#in which i sound a little like the old boat guy from jaws

[cedarboots]

Introducing my first ever podfic! Recording of @chiropteracupola's fic Sergeant Harper and the Banshee, which you should also check out.

[blush-and-books]

she lives in daydreams with me

3+1 in which julie’s daydreaming spreads to luke, too. title and inspiration from she by harry styles. 

a gift for my fellow fantoms on this beautiful clowngate.

a/n: this isn’t meant to be tied to/inspired by blissful reveries by noblealice on ao3, but it’s a great fic that i love and it’s a julie daydream fic so i may as well link it because you should check it out!!! 

Luke noticed that sometimes, Julie would completely zone out. 

It wasn’t often that she did it around him, but while she would try and study her pencil would be moving on the paper but her eyes would not be focused. Or when she would be washing the dishes, a faint humming could be heard under her breath as her hands mindlessly rinsed the plates and placed them into the dishwasher. 

“They’re daydreams,” she whispers into the nearly pitch-black garage one night when they stay up, despite their exhaustion, just to be with each other. “I had them a little when I was a kid. It was how I got inspiration for a lot of songs.”

Julie’s voice raises to a higher pitch at the end of her sentence. It’s a familiar sound to Luke, now -- most of her little vocal cues are -- so he turns on the floor to face where she’s lying on the couch, and brings his hand up to her bare ankle.

“They’re musical?”

“They were, and then… They weren’t. I daydreamed a lot after my mom, but it was mostly her walking through the front door like she never left.”

He doesn’t have to say anything. He just needs to be there.”

“And then,” Julie continues, “after I met you, the music came back.”

His heart skips a beat. He knows she meant “you” as in him and Reggie and Alex, them as a collective unit; but it’s a fun little dream of his own for her to just be thinking of him. 

Lightly, his thumb skates across her skin. “I’m glad. If anyone should have music in their life, it’s you, Julie.”

“Do you ever daydream?” Her voice is quiet. She’s probably falling asleep.

There’s no reply. So it’s just the two of them, in the dark, with his hand attached to her because now that he can feel her like this he doesn’t want to stop until he has to. His hand is just barely on her ankle, but with every trace of his fingers back and forth along the curve he marvels at his ability to do it in the first place. 

A smile pops at the corners of Luke’s lips. “Not really,” he tells her. “If I did… They probably wouldn’t be musical, like yours.”

“Then what would you do?”

He stares, fixed, at his hand on her leg. 

“The stuff I want to do, but can’t.”

nine in the morning, a man drops his kids off at school; and he’s thinking of you (like all of us do)

It’s a few days later when Luke realizes that something is off. 

A simple Wednesday morning, when Julie darts into the garage before school with her backpack bouncing on her back as she runs up to each of them for a hug. Luke is the final recipient. 

He enthusiastically throws his arms around her just as tightly as he does every morning, because in his heart, he wishes she could just stay. It’s ridiculous, and selfish, but he longs for the ability to lay on the torn old couch with Julie at his side and never have to leave. 

“Writing when I come back?” 

Her eyes are gazing up at him, round and wide and hopeful as her arms stay latched around his neck. Safely, he keeps his hands at her hips and doesn’t allow himself to consider letting them go anywhere else. 

“Won’t you have homework?”

She rolls her eyes. “Yes, but I also have a song I want to work on and I won’t be able to focus until we finish it.”

Ironically, it sounds like one of the excuses he would give his parents long ago. Once the music was out of his head, he would tell them, then he could focus on homework. 

(He didn’t.)

“You’re turning into me,” he jokes at her; to which she laughs with a bright and beautiful smile right in front of his face. His eyes can’t help but slip their focus to it. “Music before school? What happened to your dad saying ‘school first?’”

“I’ll tell him I’m going to the garage for peace and quiet.”

God, she’s making this harder and harder. For months, she was the one scolding him about her need to focus on school; and so he trained himself to come across as (marginally) less eager. But now that she’s bouncing on her tiptoes and her head is lifting right in front of his face as she teases fibbing to her dad to write with him, he doesn’t think he has much restraint left. 

“How about…” He begins, trying to find something neutral to say. “How about you see how much homework you get and then decide what you want to do first?”

“Since when did you-”

The sound of Ray honking for Julie to come out ends their back-and-forth. It Luke looks close enough -- which he is, because why would he have anything better to do right now than look at Julie -- he can see her disappointment. “Go on, Boss. Your ride’s waiting. I’ll see you after school.”

Carefully, she slips from his arms and wishes them a final goodbye before hustling out of the garage. 

And Luke collapses onto the couch the second she’s gone. 

“You okay, man?”

“He’s fine, Reg. Just an idiot.”

Luke’s arm, that was covering his face, slides up so that he can glare at Alex. “Hey! Rude. Why am I an idiot?”

“Because all you do is agonize over Julie instead of talking to her.”

His forearm comes back down, blacking out his vision. “No point.”

Moments of quiet pass between the three boys, and eventually, the telltale sound of his bandmates poofing out of the room is faintly heard. Luke is left alone, on the couch. 

He doesn’t know how much time passes where he sits in his self-made darkness before the garage door is opening again, and Julie is standing in the doorway, looking adrenaline-rushed and practically glowing. Luke, being Luke, jumps up from the couch in surprise.

“Julie! Hey, uh… What are you doing here? Didn’t you leave for school?”

Her grin is almost fake, it’s so blinding. “I forgot something.”

Unprompted and unexpectedly, Julie is confidently making her way towards him before softly resting her hands on his jaw and pulling his lips down to hers.

Even through his all-encompassing shock, his hands somehow find their way to her waist, and then her back, and then her hair. She’s pulling him down to her, so he’s kind of uncomfortably arched over her but he doesn’t care one bit. Just the same as this morning, she is pressed against him from head to toe but this feels so much better. 

He’s trying to keep it slow and soft so that he can savor every moment of this random, welcomed action; but Julie’s asking for a quicker tempo. Her hands are skating across his shoulders and running up to his hair, pulling him down even farther, and he finds himself grasping at her thighs to lift her up and make things more comfortable but she’s pulling away before he can. 

Once they part, she shyly takes her bottom lip between her teeth and Luke almost steals her away and begs for more. “That was it,”  she mumbles, and then the car horn is echoing out front again, and-

Luke shakes awake.

--

he takes a boat out, imagines just sailing away (and not telling his mates)

He knows it’s a daydream almost immediately -- a long period of staring at a blank journal can do that to a guy -- when Julie suddenly appears and dangles car keys in front of him. 

She’s only just got her permit. She can’t actually drive independently yet. 

But he’s spent time on more than one occasion considering what they can go do together when she can.

“You ready for a break, Rockstar?” She asks with a coy smile, and it’s just more confirmation that it’s a fantasy. Julie has only ever called him “Rockstar” once. 

But he already likes where his imagination is taking him, so he puts the journal on the coffee table and poofs over to her. “Born ready.” 

Her hand tangles itself in his, and she enthusiastically tugs him from the studio into the sunny daylight where her dad’s car sits in the driveway. “Carlos and Dad and Tia are at a baseball game,” she grins, almost proudly, “so you and I get to have an adventure.”

God, this really is a dream. Julie isn’t as impulsive as he can be, but he occasionally finds himself wanting at the idea of going MIA for a day. Just a day. Less than 24 hours, even, with Julie by his side and nobody around who knows them or their situation. Julie and Luke against the world, against life and death, and whatever comes next. 

“Lead the way, Boss.”

Nearly within the blink of an eye, they’re on the PCH, speeding down the asphalt with loud music blaring from the speakers. With the windows rolled down and the humid but fresh air billowing around them in the car, it was all too easy for Luke to imagine that he was…

Alive.

This should have been them in 1995 -- him and Julie, him and the boys, all of them together and feeling the rush of being a group of stupid teenagers who love each other. 

He knows his hair is getting ruffled as he tilts his head back against the leather headrest, closing his eyes to directly face the air blowing into him. Maybe, through this dream, just for a moment, he can be human. 

“This is so fun!” Julie screams next to him, and his face just breaks into a grin because it is so fun. She sounds so full of joy. It’s his favorite sound.

While a part of him wants to hold the daydream in this moment, with the sun hitting his legs and Julie’s hair chaotically whirling around her head; he decides to let things keep going. A moment later, they are pulling into a nearly empty parking lot on the beach. 

Their seatbelts click and slide from their chests. Julie’s hand firmly latches around his wrist and proceeds to sprint with him laughing hysterically as he trails behind her, the ocean shimmering in the distance. The moment that their feet splash in the saltwater, Luke takes the chance to pull Julie into his arms by her waist and lift her up; droplets popping up from the water in a cyclone of laughter.

There’s already sweat layering both of their foreheads, but Luke feels honored that he’s standing close enough to her to be able to see it.

Hours -- or, what he assumes are hours -- pass by with water lapping their legs and Luke licking the salt from her shoulder in a move that started as a joke but was really just another ridiculous fantasy fulfilled. After he tries to splash her particularly roughly, she squeals and turns away; turning back to reveal a dripping wet face behind a curtain of hair.

Even though there’s a glare in her eyes, it’s playful. And she doesn’t fight him when he walks up to her, lifts the hem of his loose-fitting tank, and swipes across her cheeks to catch most of it.

The blush on her cheeks could be blamed on excessive sun, or the affectionate gesture, or-

“Luke?”

It takes less than a second for Luke to be back in the studio, back in front of the blank page, back in his reality. 

And Julie is in the doorway. 

Her cheeks aren’t  pink, her legs aren’t bare, her skin isn’t sweat and seawater sticky. It was just a regular school day for her. 

She still glows.

“Luke?” He hears her say again, and it’s the final nail in his coffin. 

“Yeah, sorry. I was zoning out there for a sec.”

Her curious smile relaxes, and she takes the unspoken invitation to enter the garage  and throw her backpack down next to the couch. Her eyes quickly find the journal, “write anything good?”

“Not a word. Didn’t have my partner.”

The line earns him a friendly shoulder-nudge. It’s not much compared to what he just had, but it’s something. 

Only, his impulsive brain tells him he needs more. 

“Can we go to the beach one day?”

Refocusing her gaze from the open notebook to his face, she amusingly furrows her eyebrows. “I mean… When I have my license, totally. Whatever you guys want.”

“I…” Shut up. Stop here. “I was thinking you and I, actually. Just us.”

“Oh.” He knows that “oh.” It’s the same one she gave him when she was flustered in the school hallway. He can’t tell if it’s a good or a bad sign. Her fingers are twitching against her legs and her eyes avoid his, but a part of him sees his daydream bleed into reality when a pink hue dusts her cheeks. “Just us.”

“Yeah, if you’re-”

“I’d love to.”

Her mouth zips shut like she didn’t mean to say it. But he’s already smiling at her, and probably sporting a blush of his own, and he knows he doesn’t even have a funny remark  to say in response. 

All he can do is count the days until Julie gets her license.

--

and she sleeps in his bed (while he plays pretend)

Sometimes, when Julie is gone, he’ll just… Go to her room. 

It’s not weird. 

He doesn’t snoop -- well, he tries not to -- but everything that’s out in the open is there for his eyes to take in. This way, he gets the little intricate details of what makes Julie Julie that would otherwise take years to learn about a person. 

Today, when he poofs in, the bed is unmade. Normally she makes it before leaving for school, but on the rare occasion that she is running late, it will remain in disarray until her return. 

Unless, he…

No, no, boundaries. 

But it’s just a little favor. And it’s not like she can kill him or anything right?

Once again, his impulsivity dominates the argument. And he’s suddenly wrapping her sheet in his fists and tugging it up and over her pillows, followed by the comforter. 

With each puff of air that brushes his face from the falling sheets, he catches a bit of her peach perfume. 

The action of making a bed feels so distant to him, but he remembers having to do it himself like it was yesterday. He was too careless to tuck anything in or smooth anything out -- it was just a simple tugging of his sheets to cover the mattress. If he had Julie around back then, pulling him back from the precipice of his relationship with his parents and making music that Bobby wouldn’t steal, then she probably would have shown him how to make his bed more presentable for when she came over.

In front of him, the bed he's making doesn’t look like Julie’s anymore. 

It looks like his. His old twin bed at Mitch and Emily Patterson’s house, his old bedroom tucked in at the end of the hallway. Every shade of blue and gray and yellow feels so familiar but only a little off; like his brain is vaguely reconstructing his home with blurred edges and familiar memories.

“Your bathroom is surprisingly clean,” a familiarly warm voice says from behind him. Julie stands in his doorway, adorning an ethereal flower-patterned dress and clunky black combat boots. 

The strength of the daydream takes over when she approaches him with a smile and his hands, on instinct, find her hips. “I don’t know why you’re shocked. I’m not a slob.”

“Well…” They both chuckle at her tone. “I thought that with your parents out of town, everything here would be falling apart.”

“Well, you’re here, so that could never happen.”

Her smile is the one thing that he knows he got exactly right in this reconstructed environment. He will always know Julie.

The smile that he leans down to lightly kiss is the same smile he sees when they know they have a catchy chorus on their hands, or when she gets an A on a test, or sometimes just when she comes come to say hi to them. It’s pure Julie joy.

“Now that you’ve made your bed since I was in the bathroom,” she murmurs as they pull away, “can we take that nap we were talking about? School was exhausting.”

Tiredly, her head falls to his chest. It’s such a small, warm gesture; but it sends his heart soaring painfully into the wall of his ribs. “Of course, Boss.”

With a gentle touch, he pulls back the covers of his bed and gestures for Julie to crawl in first. She waves him off, trying to tug at the laces of her boots so that she doesn’t sleep in her shoes, but Luke is quick to prop himself on the edge of the bed and lift her foot to her knee. 

“Such a gentleman,” she mocks him, but there’s no venom to her voice. In fact, she’s looking down at him like she loves him. 

He slowly helps her slip her foot from the boot with a soft grip on her ankle. “For you, anything.”

Charged, quiet beats pass between them as he finishes work on the other shoe and instantly scoots over to make room on the bed for her to lay next to him. He can make out a small, pleased smile as she does so; rolling over to cuddle into his chest and tangle their legs the moment that she is able to do so. 

He feels her take a deep breath against his collarbone as he pulls the sheets up to cover them both. “It all smells like you,” she sighs as she exhales.

“Is that a good thing?”

No verbal response -- just a nod, and the sight of her fingers curling into the edge of the sheet and pulling it up right under her nose. “You cozy, Boss?”

Her melodic hum vibrates against his sternum. Parents out of town, cuddling with his girlfriend, playing music -- this was the dream. 

Truly, because it fades around him the moment the recognizable sound of a car rolling up the driveway hits his ears. 

And he’s poofing down to greet Julie, acting as if he doesn’t have all of these wants and needs in his head that all go back to her.

--

It’s a late night, it’s after a gig, and adrenaline is still running fast through Luke’s nonexistent veins. The elevation is still carrying him across the walkway as he recalls the way he shredded his solo and the audience leapt to their feet in roaring applause. 

Sometimes, just to spend a few more minutes with her, Luke will walk Julie to her front door after a gig. She’ll send her dad inside and tell him she was going to “call” the guys, when really they would be partaking in a celebratory band hug before they all cleaned up and retired for the night. 

Tonight was one of those nights, and the cobblestones felt like clouds under Luke’s shoes. 

“Jules, you don’t understand, that high note? I didn’t think it could get better, but something about the lights and the crowds and-”

“It was your guitar solo that kept the audience hyped, though!”

“I think after you swung your wrecking ball voice at them, they would have listened to anything afterwards. You don’t get how magnetic you are, Jules.”

The two of them step up her porch, lingering on the top step. Even though he’s been looking at her all night, post-concert Julie has messy makeup and wild hair and he still sees the flashing lights of the stage reflected in her eyes. She carries the energy of performing with her everywhere she goes.

They’re closer than he realized. He can see the exact dark clouds under her eyes where her mascara has rubbed off, and the strands of hair dotting her hairline, and-

“Luke…”

He doesn’t know what she wants to say, but he doesn’t care. “You’re magnetic, Julie, really. It’s like magic. Nobody can resist you.”

The energy crackles against his fingertips, because he can feel himself twitching to touch her. 

It’s true -- she’s magnetic. He’s leaning in closer and closer with every passing second. 

But she’s the one who makes the first move.

It’s expected and it isn’t when her hands dart from her sides to his neck to his hair and guide him to her as if he would need any help finding her. His hands waist no time in pressing up against her back, bringing her body against his in a way he only feels in hugs-

Only this time, their lips are colliding, and he almost convinces himself this isn’t real.

It’s a sudden and beautiful situation that he’s sure he could only conjure in his daydreams that he has her to blame for in the first place. He’s probably laying on the couch in the studio replaying the look on her face when she hit the high note in question at the gig, and how the gasp she let out at the end propelled him into his solo like he’s never played it before. 

There’s no way he’s making out with Julie right now. 

And he doesn’t mean to vocalize his hesitation, but as her mouth breaks from his with deep breaths that are muted versions of the gasp from the gig, the words tumble from his mouth. 

“Is this a dream?”

With a confused mirth in her eyes, she scrapes the back of his neck with her fingernails and it’s almost tantalizing enough for his head to lull back. 

Please let this be a dream so that he doesn’t wake up tomorrow realizing he did all of this on the Molina’s front porch. 

“I don’t think so,” Julie whispers through her grin. Her fingers apply pressure on the back of his neck, wanting him to come back to her lips probably as much as he wants to come back, and she leans farther into him with their faces barely an inch apart. “But even if it is -- isn’t it a wonderful dream?”

As her mouth parts underneath his and he coaxes another gasp out of her, he agrees -- it is a wonderful dream. 

Tags: @willexx @bluefirewrites @pink-flame @lydias--stiles @constantly-singing @fighttoshinetogether @babydagger28

[general-kenobi357]

Someday Soon-Chapter 10

Pairing: JJ Maybank x Fem!OC

Summary: The Pogues work together to get John B off the island, a difficult task to complete when everything seems to be falling apart all around them.

Note: The last chapter of season 1, exciting but also sad. I probably won't be updating this series until after season 2 comes out so that I have it as a base but I do have a few oneshots I have been working on that I might post in the meantime. I hope you enjoyed my spin on the first season!

Word Count: 4.1k

🔅🔆🔅

I paced around the Wreck waiting for the others to wake up. JJ stood on the opposite side of the room clicking a lighter on and off. We hadn’t spoken to each other since last night and every time he caught my eye I would quickly look away.

I saw Pope starting to wake up before he made his way to where JJ stood watching police cars drive by.

“He's pinched for sure, man.” JJ said to Pope as I continued to pace while I listened to their conversation.

“No. They wouldn't still be patrolling if they caught him.” Pope reasoned.

“Let's hope.” JJ spoke defeatedly.

“You know, we were in that car. They're probably looking for us, too.” Kie spoke up, alerting us all that she had woken up.

“Well, if we're gonna be outlaws, we might as well help John B.” Pope addressed us all.

“So, find him before they do?” JJ asked while we watched Pope grab the keys to JJ’s bike and make his way towards where I had stopped near the door. “Pope?”

“I'm gonna get gas for the boat.” He explained before turning to me. “You coming?”

“Uh, yeah.” I answered unsure, I figured it was better than staying here with Kie and JJ.

“Hey, you be careful.” Kie told Pope. “Okay?”

“Meet us at the dock at three. Don't be late.” Pope reminded the pair we were leaving behind before we made our way outside.

“Okay, what is your problem?” Kie asked Pope, I didn’t even hear what had happened between the two and I was pretty sure I knew what his problem was.

“No problem, Officer. I'm just doing my job.” Pope answered as we got onto the bike.

“Look, I'm sorry that I hurt your feelings.” Kie tried to tell him as he started up the bike and revved up the engine.

“What was that?” He asked as if he had no control over the sounds of the bike.

“Look, I didn't mean to.” Kie tried again.

“Sorry, I can't hear you. What was that?” Pope kept taunting.

“Pope let’s go.” I told him, getting impatient with the game he was playing.

“Pope, I'm being serious…” Kie yelled as Pope lifted his feet off the ground as we started to drive away. “I'm trying to talk to you!”

I looked back as Pope drove off and locked eyes with JJ, his face was painted with concern and it looked like he wanted to say something but we were already too far away. I turned my head back around and gazed at the road over Pope’s shoulder. My grip tightened around his waist, in all the excitement of Kie and Pope’s argument, I hadn’t had time to rethink if I really wanted to get on the back of this death trap with a newly sober Pope driving.

“Are you good to drive?'' I called to him over the sound of the engine.

“Yeah I’m fine.” He reassured me, I supposed I would have to trust him as I didn’t really have any other options at the moment.

🔅🔆🔅

Once we arrived at Heyward’s we found a couple of empty gas canisters that we carried over to the gas pump out front. As we waited for the first one to fill up I tapped my foot on the ground, anxious to get back to the others. Even if we were fighting it was better to all stay together than to get split up.

“So.” I started unsure if I should continue or just keep my mouth shut. Pope was my only friend that was not on the run or not speaking to me at the moment. “You and Kie?”

“You and JJ?” Pope countered clearly not wanting to talk. I chuckled at his response to me.

“No, if yesterday proved anything it was that there is no me and JJ.” I explained.

“Yeah well that sounds about the same for me and Kie.” He finally said to me.

As much as the situation we were in sucked it was almost comforting to know that I wasn’t the only one feeling this way.

We were quiet again as he switched the tanks and I put the cap back onto the now full one.

“Look at you two.” I heard a deep voice say from behind me. Turning around I found Heyward standing a few feet away, arms crossed over his chest. “Like some damn street hoods out here stealing gas from me. Isabella, I thought your mama raised you better than that and my own blood, I don’t know which one disappoints me more.”

“We're not stealing.” Pope tried to explain, I shook my head at him knowing it would be better if we stopped talking.

“Stop lyin'. I saw it in your damn hand.”

“Our friend is in trouble, and we need to help him.” I tried to defend, figuring it was too late to not get into trouble.

“John B did not kill anybody.” Pope added.

“Says who?” Heyward challenged.

“Says me.”

“I'm supposed to believe you?” Heyward continued. “After you ran out on your interview? Shit, boy, get in the house.”

“No.” Pope said staring right at him. I didn’t like where this was going.

“Oh, you a man now? Huh?” Heyward continued to push. “You wanna have a go at it with me? Is that it?”

“I'm taking these cans. You’re not gettin' in my way.” Pope said going to grab the gas canisters.

“Oh, I'm gettin' in your way.” Heyward said, walking past me to stand right in front of Pope. “And one day, you might be able to whoop my ass, but it ain't today.”

“That right?” Pope asked, getting angrier with every word.

“Yeah.” Heyward concluded just as Pope threw a punch at him. I stumbled back shocked that he had actually done it.

“Pope stop!” I tried to yell but it came out as a whisper.

“Oh, yeah! It's gonna take a little more than that. Try again.” Heyward challenged again after recovering from the first blow. Come on. You wanna hit your daddy? Try again. Hm? You want to hit me?”

I put a hand on Pope’s shoulder and as he turned it was like he realized what he had just done.

“I don't have time for this. I gotta help my friend.” Pope said as he turned away from his father.

We both grabbed a gas canister and tied them to the sides of the bike. I could see the tears streaming down Pope’s face as we climbed onto the bike.

“Yeah, yeah, you just go ahead. Yeah, you take everything, son. And Isabella don’t think I’m not telling your mama about this!” I heard Heyward continue to yell at us as Pope started up the bike. “You're an ungrateful son of a bitch, Pope.”

“It’s okay Pope. It’s gonna be okay.” I tried to comfort him as we drove off and Heyward’s threats faded.

🔅🔆🔅

As we pulled up to the garage that held The Phantom we heard yelling and clattering from inside.

“What the hell?” I asked Pope who looked just as confused.

I noticed two dirt bikes parked near the door as I pointed to them Pope nodded to confirm he saw them too. We rushed towards the door and Pope grabbed some old pipes on the way.

“Be careful.” I said as he passed me one of the pipes.

As we ran inside I wasn’t sure what to look at. Kie was being screamed at by some blond whose face I couldn’t see and JJ was one the ground being punched by Barry, the guy who had tried to take the gold from us.

“Hey! Don't touch her!” I heard Pope scream as he began to bash the blond’s back.

I moved towards where Barry was and hit him with the pipe in my hand. It didn’t seem to do much damage but it was enough to distract him and give JJ time to punch him square in the jaw. After we got the gun out of his hand JJ essentially beat Barry to a pulp.

As Barry laid out on the ground groaning in pain we moved to where Kie stood watching as Pope began to strangle the blond who I now recognized as Rafe Cameron.

“Pope.” Kie called to him as we watched him continue to beat on Rafe. “Pope, that's good! Stop!”

“He's had enough, dude.” JJ added trying to get Pope to stop.

“Snap out of it, Pope!” I said as JJ tried to pull them apart.

“Okay, we gotta go.” Kie reminded us as Pope finally let go of Rafe.

JJ and Kie rushed away to finish hooking up the boat but I stayed standing next to Pope as he looked at me terrified.

“It’s okay Pope. You’re fine.” I tried to tell him but I felt just as shocked as he looked.

“Stay off the cut.” Pope threatened Rafe who laid at our feet half conscious.

“Pope. Iz. We gotta go.” Kie called as she got into the car.

“Let’s go.” I said to Pope, taking his arm and guiding him towards the car.

As we drove away I noticed Pope staring at his hands as if they didn’t belong to him. I took both of them so he would stop and as we got further from the garage I continued to try and reassure him that he was fine.

🔅🔆🔅

Once we had arrived at the boat launch we had all silently begun to silently load up the boat after getting it into the water. Kie and Pope were standing watch as I packed the last of the food into compartments and behind me JJ checked the engine over. Once I was done I turned leaning on one of the seats as JJ checked various switches.

“A 1983 Formula 402 SR1.” JJ marveled at the boat.

“Mm-hm. The first boat to make the run to Bermuda in under 16 hours.” I added, with the number of times he had told me about this boat, I would never forget the speech he made every time he saw it. “Forty years old! And still the fastest thing that Kildare's ever seen.”

“Huh, seems like you’ve heard about her before.” JJ mused as he stood up to face me.

“Yeah once or twice.” I teased him, the smile on my face grew as he moved closer to me. I thought he was leaning in closer to my face when Pope interrupted us.

“Dude, where is he?” Pope asked worriedly. JJ cleared his throat as he turned away from me to address Pope.

“Give him a second. He'll be here. He's coming. He'll be fine.” JJ reassured us all.

“Shit.” I muttered as I spotted the lights of a cop car approaching us.

“Hey, yeah. Get back on the boat.” Kie told Pope as she moved to start untying it from the dock.

“Wait.” JJ stopped us all as we turned to see someone getting out of the cop car.

“No way.” I mumbled with a smile as I recognized John B closing the door behind him.

“No effing way.” Pope added.

“I'm sorry. You've gotta be kidding me.” Kie continued laughing.

“Shoupe let me take it for a spin.” John B explained as he walked towards the boat.

“Okay. That's believable. I'll buy that for now.” Kie said, she hugged John B before he hopped onto the deck of the Phantom where JJ and I stood.

“It wasn't easy, bro, but I got the Phantom for you, and she runs like she was made yesterday.” JJ told John B, handing the keys over. “You ready to go?”

“Where's Sarah?” John B asked, noticing she was absent from the group.

“She's not with you?” Kie asked him.

“No, we got separated in the swamp.” John B explained his worry growing. “She said she'd meet me here.”

“No, we haven't seen her.” I told him.

“Okay, well, I'm not leaving without her.” John B concluded.

“John B, look at me.” JJ started to say. “I know you feel bad for leaving, but there's no time, man. You've got plenty of gas, plenty of food. Once you get around that point, it's a straight shot across the sound to Dismal Swamp, okay? Once you get there, lay low, all right? Hang out for a couple of weeks and then go overland, cross the border at Brownsville, you got that? Brownsville. You... Hey! You got that?”

“Yeah, yeah. Brownsville.” John B confirmed only half paying attention to what JJ was telling him.

“All right. Saddle her up, saltwater cowboy. Let's do this.” JJ said, hopping over the side of the boat onto the dock.

“Hey, John B.” I said, pulling him into a bone crushing hug. “I love you.”

“Yeah. I love you too.” He mumbled back to me. I felt like I was losing my brother as we pulled apart and I jumped down onto the dock. John B paused for a moment as he looked at us all. “Hey. I'm sorry for basically... throwing us off a cliff with this whole treasure hunt thing.”

“John B, we were bound to run off a cliff at some point, right?” JJ said, as we all laughed at his statement.

“Yeah.” He confirmed.

“At least we did it together, though.” I told him with a sad smile.

“Pogue style.” Pope said.

“Pogue style.” We all repeated.

“Get out of here! Please. Now.” Kie told John B, reminding us all we were running out of time.

“We'll see you in two months, down in Mexico.” Pope reassured John B as we started to untie ropes.

“Hey, wait... wait a second.” John B stopped us before we could push the boat out. “Tell Sarah I said goodbye, okay?”

We all nodded our head confirming that we would find her for him.

“Don't forget. Cross the border at Brownsville, okay?” JJ reminded one last time.

“Got it.” John B confirmed as he started the motor up.

We all stood huddled together as we watched him fade from view as he picked up speed. I knew we would see him again but it felt like we were saying goodbye forever.

🔅🔆🔅

John B was long gone, hopefully far enough away that everyone looking for him couldn’t find him but I still stood on the dock looking at the sun set. Further down the dock Kie and Pope stood together, I couldn't hear what they were saying as they were talking quietly but I saw them hug. I smiled slightly, happy that the pair had made up.

But then my eyebrows knitted together in confusion as I watched the pair kiss, how could Kie warn me not to do something then turn around and do the thing she warned me against. I felt frustrated with her, I knew better, I knew I shouldn’t take it so personally but I still couldn’t help but feel my annoyance towards her grow.

That was until I felt a pair of hands settled on my hips and as I turned my head I saw JJ resting his head on my shoulder. I smiled at the action as I leaned into him content to just stand and watch the sunset as my worries faded further away.

“I didn’t mean to hurt you the other night when I said we weren’t together.” JJ finally spoke after a minute. “I didn’t mean that I didn’t want us to be together just that we weren’t yet. After all, you haven’t even asked me out.”

I turned around to face him and saw a huge grin on his face, his hands which were still wrapped around my waist loosened slightly. There was a mischievous look in his eyes as I rested my hands on his shoulders.

“JJ Maybank.” I started to say dramatically. “Will you go out with me?”

“Hmm, I’m not sure.” He began pretending to think about it. “Where are you gonna take me?”

“I don’t know, I'm sure we can sort out the details later.” I smiled.

“Well I’d like to know now so that I can figure out if it's worth it. Plus I mean I’ll have to find the right outfit.” He began to ramble, I playfully rolled my eyes at him.

“How about you worry about your outfit later and right now you just kiss me?” I interrupted him with my bold statement.

He stopped talking after that and began to lean closer to me. As I was about to lean in as well I stopped and looked into his eyes.

“Hey, don’t run away this time.” I playfully threatened him.

“Never again Sweetheart.” He replied before closing the gap between us and capturing my lips in his.

We were cut off after a moment though due to the sound of police sirens which I could tell were growing closer as they sounded louder with every passing second.

“Hey, guys, I'm sorry to ruin the party, but, uh, we gotta go right now.” JJ called to the others as his arms dropped from around me. “Come on!”

But it was too late as the cars pulled up surrounding the four of us, we had no other option than to stay put and listen to them.

“Hands up! Hands up!” The cops all called as they began to climb out of their cars.

“Pope, hands.” Kie reminded him as we all lifted our hands in surrender.

“We're too late. He's gone. God damn it!” A bald man yelled out as he ran to the end of the dock.

“Bratcher, have your guys stand down. Let me talk to these kids.” Deputy Shoupe called out before approaching us. “All right, where the hell is he? Where the hell is he?”

We all stayed silent as he tried to figure out where John B had gone. We all knew vaguely where he was headed but in all honesty none of us could have pointed to his location on a map, we had no idea how far he had gotten.

“JJ? I see you're livin' up to your name.” Shoupe began to single us out. “Pope, how about you? This isn't a fucking game! You can do the right thing now! Where'd he go?”

None of us answered his questions and before long he gave up, ushering JJ and Pope into the back of one car and Kie and I into another. I didn’t want us to be split up but I knew we didn’t have a choice, we were probably all being taken to the same place.

🔅🔆🔅

We sat in silence for a few minutes as I looked out the window until I noticed that Kie had tears streaming down her cheeks as she quietly cried.

“Hey, hey.” I whispered to her not wanting to get into more trouble. I shuffled closer to her, holding out a hand which she took. “It’s gonna be okay, we’re all going to be fine.” I tried to reassure her but in all honesty I had no idea if it were true.

“I’m sorry.” She muttered to me as she leant her head on my shoulder. “I’ve been awful to you lately.”

“No it’s okay. I was being just as terrible.” I whispered back to her. “I’m sorry, I know you were just trying to keep the Pogues together.”

“Yeah a lot of good that did.” She said defeatedly.

“Yeah well those boys always know how to mess everything up.” I tried to joke. I saw the hint of a smile playing on her lips before I pulled her into a hug.

“I just want to be friends again.”

“Me too.” I sighed. “I mean come on we’re the two that never fight with each other.”

We pulled apart with sad smiles as the car parked. I was nice to know that we were all friends again even if everything else had fallen apart.

🔅🔆🔅

The door opened to reveal Shoupe on the other side ushering us out. Once I stepped onto the ground I spotted JJ and Pope standing a few feet away, we were all directed into a tent with a table in the center and rows of chairs on either side. I sat down between JJ and Kie and Pope was sitting on the other side of Kie.

“Sit down. Don't move. We got a lot to talk about.” Shoupe said to all of us before turning to a couple of armed guards. “Keep an eye on these kids.”

We all watched as Shoupe left the tent. A silence fell over us as we listened to everyone around us talking, hoping to hear that John B was okay and that he had gotten away safely.

My hands found both JJ’s and Kie’s hands and I held onto them for dear life. Right now it felt like we only had each other and I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose anyone else.

“It’s gonna be okay. He’ll be fine.” JJ muttered under his breath as his thumb rubbed circles on the back of my hand.

My knee began to bounce as we all anxiously waited for any news they would give us.

🔅🔆🔅

Sirens continued to wail as people shouted to each other. The storm was only getting worse and all we could do was hope that John B had outrun it or found somewhere safe to wait it out.

After what felt like forever Shoupe finally returned but by the look on his face he didn’t have anything good to say.

“Did you find them?” Pope asked hopefully as we all stood up.

“No.” Shoupe responded bluntly.

“So, they got away?” Kie asked

“We, uh... we lost them.” Shoupe replied vaguely. “I'm sorry.”

“You lost them?” I asked in disbelief. “What do you mean you lost them? Like, they're gone?”

“What are you talking about?” Pope added to my questions.

“They took an open boat into a tropical depression, Pope.” Shoupe tried to explain.

“So, they're dead?” Kie asked as tears began to cloud my vision.

“We don't know.” Shoupe tried to defend himself.

“You drove them straight through the storm, man!” JJ snapped. “Are you kidding me? Come here! I'm gonna kill you!”

“JJ, stop!” Kie tried to tell him.

“I'm gonna kill you, you bastard! You killed him!” JJ said before trying to take a swing at Shoupe. Another cop grabbed JJ before he could continue. I moved to his side trying to get him to calm down, from behind me I could hear Pope start to yell.

“He didn't kill anyone, and you know it!” Pope cried.

“We're still looking for him, all right?” Shoupe tried to explain.

“Pope. Pope, just stop.” Kie said to him. “Please, stop.”

Kie fell silent for a moment and I turned to see what had happened. I followed her gaze to the other end of the tent to see all our parents walking towards us and at the end of the line little Emmy stood next to my Mom in her bright red raincoat.

As soon as she spotted me she let go of my Mom’s hand and ran towards me. I leant down wrapping her in a giant hug. The tears that stung my eyes fell down my cheeks as I held her tightly.

After a minute I picked her up and turned around to look for where my Mom had gone. I spotted her behind me holding onto JJ as he sobbed into her shoulder, my heart broke even more when I realized that JJ’s dad hadn’t even bothered to show up. I walked a few steps forward to wrap my free arm around JJ. We all stood holding each other, after a moment Kie and Pope joined our group as we all huddled together.

We were all a little broken without John B but we knew we had each other and for now that was enough.

🔅🔆🔅

[nataliedanovelist]

GF - Their Girl

Loosely based off of several cases that have, unfortunately, taken place in schools.

Mabel defends herself when a boy touches her, only to be the one to get in trouble. Not on her grunkles watch.

~~~~~~~~~~

“In 1930, the Republican-controlled House of Representatives, in an effort to alleviate the effects of the - Anyone? Anyone? - the Great Depression, passed a - Anyone? Anyone? - a tariff bill. The Hawley-Smoot Tariff Act, which - Anyone? Raised or lowered? - raised tariffs, in an effort to collect more revenue for the Federal Government.”

Mabel leaned back in her desk chair to stretch. It was cold in the high school, but luckily her seat was right in the sunshine, warming her up like a lizard on a rock. Her baggy yellow sweater fell off her left shoulder and she let it without giving it much of a second thought, then watched some birds on a tree as the Economics teacher droned on.

“Did it work? Anyone? Anyone know the effects? It did not work, and the United States fell deeper into the Great Depression.”

Tenth grade was too young to learn about something so boring. This was for suckers who paid money for it, like college students. Mabel held her breath to keep herself from snorting over her own inner thoughts. Grunkle Stan would be proud of her, she thought, and her thoughts wandered to him and Grunkle Ford, until she was snapped back into reality. Literally.

“Today, we have a similar debate over this, anyone know what this is? Class? Anyone? Anyone? Anyone seen this before? The Laffer Curve.”

A boy behind her (his name slipped her mind at the proper moment) was playing with her exposed bra strap. It felt like he had grabbed it, barely pulled it back, and let go. At first, she thought maybe it was an accident. Unlike, but possible. But then it happened again, this time the boy pulled the bra strap far enough that when he let go it slapped against her skin a little. It didn’t hurt, and the teacher’s boring voice drowned out the noise, but still.

“Anyone know what this says? It says that at this point on the revenue curve you will get exactly the same amount of revenue as at this point.”

Mabel turned around sharply at once and gave him a deadly glare. “Stop it.” She whispered firmly.

The boy grinned menacingly, and sneered just as quietly, “Make me.”

Mabel whipped her head back, making sure her long ponytail hit him in the face, but though her actions stopped him for a moment, soon he was back to pulling on her bra strap, each time pulling back farther and farther.

“This is very controversial. Anyone know what President George H. W. Bush called this in 1980? Anyone? Something-D-O-O Economics. Voodoo Economics.”

A loud snap sound echoed, a yell of pain and aggravation, and then Mabel Pines stood so sharply her chair fell backwards, turned around, and punched the jerk in the face, left-hook boxing style.

“Ms. Pines!” The teacher scolded loudly.

The whole class was on the edge of their seats. All the kids had seen what happened; the ones sitting closest to the pair had been well aware of what was going on since the beginning. While they were hopeful the jerk would get what’s coming to him, they all knew that wasn’t likely. Not under the most sexist teacher’s nose.

“To Mr. William’s office. Now.” He growled.

“But he was touching my bra!” Mabel defended. “He was invading my personal bubble even though I told him to back off!”

“It’s a very small classroom, Ms. Pines. And maybe he wouldn’t have touched it if you didn’t have it out for the whole world to see.” The man said coldly and pointed to the door. “Now please leave my classroom.”

Mabel knew there was no point in defending herself. She did a quick glance around the room to see if anyone would defend her, but no one looked ready to jump into the line of fire. She understood why. This guy had a bad reputation. Mabel loudly stuffed her notebook filled with doodles into her backpack, took it and her small purse, and stomped out of the classroom.

She did manage to catch the blood coming out of the boy’s nose and grinned.

At Mr. William’s office, the sweet secretary with old-lady glasses offered her a mint and was very nice to her. But soon Mr. William entered the room and had Mabel enter his office. Apparently the teacher had called ahead so Mabel didn’t have to tell the principal what happened, leaving the girl to feel like she was walking into the Lion’s Den.

~~~~~~~~~~

Dipper left his Robotics class to meet up with Mabel, who normally would be leaving Economics, so they could walk to their last class, Language Arts 10, together. Economics emptied pretty quickly thanks to the boredom, so Dipper was a bit confused when he didn’t see his twin sister out in the hall, and wondered if she was in the bathroom.

He saw a fellow student who shared Mabel’s Economics class, Rose, leave the ladies’ room, and so he asked, “Hey Rose, is Mabel in there?”

She shook her head. “Nah, didn’t you hear? She got sent to the office for punching Jeremy.”

Dipper grinned with pride, but it quickly went away; Mabel would only do that if Jeremy was doing something. “What’d he do?”

“Smacked her with her own bra strap.” Rose pulled down the neck of her t-shirt and demonstrated, “Like this.” And she pulled her bra strap and let go, making it snap.

“Are you kidding me?!” Dipper yelled and his eyes landed on the teacher to his right, standing with his arms crossed and looking out for rule-breakers.

The young man growled in his throat like an angry dog, ready to tell the jerk off, but he felt a buzz in his pocket and pulled out his phone while Rose walked away. Dipper calmed down a little, sighed, and walked to the lockers to lean against them as he responded to his newest text. He had no intention of going to Language Arts. He’d be on his way to the office soon enough in case his sister needed him.

~~~~~~~~~~

Ford re-read the maps and plans for Spring Break with an exciting grin all over his face. Soon the kids would be out of school and take a bus to the pier where he and Stan had docked the Stan O’ War II, then they would sail alongside the California shore, fishing, sailing, and occasionally swimming, for a whole week. They had been planning this since the holidays, when they had all facetimed for five hours while the old sailors were on the shores of the Netherlands. The kids had practically begged to go on the boat with them, and so they agreed to sail alongside Russia and visit California, planning to then re-visit Alaska quickly before sailing down to Oregon for the summer.

Stan climbed up from the cabin below as he pulled on his white t-shirt. “How much longer until the kids are free from prison?”

Ford rolled his eyes and checked his watch. “Ninety minutes. And it’s a twenty minute drive, so it’ll be about another two hours, Stanley.”

The youngest of the pair by fifteen minutes groaned and collapsed on the couch. “I could always hotwire a car and we could see them now. We can pretend one of us died and so we need the kids now.”

“Stanley, no.”

“Stanley YES!”

Ford chuckled and rolled up the map. “Text them if you miss them so much.”

“Maybe I will.” Stan snorted and pulled out his phone to text in the group chat. “Surviving okay, kids?” Just a casual greeting, and he and Ford were pleasantly surprised to get a little buzz back not a minute longer.

“Not really.”

Stan raised an eyebrow while Ford had his back to him and was organizing his papers. “Why? What’s wrong?”

Little dots appeared and reappeared. Stan knew what that meant. Dipper was being careful how he answered. Stan decided to check, and sure enough Mabel hadn’t even seen the texts yet. When he got a small paragraph back, Stan nearly crushed his phone in his fist. “WHAAAAAT?!”

Ford jumped a foot in the air and held his chest. “Christ, Stan, what…”

“Check your phone, Genius! We’re going to Piedmont. NOW!” And Stan slapped on his beanie and stormed out of the cabin of the ship with a slam of the door.

Ford picked up his phone, which had been lying face-down on the table, and once he was caught up on messages, he matched his twin’s anger and made sure his ray gun was in his blue hoodie as he left.

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel sat in her chair with her arms crossed over her chest, letting Mr. Williams go on his tangent. According to the school nurse, she had broken Jeremy’s nose. Good. That’s what he gets for touching her. But apparently Mr. Williams disagreed, saying things like how her actions were unlawful and that she had no right to punch another student.

“Under no circumstances should you ever punch a fellow student, Ms. Mabel.” Mr. Williams said firmly.

“But he was touching me!” Mabel quickly injected, in some effort to defend herself. “He was pulling on my bra strap and smacking me with it! And I told him to stop, but he wouldn’t leave me alone.”

Mr. Williams snorted as he reached into his desk. “Well maybe next time you won’t wear such revealing clothes? How else are people supposed to pay attention to the lesson?”

Mabel felt her heart drop. She looked back down at her sweater, her purposely baggy yellow sweater that she had knitted herself a few months ago. This sweater - in fact, none of her sweaters - had ever been a problem before. Mabel plucked at her top and said in a quiet, timid voice, “But I made this.”

Mr. Williams glanced up from what he was writing for a second, before mumbling bitterly with his cold eyes on his paper, “Let the professionals make your clothes, okay? If you don’t want to find yourself in trouble then try wearing suitable clothing.”

Mabel felt her entire face turn red. She was so angry and so hurt and she saw no possible way out of this, so she decided to bite her lip and hide the lower-half of her face in her sweater, shrinking in her seat and lifting her yellow sweater up a bit.

“Now, I am giving you three weeks of detention.” Mr. Williams said. “Two for violence and invading a student’s personal bubble, and one for breaking dress…”

The door opened sharply. Mabel turned and her jaw was wide open to find her great-uncles at the foot of the office. At first she was jubilant to see them again, but then terrified to see them so angry. She had never seen them so mad. She knew they could be scary when they wanted to, but they had always seemed like soft old teddy bears to Mabel, what with their fluffy gray hair and warm hugs and squishy tummy-tums to snuggle against. Mabel was a little unhinged to find their faces darkened with anger. She could see a vein popping out of Stan’s forehead. Ford appeared to try to be collected, but his aura was as black as an imploding star, matching his brother’s quite well.

Mabel stood on shaking knees. Her uncles softened, ignoring the cold look Mr. Williams was giving them, and Stan was at her in an instant, with Ford right behind him, rubbing her shoulders and looking over her. “Mabel, sweetie, are you okay? Did he hurt you? I swear to Moses if that…”

“I’m okay, Grunkle Stan, I promise.” Mabel soothed, trying to smile, but she was still really nervous. “I… Wow, it’s great to see you guys, I missed you, but why are you here?”

“Dipper contacted us.” Ford said softly. “Said you were in trouble. What exactly happened?”

“She pu-...”

“I didn’t ask you.” Ford growled at Mr. Williams. Mabel actually shivered. She was so used to hearing a smooth, warm, comforting voice come from him, that hearing it growl like an animal like that startled her. “I am talking to my niece.” His eyes moved back on Mabel and he was instantly much warmer and not as scary. “What happened, pumpkin?”

“I was in Economics when this boy, Jeremy, was plucking at my bra strap.”

“Please show us exactly what he did.”

“Does it matter?!” Stan snapped. “He touched her!”

“Stanley, please,” Ford gave him a firm look, then returned his attention back to their girl. “Humor me.”

Mabel nodded in agreement. She had pulled her sweater down so it had covered both shoulders and sagged a bit on her chest. Now she moved it so her left shoulder was completely exposed, and she pinched at her strap. “It started like this,” She barely lifted it up, having little effect or sound. “But then after I told him to stop, he did this.” And Mabel pulled back far enough that when she let go it made a harsh slapping sound against her skin.

“Wait a minute,” Stan had caught a glimpse of it the moment she lowered her sweater. He gently turned her to look at the back of her shoulder, and he saw red. Literally. Her skin was reddening from the aggression. Not enough to swell or require ice, but enough to indicate just how invading and violent the action had been.

Stan was growling in his throat. He squeezed Mabel’s forearms reassuringly and said, “We’ll handle this, pumpkin.”

“Gentlemen,” Mr. Williams said firmly, still acting professional and snobbish. “Your niece here has violated several school rules and even went as far as to break a student’s nose.”

“You did?” Stan asked and patted her back. “That’s my girl!”

Mr. William’s nostrils flared. “Gentlemen, that is not what we should be teaching young…”

“While breaking cartilage is unfortunate, sir,” Ford said coldly, stepping forward, “It’s abundantly clear that she was only defending herself. Not only did the boy have no right to touch her, in any sense, in any manner, she was even gracious enough to give a verbal warning before she acted as she had to to get the boy to stop.”

Mr. Williams crossed his arms over his chest and snarled, “Well maybe if she hadn’t dressed in such a distracting way Mr…”

“Oh HELL NO!” Stan marched forward and slammed his fists down on the desk so hard he actually left cracks in the wood from the impact. “YOU’RE NOT PLAYING THAT GAME, ASSHOLE! NOT ON MY FUCKING WATCH!”

Ford made no attempt to silence his twin. In fact, he was smiling cunningly, like a policeman letting his dog go after the target. He gently walked Mabel to the door and ushered her outside. “Why don’t you wait outside, my dear? Dipper is waiting for you with a snack and some water to calm your nerves, you look a little shaken.” He said quietly.

Mabel dipped her head and smiled, unable to find the words, but Ford understood and closed the door after her.

Dipper was, in fact, there with a package of peanuts and bottled water in his hands for her. They sat in the cool office, listening to the conversation. While exact words were muffled by the walls and door, it sounded like Stan and Ford both were yelling and cursing at the principal. While Dipper and Mabel probably should have been more nervous, they weren’t; they were calm and they both knew that everything would be okay.

About half an hour later, just when the old men’s throats were getting a little sore, they left, leaving Mr. Williams to try to kill a small fire on his desk. Stan swiftly pocketed his lighter and smiled warmly at his kids. “Let’s ditch this hellhole.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Mabel was sipping some hot chocolate with extra marshmallows while Dipper was in the shower and her uncles elsewhere on the boat. She rubbed her shoulder with her free hand, elbows on the table, as she thought about the day. While she was grateful to not be in trouble and that the whole situation was over, it didn’t feel over. At least, the feelings it gave her hadn’t gone away.

The door opened and she smiled to see her favorite uncles coming inside. “Hey there, pumpkin.” Stan greeted warmly, but grew a little concerned. “You okay?”

Mabel blinked and tried to make a more convincing smile. “Yeah, why wouldn’t I be?”

“That principal rattled you pretty good.” Stan pulled out a chair and sat next to her, rubbing her back. “C’mon, what’s on your mind?”

Mabel looked down at her hot drink, sighed, unsure of how to properly express her emotions, but managed to settle with, “It wasn’t fair.”

“No, it wasn’t.” Ford said firmly and stood on her other side. She looked up at him and the old scientist said, “What happened to you was completely unfair and should never be tolerated.”

Mabel nodded in agreement. “It’s just that… not only should Jeremy not have touched me, but you’d think people would have my back for defending myself, but… they made it seem like it was my fault…”

“Mabel Pines,” Stan moved his hand to her shoulder and squeezed gently. “That was not your fault. You did nothing wrong. You dress how you want and punch any guy that touches you if you don’t wanna be touched, and don’t let anyone tell you you should act differently.”

Mabel smiled weakly and nodded. “Okay.”

Stan chuckled and ruffled her hair. “That’s my girl.”

“Now hold one minute, Stanley.” Ford teased and wrapped Mabel up in a one-armed hug, making her giggle and hug him around his waist. “You were always terrible at sharing. She’s my girl, too.”

Stan smeared playfully and tickled Mabel’s ribs to loosen her grasp on Ford, pulling her into a big bear hug as she laughed. “Nu, uh. My girl.”

Mabel rolled her eyes as the twins only kept up the charade for another minute, filled to the brim with appreciation and power.

[strawberrymilkyumyum]

Do you hc Zuko as autistic? Just because of the stimming.

If so what other things does he do? How does it affect his life?

Something serious and/or fluffy?

Also add in a bit of zutara if you want 😊

hi anon! thank you for the ask! im sorry it took me so long to get this but i hope you enjoy!! (i do hc zuko as autistic, i think it makes sense with his character)

Zuko always felt that there was something... different about him. He didn’t understand the rules and always felt like he was drowning under the pressure of his father. It frustrated him when he saw Azula doing so well when he could never understand or follow his father’s commands. 

Ursa was his best caretaker. While she never knew exactly what to do, being around her always helped calm him down. Since he started reading, he was obsessed with old plays that his mother used to perform. When he was small, Ursa would read him and Azula the old plays written with old grammar. Though it was hard to understand what the words meant, Zuko started using more of those words in his own vocabulary. He also started doing his own research in the library, he found old spirit myths and had every story memorized. Azula used to like that about her big brother, she looked up to him and wanted to be like him. But Ozai would get mad whenever he saw Zuko do something ‘weird.’ She grew to resent Zuko for being like that. Not only did Father hate him, but his little book club kept Mother away from her. 

Iroh was never really around for Zuko’s childhood. He cared for Zuko has a baby, sure, but once he became a toddler, Iroh was forced to start taking his military career seriously. He didn’t really see Zuko again until he was 12. 

Zuko was very different then. Since Ursa left, his anxiety was over whelming for him. He covered his ears at any and all loud noises, he was unlocking his jaw when he was bored, and he never looked anyone in the eyes while talking to them. When Zuko was banished, Iroh went with him to try to help him. 

But... Zuko didn’t like the sea. He loved water and swimming, but being on a boat was terrible. Ozai knew that his son didn’t respond well to loud noises and assigned him the loudest ship available. It was difficult for Zuko to get through his banishment because he could never get over the sounds of sea life. Metal would clang, engines would roar, and his crew chatted among themselves. Iroh thought music night would help and it kinda did, but not in the way he thought. All Zuko did was bury himself under his covers as he treasured the few moments he got to be by himself. 

When he joined the gaang, Zuko finally felt understood. At first, he couldn’t stand to be around Toph, she was always so loud and Zuko didn’t want to get mad at her. They had a conversation one day where Toph agreed to keep the volume down if he made an effort to hang out with her more. She was the person who understood this part of him most, she was blind and understood not liking loud noises. They were distressing for her so she decided as a child that she would be the loudest in the room so it could never scare her. 

Aang was also easy to get along with. The avatar was a boy out of his time and was very happy that there was someone else who used old fashion words (though Zuko still hated ‘Sifu Hotman.’) Suki was also able to connect with Zuko as one of his obsessions on the sea was the avatar’s past lives. One of his favorites was Kyoshi and was dying to try Suki’s fans. 

He and Sokka were quick friends. They balanced each other well. Zuko was impulsive and impersonal and Sokka was the plan guy and bubbly. Zuko didn’t show much emotion on his face and Sokka made it his personal mission to try to get Zuko to smile.

Once he and Katara became friends, she became his favorite person. She loved to hear about the old myths and plays he read, she thought his vocabulary was sweet, and she wasn’t draining to be around. The first time Zuko stimmed, he freaked out. Father always punished him when he did at the palace. He moved his jaw up and down, squeezed his eyes shut and wiped his hand in his scar like it would be gone if he used enough pressure. She didn’t understand why he was freaking out about her seeing him stim. 

She never pressured him to talk to her, but he opened up to her about his life. Because he had trouble sleeping, he would often be awake with her during the night and they talked until the morning. Touch was still weird to him, but he found he liked it when he held her. He also liked to take care of a lot of simple house chores, which Katara was extremely thankful for. 

Katara never babied him, nor did Zuko ever want her to. They were both grown, mature people and understood that Zuko was very much a functioning adult. Katara loved him because he was fun and thoughtful and good. Zuko loved Katara because she was kind, smart, and strong. They were as perfect for each other as two people can be. While the crying of their children could be overwhelming for him at times, he never gave up on himself and became the loving father Ozai never was. 

[writteninkat]

vi - water is an enemy

word count - 2,506

warnings: drowning, panic attacks

"All I need is to see your face. Feel my blood running, swear the sky's falling."

You bounce your leg excitedly as you look out the window of the bus, unable to contain yourself. Katsuki clicks his tongue beside you, "Calm down, idiot."

"I'm sorry, but I just get so excited when I get to use my quirk." You beam at him and Katsuki has to look away to hide his faint blush, unbeknownst to him that his blush reaches the tips of his ears.

Once he feels like he's calmed down, he turns back to you, scowl evident on his face. His gaze falls on the pink sakura hairpin he gave you yesterday and clenches his jaw when he feels yet another blush coming his way.

Can I calm down for one minute?! He mentally yells at himself before the bus comes to a halt, telling them they've reached their destination. You almost immediately get on your feet, quickly hopping off the bus. You look around you with sparkling eyes, the place where you were going to test out your quirks was definitely huge and impressive.

Mina hooks her arm around you, pulling you closely to her side as you a short hero clad in white and what looks like a space suit stands in front of you and starts talking.

"As you know, my quirk is called black hole. Just like a black hole, I can suck up anything and easily turn it into dust." You raise your brows, impressed by her powerful quirk. "But my quirk can also easily kill others." You feel your body stiffen. Memories of all the quirk trainers your mother hired for you, looking at you with such fearful eyes. They always screamed the same thing before running away, all bloodied and bruised.

"Get away from me you monster!"

A soft hand around your wrist pulls you out of your daze. You look to your right, raising a brow at Katsuki's alarmed state. "The hell are you spacing out for, idiot? Keep your eyes on the villains." He points forward, making you follow his finger.

In front of you, there is a black and purple warp gate and many other individuals who you did not recognize. Their bloodlust confirmed you that they weren't here to help you guys with your quirk training.

Katsuki starts pulling you back and you notice all your other classmates running back to where the gate of the facility is located. Before you could even get to the exit, the dame black and purple warp gate appears in front of you, trapping you all between himself and the villains.

Everything is moving so fast- suddenly Katsuki and Kirishima are jumping towards the villain using their quirks at him before the black and purple matter encases you all. You look around and see nothing but darkness. You feel your chest contract and your body starts to shake.

"/Heroes should not have panic attacks. How do you expect to save others when you'll be the one being saved?/" You can hear his deep voice in your head, you feel like breaking it open to take him out of there.

Tears brim your eyes and before you lose it, you see blue. You feel yourself falling and you look around, seeing Izuku falling into the water as well.

"Izuku!" You yell, catching his attention. "Y/n! I'm fine! Let's just swim to land and we'll regroup there-"

"It's not that!" Your tears blur your vision as your body shakes in fear. "I can't swim-"

The last thing you see is Izuku's expression turn to panic before hitting the water. You blink away your tears, looking up as you extended your arm out, kicking your feet as hard as you can, but to no avail.

Finally, summertime!

You run through your father's yacht, your stuffed bunny in your arm as your giggles fill the halls. Crew members smile and greet you as you pass by them and you do the same thing back.

You reach the back of the boat, eyes looking out at the vast ocean in front of you. You pitter patter your way towards the very back of the boat, watching as many small white bubbles come up as the propellors push the boat forward.

It all happens so fast; one moment you're peering over the edge of the boat to see if you can spot any dolphins, the next the big waves causes the boat to get a little rocky, causing you to fall off.

"Miss Y/n!" You hear one of the crew members shout, the lady with the pretty ponytail. Through the stinging sea water in your eyes as your arms and legs flail around in desperation to not drown.

"Dad-! Daddy!" You call out, choking on the sea water. You can see your father standing at the dock as your mother dives into the water in an attempt to save you as well.

He's just standing there. Arms crossed in front of his chest and an unimpressed scowl on his face. You were drowning, and he was just standing there.

You feel your body sink, water around you as your stuffed bunny floats out of your grasp. Your vision is blurry, your lungs and eyes sting, your body is aching, but modt of all, your heart clenches at the memory of your father doing nothing and instead watches as you drown.

The feeling of a hand wrapping around your wrist before being pulled upwards forces you to stay conscious, but not enough to wake up. You feel that you're no longer in the water and something hard on your back. No, more like, you're on something hard.

Finally, your lungs burn as you cough out water, your body spasming as you let out the water from areas where there shouldn't be water.

The soft feeling of your mother's body holding yours relieves you- she's just fine after diving into the water. You open your eyes, still heaving as you look up. The first thing you see is your father, a look of disgrace in his face ad he looks down on you.

"And you want to be a hero? You can't even swim." He sneers.

"She's still four years old!" You hear your mother yell.

"She's already four years old!"

Your surroundings begin to turn as you feel your eyelids getting heavier. Your mother notices this and starts frantically shaking you to keep you awake, but you can't fight the darkness that envelops your weak body.

"Y/n! Baby!" Your mother's voice sounds muffled, as if she's really far away. "Please wake up! Y/n! Y/n!"

"Y/n wake up!" Izuku's voice pulls you out of the darkness and you sit up immediately, gasping for air. He rubs a hand on your back, helping you calm down as you try and collect yourself.

You look around and see two more of your classmates looking at you worriedly, a girl who you remember is Tsuyu Asui and the little grape boy named Mina? Mint? Menti?

Once you've recollected yourself, you stand up, looking around to see you four standing on a boat. You sigh, of course it's a boat. Of course I almost drowned.

As the three of them discuss the current situation, you look around you, trying to find a way to get back to solid ground. Something catches your eye- in the corner, you see a shark-like fin coming towards you. As you take a better look, you notice that there are several others and that you four are surrounded.

"Asui!"

"Call me Tsu."

"No time for that!" You yell, running back to them. "Use your quirk to wrap your tongue around the boys. Do your best to not let go of them." She immediately does as told. You warp an arm around her waist, jumping as high as you can.

"Are those villains?!" Grape boy yells, pointing at the people in the water. "What's your plan?" Tsuyu asks, to which you ignore. "Do you guys trust me?" You ask and the three of them immediately nod.

"Izu! I'll leave the landing safely on the ground to you!" You yell, throwing them as far as you can towards where solid ground is. Fingerless gloves appear around your hands and you turn your body, fist making contact with the boat's roof first as you punch it down. The boat is pushed down to the ground by your punch, creating a crack.

The water along with the villains all go down like your soap and water in a drain when you take a bath. The entire 'ship-wreck' situation is no more when the water isn't present anymore. You use your speed quirk to quickly make your way to your classmates, worried about whether they landed safely or not.

"Izu!" You yell, smiling when you see all three of them standing and okay. "You guys landed alright?"

The three of them nod and as Tsuyu and grape boy lead the way, Izuku stops you with a grin expression on his face. "What's up?" You ask.

Out of no where, he pulls you into a hug. It feels so warm and genuine, a similar feeling to what your mother gives you. "I'm here for you." He whispers, his arms tightening around you. You smile, hugging him back. "Thank you, Izuku."

The three of you run to where you can hear fighting and see Aizawa battling with the creepy guy with hands all over him. Yours eyes dart to the wound on Aizawa's elbow which makes you question, just what was that villain's quirk?

"You're a little too out of your element here, eraserhead. You're much better working stealthily, you're known for surprise attacks not fighting head to head." The villain speaks up, his voice raspy and creepy but all the more exhilarating.

"Then I should be a good match for you." You speak up, standing and ignoring your classmates' multiple attempts to tell you to stay hidden.

"Y/n what are you doing?! Stay back and let the pros deal with this!" Aizawa yells, ticking you off. Two black daggers with neon blue accents that run down the edges of the blades appear in your hands. "And what do you expect us to do if you die and we're rendered helpless?" You ask, pushing the blade in front of you in a horizontal manner.

"And if you get hurt, what am I supposed to tell your parents?! Just stay back!"

"First of all, correction, parent. Singular. You'll only be speaking with my mom. Second, training to become a hero and getting hurt in the process is all in a day's work!" You activate your speed quirk, making your way to the villains surrounding your teacher.

You swiftly hit them with your blade in their delicate parts; neck, calves, eyes, stomach. They all fall down and you quickly replace your daggers with your usuall claymore, easily slicing the big villain into two. Your large blade hits the ground, creating a crack just the size of your leg as you pant.

"I see. Being this powerful has its downsides as well. You're easily tired, aren't you?" The same creepy villain observes, ticking you off as well. He's smart, he's also very observant. You can clearly see how these guys ended up trespassing to UA without any problems with this guy leading them.

You smile, eyes growing tired as you switch to your defense mode. This is a skill you learned from one of your mother's bodyguards- you shut off your capability of being able to reason in exchange for heightened senses.

You had to have only one goal to be able to use this skill of yours. And you decided that that one goal was to protect your classmates and teacher.

You feel your chest fall as you hear the sound of your teacher grunting in pain behind you. "What do you think of him, eraserhead?" You turn around, eyes widening in horror at the sight of your teacher pinned to the ground by a large thing. Its brain is exposed and it looked horrifying. "He's the bioengineered anti symbol of peace. But you can call him Nomu."

You feel your breakfast that morning slowly rise up to your mouth- your teacher's arm had been twisted in such a wrong way and there's blood all over him.

"Sensei-"

"Stand back. If you want to protect someone, protect your classmates." Aizawa grits through his teeth and your legs function by themselves, quickly jumping to bring you to where your friends were.

Your mind races at the thought of your teacher dying, at the thought that you weren't able to save him. Will you be able to save your classmates to? Are you exactly what he said you were? Weak?

Everything is suddenly moving slowly- you as well. You look to your left, seeing the villain already there beside you with his hand extended to Tsuyu, about to make her crumble with his quirk just like what he did to Aizawa's elbow.

Your heart sinks, you won't be able to live with yourself if you couldn't stop him from reaching Tsuyu. You just can't. Before you can move an inch, the villain stops and turns around, looking at Aizawa. "You really are so cool. Eraserhead." You turn back to see Aizawa using his quirk before his face is pushed back to the ground.

You feel a strong gush of air come from behind you and it takes you a little over a second to see that Izuku used his quirk, throwing his fist at the villain.

The cloud of dust clears up and Izuku looks a little bit too surprised that his arm isn't broken, but the look on his face falls as he looks up and sees the nomu standing in front of him, indifferent to what he had just done.

"You're all pretty strong here, aren't ya?" The villain behind the nomu points out. The bioengineered monster reaches over to grab Izuku, but you push your legs to move, using your claymore to cut its hands off.

"Stay away from my friends you disgusting biohazard!" You yell, gritting your teeth as your hands tighten its grip on your claymore. The sight of its flesh growing back causes you to take a step back.

Before any of you could move, the sound of something breaking catches your attention. You look up at the top of the stairs, your heart swelling when you see a familiar tall blond. Although you know he's weak, you can't help the warm feeling in your chest, a feeling of relief that All Might is here.

Is this how it feels like to have hope? To hope for a hero to save you?

Your body turns into jelly and you fall to your knees, Izuku and Tsuyu immediately supporting you on your sides. With the last bit of strength you have, you lift your head to look at the villain before smiling.

"All Might's here to fuck you up."

[platypanthewriter]

The Tanning Rock

Harringrove April prompt 28, Tanning--Creatures!AU (This one grew to nearly 6k and I’m so sorry) @wasting-time-again​ HAPPY BELATED BIRTHDAY, HAVE A MERMAN!  XD

The lawyer who summoned Billy—about an inheritance, he said—was...weird.  Straight out of a movie, with long incisors and a cravat, and he steepled his fingers as he talked.  

Max said he was probably actually a vampire, and Billy agreed—which was weird, because as far as Billy knew, his mom’s family wasn’t exactly old money, and it was hard to imagine a vampire getting on a plane to fly clear to California and summoning him to a crypt full of file cabinets, all just to read a will about his mom’s collection of surfing stickers and pile of old National Geographics.  

Billy knew his father had disowned him, so he bit his lips together, waiting to hear that his mother had died.

“I am here about the estate of your grandmother,” said the vampire lawyer, and Billy drew a shaky breath of relief.  “Your mother was disowned—” he said, and Billy almost snorted a laugh—like mother, like son, he thought, “—and so her domicile has passed to you.”

“Wait, what,” Billy breathed, wide-eyed.

“It is an unusual case,” said the lawyer—Fangun and Stayk, est. 986, read his card, but Billy wasn’t sure whether he was speaking to Fangun or Stayk, or whether the whole thing was a joke yet, so he kept his mouth shut.  “You will take ownership of the house and land, however, you may not live there—that is, not year-round, not unless you are given an invitation by a resident.  It is a closed community.”

“...can I sell it?” Billy asked, and the deepset eyes of the lawyer stared back at him, bloodshot and dry.

“At well below market value,” he said, steepling his fingers again.  They made a dryish noise.  “As I said, they dislike outsiders.  And a stranger will be even more of an outsider than you, in whom runs...the blood of the place.”

Billy wondered, dully, whether he’d inherited a haunted graveyard, or a den of werewolves, and groaned into his hands.  Maybe he was part zombie somehow.  Just his luck.  “Where is it,” he sighed.

“It is not on commonly available maps,” said the vampire, and Billy nodded.  It figured, he thought, though his ears perked up considerably when his grandmother’s lawyer laid out a map of Hawaii.

 They got a ride from the shore on a fishing boat at four o’clock in the morning.  “It’s barely tourist season yet,” said the fisherwoman, showing Max how to steer.  “There will be a ferry, in a week or two, but I can give you two a ride out the day your visa’s up if the ferry quits sooner.”

“We want enough time to look around,” Max said, glancing at Billy.  They’d let their lease run out, and sold most of their things, because a few orange crates of records were a small price to pay for never running into Neil Hargrove around town.  “You could get a job on one of the normal islands,” Max had suggested, quietly, over and over.  “If they don’t like us enough.”

Billy’d never suggested moving Max so far away, but she’d assumed they were going, and after a while he went along with it.  It wouldn’t be so bad, he thought, getting a job in a hotel somewhere after the islanders threw him out.  Max would probably love it, in Hawaii.  

A fresh start, she had said, and it sounded good.

He and Max were greeted by a woman in a wheelchair, who stamped their passports.  “Technically, we’re a different country,” she said, smiling.  She had very brown skin, and looked contentedly half-asleep in the sun.  “You’re the only visitors on the island, for a week or two,” she said, cocking her head.  “We’re not always in a big hurry to scrub up the ferry for the summer.  We love the money, but the tourists...” she laughed, shaking her head.  “Three-month pleasure trip visa.  Have a nice summer,” she said, waving them away.  

Her benign lack of interest lessened Billy’s initial fears that he’d inherited membership in some rich, yoga-pants-wearing, white Human Superiority cult.  

 The house was traditional-ish, with a grass roof and walls, big open windows with no glass, only shutters, and a wide shaded veranda all the way around.  It looked over a beach with rolling waves, and Billy couldn’t wait to get his board out there.

“I’m gonna look around the house,” Max said.  “See if I can find any neighbors.  Maybe I can bring them cookies.”  She set her jaw, frowning around at their luggage, and the scattered pillows.  “Maybe we can buy some furniture somewhere.”

“...we can always just come here for summers,” Billy told her, breathing it in.  

“Yeah, you’re gonna have a great time getting a tourism job where you don’t work summers,” Max said, raising a sarcastic eyebrow, and Billy realized with a sinking feeling in his stomach that she expected him to figure it out.  Find someone who wanted him to stay, here, on the island, at his grandmother’s house.

“I’m no good at making friends, Max,” he reminded her, and she snorted.  

“Better get out of my hair, then.”  She folded her arms, taking another deep breath of the smell of grass in the sun.  After a long moment, she looked back at him again.  “...we’ve got a little over three months, Billy.”

He suspected it sounded longer to her.

 When he wandered down to the beach, Billy could see someone’s tanned shoulders lying across a jutting rock about fifty feet out, and he paddled a ways towards it on his surfboard, getting the lay of the ocean.  There was a rip tide, dark and eerily quiet, to his right, but the rest of the beach had shallow, warm, clear waves over white sand and coral until a dark dropoff about fifty feet out where the rolling waves began.  

As he paddled closer to the rock, he could see the man on it—asleep, Billy thought, just lying in the sun as the waves lapped at his skin.  As Billy drifted closer, paddling with his hands, he could see a long-fingered hand hanging in the water, and he paddled faster, suddenly wondering whether the man wanted to be out on a rock, or whether he was a Dude In Distress, his leg cramped, needing a ride to the beach on Billy’s surfboard and a trip around the boardwalk, and maybe some shaved ice.  

As Billy approached, the guy opened his eyes, frowning over at Billy with wide, half-awake brown eyes.  He pushed himself up on the rock with his arms like the goddamn Little Mermaid, Billy thought, amused. His throat went dry watching the flex of muscle, and the water droplets where the dude had lifted himself out of the bay.  

Billy paddled at random, a little, unable to tear his eyes away.  He cleared his throat.  “Just, uh, making sure you didn’t need any help,” he said, staring at the tanned arms and swimmer’s chest in front of him, nearly triangular, like a superhero.  “I, um.  Guess you’re fine.”

The guy raised his eyebrows, starting to smirk, and then his eyes widened, and Billy realized in a flash of blue and foam that he’d drifted right into the fucking rip tide.  Right in front of the gorgeous dude on the rock, Billy thought in the back of his mind, trying to hold onto his surfboard and let the rip tide take him wherever it would.  Just his luck, he thought, dying because he was so damn gay he saw nice shoulders and his brain switched off.  He hadn’t even gotten a chance to breathe before he got sucked down, and his lungs and sinuses were starting to ache worse than the rest of him, even as he was buffeted around against his board, when an arm slid around his waist.

He wanted to yell at the guy—and he did, in an explosion of bubbles—because what the hell good was it gonna do, swimming into a rip tide, but the muscles against his back and butt flexed, and they were moving sideways out of the rip tide, and then Billy’s head was above water.  He gasped and choked, coughing up half the sea.  The ocean moved soothingly around them, as this dude had no trouble holding Billy up, and Billy tried to clear his throat and eyes.  

“Have you seriously never seen a tail before,” the guy groaned, hauling Billy along like he was no more effort to lift than a little kid at the pool.  Billy felt rock against his thigh, suddenly, and scrambled onto it, coughing and wiping his eyes to see he was on the jutting rock the dude must have jumped off of, to save him.  

“How-how fucking humiliating,” he gasped out loud.  “Can’t believe.  C-can’t believe I fucking p-paddled into a rip tide.”

“You drifted back into the...yeah,” his hot rescuer said, still in the water, with one hand on the rock to hold him steady as he frowned at Billy.  His voice sounded a little odd—Billy was reminded of the Chinese grocery by his house, where their English was perfect, but they had a lilt as they tried to speak an atonal language with a tonal ear.  Up close, he was even prettier, with moles Billy wanted to track down his neck and shoulders, and a doubtful, scrunched-up mouth Billy wanted to kiss.

“Sorry,” Billy wheezed, still coughing.  “Sorry, I’m such a moron, sorry.”  He tried to keep his eyes above the water level, but some part of his brain kept looking for tanned legs kicking under the surface, and he suddenly registered that the moving colors weren’t just fish and anemones.  “Holy shit,” he coughed out.  “You have a tail.”

His rescuer frowned harder, probably worried Billy had brain damage.  “I figured that’s why you swam into the rip tide,” he said slowly, and Billy shook his head, groaning.

“No—fuck, I’m sorry, you—you’re just hot as fuck, I’m just a moron, I’m—damn it,” he sighed.  “Sorry, jesus, I’m so fucking rude, sorry, I just didn’t notice, I was like ‘How the hell did he get me out of there?  OH!’, sorry,” he muttered, sighing.  “...drown me.”

“I am though, right,” the merman said, grinning, “—hotter than you,” and Billy realized he’d found the only person on the island more annoying than he was.  

“Yeah, yeah, just laugh at the poor gay moron who nearly drowned staring at you, that’s nice,” he huffed, lying back against the warm rock to catch his breath.  

“Was it love at first sight?” asked his rescuer, and Billy opened his eyes to glare.  

“Shut up, asshole,” he grunted.  

“Just asking,” his tormenter asked.  “Are you gonna pine away, sighing over me?  Hey, d’you think you’ll always do that?  If I swim over in town, you think you’ll fall off the boardwalk?”

“Fuck you,” Billy told him, leaning his face in his arms and laughing.  “Yeah, probably, you shithead.  Are you gonna...follow me around?  So I can look like more of an idiot?”

“Mmm, can you though…” the gorgeous merman asked thoughtfully, and Billy growled into his arms, feeling his whole body warm.  He blamed it on the sun.  “Why,” his rescuer asked, pulling himself up to laugh against Billy’s ear.  “—you want me to follow you someplace?”

“Oh my god,” Billy groaned, laughing harder.  “Are you afraid to leave me alone now?  What if I try and eat my surfboard?”

“...are you gonna?” 

“Maybe?!” Billy told him, then pushed himself up, frowning around to look for it.

“I’ve got it, it’s right here,” the smug asshole told him, waggling the surfboard in the water.  “Want me to take you back to shore?”

“No!” Billy laughed, sighing.  “I’m going surfing, just because I nearly died making an ass of myself doesn’t mean—”

“Hrm, maybe I should keep an eye on you.” 

“Why,” Billy asked, then pitched his voice just a little lower.  “You like what you see?”

“I could get used to it,” the merman said, and Billy started to preen, but the dickhead finished with “—kind of a comedy special, kind of thing,” and Billy reached over and smacked a big splash of water at him.  

He laughed, his throat arching back, the gills along it thin dark lines that Billy fantasized kissing around.  

Just as Billy was considering grabbing the surfboard and using it as a weapon of blunt force trauma, the merman leaned in close, his smirk widening around pointed teeth, and his cool, salty lips pressed firmly against Billy’s.  Billy made a weird gulping noise in his throat, and the asshole started to pull away, but Billy leaned in, and fell clean off the rock.  His weight dunked them both, and they rose sputtering and laughing, Billy held securely in his merman’s arms as his surfboard floated away.  He couldn’t really bring himself to care.

“...my name’s Billy,” he panted.  

“...Steve,” the mer-dickhead said, raising his eyebrows, like it was weird to want to know his name.  

“...I inherited a house here,” Billy told him in a rush, drunk on kisses.  “I’m from California.  My mom used to talk about this place when I was a kid.  Surfing here.  With her mom.”

“...is she here?” Steve asked, steadying them with one hand on the rock, and glancing back at the beach.

Billy laughed, shaking his head.  “Fuck, sorry, you don’t need to know my shit.  We can make out.  You’re short-circuiting my brain.”

“...I should probably get your surfboard,” Steve told him, grinning, but he leaned his head in again, gentle with his sharp teeth, and Billy inhaled shakily as the points grazed his lips and tongue.  

“Jesus,” he whispered, once he could talk, and then he licked his lips and wrenched himself away to swim after his surfboard, just so his smug rescuer wouldn’t have to fetch it for him.  The waves got bigger as he got out to where the trees weren’t acting as a windbreak, and he clambered up on his board, glaring back as Steve wolf-whistled.

 When he let the tides pull him back towards the gorgeous merman on the rock, he lost his mind again, telling him his tail looked like a peacock butt, and Steve cracked up, grinning at him.

“...so, neighbor, you have to win someone over enough to invite you to stay,” he said, cocking his head.

“Yup,” Billy told him, pointing up at the house he’d inherited, built into the hill, the old grass vacation cottage blending in with the trees.  

“And your method is to tell me I look like bird ass,” Steve continued, and Billy grimaced, waving his hands.

“No!  No, I don’t—I know people have to get to know you.  Here.  I’ll…” he sighed.  “I’ll try for a few months and see what happens.  If nothing...clicks, maybe I’ll try again next summer,” he said, grimacing, and wondering what Max would do, if they weren’t allowed to stay.  Leave, maybe, he thought—she was seventeen, and she could get a job herself.

 He ended up teaching Steve to surf, after showing off his best efforts.  When he swam back, panting, Steve looked properly impressed, and even more tanned.  “Teach me,” he said, and Billy leaned in to kiss him again, nodding.  

“That gonna get you to like me enough to let me stay?” Billy asked, and Steve frowned at him, but Billy laughed, and leaned in for another kiss.

“Tomorrow?” Steve had whispered against his lips, and Billy got no sleep at all that night, he just rolled over every couple hours to check the clock, and see that another two minutes had passed.  

Steve was fascinating to watch on the board, his tail trailing as he controlled it with his hands around either side, his abs flexing as he held himself in a kind of plank pose with the support of his tail.  Billy watched, and realized he was drooling.  

“You like me enough to keep me?” he asked that night, teasing, and Steve laughed.  

“Ask me again tomorrow.”

 Merpeople—or at least, Steve, Billy corrected mentally, realizing he was dealing with a sample size of one—loved bread.  Like a cat, Billy thought, watching Steve eye his croissant, or bagel.  He started just bringing one every morning for Steve, and some coffee, and it was hilarious watching the fluffy flesh of a croissant dangling between Steve’s shark-like teeth.  He waited every morning, and even though Billy wasn’t sure whether Steve was waiting for Billy or the bread he was carrying, he got heart palpitations every time he came down the ramp to the dock, and he could see the little lump of Steve’s head on his folded arms, the rest of him hanging off into the water.

“A few bagels aren’t enough to win me over,” Steve told him, and Billy’s stomach twisted, a little.  He wished he hadn’t brought it up, kind of—the knowledge that he might have to leave hurt, like a sore tooth he couldn’t stop worrying at in his mouth.  “Maybe more croissants,” Steve said, smiling, and Billy brought him more croissants.

 When they’d arrived, they’d discovered the town was filled with mermaid stuff, and at first, Max and Billy had snickered at it, because surely even if there’d been a merperson or two living near a human town once, they’d died decades ago, or they just traded with fishing boats, far out at sea.  They hadn’t considered the amount of people in wheelchairs, or the spray bottles close to hand.

When Billy suggested he bring lunch down from town, Steve swam over to haul himself up—his tail flashing in the light—through the bottom of one of the little sheds on the dock.  Moments later, he banged the door open, wheeling out in an old rusty wheelchair.  He spun it in a circle, waiting for Billy to climb out of the water, and then zipped ahead up the ramp to the path.  

“Wait up, jesus,” Billy yelled after him, and Steve laughed, the muscles in his arms mesmerizing as they spun the wheels.  He slowed down eventually, panting, enough for Billy to jog and catch up.  “...lemme know if you want me to push,” Billy told him, and Steve snorted.  

“Touch my chair and die,” he said.  

“Fair enough,” Billy said, holding his hands up, and Steve laughed.  

“It makes me…” he squinted, thinking.  “...seasick…?” he offered, and Billy nodded, trotting along next to him.  

“Motion-sick, probably,” he suggested, and Steve mouthed it as he rolled along.  

 The lady at the shaved ice stand leaned out and folded her arms on the edge of the little window, laughing at Steve.  “You know they make those that work!” she called, and he flipped her off.  “They don’t have to be electric!  They make ‘em that just move smoothly.”

“It’ll just rust in my shed,” Steve told her, shrugging.  “It’s fine.”  As they waited for their tacos, Steve pulled up to a table, and his rusty, janky wheels kept rolling backwards, until Steve sighed and bent down to stuff some rocks under there.

“My friend Robin and I went in together on a nicer one,” he said, “—but I can’t park it in the shed.  This one’s not so bad,” and Billy’s perception of it shifted a bit—maybe it was more like getting stuck with an old beater car occasionally, instead of something Steve needed help with.  “...want to wander around, after?” Billy asked.  “I haven’t got any souvenirs yet.”

Steve paused, then licked his lips.  “Planning your trip home already?”

“...dunno yet,” Billy said, the invitation unspoken between them.  It seemed ridiculous to want to stay so badly just because he’d met a pair of gorgeously tanned shoulders and a teasing smile, but it also wasn’t...hard to imagine, lingering on the island to go snorkeling with Steve, and learning about the reefs—he’d absorbed enough for a few semesters of marine biology, he was fairly sure, but told as stories, just off-handed things Steve had seen—and Billy was already wanting a drysuit, so he could go in the fall.  Maybe Billy could get a job on a fishing boat, he thought vaguely, or help out in one of the shops.  

If Steve would invite him.

Steve had slid his hands under Billy’s swimsuit a few times, pressing him back on their rock, or on the docks, rocking into him as Billy panted and gasped and fell apart under his hands—but he never said anything, after, and Billy hesitated to ask whether it was...anything, to Steve.  Maybe he picks an idiot every summer, he thought, watching Steve smile at the depictions of mermaids on every surface of every shop on the main street.

“You all spend so much time keeping everything dry and dead,” he said, grinning over at Billy, who’d been anticipating a comment on the mermaid’s hourglass-like proportions, not her lack of water damage.  

“...oh,” he said.  

“I have a figurehead like that, but covered in anemones,” Steve said, cocking his head.  “It’s beautiful.”

“I mean...you could...plant a vine on it, maybe?”

Steve nodded.  “Put it outside in the rain, let it grow.”  The lady behind the counter sighed, rolling her eyes, and Steve laughed.  

“There’s a whole movement to ‘preserve’ our art,” he whispered to Billy.  “Which mostly means they don’t let it become our art.”

“Huh,” Billy said, wondering whether human houses looked like museums, or mausoleums, to merpeople.  

“Not to say that I’d pour water on your television set, or drop your mattress in the bay,” Steve said, grimacing a little, and watching Billy’s face.  “I get that much.”  He looked kind of uncomfortable with the lady behind the counter glaring at him, ducking his head.

Billy leaned to kiss him.  He nearly steadied himself on the chair, and then remembering it would roll, and just held his hands away.  Steve grinned up at him, particularly at his outstretched hands, and yanked Billy down on his not very much of a lap, hurriedly curling his tail up and around Billy’s waist as Billy threatened to slide down the smooth scales to the ground.  Billy threw his arms around Steve’s neck, wide-eyed, as Steve held the wheels firmly, keeping the chair from rolling backwards under the weight of two grown men.  

“Let’s go,” Steve whispered, and Billy nodded, breathing Steve’s sun-and-salt smell, and wondering whether it was okay to ask whether Steve would consider inviting him to stay—just until the next season, Billy thought, as the chair and Steve’s tail moved under him.  Until the next summer, when he could ask whether Steve wanted him to stay again, or whether he wanted Billy gone.

After staying a whole year, Billy thought he might not have it in him to ask whether Steve was tired of him yet, but the thought of waking every morning to run down to the docks with coffee and banana bread was addictive, and he tried not to think about the end.

 Billy ran into the lady who’d stamped his passport, and caught himself staring at her tanned legs propped up on the railing.  “Oh, I’m human,” she said, laughing.  “But I love it here.  I can even shop in the little bookstore, imagine,” she said, and now that Billy thought about it, he realized it had an elevator in the back, and little lifts for the walkways along the higher shelves.  “I’ve never had someone offer to lift me into their cafe, here,” she said, her nose wrinkled, and Billy nodded slowly.  

“Shoot that thing!” she yelled, when she saw Steve’s awful old wheelchair, and he flipped her off.

 “We can only invite a few people,” Steve told him, as they ate noodle bowls.  “It’s for somebody you marry, you know, their family, maybe.  Or if you leave the island, and have a kid.”

“Yeah,” Billy said softly, hearing the message clearly—invitations were not to be wasted, and Billy wasn’t special enough to keep.  He finished his lunch, trying not to feel all butthurt about it.  Max would probably understand.

Steve kissed him again, on the docks, and Billy leaned into it, feeling the familiar pressure of tears in his sinuses, and behind his eyes.  He had three weeks left, he told himself.  Three more weeks.  Steve slid a hand up the back of Billy’s head, humming against his mouth, and Billy let himself go soft in his arms.  

When they returned to the docks, Steve dug a big beach blanket out, and they spread it out on the sand, and Billy stayed out that night, losing himself in Steve’s warm hands and mouth, under stars like he’d never seen before.  

 Steve was watching his face the next morning, with a little frown, and Billy pulled away, sitting up.  

“Better than croissants?” Billy asked, smirking a little, and Steve sighed.  

“Was that what this was?  Fucking me won’t make me give you an invitation,” he said.  He didn’t look amused, the way he had over the bagels, and Billy wondered whether it had worked, a little.  Billy’d always had a talented mouth.

“I won’t know if I don’t try, will I,” he said, laughing.  “Maybe another round will help?”

“...I have to go,” Steve said, and he didn’t even fold up the blanket, just pushed himself off the edge and slid over the wet sand into the water, gone in a flip of tail.  Billy watched for long minutes to see whether he’d come back—they’d been spending every day together, but probably Steve had stuff he needed to do, all the things he’d done before Billy had shown up at the island, easy with his body and his affections.

Billy folded up the blanket, and sat it in the shed, looking around.  There really wasn’t much in there—it was the size of a small bathroom, with some knives for fishing, and a frayed net, and the beat-up wheelchair.  

It smelled like Steve, and Billy stood and breathed, his eyes blurring with tears.

 Steve didn’t come back, and after an hour or so Billy walked home, and ran into Max returning.  “Billy!” she said, with a wide grin.  “Nice night?  I was out getting breakfast.”  She told him about somebody named El, and somebody else named Lucas, and a Dustin.

Max was making friends too, he realized, which kind of made everything worse—she was doing her best, and Billy was just mooning over some guy who thought he was barely good enough for a fuck on the beach.  She’d even met their families, he realized, listening, and registered that he hadn’t met any of Steve’s friends.  He groaned into the pillows tossed around on the mat floor, and sighed.  

“Should I stop seeing him?” he asked, mostly at the ceiling.  

“I dunno why now,” Max said.  “You’re not gonna find somebody else in a couple weeks.”

“Shit,” Billy groaned again.  

“We can try again next summer,” Max said.  “I like it here.”

The idea of returning the next summer, once Steve was bored, was enough to make Billy clench his jaw tight against the pillow he was hugging, squeezing his eyes shut against tears.  “...yeah,” he said softly.

“God, you sound tragic,” she sighed, wandering over and dropping to sit on his butt.  He grunted.  “It’s fine, jesus.  Worst case scenario we have a, like, vacation home.  The vampire dude said we didn’t have to pay taxes on it.”

“Yeah, just pay for plane fare,” Billy sighed.

“He’s out there, y’know,” she said, “—tanning,” and Billy scrambled up so fast he dumped her with a drum noise on the taut mats.  

 When he swam out, Steve just stared out to sea, and Billy clung to the edge of the rock, biting his lips.

“I’m not giving you one of my invitations,” Steve said.  “So stop trying to manipulate me into it.”

“Yeah,” Billy said, kind of wishing they’d never met.  “Yeah, okay.  Do—is that all, or are you sticking around?”

“I’ll stay,” Steve said, frowning at him, “—if you still wanna waste your time on somebody who’s not—how do you say it?  Putting out?”

“...it’s not a waste of time,” Billy told him, swallowing hard.  “I just wanted it to last longer, is all—” and Steve’s eyes narrowed intently.  He grabbed Billy around the back of the neck, and yanked him into a kiss.  

 The remaining weeks, he took Billy snorkeling, and they had sex every night under the stars, Billy panting Steve’s name, and Steve holding him so tightly it almost hurt.  Billy took him to meet Max, and she eyed him warily, but Billy fought and succeeded at securing Steve a plate of brownies, and he was vocally appreciative.  She softened a little, at that.

 Two days before they had to leave, Steve was lying next to Billy on the wet sand, the waves lapping up nearly to their waists.  His shoulder was warm under Billy’s head, and smelled like the high ocean waves.  

“...d’you think you’ll come back next summer,” Steve asked, and Billy snorted.

“Depends on whether I can afford airfare,” he said, sighing.  “Depends on whether I can get a job somewhere that doesn’t need me in the summer.”

“...so I might just never see you again?” Steve asked flatly, and Billy laughed, shrugging.  

“I don’t know,” he said, “—do you want to?”

“...fuck you,” Steve sighed, and Billy pushed himself up to frown at Steve’s face.  

“I don’t know what you want,” he said, glaring back at Steve’s narrowed brown eyes.  “You wanted me to shut up about staying.  What am I supposed to say?”

Steve bit his lips together, and looked away.  “...you know I’m gonna give you an invitation.  You can just tell me.”

“What,” Billy whispered, scrambling to sit up, his heart pounding as Steve flopped over to scrabble around under his wheelchair, his tail flapping around a little in concentration, like a cat’s.  He held an envelope out to Billy without even looking over.

“There,” he said.  “All yours.”

“What,” Billy breathed, and then he half-crumpled it, opening it clumsily.  “You—you’re giving me one?”

“Two,” Steve said, flatly, frowning down at the sand under his hands.  “You and Max, right?”

“Holy shit,” Billy whispered, scrambling over to kiss him, once, then twice, relishing the little noise Steve made in the back of his throat when his lip slid between Billy’s teeth.  “I have to go tell her,” he said, half laughing, his vision blurring with tears.  

“Okay,” Steve said, quietly, and Billy hugged him before scrambling up and running back to the house.  

 Max stared at the two calligraphed invitations on the odd plasticky “paper” the merfolk used, written in Sharpie, and shook her head slowly.  “You did it,” she said, and Billy laughed, nodding.  

“He wanted me to stay enough,” he said, wiping his eyes, and desperately wanting Max to offer to handle the paperwork, so he could run back and kiss Steve.

There was a knock on the door.  Max ran and opened it, and a short-haired woman wheeled in in a rainbow overall dress, and a small, fancy electric wheelchair, her tail the reds and oranges of a sunset.  Billy never quite stopped being envious of how pretty the merpeople were.

“Steve gave you his invites, didn’t he,” she said, and Max slid them around her back, her eyes narrowing.

“...yeah,” Billy said, warily.

“Give them back to him,” she ordered, glaring between them.  “He’s been saving those a long-ass time.  He’s got plans for those, and he doesn’t need guilt-tripping by a pair of manipulative orphans, jesus.”

“I didn’t guilt-trip him,” Billy said, feeling guilty, suddenly, and remembering Steve’s stiffness as he handed them over.  “I didn’t,” he said, less certainly.  “...he...he just likes me, he wants me to stay—”

“He’s known you three months, and you told him you fucked him to get someplace nice for your sister to live,” she said crisply.  “Give them back.”

“He’s not giving them back,” Max hissed, but she was staring at Billy in horror.

“I didn’t say that,” Billy said, waving his hands.  “I didn’t!  Not...exactly.”

“Fuck you,” the woman said, glaring.  “You pressured him.”

“Fuck,” Billy agreed, his eyes tearing up again.  “Lemme—lemme go talk to him.  Max, give—give ‘em here.”

“No,” she said, sounding choked, but he walked over and grabbed them, and hugged her.  

“We’ll figure it out,” he said under his breath, for her ears only, and ran back out.

 Steve was perched up on his rock again, and Billy grabbed his surfboard and sat on it to glide out, paddling with his hands.  The water was clear under him, his shadow passing over the anemones on the reef, and he watched the fish darting around, swallowing repeatedly.  

“Hey,” he said, when he got close enough, and Steve’s head jerked around, glowering warily.

“...you came back,” he said.

“...you want me to stay, right,” Billy said, cutting straight to the chase.  “You gave me these because you want me to stay.”  Steve frowned back at him, and Billy’s heart sank.  “Answer,” he said, his throat closing around the word.

“It’s what you wanted, isn’t it,” Steve said, reaching out, but he just grabbed Billy’s board before he could drift into the rip tide again.  “You wanted to stay.”  He was tense, and he wouldn’t meet Billy’s eyes.

“What do you want,” Billy asked again.  “...because I think your friend Robin’s in my house, and she says I guilted you into it, talking about Max.  Do you...if I didn’t need an invite.  Would you want me to stay?”

“...I guess,” Steve sighed, and Billy swung his leg over the board, dumping himself straight down in the water, because he was definitely about to make some kind of awful noise, and the sea felt good on his hot, wet cheeks.  Steve couldn’t see him crying underwater, he thought, grabbing a jut of rock to keep himself from floating back up.  

He wished he could take a few slow breaths, he thought, closing his eyes, and then something brushed his arm.  He opened his eyes on Steve’s wide-eyed face, his hair swirling in the water.  Billy bit his lips together harder, his hands clenching on the rock, and Steve shook his head, pointing up. 

“Up,” he mouthed.  “Come on.”

Billy let himself be hauled upwards, and pushed up on the rock again, like when they’d first met.  

“What are you doing,” Steve asked, hanging on to Billy’s surfboard.

“Nothing,” Billy said, keeping his voice level.  “I thought you wanted me to stay.  For me.  You can have your invites back.  I didn’t—” he took a deep breath, hearing Steve’s voice say stop trying to manipulate me, and Robin’s guilt-tripping.  “I fucking know I’m pathetic, okay, you don’t have to pity me.  Sorry I—sorry I fucking tried, jesus, I just—” he shut his eyes tightly again, laughing as he imagined Robin’s disgusted look knowing Billy’d gone out and cried.

“Wait, fuck,” Steve whispered, clambering up next to him, where Billy barely fit by himself, since it was high tide.  He was warm from the sun, his tanned skin gleaming with water droplets, and Billy salivated, because his dick obviously hadn’t gotten the message it wasn’t wanted.  “Wait,” Steve said, half on top of him, his weight grating Billy’s shoulder blades against the rock.  Billy didn’t really mind.  “You only want to stay if—if I want you, what—what does that mean—”  His brown eyes were huge.

“...don’t really know how to be clearer,” Billy told him, unable to pull his eyes from Steve’s mouth.

“You don’t want to stay unless I’m happy about it,” Steve said, grabbing Billy’s hands.

“Yeah, that’s kinda how it gets, when you fall for somebody,” Billy told him, raising his eyebrows, and Steve took a shuddery breath and kissed him again.  He didn’t stop, though, he just kissed Billy and kissed him, laughing shakily, his eyes welling up with tears.  

“Don’t go,” he whispered, as Billy clung to him and the rock, trying to keep them from tumbling off.  “I want you here, I want you.  Stay with me.”

“I’m what you want?” Billy asked, startled, his brain hazy from warm kisses, and the scrape of pointed teeth.  “‘M yours then,” he whispered.  “All—all of me.  S’yours.”

They laid there so long, whispering and giggling, that Billy had tan lines of Steve’s fingers on his shoulder for months.

Here are the other Harringrove April prompts I’ve done!

[phykios]

honesty and promise me part 6 [co-written with @darkmagyk] [read on ao3]

Ah, the age old question: what to get for the guy who has everything and also when you’re trying make up for the fact that you actually missed his birthday entirely while spending as little money as possible?

“Where the hell are you taking me?” Percy asks as they wait their turn to disembark. “I haven’t been to Staten Island in ages.”

Annabeth has never been at all. She knows there’s a handful of Greek revival buildings in the Historic District, but she’s never had a car to get there, or the stomach to get on the ferry. Percy had practically climbed onto the bow, his own personal reenactment of Titanic, arms thrown out to the wind, while Annabeth attempted to keep her breakfast down.

Having spectacularly flamed out last week in Philadelphia, she can’t let Percy’s birthday go without some sort of commemoration. The Staten Island Ferry is just part one. “All in due time,” she says, checking her phone for directions. They still have a bus they need to board, and Annabeth is getting sweaty in her leather jacket. Thank God Percy volunteered to carry the backpack with all their gear; otherwise, when this jacket comes off, it’s going to smell worse than his tights at the end of a long day.

Like a magnet, his gaze is glued to the strips of the bay he can spot through the bus windows, his head resting on his chin, a soft, serene smile lifting his lips. All the tightness, all the stress he’s held in his shoulders the last few times she’s seen him, it melts away at the sharp, salty tang of rust and sea air which suffuses every corner. She doesn’t even mind that he isn’t looking at her. 

Hand in hand, finally, they get off the bus, and walk to the overlook. Slinging the backpack off his shoulder, he sets it down at his feet, eyes fixed on the strip of shoreline which can be seen, even all the way over here. “What is that?” he breathes, shielding his eyes against the glint of the sun on the water.

“That,” says Annabeth, “is the Staten Island ship graveyard.”

Still stewing in her guilt over how she missed his birthday--despite the fact that he didn’t even tell her--Annabeth decided to swallow her pride and ask for help. It took an inordinate number of coffee orders and one instance of her actually getting down on her knees and begging, pleading to their long friendship together and swearing that Annabeth would never use this information for evil, but she had finally wheedled the secret out of Thalia: Percy’s greatest love, after the ballet, was sailing. Ship construction, naval battles, maritime history, they were, according to Thalia, the only things which could entice Percy to actually set down the tights and “get some frickin’ sunshine for once in his life.” Annabeth hadn’t believed her, until Thalia had dug up an old photo which had never been posted to his socials--and Annabeth had certainly scoured them for long enough, she would have recognized it had she seen it before--of Percy, on a glittering, jewel-like sea, a rope wrapped around his fist as he leaned over the side of a sailboat, eyes squeezed shut, mouth wide in a graceless, unrestrained joy. 

“Back in the eighties, there used to be over four hundred ships down there,” Annabeth says, coming up beside him. “A lot of it’s been scrapped or sold, but there are still maybe a hundred or so boats, including the USS PC-1264, one of the--”

“One of the two predominantly African American crewed Navy ships from World War II,” he interrupts, eyes light. “No way!”

“Yes way,” Annabeth grins, unzipping her jacket. The midday sun beats down on them, the air sticky and heavy, and she needs this thing off, pronto. “And, there’s a ship that was supposedly the command post for the General Slocum disaster.” Not that she really knows what that is.

He whirls around. “The Abram S. Hewitt is there? Holy sh--”

His jaw drops. His eyes bug out. 

Part two of his present was the ship graveyard. Part three is the outfit.

Annabeth, one hand on her hip, slings her jacket over her shoulder with the other, the leather hot against her bare skin. She has chosen to forgo a shirt entirely, wearing nothing but her nicest pair of black jeans with the thick suspenders and a shiny, red bra. And yes, she had Thalia touch up her hair, five inches of curls lopped off on one side, undercut sharp and severe. 

“I thought we could have a picnic here,” she says, a smile curling her lips without her permission. “Then, if you want, we could do some light trespassing? See the ships up close?”

Percy swallows. He breathes in through his nose, shuddering. “Sure,” he whispers, hoarse. “Sounds good.”

Dropping to the ground like a rock, studiously not checking her out, Percy unpacks their picnic, laying out the blanket, something blue, old, but soft Annabeth had knitted in a fit of pre-finals’ anxiety in college. Annabeth had hinted the night before that he should make them some food, as no one could make a grilled cheese like Percy, and she sure as shit wasn’t going to buy them some prepackaged, tasteless garbage. 

Percy’s sandwiches, just like the man himself, are stacked: thick, sourdough slices (which she suspects he made himself), bacon, turkey, apple, tomato, lettuce, avocado, mayo for her but none for him. She’d always been under the impression that dancers needed to watch what they ate, endlessly in pursuit of some unattainable ideal of beauty. Nope. Percy eats everything and anything he can get his hands on, high carb and high protein and high everything else. It makes sense, she guesses, for someone who basically has to bench their own body weight daily. Every inch of him is tailored for power and velocity, to propel him out of the grasp of gravity--rabbit food just isn’t going to cut it here. 

Munching down, he maneuvers himself into a number of splits and stretches, unable to give up his routine for a single day. “When I was probably thirteen or fourteen,” he says, halfway through a tirade of reminiscence, “my dad took me and Triton and Kym to Cyprus, for some family bonding time.” He rolls his eyes. “You can probably imagine how well that went. Most of that trip was… well, Cyprus was definitely the best part. We went to Kyrenia Castle, which has this amazing museum that holds one of the oldest known ships in the world. Like, this thing was operational during the lifetime of Alexander the Great, and it sank about a mile away from the harbor.” He takes a heroic bite, chewing with his lips firmly shut.

“Cool.”

He swallows. “Very cool. I love really old ships, but you can imagine how few of those are still left, and not just because we haven’t found them.”

Annabeth feels her neck heating up, despite the shade they sit in. “Well, I hope these ones are old enough for you.”

“Oh, these are incredible--don’t get me wrong! I had no idea there was anything like this so close to home. Who needs Cyprus when you have Staten Island?” He grins, placing his sandwich down, throwing his arms in a stretch.

“I know it isn’t Tokyo or Moscow or anything…” she trails off, self-conscious even as she doesn’t actually ask the question that’s on her mind. 

Shamefully, she has found that she still thinks about what Will had said at his apartment over a month ago at this point: Percy Jackson, boy toy of the rich and famous. But if she actually asks, it will make her look like some totally jealous girlfriend or something, like she honestly cares about Percy’s past sexual conquests.

She doesn’t care. She doesn’t. 

He’s just led a really interesting life, and she wishes she could relate. That’s all. 

“It’s not,” he agrees, bending his back with an audible pop. “It’s better.” 

“Really? A little ship graveyard is better than the sites of Tokyo?”

“I didn’t see any sites in Tokyo,” he said. “Mostly just Mittie’s hotel room.”

“Mittie?”

Percy looks at his sandwich, suddenly very interested in the crust. 

“She’s someone important, then?” 

Silence. 

Annabeth laughs to break the tension. “Okay, I'll bite--who’s Mittie? Another model?” 

Taking a small bite of sandwich, he chews, methodical and deliberate. He swallows, clearing his throat. “Margherita Savoy.”

The name doesn’t ring a bell. “Who?”

“Princess Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia.” 

Her mouth drops open a little. “A princess?”

Percy shrugs. “Technically. The throne of Sardinia doesn’t exist anymore, obviously, but she’s big into the money and the titles and stuff.”

A princess. A fucking princess. “But she lets you call her Mittie.”

He looks a little constipated. “She didn’t… until she took me to Tokyo.” 

“Oh,” she says. Because what else is there to say? She’s certainly no princess. 

“She was nice,” Percy says, softly. “You know, eventually. Once we got to know each other.”

Her phone is hot in her pocket, like it’s preemptively searching Google for pictures of Margherita Elisabetta of Sardinia, downloading them all so Annabeth can scribble all over her face like a bad high school movie. “A pretender?” She scoffs, exaggeratedly, her fists tight against the grass. “Talk to me when you get a real princess.” 

His ears go red. “Um…” 

No way. “No fucking way.”

“Look, Eugenie was just kinda pissed when Triton broke up with her, and so she just thought that we’d have some fun.” 

“Oh my god.” She says, looking at him in something like horror. And telling herself at least it wasn’t her distant cousin Madeleine. 

“It was only for like a week or two,” Percy protests. “We went to a club in Berlin she knew Triton liked to go to so he would see us and get annoyed.” 

“A princess dated you because she was pissed at your brother?”

“Only twice,” he says, casual, like any of this is normal and not absolutely insane. “Eleonore is one of Kym’s friends. And she’s technically, like, an archduchess, not a princess. But I don’t know. A couple of his other girlfriends wanted to get back at him, and I was in Europe and available, so we just…” He trails off. She can hear the ellipsis, hanging hot and heavy over them, each dot dropping like a stone. What is this, fucking Mamma Mia? 

“When was the last time this happened?” she asks, not really wanting to hear the answer.

He rubs a hand over his mouth, gaze unfocused as he thinks. “Um… not since the week after Frank left, I think. Mittie wanted to go to Bora Bora but she didn’t want to go alone, you know?” 

“No, I meant,” she pushes through as her stomach flutters, tight and uncomfortable, “girls using you to get back at your brother.” 

His face falls, just a bit. “Oh. Last year, I guess.”

“Who was she?” And where is she so Annabeth can punt her off a building?

“Calypso Atlas.” He sighs, wistful, with more reverence than he had given any of the princesses, and Annabeth’s stomach flops, different from the flutter. Painful this time. “She actually liked me.” 

“Everyone likes you,” she says, faintly. Maybe wearing the leather jacket is giving her heatstroke.

“You know, they really don’t. Not how it counts, anyway.” He picks at a blade of grass, rubbing it between his fingers. “Most of the girls who wanted to use me to get back at Triton only did it because they knew how much he liked to bitch about me--the ‘half-breed bastard.’” He rolls his eyes, huffs a laugh. “And even Kym’s friends didn’t actually like me. Like, yeah, they’d fly me all over with them, but they didn’t want to be seen with me. Mittie and I were on and off for years, and she gets photographed constantly. I’m not in any of them.”

Annabeth thinks she might actually be sick. 

But he doesn’t stop. “It wasn’t so bad when they went around saying that I was a dancer with the Paris Opera, because I was, and I was proud of it. But it wasn’t… I don’t know. It wasn’t like with Frank, whose family does have a ton of money, but who only ever dated me because he liked me.” He picks another blade of grass, tearing it between his fingers. “Calypso, though. She was different.” And he smiles, a little.

“How?”

That smile grows wider. “She just called me one day, out of the blue, and very publicly asked me to be her date to Milan Fashion Week after she and Triton broke up and he immediately turned around and got engaged. She was super up front about it, didn’t try to sleep with me or anything, even though I know she was friends with some people and probably heard about my various talents.” 

She knows exactly which talents he means. He winks at Annabeth, ironic and self-conscious, and she forces out a little laugh, as though the idea of him going down on someone else is charming. 

“But then we actually had a good time together, and a few weeks later, she called me up again, and again, and again, until eventually she introduced me to her father--which was a hell of an experience, let me tell you. The Atlas family puts the Olympianides family to shame as far as dysfunction goes. But it was nice, in its own way; if I’d ever asked Mittie to introduce me to her dad, she’d have laughed in my face.” 

“Sounds like you were pretty serious,” Annabeth manages.

“That was the problem.” He looks away, towards the sea. Always towards the sea. “She wanted to leave Paris, travel the world. And she wanted me to go with her.” 

“To leave the Paris Opera?”

“To leave ballet entirely. I just…” He holds the silence for a moment, lost in the fog of reminiscence, the mist of possible futures long since dissipated. Sighing, he shakes his head. “I couldn’t do it. So, in March, she went to Dubai, and I started making calls back to New York.”

“You broke up with her this year?”

“She broke up with me,” he clarifies, turning back to her. “It was all very romantic. I always left my comp at the box office for her. She didn’t come to my show, but she showed up at the stage door the day before she was set to leave, telling me that she had an extra ticket with my name on it. I turned her down.” And then he looks her in the eye as he says, “I don’t regret it at all.” 

She swallows, her face flushing, tongue numb as she searches desperately for something to say to that. “Atlas, you said her family was? It sounds familiar.” 

“Oh, you’re probably thinking of Zoe Atlas,” Percy says, easing off for the moment. “You probably know about her because she and Thalia were archenemies in boarding school. Or maybe girlfriends? I have yet to get a straight answer.” Annabeth’s eyes nearly bug out of her head. Thalia, in boarding school? What? “But I like Zoe. She’s an activist, and absolutely hates her father. Like I said, there’s a lot of dysfunction. And she came to my first show way back when, and she wasn’t even weird when I dated her sister when we ran into each other in Paris. So that was nice.” 

“She went to your first show?” What in God’s name is up with these one-percenter families? It’s like they all overlap in one big incestuous slurry. And as the daughter of the Chases and the Pallases, she tries not to think where she might fit into that. 

“Thalia brought her. Her first not-date. It was Thalia’s first ballet ever, too. It… it meant a lot.”

“What show was it?”

He smiles, wistful. “The Nutcracker. I was one of the kids at Clara’s party. Most scared I’ve ever been. When I got out backstage after intermission, Thalia was waiting for me with my mom. She punched my shoulder, called me ‘Kelp Head,’ and told me I did great. Then I hugged her,” he says, snickering. “She punched me again.”

Annabeth laughs, huffing through her nose. “Good to see some things never change.”

“That’s our Thalia for you--looking out for everyone, even when it kills her inside.” He glances at her pointedly.

It’s her turn to share. 

Annabeth’s mouth is dry, like sandpaper.

She grabs her backpack, pulling out a sketchbook and a pencil. Beside her, Percy sighs, deflating a little.

Annabeth flips open a new page, and starts drawing. 

Each sketch delivers a challenge: bringing order to the whole through design, composition, tension, balance, light and harmony. Sometimes, buildings spring to life on the page, fully formed. Sometimes the page stays blank, an empty pencil.

Pencil to paper. Letting whatever wants to come out, come out. “My mom invited me to lunch one day,” she says. Her eyes follow the line of her pencil, ninety degree angles and symmetrical shapes. “I had moved to New York like six months before. Single girl, in the big city, to follow her dreams.” She’d gone to boarding school in New York before that, but it wasn’t the same as picking out her apartment and taking the train to the Manhattan skyscraper her office was held in. Sometimes she’d walk down the street, feeling like she was smack dab in the middle of Sex and the City, which she and Piper use to watch in secret, huddled under the covers in the dorms at Miss Minerva’s. “Unfortunately, my mom didn’t love my dreams.”

“She didn’t approve of anarchist architecture?”

Annabeth’s laugh is hollow. “She thought I should have been charting some new path in business for a woman. But not in a feminist way. In, like, a capitalist way. But architecture was not really negotiable for me. And once that became clear, she had her own expectations about that, too.” 

Annabeth has always been a prideful know-it-all. If all her mother had wanted from her was ambition, they probably could have made it work. Annabeth wanted to reshape the skyline, she wanted her name on buildings that would last and impress. 

But even Annabeth couldn’t do that in six months. 

“She wanted the best schools, the best companies, the best projects.” She sighs. “I was lucky to find a job in New York that wasn’t just carrying coffee.” She had gotten a bigger offer from a more well-known firm where she had interned one summer, but it had been for an assistantship, heavy on the assistant. Her eventual Junior Architect label hadn’t been great, but it had been something, being a rising star at a smaller firm. It seemed like a good fit. “I did not make my mother proud. I… she lived in New York, and I lived with my dad all over.” 

Percy frowns. “Your mom didn’t have custody of you?”

“My mom didn’t want custody of me,” she laughs, bitter. God, it feels weird to tell someone else this. Piper and Leo and Luke knew, obviously, but they had witnessed it all firsthand. Telling someone else, out of the blue… Well, Percy had divulged his tragic backstory without complaint. It’s only fair that she does as well. “I mean, my dad didn’t either. But when it became clear my mom wasn’t an option, well, there we were. He stepped up as best he could. That wasn’t always a lot, but when compared to my mother, he seems like a perfectly involved parent.” 

“Are you trying to make my parental situation seem more reasonable?” 

“Is it working?”

“If you ever meet my dad, we can compare notes.” He shudders at the thought, playfully. “So, what happened with your mom?”

“She made her displeasure known.” Annabeth sighs again, shading a corner. “I mean, she’s always made her displeasure known. I wasn’t getting good enough grades, I wasn’t in the right activities, I wasn’t going to get into the right school, yadda yadda yadda. But for a long time… I don’t know, it at least seemed like she was worried about me.” She thinks of the Eta party, of the man in the brown suit, tutting about Athena Pallas’s druggie daughter, and scowls. “My mother has always had an all or nothing outlook. If I wasn’t the best, I might as well be nothing. But the thing was, this time I thought I was making real progress. And when she invited me to lunch after six months in the same city, I thought she would see that.” 

She had not. Because to Athena Pallas, having a daughter who was an architect instead of an executive Vice-President on her way to CEO, having a daughter at a small but growing architecture firm instead of the best one in the country, was like having a daughter who was drunk in a gutter somewhere. 

And Annabeth had realized as much that lunch. 

All her work was never going to earn her mother’s love.

And suddenly, she wasn’t sure what work had been her’s and what had been her mother’s ambitions. 

She’d started crying. In the cafe and right now, on Staten Island, with Percy. “I’m sorry,” she sniffs, wiping her nose on her arm. “Wow, I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” He reaches over and wraps an arm around her, gently, rubbing her shoulder, and she more or less crumples into his side. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

Her arm, still free, keeps moving. The drawing takes a shape that she can’t quite name yet. A tree, maybe, in a box. A window to another world, possibly. She spills tears on the paper.

“She disowned me.” Her thin line trembles, before righting itself. “I ran out of there. I stumbled into the first tattoo parlor that didn’t smell like piss, and got my owl done.” She brandishes her left arm, the grey shape blurry and faded against her elbow. She had had a stuffed owl as a little girl, her protector against the spiders in the closet. “I cut off my hair, got my eyebrow pierced, found a club, and just… had a rough couple of days. Got really really drunk that night.” Like, too drunk. Crying on the floor of a filthy bathroom drunk. “Thalia found me under the bathroom sink, took me back to her place, helped me kick the hangover the next day, and that was that.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m not,” Annabeth says. And most of the time, she isn’t. She wipes her eyes, smudged makeup getting smudger.

“Your mom sounds like she sucks.”

“She does.”

“What about your dad?”

She sniffs. “What about him?”

“You just haven’t really mentioned him. What’s he like?”

Shrugging, she wipes a tear from her cheek. “He’s a history professor.”

“And?”

“That’s about it.”

“I mean, do you like him?”

She shrugs again. “Sure.” There was a lot to like about Frederick Chase. “I haven’t really spoken to him in a while.”

Mouth in a sympathetic twist, he brushes the curls from her eyes, a gesture so sweet it makes her heart pound. “You should call him,” he says. “I’m sure he misses you.”

Her phone burns in her pocket, heavy with the weight of unread texts. “Maybe.”

“Do you want to change the subject?” he asks.

“Please,” she blurts out, digging the heels of her hands into her eye sockets. “God, please. Let’s go back to your cute backstory. Tell me more about your first ballet. I want to hear all about the time you were in the Nutcracker.”

Percy fishes out a napkin from somewhere, handing it to her. Grateful, she blows her nose into it, wet and disgusting. “I hate to tell you this,” he says, “But I have been in the Nutcracker, like, fifteen times.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously,” he nods, “It's the big moneymaker. Have you ever seen it?”

“It's a holiday classic,” she scoffs, a little wetly. “Of course I’ve seen it.”

He snorts. “Like, for real, or the recorded one they play on Netflix with Macaulay Culkin?” 

“I've seen it live! My dad lived in San Francisco when I was in high school. They have a fancy ballet there.” She’d seen it as a little kid in NYC, she thought, too. Maybe when her parents were still married, or her mother was still willing to take her for Christmas. 

“Would you be willing to see it again?”

“Like, for real,” she parrots back at him, “or the recorded one they play on Netflix?”

“Ha ha. I mean for real.”

“I mean… maybe if they switched things up a bit.” 

“It's a classic!” He protests. “I mean, it isn’t like we do the Balanchine everywhere, every time. But… it's a classic.” 

“I’m sure the dancing is fine.” Annabeth says. She remembers going with Luke in Boston and thinking it was nice, but also hoping Luke would kiss her at the end of the night, so she hadn’t really paid attention. “But they get to design a land of magic and sweets and fairies, and every time the costumes and the sets are just, like, pink glitter and white gauze mixed with weird racial stereotypes. There’s no imagination.” 

“Well, okay then.” There’s something in his smile, in the turn of his head that she can’t quite identify. “What would you do?” he challenges.

She holds his gaze for a moment, looking into those eyes that almost reflect the color of the sea around them. Her eyes feel a little puffy still, but he doesn’t look away. Then, without breaking away, she flips open a new page in her sketchbook. 

“Space,” she says. “It needs space.”

“Outer?”

“Negative. Lots of space for dancers to move around.” Her pencil scratches over the paper, familiar blocky shapes springing to life. Doric fluted columns split the wings, because of course. “It’s Christmas, so we want color: no sterile, snowy landscape. We know it’s all frozen over--we don’t need to see it again. Obligatory Christmas tree here,” she sketches a crude triangle off to one side, approximately along the golden ratio, “and a big fireplace in the center, preferably a functional one.”

“You know there was this dancer in the nineteenth century that died because her costume caught fire, yeah?”

Annabeth tilts her head, capitulating. “Fair point. We’ll raise it up on a pedestal, keep it out of the way.” She draws a little platform beneath it. “But color is key.” Up above, she draws a pediment crowning the proscenium. She scribbles in the empty space, a placeholder. “Everyone knows the story, so you lay it out up here, episodes merging into each other from start to finish.”

Percy peers down at her page, his chin perilously close to resting on her shoulder. She can’t draw like that. “Kind of reminds me of the Parthenon.”

“You’ve been?”

He nods, his hair tickling the side of her face. “Couple of times. I thought you said you wanted color, though. The Parthenon’s all white, isn’t it?”

“Not originally,” she says. “Do they not explain that on the tours?” 

“Um…” Sheepish, he looks away. “I, uh, I’m not always great at listening.”

God. It’s so endearing. What the hell. She kisses him on the cheek, enjoying the way he flushes lightly. “Me either.” He is so fucking handsome. “But no, the original Parthenon, all those white statues, they were painted. Ergo, color.” 

He blinks, momentarily stunned. “Wouldn’t--uh, wouldn’t that distract from the dancers? People would just be staring at the ceiling.”

“Then… it’s only lit up before and after the show. During the show, you turn the lights down, bring the focus back down onto the stage.” She considered it. Something she’d worked on for a production once, a fashion show Piper had done at Pratt. “Or, you set it up so the colors are mostly lights. Lights that shine through during the snowflake dance and when Clara rides off with the prince. But then you also get the white for the frosted look. But, they’re still too pink, so I don’t think some color variety is bad.”

“So, not to kill your vibe,” Percy says, pulling back a bit, “but I gotta say, I don’t see how this is that different from the billion other Nutcrackers out there.”

She glares, lips pursed. He’s trying so hard not to laugh. Dick. “The set is only half the problem,” she says. “You'd need to redesign the costumes, too.”

“Tell you what. Why don’t you come see my show in December, and then you can tell me all about how you’d fix it.”

“Me and every tourist in New York at Christmas time?”

He nods, like he was expecting it. “Then come to my current one. September isn’t Christmas, so it’ll be a lot less crowded.”

“I don’t know,” she grimaces, sketching a star in the corner of the page. “I don’t really think I’d fit--'' Fit in with those people like the ones from the Eta awards, who thought not being her mother’s lackey was the same as being in rehab.

“Annabeth.” Percy takes her drawing hand, lifting it off the page entirely. The pencil is caught between them, an ineffectual barrier to the sweet, rubbing thumb on the mound of her palm. “I want you to come to my show. I’ll leave you a ticket. No one will care what you look like, I promise.” He stares at her, baby seal eyes in full effect.

Fuck.

“As long as you leave me a ticket,” she says, weakly. “I mean, I wouldn’t be able to afford a good seat.” The lie slips out, easy as anything. She can’t help it.

He smiles, soft and warm and way too inviting. “And in the meantime,” he says, softly, you can come with me tonight.”

“Tonight?”

“I’m going to my parents’ for dinner. It’ll be just my mom, Paul, and my sister. They’d love to meet you.”

“I can’t,” she replies, immediately, almost without thinking. “I’ve got--I’ve got work to do.”

She doesn’t. But boys don’t bring girls like Annabeth home anymore. She isn’t meant to settle down. She’s meant for grimy bars and ship yards. She'll leave it to the princesses to be brought home.

He deflates, just the slightest bit. If she hadn’t had so much up and personal time with his naked chest and the movement of his shoulders, she probably would have missed it. “Maybe next time, then?”

“Yeah,” she agrees, not entirely certain if she means to follow through. “Maybe next time.”

[puckyeahobx]

blow all my friendships to sit in hell with you

a/n: WEE WOO WEE WOO RAFE CAMERON WOOBIFICATION INCOMING. this is my favorite thing that i have ever written. enjoy (NOT MY GIF)

summary: y/n and rafe are in love at Midsummer’s and then someone (cough topper cough) tries to come around and start trouble. protective!rafe jumps in and it is sexy

warnings: nsfw duh

word count: 4.8k

It’s not that you weren’t excited about going to Midsummer’s. You were, truly. Ever since you had moved to the island, you had looked forward to the party every summer. There was something about getting done up in a pretty dress and whimsical accessories that almost made you forget how much of an outsider you felt amongst the other Kooks. 

You had only moved to Figure Eight about halfway through high school, so by then everyone had already made their cliques. At that point it didn’t matter that your parents had money, no one took notice. It also didn’t help that everything about you proved that you weren’t a preppy douchebag. So, instead of getting wasted out of your mind in someone’s basement, you spent a lot of your time at the beach. Here is where you met the Pogues, and thank God you did because without them, you weren’t really sure where you would have ended up. If it weren’t for running into the boys: JJ, Pope, and John B around the docks, you would have never met Kie. And if you had never met Kie, you would have never met Sarah. And if you had never met Sarah….well, your life would look drastically different, to say the least. 

The Cameron family was somewhat of an Outer Banks institution. Everyone knew them, and depending on which side of the cut you were on, you either loved them or you hated them. Well, you either loved or hated Ward, that is. And even if you didn’t love him, you probably feared him, which was all in the same to him. The Ward kids were a little more controversial from person to person, though. Sarah had a reputation that didn’t really fit the sweet, loyal girl she was, but even with her reputation no one ever really had any reason to dislike her that wasn’t directly related to her father. Wheezie, the youngest, was often forgotten about, but it seemed like she liked it that way. Then there was Rafe. The oldest of the Ward kin, and by far the most contentious. He was like Ward in the way that he was either feared or hated, but unlike Ward, there weren't a lot of people willing to say they loved him.

However, “a lot of people” weren’t you.

You weren’t really sure when you changed teams on the Rafe Cameron front, but you imagine it was at some point in the summer before your junior year when you started hanging out with Sarah regularly. Rafe was older than you, and not around a whole lot, but he was around enough. You saw how he argued with his dad and how drastically different Ward acted around Sarah and how he acted around Rafe. You saw how empty he looked when he wasn’t around Topper or Kelce. The Rafe you saw from your spot on the living room sofa that summer was not the Rafe you had heard the urban legends about. He was preoccupied - it always seemed like he was thinking about what he was going to have to do next to make sure he kept being worthy enough. You try to remind yourself of all of the things you had heard about him, but then he’d help Wheezie with the newest secret project or offer help to Ward at every turn, and what was legend and what was the boy before you became complete opposites. 

It was embarrassing, truly, how smitten you had become with him that summer. You found yourself sticking up for him in conversations with Sarah and Kie, sometimes even with the Pogues who had age-old reasons for hating him. Almost everyone thought you were just being naive, being new to the island and all, but Kie saw right through you. She saw the way you watched him enter and exit rooms, how eager you were to help him with docking the boat. Everywhere he was, you just happened to turn up at. Again, it was a little embarrassing, but there was just something about him that made your feet forget that they had a mind of their own. The word magnetism comes to mind. It took him a couple of months to notice, aka well into your senior year, but eventually he caught on and started playing the game right along with you. You were typically an impatient person, but you’re glad you paid the long game with this one. It’s how you ended up on his arm three Midsummer’s in a row.

So, again. It’s not that you weren’t excited about going to Midsummer’s. Afterall, you were in the prettiest dress you had ever seen (you had flowers in your hair for God’s sake) and your amazing boyfriend on your arm. It was destined to be a good night. Everything was aligned and it was going to be perfect. But, then again, perfect doesn’t usually last long in the Outer Banks. 

You and Rafe had done the rounds to all of the most important club members, per Ward’s request, and you were about to throw a fit if you didn’t leave soon. All you wanted was to go back to one of your guys’ houses and have a night in with some netflix and your sweatpants. You didn’t even care about how damn cliche it was. It was just that exhausting pretending to like 25 consecutive rich white people. But Rafe was not interested. He knew how happy it made Ward that he was there making connections and participating in all of the traditions of Kook life. Regardless of what you felt about Ward and how he treated your boyfriend, you didn’t say anything. If it made Rafe happy, that was all you cared about.

But that didn’t mean you weren’t going to put up a fight. 

You two were sitting at one of the tables draped in white linen, the fairy lights encircling them being the only sources of light three hours into the party. He was people watching, laughing and talking with people who walk by, his hand on your thigh as a sense of comfort. You were always the one thing that could ground him when he started to fly off the handle like he could still do from time to time. 

“Rafe,” You whispered as you leaned into his neck more so than his ear. You wanted him to feel your breath against the sensitive spot behind his ear. 

He shivered for just a second before he fought it off with a cough, turning to you with a forced smile, “Yes, Y/N?”

You made your best puppy dog face and looked up at him, your chin on his shoulderas you wrapped your arms around his middle, “I want to go home.”

He laughed a little at your dramatics and put an arm around your shoulders, pulling you tighter so he could kiss your forehead. “We’ll leave soon,” he whispered into your hair.

You tried whispering into his neck again, desperate for him to give into temptation. “I want to leave now,” You pressed the gentlest of kisses just below his earlobe, “Please?”

He shifted in his seat and sat up a little straighter, coughing as he pulled away from you enough to get your lips off him. “Just like, 30 more minutes. I don’t want Dad to think I’m ditching.”

It was your turn to pull away as you sat back in your chair and crossed your arms across your chest, fully pouting at his loyalty and devotion to the Cameron institution. You didn’t say anything, instead opting for a loud huff and your nose turning up to the sky, refusing to look at him any longer. 

However, since you were so busy refusing to look up at him you didn’t notice him lean back in closer to you where it was his turn to whisper against your neck and in your ear, “I’ll make it worth the wait, I promise, Baby.”

There was no mistaking the hitch in your breath as you sunk back into your chair and into his chest, a blush creeping all the way from your exposed chest to the tips of your cheek bones. The immediate reactions you had to his voice never failed to amuse him, so you weren’t surprised to hear him laugh in spite of you. At this, you threw a weak punch at his shoulder that only made him laugh harder. 

“Come on, dance with me,” He finished off his laughter as he stood up and held his hand out for you, “Not nearly enough people have seen how smokin’ you look tonight.”

Taking his hand you couldn’t help but smile, but still managing to roll your eyes at the cheesy remark, “I think you paraded me around to everyone at this party about three times over, Rafe.”

He led you over to the makeshift dance floor where it was just you guys and three other couples who all looked to be above the age of 80. His hands on your waist and yours around his neck he smiled down at you with the smile that was reserved just for you, “It will never be enough people.”

“You’re ridiculous, Rafe Cameron,” You leaned up to kiss his smiling lips, never able to resist him for long.

“And you’re beautiful, Y/F/N Y/L/N.”

But before you could finally kiss - something you somehow haven’t done yet and were getting desperate for - you were interrupted by the most obnoxious person you have ever had the displeasure of knowing. 

“Well, well, well. What do we have here? Lady and the Tramp? Rafe, you’re Lady of course. Haven’t seen your balls in awhile, huh bud?”

You had hated Topper ever since you had first met him, but he had only gotten worse since High School ended and he found out what everyone else had known for years: that he was completely useless. 

Rafe immediately moved so he was standing in front of you slightly, every muscle in his body tensed completely, but neither of you said anything. 

Topper chuckled to himself as he crossed his arms over his puffed-out chest. He had a habit of getting overly confident once he got more than three whiskey’s deep. “Oh so you just have nothing to say, pal? Not enough that she has your balls in a fucking vice grip, she took your tonuge too...what a shame. You always had a way with words.” His smile was as menacing as it could be on a trust fund baby, but it still wasn’t great. 

“Is that all?” Rafe said, sounding surprisingly calm. His muscles and jaw were unyielding, though. His grip on your hand flexed with every word he said as if he was slipping fast and desperate to have something to keep him from falling over that ledge. 

Topper scoffed dramatically, “What? I can’t joke around with my best friend anymore? Or, my former best friend, I guess. Ever since that pogue-slut started sucking your dick you never give your real friends the time of day anymore.”

You flinched at the horrible things he was saying about you, but it was no match to the way Rafe was all but blowing fire out of his nostrils. “If I were you, Top, I’d turn your ass around and leave her the fuck alone.”

“I’m just trying to be there for you, bro. You’re not yourself anymore! This bitch has you completely brainwashed! The Rafe I know would have spit in the face of the pussywhipped cuck you’ve turned out to be.” He paused and then looked over Rafe’s shoulder at you, giving you a quick up and down. “Must be some pretty good pussy if you’re able to turn the King of Kildare county into your personal bitch.”

Rafe’s hand suddenly left yours and he laughed to himself, “You’re a funny guy, Top.”

“No, I'm serious, man. Let me have a piece of that. I’ll decide if she was worth ruining your reputation for.”

Rafe looked down and laughed for a second before looking directly in Topper’s eyes, “Go to fucking hell.”

Before he even got the last word out of his mouth, his iron fist had made impact straight into Topper’s jaw. Maybe it was the alcohol, or maybe it was just because of the power behind Rafe’s punch, but he was on the ground immediately, muttering gibberish to himself as his mouth flooded with blood. 

“Rafe!” You screamed as you pulled him back just as looked like he was about to go in for another round. 

He fought against your grips to get closer to him, wanting one last word. “You ever talk about me or my girl again and you’ll have a lot more to worry about than a bruised jaw. You got that?”

You didn’t wait for Topper’s response as you started to drag Rafe away towards the front of the house where his Jeep was parked. People were starting to stare and you wanted to get out of there before Ward caught wind of what had happened. 

The half walk/half speed run to the car was a silent one. You didn’t know where to even begin and you could tell Rafe was embarrassed of acting out like that. He hadn’t done anything like that in over a year and he had been so proud of himself for turning over a new leaf for you. 

Once you got into the car you both sighed in relief. It was then finally that he turned to you, his voice trembling just the slightest bit from residual adrenaline and the shame creeping up from the pit of his stomach to the tip of his spine. “Baby, I’m- I’m so sorry. But I, I just couldn’t help it. He was saying such fucked up shit about you. Calling you all of those things and talking about fucking you- I was going to be sick. I had I to do something baby, I’m so fucking sorry-”

He was caught off by the intoxicating crush of your lips against his. You grabbed his face in yours hands and kissed him harder than you had in a long time. It took him almost no time at all to melt into you, grabbing onto your waist as best as he could across the middle console. You were out of breath and positively drunk on each other when you finally pulled away, the most ridiculous smile plastered on your face. When you opened your eyes you saw that same smile mirrored on his perfect face, his eyes hooded as he laughed a little between pants.

“I know I uh, shouldn’t enable violent behavior,” you paused, still trying to catch your breath, “But that was one of the hottest things I have ever seen in my life.”

He swallowed, keeping his eyes locked on yours as his goofy smile turned into a smirk, “I’ll always fight for you, Princess. You know that.” 

You whined just the slightest bit at the pet name before putting on your seatbelt. “Home. Now.” Afraid of what you would do if you looked at that shit eating grin for another second, you looked straight ahead out the windshield. 

“Yes ma’am.” You heard him chuckle as he put the car in drive and head off toward his house, his hand on your leg seemingly inching up higher and higher with every mile traveled. 

By the time you got back to his house, you were about three seconds away from jumping him in the wide open space of the Cameron residence’s driveway, but luckily your boyfriend had a little bit more restraint as he took your hand and directed you to the guest house that he had been living in for the last year and a half (it was all a part of Ward’s idea to give Rafe more responsibility, but all it had really done was give your sex life completely free reign, which you greatly appreciated).

Once you got into the front door, he all but slammed you against the door in order to shut it. “Damn if I had known me throwing punches at losers got you so hot I’d head down to the country club more often,” He whispered against your lips.

You moaned the slightest bit as his lips trailed down to your neck while he lifted you up, wrapping your legs around his waist and pinning you against the door. “It wasn’t about the punch-” A pause, “Ok it was sort of about the punch. But it was- it was more about you defending my honor or whatever. And you look so fucking sexy when you’re mad.”

His lips found his way back to yours, but first he smiled and whispered again, “I’ll always defend your honor, Baby. You’re my girl.”

And with that, you were back to making out sloppily as he carried you down the hall to his bedroom that, at this point, was pretty much your shared bedroom. He not-so-gently dropped you on the bed before reaching down and yanking his shoes and socks off when he went for his belt and dress pants. Your hand immediately flew up and swatted his away. “Let me do it.”

He groaned and ran his fingers through your hair as he looked down at you undoing his belt, your eyes fixed on his innocently. Once his belt was undone you wasted no time reaching a hand inside and feeling him up just the way he liked. You got up on your knees without removing your hand from its careful ministrations so you could kiss up his neck to his lips, “Thank you for being my knight in shining armor.”

Clearly not able to take much more teasing, he, a little gentler this time, pushed you back against the bed, this time coming with you. Since he was so much taller and broader than you, being underneath him was sometimes overwhelming but in a sexy, intoxicating way that you never got used to. He whispered against your neck, “If this dress isn’t off your body in about three seconds I’m going to fucking scream.”

You pushed him off of you and laughed before sitting up just enough to clumsily slip the dress off your head while he, equally as graceful, flung off his dress pants and shirt. He sat back on his knees for a moment and drank the sight of you in, face flushed, mouth agape, and completely, totally in love with you. “This never gets old. You’re...you’re perfect.”

That familiar blush and pit in your stomach that came with these intimate moments with him snuck up at you as you whispered a “Thank you”, a shy smile playing across your cheeks. 

He returned the smile and leaned back over you, reigniting the fire from before as soon as his lips touched yours. 

His hands were everywhere, everywhere, everywhere as you gasped beneath him with yours gripping his hair like a lifeline. From your chest to your ass he was caressing and stroking you as if you could disappear from him at any moment. When a hand finally reached into your underwear and he realized how turned on you already were he all but growled against your lips, “You’re always so ready for me...you have no idea what you do to me, baby…”

All you could muster up was a whimper as he hooked his fingers around the sides of your underwear and tore them down your legs. Wasting no time, attached his lips to you and started eating you out in the only way he could, which is to say it was perfect. He knew exactly when and where to use his fingers, and when and where to apply pressure with his tongue. It was amazing truly how it came so naturally to him. He was up to two fingers pumping inside of you when he moved his head up your body to kiss you, knowing what you needed to finish. 

“Are you gonna cum for me, baby? I can feel it, I know you want to,” he whispered against your neck as he sucked and nipped at all of your favorite spots,  “You’re so good for me always, go ahead. I’ll count you down. 5.”

You really could feel it starting to build up, but you wanted to hold back for just the right moment. 

“4.”

Holding back seemed to be getting harder and harder, his fingers angled further up against you and his thumb found its way to the nerve ending that his tongue had to abandon to get to your neck. 

“Such a good girl. 3.”

You were full blown whining and rocking against him, desperate for the feeling only he could bring you. 

“2. Almost there, Princess.”

With a final squeal, you grabbed onto his arm and held it steady as you ground yourself against him, eyes squeezed shut. 

“1.”

Before he had even finished the word, you were there. Your vision was white and your whole body was under the control of something primal and hot. He coaxed you through your orgasm with his fingers and the sweet encouragements falling off his tongue and into your ear.

When you opened your eyes finally you saw him looking down at you positively beaming with pride. Getting you off was his one greatest joy in life, which was good because, come to think of it, it was yours too. 

“Fuck.” Was all you could sigh out as you looked up at him, your chest heaving.

He leaned down to kiss you again and chuckled against your lips, “I was just about to, God. You’re so impatient.”

Not finding him particularly funny at the moment - you had much more pressing things to take care of - you broke the kiss to push his boxers down his legs and grab a hold of him, stroking him a few times before lining him up against where you needed it most. You were just about to slide him in when he pushed your hand away and paused. “You know I love you, right?”

Momentarily breaking out of your primal haze, your body softened against the bed and you reached up to grab his face, “Of course I do, Baby. I love you too.”

Another pause from him where he averted his eyes before speaking again, “I would do anything for you,” he looked back at you, “I mean it. Anything.”

“I know,” you whispered back, trying to show that you understood his urgency. 

“You’re like- You’re seriously the best thing that has ever happened to me so when Top started saying all of that disgusting shit about you and how you ruined my life I just- I just lost it, I guess.”

Your fingers found the back of his neck where you threaded them through his hair, trying to ground him. “You did the right thing, protecting me. He was drunk...who knows would have happened? He deserved it.”

He scoffed and shook his head, agreeing with you. “Yeah he fucking did. When he started talking about fucking you, I could have killed him. He’s lucky all he got was a sucker punch.”

“He’s the worst person on the island, it was about time someone put him in his place. You’re a good man, Rafe Cameron.”

He looked down at you again and smiled ever so slightly, “Yeah?”

Nodding your head and biting your lip to hold back a goofy grin you reassured him further: “The best.”

Closing the gap between you guys once more, he leaned down to capture your lips with that smile still plastered across his cheeks. As soon as your lips touched, though, that goofy mood was gone. He lined himself up against you and slid in slow and steady, making sure you both got to savor this moment. It was no shock that such a tall man would be so well endowed, but you still were never used to how good he felt like this and you were starting to think you never would be. 

You both gasped and moaned when he finally started moving, his head lulling back as he held onto your hips with both of his big hands, pinning you down to the mattress hard (as if you would ever, in a million years go anywhere). 

Another thing you didn’t think you would ever get used to is how into dirty talking he was. The man could go on and on and it made everything that much more powerful. 

“You feel so good, Baby Girl.”

“Yeah, fucking scream, Princess. I want to know how good I’m making you feel.”

“You like it when I fuck you like that, huh? Say it.”

You were always more than willing to indulge his desires considering how hot they made you and much more confident they made him. Rafe was your first and only, but you couldn’t imagine that you were missing out on much. He had to be the best fuck you could ever hope for.

Before long you felt that knot start to loosen in the very base of your stomach, your breath trying desperately to keep up. “Baby, I-I’m-”

He continued to pound into you relentlessly, “Me too, sweetheart. Just hold off for a little longer. I want us to cum together.”

You whimper and grab onto the headboard behind you, trying to ground yourself to something before you lose it completely. 

His thrusts quickly became sloppy and out of rhythm and his thumb once again found your clit, signaling that it was about time for both of you to give in.

“Please,” you begged, barely above a whisper as you strained against the headboard. 

That was enough to do him in and you followed after all but a half second later. Both of you started mumbling all kinds of gibberish about how much you loved the other and how hot that was, but neither of you were really present enough to pay attention. 

Rafe fell on the bed on the other side of you and immediately wrapped you up against him, pulling the covers over the both of you. Your head was resting on his chest and you could hear his heart struggle to regulate itself. 

“What do you think my dad will say?” He whispered sadly after a couple of minutes of running his fingers all along your side as you drew shapes into his chest. 

You lifted your head just enough to look up at his worried face. “I don’t think you have to worry about that, Rafe.”

“I embarrassed the whole family because I lost my temper...he’s not going to be happy about that.”

Setting your hands under your chin’s place on his chest, you rolled onto your stomach to look at him longer and harder, “You lost your temper because some drunk psycho was insulting your girlfriend and calling you a pussy-whipped bitch. I’m afraid to know what Ward would do in that situation. He’s probably thinking you were too nice.”

He chuckled slightly, making your whole body move with the laughter in his chest. “Yeah I guess that’s where I get my um….passion from….”

“Hm...I don’t know. I think you cultivated it yourself. You give Ward too much credit, you learned how to be a good, loyal person all on your own.” Confident in your assessment, you turned your head back against him and cuddled up for the night, exhaustion hitting you all at once with a giant yawn.

Rafe paused for a moment before leaning forward and kissing the crown of your head and smoothing your hair, “I think you had a little bit more to do with that than I did.” It was barely more than a whisper, you wondered if you were even meant to hear it. 

Another yawn, “Nah, you already were everything you are now. You just needed someone to give you permission to be it.”

You couldn’t see it, but he was smiling from ear to ear as your words sank into his skin. He was the first one to admit that when he met you, he didn’t deserve you. It was a guilt that had hung over him these past few years. Everything he did was to try and be the type of guy that deserved you, that was right for you. He knew you loved him for who he was then and who he is now, but hearing you say such kind things about the version of himself he hated the most just made the guilt ease up a bit because, hey, if he was good enough for you, then that was all that mattered.

“Goodnight, baby,” you mumbled against his chest as you nuzzled up against him, even though you couldn’t get much closer. 

He sighed with a smile on his sleepy face, “Goodnight, Princess.”

[rwby-necro-au-archive]

The Kid, The Songbird, and The End.

Clover would never understand why the prisons had open courtyards for the prisoners.

It was constantly freezing, and the prisoners never had enough to wear to keep them warm. Typical.

He gracefully rushed to his hiding spot along the out rim of the open concrete courtyard, waiting. The prison break was going to start any minute, he needed to mentally and physically prepared in case the guards put up a fight.

“Sirens and Cameras deactivated, proceed.” A woman’s voice sounded through his radio. Good, at least that part was out of the way. The harder it was to deactivate the sirens and cameras, the riskier the mission.

This one was simple in comparison to the others, get everyone out, get a move on to Vale. At least, that’s what the other songbirds had to do, Clover notified his boss that he needed to go get intel from the main council building.

A dangerous and stupid move for sure, but one that would be thanked and rewarded if he managed to do it correctly.

He laughed quietly to himself “Not even a full 2 months in yet and I’m already trying to get myself killed, how typical of me huh?” He thought to himself.

He looked over to his boss who nodded and gave an ok signal to begin the raid. Clover quietly hopped down the concrete wall he had been standing on and ran up behind a pursuer.

He quickly knocked the Pursuer unconscious and moved on to the next, and the next, and the one after that, until at least 15 of them were knocked unconscious.

It was better if he didn’t look at the faces. He didn’t want to recognize anyone from the miserable life he was brainwashed into thinking he loved. And he especially didn’t want anyone recognizing him.

Clover approached the command center of the prison. After some pondering over the buttons, he pressed one and almost all the steel prison doors opened below him.

His radio sounded again, this time, the voice of his boss, “Great Job, remember, solitary confinement cells have a different control center. It’ll be harder to find that one.”

Clover just laughed before speaking into the radio “Eh, I don’t think it’ll be that hard. You know, since the whole thing that happened in my past.”

His boss responded “That is true, but with that you gotta remember to keep you head down, face covered, or they’ll recognize you.”

“Copy That.” Clover then darted down the stairs to direct the prisoners to where to leave. He couldn’t lie, he really honest to Cosmos couldn’t, he liked the job. Liked the adrenaline, liked helping people. Maybe that’s part of the reason he was so good at his previous job, being able to work quick on adrenaline.

This wasn’t that job though, and he got more of a kick doing this then he would’ve ever gotten from being a pursuer. He was meant to be here.

As he reached solitary confinement he slowed his pace. Guards. Seems there were still a few that needed to be taken care of. Clover ducked into a hall behind a few boxes, full of what, he didn’t know, nor did he want to know.

After the guards had passed, he speedily but quietly ran down the hall. He skimmed over the door labels until he saw one he almost passed, labeled “command center”. He quickly ducked into the room.

Looks like he didn’t check before he went in.

“Who the hell are you?!” The pursuer sitting in the command center chair yelled. She had a white uniform on, the female uniform. Shit. The other guards were gonna hear this chick.

Clover kept up his confidence though, nothing a few punches to the jaw won’t fix. “Nobody important.” He said as he threw her out the door of the command center and locked it. He shook his head and mumbled to himself “Cosmos forgive me for throwing a woman…” he certainly wasn’t the type to like doing that.

Now wasn’t the time for that though, he opened the solitary confinement cell doors and quickly unlocked the door to the room he was in. Time to fight.

——————————————————————————

Successful. The prison raid that is. Everyone got out, and there were minimal problems that popped up during the mission. Everyone was back on the ship and waiting to be sent to Vale.

Everyone, except Clover.

He was running and dodging Pursuers left and right to find this guy he was told about. To be honest, when he joined the whole “send me an ask thing” on the internet, he kinda meant it as a joke. Just to see what the people thought of a pursuer being on the internet.

He sure as fuck wasn’t expecting these people to be some all seeing beings or whatever, but hey, he sure as hell wasn’t complaining. Anything to make his life a little easier.

Which he could really use right now considering he was kind of getting sick of having to fight all the pursuers defending the capital.

He looked up at the signs and skimmed through them similarly to how he skimmed through the prison signs. He eventually found one labeled dorms and quickly ran in.

As he was running down the hall he was suddenly yanked into a dorm. He reached for his weapon until,

“W-wait don’t shoot! I’m here to help you!!” The shorter man replied. He didn’t look very old, maybe about 17-18 ish, fresh out of highschool from the looks of it. Light brown hair, tan complexion, all topped off with dark blue eyes and the male pursuer uniform.

Clover then realized who he was speaking to, “You’re Rory?” He was dumbfounded. This skinny teenager was the one who got the intel for him, “I mean, good for him for sneaking that shit underneath Irondick’s nose but not what I was expecting to say the least.” He thought.

Rory stuttered out an apology before quickly rustling through the dorm, pulling out three very thick, probably 200 page individually, documents and handed them to Clover. Rory cleared his throat quietly before speaking “I-I was told that you were to be trusted with this stuff…”

Clover read the names, shocked at what he saw. He grimaced down at the papers “Yeah……I know them so yeah, I think I’m to be trusted. And so are you for getting these in the first place…”

Rory looked up and gave a confused look “What’s wrong?”

“I was never really told about this…” Clover stated, avoiding eye contact.

Rory nodded solemnly “Sorry you had to find out like this.”

Clover shook his head “I’m sorry you had to read these…” he couldn’t help but stare at the photographs. They looked nothing like how they looked now. Especially Oz.

“I-I only read one…..I didn’t read the others because after I read the bottom one, I….uh….kinda had to go into the bathroom to throw up….” He mumbled, as he pointed to Ozpin’s document.

Clovers eyebrows furrowed, “Is it really that bad?”

Rory shook his head “I’d say worse.” He fumbled with his hands for a moment, “O-Oh! I wanted to ask, do you think you can take me on the boat with you? I want out of here!” He exclaimed frantically.

“Of course! I can explain your situation, but we need to go, NOW. We’ll be in trouble if we don’t.” Clover peered at the door before grabbing Rory’s wrist and running.

The two ran down the halls of the capital, attempting to make their way out. During the rush of everything, Clover’s hand slipped from Rory’s wrist suddenly.

Rory was caught by 2 other pursuers.

He didn’t even have time to think about it, before he knew it, he was outside. And Rory? Was nowhere to be seen.

——————————————————————————

Rory was shoved forward by the guards, nearly falling in the process as he looked behind him at the pursuers, fearful and confused. It wasn’t until he heard his voice that he realized why they shoved him forward.

——————————————————————————

“Shit.” Clover couldn’t be selfish this time. He just couldn’t. He ran back inside, frantically searching for the younger man.

He turned countless corners until he came into the main hall. Quickly ducking behind a corner at the sight of the one man he didn’t want to see.

He peered out to see Rory there.

——————————————————————————

“So, first, you go against my right opinion, and then next you try and run. Pathetic.” Ironwood spoke cruelly to the younger man.

“I—“ Rory attempted to defend himself, but was not granted such a thing

Ironwood scoffed, “You what? Made me look like a moron in front of the other council members? Is that it?”

There was a long silence.

Rory spoke barely above a whisper, “Is there anything I can do to get your forgiveness….sir?”

Ironwood raised an eyebrow and proceeded to feign thoughtfulness for a moment before smiling down at the young man, “I suppose there is one way you can make it up to me.”

Rory looked up suddenly, surprised at the man’s answer.

Ironwood smiled coldly, “Don’t be anymore of a stain to anyone else, as you have been to me.”

“W-what do you mean s-sir…..” Rory mumbled, confused

Ironwood rolled his eyes and scoffed “Lord, you need a lot of hand holding don’t you? I’m letting you leave, Pursuer. Go, out the door you go.”

Rory was ecstatic, he was letting him leave. Him. Of all people! “T-thank you sir!”

Ironwood smiled “Don’t mention it, I know you won’t be a pain to anyone else after this.”

He stood up straight and ran for the exit. He didn’t think he could be happier in his life. But all would soon came crashing down, and everything would go black.

The last thing he ever felt emotionally, was utter betrayal. And physically? Something wet coming from his forehead

The final thing he ever heard. Was a gunshot. From a man he should’ve never trusted.

——————————————————————————

[ssa-pretty-boy]

Dizzy on the Come Down

Summary: Snippets of phone conversations between Spencer and his girlfriend while he’s away working on cases. Based on the song ‘Dizzy on the Comedown’ by Turnover.

Word Count: 2.7k

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader

Warnings: all fluff except for some brief phone sex / masturbation

A/N: This is mostly dialogue seeing as though its just phone conversations ha. Also, I’ve repurposed this a couple of times but each time I feel like it comes out a little better. Sooooo if you’ve seen this before… no you haven’t. 

——

Up and down like a red rubber ball

You’re always back and forth like the clock on the wall

I want to know about you

I’m spinning all around you

“Ya know,” Spencer thought aloud as he lounged back against the stiff mattress, “I’m really glad we ended up getting together. Your cat-and-mouse shit was getting really annoying.”

“Cat-and-mouse shit? Spencer Reid,” she paused to snort out a laugh, “I was smitten from the start and you know it! Besides, it took me weeks just to convince you to come into my apartment.”

A dark blush worked its way onto his cheeks even though he was alone in the dingy, motel room. “I was too,” he grinned. “I’m completely enamored, bubs. And I have been from the moment I saw you dancing around in that crap hole of a record store. And by the way, that’s called being a gentleman.”

“Okay first of all, its not a crap hole anymore since the new owner cleaned it up,” she defended, immensely proud of all her hard work she put into her store. “And second, its called you being too chicken to ask me out.” She laughed, knowing damn well that he had made her just as nervous and giddy as she made him. She smiled broadly and snuggled a little further into the leather arm chair, her legs dangling over one of the arms.

“Yeah, that’s it,” he chuckled.

If I stay do you think that we could change your routine?

I know a trick, I’ve always got a few up my sleeve

This life is controlled confusion

It’s just a grand illusion

“Today I was at this mall right? We were trying to find anyone who could have been a witness,” he paused, choking out a laugh, “Well, I saw this magician guy and he was doing card tricks. Derek and I went over to him but when we got closer I realized his form was all wrong-”

She wasn’t able to help the giggle that bubbled out of her, he simply could not resist the opportunity to show off his ‘sweet skills’ as he so loved to put it. “Let me guess: you showed him how to do the trick properly?”

He scoffed, “Of course I did. With technique like that he was giving magicians everywhere a bad name.”

“Oh I’m sure,” she teased, screwing the cap on the bottle of red nail polish she’d been using to paint her toes. “Did you finally teach Derek how to do one while you were at it?”

“Absolutely not! I can’t just reveille my secrets to a member of the general public, Y/N. The only reason the old guy got any help is because he was at least trying to teach himself.” She could practically see the look on his face right then, the overly dignified set to his jaw, his raised brows. 

“M’kay doc. Whatever you say,” she hummed into the receiver, fanning her freshly painted toenails. 

And you ask me “How do you feel when you’re away?”

And you ask me “How do you pass the days?”

“How are you feeling?” she whispered into the dark of their bedroom, her phone tucked between her shoulder and cheek.

He sighed, a long drawn out breath that could’ve easily been mistaken for a gust of wind. “It’s been pretty shitty; hectic and tiring ya know? Local P.D. doesn’t want to cooperate, the families are clearly not telling us something… But we caught a break today so we’re really hopeful things will start to turn around now. But right now?” Spencer paused, squeezing his eyes shut and sighing again, “Right now I just really fucking miss you.”

“I miss you too,” she whispered, clutching his pillow tightly to her chest. “Please just be safe, Spence.”

His chest tightened at her words, he knew worried she always was for him. “I will be baby.” 

Sing along to a song that I know

It goes bah bah bada, sing it over and over

Let it hypnotize you

I’m still here right beside you

“I cannot get that stupid song out of my head,” he groaned as the simple chorus of the over played pop song drifted through his mind again and again and again. 

She laughed, a melodic tune he’d missed so much in the past few days. It sounded slightly warped though the phone but it was her none the less. “Which one, doc?”

Scrubbing his hands over his face he sighed as he mindlessly flipped through a boating magazine he found tucked into the nightstand drawer. “I don’t even know the name of it. The chorus goes something like ‘bah bah bada’,” he hummed, his fingers subconsciously tapping out the rhythm on his thigh. 

“I think I could list off ten songs with a beat similar to that one,” she countered, her laugh still light and lilting.

Spencer rolled his eyes but he couldn’t help the small smile that was tugging at the corner of his lips. “Oh c’mon bubs, you know it! It’s the one you really like! You’re always singing it,” he mused, reminiscing on all the times he’d caught her humming it under her breath. 

Her eyebrows puled together as she concentrated, trying to recall the song he was speaking of. “Spence, there is honestly no telling. You know its like a 24 hour radio in my head!”

Hold my hand, you can follow my lead

You’re like a ballerina twirling round on your feet

And watching is so fantastic

I want to ask you 

Spencer hadn’t laughed in what felt like days, not a real belly aching laugh anyway. But she had him stitches, nearly doubled over at the lame jokes and stories she was telling him in attempts to lift his spirits, she knew how tough this case was. Finally after a moment she caught her breath. “Do you remember that time we were dancing around in the kitchen? It had to have been like midnight or something and you just started to twirl me around. And we ended up slipping because we both had socks on and I broke my arm?” 

“God, how could I forget that?” he groaned, softly laughing at the memory of the two of you tangled in a mess on the kitchen tiles. He had truly been scared to shitless regardless of her assurance that it wasn’t his fault. When he saw her trembling lip and the tears she had tried to hold at bay, it damn near broke his heart. “I was terrified I had hurt you really bad- worse than a broken arm! Then when I finally got you home from the hospital you were so high on the pain killers you could barely walk straight. I all but had to carry you to bed.”

“And you apologize for weeks and you probably still don’t believe that it wasn’t your fault.” She started laughing again as she said it and he could practically feel the love radiating from her, even from so far away.

“I really fucking love you.” Spencer smiled so wide it actually hurt his cheeks a little but it was an ache he’d always welcome. 

Would you come here and spin with me?

I’ve been dying to get you dizzy,

Find a way up into your head

So I can make you feel like new again

“I really fucking need you right now. I’ve been hard for days.” Well, she thought, what a way to answer the phone. 

Mindful of her surroundings, she bit down on her lip to suppress her laugh and quietly suggested that he go take care of that.

Scoffing, he rolled his eyes as if she could see him through the phone. “My hand has nothing on your mouth or your pussy.”

“Spencer!” she squealed and quickly reached up to turn down the volume on her cellphone when the lady next her gasped at what she had no doubt heard him say. 

Mumbling a quick ‘sorry’ to the other patrons, Y/N made a mad dash for the door of the crowded coffee shop. She looked over her shoulder to see the woman staring after her slack jawed. Cringing, she turned away from the storefront window, her cheeks and neck heating up as she started speed walking down the sidewalk. 

“Well, it’s fucking true! I’m dying to touch you again. To make you cum,” he said, his voice growing husky.

“Are you trying to have phone sex with me, doc? While I’m walking down the damn street? The people in the coffee shop probably thought I was some ten cent floozy!” The thinly veiled attempt at annoyance did nothing to hide the amusement in her voice. Spencer hummed, his hand sliding down over his stomach and toying with the drawstring of his faded (he refused to refer to them as ‘ratty’ as Y/N did) flannel pajama pants. “No way. Fifteen cents minimum.”

With a roll of her eyes she did laugh that time. “Can we put this conversation on hold until I get home? I’m literally only a block away from the apartment.”

Now collapse, take delight in the fall and catch your breath

I know you feel the ring from it 

So try and collect yourself now

It’s just a euphoric comedown

“Come on baby,” he practically growled as he continued to roughly tug on his throbbing cock. “Cum hard for me. Make the neighbors think I’m actually there.”

She gasped at his encouragement and sped up the fingers she had rubbing small, tight circles on her clit, she had nearly forgotten just how filthy his mouth could be. “Oh god,” she moaned, tossing her head back into the pillows and arching her back off the mattress, the phone nearly slipping from where she had it trapped between her shoulder and ear. Adding just the slightest bit of pressure as she continued to swirl her fingers, she came, choking on a hoarse call of his name. Letting the pure euphoria take over, her toes curled and legs trembled as the pleasure washed over her in waves. It wasn’t as intense as the orgasms he gave her but it would have to do until he got home.

At the sound of her cumming and calling out his name, Spencer met his own high. He grunted and easily milked himself through his own orgasm. The line went quiet for a moment and he thought she might have fallen asleep. “You still there sweet girl?” He was panting, still trying to catch his breath as he grabbed a few tissues and cleaned himself up.

“Yeah,” she sighed softly and Spencer was kicking himself for not thinking of switching to FaceTime so he could see the look on her face. “Just a little blissed out.”

And you ask me “How do you feel when you’re away?”

And you ask me “How do you pass the days?”

“How are you feeling?” she cooed. “You’re on bed rest right? You need to be if you aren’t. You have got to start getting some rest. That’s probably a big part in why you’re so sick. That and you don’t take vitamins or drink juices.”

Spencer rolled his eyes and tried to snap a snarky reply but all that came out was a bone-rattling cough. Groaning, he rolled onto his side and placing the phone on the pillow beside him and switched it to ‘speaker’ so he wouldn’t have to use the energy to hold the phone up. “I feel like hot garbage. Wish you were here,” he mumbled before another fit of coughs racked through his achy body.

She pouted and sat completely helpless in their bedroom, wishing more than anything that she could be there with him, nursing him back to health. “I’m sorry baby. I love you,” she offered quietly, hoping her words would comfort him in some way. 

“Love you too,” he rasped and she felt her heart sink a little further in her chest.

Cause I can still remember when you were afraid of the dark

And I told you to come and you followed where I asked you to go

“You know I’d follow you anywhere, right?” he whispered, pulling the scratchy sheet tighter around him. “To hell and back if I had to. All you have to do is ask and I’m there.”

Sighing, she squeezed her eyes shut and willed the tears away. “I know you would.”

They were both quiet for a while, letting the silence fall over them like a thick, comforting blanket. His eyes darted around his hotel room and he desperately wished he was back in his apartment with her. Holding her. Comforting her. “Its just scary ya know?” she finally spoke up. “I mean I have total faith in your ability to take care of yourself, don’t get me wrong. But being so far away from you… its terrifying and not to mention so fucking lonely sometimes. Every time the phone rings I’m terrified its going to be Derek or J.J. telling me you’ve been hurt. I know how much you love your job and I’d never ask you to choose, but it is scary.”

His heart dropped to the pit of his stomach, he swore it actually felt like it had cracked in half. “I know, baby. I know,” he sighed, raking a hand through his hair, tugging at the ends a little. “It wont be much longer now. I promise.” He paused again, eyes darting around the room in hopes of finding something to say to help ease her worries. Finally his eyes landed on the book peeking from his opened satchel at the foot of the bed. “Would you like me to read to you?” 

His offer was sweet and genuine and instantly brought a smile to her face. “Yeah, that would be nice.”

Would you come here and spin with me?

I’ve been dying to get you dizzy,

Find a way up into your head

So I can make you feel like new again

“Bubs,” Spencer cooed, his tone quiet and soothing. “Just come out to Las Vegas. Let me fly you out. We’re wrapping up the case now and my mom was asking about you when I called yesterday. She’d be thrilled to see you.”

Sniffling, she wiped at her nose. She was quiet for a few minutes, her attention focused on picking at a stray string on the fluffy white duvet covering their bed. “Can I? Come out there, I mean. I need you. I wont be in the way, I promise.”

Spencer was speaking quietly, trying not to draw too much attention to himself in the bustling precinct but he was practically buzzing with excitement at the thought of her accepting his offer. As discretely as he could, he sat down at the nearest unoccupied computer and pulled up a few airline websites to compare prices. “Of course you can baby. And there’s no way that you’d get in the way. I’ll book you a flight now. How long do you want to stay?”

“How long can I stay?” Her voice quiet like his own, raw from crying to him for the past fifteen minutes about how horrible her day had gone.

With the phone tucked between his ear and shoulder, he quickly browsed through the webpages, comparing the airlines and what each had to offer. “We can stay as long as you want,” he assured her, his tone making it evident just how serious he was about his offer.

“You were planning on a whole week, right?” she asked hesitantly, almost like she was afraid he would tell her that he had changed his mind.

He confirmed that a week was in fact the original plan but then offered to tack on a few extra days, he had the extra vacation time saved up so why not use them up. They both desperately needed the break. When she agreed he gave a comical ‘whoop!’ into the phone earning him several confused looks from not only his team mates but the local detectives that were still in the room. “This is going to be great. I can show you all my favorite places from when I was a kid! All you need is a little quality Spencer time and we’ll have you feeling like new in no time.”

“I think that’s exactly what I need.”

[cakesunflower]

Just My Kind [Teacher!Calum AU] Part 1

A/N: So I caved and decided to post part 1 of this fic. The way I wrote Calum in this is different than the way I’ve written him in the past, I think--as in he’s just a little honey in this LMAO. I hope y’all enjoy!!! 

The microwave in the teacher’s lounge was sparkling clean, and Odessa took that as good of a sign as any. The one in the high school she’d taught at in Nevada had never been clean, no one ever having the decency to clean up after their mess—and Odessa refused to do it, given that it looked as nasty on her first day there as it did on her last. It was why she always brought cold lunches from home so she wouldn’t be subjected to such filth. But this microwave was spotless, and Odessa had no qualms in placing her small bowl of spinach and chicken pasta to heat up during her lunch break.

As she waited for her food to heat up, Odessa allowed for her gaze to wander around the teacher’s lounge. It was large, bigger than her last, which wasn’t surprising given that she was from a town of barely four thousand people, with square table to eat at, couches, a bulletin board pinned with colorful fliers of latest school events. There was a hum of chatter from the few other teachers who were either on their lunch break or weren’t on cafeteria duty for the current freshman and sophomore lunch period. Large windows that looked out towards the front of the school parking lot allowed for the late morning sunlight to stream in, brightening up the space and bringing Odessa a sort of comfort her old town surrounded by mountains bought her.

“How’s your first day going, Odessa?” She turned to see Mrs. Brewer, the chemistry teacher, approaching her with a kind smile on her face. Mrs. Brewer was older than Odessa—as was most of the staff at the school, truthfully—but she’d been one of the first friendly faces to greet Odessa on her first day earlier that morning.

“Pretty well,” Odessa answered with an honest smile. Technically, it was everyone’s first day, given that it was the first day of the school year. But Odessa was new to living in a city she only came to for vacation, so her first day was relatively different than most people’s. With a gentle laugh, she added, “I’m in the same boat as the freshman so we’ve decided we’re in this together. The sophomores are pretty easy going, too.”

Mrs. Brewer chuckled, turning to the counter they stood by to prepare herself a mug of coffee. “Making friends with the freshman—smart.” Odessa smiled, opening the microwave when her food was ready. “Have you met any of the other English teachers yet?”

Odessa hummed thoughtfully. “I’ve met Bridget Donnelly and Justine Greggs.”

Stirring the sugar in her mug, Mrs. Brewer tilted her head as she followed Odessa towards the table. “You haven’t met Calum yet? I’m positive he’s the only other teacher here around your age,” she said with a laugh.

As soon as she sat down on the chair, Odessa’s eyebrows shot up at the name, clicking in her head like a snapping rubber band bringing forth a memory she’d forgotten about. Calum—of course! He was Luke’s friend, who Luke told her about as soon as she’d mentioned the school she’d gotten a job at. Calum was one of Luke’s closest friends, and Luke had informed her that he was the boys soccer coach at the school as well as one of the high school English teachers.

In the haste of moving out of Nevada and to California and preparing for her job as she settled down, the fact had slipped right out of Odessa’s head. She’d never met Calum, but she knew of him because of Luke, who Odessa kept in touch with even after they graduated college and she moved back to Nevada and he remained in California. She saw pictures of Calum on Luke’s social media, knew that Luke was in a band with him and two other guys. What a small world that she ended up with a job at the same school he was at—and yet she had gone almost half of the day without running into him.

“Oh, look—speak of the devil.”

Odessa glanced up at Mrs. Brewer’s words, following her gaze towards the door where she saw a familiar face walk through. Her back straightened as Calum entered, offering a smiling nod to Mr. Engels, the government teacher. Odessa easily recognized him in his pale yellow button down tucked into black jeans, running his fingers through short blonde curls, soft on sight, and flexing the muscles on his tattooed arm. She bit the corner of her lip as she watched him make his way towards the bowl of fruit by the stove, deaf to the way her mind was telling her to look away. He was handsome, the yellow shirt downright beautiful against his inked skin, the pictures she’d seen of him not at all doing him justice.

As if feeling her gaze on him, Calum’s dark eyes met hers right as he picked up an apple, and Odessa felt her cheeks warm at being caught but before she could even think to look away, she saw recognition flash across his features. Then, to her surprise, Calum was making his way over with a knowing furrow between dark eyebrows as he asked carefully, “Odessa? Odessa Kline, right?”

Odessa told herself it was just her polite nature that brought her smile, not the slight accent he had when he spoke. She sat up, nodding as she answered with a light laugh, “Yeah, yeah. It’s nice to finally meet you, Calum.”

He grinned then, a smile that brought sharp crinkles to the corners of his soft eyes, and Odessa chalked the flip of her stomach up to her hunger and not the way he instantly pulled up a chair to sit next to her upon confirmation of who she was. His body faced hers, elbow on the table as he played with the red apple in his hand. “Yeah, you too,” Calum laughed, the sound deep and rich and dangerously fluttering something in Odessa’s stomach. “Luke’s told me a lot ’bout you.”

“Same here,” Odessa nodded, feeling a small surge of confidence as she added, “I was gonna try to find you at the end of the day so I could meet you but I guess you beat me to it.”

“Not too disappointed, I hope,” Calum chuckled, making Odessa shake her head in response. She was getting pathetically ahead of herself, but she highly doubted she could be disappointed in meeting him. Not with that smile and voice. Calum’s gaze then flickered over her shoulder and he lifted his chin, charming smile ever present on his face as he greeted, “Afternoon, Mrs. B.”

Mrs. Brewer smiled back before gesturing between the two of them, raising her mug as she asked, “You two already know each other?”

With a shake of her head, Odessa answered, “We’ve got a mutual friend.”

“Good—now you have more than just the freshman on your side,” Mrs. Brewer teased Odessa with a smile before getting up. “Excuse me, I should probably get my lesson plan ready for the afternoon classes.”

She left, leaving just Odessa and Calum sitting at the table, and Odessa faced him once more as he hummed. “Mrs. B’s right—us English teachers gotta stick together.”

Odessa raised an eyebrow, picking up her fork and shooting Calum a smile as he bit into his apple with a sharp crunch. “Against who? The students or the rest of the teachers?”

He swallowed the bite, sharp jaw working as a teasing glint flickered in his dark eyes when he let his gaze briefly wander over to the few teachers in the room. “Both,” he answered with a small smirk once his gaze met Odessa’s, earning a laugh from her. “No, but really,” Calum laughed, lightly slapping the top of the table with his free hand. “You need anythin’, let me know, yeah? Luke’ll throw a fit if I didn’t.”

Twirling the pasta around her fork, Odessa raised an eyebrow at Calum, unable to keep her smile from turning teasing as she asked, “Oh, so you’re only offering because of Luke?”

Calum scoffed lightly, giving a subtle shake of his head. “Any friend of Luke’s is a friend of mine,” he told her, and his kind words had Odessa’s cheeks warming once more. It was totally because of his subtly accented words and not the smile that accompanied them. They both took a bite of their food, and afterwards Calum spoke, “Speaking of Luke—I’m assuming you’re coming to his bar Friday night? Since the party’s for you and all.”

Odessa paused in reached for her water, head turning towards Calum with a raise of her eyebrow and tone falling flat as she asked, “The what’s for who now?”

Calum blinked in mild confusion, eyebrows knitting together as he took in Odessa’s own questioning expression. Then, almost comically, his dark eyes widened in realization and he bared his teeth, hissing as he inhaled sharply through his teeth and squeezed his eyes shut in self exasperation. “Ah, fuck, I don’t think I was ’posed to tell you that,” he groaned, free fist pressing against his forehead as Odessa kept her gaze fixated on him, silently demanding him to further explain. Sitting up, Calum informed, “I mean, it’s not really a party. He’s just having a few people come over to welcome you. You know how Luke’s always lookin’ for a reason to celebrate.”

Odessa’s expression fell at Calum’s words, a small sinking feeling settling in her stomach. “Oh, God,” she huffed, leaning back in the chair and blank gaze falling on her lunch in front of her. “He knows I don’t like being the center of attention.” Odessa glanced at Calum, a half smile curling at her lips before she added, “Except in the classroom.”

He laughed lightly, nodding along and Odessa had a feeling that he may, in some way, relate to her words. When his gaze met hers once more, a warmth that somehow had the power of making her feel at ease despite the news of Luke’s party, Calum lifted his chin. “It won’t be too bad. You should definitely still come.” Then, with a small, boyish smirk and a raise of an eyebrow, Calum added, “We’ll even perform a couple of songs for you.”

Her stomach flipped. She kept telling herself it was because she was still hungry and not because of the crinkles that appeared alongside his kind smile. And despite the warmth in her cheeks, Odessa still said, “How can I say no to that?”

*****

“Grams, Grandpa, I’m heading out!”

Odessa’s grandfather, Zeke, sat up from his recliner and looked over his shoulder, raising an eyebrow as he asked, “You’re not driving, are ya?”

“No, the Uber’s gonna be here in a minute,” Odessa reassured him with a laugh. She entered the living room, leaning down to press a kiss to his cheek before stepping over to where Grams sat on the couch, a book in her hands and pressed a kiss to her temple as well. “I’m not sure when I’ll be back—please don’t wait up.”

Grams looked up at her, blue eyes holding a maternal concern as she asked, “You won’t be alone, will you?”

“No,” Odessa told her, shrugging on the deep red bomber jacket. “I’m gonna be with Luke—you remember him, right?”

“That tall, handsome boy we met at your graduation? How can I forget?” Grams grinned, earning a bemused scoff from Grandpa. Odessa merely laughed as Grams added gleefully, “Are you interested in him?”

Her question had Odessa laughing only harder, intensifying as Grandpa grumbled, “Kid looks like a mountain man.”

“I’m not interested in Luke, Grams,” Odessa laughed, her cheeks already hurting from the grin. She swore Grams was sometimes worse than her gossiping aunts, except she knew Grams only ever came from a place of warmth and good intentions. The same couldn’t always be said for her aunts. “He’s just a friend, and he’s got a girlfriend.”

Grams twisted her lips to the side, disappointment evident. Clicking her tongue, she looked up at Odessa pointedly and said, “I’m sure he’s got some cute friends. A boy like that’s got to.”

Odessa bit the inside of her cheek, a face flashing across the forefront of her mind that she instantly pushed back with a skip of her heart. This conversation was only bringing forth thoughts Odessa had repressed over the past week—particularly when she saw that familiar face in the school hallways or teacher’s lounge. He’d pop into her classroom in between classes, greeting her like they were old friends, chatting for brief periods before they had to attend to their students. 

She appreciated Calum’s friendliness more than she thought she would. In the midst of settling down in her new job, getting to know new students and ironing out her lesson plan, it felt nice to wind down and relax for moments in the form of talking to Calum. He was sweet, charming, and from what Odessa gathered over her first week at teaching at the school, he was adored by his students. She was also pretty sure a bunch of them had a crush on him—not that she blamed them. Odessa herself wasn’t innocent of not harboring innocent crushes on her school teachers—or college professors.

Fuck. She couldn’t be talking about crushes and Calum in the same context. 

Glancing down at her phone, Odessa noted the Uber waiting for her outside, and after a quick goodbye to her grandparents—as well as to Lettie, Grams’s American shorthair—Odessa was out the door and sliding into the backseat of the Hyundai. She kept busy on the ride by scrolling through social media, letting Luke know that she was on his way, who was still bothered that she didn’t let him pick her up. But Odessa had errands to run right up until she got ready, and she didn’t want Luke to wait around for her, and she didn’t mind taking an Uber—especially with driving being out of the question since she planned on drinking.

Her knee bounced during the ride over, a flutter of nerves making themselves known. Like Luke, Odessa was always down for a party—except when she was the center of attention. Honestly, she thought Luke inviting everyone to hang out to welcome her was both sweet and excessive, and when she had told him about her hesitation, Luke had been understanding. Of course, he’d cursed out Calum for ruining the surprise, but at the end assured Odessa that it wouldn’t be a big thing. It would just be people he was close with that he wanted her to meet, especially now that she was living in the area and Luke, who was a social butterfly, loved having all of his friends meet. And with Luke knowing how Odessa felt about parties centering around her, she felt a lot more at ease attending tonight.

Except it was easier to blame her bouncing knee on those kinds of nerves rather than the ones of seeing Calum outside of school.

Right as the Uber turned onto the street Odessa knew the bar to be on, she texted Luke that she was basically there, and as soon as she stepped out of the car after thanking the driver, she felt a smile grow on her lips to see Luke emerging from the bar, ready to greet her upon arrival. The sign above the bar was neon blue that read Borderline, the name of the joint, with windows on the bar front allowing to show how busy it was inside. Odessa prayed they were mostly people just enjoying a night out and now those who Luke personally invited.

“I still wish you would’ve let me given you a ride instead of wasting money on an Uber,” was how Luke chose to greet her, arms open wide to allow Odessa to step into his embrace.

She snorted, returning his hug, enjoying his familiar warmth as she returned dryly, “Hello to you, too.” When they pulled away, she smiled and patted his chest. “Next time.”

He rolled his blue eyes before dropping his arm around her shoulders and ushering her inside, bumping knuckles with the bouncer out front before they entered the loud, busy bar. It wasn’t bright inside, the lights dim and soft on the eyes as a DJ set up on a stand higher than the bar played music throughout. The first thing Luke did was lead her towards the bar, ordering Odessa’s go-to drink of a Malibu Bay Breeze which was ready for her quickly before bringing her to where a group of people—including a few familiar faces—were hanging out by a couple of tall tables.

Odessa returned the hug Sierra, Luke’s girlfriend, greeted her with before losing herself in the next few moments of meeting new faces. Luke’s friend Michael and his fiancé, Crystal, and Ashton with his girlfriend KayKay, and then finally—

Oh. Odessa hadn’t expected to see her.

“Long time, Odessa,” Paige, Odessa’s roommate from her junior and senior years of college, greeted with a too wide grin, stepping from the group and pulling Odessa in a hug she hadn’t expected. Paige’s rose scented perfume tickled Odessa’s nose as she returned the hug, hoping her mild discomfort didn’t overpower her surprise at seeing Paige, who pulled away with that grin still on her face. “I’m so excited you decided to move into the city! It’ll be great to catch up.”

The smile on Odessa’s lips felt strained, but she kept it in place as she forced herself to nod and respond, “Yeah, totally.”

If Paige picked up on the subtle lack of sincerity in Odessa’s words, she didn’t comment on it as she smiled and took a step back, grabbing her glass of mojito from the table. Gaze wandering over to Luke, Odessa saw the hint of apology in his blue eyes, and she bit her tongue. At least Luke was aware that she wasn’t too thrilled about Paige’s presence. Being her roommate for two years had been bad enough—Odessa didn’t have much of an interest in hanging out with Paige otherwise.

It wasn’t that Odessa hated Paige—it was just that Paige could be a bit much. In a bad way. It was always her way or the highway, and Odessa had become used to keeping her opinions to herself when she was around Paige in order to keep her then-roommate appeased and keep herself off of Paige’s shit list. Because she definitely had one of those. But after they graduated, Odessa had assumed she wouldn’t have to see her again—and she kind of wished Luke had given her some kind of warning that Paige was still a part of his life.

“Hey—the guest of honor’s arrived.” Odessa looked to the left to see Calum walking towards them, a friendly grin she often saw at school on his face as he made his way over, and Odessa tried not to think of how naturally she accepted his greeting embrace, the vague scent of cigarettes tickling her nose. The black lighter in his hand further confirmed he’d been smoking. She clicked her tongue at him at his words, and Calum chuckled and relented, “Right, right, this isn’t a party for you. Just a bunch of friends getting together.”

Odessa mirrored his grin, feeling her heart momentarily freeze at the teasing wink he sent her way as he grabbed the extra bottle of beer from Ashton’s hand. Next to her, Luke scoffed, “Yeah, thanks, man, for ruining the surprise.”

Calum shot him an apologetic grin while the rest of them laughed along, and Odessa came to his defense as she said to Luke, “You know I don’t like surprises. He basically saved you from getting smacked.”

Luke stuck his tongue out at her. “Last time I try to do something nice for you.”

The group of them gathered around a couple of round tables and chatted, and Odessa found herself feeling at ease in their company despite only having met some of them tonight. She was comfortable as she was asked questions about herself, the few who she didn’t know wanting to get to know her better, genuine interest lacing their tones, and Odessa returned the sentiment as she got to know them, too. 

“So Odessa—you and Cal teach at the same school?” Paige spoke up, a curious smile on her face as she stood opposite of her. “How fun—it must be nice to have a familiar face in the building, right?”

“Yeah, it is,” Odessa answered carefully, stirring her straw in her cup. She had learned, a long time ago, to always be cautious when it came to talking to Paige. She knew never knew when her so-called friend would try to turn the conversation against her. Still, though, when Odessa answered, she glanced at Calum, who stood to her right and shot her a charming and agreeing grin that had Odessa’s stomach flipping.

Paige nodded, humming innocently, gaze sharp. “I bet; probably makes it easier, right? I know how anxious you get whenever you’re in a new place.”

Odessa bit the inside of her cheek. She genuinely wondered sometimes if Paige was being patronizing on purpose or if she truly didn’t catch on to the way she spoke to her. Instead of feeling embarrassed, especially since she had no reason to, Odessa shrugged. “I broke out of that habit a while back; it’s easy to when you have to teach a bunch of hyper high schoolers.”

Next to her, Calum scoffed and held his beer bottle out to her. “I’ll drink to that,” he said, and Odessa smiled as she tapped her cup to his bottle before they both took sips of their drinks. “Teaching those kids is no joke.”

Michael rolled his green eyes, waving his free hand as he said sarcastically, “Yeah, yeah, we get it—you’re modern day superheroes.”

Odessa laughed with everyone else, easily finding the good nature behind Michael’s words as she continued sipping her drink. All the while ignoring the feel of Paige’s gaze on her from across the table, refusing to meet her gaze as she allowed for Crystal to pull her into a new conversation.

“Hey, come here a sec,” Luke murmured about ten minutes later, and Odessa excused herself from a conversation with KayKay and Michael before following him a few steps away from their group and towards the bar. When she came to stand next to him, Luke looked down at her with an apologetic expression. “I should’ve told you that Paige was gonna show up—I wanna say she came to see you, but if I’m being honest, it’s ’cause she knew Cal would be here so she kind of just invited herself.”

Odessa blinked up at him, his words kind of taking her by surprise. An uncomfortable knot formed in her stomach as she reluctantly asked, “Oh, are they, like, a thing?”

Luke shrugged as he took a sip of his tequila, licking his lips after. “Not really. I mean, Cal said they hooked up a couple of times but if I’m being honest—” Luke offered a wry smirk. “—she’s more into him than he is into her.”

At that, Odessa chanced a glance to where their group stood, eyes catching the way Paige stood next to Calum as they chatted with Sierra. The music playing in the bar deafened Odessa as to what they were talking about, but it didn’t blind her to the grin Calum shot Paige as she said something Odessa wasn’t privy to. “Really?” she asked Luke, the doubt a lot clearer in her tone than she would’ve liked it to be.

“Yeah, trust me,” Luke scoffed out a laugh, and Odessa glanced to see him look back at her as well after following her gaze. “Cal’s just a nice guy. They haven’t hooked up in, like, months. I think Paige just doesn’t get the hint, ya know?”

“You seem to know too much about this,” she said suspiciously, prompting Luke to merely smirk in response. Odessa let out a sharp breath through her nose, shooting Luke a look as she turned to face the bar. “When has Paige never gotten what she wants?” she added dryly as she flagged down the bartender, her drink finished and in need of another one.

Luke rolled his eyes, knowing the the truth of Odessa’s words. “Fair enough. Still, though—can’t wait for the day she gets knocked down a peg or two.” With a smirk appearing on his lips to show off his dimples, Luke added, “I always knew I was right to have you as my favorite across-the-hall neighbor.”

That had her laughing as the bartender placed her drink in front of her, and the grin on Odessa’s face remained as she said to Luke, “I missed you too, Luke.”

--

tags: @irwinkitten​ @sweetcherrymike​ @loveroflrh​ @meetashthere​ @astroashtonio​ @loverofhood​ @captain-what-is-going-on​ @angelbbycal​ @singt0mecalum​ @hopelessxcynic​ @lfwallscouldtalk​ @bodhi-black​ @findingliam-o​ @softlrh​ @highfivecalum​ @calumsmermaid​ @erikamarie41​ @quintodosuniversos​ @longlastingdaydream​ @babylon-corgis​ @lukehemmingsunflower​ @miss-saltwatercowgirl​ @pastelpapermoons​ @conquerwhatliesahead92​ @rotten-kandy​ @metangi​ @neigcthood​ @ohhmuke​ @mindkaleidoscope​ @5sos-and-hessa​ @trustmeimawhalebiologist​ @vxlentinecal​ @pettybassists​ @vaporshawn​ @lu-my-golden-boi​ @visualm3nte​ @isabella-mae13​ @dontjinx-it​ @lifeakaharry​ @neonweeknds​ @antisocialbandmate​ @ixcantxdecidexwhosxmyxfave​ @calpalbby​ @grreatgooglymoogly​ @sunnysidesblog​ @miahelizaaabeth​ @dramallamawithsparkles​ @kaytiebug14​ @hoodskillerqueen​ @bitchinbabylon​ @empathycth​ @xhaileyreneex​ @inlovehoodx​ @bloodlinecal​ @sublimehood​ @madbomb​ @raabiac​ @britnicole11​ @outofmylimitcal​ @wildflower-cth​ @bloodmoonashton​ @vxidhood​ @gosh-im-short​ @thesubtweeter​ @mycollectionofnuts​ @cthwldflwr​ @everyscarisahealingplace​ @socorroann​ @wildflowergrae​ 

[bubblesuga]

Cool For The Summer

Prompt: Co-counselor and existential pain in your ass Jeon Jungkook really, really likes you. And your tits. 

A/N: My first JK one shot! It’s shorter than I wanted but I wanted to write something while I had a couple days off. Hope y’all enjoy!! xx (side note: should I do a series where all of the members are counselors??) 

Warnings: cussing, smut (no penetration... besides fingering), oral (m and f receiving), tit fucking (?), exhibitionism

Ah, Summer... 

Of course, everyone loves Summer. The trees are a gorgeous bright green, the smell of the flowers fill your nose, and the sounds of the river flowing over the rocks beneath your feet soothes you. 

Well, it did when you were a kid. 

Returning to your old camp as an adult has been, to put it lightly, one of the weirdest experiences you have ever had. When you heard that they needed camp counselors, you were one of the first to sign up. The idea that you could relive your childhood while also helping children make memories sounded amazing to you, so you were extremely happy when you got the call that you were hired. 

What you didn’t seem to expect was the fact that children were annoying, and even more annoying? Your overly-ambitious-yet-extremely-introverted co-counselor, Jungkook. Or maybe you were just annoyed that you were so attracted to him. 

He always seemed to be in the wrong places at the wrong time. More specifically, when you were hosting arts and crafts for the 10-12 age group, and Jungkook decided it was a good idea to lead his group of 6-8 year olds through your group while they chased him with water balloons. 

Sure, he apologized afterward, but not before inadvertently ruining every single art project your kids had been working on. 

So now that you leaned against the counter at the snack station, you watched Jungkook carefully as he pretended to be a tiger and growled at the younger kids, laughing as he heard them squeal and tackle him to the ground. He was good with the kids, there was absolutely no doubt about it. With that being said, why did he always stutter his way through a conversation with you? He seemed to talk with so much ease to everyone else, were you really that intimidating to him?

Admittedly, you did yell pretty loudly at him a few days when the pink water balloon burst against your chest and splashed onto your canvas. You had never seen someone turn to red so fast, the sight of your blue bra sticking against your white shirt causing him to blush as your arms flew up to cover yourself. 

The bad part was the fact that you did find him cute, in more ways than one. Him being good with kids was attraction number one, and number two was the way he laughed as the other counselors told stories and jokes around the campfire. On top of that, he was so damn attractive. His hands were big, and when you ended up sharing a canoe one day, you couldn’t help but watch the way his biceps flexed under the thin white t-shirt of his counselor uniform as he rowed the boat with ease. 

“Hello, Earth to _____?” another one of your co-counselors, Jimin, waved his hand in front of your face, breaking you out of your red themed day dream. 

You turned to him, blinking away your thoughts, “What’s going on?” 

“What were you thinking about?” Jimin asked, a smirk on his face as he followed your earlier line of sight, “Still mad about what happened on Tuesday?” 

You groaned, “I just don’t understand how he can be so... so...” 

“Cute? Devastatingly handsome? Some other word girls use when they have a crush on a guy?” Jimin spoke, his voice raising a few octaves to mock some gossip he had heard before. 

“No,” you shut him down, your eyes turning to slits, “so... annoying. I mean, look at him!” 

Jimin glanced back over to where Jungkook was, now watching as Taehyung stomped over to him and began to pull the kids off of him to ‘save’ Jungkook. “Oh, yeah. Playing with the children, doing his job. So annoying.” 

You grabbed a granola bar from behind the snack counter, unwrapping it and taking a bite before speaking again, “You’re no help.” 

“I never claimed to be,” he grinned, “Look, if you just admit that you like the guy I’m sure you’re Summer will be a hell of a lot better.” 

You nearly choked, “And why exactly do you say that?” 

Jimin didn’t respond. He only smiled, grabbing the granola bar out of your hand and walked away with it. Your jaw dropped, your eyes trailing after him in a silent attempt to get him to come back with an answer. 

Rolling your eyes, you glanced at your watch and sighed, “Okay, kiddies! Play time is over! Make your way over to your cabins so we can start count then you can all get ready for bed!” 

Audible protests were heard from all the kids, though one voice was much deeper than the rest. In the center of the courtyard, Jungkook joined the kids in their groans of protests, earning some laughs as he stomped his foot for added dramatic affect. 

“You too, Jungkook! Get to counting!” You yell, grabbing your clipboard and making your way over to your cabin. 

When all the kids were put to sleep, albeit not without a fight, that left you and the rest of the counselors to finally have some adult time. 

As usual, most counselors decided to get some separate work done or relax seeing as this was the only time they could get to themselves. Tonight, you found yourself sitting out by the dimming fire with a beer in your hand. You weren’t supposed to bring alcohol with you, but when you heard that Yoongi had some stashed away, you were quick to beg him for some. You needed to unwind somehow. 

The crackling of the fire helped further your relaxation, and you stared up into the sky, glad that the stars were so visible. 

“S’ pretty.” A voice said from behind you, causing you to jump and try to slip your beer beneath your jacket as quickly as you could. You whipped around to the culprit, spotting a bright smile and crinkled nose. Sighing, you pulled your beer back out and took another sip. 

“Yeah, the night sky is always pretty.” The beer wasn’t strong enough to have much of an effect on you, but when Jungkook slipped beside you, you immediately felt intoxicated. You weren’t sure if it was the smell of his cologne or the close proximity of him beside you, but butterflies swarmed in your belly. 

He didn’t say anything as he sat beside you, leaning back on the long you were resting your head on and sticking his bare feet out to be warmed by the fire. 

You advert your attention back to the sky, picking out the constellations you could see and listening to the soft breathing of Jungkook beside you. 

After a moment, you swallowed, “So how come you’re not in your cabin?” 

“Jimin said something about wanting to be alone for a little bit and basically kicked me out.” Jungkook explained, stretching his arms upward. 

Damn it, Jimin. 

“Ah, did you piss him off?” You decide to ignore the fact that Jimin definitely did this on purpose. 

“I don’t think so,” He signed softly, “I think he might be a bit overwhelmed. Him and Hoseok are teaching a dance tomorrow and he still hasn’t come up with one to teach.” 

You knew Jimin was lying, because you had seen him and Hoseok practicing the dance earlier, which further confirmed your suspicion of Jimin kicking him out on purpose. 

“Oh,” you said softly, offering your beer to Jungkook. Jungkook raised an eyebrow, looking at your questioningly. You rolled your eyes, “I promise I don’t have mono.” 

“That’s not what- I wasn’t worried about that,” Jungkook said, “I just thought you hated me. Y’know, for what happened the other day.” 

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth, seeing Jungkook nibble on the inside of his cheek anxiously. The fact that he was genuinely sorry for it warmed your heart. It wasn’t that big of a deal in the long run, Jungkook made it up to the kids by buying them all ice cream sandwiches so none of them held a grudge. The only thing that you had been annoyed about was your white t-shirt becoming see-through. 

“I don’t hate you,” you whispered, watching Jungkook’s shocked expression as you grabbed his hand and wrapped his fingers around the neck of the bottle, “I was just frustrated that my favorite bra got wet.” 

Jungkook sipped from the beer, his mouth wrapping around the edge of the bottle, small dimples forming at the corners of his lips. “Is blue your favorite color?” 

You laughed loudly, not expecting such a casual question from him. Jungkook’s cheeks turned red while he grinned in response to your laughter, the sound filling his ears like music. 

“No, no,” you quieted down your laughter for fear of waking some of the kids, “It’s just a cute bra. Fits me well.” 

“It does.” Jungkook responded, his eyes going wide as he realized he said that out loud. 

Again, you laughed, “You mean to tell me you were looking at my chest, Jungkook?” 

Panic rushed through Jungkook as he slipped a little further away from you as subtly as he possibly could, unsure of how to respond to you. Of course he was looking at your chest, the black crystal necklace that hung just above your clevage always captivated him, but he couldn’t help but allow his eyes to trail just a touch bit further. You were just too gorgeous to deny. 

“I- no! I just-” He stuttered, gasping as you cut him off. 

“I’m just teasing. I don’t mind you looking at my chest.” You shrugged, adding the last part quietly as you slugged more beer down. Maybe it was having an affect on you. 

“You don’t?” 

You shook your head, turning to look at the older boy again. He swallowed softly, allowing his eyes to fully fall down to your chest. He hoped you weren’t teasing him again, because the thought of fucking your breasts had crossed his mind on more than one occasion. Though he’d never admit it, unless you wanted him to. 

Sensing his gaze, you pressed your breasts together, tugging at the collar of your shirt, “Do you like them, Jungkook?” 

He met your eyes again, giving a slow nod. 

An idea rushed through your head. A stupid idea, probably the dumbest you have ever had, but you couldn’t stop yourself. As if in slow motion, you crawled over to him, feeling the grass beneath your legs before you straddled Jungkook’s thighs carefully. You gauged his reaction, unable to hold back a giggle as he stared up at you with his jaw dropped. 

“Do you want to see them?” You asked softly. You almost felt like you were back in high school, seeing as Jungkook’s reaction was that of a teenager seeing his first pair of boobs in person. You found his hesitation cute, only being able to watch you in awe as you tugged your shirt over your head slowly. 

Sure enough, that blue bra you love so much pushed your breasts together, the necklace falling into the top of your cleavage. Jungkook was overwhelmed with the feeling of your knees on either side of him, and the sight of your almost bare torso in front of him. 

“Can I touch?” He questioned in a whisper, and you almost moaned at the sight of his hands coming up to your chest but stopping just short of touching them. 

“Please.” You breathed, inhaling as his large hands kneaded your breasts gently in between his hands. 

Instantly, you felt his thighs relax beneath you. You rested against him, leaning your forehead against his. Jungkook’s bravery grew ten-fold, craning his neck upward and smashing his lips onto yours. 

You gasped at the feeling of his lips against yours, your hands flying to cup his jaw. Though you didn’t expect the kiss, you were pleasantly surprised with the amount of force behind it. His hands moved from your chest to your back, silently asking for permission to unclasp your bra. 

You pressed your lips harder in approval, Jungkook’s nimble fingers cool against your skin as he unclasped your bra one by one. Slowly, and without breaking the kiss, Jungkook slid the straps of your bra down your arms. 

The cool taste of the beer laced both of your tongues, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip while your bra was finally removed. 

Jungkook only broke the kiss to finally see your breasts. His face was now flushed, his hips flexing beneath yours at the sight of your nipples perking beneath the cool air of the Summer night. 

“Gorgeous.” Jungkook breathed, “better than I imagined.” 

The husk in his voice shot arousal straight to your core. Instinctively, you ground your hips hard against his, “You imagined this?” 

“Mhm,” he hummed, “wanna fuck them, wanna cum on them.” 

Jungkook was a different person now that you were on top of him, the earlier hesitation completely gone. You let out a soft moan when Jungkook tugged at your nipples. 

He was hardening beneath your heat, twitching against you. 

“Do it.” You finally say, smashing your lips onto his again. 

Jungkook removed his hands from your body, pulling his own shirt over his head and laying it down in the grass. You tilted your head questioningly, following his lead as he moved you to lay down on his shirt. You smiled, unable to contain your giddiness. 

Now he hovered above you, his shirtless body delicious in the light of the fire. He was quick to press kisses down your neck, nibbling and biting on your collarbone, until he found his way to your breasts again. He laid hickeys across both of them, then taking your left nipple in his mouth and sucking hard. 

Your back arched and a loud moan fell from your lips. Jungkook pulled away with a soothing lick, “You have to be quiet, baby. You can’t let anyone know we’re out here.” 

You met his eyes, nodding obediently as his fingers moved to tug your leggings down your legs. 

“I thought you wanted to...” you trailed off, suddenly embarrassed to say what he wanted to do. The role reversal was prominent, but you weren’t complaining. You enjoyed seeing Jungkook like this. 

Jungkook spotted the pink dusting your cheeks, “I will, but I want to make sure you feel good first.” 

With that, Jungkook pulled your leggings from around your hips, taking your panties along with them. The cool air hit your head quickly, and you began to scramble to cover yourself, only for Jungkook to catch your wrists in one hand and spread your legs apart with the other. 

You glistened underneath the moonlight, a shiver running up your spine as Jungkook bent his head down to level with your core, his eyes peaking just above your pelvis. You couldn’t see his mouth, but you could still tell he was smirking. 

“Pretty,” he chuckled, “so pretty.” 

He stuck his tongue out, licking a long strip up your heat until he stopped at your clit, watching as you squirmed beneath him. Your hand was quick to fly up to your mouth in an attempt to quiet your cries of pleasure, and Jungkook mentally high-fived himself as you did so. 

The feeling of his tongue against you was so euphoric that you didn’t know what do to. He groaned against your core when your other hand found it’s way to his hair, tugging at it while you ground your hips to gain as much friction as possible. 

“Jung- fuck- Kookie, more. Please, more.” You begged, your nails scratching gently against his scalp in an attempt to encourage him. 

Silently, he brought his fingers down to your sex, pressing his middle finger in and curling it upward. You lurched forward at the feeling of him immediately finding all the right places to touch, his tongue still lapping ferociously at your clit.

Slowly beginning to coax you to an orgasm, he slipped his ring finger in beside his middle, your smooth and velvety walls surrounding him deliciously. He couldn’t wait to see what you would feel like around his cock. 

Finally, you felt yourself begin to tighten around his fingers, your mouth dropping open into an ‘o’ shape. You were so close, and you were so ready. 

“I’m gonna cum.” You moan out, much louder than you intended but unable to keep quiet as Jungkook sped up the movements of his tongue and pressed hard to your g-spot. 

White spotted your vision as you came undone, Jungkook staring deeply into your eyes, his own darkened with lust while he allowed you to ride out your high on his fingers. Feeling your release against his tongue, he licked you clean, careful not to overstimulate you in the process. No, that would be an adventure for another night. 

When you finally managed to open your eyes again, Jungkook now hovered over you. Gently, you reached your hand up to wipe his bottom lip with your thumb, collecting your arousal and slipping your thumb into your mouth. His eyes shined at the sight of your movements. 

Jungkook was never one to shy away from showing his arousal to his partner, and you enjoyed the fucked out expression on his face even though you had barely touched him. 

“Fuck, you’re so hot,” Jungkook moaned, “do you feel good?” 

“Yes, baby,” you grinned, “now it’s you’re turn.” 

Jungkook’s eyes widened, allowing you to push him onto his back. You were quick to undo his belt, tugging his jeans down his thighs and over his knees. He wore tight, black boxers, his cock straining against the material, begging to be touched. 

His breathing had picked up significantly in the last few seconds, and you suddenly felt a hell of a lot braver than before. “Tell me what you want.” 

The demand shocked Jungkook, his mouth going dry while your fingers ghosted over the length of his cock. Gentle caresses, the tips of your fingers stimulating Jungkook in a way that he had never felt before. It felt so... sensual. The most he had gotten was a quick fuck by some random girl in the bar, but this, he liked this a lot. 

“Touch me. More, please.” Jungkook spoke, so lowly you almost couldn’t hear him. 

You gave him a slow nod, pulling his boxers down and seeing his cock bounce upward, fully erect and twitching with anticipation. 

Jungkook gasped as you took him into his mouth, his eyes glancing through the trees and to the cabins to make sure that no one was watching. He was hesitant to watch you suck his cock, he was sure the sight of it would cause him to cum much quicker than he wanted to. 

It felt so good, though. Your tongue flicked against the underside of his cock, against the pulsing vein, causing Jungkook to whip his head towards you. 

He couldn’t look away, though, because the sight of you consuming him whole was enough to fuel his day dreams for the rest of his life. “Oh god, you take me so well.” 

His quiet moans of encouragement were enough to send you into a frenzy, his hands flying to your hair and gathering it up in his hands, gently guiding you up and down his shaft. 

“You look so pretty with your mouth stuffed with my cock.” His hips flexed upward, effectively gagging you. 

You popped off of him with a grin and took a deep breath, using your hand to stroke him. You couldn’t help but crawl up his body, your hand not leaving him and pressing your lips to his. Jungkook moaned into your mouth when he felt you give a particularly harsh tug, the pain and pleasure mixing together in harmony. 

“I’m going to cum soon if you don’t stop.” Jungkook strangled out, gritting his teeth together when he felt your thumb smear his precum around his tip. 

“Mm,” you moaned, “but I want you to cum.” 

Jungkook pressed an open mouthed kiss to your neck, before biting down, “Wanna cum on your tits.” 

You felt your core heat yet again at his request, hearing him whine when you pulled your hand away from his cock. 

Laying back down on his shirt, Jungkook moved to straddle your waist. His abs flexed every time his body brushed yours, and shivers running up his spine as he did so, and you could tell that he was really close. 

Jungkook pushed your tits together, his cock slick enough with your saliva that he was able to slip through them easily. 

You watched in awe as he threw his head back, slowly thrusting his cock against you. Every time the head peaked out the top, you kitten licked more precum that dripped out, pushing him closer and closer to the edge. 

“Jesus- fuck-” Jungkook stuttered, before releasing onto your chest and neck. 

His eyes screwed shut in the process, his hands letting go of your tits and riding out his high. After a few moments, he opened his eyes and looked down at your chest, a surge of head rushing through his body at the sight. 

You were splayed out before him, covered in his cum, lust and adoration in your eyes. 

Jungkook leaned down, and you prepared yourself for a kiss but were instead surprised by Jungkook’s tongue collecting his cum from your tits. Then he kissed you. 

You eagerly consumed him, your hands flying to his neck to hold him as closely as possible. 

“That was amazing.” Jungkook said against your lips, “I’ve wanted to do that since I first saw you.” 

“What took you so long?” You questioned teasingly. 

Jungkook shrugged, “Why else did you think I messed with you so much? You’re sexy when you’re annoyed. Every time I saw you roll your eyes, I wanted to kiss your frustration away.” 

You rose an eyebrow, “So you ruined the art projects on purpose?” 

“No, no. I told the kids just to hit you. The rest was an accident.” He shrugged, causing you to scoff jokingly. 

Then you two laid there for a moment in silence, the crackling of the fire and the crickets chirping in the night almost lulling you to sleep. 

“Should we get dressed before someone sees us?” He whispered, sitting up. 

You sighed, “How about a dip in the lake first? I mean... I need to get cleaned up somehow.” 

Jungkook didn’t have a chance to respond before he saw you running to the lake, your figure silhouetted by the moonlight. It accentuated every curve of yours, and Jungkook could feel himself getting hard again. 

Needless to say, you two had a lot of fun in the lake that night. 

[accio-moony]

Not My Type || George Weasley x Reader Angst/Fluff

Request: { @jxsminedrxgon​ asked @eleven-times-lively​: “Hi! I was wondering if I could get a George Weasley x transfer student (female) Ravenclaw angst that turns to fluff?”}

Word Count: ~6K [way too fucking long but I had originally planned more] [not completely proofread]

Summary: you’re a transfer student, new to Hogwarts, and a particular Weasley seems to be infatuated with you, and you deny it to yourself that you’re equally as infatuated. Jealousy makes you admit it to yourself, and eventually to him. [takes place during The Goblet of Fire/1994/George’s 6th year, but there is no tournament. There is quidditch as usual and there is a yule ball as if it is a yearly thing.]

WARNINGS: angst? Exploding potion, detention, idk

*not my gifs*

Being a transfer student is rarely easy, that’s for sure. It’s not often that someone jumps the pond, already knowing people on the other side. As you try not to scare yourself, you stare out the misty, wet window to the expansive hills flying by. Your father got a new job, which meant moving from North America to England. At your previous school, Ilvermorny, you were familiar with everything as you had gone there for the better part of the past five years. By second year, you knew the halls like the back of your hand, and you belonged to a group of friends within your house, Thunderbird. But now, as you ride the Hogwarts Express to your new school, you can’t help but feel nervous. Everything will be different, except that you’ll still be learning magic, something you were born into, and your parents were over the moon that you’d attend the same school they did — the school they met at. Until now.

Yet, now, as the train screeches to an eventual halt, everything is beyond your imagination. You aren’t quite sure what to expect, or what to do exactly, but you know you’ll keep to yourself and follow the rules. A new start isn’t necessarily so bad.

You stand on your toes, grab the handle of your new trunk, and haul it down, almost crushing yourself with its weight. You open the compartment door and check the halls for a clear spot to step out; they’re bustling with people greeting their friends and trying to get off the train first. As soon as an opening comes, you step into the corridor and struggle to drag your case and keep up with the crowd at the same time. The mild September heat engulfs you as you near the door of the train cart, and you can hear the shouts of other students as they scurry around in the rain.

As you step into the rain, you look at the world around you, finding a sign reading Hogsmead Station. You could’ve stood there all night, rain or shine, and taken in the new scenery, but the crowd jostled you along with them and towards some carriages. Many groups piled into the carriages together, still wrapped in conversation. You stood back, waiting for an empty one, and seized your moment when you saw one pulls forward, drawn by seemingly nothing. 

“Leave your trunk here, miss,” you hear a raspy voice from behind you. 

You turn to see an older man with many wrinkles and thin, messy grey hair standing next to a pile of hundreds of trunks. “Sorry, sir,” you apologize to him and give him your trunk. “I’m a transfer student.”

“Evidently,” he sneers at you, looking at you as though he smelled something fowl. 

“Right,” you say to yourself and run back to the carriages. The one that you were about to get on before being called for your trunk was now almost full. Quickly, you nutty up to the back and muster up all your courage to speak to them. “Excuse me?” You clear your throat, and the two boys who were sat turn to look at you. “May I- uh- may I ride with you?”

The girl in the wagon lifts her head finally, her bushy hair bouncing around her. “Oh, hi! Of course,” she smiles and motions to the seat in front of her. 

The two boys fall back into conversation as you sit down next to a tall red-headed boy. The girl had returned her head to be buried in the book she holds, and though you don’t want to be rude and interrupt her, you also don’t want to sit in awkward silence while the two boys talks loudly. “Uh, what’re you reading?” You ask, shyly.

She looks up at you, a big smiling growing on her face. “Oh, goodness. I like you already; these two gits never care for books.” She hands you the book, and you look over the colorful cover. “It’s called A Wrinkle in Time.” She explains. “It’s a muggle novel by Madeleine L’Engle.”

You look up at her, almost confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever met another witch who reads Muggle books,” you state.

“Oh, well,” she chuckles. “I’m muggle-born.” She almost shrinks, as if she’s scared of your reaction. 

“Oh, that’s awesome!” You smile, and hers returns.

“Oi!” The red-headed boy next to you calls, and you and the bushy-haired girl look over at him. “You’re from America aren’t you?”

“Oh, uh,” you scoff to yourself, knowing you should already be expecting this question. “Yeah, I am.”

“Is this your first year at Hogwarts?” The girl asks. 

“Yeah, it is.”

“Welcome! I’m Hermione Granger. This is Ronald Weasley,” she motions to the redhead next to you, “and Harry Potter.”

“It’s wonderful to meet you guys. I’m Y/n Y/l/n.”

“You can call me Ron, by the way,” says the redhead. “Hermione and my mum are the only ones who call me Ronald.” You nod.

“And fair warning: my older brothers — they’re twins and loud so you can’t miss them — anyway, I’m pretty sure George has a thing for American girls.”

“Great.”

When the carriage rounds the next corner, a castle beyond what you could dream of glows against a lake and mountains. Your jaw drops as you look up at it.

“It’s truly beautiful,” says Hermione. “You’ll get used to it soon enough though.”

“I’m not sure I want to get used to it,” you say, still awe-struck until you realize how that may have sounded rude. “I mean — it’s so amazing I could look at it forever. I never want to feel used to something like this and not be in awe every time I see it.”

The boys look at you with blank looks on their faces. 

“Sorry, that didn’t make any sense.”

“I know what you mean,” Hermione places a hand on your arm. “The first years take little boats across the lake to the castle for their sorting ceremony. And now that I think of it, I wonder if you should’ve gone with them. That’s okay though, I’ll introduce you to Professor McGonagall — she handles the ceremony every year.”

Hermione stays to her word, and once the four of you have dismounted the carriage, the boys go ahead of you two, and Hermione walks with you to the front doors of the castle. “What year are you, Y/n?” She asks you as you both walk up the stone steps.

“Uh, sixth,” you say.

“Oh, goodness,” she laughs. “What?” You say, on the verge of panicking.

“Ron, Harry, and I are fourth,” she says simply. “But Fred and George — Ron’s brothers — they’re sixth years.” She looks up at you and raises an eyebrow suggestively.

“Oh, great,” you sigh.

“Professor!” She calls when the two of you cross the threshold. 

An older woman with grey hair tucked under a large witch’s hat turns toward her, her emerald green robes falling down her tall figure.

“Welcome back, Miss Granger!” Her sharp tone intimidating but still welcoming. “Is there something you need help with, dear?”

“Oh, not me, Professor. This is Y/n Y/l/n. It’s her first year at Hogwarts — a transfer student.”

“Yes, of course,” she smiles warmly. “Welcome, Miss Y/l/n. You can stay here with me until the ceremony begins. Hermione, dear, go take your seat.”

“Yes, ma’am,” she smiles and turns on her heals, beginning to walk away.

“Hermione?” You call after her, and she turns back to you. “Could I borrow that book when you finish it?”

“Of course!” She says, her smile wide enough to tear her cheeks. 

After the main herd of students had filed into the Great Hall, a much smaller group of students enters the Entrance Hall, though they may have seen like a much smaller group not only because there were fewer of them, but also because they were smaller children, especially next to the very large bushy man accompanying them. You follow them and Professor McGonagall into the Great Hall and listen to her introduction speech.

After several moments, she stands next to the old hat, which then tells a poem through the rip in the brim. 

“We’ll start with our transfer student,” she smiles down at you, and you straighten your posture. “Miss Y/l/n, if you will take a seat.”

You walk to the front of the group and sit on the short stool in front of the podium. The hat lowers onto your head, and you can hear it humming as it thought.

Next to Ron, at the Gryffindor table, Fred and George look at you, and then between themselves, then back to you. “Wicked,” they say in a unison that would make it seem like they share a brain. 

“RAVENCLAW!” The hat bellows through the hall.

“Damn,” the twins say together, and look down at their plates in identical movements, the trio also seeming disappointed. Though Fred and George aren’t going to give up that easily — at least George isn’t going to give up that easily that is, and he drags Fred along with him through everything, not that Fred ever minds.

Once the feast is over, and you’re following the other Ravenclaws to the common room, you almost run into two people, when they practically suddenly appear in front of you, having been running and then suddenly stopping. You look up as you stumble so as to not physically run into them. You’re met with the faces of two identical boys, both of them with shoulder-length, shaggy red hair, and you conclude to yourself that they must be Ron’s older twin brothers.

“You’re the new girl,” one twin says matter-of-factly. 

You nod and plaster a painfully obvious fake smile onto your face.

“I’m Fred,” says the other twin, gesturing to himself. “And this is my less attractive brother, George.”

Despite your best efforts, as you look back and forth between the two boys in front of you, noting the subtle differences so you can tell them apart, you can’t help but think how handsome they both are, and undeniably charming. You have to remind yourself that you’re not a social person, at least not yet to those at Hogwarts, and you’d like to keep your head down and out of trouble. 

“Hi,” you entertain them. “I’m Y/n.”

“Pleasure,” George cheerily bows before you.

You giggle, not being able to stop yourself. “The pleasure is mine,” you smile and give an equally cheesy curtsy.

“Say, how do you feel about Quidditch, Y/n?” Fred asks.

“I love Quidditch!” You pipe. “I was a Chaser for my house back at Ilvermorny.”

“Well, George and I play,” Fred explains, George being left quiet, almost seeming suddenly shy. “We’re Gryffindor’s Beaters. And we heard that Ravenclaw is short a Chaser.”

Your face lights up, excited by the opportunity for a familiar past time.

“You should ask Flitwick,” George finally speaks again. “He’s head of the Ravenclaw house.”

“And the Charms Professor,” Fred continues. 

“Well, thank you for the heads up then, boys,” you smile, and walk off after the rest of your house without another word.

Next day, the first day of term, you end up having a Charms class with both of the Weasley twins. You notice the two of them turn and pay attention to you as you walk up to Professor Flitwick. 

“Professor Flitwick?” You call, standing politely behind him. 

The extremely short man turns to you. “Ah, yes,” he claps his hands together. “Miss Y/l/n, welcome to Hogwarts and to the Ravenclaw house!”

“Thank you, sir,” you smile. 

“How can I help you?”

“Well,” you start. “I got a tip from someone that one of the Chaser positions for the house team is open. I was wondering if I could try out for the spot? I was a Chaser at Ilvermorny.”

“Oh no need to try out, dear. No one else seems to want it. It’s yours!”

“Wow, ok. Thank you, Professor.”

You turn and take a seat at one of the desk rows across the room from the twins, but closer to the front of the room, closer to the blackboard. You pull your reading glasses out of your bag along with your Charms book and quill. You put your wand neatly in front of you on the desk, and your ink pot in the corner of your area. 

Professor Flitwick clears his throat from the front of the room as he climbs onto a stack of books to be well seen by the students. You slide you glasses up your nose, quickly glancing at the twins, subconsciously hopping that they’ll have already been looking at you, but they were huddled into a small group with another Gryffindor boy in a deep discussion. 

As class begins, and Professor Flitwick explains what to expect from this term, the boys don’t break their herd until their names are called loudly by the shrill voice of the Professor.

“If both Misters Weasley and Mister Jordan would pay attention,” he called them out, quickly pulling their attention to the front. “While I know that the first day of class is usually the most boring, if you pay attention, it will save from questions you will have later.”

Fred, George and their friend turned to the front for just a moment, but as soon as Professor Flitwick had turned to find the papers he was going to hand out — well float out — the boys turned back to their huddle and continued their conversation like nothing had happened. 

“Detention, Mister Fred and George Weasley, and Mister Lee Jordan,” the Professor called, without even turning to see that they were back to talking. “And 10 points from Gryffindor —“

The Gryffindor students, including the group of three that have just cost their house points, groan loudly as they start the term with negative points. 

“— each,” Professor Flitwick finishes, and the groaning becomes louder. 

One student on the opposite end of the class threw something across the room at the three boys, an apple that Professor Flitwick caught with a simple flick of his wand and returned to the students desk. 

“Detention for you, too, Miss Johnson.”

For the remainder of class, you did your best to pay attention to the lesson, but found it increasingly difficult. While the boys kept the talking to a minimum, you could feel George’s eyes on you the whole time. The moment Professor Flitwick dismisses class, you gather all your belongings in a handful — something you never do due to the level of unorganizedness — and bolt from the room, but not quick enough. 

“Oi, Y/n!” You heard the twins call after you in unison, and sigh as you politely stop and turn to them with a half smile. 

The events of the last hour and a half had left you disappointed to say the least. After your encounter with the twins after the feast the night before, you had begun to think maybe befriending them wouldn’t be such a bad thing, but seeing them not pay attention in class and get disciplined on the first day of term harmed your hopes, though you weren’t going to start being rude to them.

“Hello, boys,” you greet them as they approach you. 

“Say,” Fred begins, “we were wondering if you’d like to do our Charms homework?”

George remained silent once again as you gave them both a look of astonishment. 

“Absolutely not!” You scoffed, changing your mind slightly on the ‘not being ride the them’.

“You’re our only Ravenclaw friend,” he continues, “and with Quidditch and planning, we hardly have time to eat and sleep, so we thought we’d at least try.”

“Fred thought,” George corrects him, and Fred subtly nudges him with his elbow. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” you say softly, “but we’re not friends. We only met twelve hours ago, and now that I’ve seen the way you two are, I’m not sure I would consider becoming friends with you.”

“What do you mean, ‘the way you two are’?” Fred laughs. “We’re two fine lads if I do say so myself.”

“Fred,” George says, almost pleading.

“Y/n!” Another voice calls behind you, and you wonder how there are already so many people who know you. You turn away from the boys and down the hall to see the trio you met on the carriage marching down the corridor. “I finished the book,” Hermione smiles at you and pulls the book out of her bag, handing it over to you.

“Thank you, Hermione!” You smile. “I’ll be sure to give it back once I’m done. Shouldn’t be too long.”

“No worries.” “Say, George,” Ron says, looking quizzically behind you. “You’re awfully quiet; are you feeling okay?”

“It’s nothing,” George mutters and leaves to walk down the hall, almost at a jog.

Fred winks at you before following his twin, and you turn back to the trio blushing.

“Don’t let those two morons bother you, Y/n,” Hermione assures you, putting a hand on your forearm kindly.

“I’ve never seen anyone make George nervous before — much less quiet,” Ron admits. “You must be one hell of a girl in his eyes.”

“Uh, yeah,” you mutter, looking down at your black flats against the beautiful stone floors as you shyly rub the back of your neck. “I’ve got to get to my next lesson,” you smile to the three fourth years. “I’ll see you guys later.” Without waiting for a response from the group you continue down the hall, but stop at the corner before turning it and look back over your shoulder in time to see Ron shrug at something Hermione said as they enter the Charms classroom.

Fred and George end up being in several of your classes, including Potions and Defense Against the Dark Arts. One fall morning, on your way down to the dungeons for Potions, you hear the two familiar and almost identical voices talking outside the hall. Before you could turn the corner and see them, you hear your name being mentioned.

“It’s obvious you like Y/n, George,” Fred says.

You stop in your tracks behind the corner, thinking about how throughout the term so far, Fred and George have been restless. You’ve witness their pranks and loud jokes. During Quidditch games, Fred forces the bludgers at you, nearly knocking you off every time. The one time he actually managed to, George quickly flew down to the ground to see if you were okay, but you rolled your eyes as you got up with Hermione’s help. “Fuck off, Weasley,” you had jeered at him as you stumbled off the pitch and towards Madame Pomfrey to be cleared to continue the game. Once you were cleared, you worked harder than you had before at Hogwarts, and though Harry caught the snitch, Ravenclaw was only two goals away from having won without the snitch. You feel a bit bad about having told him to ‘fuck off’ when he didn’t do anything wrong, but you’re also mad that Fred thinks that’s a suitable way to get your attention. 

“Well, no shit, Sherlock,” George scoffs at his brother, still out of your line of sight. “How could I not? She’s the most gorgeous person I’ve ever seen. She’s smart and funny and dorky and adorable and everything I’d ever want. Her being good at Quidditch is always a plus, but because the move you pulled at the game last week, she’s bound to still be mad at me.”

“Make it up to her then!” Fred protests. “I’ve seen the way she looks at you — like you’re an idiot, but a handsome idiot, you know?”

“Thanks?”

“You just have to try, brother. You’re the George Weasley, you can do anything you want.”

“Whatever,” he sighs and you hear footsteps retreat down the corridor.

You take this as your signal to stop hiding, to stop ease-dropping, and go to class. You quickly turn the corner and hurry into the Potions room, finding everyone standing around the room instead of in seats. 

“What’s going on?” You ask a fellow Ravenclaw girl. 

“New partner assignment, I think,” she explains, without really even looking up at you, keeping her nose in the Potions book, turned to the page which you assume is what today’s lesson will be, though you can’t see what the title of the page is.

“Quiet!” Professor Snape’s deep nasally voice echos through the dungeon over the loud conversations of the students, effectively quieting them.”You have new partners as of today,” he said, then began to call out last names in pairs.

“Y/l/n,” he calls, then pauses to think of who to pair you with. “Weasley,” he decides, and you swallow the lump in your throat.

“Which one?” Fred pipes from across the room.

“I don’t care,” he says, then continues to pair off students.

You quickly take a seat at a desk in the second row, waiting for whichever twin to join you, but you had a feeling it would be George because of what you just heard in the hall.

“Hi, Y/n,” he says as he takes the seat next to you.

“Hi, George,” you say with a smile, but don’t look up from your Potions book to look at him.

“How’d you know I’m George and not Fred?” He says, and this time you do look up at him.

“Uh,” you hesitate, “gut feeling?”

“A Befuddlement Draught,” Snape begins as George sits down next to you and slouches back in his chair. You try not to pay attention to George and his demeanor, comparing it to your own, instead of paying attention to Professor Snape’s pre-lesson speech. “Is a potion that causes the drinker to become belligerent and reckless.” He looks between the Weasley twins. “The ingredients are scurry grass, lovage, and sneezewort.”

You wrote quickly as he spoke, taking notes to help you with studying and homework later. George looked at you, then pulled our his own piece of parchment, but he wasn’t writing notes. He wanted to seem like he was, but really he was righting a sort of journal entry about how beautiful he thinks you are, so paying attention even less than if he wasn’t “taking notes”.

“These plants are most efficacious in the inflaming of the brain,” Snape continues, and you recognize his words as a passage from the Potions book you had read to get ahead. “And are therefore much used in Confusing and Befuddlement Draughts, where the wizard is desirous of producing hot-headedness and recklessness.”

You laugh to yourself slightly, just loud enough for only George to hear, and he quickly looks up at you at the beautiful sound. 

“What’s so funny?” He whispers.

You hesitate a moment while you smile to yourself. “You wouldn’t need this potion to be reckless, would you, Weasley?”

His face turns beat red, and as you look over at him, he quickly folds his piece of parchment and stuffs it into his bag haphazardly.

“You will be making this today,” Professor Snape said, waving his wand at the blackboard, making the chalk write the instructions on its own. “It is nearly impossible to mess up.” He looked around the room down his long nose, examining every student. He sees your readiness and eagerness to start, and he notes the twins lack of interest as they look across the dungeon at each other mouthing in conversation. Snape rolls up the papers in his hand and walks towards you and George’s desk. He lifts the parchment and brings it down rough on George’s head and making you gasp while he looks sternly at Fred. “Get started.”

You tie your hair up effortlessly, and George can’t help but notice how beautiful and natural you look. Then as you walk off to go get the ingredients listed on the board and in the book, he looks after you longingly, following you like a lost puppy as he grabs random ingredients from the shelves.

When you come back, you slide your house robe off your shoulders and drape it over your chair, getting to work as you roll up the sleeves of your jumper. 

“Are you going to let me help?” George asks.

You look at him, silent for a moment as you think. “Are you going to actually help, or blow it up like every other potion you and your brother make.”

“I’d like to actually help.”

“Okay then, would you put the sneezewort into the cauldron?” You ask him politely. 

He picks up an ingredient, not paying quite enough attention to what and holds it over the cauldron as he looks over your book. 

“George, no!” You yell and reach out to grab his arm. “That’s —“ but it was too late. 

George had dropped what he was holding into the pot, and it immediately blew up. You screamed as you covered yourself with your arms and ducked, but George was too shocked by his own action to react, and his face was left covered in dirt. 

You stand back up and look over at him. “That was an Erumpent horn!” You exclaim. George looks down at his hands, not knowing what to say. The clicking of boots fills the dungeon as everyone had gone silent and was staring at the two of you. You look up and see Professor Snape approaching you. 

“You’re quite right, Miss Y/l/n,” Snape says, and you blush deeply. “Maybe you should have been watching him more carefully.”

“I thought I was, I thought I could trust him,” you mutter, more to yourself than anyone else. 

“50 points from Gryffindor,” he sneers, and you jerk your head to look at George, who’s face is almost expressionless. “And Ravenclaw as well.”

“But sir —“ you begin. 

“And detention, Saturday evening.” 

Your jaw drops, practically hitting the floor. You had never gotten points taken from your house before, much less gotten in trouble. 

“For now, there is no coming back from this mistake,” Snape looks at George intently. “You are both excused from the rest of the class.”

Without thinking much, you shove George with both your hands, and he stumbles backwards, watching after you as you grab your bag and hurry out of the room. He’s frozen in his spot a moment, until Snape clears his throat. George grabs his own belongings and hurries after you.

“Y/n!” He calls when he gets into the hall, but you’re already turning the corner without even a glance back at him. 

Later that evening, at supper, you sit alone at the Ravenclaw table with a book, but you weren’t paying much attention to it, rather just staring at the page as you push the food around on your plate. 

“Oi, Angelina,” you hear a familiar voice call, and look up to see the twins looking down the Gryffindor table at one of the house chasers. You see George as he reaches across the table towards her. “Will you go to the ball with me?” 

You barely hear him from where you’re sitting, but you hear him enough and can read his lips enough to know he said it. Your eyes shift over to Hermione, who’s looking across the tables to you. Your mouth thins into a line as you fight back the tears, though you know they shouldn’t be there. Not knowing what else to do, and not wanting anyone else to notice your dismay, you grab your book up and leave the Great Hall.

You’re already on the grand marble staircase when you hear Hermione, Ron, and Harry all call after you. You don’t stop and pick up your pace. 

“Y/n, please!” You hear Hermione call, and you can’t help but stop. 

You turn around and wipe the tear off your cheek.

“Why are you crying?” She asks as she pulls you into a hug.

“Why would he do that?” You snuffle out. 

“I don’t know,” Ron says. “He’s so infatuated with you, I couldn’t believe it. But I thought you despised him?”

“He got me detention, I do despise him,” you say, but continue, “did — I did despise him. At least I thought I did.” You slump down and sit on the staircase with your head in your hands. Hermione its next to you and sets hand on your back. “He’s really not my type of person. I’ve never been in trouble before! And he’s constantly in trouble! I don’t know what it is about him. He’s handsome and funny, and I’m only now realizing it, but I can’t help but like him. Merlin, I’m so stupid.”

“You are not stupid,” Harry says. “He’s stupid.” “That’s not news, mate,” Ron says. 

“Well, yeah,” Harry says, “but we didn’t know he was this stupid.”

You sniffle a laugh at his words and look up at him, only, you notice a pair of fiery red hair, just like Ron’s, standing in the corridor behind Harry.

You swallow the lump in your throat and quickly run up the rest of the stairs, sprinting to the Ravenclaw tower. 

“I—“ George begins from behind Ron, but doesn’t know what to say and just closes his mouth.

“You’re fucking stupid,” Ron scoffs at his older brother and turns and walks away with Hermione and Harry. 

George looks over to Fred, who’s face reflects the same disbelief as his own.

That night, for the first time, you didn’t touch your homework, but instead went straight to bed and cried yourself to sleep. 

When Saturday’s detention rolled around, you arrived early as is normal for you. Snape let you start on the task he decided to assign you for detention. You were to go through one box of old discipline reports before you could leave. You sat in the corner of the room and pulled the lid off a box, beginning to sort it. It wasn’t long until George joined, but Snape gave him a rag and told him to clean all the desks. George sighed, and Snape walked out of the room. 

You could feel George’s eyes on you from where he stood unmoved. 

“Y/n,” he beings. “I’m sorry.”

You refuse to even look at him as you give him the silent treatment. 

“I shouldn’t have been so cocky with the potion,” he continues. “I just wanted to seem like I knew what I was doing.”

You remained silent as you shifted through the box. 

Throughout the unnecessary hour George was taking to wipe down the tables, he continued to try and apologize or make conversation, but you still ignored him.

When you finished the file box, you closed the lid and pulled out a bit of parchment. You put the box on Snape’s desk, along with a note offering to continue to file to earn back the points you had lost the House, and you leave the room without a word. 

“Y/n!” George calls down the dungeon corridor, his voice echoing off the stone walls. 

You don’t respond and keep walking, but you hear his heavy footsteps running closer to you, until you feel a hand wrap around your wrist, sending sparks through your skin. You snatch your hand back instinctively, but he holds his grip

“Don’t touch me, Weasley,” you say punctuated. 

“Why won’t you talk to me?” He asks, almost yelling. 

“You’re not good, George Weasley,” you shout back. “Never have I ever gotten in trouble before. But you made me get detention! You don’t study, you don’t pay attention, you probably don’t even think! Please, just leave me alone.”

You twist your wrist from his grasp and turn up the stairs, walking away from him again.

You managed to avoid him for the most part, besides Potions, where you just refused to talk to him. 

One day, a few weeks after your detention, you’re sitting in the court yard wrapped in a blanket, leaning against a pillar as you read in the snow. You’re the only person in the courtyard, but you liked it that way. People had started congregating inside because of the cold, and the library and common room had become too crowded. 

You hear a group of feet crushing snow as they walk towards you, but you don’t look up, too enveloped in your book. 

“Hey, Y/l/n!” A cold voice jest. “What’s you doing out here all alone?”

You look up to see the school bully, Draco Malfoy laughing at you with his posse. He loved poking fun at everyone outside of the Slytherin house. 

“I’m reading,” you smile. “You should try it sometime. Maybe you’ll learn how not to be such an ass.” Your voice remains steady and polite as you speak. 

“How dare you!” He announces, and reaches towards you, pulling your blanket off of you, leaving you cold.

“Give it back!” You demand. 

“No.”

You open your mouth to speak, but a flare of red light comes over your shoulder and hits Draco in the chest, sending him several feet backwards, your blanket still in hand. The caster walks out from behind you and over to Draco on the ground. He pulls the blanket out of Draco’s grasp with difficulty, but kicks him in the side to get him to let go. Draco cries out in pain, his friends bustling away.

The caster turns towards you, and you see the red hair poking out from under his beanie, and the familiar face. George.

“Here,” he says softly, as he hands the blanket to you.

“Thank you,” you say simply, reaching for it, but before you can touch it, George pulls it back, and you sigh in frustration.

“Actually,” he starts. “I’ll give it back if you come with me and let me talk.”

You knew you weren’t getting out of this, so you stood up. “Let’s go then.”

He leads you up the the astronomy tower, and you look over the untouched white canvas of the grounds. “I’m sorry,” he continues. “I’m sorry I got you detention. I’m sorry about the bludger. I’m just sorry, for everything.”

“Okay,” you say.

“I really like you, and I know it’s obvious. I’ve never been so nervous around someone before. I’ve never felt like I needed to actually try to make a good impression, and when I did try, I fucked up and got us in trouble. I just don’t know how to act around you.”

“You really like me?” You ask.

“Yes, of course.”

“Then why did you ask Angelina to the ball?” You murmur. 

“I didn’t think you liked me. I was trying to just move on before I made anything worse, but then that made it worse. I heard you talking to Ron and them in the hall, and I heard you say it. I immediately cancelled the ball with her so I could ask you once I’ve apologized but you never let me. You’re all I can think about, Y/n.”

You look up into his soft eyes, and your heart melts. “I forgive you,” you mutter.

“Really?” He asks in disbelief.

“Yes,” you blush and look down at the grounds from the ledge as you avoid George’s eyes.

He clears his throat. “Will you, Y/n Y/l/n be my date to the Yule ball, and my date to everything else from here on. Will you please be mine?”

You couldn’t control the smile on your face as you looked back at him. “Under one condition,” you giggle. 

“Anything,” George pleads.

“Kiss me,” you say, building up your confidence to straighten your posture and look directly into his eyes.

“Definitely.”

George grabs your face softly and leans down, putting his soft lips on your own as you both smile ridiculously as the fireworks blow within the both of you.

[impishnature]

Breaking Point

Thanks for waiting guys! This was 3.9k in the end so yeah haha! Which while normal for me, isn’t going to be attainable daily throughout October. 

Imptober Prompts so far

AO3 Fandom: Gravity Falls Rating: T+ (Warning for possibly graphic details on injuries.) Prompt: Broken Down/Broken Bones. Summary: Accidents at sea happen, however careful you may be. Unfortunately for Stan, some can dredge up memories with them.

.

It was strange, quite how quickly the world could turn upside down.

All it takes is one wrong turn, a blink, an exhale of breath, and suddenly all the air is punched out of your lungs and the open sky spins like a fairground ride you never meant to take. Off kilter, ready to take you down as the ground crumbles beneath your feet.

At least, that's how it always seemed to be for Stan. The world was always ready to throw him in the deep end at a moment's notice.

He'd hoped that after everything, the universe might stop trying to push him around.

He'd been quietly humming to himself, a serene smile on his face, tapping calloused fingers on fraying trousers as he sat, staring out to sea. There wasn't a cloud in sight, the sun beaming warm and bright against his arms and back, and the small bobber on the end of his fishing line was all that really kept him linked to reality. Otherwise, his mind was elsewhere, a peaceful static drone buzzing through his blank mind, as seagulls screeched overhead, hoping to snag his catch before he did if he wasn't careful and prepared. Behind him, he could hear his brother as if in the far distance, soft footfalls padding along as he absorbed himself in whatever anomaly had brought them here in the first place.  

One moment, under the bright blue sky, Stan felt at one with the world, like all the planets had finally aligned, the puzzle pieces had fallen into place and finally he was living the life he was always meant to lead.

The next second, a loud crack tore through the air and the folding chair he'd been sitting on jerked to the side, toppling, as the boat lurched beneath him. Something hit the metal railing of the boat with a long clattering ring that ricocheted around his ears as he promptly smacked into the floor shoulder first, head bumping slightly after with another flare of pain. 

Amidst this, another softer, though no less unpleasant crunch filtered through his disorientated senses. He felt something solid give beneath his fingers, breaking sharply in two and any air in his lungs choked out of him as a flood of pain washed over him. He curled up into a ball on the ground, breathing shallowly, heart thumping rapidly as his brain overloaded with sensation.

"Shit, that was- Stanley?!" 

Stan let out a hiss of a response, unable to open his mouth further than the gritted grimace it was locked in. He'd felt this kind of pain before, years and years ago, of course he had- young, homeless, running for his life, still, despite that it didn't really prepare him for a repetition. It was the kind of pain that your mind slowly forgot the true taste of, time taking the edge off. The body, however, never truly forgot. Like, that gut feeling not to put your hand near a flame even if you couldn't quite recall how much it had hurt the last time. And so, adrenaline pumped abruptly through this system, nerves sparking, his body trying it's best to keep him level-headed. His hands clenched tightly at his thigh, pushing down around the wound without being able to look at it. The memories from the last time this had happened were rising from the depths to greet him, skewing reality as all the interlocking recollections, that had quite never made their way to the surface since his 'lapse in memory', were now exposed to the light. 

It had been a baseball bat that time, a sudden solid snap to his leg that had made his eyes smart and black dots fizzle across his vision. It had knocked all the air out of him, a wheeze all that he could pull forth from his lungs, even though he felt the need to scream through the agony. Looking down had not been his most sensible idea. As soon as he saw the damage, his vision had blacked out, his muscles going limp. Even now, he had no idea how long he passed out for. It could have been minutes or mere seconds before he joltingly came to again, still locked in a terrible situation he'd found himself in with little means of escape. 

But now he was smarter, his body reacting to the pain as if it were an old adversary, a familiar routine that his muscle memory knew how to respond to. 

He turned his gaze away, eyes tightly screwed shut and took as steady a breath as he could muster, reminding himself that this time- this time- he wasn't alone to deal with it.

"F-Ford?" The word barely made it past teeth and a pain addled tongue. Heavy footfalls vibrated through the wooden floor, rattling around his skull where it lay. They should have made him flinch, would have if he'd had any sense to spare through the pain. But as it was, the much heavier, louder thump right beside his head of two knees hitting the deck without a care and the warm hand that fell atop his shoulder, instead caused a swell of relief to muddle into the mix of heady adrenaline coursing through him.

"I'm here. I'm right here."

Stan tried to relax under the slow soft movements on his forearm, the reassuring warmth that ran soothing circles across his skin, tried to lock on to the comforting voice, the familiar safety that he hadn't been able to rely on the first time. But the bolts of pain that snapped all the way up his spine, and the bright flare of his injured leg outweighed any optimism he could latch on to. All he could do under the tidal wave of agony was ride out the storm, curling up even further and pulling his leg in tighter to his chest.

"Stan? Stan, can you hear me?"

Ford's voice was an echo of worry at the back of his skull. As much as he couldn't respond to the frantic urgency his brother was trying to urge him with, the cold release of his arm as his brother moved away almost made him sob. 

No- no, please don't leave me. 

He hadn't even realised he'd latched onto the warmth to keep him tethered. The storm held him in it's thrall and the knowledge that someone else was there with him had been a rope, a life line that connected him to reality even if he couldn't quite break the surface of the water.

I can't do this alone.

He was drowning, water muffling his ear drums until all he could hear was the dissonant ring of a metal bat being swung, over and over with every pulse of pain, a death knell growing louder with every stuttering heartbeat. A distorted laugh bubbled through his skull, bouncing and splintering, increasingly scrambled until it became a cacophony of all the people he had double crossed. Scornful, mocking sounds, jeering at his plight. All of them shadows that surrounded him in the darkness, pushed him deeper and deeper into the water, flashes of yellow sparking up to fill the empty spaces in between that he might have somehow escaped through.

And the one person who might have been willing to help him, the light that might have helped him resurface, was on the other side of them all, pulling further and further away the more he let him, fading from his view with every sinking second.

If only he could open his mouth, if only his jaw wasn't locked and his entire being trembling. If only-

I'm sorry, I can't- It hurts- I'm sorry, I'm sorry-

"Stan."

The word was solid, determined, laced with a hint of fear but none of the anger that he was so despondently sure would follow. 

Pull yourself together. What are you? A Child? 

"Stan? I'm here. Whatever's happening in there, I need you to focus on me."

It was weird after so many years to hear his brother and father in the same vicinity, even if that vicinity was his own mind.

Especially when they seemed so at odds with one another.

"Please. Please open your eyes."

The warmth from before returned, now resting on his cheeks, small circular embers that dotted across his temples and his eyelids. The heat pulled him from the dark eddies, dragged him out of ice cold waters- but it was the edge to his voice that cut through him. That fear, that urgency, the thought that Ford needed him right that instant. It hushed the laughter, the mocking cries, until with all the energy he possessed, he squinted his eyes open.

The sunlight burned.

But he found solace in Ford's face above him.

Ford's shoulders slumped, arms shaking in tremors that Stan felt travel across his cheeks, but he held him fast, still continuing the soft motions against his skin. "There he is. Welcome back."

"For-" Stan grunted, close to uttering his name but without enough mobility to get his tongue to move in the correct pattern.

"Shh, it's OK." Ford's eyes became focused, quick fleeting glances at the rest of him even whilst his hands continued to soothe and his gaze so obviously wanted to latch to Stan's face. "Just- just tell me what hurts- if you can- whatever you can manage." His words were soft, sharply urgent but with no actual bite to them.

Stan didn't know whether it made him feel fragile or protected but either way he couldn't help the gratitude welling up inside him as his brother stayed at his side.

"Leg." 

It was probably pretty obvious with the way he was clutching it, but if he knew Ford, then he'd want to be sure. Either way Stan knew he was in capable hands even if he couldn't quite bring himself to try and struggle out of the foetal position he'd managed to curl himself into.

"Your leg?" Ford nodded, relief awash in his eyes at Stan's utterance. "OK. We can deal with that- we will deal with that, OK?" Stan wasn't sure which one of them the words were for exactly but he took comfort in them nonetheless. "I'm going to take a look, is that alright? I just need you to stay with me." 

Stan swallowed, the lump in his throat, solid and unyielding. He nodded once, a sharp tense motion as he braced himself for more pain.

"Easy. Easy- just, stay calm." Ford kept one hand on his face, moving it to act as a divider between his head and the floor. The other hand slowly pulled away, moving to cover Stan's hand on his thigh. "It's OK, Stan, just let me take a look." The hand slowly pried at his fingers, insistent and gentle, urging him to pull away from the pain. Ford's eyes found his again, reassuring and calming. "You trust me, right?"

And just like that it was as simple as breathing. 

Stan hissed, an annoyed sound that would have made them both laugh in any other circumstance at the low blow Ford had levied. Instead it did at least lighten the mood ever so slightly, relaxed the tight coil of his muscles enough that even if he couldn't move it himself, Ford could slowly pull his hand away and lay it gently on the floor after giving it a tight squeeze of thanks.

"That's it, you're doing great, Stan."

Stan didn't know whether to laugh or cry at the sentiment. 

He didn't feel like he was doing good, let alone great. When he'd been younger...

Well, younger him hadn't had Ford to take care of him. It was deal with the situation or get a much more fatal blow to the back of the head.

So hopefully he'd be forgiven for allowing himself to give in, now that he was a lot older, and greyer, and his brother was knelt beside him, offering to do whatever he could to help.

The soft push on tender flesh snapped him from his desolate thoughts. He whimpered, biting down on the noise almost instantly as Ford's eyes snapped back to his face, watching every subtle change and he couldn't help but try to turn away from it, not wanting to be seen this weak.

"Stan. It's OK." Ford's hand moved, running over his forehead and into his hair before reclaiming its spot around his neck. "It's just us, no one's judging you on how well you deal with this. Besides-" His mouth twisted up into a smile that didn't reach the concern gleaming in his eyes. "I'm the one that's had to patch you up after you've got yourself into fights before. So, out of everyone I think I know your pain thresholds." He kept their eyes locked, hoping to distract as his hand gently pressed again, following the line of his thigh, testing the waters with each ministration. "And I know that you aren't one to let pain get the better of you like this unless it's serious."

Stan tried to scoff, each lance of pain stopping his progress as he took deep breaths in and out. "Y-you say that like it's only me who gets us into fights."

Ford's smile brightened, more genuine than before. "True. True." He hummed, happy to divert attention as Stan's eyes focused more and more on his face. "Then again I've also seen you cry when the twins manage to send us a care package. Remember? That sweater you refused to take off for like a week? So, maybe I don't know what I'm talking about. Maybe you have gone soft in your old age."

Stan's breathing hitched, a half chuckle escaping him. "Shut it, nerd." 

"Never." 

Ford shifted back onto his haunches, relief marring his expression as he smiled down at Stan, hand moving away from his injury to find his shoulder. "Well, it doesn't seem to be broken, so that's a relief." 

Stan blinked blankly at him, the pain a dull ache in the background as he stared at him. "Wha-?"

Ford frowned, glancing back over as Stan's hand moved once more to cradle his wound. "There's no break from what I can feel. No cuts or blood either... It's a strange place for a sprain but there's obviously something going on. If you can sit up, I might be able to get a better look?"

The world was becoming fuzzy around the edges again, his ears ringing, as Ford continued to talk. Not broken? What does he mean not broken? I felt it- And even as he got lost in his thoughts, Ford was slowly pushing and prodding him to move, his body letting him take the reigns as his mind succumbed to the confused buzz of pain still fizzling through his system.

"There we go. Still with me?"

Stan flinched back to reality, the hand on his shoulder tight and firm as it shook him ever so. He nodded, staring down at his own legs, trying to find the source of the pain, to visualise the break he'd felt beneath his fingers. His vision doubled for a second, black spots forming as his leg deformed and reformed, superimposing memory and present day before realigning every time he blinked. His hand trailed down but Ford caught it, putting it back beside him with a few small taps.

"Let me. I'm the Doctor here, remember?"

Stan snorted. "Not a medical one though." His head felt heavy, exhaustion tugging at his every movement as he watched Ford continue his examination. Sparks of pain still zapped through him as he was checked over but it felt strange, on his peripherals. Like it was just out of sync, each flare of pain linked to what he was seeing instead of as soon as the touch physically came. "What happened?"

"Hmm?"

"To the boat, what-?"

"Oh." Ford glanced back at him before continuing his ministrations. "We hit something. Nothing too serious, just an outcropping we hadn't picked up on when we chartered the course by the looks of it." He grinned sheepishly. "Guess that'll teach us for relying on autopilot."

Stan let his head fall back against the railing he'd been propped up on, eyes drifting shut, too heavy to hold open. "Ehh, once in a while we're allowed to make a mistake."

"Quite right." Ford hummed back. A few more moments passed before he finally sat back, turning to Stan once more. "There really doesn't seem to be a break. Can you stand?" 

Stan pushed himself up, staring wide eyed at him.

Stand? On a broken leg?

Sure, he'd hobbled on one before. The pain had been excruciating as he stumbled agonisingly away from captors that wanted him dead, biting on his knuckles to keep from making any noise as he all but dragged himself through dark winding corridors. But - well, there was a time and place for that kind of foolhardy response to a broken leg.

And now didn't seem like one of those times.

"But it broke."

Ford frowned, eyebrows furrowing as Stan spoke. "What?"

"It broke. I felt it break."

"You felt it-" Ford's frown deepened, alarm flashing in his eyes as he took in Stan's expression. "Stan, I really can't find a break, are you sure?"

Stan nodded, own mind racing as the dull throb persisted in his leg. "I had my hand on my knee and I felt it-" Nausea flared up then, thick and fast, his entire body listing to the side as he felt the need to heave. His fingers tingled with residual feeling, the unnatural creak and bend of his bones still lodged inside his grasp.

"Whoa, whoa, easy-" Ford's hand propped him up again, gently sitting him upright as he coughed on air. The next words out of his brother's mouth were hesitant, worried, but in a way that suggested he was scared to start an argument. Which didn't make any sense at all to Stan given the circumstances.

"Now, Stan. Are you sure... and don't get mad at me- but are you sure you didn't feel, well... that?"

Stan followed the line of his pointing finger, frowning in disappointed irritation- why didn't Ford believe him- before they finally alighted on what Ford was trying to show him. He stared, uncomprehendingly, at the strange heap of fibreglass and string that he was sure hadn't been there when he sat down earlier that day. 

It took a few long seconds to realise it was actually his fishing rod- or what was left of it.

...Oh.

It was neatly snapped in two, held together only by the fishing line that ran through it's eyelets. A line that was now also impossibly tangled around his folding chair and the railing he'd been propping it against. 

"Stan?"

He couldn't speak. What could he say?

"Stan... have you broken your femur before?"

"Hmm?"

"Your leg. Have you broken your leg before?"

Stan's head was turned back to the conversation, Ford's face holding a different kind of worry, one that by now he was used to, what with everything they had been through before they'd left on their journey across the sea. It didn't, however, make him feel any better, his heart sinking to rest in his stomach, in a churning mass of shame.

The pain in his leg was dissipating, like clouds dispersing once a storm has passed. As if nothing had ever happened in the first place.

"But I really felt it."

He hated how small his voice had gone, how pleading and childish he sounded. He just needed his brother to believe him- it had to have happened.

Because if it hadn't-

Stan swallowed, lump once more firmly lodged in his throat.

If it hadn't...

"I know you did, Stan." Stan scrunched up his nose at the pity filtering through his brother's voice. "But whatever the memory was that latched on to you, I need you to know you're safe. You're alright." Ford tilted his head to catch his eye, guilt swirling in his gaze and Stan wasn't sure if he hated it more or less than the pity. "Do you want to talk about it?"

Stan let his head fall forwards, hiding his expression from Ford's inquisitive gaze. His fingers fisting in his trousers, above the old wound, the old scar that pulsed in tandem with his heart but only as if to remind him of the memory. "It's not broken?"

"No." Ford's voice was genuine, a doctor letting someone know they were completely healthy and could face the world again.

He didn't feel like he could face the world though.

Stan laughed, a hollow sound as he covered his eyes with his hand. When had he started to well up? How much more shame did he have to go through today? "Great. Brilliant. Fantastic."

"Stan-"

"So, it's just my head that's broken then?" Stan dropped his hand to stare at his brother, almost wishing he hadn't said anything as he physically saw Ford's heart break across his face. Stan tried for a crooked grin, heart hammering in his chest in guilt. "What? It-it's not a new observation, now is it, Sixer?" 

"Lee." The old nickname cut off his dark laugh, sobering him up from whatever hysterical road he'd been about to wander down. Ford's eyes were harder, sharper as he came closer and for a second there was fear. That awful paranoia that Ford was about to up and leave, snap at him for being a nuisance and go back to whatever he was doing before he got in his way like he always did. "Lee, don't you ever talk about yourself like that."

"What?"

"I can't listen to you do that. Not anymore."

Ford sat beside him, arm curling around his shoulders before tugging him in against his chest. Stan felt him breathe heavily against his hair, puffs of air that felt and sounded shaky as they sat against the railing together, the boat peacefully bobbing in the water. 

"You're not broken, Stan. Anyone whose been through what you have-" There was a definite swallow as his voice cut off, a tightness to his words that Stan couldn't help but blanch at. 

Had he made Ford cry?

"Ford-"

"No one's been through what you've been through, Stan." Ford rested his head against the top of his skull, taking a deep breath in and tightening his hold, as if scared that by letting go, Stan would vanish entirely. "You've been through so much and done so much and no one will ever be allowed to judge you, least of all me."

Stan's throat constricted all the more as he struggled to regain control of the conversation. "Ford-"

"I won't hear it." Ford kissed the top of his head. 

"You're not broken."

A tear fell then, one that Stan couldn't hold in any longer. He turned, pushing himself into the hug that was being offered and choked out a soft protest as he did so. 

"It's alright." Ford muttered above him, slowly rocking them as they sat safe in their own little bubble, their small slice of home gently swaying on calm seas as the empty blue sky stretched far above them. "I promise you, everything's alright."

Warm water hit Stan's scalp and he tightened his hold, a physical apology for making his brother cry, but Ford just gently shushed him, rubbing a hand down his back. 

"You don't ever have to feel broken again."

[anonniemousefics]

Dying Tomorrow

Originally posted on AO3

Fandom: Six of Crows/Crooked Kingdom | Kaz + Inej

Word count: 4,927

***Rated NSFW (aged-up characters)***  -- It’s real smutty, guys.

Synopsis: It's been over ten years since the raid on the Ice Court, and Inej rarely thought of it anymore. And she tried to not think of the boy who'd pulled it off. But Fjerda did not forget. And now Kaz and Inej are reunited after years apart: awaiting their fate on the gallows in Djerholm. What final words of truth do they have to share with each other?

Rough hands threw Inej into the dark, and she caught herself on her knees, hands against cold, rough stone. The heavy iron door shut behind her with a resounding clang, the hefty lock lurching into place. And, for the first time in weeks, she was alone with her mind. Her heavy breathing echoed off the dungeon’s stone walls.

It had been over ten years since the raid on the Ice Court. An entire decade. In the grand scheme of all of her capers, the Ice Court still ranked in the top five, but had certainly been bumped out of the top slot years ago. She rarely thought about it anymore. And rarely thought about the boy who’d somehow pulled it all off.

But Fjerda had not forgotten. And now Fjerda had come to collect.

Inej pushed herself up to her feet, trying to take stock of herself in the dim light. She felt naked without her knives. Her black hair, which she’d chopped to her shoulders years ago, hung in dirty strings, mangled and knotted from the weeks she’d spent in a holding cell in Djerholm. She was sure her grey prison clothes were starting to smell.

She hadn’t thought of the boy who’d broken into the Ice Court in years, but now, more than ever, she wished she could get her hands on him.

“Inej.” Like something from a dream, that old, familiar grating voice, like stone against stone, called from the dungeon’s dark shadows, and Inej thought for a moment she might have lost her mind. She squinted into the darkness.

Son of a bitch. Kaz Brekker himself.

He limped into the thin line of flickering torch light that seeped in from the hall. How many years had it been? His hair was longer, his angles sharper, the taper of his shoulders to his waist clearly that of a man’s and no longer a boy’s. He was in prison clothes, too, old and new bruises blooming across his face and the scruff on his jaw. He had a new scar across his lip she’d never seen before.

“You.” Of all the faces she thought she might see inside a Fjerdan prison, this was the last she expected. She couldn’t believe the Fjerdans would put them together.

But then, she supposed it mattered very little to them where prisoners awaited their death sentence.

“Hello, Wraith,” Kaz rasped.

Her heart slammed against the inside of her ribcage. Her cheeks felt hot and buzzing. Kaz Brekker. Kaz Brekker.

Kaz fucking Brekker.

“You.” When she found her voice again, the rage came out in a growl. She could barely see straight. She would kill him. She would kill him right here. She crossed the cold stone floor in three quick steps and threw all of her weight into slamming an arm across his chest, throwing him up against the dungeon’s cold wall.

“You son of a bitch.” She bared her teeth and seized fistfuls of his scratchy prison shirt. “You implicated me. You sold me out.”

“You know I did no such thing.” Kaz kept his hands, his bare hands, out to the side, his dark eyes as imperceptible, as cold and unfeeling as ever. He wasn’t fighting her, and how she hated him for it.

“They blew up The Wraith,” she snarled in his face. She was out of tears to cry. All that was left was blinding, white hot rage. “You’ve cost me everything. You better start begging me for your life, or you’re not going to live to hang tomorrow.”

“I didn’t give them anything.” In the dark, Kaz’s eyes grew wider. He believed her. He knew she could strangle him with her bare hands.

“Then how come you’re the only one here?” Inej wasn’t loosening her grip, not for a moment. She should have never trusted Dirtyhands to run a clean job. “Who else could have tipped them off?”

“If I was going to sell you out, don’t you think I’d do a better job bargaining than this?” Kaz was beginning to raise his rasping voice. “Do you think I’d still be waiting to die tomorrow? Don’t you think I know enough to have prevented this?” And he held up his left hand to the light. There, at the end, were two bloody, bandaged stumps where his pinky and ring finger had been.

Inej faltered. She started to loosen her grip.

“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?” She was still seething.

“I don’t know,” Kaz said. “And believe me, I’d love to know. I’ll plaster Ketterdam with his innards when I find out.”

Fine. The truth mattered little anymore anyway. She released him with one last angry shove and stormed to the other side of the dungeon.

For a long time, she thought the silence was preferable. She didn’t want to even look at him. She was furious with him, but, even more frightening, memories long buried had bubbled to the surface while she’d had him in her hands. She’d spent many years letting go of what she’d wanted from him, what he could not give. She’d built a life for herself, with other lovers who had come and gone. All of it now at the bottom of the sea. And now the cruelest irony of it all: now she would spend her final hours with the only thing she’d wanted and never could quite claim for herself.

The Saints must really hate her.

But eventually the great, yawning silence of the dungeon became too much. The bleak unknown of what was to come struck her deep down in her gut. She needed distraction. Kaz had been good for that, at least.

“How’d they get you anyway?” she said, finally. This would at least be a good story.

“There’s not much to tell,” Kaz said, to her dismay. “The Fjerdans struck an extradition treaty with Kerch. And the Kerch have wanted to get rid of me for a long time.” She could see the glint of his wicked smile even in the dark. He would be proud of being hated by an entire country, the bastard.

“So, what – they just extradited you?” She raised an eyebrow. Seemed like an anticlimactic end for the Bastard of the Barrel.

“Hauled me out of my office, put me on the next boat to Fjerda,” Kaz summarized, with a cavalier shrug. Somehow, she doubted he really felt so unruffled about it. But she’d stopped trying to know the truth of Kaz Brekker long ago. Some vaults were best left locked.

“The Fjerdans blew up The Wraith?” Kaz asked. Inej stiffened.

“We’re not talking about that,” she said, flatly.

“I’m glad the old girl was still in sailing shape to the last,” Kaz commented, and then, a little more pointed: “I’d often wondered what happened to her since you stopped writing.”

Inej narrowed her eyes at him.

“Really? We’re doing this? Right here?” Her lip curled back in a sneer.

“Is the venue not good enough for you?” Kaz rasped back. “Would you like me to call the waiter over -- see if he can find us better seating?”

“You are such an ass.”

“You appreciated that about me once.”

“I have never.” Inej leaned forward, hoping he’d catch the barbs in her voice. “Once I thought there might have been something underneath all of your assholery.”

“And?”

“I got tired of digging for treasure and only returning with pennies.”

And she leaned back against the dungeon wall again. She glared at the door, willing it to open again and take her away from this ghost of her past. But of course it wouldn’t. Not until the gallows were ready.

“Interesting.” She couldn’t help rolling her eyes when Kaz’s voice echoed again.

“What?” she barked, irritated.

“I lived in fear so long of being hated by you,” he said. “I would have moved heaven and earth to avoid it. And yet I find I like it better than being ignored.”

“Good to know.” She would keep quiet then. She wouldn’t even look at him. She didn’t want to look at him anyway, how the prison clothes clung to the muscles of chest or how his coffee-black gaze could still seem to pierce right through her. Looking was doing her no good at all.

“Was your crew on The Wraith when she met her end?” But Kaz wasn’t going to be ignored, apparently. “Or family? Friends?” He paused. “Or a lover?”

Subtle.

“I think most made it to the row boats,” she said, and then corrected herself for the sake of her heart. “I think all of them made it to the row boats.” She’d seen them dotting the waves just before the Fjerdan ship took aim.

“Do you think your lover survived?” Kaz asked. She glanced his direction, against her better judgment, to see he was aimlessly picking at dirt under his nails, like he barely cared at all.

“Yes,” she lied. Let him think there was a lover. “I think he did.”

“Should I let him do the honors of rescuing you?” Kaz lifted his eyebrows, still preoccupied with the dirt on his fingers. “Or are you not willing to risk his failure?”

Inej’s heart skipped.

“Are you saying you have a plan to get out of here?” She was feeling the tiniest shred of hope for the first time in weeks. If anyone could do it, it was Kaz Brekker. He’d done it once before.

“Maybe.” He sounded noncommittal. “We’ll see.”

Inej grit her teeth. She couldn’t help shooting to her feet, pacing in her furious energy.

“This,” she seethed. “This right here. This is why I stopped writing.”

“Go on,” Kaz frowned. In the torchlight, she could see the muscle in his jaw tick. Good. Maybe there was still emotion in there after all.

“You love to withhold, don’t you?” she growled at him. “Withholding information, withholding money, withholding friendship, withholding love. Sometimes I think you love withholding more than you love kruge.”

“So, you are still thinking about me sometimes,” and a smile began to quirk at the edge of his mouth.

“Stop it,” Inej spat. “I will smack that stupid look right off your face.”

“You do that.” And Inej startled when Kaz pushed off from his side of the dungeon and took three steps towards her. Her breath caught. “Go on,” he was saying, growing closer. “Hit me. You hate me; I know you want to. Stop being so withholding, and hit me.”

It was like he was sucking the wind out of her sails. Every nerve in her body felt as if it was standing on end when he drew near, so near she could feel the warmth of him radiating towards her. She could feel his breath, see his pulse in the sinew of his neck, the way the torchlight cast shadows across the muscle beneath his collarbone. She hated him. She hated him so much. She hated that after all these years and all these other lovers she could still feel this way, still be drawn into his orbit as if no time had passed at all.

He bent his head, and she held her breath. Why wasn’t she moving? Why couldn’t she respond? His head was tilting, and she was staring into the deep wells of his eyes, rimmed in thick lashes. How could someone so cruel have such beautiful eyes?

Then he stopped, his nose inches from her cheek.

“I got tired of your self-righteousness,” he whispered there, and her face burned like never before. He straightened himself once again with that shit-eating smirk, like he’d gotten all the information he needed. Well, so had she.

So she did it.

She smacked him across his bruised jaw, hard enough that his face turned with the blow.

What did it matter? They were dying tomorrow anyway.

But he looked back at her with eyes that burned with something she couldn’t decipher, and she couldn’t think straight. She bit back the apology that was already threatening her lips.

“Better,” he rasped, looking satisfied. He really did prefer not to be ignored.

He turned to limp back to the other side of the dungeon. Inej closed her eyes, trying to clear her mind of the image of him so close to her.

“They took your gloves,” she heard herself say. She wouldn’t apologize, but maybe she wouldn’t ignore him.

“I don’t wear gloves anymore,” Kaz replied, leaning against the stone wall again with a heavy sigh.

This was perhaps the most surprising news all day.

“You don’t?” she said. “How long?”

“Three years, give or take,” Kaz replied. Inej was trying to mentally calculate how long since her last letter when he went on. “Turns out being a twenty four year old virgin is not conducive to maintaining Barrel boss status. Barrel thugs are not particularly open-minded about leadership qualities. I got help. It was that or lose the Dregs.”

“Oh.” Inej had no idea what to say to that. She didn’t particularly like thinking about the boy who’d trembled when he softly kissed her neck having a string of conquests. But then, that wasn’t fair, was it? She hadn’t remained chaste, either.

“Good for you,” she found herself replying. Did she mean it? She supposed she did. This was awkward.

To her surprise, Kaz let out a strange, rasping chuckle.

“What?” She frowned.

“I’d once imagined this conversation with you happening a thousand different ways, but never this one,” he said, dryly. “This particular outcome evaded me.”

“Quite a feat,” Inej remarked. “One point to Fjerda.”

“We’ll see,” Kaz shrugged again, and the only reason she didn’t slap him was because she already had.

“You never would tell me your mind,” she said. “As if, after all we went through, you still couldn’t trust me. And I had tried so hard for so long for your trust, Kaz. That was a brutal realization, the day I understood that about you.”

“It was never a matter of trust.” Kaz glared at her from across the room. “At any given moment, I am thinking of no less than twelve things. Do you have any idea how exhausting it is to pick through all of that and determine and communicate the pertinent information to the situation and avoid revealing alarming, possibly irrelevant information that will only upset everyone if I did explain everything happening in my mind? If everyone would just trust me--”

“Oh, so it’s just that you think I’m too stupid to be privy to your mind.” Inej rolled her eyes. “Well, that’s much better.”

“That is not what I said,” Kaz groaned. He rolled his head back to stare at the ceiling, exasperated.

“I don’t want to argue about this.” Inej waved her arms, wildly. “I do not want to spend my last night in the world arguing about this meaningless shit. Saints, you always did this. You could always drag me into the most absurd, infuriating situations--”

“Oh, please,” Kaz rolled his eyes. “You loved it.”

“I absolutely did not--”

“You love it even now.” Kaz gave a careless gesture. “You love it, and you hate that. I see the way you keep looking at me.”

Inej nearly reached for her knives before remembering they’d been taken by Fjerdans.

“I do not like who you’ve become,” she spat at him.

“You have no idea who I’ve become.” Kaz folded his arms over his chest, the crow and cup tattoo rippling over the muscles of his forearm. He smiled, crookedly. “You have no idea what I can do, what I’ve learned, who even I am anymore, and it’s driving you mad. You could be planning your escape right now, and instead you can’t stop arguing with me.”

“Maybe I am planning my escape,” she hissed. She would not – would not – think about what he could do, what he had learned. “Maybe you’re not the only one capable of thinking of more than one thing.”

Kaz narrowed his eyes at her, working his jaw. It took her but a moment to recognize it; it had been so long. He was scheming.

Oh, Saints, save her. She’d missed that look.

“All right, then,” he said at last. “In honor of our last night in the world: I will tell you one full and honest truth. Whatever you want to know.” She opened her mouth. “On one condition.” Of course there was a catch. “I require one truth from you first. What do you say?”

“It’s always a deal with you, isn’t it, Brekker?” She shook her head. “What you are describing is what most people call friendship.”

“But we’re not really friends anymore, are we?” Kaz cocked his head. “I don’t claim to know much about friendship, but I think friends see each other more than once every five years. At best, we’re distant relatives.”

“We are definitely not that.” Inej really hoped he didn’t see her that way.

“We’re whatever you need to tell your lover to make him feel comfortable.” Kaz brushed it away. She’d already forgotten she’d lied to him about a lover. That wasn’t good.

“Well?” Kaz was raising his dark eyebrows at her.

“The deal is the deal,” she said, with a relinquishing shrug.

“Wonderful.” Kaz stepped away from the dungeon wall, his arms still crossed, and leaned towards her. “Did you ever love me?”

“Oh, for Saint’s sake!” Inej threw up her hands. Of all the things he could have asked.

“I suppose you don’t care much to know about the escape plans, then,” Kaz shrugged.

“You withholding son of a bitch. What makes you think I’m going to answer that question?”

“Your avoidance is saying a lot as it is.”

Inej squared back her shoulders, breathing hard in her fury. At least, she thought it was fury. She glared at him, seeing all the traces of that cocksure street rat she couldn’t get enough of once. The one she’d wanted so badly to touch and hold and love. His sharp jawline, his wide shoulders, his soft dark hair. Damn him, damn him. Why couldn’t he have just let her love him then?

She drew in a shaky breath. They were dying tomorrow anyway.

“You were my first love,” she confessed. It hurt her more than she thought it would to say it. Her shoulders slumped a little. “And no matter who else has warmed my bed, you have always held that title in my heart. Letting you go was one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do.”

Kaz’s lips parted slightly, surprised. He stared at her, the rise and fall of his chest deepening.

“Then why did you?” he asked after a moment. But Inej swallowed hard and slowly shook her head.

“The deal was only one truth,” she said, softly. Her throat felt tight, and her chest hurt. She was not going to risk letting his cool indifference hurt her again.

Kaz looked away, biting the inside of his cheek. He tightened his arms over himself, his biceps swelling. The very picture of what she’d felt from him all those years ago. Guarded. Closed off. Withholding. Beautiful and yet so far out of reach.

“Your question, then,” he said, stiffly.

She should have asked of the escape. She’d been preparing to ask of the escape. Why did he have this kind of power over her still?

“Why didn’t you let me help you?” Her voice was low, and he looked up in surprise. He’d expected her to ask of the escape, too. “The way you sought help three years ago--”

“Give or take,” Kaz interrupted, looking dazed.

“I wanted to help you with all of it,” Inej went on. “You never let me get anywhere near close enough. And I couldn’t – I couldn’t--” She swallowed the lump building in her throat. “I couldn’t waste my life trying to heal someone who didn’t want to be healed. Why didn’t you want to heal?”

“You had been through enough.” Kaz was blinking hard. “You’d spent far too many years overburdened with men’s needs. I wanted to be near you, and I hated myself for wanting to be near you, because you deserved to be free of me. Of everything like me.”

“You let me go, too.” Inej lifted her chin, slightly. She felt relieved to be rid of the burden of guilt, a guilt she hadn’t realized she’d been harboring.

“I thought you might come back.” Kaz’s gaze drifted to the floor. “I hoped you would. You never said you wouldn’t. But months turned into years. You were happier wherever you were, with whomever you’d found. And I tried everything I could think of to get you out of my system. I’ve deprived myself of nothing, of no one I’ve wanted since you. Make no mistake: I wanted to heal.”

“And did you?” Inej’s voice felt like a croak. “Get me out of your system?” She wished she could slow her racing heart.

“The deal was only one truth,” Kaz replied, grating and dark.

And for a long while, the only sound in the dungeon was the monotonous dripping of leaking water, collecting in a pool in the stone. They were each rooted to where they stood, hardly daring to breathe or move. It was as if the air itself around them might shatter if they did.

“Inej.” Kaz spoke first.

“Yes?” Surely, he could hear the way her heart was beating.

“I have lived longer than I thought I would,” Kaz began. She heard him swallow once. “I’ve seen many men die. I am not afraid of death. I have done many things that have warranted it. The only thing I have ever feared is not having enough – of anything, you name it. Please indulge me one last truth.”

“All right.”

“Do you really have a lover?”

Inej was starting to tremble. If she moved now, she could not be sure what she would do next. She wasn’t sure what telling him the truth would do, but she was sure it could not be good. Some vaults are best left locked, she reminded herself again and again. Some vaults are best left locked.

But the pull of his eyes. The desire in his breath. Every longing she’d locked away was pounding at the vault door, demanding release.

They were dying tomorrow anyway.

“No,” she said in a whisper. Oh, what have you done?

And the dam broke. The air shattered. Kaz crossed to her in two swift steps, and she knew she was a goner before he even pulled her into his arms. She was reaching for his jaw, for his hair, pulling his mouth to hers. He made a gasping, growling sound deep in his chest when his lips slid over hers, and her whole body felt alight at the sound. Lips over teeth over tongues, she demanded what she’d too long been denied.

He was shoving her against the stone wall, cold at her back. He held himself up with his bandaged, damaged hand against the wall at the side of her head, and then began slipping his good hand under the hem of her scratchy prison top. She shivered when his bare hand skimmed her waist. She’d wanted this, oh how she’d wanted his hands, for years, and now she could feel every callus, every scar, every nail scraping, raking up her back.

“I hate you for taking so long,” she gasped when she pulled back. She buried her fingers into his hair as his teeth grazed up her neck. One of his hands was trailing down her back, scooping below her ass cheek.

“I hate you for not writing,” he rasped back, and bit her ear. She gasped and took his mouth again, letting him run his tongue along hers. She raked her hands over his shoulders, down the etched muscles of his torso, before dipping her hands underneath. He let go of her only long enough to pull the shirt off over his head, his hair mussed and slipping in his dark eyes. She wrapped her fingers in the hem of her own shirt and ripped it off over her head.

“This is a terrible idea,” she panted. Kaz pressed against her fully, his chest against hers, his hips aligned with hers.

“This is the best idea,” he disagreed, with a shake of his head, and slid one hand up her rib cage, cupping her breast. The bandage of his left hand brushed her jaw; he held her face in one hand and kissed her hard, again and again. She tried to hold back a moan against his lips when he began to draw circles around her nipple with his thumb. And then he was pulling back and working unrelenting kisses down her throat, pulling at the small of her back to lift her body towards him as he bent his head toward her breasts.

Every thought of escape, of gallows, of nooses, of death left her entirely when he began kissing her body, as if every inch of her was exulting in this inevitability. She couldn’t imagine now any other outcome than this. From the moment she’d been thrown into his dungeon, this was always where they were headed.

His hands were slipping below her loose trousers when his mouth returned to hers. Her arms were over his shoulders, her fingers gripping the back of his head, digging into his hair. And then she was sliding them over the slopes of his back muscles, hooking her thumbs into the backs of his trousers. He gave a rueful chuckle against her mouth before he let her help him out of his pants. He tore hers off before pressing against her again – naked and warm in the cold, terrible dark.

And still it wasn’t enough to slake the years of pent up desire he’d now unleashed in her. She wasn’t sure anything could ever be enough. Both hands were trailing her ass now, even with the bandage, and, as she panted through kisses, she wrapped her legs around his waist. He lifted her off the floor into his strong arms, his muscles enveloping her, burying one hand in her hair.

“Don’t stop now,” she huffed. “Then I might actually hate you.”

He gave a wicked laugh as he pushed them both against the wall, balancing her on his good leg. His hand left her hair and dipped between them. She was ready. Saints, she’d been ready for years.

She gasped when he guided his length into her, pressing her harder against stone. He gave a faltering moan, his head dropping to her shoulder, and she arched herself onto him. And he began to move within her, holding her ass with her ankles hooked behind his knees.

“I never got you out of my system,” he rasped, breathing hard against her ear. “It’s not possible. Gods, I’ll never stop wanting you.”

“I never wanted to let you go.” She dug her nails into his back, her head falling back against the wall. “It seemed like it was best for both of us.”

“You were probably right.” His gaze was hazy, his breathing labored with every thrust. “But I still hate it. Inej. Oh, Inej.” He breathed her name like a prayer, kissing her again, biting her lip. She dug her fingers into his hair, pulling, desperate, moaning and arching. He was thrusting frantically, mercilessly, so that she clenched her thighs around him, taking him deeper still. When she did, he broke away from her lips with a gasp, his eyes closing, his lips parting, every muscle tensing. It was the face, Inej realized, she’d imagined with every other lover, a face that drove her to the brink of her own pleasure.

And when his release came, Kaz cried out, shuddering against her, and his grip slipped, their naked, slick bodies staggering against the stone wall. For a moment, they held each other close as they caught their breath, shaking in the dark – Inej with her hands on the back of his neck, Kaz with his hands fitted to the curve of her waist.

“Isn’t there a guard outside?” Inej was suddenly realizing, blinking slowly.

“Probably.” Kaz just shook his head, not caring. “He’s probably having the wank of his life right now.”

“Ugh, Saints,” Inej grimaced, desperately wanting to scrub the image from her mind.

“Not a guard,” came a familiar voice from the other side of the door. Inej dove for her clothes. “But do make yourselves decent. I’m tired of plugging my ears out here, and we’ve got places to go.”

“Ah, Sturmhond.” Kaz was sliding his trousers back on. “You’re really cutting it close on the last-minute-rescue this time.”

“I don’t know, old friend,” Sturmhond replied. “Seems like you had just enough time.”

Inej smacked Kaz in the arm.

“You really couldn’t have just said, ‘Sturmhond’s coming to rescue us’?” she glared.

“I didn’t know for sure,” Kaz said, throwing his shirt back on. “I didn’t want to get your hopes up. Best to look death square in the face than go to the gallows expecting a rescue.”

“Wow,” Sturmhond sighed. “I’m really just brimming with delight at all this flattery and gratitude. You’re very welcome. It was no trouble at all.”

A key creaked and thudded in the ancient, heavy lock. The door swung open. Sturmhond waited with a sly, insinuating smirk before motioning for them to come along.

Kaz and Inej shared a coy smile and dashed down the hall. A world of possibility awaited.