took her leave at his insistence, Professor Hunt returned to the lectern, his jaw tense.

“While I understand that you are all incapable of delaying gratification long enough to pay attention in my class, I maintain my zero-tolerance policy for distractions. It would do the rest of you well,” he gritted out, “to not force my hand any more than it’s already been.” His eyes slowly took in the remaining pupils sitting in the hall. “Do I make myself clear?”

The lecture continued.

As he began a diatribe on romantic comedies, Margot turned back to Addison and gestured for her to look at her notebook. Addison subtly glanced down as she pretended to stretch, reading the message written on the corner of the page in very, very light pencil lead strokes.

Do you think he’s ever even seen a rom com?

Addison smirked and turned the page on her notebook, scrawling her reply in much more perceptible pink glitter ink.

Not on purpose, if at all.

Margot suppressed a laugh at the thought.

Like, maybe he sat through You’ve Got Mail thinking that it was about the postal service?

Or Mystic Pizza being about a magical pizza.

Or Crazy Rich Asians being a biopic.

Or-

“I thought I made myself clear.”

The two girls jumped in their seats, hearts pounding, expecting to find the frowning professor looming over them. Luckily for them, his attention was on Shae, whose poorly hidden phone in her shirt had become quite the spectacle, as the screen lit up behind the thin fabric and an instrumental snippet of a Top 40s hit blared from behind the buttons.

“Out,” Professor Hunt snapped. When Shae didn’t immediately move, he all but yelled, “Out!”

Dear God, she thought, this lecture is never-ending.

She was one of perhaps sixteen students left in the hall. Many others, including Bianca, had either flown the coop during the mandated fifteen-minute break, or were not-so-nicely asked to leave by the increasingly tense professor. She had flirted with the idea of beginning her long weekend early, too, but she knew she was already on thin ice with Hunt (to be fair, when isn’t she?), and she might as well learn something anyway. She didn’t have anything to do or anywhere to be. Unlike many of her classmates, she wasn’t heading home for the long weekend, and her plans for the next four days were most likely going to be a cycle of sleep, catching up on the show Chris recommended, and getting takeout.

“. . . and that is why we're discussing the decline of the romantic comedy, a genre that relies all too often on an unbelievable formula. Miss Sinclair?”

Addison’s head snapped up. “Yes, Professor?”

“Kindly give us an example of a trope commonly seen in romantic comedies. I am assuming you are familiar with them.”

“Y-yes,” Addison said, twirling her fuzzy-capped gel pen with her fingers. “Um, in, um, How to Lose a Guy in Ten Days, the two leads often fought and got on each other’s nerves but fell in love with each other anyway.”

Professor Hunt nodded. “Thank you, Miss Sinclair. A topical example of an overused trope. How often have you seen the two lead characters spend most of a movie fighting with each other, only to end up together in the end because of some ill-established passion? Far too often, I’d assume.”

As he droned on, Margot reached over and patted Addison’s arm. “Good job.”

The blonde returned the smile, relieved to have survived the encounter. “Thanks, I was dying inside.”

“Real love is nothing like that,” Hunt said, sneering. “Real love, the kind that exists outside of a cinema screen or five-dollar DVD bin, is not a predictable, clearly laden path with a clear and promised conclusion. Expecting a happily ever after in a relationship is naïve at best.”

“Who hurt him?” Addison mumbled to her.

She poked Addison again with her pencil. “Can you imagine someone loving Hunt? Or even dating him?”

“No! It'd be like dating an angry bear. It’d be a miracle if they lived to tell the tale. I heard he's single, unsurprisingly.” Addison shook her head.

“He probably has crazy high standards. Do you think he has a type?” She bit her lip, assessing her professor from afar. Though his modelling days were far behind him, he still maintained a well-kept, impeccable appearance that often made her wonder what he would look like without the constricting suits he wore like second skins. His features were both manly yet delicate, as if the world had taken its sweet time with perfecting his visage. And his jawline . . . sharp enough to cut glass. He was definitely not lacking in looks, talent, or drive, which was what made his being perpetually single all the more intriguing, though his personality made it understandable.

“Yeah, if perfect is a type. Like, someone with a model hot body, a mind as sharp as a stiletto, and a Hollywood career that's skyrocketing.” Addison giggled.

She tapped her lip with the eraser end of her pencil, thinking. “So, a fictional person.”

Addison leaned into her, eyes glimmering with amusement. “I bet it'd be like getting graded all the time. He'd be judging your outfit, insulting your conversation, critiquing your kissing technique! ‘Too much tongue. You call that a kiss? Kindly remove yourself from my sight.’”

She chuckled. “‘You’ve got to do better than that if you want me to feel anything other than complete and utter monotony.’”

“‘I've seen more believable kisses on The Bachelor.’”

The laugh that bubbled out of her was loud enough to capture the attention of the very man they were emulating. His eyes narrowed as he spotted her quickly trying to clamp her mouth shut.

“Miss Schuyler! Is something amusing? Perhaps you'd like to finish off my lecture on the difficulty of realistically portraying love?” he asked.

She straightened in her seat. “Sorry, Professor.”

“. . . And in conclusion, once a genre full of heart, the majority of romantic comedies have descended into farce bereft of true emotion. Class dismissed.” The professor strode over to his desk and began the necessary routine of shutting off the projection screen. As he did, the rest of the class stood up, stretching, and began packing their things away. Excited voices began eagerly discussing their plans for the weekend.

Thank God, Margot thought. The never-ending lecture was over. Let the weekend-

His eyes met hers, a pointed gaze. “Except for you, Miss Schuyler. Come see me. We need to talk.”

. . . Shit.

Addison touched her arm. “Do you want me to stay back, too?”

“No, no, it’s okay,” she said, patting her friend’s hand. “You go on ahead. Don’t be late for your bus. I know you’ve been looking forward to seeing your mom.”

Addison grinned. “I’ll text you when I get there.”

“The least you can do,” she teased.

Addison’s smile waned. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on campus for the weekend? My mom said it would be no trouble at all for you to visit.”

She shook her head. “Oh, no, I’ll be fine. With almost everyone going away for the long weekend, I’m going to indulge in using up all the hot water. Maybe even sit at the good table in the coffee shop. Wild stuff like that. Thank you, though.”

“Well, then,” Addison said, smile returning full-force, “I’ll be on my way. Good luck! Hope you don’t get into too much trouble.”

She stood up and stretched her arms over her head. “Don’t worry about little ol’ me. I know how to deal with him.”

Addison nodded and took her leave, one of the last of the classmates to exit the hall. Gathering up the rest of her things, Margot stuffed them into her tote bag and made her way up to the professor’s desk, where he was busy rifling through his own bag and muttering to himself.

“Just one second,” he said, placing a few handfuls of odds and ends from the depths of his bag on the table.

She nodded, more fascinated by the things that he seemingly carried around with him. Of the many things on his desk, she noted a mini Rubik’s cube, a slip of paper with very faded ink that might have been a receipt or a movie ticket once, a cellophane-wrapped green-and-white mint, three expensive-looking pens of various colours and sizes, and a tube of plain blue Nivea lip balm, identical to the one she had in her purse at that very moment. While the label on hers had faded from usage and being flung around inside her bag, his looked brand new.

After brushing those items back into his bag, he placed a stack of papers on the desktop. Among them, a bright slip of paper poked out, much smaller than the rest, and made of a thicker, textured material. Curious, she pulled it out until she could read the tiny lettering.

5th Annual Los Angeles Charity Masquerade. Admit one (1). $250 admission not including fees/taxes.

She’d never been to a masquerade. She imagined they were just like that scene in Labyrinth, with David Bowie and Jennifer Connelly spinning around the room, surrounded by people in grotesque masks that partly concealed their identities. Big poufy dresses and suits with coattails. Drapery and curtains and mirrors. But an LA soiree version of one probably meant champagne by the bucketful and crudités carried around by masked waiters. Perhaps live music, performed by musicians forced into formal wear, and maybe they were even masked as well. Was everyone there, guest or not, required to wear one? Were masquerades that strict? Do people who wear glasses have to-

You’re getting distracted, she told herself.

“A masquerade ball, huh? That sounds romantic.” She leaned against the desk, smirking at him. “And here I thought you were completely against the concept of romance.”

“Only someone delusional looks for love at a charity masquerade ball,” he replied scathingly. “It's a charity event and an obligation. I'm expected to attend, but there'll be no one worth talking to. As usual.”

“No date, huh?”

His eyes narrowed. “A date would require me to spend the entire evening there. I can't imagine anything worse. I'll be leaving as soon as I've made my donation to the cause. But I didn't call you up here to discuss my social calendar, Miss Schuyler. I wanted to talk about your behaviour in class. I thought, after seeing nearly all of your classmates get removed from the hall, you’d know better than to provoke me. I want to make it absolutely clear to you that it is unacceptable to disrupt my lecture. Save your chit chat for your own time, understand?”

She swallowed hard, feeling heat on her cheeks from his gaze. “Yes, Professor.”

He nodded once. “Good. You may go.”

As she left the hall, phone in hand, her heart was thumping in her chest from excitement. But not from the weekend finally starting.

She’d never been to a masquerade, after all.

But first, she’d need a dress. And shoes.

Without her stellar roommate and fashionista friend by her side, she felt entirely overwhelmed as she flipped through the overflowing closet Addi had insisted she make use of. Though she hadn’t told her the whole truth – just that she was attending an event that required formal wear – Addi had been thrilled to break up the boring bus ride with some advice.

“Not too much cleavage,” Addison said, her voice tinny through the phone speaker. “And not short, either. Knee-length or longer.”

“Do you think I’ll need gloves?” she asked. “Like Cinderella?”

Addison hummed. “Maybe. Pack a pair of elbow length white gloves in your bag, just in case. Oh my gosh. What bag are you bringing? It cannot clash. You hear me? Cannot.”

“Addi, I don’t even know what dress I’m wearing.” Margot frowned at her phone, balanced atop a stack of textbooks on her vanity. “I’m standing here in my underwear trying to figure this out. I’m pre-bibbidi-bobbidi-boo here.”

Addison’s laughter rang out of the speaker.

“I’m serious, Addi. Maybe I shouldn’t go.” She bit her lip, thinking of the money she’d spent on a ticket, money that might’ve been better spent. She was lucky that there were even tickets available. But that was beside the point. “Maybe this is a bad idea.”

“What’s a bad idea? Having a good time? Attending a charity event? Making career-defining connections? Come on.” Addison giggled. “Maybe you’ll even meet the love of your life there.”

“Right.” She flipped through the racks, eager to find something, anything . . . and then she saw it. A strapless, silvery blue ball gown, tight at the top but not overly cleavage-baring, that flared out at the waist to a full, silky skirt that would definitely conceal whatever shoes she would wear. She pulled it out of the closet and unzipped the clear garment bag to admire it. It was a princess dress if she ever saw one. Turning back to the phone, she quickly requested the voice call turn to a video.

Seconds later, Addison’s tired faced filled the screen. “What is it?”

Brandishing the dress out with a flourish, she ignored that she was standing in little more than a bra and panties as she showed the dress for her friend’s approval.

The gasp she heard confirmed her selection.

“You’ll be so stunning! A real-life Cinderella,” Addison said.

“Yeah,” she said absentmindedly, running her hand over the smooth fabric, already envisioning the makeup look she’d pair with the outfit.

“Except-” Addison narrowed her eyes in her best stern Hunt impression. “If you lose one of my shoes, it would be best to leave the country.”

Her taxi finally reached the front of the line, and a footman waiting on the sidewalk opened the door for her. She stepped out in her beautiful ball gown, giving the footman a grateful smile as he closed the door after her. Taking her time ascending the steps in her heels, she met another footman at the door who, after looking at her ticket and corroborating it with the guest list on a tablet, handed her a mask with ribbons.

She stepped into the hallway leading to the ballroom and found a mirror where she could put it on. Looking at herself in the mirror, she was more than pleased by her last-minute glow-up. As Addison had her closet, she had her vanity, stuffed to the brim with makeup products that she used to make herself look as chic as possible. After adjusting the mask to fit her face, she smoothed a layer of lip gloss over her lined lips and smiled to herself.

With this mask, I could be anyone . . . well, anyone smokin' hot, that is, she thought.

The ballroom was packed despite its tremendous size. Decorated Regency-style, it dripped with decadence, glass, and shine. Gold chandeliers tipped with crystals dangled from ceilings with painted murals, and tables spilled over with decadent food and sparkling drinks in crystal flutes. Famous actors and big names in the industry, though shrouded by masks of varying hues and designs, gossiped at the edges of the room, while couples danced and twirled on the floor. As she envisioned, masked waiters masterfully navigated the room, offering bite-sized treats that made her mouth water just looking at them.

After making her way around the room, taking in the splendor, she came to a stop near a pillar and sighed.

“This is incredible,” Margot said aloud.

“Isn’t it?”

She turned her head, surprised to see a man with a dark blue mask eyeing her from where he sat by the nearby bar.

“Come sit with me and let’s talk about it,” he said. The invitation, though innocuous in its wording, made her uncomfortable.

“Um,” she said. Her mind, which was usually buzzing with quips, did not offer her an out.

“Don’t be shy, baby,” he pressed, voice a little too firm and sharp for her liking. “I won’t bite. Come here.”

She swallowed hard at his leery gaze, suddenly feeling very vulnerable. “I-”

And then she felt it, a hand circling around her elbow, and she was not alone. She tilted her head up to appraise her saviour, who was looking down at her with a smile. Her saviour, tall and silver-masked, looked and spoke to her as if he knew her.

“There you are.” He led her to the other side of the bar, all the while chattering loudly as though they had come together. “Nearly lost you in this crowd.”

She knew that voice. Knew it quite well, in fact. She’d heard it in lecture halls, offices, in her nightmares and dreams, and in places unexpected.

This was one of the latter now.

He gestured to a pair of empty seats, and she gratefully took one. As soon as she was comfortable, he turned his head to look over at where that man who had been speaking at her sat. Then, he leaned against the bar, standing over the other empty seat, and picked up a half-empty glass, presumably abandoned by him when he came to her rescue.

“You should be careful,” he said sternly.

For a moment, she thought he recognized her, and she prepared for the lecture that would undoubtedly come.

“Even charity events attract the lecherous,” he continued. “You’re very welcome, by the way.” A smirk played on his lips before he took a sip of his drink.

“Thanks,” she said, for she had no clue what else to say.

He nodded once. “Do be careful with yourself. You’re bound to attract some unwanted attention. It would do you well to keep your head clear so that you may avoid future encounters. You can’t expect someone to come to your rescue every single time.”

“Nor do I expect rescue at all,” she replied. “I am no damsel in distress. Though, I guess, I kind of was for a second there, huh.”

He laughed. It wasn’t sarcastic or mocking. A genuine laugh that made him tilt his head back ever so slightly. She’d never heard him laugh like that before, but now that she had a taste, she wanted to hear it again and again. It was so unlike him, the caustic and cold professor she knew. It made him even more attractive.

“At least you’re honest.” He tilted his head at her. “I prefer to be honest.”

“I like that.” Sitting up a little straighter, Margot added, “Honesty's refreshing. One thing I've learned since I've been here, in Hollywood I mean, is that too many people are willing to lie to your face or cheat to get ahead.”

He glanced at his watch. “Is that so?” He killed his drink and then levelled his gaze with hers. “And you’re not one of them?”

“No,” she said, then thought better of it. “Not yet, at least. Not if I can help it.”

“So, you want to get ahead.” He finally lowered himself into the seat beside hers.

He gestured to the bartender for a refill, and she took the opportunity to order herself a drink. The bartender nodded at them and turned away.

“I want to be a household name. A famous actress.”

He leaned forward, close to her. “Here's some more truth for you . . . everyone here wants to be something. But not everyone here is going to succeed.”

Stubbornly, she said, “I will.”

“You're brash, naive, and overly confident. I used to be that way, before. . .” His smirk waned, then disappeared altogether. It was clear he was not mentally in this room anymore.

She wondered what he was thinking about.

The bartender slid his scotch refill to him, then delicately placed her drink on a coaster in front of her. He picked up his glass and took a rather large gulp.

“. . . Ahem. Excuse me. I'm Thomas. And you are?”

Honesty’s refreshing, she had said just moments earlier. Too many people are willing to lie to get ahead.

She truly didn’t want to lie to him, not now. But she also sensed that revealing herself now would mean that she wouldn’t get to keep talking to him like this or hear that laugh.

And, honestly, what good would come out of angering him after he’d been so kind to her?

“Someone who doesn't like to reveal all her secrets.” She smiled coyly, taking a sip from the paper straw in her drink. “It's a masquerade ball, after all.”

His eyebrows furrowed. “You don't have to be so coy. I don't need a name to figure out who you are. Or anyone in this room, for that matter.” Turning so that he could assess the crowd around them, he nodded towards different masked guests. “Timothee Chalamet; his hair is distinctive, as is his stature. Charlize Theron; note the regal way she carries herself, much like several of her most notable characters. Adam Driver; tall, kind of awkward gait, a low voice that carries over the crowd.”

“Very impressive, Thomas,” she said, trying out his name on her tongue. It was sort of strange to refer to him so casually, but she’d have to adapt if she wanted to keep this going on.

He took another sip, clearly pleased to be right. “Told you, didn’t I?”

Though she enjoyed the game they were playing, she decided to really test him. “Here’s a harder challenge: do you know who I am?”

He hummed thoughtfully. “I've been wondering that the moment you arrived. Something about you is familiar, almost loathsome, yet at the same time, forgive me, attractive.” He tilted his head. “You’re not going to tell me who you are, are you?”

Though her heart was pounding, she kept it cool. “Maybe at the end of the night. Unless you're planning on leaving early. Are you?”

“No.” He broke eye contact with her long enough to get the bartender’s attention, and he gestured for another refill. “No, I’m not.”

At some point, in the midst of their conversation, the music had noticeably gone softer and slower. He finished his drink and sighed, placing the glass onto the countertop, but just as he was about to request another refill, she captured his attention with a hand on his arm.

“We should dance,” Margot said, springing out of her seat. “Care to join me?”

He hesitated, and her glossed lips pouted.

Then, slowly, he rose from his seat, all the while maintaining eye contact with her. He straightened his tie and gave her a smirk.

“Do try to keep up,” he teased, buttoning his suit jacket before offering her his arm. They slipped through the crowd, the guests not dancing parting for them as easily as water. As soon as they reached the dance floor, he took the lead, taking her in his arms and guiding her. She was slow, cautious. He watched her fight her instinct to look at their feet.

“If you're nervous, this dance will be over before it even begins,” he warned, though his grip on her tightened.

She pulled him closer, emboldened by the drink in her system and the fact that he didn’t know who she was, and smiled up at him.

“Do I seem nervous, Thomas?” she asked.

He smiled. “Not at all. I’m surprised. You’re not completely horrible at this.”

She batted her eyelashes. “You say such charming things.”

They both laughed as he whirled her around the room.

She didn’t know how long they’d been dancing for, but she knew they were being watched. The crowd of dancers had thinned considerably since they had first arrived on the dance floor, and now many spectators lined the floor, watching with increasing interest as she and her partner weaved around the other dancers, doing increasingly interesting moves at his lead.

Her heart was pounding, the music was building to a crescendo, and he spun her around the dance floor faster and faster.

Don’t puke, she told herself. Do not do it. Your reputation will not recover. Not with whoever’s in attendance, and certainly not with Thomas.

His voice came from somewhere to her right. “Keep to my tempo, or you'll fall behind.”

He spun her out and away from him.

The world beyond the dance floor seemed as if was moving in slow motion, while she was stuck on fast-forward. She felt like she was one of the fairy toys that spun around and around in the air, aimless and free, before meeting a wall or piece of furniture and clattering to the floor. She braced herself for impact.

But then her hands connected with his again, and the crowd that had gathered to watch the dancers applauded as he pulled her back into his embrace.

“You learn quickly. I wish you were one of my students,” he whispered in her ear.

Her stomach, which had felt so light just moments before, now felt heavy and twisted.

“You’re a teacher,” she said. It wasn’t a question.

He nodded. “I teach at a local university.”

“How . . . nice.” It was the best she could come up with at the moment.

After she had become too dizzy from the spinning, he escorted her off the dance floor with an amused smile. He led her through the ballroom and out onto a private balcony cordoned off by a thick dark velvet curtain. Taking her hand, they stepped closer to the railing, into the cool evening air.

After giving her a long look, he let go of her hand and slowly removed his mask. The silver-lined blue barrier fell away to reveal him. He looked even more handsome up close, with a shy smile on his lips and the bright light from a single lantern hanging above them illuminating his debonair features.

“Disappointed?” he asked.

She took a deep breath, stunned by seeing him so unguarded, and even more handsome up close. “Not at all.”

The ocean waves below were muted by her heartbeat. Above them, she noted the sun setting, the sky becoming an ombre canvas of oranges, reds, and pinks. It was truly a stunning sight, but her gaze kept coming back to him. Still smiling, he reached out and took her hands in his.

His voice was husky, low. “You are definitely the best part of the night. I wasn't expecting to meet someone like you. I can sense something about you, a connection . . . I never thought I'd feel this strongly about someone I just met, but I can't seem to stop myself.”

She felt as though she was not breathing. As if she might never breathe again.

Moving even closer, he circled his arms around her waist, tilted her head up, and leaned in, eyes closing just before they made contact.

She was surprised by how sweetly he kissed her, how delicately he held her, as though she would slip away in the faintest breeze. His arms tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to him until they were nearly inseparable. She thought she could hear fireworks somewhere, and wondered if she was only imagining them, but when they finally pulled back from the kiss, she saw flashes of colour illuminating his face in vibrant hues.

“Thomas,” she said breathlessly.

And then his mouth was on hers again, pulling her closer still, until his back was against the wall, and her hand was on the back of his neck, holding him to her. She felt his fingers on her back, just above the silk of the strapless dress, and she shivered and pressed herself tighter to him.

“Please,” he whispered raggedly once they separated again. “I have to know who you are.”

Margot stilled.

He reached around her and began tugging on the ribbons of her mask. She watched him closely, letting him untie the knots, savouring what very well may be the last moment she would have with him like this. 

The mask fell away from her face, and she watched him recognize her, watched his eyes widen and face twist in betrayal and anger before he stepped back and pressed a hand against his mouth in horror. Her blood ran cold as his eyes narrowed and his expression hardened to one of complete disdain.

“Margot? How - how dare you?” he gasped. “You – you – I cannot believe this! You lied to me! You deceived me! You seduced me! How could you?”

His rejection, though expected, pained her in ways she couldn’t even describe. As though his words were branding irons, burning his hatred into her flesh.

“You’re the last person I wanted to see behind that mask,” he spat. “You, of all the people in the world.”

He kept hurting her, hurting her, like he didn’t care. And perhaps he didn’t, now that he knew the truth.

“I can’t believe I - Dear God, I kissed a student.” He leaned back against the wall, forcing himself to take deep breaths to keep himself steady.

Tears slid down her cheeks as she watched him denounce her in every way possible. Even though he’d bragged about being able to identify anyone, he didn’t expect her, didn’t even cross his mind to guess her, and for some reason it hurt her more than anything else.

“Some part of you might’ve known it was me,” she said indignantly. “You were bragging that you-”

He let out a caustic laugh at that. “Why would I want you to be someone I despise? Someone I don’t respect? I’m disgusted with you and myself.”

And that was all she needed to hear.

Pushing past him, she covered her face – and the tears streaking down them – as she rushed out of the gala and into the night.

The taxi ride back to the dorms was awkward, mostly because she spent the entire ride sniffling, trying to hold back her tears, and using up the Kleenex the driver kept a box of by the rear windshield. After tipping him, she sprung out of the taxi and didn’t stop running until she was safely back in her room.

It was there that Margot allowed herself to fully break down. In that beautiful princess dress, she flopped onto her bed and sobbed, hugging herself tightly, letting out all the anger and frustration and pain that she felt at being so heavily and heartlessly rejected by him. She cried for the way he looked at her. Sobbed at the beautiful moments they shared that were now tainted by the conclusion of the night. She ached for what could have been and wept for her naivete.

A part of her knew that there was no way anything could’ve come from it. But she’d let herself fall into the fairy tale, accepting him as her stand-in prince for the evening, and felt charmed by their conversing, their somewhat playful banter, and the compatibility in their dancing skills. And the kisses they shared . . .

Though her chest and throat ached from crying, if she closed her eyes tight enough, she could still feel his mouth against hers, languid and sweet in its kiss.

There was something there. She knew it.

It hurt her to know that, even if he sensed something too, he would never acknowledge it.

Twenty minutes away from the Hollywood U dorms, Thomas Hunt sat on his bed, still in his suit from the masquerade, drinking scotch straight from the bottle. Two pairs of masks lay beside him, one slightly more rumpled than the other from its owner stepping on it as she ran from the private balcony.

Setting the bottle down on the bedside table, he took a deep breath and closed his eyes, forcing himself to think back to the beginning of it all, pushing past the haze the alcohol left in his head.

He’d spotted her the moment she walked in and had kept an eye on her since she began making her way around the ballroom. And, from the sounds of the men sitting close by him, he was not the only one who had noticed her.

The dress she wore made her ethereal, like she’d stepped out of a dream. The shiny silk that hugged her frame before flowing to the floor, coupled with her demure yet entrancing makeup and the awed look in her eyes from behind her mask, set her apart from the rest.

He took a large gulp of his drink and loosened his tie.

She got closer, and one of the wolves made their move.

As if by an unknown force pulling him forward, he found himself walking up to her, his mind struggling to catch up with his actions as he offered her a way out of the clearly unwanted interaction.

“There you are.” He led her to the seat he had previously occupied and was pleased to find that one of the men had taken flight upon seeing them interact. She sat down and looked up at him curiously, as if wondering why he had saved her from being potentially preyed upon.

“You should be careful,” he said. “Even charity events attract the lecherous. You’re very welcome, by the way.”

“Thanks.”

He knew that voice. The sincerity of the gratitude, tinged with sarcasm at having to reply at all.

She seemed not to have recognized him. He wondered how long it would be before she did. Though the mask concealed some of her features, with his close proximity he was quick to identify her by other things that gave her away, like her high cheekbones and dark tresses she’d pulled into a half-up hairdo and, now, her distinctive voice.

He felt tempted to call her out on it and send her on her way home, but at the same time, he wanted to know where this would go. Revealing what he knew would mean that he wouldn’t get to keep talking to her like this.

And it was a masquerade ball, after all.

[gvbejvmes]

Task: Love Song Drabble

Title: #1 Crush Rating: Varies. Let’s go with R to be safe Characters: Mostly just Gabriel James-Michaels and Jonathan James-Michaels Pairings: Gabe/Johnny, vague Johnny/Joan Warnings: References child abuse, assault, murder, suicidal ideation Summary: To be a part of you 'cause I believe in you. Song Inspiration: #1 Crush by Garbage Notes: Behold my latest insanity. 12 drabblettes based on different lyrics from #1 Crush. These are not interconnected. And each section stands alone.

I would die for you

It’s not very often that Gabe goes to the courthouse. With all the time he spent in and out of court it’s put a bad taste in his mouth. Sometimes though, when it’s been a tough trial, he’ll meet Johnny and drag him off to dinner. This case was particularly bad, and he isn’t entirely surprised that the steps surrounding the courthouse are packed. There’s media coverage, protestors, and people just trying to figure out what’s going on. It’s absolute chaos and for a moment he thinks about maybe waiting until his husband makes it to the car. He doesn’t though.

He finds his husband easily enough, and his security detail lets him through. It’s when he’s standing next to Johnny that he sees what’s going to happen. There was a gap in security. Something that was missed among the crowd of people.  If it wasn’t for the way the muzzle caught the reflection of the late afternoon sun he wouldn’t have noticed. All he knows is that it makes perfect sense to step in front of the bullet intended for his husband.

Pure madness erupts around him. There’s screaming and just so much noise. The only thing Gabe really has the ability to process is that the front of his shirt is soaked in blood. Somehow he winds up on the ground of the courthouse steps, his head cradled in his husband’s lap. Everything becomes white noise, and all he can focus on in Johnny trying to talk to him. He has no idea what he’s trying to tell him, but it’s nice just being able to see his face as the world fades away.

I’ve been dying just to feel you by my side; to know that you’re mine.

Gabe can barely breathe, but it doesn’t matter. He just needs to make it until Mr. Michaels gets there. He’s not an idiot. He knows that he’s not going to survive. At this point he’s too far gone. It had been an ambush. The shiv had hit him just right and, well, an inmate dying in prison wasn’t an unusual tale.

The people around him keep trying to tell him that it’ll be okay if he passes before Mr. Michaels gets there, but it won’t be. He needs to see his lawyer one last time. It’s the only thing he can say; it’s the only thing he can think about. They’re trying to make him comfortable in the prison infirmary and all he wants is to see his lawyer one last time.

He didn’t get to tell him before, and now it’s almost too late. He needs to say it before he passes; he doesn’t want to be a ghost. He can’t die until Mr. Michaels knows he’s in love with him. It’s the only thing he needs to do; he feels it in his bones. 

And when his lawyer flies into the room, looking wild and not like himself, it’s with his last breath that Gabe says, “God, I love the fuck out of you.” Vaguely he can hear Mr. Michaels screaming his name, but that’s okay. It just means that he heard his last words.

I will cry for you.

This is his routine: he gets up, makes a cup of tea, lets the dogs outside and makes breakfast. Some days he drags himself into the shower; most days he doesn’t. He dresses in a sweatshirt that still faintly smells like his husband, and walks to the cemetery. He’s not supposed to be a widower. At least not at his age. He’s not even pushing fifty, and he’s alone. The kids say he still has plenty of life ahead of him yet, but they don’t understand it. Not really. He doesn’t have a life without Johnny in it.

The dirt is still fresh and there’s no headstone yet. There’s always flowers there, but he doesn’t know where they come from. They could be from one of the kids or they could be from one of his coworkers or friends. He’s never asked, but they’re always there, and they’re always fresh. He’s not the only one who has been visiting his husband’s grave.

He sits there for hours. Sometimes he sketches the scenery around him. It really is a pretty cemetery. Most of the time he cries for a love that was taken from him too soon. He never remembers how he gets home, but he always wakes up in his own bed, an empty bottle of whiskey next to him. And then he starts the cycle all over.

I will pray for you

He’s sitting in the ‘chapel’ of the hospital. It’s really just a small room labeled ‘chapel.’ It feels like any of the other waiting rooms. The only difference is that this room has pictures representing the different religions, and the lighting is turned down low. He’s sitting in what he supposes is supposed to be the Christian side. There’s a picture of who he assumes is Jesus and one of those kneelers he’s always seen in Catholic churches. He kneels down gingerly.

“Me and you.” And he feels stupid as hell for praying, but Johnny was in surgery, and the doctor didn’t sound very optimistic about his husband’s outcome. “We’ve never gotten along. Mom believes in you, but you never gave me a reason. I used to think that if you were real you would have saved me from my dad. Now, I don’t know what I think.” He closes his eyes. “Give me a reason to believe in you. Save him. I’ll never want anything else from you. I promise. Just save him. Please.”

I will sell my soul for something pure and true; someone like you.

It’s a no-brainer. Five years of happiness with his husband or watch as his husband slowly withered away from cancer. He doesn’t know if he can handle watching him die. At least this way they can have five good years. It’s probably a chicken shit thing to do, but Gabe thinks it’s practical. This is the best option for both of them to be happy and healthy.

That’s what brings him to the crossroads. And when the demon appears, he doesn’t hesitate to seal the deal with a kiss. He never saw himself as the type of person who would sell his soul, but everything has its time and place. And saving his husband’s life? His soul is the least he can pay.

See your face every place that I walk in.

The first time he sees the blue-eyed guy, Gabe walks into a trash can. He’s the most beautiful man he’s ever seen. He tries to catch up with him, but he walks so quickly that Gabe loses sight of him. It’s such a huge college campus, and he already knows he’s not in any of his classes. He has no hope of seeing him again, except… he sees him over and over again. And every damn time he sees him, he can’t keep up with his fast-walking ass. 

He sees him in the dining hall, but by the time Gabe makes his way over to where he is: he’s already gone. One time he sees him in his residence hall at the end of the hallway, but slips into a room before he can reach him. He swore he saw him in the library once, but he got distracted by Velvet and when he looked up again, he was gone. One time when he was sneaking out of a sorority house, he saw him as he slid off the roof. 

The guy moved so fucking fast that he was never able to catch up with him, and then one day fate intervened. He was looking for a seat in the dining hall, and there he was! Immediately he sat down across from him. “Why the fuck do walk so fast?” He asked in greeting.

Obviously startled, the other guy looked up at him. “What?” And he was just staring at him.

“I’ve been trying to talk to you for like a month.” 

He blinked at him. “Why?” And he didn’t look like he believed Gabe.

“Because you’re hot as fuck.” Gabe enjoyed the way the other man’s face flushed. “And being able to talk to you is the fucking highlight of my day.”

I will burn for you.

He can’t see; tears are blurring his vision but he doesn’t give a fuck. He’s heartbroken as stares into the bonfire. This was supposed to be it. This was supposed to be his final relationship. This was the man he was supposed to grow old with, and yet the love of his life was having a kid with someone else.

It’s enough to break him. Johnny had tried to explain what happened, but he couldn’t listen to him. He just needed to get the fuck away from him, which was what led him here to the fire. Everything Johnny had ever given to him, every picture, every letter, every stolen sweatshirt - he’s throwing all of them into the fire. He doesn’t want any memory of this man. If he wants to have a baby with someone else, then he doesn’t need Gabe in his life.

And it’s that thought that has him putting his hand into the fire. If he’s burning everything that’s Johnny’s, he might as well burn himself, too. Not that he makes it far. He barely feels the stingy heat when suddenly a pair of strong and familiar arms pull him away from the fire and into his chest. 

Vaguely he can hear Johnny ask him what he thinks he’s doing, but all Gabe can manage is: “I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.” He thrashes against his (ex?)boyfriend, trying to get away from him so he can throw himself into the fire like the dramatic bitch he can be.

And still, Johnny holds onto him as he screams and cries until he can’t speak any more. Somehow they both wind up on the ground, Gabe in Johnny’s lap. His face is buried in the crook of his neck, and someone must have called the cops on them because he can hear the sound of sirens. And the thing is he’s absolutely furious with him, and yet he knows that in spite of everything, he’s still stupid in love with him.

Feel pain for you.

“Where is he?” Gabriel ignores the question and instead focuses on being anywhere but his current situation. As terrible as it was to think about, his childhood had prepared him for this moment. 

He didn’t need training to know how to withstand torture. His whole life had been leading up to this moment. He sure as hell doesn’t know who these guys are, but he knows two things. One, his dad could give these guys lessons on true torture. And two, it didn’t matter what they did. There was no way he was giving up Johnny’s location. He’d rather die than give him up.

I will lie for you.

He doesn’t know why he does it. All he knows is that this guy looks really uncomfortable. A blonde woman seems to be trying to chat him up, but he is not into it. And the woman? She was definitely not understanding the word no. So, Gabe walked through the crowded bar, up to the man, and kissed him in greeting. “Hey, baby. Sorry I’m late. Who’s your friend?” 

The man just looked at him not in disgust, but in surprise and a little bit of wonder. The woman suddenly looked embarrassed as all hell. “Oh my God. You’re gay. I am so sorry.” And with that she scurried away, off to find her next victim.

“Sorry about that.” He tried, but the other man was still just looking at him. It was like he was trying to figure him out. It’s that look that has Gabe tagging on. “I shoulda bought you a drink first. Can I buy you a drink?”

A smile slid onto the stranger’s face. “Yeah, I’d like that.” 

I can steal for you

Gabe is nervous as fuck as Johnny opens the gift he got him. He knew it was something the other boy wanted. That wasn’t what he was worried about. He was more worried about what reaction he was going to get when his boyfriend saw what it was, and realized just what Gabe had done to get it for him. 

And sure, enough, Johnny likes it. It’s a leather braided bracelet with silver wound throughout. And it was expensive as hell. His boyfriend had looked at it in a store at the mall, but when he saw the price tag he’d put it back. They were fresh out of college. They could barely afford beer let alone an expensive birthday gift.

“Did you sell a painting?” And Gabe’s face must have given away how he had gotten it because suddenly Johnny looked disappointed. “Briel, you didn’t.” And he’s shaking his head. “I can’t keep this. You know that.”

He nodded. “But tonight, let’s just pretend that you can. Okay?”

His boyfriend kissed him softly. “Okay.”

I would die for you.

They’re walking down the street. It’s late at night, and they probably should have taken a cab, but the weather is mild and they felt like walking. 

He hears the car before he sees it, but he’s so detached from his past life that he’s not prepared for what happens next. He hears: “Yo, James! This is for Lefty.” 

And then there’s bullets everywhere. As the car peels away, he’s able to process what happened. He’s on the ground and Johnny is on top of him. He’d jumped in front of him when the gun was pulled 

“Jay?” And he’s shaking his husband but there’s no response. There’s a hell of a lot of blood, but no response. “JAY!”

I'd do time for you.

“I’m going to New York next week.” 

Sitting on this side of the glass partition was a little weird. Gabe had wanted to talk to his husband in the private visitation room, but there wasn’t an accessible path of travel from the visitors' side. It had been a month since Gabe was beaten and assaulted within an inch of his life, but he still couldn’t walk for long distances. He was a free man, but his freedom had cost his husband his. At one point Gabe’s heart had stopped, and Johnny had… reacted. The people involved in Gabe’s attack were now all dead, allegedly due to a hit his lawyer husband had put out. Which meant that for the second time during the length of their marriage one of them was going on trial for murder. 

“My doctor has finally cleared me to fly.”

Johnny didn’t say anything, he was too busy studying Gabe. Every time he came to visit, it was like he was drinking the sight of Gabe in. The first time he visited, he offered to get their marriage annulled since he was going to be in prison indefinitely. He’d shut that down real quick. It wasn’t like being separated by bars was anything new; this was fine - for now. 

Since then, he’d taken to studying Gabe as though he was visually checking that his wounds were finally healing. Mostly he seemed to get stuck on his ear more so than his wheelchair, most likely because the wheelchair was only temporary. He’d never get full function of his right leg back and he’d always have to wear a brace to support his left hand (his motor function was never coming back there), but his ear was what Johnny always fixated on. He’d never get his hearing back in his left ear, and his cauliflower ear was permanent. 

“Baby, are you even listening to me?” Gabe asked with a wry smile. “The guards feel bad for me so they let me stay longer than they’re supposed to, but they’re eventually going to wheel me out.”

His husband at least had the decency to look embarrassed. “Sorry.” And then he blinked as Gabe’s sentence hit him. “I’m sorry, did you say you’re going to New York? Why?”

Gabe grinned at him. “Because your mother is a terrifying human.” He admitted. “She doesn’t like the idea of me living alone while you’re here. She thinks the doctors are better in New York, and she thinks I’ll be safer living with her and your dad. She’s almost giddy. I’m actually really terrified of her, but she said this will also give me a chance to get a home all set up for us so that when you’re out all you have to do is come home.”

Johnny just stared at him. “You’re moving in with my parents.” He sounded like he was in total disbelief, but there was also something else in his voice he couldn’t quite place. It was… relief? “I’m going to have to give you a list of places my mother isn’t allowed to take you to. They’re places I want to show you.”

He couldn’t help but to nod. “You’re not mad that I’m leaving? She thinks I should stay out there until the trial, and I won’t be able to visit you and-” His husband put his hand against the glass. It was enough to distract Gabe, who pressed his own hand against his husband’s.

“It’s like she said. You’ll be safer there. And it’s only temporary.”

Gabe grinned. “Don’t worry. I still know a few guards that owe me favors. I’ll send you naked pictures.” 

A laugh was startled out of his husband. “Briel…”