#maybe ill look at a prompt and throw something together and THEN work on fic

[hockeynoses]

hi! could we possibly get more messy steve? maybe he has a cold and is experiencing allergies on top of it? you don’t have to write this if you don’t want to, i’m just obsessed with your work honestly ❤️

Title: Smokin’ in the Boys’ Room

Summary: Steve’s at school with a bad cold. A classmate has some perfume that he’s allergic to, and he has to escape to the bathroom to snz his head off in peace. Turns out, Eddie is skipping class and is already in the stall next to him.

Rating: 18+. Only one mention of below-the-belt stuff. Eddie has the kink.

Length: 2.7k.

Warnings: Mess! (What the prompt says.) 😈

Notes: I had this idea of a pre-canon Steddie where they’re both still in high school. This characterization of Steve goes directly against what I wrote in my other fic where he’s totally fine snzing in front of classmates. This version probably makes more sense. 😅

-

Although he and his friends usually sat in the back of the classroom, Steve was especially grateful for it today. He’s hoping the other students will keep their eyes to themselves and not have a reason to pay him any particular attention.  Unfortunately, he’s in the midst of a terrible head cold, and his dad had drilled into him that taking sick days was a weakness. So here he is in the back of the class, trying not to turn into a sneezy mess.

He feels disgusting. He’s doing his best to hide his illness from the other students and not attract any unwanted attention. A tough feat, when his nose is bright pink and he’s so stuffed up that he has to breathe through his mouth. It’s not a good look. Too frequently, he has to attempt to sniff up the congestion in his nose, clogged and squeaking. His sinuses are practically throbbing at this point, but he doesn’t want to blow his nose in front of the class. He can only imagine how gross and embarrassing that would be. No, he has an image to uphold.

He's trying to stifle any sneezes that happen to sneak their way out. The small packet of tissues he’d brought with him is almost empty, and he doesn’t know what he’s going to do when they run out.  At least with those, he has something to wipe his nose with other than his sleeve or his hand. He’s counting down the minutes until he can escape to go blow his nose in the bathroom, or anywhere with a modicum of privacy. Tommy and Carol are being chill for now, but he doesn’t want to press his luck and have them start in on him for being a plague rat.

His thoughts are interrupted by the telltale tingle in his sinuses, and he has just enough time to get a tissue from the packet and muffle a sudden “K’nxxgt!” into it. Giving the tiniest blow, he’s still dismayed by how messy it is, wiping his nostrils clean and stuffing the wet tissue in his pocket.

For the last half hour of class, they’re given time to work on their group project. “Working” is a strong word to describe what’s actually happening. They’re mostly just messing around, shooting the shit, and agreeing that they can probably throw this project together a day or two before it’s due and call it good. Jessica is in their group as well, and she, Tommy, and Carol are currently gossiping about their fellow classmates. Steve’s too drained and distracted to contribute much today.

His nose starts to run again, and he wipes it on his shirt sleeve as covertly as possible, once again trying to snuffle up some congestion. It doesn’t really work, and in fact, serves to shift the pressure in his sinuses in a way that has him gearing up for another sneeze.

He panics, fumbling with the packet of tissues for something to contain it, and he silently curses, realizing it's his last one. Better make it count, then. The sneeze erupts from him so suddenly that he barely has time to cover, but thank god he does. This one’s too powerful to stifle, and he gasps right before a rough, messy, “ha-AETSSHHHoo!” is released into the soft cotton.

He stills for a second, face still covered, and notices a few heads turn his way. Tommy gives him a half-hearted, “Dude, gross,” before smirking and continuing his conversation with the girls.

“Sorry,” Steve says quietly, before mopping his face up and hiding the tissue away. Now he was truly fucked, and would have to stifle for the rest of the period. Wishing he could have stayed home today, he rests his head in his arms on his desk and tries to zone out for a while.

He manages to get a few moments of rest, although leaning forward like this isn’t doing his clogged nose any favors. He still has to sniff up the mess dripping from his nose every so often, hoping the sound is muffled in his arms. At least this way he can wipe his nose on his sleeve and no one can see him.

Distantly, through the fog in his brain, he hears Carol and Jessica talking about cosmetics or something. Their shrill, excited voices are starting to make his head hurt. He peeks out through a gap in his arms and watches as Carol says, “Oh wait! I almost forgot; I brought that sample for you today!” She reaches inside her purse and pulls out a small vial of what he’s assuming can only be perfume. “I didn’t like how it smelled on me, so here, you can try it.” She hands it over to Jessica, who thanks her.

Steve groans into his arms. He’s allergic to like half the fragrances in existence, most of them either giving him a headache or sending him into a flurry of itchy sneezes. This had better not be one of them. He’s just hoping she won’t – aaand she’s spraying it directly into the air in front of her and wafting her wrist through it.  Perfect. The movement scatters the mist in the air, most of it dispersing towards him. He steels himself, bracing for the worst.

The smell hits him and he sits up, waving a hand in front of his face, saying, “Jessica, what the hell?” His eyes are starting to water already. He tries to cover his face from the contaminated air, but the damage is done. Inhaling a plume of the strong-smelling perfume, he feels a deep itch settle into his sinuses. Shit, this is going to be bad.

The girls both give him a look, Jessica saying, “Jeez, Steve, you’re so sensitive,” and rolling her eyes.

“Oh I’b sorry,” he says, angrily cupping his hand around his nose, “Itd’s dnot like I can control what I’b allergic to! Hep-tissh! Hih’chmm!” he pinches his nostrils shut and stifles both sneezes into his hand, followed by a frustrated exhale. His fingers come away wet and he wipes them on his jeans, giving a syrupy sniffle.

“You okay, man?” Tommy asks.

“I d-don’t- heh- I don’t hih’kXXT! Ha-pssht! Ugh.” Sniffling, he wipes his nose with the back of his hand, leaving a trail of moisture that he wipes on his pants again. “I thigk I should probably go. Eh-ITSSH! Ah…hah-RRSSSHuh!” The last two burst from him, desperately caught in his cupped hands. He can feel the slimy mess in his palms, and there’s no way he can take his hands away from his face without it being absolutely humiliating.

Standing up to leave, he says to the teacher, “I’b goigg to the bathroob,” before walking out as casually as he can manage, one hand still cupped around his face. He hears her confused acquiescence as he flees out the door and into the mercifully empty hallway. “ihhh…huh-TCHHHOO!” He curls forward as another sneeze scrapes out of him, echoing down the hall. It adds to the mess in his hand, and there’s only so much he can do to contain it.

He reaches the nearest bathroom and opens the door, still one-handed, sprinting inside.  Eyes watering and vision blurry, he enters the closest stall and locks it, finally collecting a huge wad of toilet paper from the dispenser inside. He pulls his hand back from his face, cords of clear mess still clinging, and sops it all up. Giving a long, gurgling blow into the mass, he finally feels some relief. It’s short-lived, of course, followed directly by an itchy “hhhh’RISSSH! ETSSSH! Hah….uh….HEH’TSSSHHuh!” He groans, filling the toilet paper with another productive blow, then throwing it into the toilet. At least he’s finally alone and he can get it all out.

-

[A few minutes earlier]

Eddie stands in the stall, tapping his pack of cigarettes against his palm. Today is boring as hell, and the unit they’re covering in his math class is one of his least favorites. He already has all the answers for the homework from last year, anyway. Since they don’t let you leave during the day in this prison of a school, one of the only options is hiding out in the restroom, where sometimes he manages to smoke and not get caught.

Just as he’s about to light up, he hears the bathroom door slam open and footsteps hurry into the stall next to him. Whoever the mystery man is, he gives a truly nasty-sounding nose blow followed by several violent sneezes. Curiosity peaked, Eddie bends down to look at the other boy’s shoes underneath the stall wall. It almost sounds like… yep, those are definitely Harrington’s pristine rich-boy shoes.

He hears Steve’s voice, rounded with congestion, say, “Ugh, gross,” followed by a desperate sniff.

“Uh…you alright, Harrington?” asks Eddie, tentatively.

“Jesus Christ!” Steve nearly jumps out of his skin. “I didn’t thigk adyond was ind h-here! Ha-K’GGSSHHoo! Heh-D’TSHH!”  Eddie can hear the clunk of the toilet paper dispenser spinning again as Steve pulls more out.

“Yeah, well, I’m here.”

“Who?” Steve asks.

“Munson.”

Steve snuffles into the tissues in his hand, asking, “You wadda give bme some privacy, bman? Eh…ha-RSSSHHuh!”

“Hey, I was here first, so technically you’re the one invading my privacy,” Eddie says. He knows he’s being a little shit, but he can’t help but press Steve’s buttons.  He’s had an unfortunate crush on the guy for a while now, and he supposes this is the equivalent of pulling his pigtails on the playground.

Before Steve can come up with a response, he’s overtaken by another round of agitated sneezes. “uh…huh-ESSSH! Hah-ISSSHuh! G-god… heh’RSSSH! gk’ITSSHHah!”  Eddie can picture him holding the clump of tissues to his nose, gasping in the aftermath, spent. Every sound he makes is echoing off the tiled walls, reverberating in the empty bathroom. This is doing nothing to help Eddie’s ongoing quest to quash his reluctant, nagging crush on King Steve, of all people.

“Good lord, man, you sound like you’re dying,” he says, aiming for casual. “I’m almost impressed.” He puts his cigarette away for now, deciding to spare Steve and his poor nose, assuming the smoke would set him off even more.

“ihh’ISSSH! Hih’GSSHUH!” Steve moans, the crumpled toilet paper in his hands soaked and unable to hold anymore. When he pulls it back from his face, there are tendrils of mess tethering him to it. “Fugk,” he says, reaching for more. To his horror, the roll is empty. “Goddamb id!” Pressing the wad of soggy tissues back to his face because he has no other choice, he asks, “Hey mban, cand you pass bme some toilet paper?”

A flush blooms across Eddie’s face and neck and he tries to keep his voice even. “Uh, yeah, just a second.” Pulling at the roll and collecting what he deems to be an appropriate amount, he reaches over the top of the stall and holds the bundle over. His eyes track the movement of Steve’s hand as it grabs for it, clumsy and distracted. His fingers brush Eddie’s in the process, and Eddie feels electric. He chides himself for getting all heated at the touch of a hand, just like in the medieval fantasy novels he reads.

Eddie brings his hand back down, staring at it for a moment, and of course there’s nothing to see. But still, as he hears Steve’s relieved blow in the stall next to him, long and crackling, he thinks, fuck it, and uses that hand to cup himself through his black jeans. Just a teasing squeeze, nothing more. Just to take the edge off.

Closing his eyes and resting his head back against the cool metal, he listens to Steve catch his breath next to him, a momentary relief before his breath starts hitching again. Then, a thick sounding, “huh-GGKSSHOO! Hh’AETCCHuh!” as more of the gunk is forcibly expelled from his sinuses. Steve follows it up with another squelching blow that makes Eddie wonder how it’s possible for one person to produce so much snot.

“I gotta be honest, Harrington, I’ve never heard anyone sound this bad,” says Eddie, grateful for the thin sheet of metal separating them, if only to hide what Steve’s condition is doing to him.

“Idt’s allergies,” Steve says, sounding cross.

“It doesn’t sound like allergies, dude,” says Eddie, hoping he sounds less invested than he is.

“Well Jessica sprayed her new fucking perfube in class, and it set mbe off, so yeah, it’s allergies.”

“If you say so,” Eddie says with a shrug that Steve can’t see. He could tell it was more than that. Had seen him covertly blow his nose at his locker between classes more than once this week.

“gk’SHOO! Heh’TSSHHoo!” Two spraying sneezes punctuated by a miserable sniffle. “…I bmight have beed feeling a little sick before thad, too,” he admits, exhausted and tired of hiding it. He clears his throat and Eddie can practically hear the mucus draining down the back of his throat.

“As much as it pains me to ask this, do you need me to get anyone for you?” Eddie says.

“Dno, I’b fin’d.”

“Alright… if you’re sure,” Eddie says, finally forcing himself to exit the stall. “Don’t sue me if you end up dying in here or something.”

Steve comes out too and Eddie finally gets a good look at him. His nose is so red, and his sleepy eyes are hazy and watery from his cold. The top of his lip is starting to look chapped from all the nose blowing he’s been doing, and there’s a faint flush across his cheeks. Eddie’s heart thumps in his chest and he thinks he might be in love.

Steve starts to walk toward the sinks to wash his hands. In his wearied state, his shoe catches on the tiled floor and he stumbles. Eddie reaches out instinctually to steady him with a hand on his elbow.

“Shit,” Steve says, his hand grabbing Eddie’s arm to right himself. “S-sorry- ihh-hih’TISCHoo!” he buries his head in his opposite elbow, doing his best to turn away from Eddie.

Still holding his elbow, Eddie feels Steve’s body jolt with the force of it. He tries to control the blush that heats his face.

Wiping his nose on his shirt sleeve, Steve straightens back up, looking a bit dizzy. The overwhelming combination of his horrible cold and intense allergies has really done a number on him. Eddie’s eyes zero-in on the wet spot seeping into the shirt in the crook of Steve’s elbow and his brain momentarily fills with static.

“Sorry,” Steve says again, sniffing and knuckling at his nose. Eddie’s snaps out of it, looking Steve in the eye and releasing his hold on him.

“Uh…you sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah bman, I’b good.” They both turn to the sinks and wash their hands.

Eddie breaks the awkward silence with, “Is this the part where you tell me that if I tell anyone about this, you’ll kill me?”

Steve laughs despite himself, and it forces a chesty cough out of him, which he covers with the paper towel still in his hand. “Dude, don’t mbake mbe laugh right dow,” he says, unable to hide his reluctant smile. Eddie’s going to melt into a puddle on the floor. “Dno bman, I thigk we’re good,” Steve continues, voice growing hoarse.

“Okay…good,” Eddie says, flashing a crooked smile. He pauses, not wanting to break this tenuous truce they seem to have created. “Feel better, King Steve.”

“Thaggs.” Steve gives him a look that Eddie can’t quite figure out. Like he’s reassessing something in his head.

Tearing himself away from the moment, Eddie gives Steve a mock-salute, and strolls out of the bathroom.

-

Years later, when they’re a few months into their new relationship, Eddie asks Steve if he remembers that day.

“Barely… I was kind of out of it,” is Steve’s considering response.

“Well, I remember,” Eddie says, “It’s burned into my brain for all eternity. After that private show, there was no one else for me but you, baby.” He punctuates his declaration by pressing several dramatic, sloppy kisses along Steve’s neck, working his way up to his lips.

“You’re ridiculous,” Steve laughs, reveling in the attention.

“You love it.” 

“Yeah, I do,” Steve says, fisting a hand in Eddie’s shirt and pulling him in for a real kiss.

[mochitoaster]

hmm writing prompts.. i am writing something for the prompt ‘reunions’ right now so i will also throw that one to you if you want :]c

I’m gonna work this into a bigger, proper fic I think C: this was very fun to write! Idk how much you know about qsmp, but here you go!

—

“Pac!”

It’s as if time suddenly resumes, slamming into Pac’s body before he can even hope to register it.

“Pac, oh my god! Don’t worry, I’ll get you out of there!”

“M-Mike..?” Pac whispers, uncurling from the fetal position to look out between the bars.

Standing there, breath heaving, clothes and hair slick with water, is a man that looks a lot like Mike. His darker roots are cropping up between locks of pink, his lab coat plastered to his skin and translucent, the bottom edge of it dripping onto the stone brick floor.

“Wh-who are you?” Pac calls out, voice shaky and hoarse from disuse.

The man’s eyes widen, a look of horror settling on his handsome features. “It’s—it’s me, Pac! It’s Mike, don’t you remember me?”

Disgust curls in Pac’s stomach as he hisses, “This is fucked up, even for the Federation.”

“What—Pac, it’s me!”

“Fuck off!” Pac yells, scrambling backwards as the man steps up to the edge of the cage.

His back bumps into the bars behind him and he watches, eyes wide, as the man desperately fumbles with a keycard that doesn’t work. “Fuck, fuck! Don’t worry, Pac, I’ll get you out!”

“Don’t! You can’t! Leave me alone!” Pac shouts, pressing himself against the bars so hard it hurts.

“Pac, it-it’s okay, I’ll get you out and then you’ll remember, just—just hold on!”

“You *can’t*!” Pac sobs, tears burning at the corners of his eyes as he watches the man sift through his inventory frantically. “You’re not Mike! I don’t know who you are, but you’re not him, so stay away from me!” he cries, shielding his face with his hands.

“I’m not..?” the man mutters to himself, staring at Pac in confusion. “What do you mean, Pac?”

“You’re—you’re a clone, o-or a guard disguised as Mike, or something else, but you’re not Mike,” Pac answers quietly, eyes trained on the stranger trying to break into his cell.

“Pac…” Mike whispers, voice heavy with sorrow. “Just… just hang in there. I’ll free you, even if you think I’m not me.”

Pac watches silently as the man pokes at the other cage, opening a shulker containing items Pac can’t see. He talks to himself quietly, his tears blurring his vision as his sobs slur his words together into a panicked jumble of nonsense. The man continuously soothes him, assuring him that it’ll all be alright.

Pac feels ill; the one person he can trust is being used against him. Maybe the Federation brainwashed him, or created a hologram so convincing that it’s indistinguishable from a person. Whatever the case, Pac huddles at the back of his cage, knees pulled up to his chest. He rocks back and forth, his tears soaking into his tattered clothes.

The gash on his back stings where the metal bars touch, adding to his torment as he curls ever tighter in on himself, shutting out the world around him.

The man is reading something. Pac doesn’t care to hear, instead continuing to ramble quietly and hoping that he stays far away from him. His hopes are dashed, however, as the man approaches the cell from behind and sits down on the ground, just behind Pac.

“Hey, man,” he says. “Look at me.”

Slowly, Pac lifts his head and looks over his shoulder. The man looks earnest and concerned, his fingertips pressing against one of the glass panels interspersed between the bars.

“I’m going to get you out of here, Pac. You’re going to make it home. It’ll be okay.”

“You can’t beat the Federation,” Pac whispers hoarsely, hopelessness scratching up his words like sandpaper in his throat.

The man smiles at him, eyes determined. “We have to try.”

Suddenly, his eyes widen and he reaches into his inventory, frantically searching for something. After a few moments, he yanks something purple out, his expression victorious.

“Pac, eat this!” the man demands excitedly, holding up some sort of fruit.

Pac shies away from the bars as he tries to fit it through, grunting in frustration as he realizes it’s too big to fit. He circles around to the thick metal door, the slots in the eye-level opening wider than the cell bars by a fraction. It’s just enough, the fruit being successfully shoved between them.

“Here, Pac, take it!”

Pac stares at the fruit, not making a move to accept it. It could be poisoned, he thinks. It’s certainly the right colour for it. Or, maybe this is a test of some kind and he’ll be punished by the guards for accepting contraband.

“C’mon, Pac, we don’t have much time!”

Glancing around, Pac notices the corpse of a faceless guard, his abdomen ripped to shreds. When had that gotten there?

“Pac!”

Hesitantly, Pac creeps forwards and snatches the fruit before he can think better of it. It’s got a porous texture on the surface, its scent vaguely reminiscent of a melon. Closing his eyes tight, Pac bites into it, gulping down the flesh and bracing himself for the consequences.

There’s a strange twisting in his gut, a popping noise, and then there’s hands on him. Pac reels back, out of reach of the stranger as an alarm begins to blare.

“Fuck, Pac, run!” the man who looks so much like his Mike yells over the deafening tone.

Pac stares, unmoving, as the man rushes towards a breach in the ceiling, beginning to scale the brick wall.

He’s out of the cage. This man freed him and there’s a way out right in front of him. Pac feels a spark of hope in his chest and runs after the man who calls himself his friend, his partner.

“Mike!” Pac shouts, hoping against hope that this is all real.

Mike grabs his hand, hauling him up and over the ledge. “We’re gonna have to swim, Pac! Hurry!”

They launch into the ocean, Pac desperately clawing through the water as Mike ascends rapidly towards the surface. Pac is weaker than him, his muscles unused for who-knows-how-long he spent in that cage. Water rushes into his mouth, choking him, and he feels himself begin to sink.

A hand grabs a hold of him, pulling him upwards until his head breaches the surface. Fresh, salty air fills his lungs, making him cough and splutter as Mike hauls him into a motorboat. The engine comes to life with a low growl, the boat picking up speed rapidly as it hurtles forwards.

They’re out. Numbly, Pac grips onto Mike as he drives the boat, wrapping his arms tightly around his waist and clutching at his coat.

“Mike..?” he asks.

“Yeah, man, it’s me. I’m here. You’re safe, now,” Mike replies.

“Fuck, Mike!” Pac sobs, burying his face against Mike’s back.

“It’s okay, Pac. It’ll all be okay. Now, let’s go get you fixed up, you look like a nightmare.”

[sukifans]

aahhh I’m so excited I love your writing!!! your sokka “help me” fic is one of my favs ever I seriously think about it at least twice a week. in a similar vein, would you be able to combine prompts 10 & 12 for sokka x fem!reader? thank you!!! :)

SOKKA + “can i try that new chapstick? i wanna have a taste” + “i hadn’t noticed but my sweet, funny, goofy best friend is kind of hot, especially since they’ve been on this fitness kick”

⇦ 𝘔𝘈𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘙𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛

“nastiest skank bitches” Group Message

loml: ladies, i need a girls night

loml: desperately

babygorl: god i’m down, this semester blows

fugly slut <3: i’m in!! always here for a girls night 🥰

loml: y/n??

you: gals. pals. as much as i would love to...

fugly slut <3: ughhhhhhhhh

babygorl: you better not be blowing us off for sokka again istg

you: 😅

loml: TRAITOR BITCH

fugly slut <3: HOES BEFORE BROS

babygorl: WHORE

you: bruh.mp3

you: he’s coming by after the gym to help me with my physics homework!!! I NEED THE HELP PLS I PROMISE ILL BE THERE NEXT TIME

babygorl: lying is a sin y/n

babygorl: sinner

loml: if sokka’s gonna b there maybe she’ll be sinning in........ other ways...... ahaha

loml: fuckboy_emoji.jpg

fugly slut <3: when you gonna tap that fr

you: NEVER LITERALLY NO EW

you: HE’S MY BEST FRIEND

you: UNLIKE YOU RATS

fugly slut <3: he do b kinda yummy tho liiiike 👀

you: STOP

loml: yeah he’s hot sorry queen

you: HE’S NOT HOT

babygorl: i almost hate to admit it but...

babygorl: his biceps 🥴

fugly slut <3 emphasized “his biceps 🥴”

loml loved “his biceps 🥴”

you: hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!

fugly slut <3 disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

babygorl disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

loml disliked “hey! i hate u guys! jsyk!”

babygorl: uh huh yeah sure

loml: yall hear sumn?

NEW MESSAGE from sokka :^)

“hey i’m omw up!”

you: whatever you guys suck

you: i gtg

fugly slut <3: AND YOU SWALLOW

babygorl: bye girly!! get that bestie dick!!

loml: save a car, ride an engineering major >:)

you: desgostang.jpg

You dropped your phone onto the bed next to you with a groan. Your friends really and truly could be such freaks about your relationship with Sokka—or lack thereof. They’d been especially adament ever since he started some stupid bet with Zuko about who could get the most “gains” by graduation, incited by Aang making the mistake of commenting on Zuko’s more pronounced muscle mass.

Idiots.

That’s what Sokka was. Your idiotic best friend, who was funny, and sweet, and intelligent. You loved him, of course, but not like that. And he was not hot.

Definitely not.

The pounding on your dorm door interrupted your musings before Sokka let himself in, dropping his gym bag on the floor and kicking off his slides. His hair was loose and still damp from his post-workout shower and he wore slim joggers with a loose muscle tee.

“Hey!” He smiled brightly when he spotted you sitting in your bed. “What’s up?”

“The usual.” You moved your legs out of the way so he could flop down onto your mattress. “How was the gym?”

Sokka groaned. “Cardio. I’m already sore.” He stretched his arms up to fold behind his head, pulling his muscles taut.

Hm. He does kind of have nice biceps...

You shook yourself internally. Thoughts like these had been creeping out of your subconscious for weeks now, no thanks to your rabid friends.

“My leg’s been killing me, though,” he continued, rubbing his opposite foot across the skin that covered that metal pins and plates holding his bones together after a nasty break in high school. The leg often still gave him problems, ranging from the dull ache he could ignore on the day-to-day, to throbbing pain that left him limping.

You frowned, looking away from his arms to meet his eyes. “You should probably rest up before you hurt yourself,” you said.

“I’ll be fine.” He shrugged and propped himself up on his elbows. “Gotta catch up to Zuko, y’know.”

“Why? You’re already taller than him.”

“So? I wanna be more yolked, too.”

You rolled your eyes. “Buncha dumbasses.”

Sokka quirked an eyebrow. “You want this dumbass to help with your physics homework or not?”

“Haha,” you chuckled nervously, “just kidding, buddy! I meant Zuko and Aang. You—definitely not a dumbass. Nope.”

“That’s what I thought.” He shot you a smug look as he pushed up to sit cross-legged across from you on the bed. He held his hand out with a dramatic, world-weary sigh. “Alright, give it here.”

You opened your laptop to pull up the website that hosted your homework practice problems. “You know I love you, right?”

“Mhm,” he hummed, grabbing a notebook and pen from your desk to work out the math as you handed over the computer. He paused before standing to retrieve his bag, plopping it on your desk chair so he could root through it and pull out his glasses case. You felt your cheeks warm a little when he set the frames on the bridge of his nose.

Fine—he was kinda cute. You could concede that without having to dig too deep into your somewhat jumbled feelings for your best friend.

But you would certainly not “tap that.”

Well...

No. You would not.

You watched his eyes flick over the screen as he tapped the pen against his chin, catching the cap between his teeth while he thought about the formulas he’d learned in a past semester. He nodded to himself and started scribbling out a diagram and the math to go with it. You found yourself a little mesmerized by the way he simply just knew what to do, confidently scratching away at the paper as easily as one might write the alphabet. Your eyes trailed from his long fingers and calloused hand sweeping over the page, up his toned arm (lingering on his bicep a little longer), and to his face. He chewed at the inside of his cheek in concentration, sometimes parting his lips to murmur the logic to himself.

For someone who often said a lot of stupid shit, he sure had a pretty mouth.

You considered what he might do if you snatched a fistful of his shirt and yanked him into a kiss. Would he shove you away and leave? Awkwardly but kindly reject you? Or, would he kiss you back—throw the work out of the way and grab your face to coax you in deeper? Maybe push you back onto the bed and—

“Okay, so basically—”

Jesus Christ, get a fucking grip.

“—from the problem and draw it out like this to apply the formula, yeah?”

Sokka looked to you expectantly and you blinked at him as your face burned. “Sorry, I zoned out. What did you say?”

“C’mon, I know you hate physics but you gotta at least pay attention to me if you wanna pass,” he teased, shifting close enough that the sides of your bodies pressed together. Was it getting warmer in your room, or was it just your best friend?

He launched into the explanation again and you nodded along while internally willing the blood to leave your cheeks. Even as your thoughts ricocheted around inside your skull he managed to break it down in a way that somewhat made sense. He sat back and watched as you slowly worked through the next problem. You glanced up when you heard a soft pop to see him applying chapstick.

“Is that a new flavor?” you asked.

“Yeah, chocolate orange or something.” He held the tube out to you. “Wanna try?”

Fuck it.

Before your rationality could catch up you pressed a hand to his cheek to turn his head and pulled him in for a kiss. Your lips only slotted together for a brief moment before you pulled back to stare wide-eyed at each other. You could feel the fire creeping from your cheeks down your neck, mirrored in the reddening of his tanned skin.

He blinked. You blinked.

The chapstick slipped from between his fingers. Rationality arrived late.

You bolted.

“Uh, see ya later!” you shouted as you threw the door open and rushed out of the room.

“Wait, (Y/N)—“

You didn’t stick around to hear the end of his desperate call. Even thought it was your dorm and you were barefoot you still raced down the hall, wincing at the sound of a door slamming behind you.

“(Y/N)!”

Damn that lanky bastard. You were booking it and he was already hot on your heels. You barreled into the door leading to the stairwell and almost made it down the first step when he grabbed you around the waist and yanked you back. Despite your struggles, the arm hooked across your middle was unyielding until he pushed you into the corner and crowded you against the wall, hands caging you in from either side. Your heart was racing and you weren’t sure if it was because of your escape attempt or that he was close enough you could smell his body wash and deodorant. It was almost enough to make your head spin.

“Sokka, I-I don’t know why—I’m sorry, please, I shouldn’t’ve—“

“(Y/N),” he said firmly and your mouth snapped shut. “Why did you run away?”

“Uh, I—well, um...” You shrunk down against the wall and swallowed hard. “I-I don’t know.”

“You didn’t even give me a chance to respond.”

“Look—“ You paused and stared at him once you processed what he said. “What?”

He laughed, dropping one of his hands to brush against your cheek before threading into your hair to cup the base of your skull. “You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Get what?”

With that he surged forwards and kissed you enthusiastically, making you gasp into his mouth. You balled your hands into the front of his shirt to keep yourself steady as you melted into him. His free hand pressed into your lower back to bring you in closer. His tongue slipped out to tease at your bottom lip and he chuckled when you had to quickly grab his shoulders as your knees almost buckled.

“Get that,” he murmured against your lips, pressing his forehead to yours as the two of you gasped for air.

“Oh,” you breathed, “that.” You hummed happily when he kissed you again, his stubble scratching against your chin and under your palms when you cupped his face.

You both looked up when a stairwell door somewhere above you slammed open, followed by a group of jostling male voices. Sokka grinned when you glanced at him with wide eyes and shiny, swollen lips. You tried to hide behind him as the clamor bounded closer and closer. The group of guys rounded the next flight and gave shouts of recognition upon seeing you two standing against the wall.

“Sokka!”

“Hey, man!”

“Hey, guys,” Sokka said, holding his hand up in greeting.

“What’s up?”

“Oh, is that (Y/N)?”

“Nice, dude!”

“Ah, yeah...” He sheepishly rubbed the back of his neck and you raised an eyebrow at his turned head. They all cheered and congratulated him, slapping his back as they passed and disappeared down the next set of stairs. When Sokka met your eyes again you cocked your head.

“Who were they?” you asked.

“Honestly, I’m not sure.”

“Sokka.”

“My reputation precedes me, what can I say?”

“Mine doesn’t.”

“Well—“ he suddenly became very interested in the underside of the stairs above you “—my reputation may or may not involve talking about you. A lot, apparently.”

“Huh?”

“I don’t do it on purpose!” he interjected quickly, taking your hands in his. “It’s just—I dunno, I guess I think about you a lot, so...”

“Oh.”

“Fuck, okay, that sounded weird.” You laughed a little at his embarrassed floundering. “I just mean, like, things that remind me of you or, y’know, stories that involve you...” he trailed off, flushing at your amused smile. “Stop it!”

“Stop what?”

“Making fun of me!”

“I didn’t say anything,” you giggled, hooking your arms around his neck.

“You’re still laughing at me,” he whined, lips turning into a frown. His hands slipped back down to your waist.

“You’re cute.”

He raised his eyebrows. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Without preamble, he ducked down and hoisted you over his shoulder as you shrieked in protest. “Sokka! Put me down!”

“No can do, baby; we have unfinished business to attend to.” He said as he marched you back in the direction of your room.

“You’re gonna finish my physics homework?”

“Nope.”

Oh.

A/N: 2k words bc, again, i have no self control. thank you for the request!

ATLA TAGS: @hotgirlazula @octophopi @blazedbakugou @protect-remus @akiris @sunflowerazula @wooscottoncandyhair @chewymoustachio @ohno-caroline @sunflowerr-mami @1vitamin @ladylizzieofdarbyshire @u-4iia @nymeria-targaryen @tommy-braccoli @dizzy-miss-lizzieeeeee @a-sloppy-bitch @nomin-rights @siriuslyslyslytherin @starryncn

SOKKA TAGS: @fiantomartell @avatarayeaye @zvkta @sher-lockedmarvel @grandmascottlang @captainshazamerica @yuesallura

[i-dont-want-your-hysteria]

Up In the Air (Joe x Reader)

(surprise gift for you guys on Joe's birthday ^_^ I started this almost exactly a year ago, and it's finally done! Someone pointed out that I slightly hinted at the plot of this in my last fic post... you caught me.)

Words: 4,028

Prompt: Spring, 1983. Joe has an opportunity in his sights, but as luck would have it, it does not go his way (or does it...?)

-----

(1983)

"God, it was so embarrassing!" Joe put his palms over his eyes as he whined to Sav. The singer was flat on his back in the middle of their bed, and Sav's back was against the wall opposite him. The bassist had his arms crossed in exasperation.

They were back in a fresh, new hotel room after another flight to another city. They'd been settled in for a while, and- as far as you knew- Joe was physically well. Emotionally, however...

"What are the odds that things were placed so perfectly for me today, and then-?!" he swatted the air above him, "That happens? 'Just my luck!"

Sav didn't consider it as dire of a situation as Joe did. In fact, he seemed rather entertained than sympathetic.

"That was out of your control, mate."

"I know it was, but-" he sat up, "Y/n was right there! How was I supposed to keep it together?!"

"If it were anyone else other than her, you still would've had to keep it together, you know," Sav tilted his head down, but had his eyes looking up.

"Well, you're no help," Joe grumbled, crossing his arms back at the bassist and flopping back down onto the mattress.

"There's nothing to help you with!" Sav took a seat at the foot of the bed, "It's not my fault you got-"

Joe sat up again in a snap, warning with a pointed finger, "Don't say it."

"I was just gonna say that I had nothing to do with you being-"

"Don't say it!" Joe pleaded again.

"Joe, it's not that big of a deal that you-"

"Sav!"

"Alright, fine!" Sav threw up both hands, shaking his head and narrowly fighting off a laugh, "I won't say it!"

A loud sigh came from Joe, his head hanging now. The heat of embarrassment refused to leave his face.

"...do you think she's still hung up on it, too?" his voice went quiet, and his tone adopted a sad air.

Sav raised his hand, rubbed his fingers together, and patted Joe's ankle reassuringly.

"It's hard to say no," he admitted, "I know I wouldn't have liked to be in either of your shoes today."

~(5 hours earlier)~

A hand took a grip on your right forearm without warning. It snapped you from the hypnotic, musical trance you'd been in for most of the flight. Having been placed next to the singer for the first time on an airplane, you knew it was his action without a doubt. You looked down and sure enough, Joe's hand was there- holding onto you just a bit too tightly.

Your free hand took off your headphones and you asked him, "Everything alright?"

The singer wasn't focused on you, or anything, it seemed. "Unfocused" was probably the best word you could think of to describe him. His head was slightly tilted downwards, but his eyes were fixed on the back of the chair in front of him. Despite that, it appeared as if he couldn't see it no matter how hard he tried.

You gathered this impression from a split second of looking at him, but as soon as he heard your question, Joe's hold on you was instantly released. His own trance was snapped as well.

"Yeah, yeah, sorry. I thought you were the armrest..."

"You were holding on pretty tight," you pointed out, "Something wrong?"

That same look on his face was back again; unfocused. His hand slowly found its way back to the armrest- now that he knew it wasn't your arm. You saw his hand shaking before he gripped it tightly.

"You don't look so good," you noted, adopting a frown.

He hesitated slightly before going very quiet, his face suddenly appearing pallid.

"Fuck..." Joe cursed himself, "I fucked up, I fucked up..."

You pressed again, "Joe... tell me what's wrong..."

He lied to you in a halting voice when a new blush seemed to form on his face, "Um... it's nothing much. There's just- something I haven't told you, and I should've mentioned it before we got on board. But I..."

He fell quiet.

"Yeah...?" you urged him to go on.

"I get... seasick- airsick... sometimes. Not every time, but... every now and then I do- and..."

He visibly swallowed, his breath trembling when he slowly shut his eyes.

Your eyebrows went up, alarmed, "And you're not feeling so good?"

"No, no, no...!" his inner voice screamed.

"Not really, but I'm fine, don't worry about me. It just happens."

His efforts to shrink the overall worry didn't work, as you instantly knew that if things went south, you were the only nearby acquaintance of his who could help him. You were also trapped with him for 2 more hours until you landed, so you would've had to help him if need be.

"Oh god- are you gonna be sick?" your hand raised up slightly to reach for a sick bag.

"No! No, I'm more dizzy than anything..."

"Well, take this-" you handed him a sick bag, "-and just try not to focus on your surroundings. And if you can't hold it down... well just keep it in the bag and away from me, okay?"

"...okay," he exhaled and took it from you, desperately hoping it wouldn't come to that. For fuck's sake, he was already embarrassed enough. He felt like a child. Even worse; he felt like your child.

Joe shut his eyes again and rested his head back on his seat. His whole body looked drained of energy, and you saw sweat forming on his forehead. It was obvious to you he was trying to make himself appear more okay than he was.

"I can do this," Joe nearly said aloud, "I can get through this without her knowing."

Unfortunately, for him, you already knew.

"The poor guy," you were thinking with sympathy, "Never knew he could look so ill."

You asked, "You've been feeling bad for a while, haven't you?"

"...what?" he squinted under his eyelids, lying to you again, "No, not really. Why, can you tell?"

"I don't wanna sound rude... but yeah, you kind of look like hell."

Joe quietly whined at your declaration.

"I know that look, Elliott- I've been in this position before."

The man next to you was intrigued by what you implied. He was suddenly beginning to think that maybe his situation wasn't as embarrassing as it appeared.

His eyes opened, "Wait, have you ever-?"

"Oh- no, I never get sick on planes, but you're not the first case I've ever seen."

"Great. This means she's stronger than me."

You held up your bottle, "You want some water? Maybe settle your stomach a little?"

Joe felt his stomach turn at the mention of liquid and shook his head, "No, I'll be fine..."

It was another lie, but you decided maybe it was best you just let him be. Perhaps he wasn't that bad.

Joe, on the other hand, was fighting the sickness with all the strength he could muster- hoping you wouldn't see it.

"Don't mess this up," he was telling himself, "She's right there. Keep it together and don't balls it up...!"

Going with your plan, you let him be, and put your headphones back on.

He took a deep breath, "Fuck, if only the seatbelt lock wasn't on... then at least I could hide in the bathroom..."

The Leppard waited in terrified silence for his ailment to subside. With the current turbulence, it was impossible. Every shudder and bump made him want to heave until there was nothing left in his stomach. Worst of all, there was no where he could run to; he was trapped.

Oddly enough, before the sickness hit him, he was actually excited to be trapped there.

It was no secret among the band members that Joe quickly developed a crush on you. What started out as a feeling of preferring you over anyone else in the crew soon turned into a reach for romance. There was no time for him to make a move in the midst of the tour, though, which left him to suffer in his teenage desire alone.

When he heard he would be seated next to you on the next flight, he instantly knew it was an opportunity he couldn't afford to waste. This was the first time he'd sat directly by you on a plane, after all. It was a brilliant time to make a move and bond together. He'd been nervous ever since he sat down, but he never got the chance to make a flirt or decent conversation before his body betrayed him. Yes, it was an optimistic opportunity, but now Joe wished it'd been anywhere except up in the air.

The stress of the situation only made him feel worse- but he wouldn't accept the fact that he was about to lose this divine opening.

Not 4 minutes of your music went by when the plane shook yet again. When it did, you thought you saw Joe suddenly move from the corner of your eye. When your head turned, you saw his fist pressed against his mouth, an arm around his stomach, and a green tint over his pallid face.

"Woah, you alright?" you took your headphones off again.

Joe only nodded, closing his eyes to reassure you (but also to reprimand himself under the surface).

"No, no no!! Stop being sick for fuck's sake! You won't have a chance with her!!"

"I'm good, I'm good," he swallowed again, wiping sweat off his bangs, "Go back to your music."

"Don't lie to me, Joe. You look terrible-! Are you sure you don't need anything?"

"I'm really not that bad, Y/n. Just a little... motion sickness..." his breathing became labored, and he angled his body as far to his right as he could. He began to fidget with something as he swallowed, "Ohh..."

The cabin teetering around him somehow made things even worse.

"Honey, I don't think it's just a little," your concern was peaked, and a hand was hovering over his arm, "You look like you're about to throw up or pass out, so how about we get you some club soda and you can rest, okay? If you want to, you can even-"

Joe was turned completely away from you, and had suddenly lurched forward to vomit into the sick bag you'd given him earlier. You knew that any hope of him holding back his condition was impossible now.

You'd initially flinched at his retching; cringing and holding your breath. Only a second passed until you remembered your duty; you were the only friend nearby.

"Uh oh-" sympathetically, you sighed and reached out to him, your hands holding his hair back, "That's not good..."

***

"I feel so humiliated... I was just- so deathly sick! I threw up twice, Sav- twice! And she was right next to me! I feel awful that she had to put up with it...! I feel like that's on me. She probably thinks I'm disgusting; she probably sees me as this huge fucking pansy who can't keep his lunch down while flying..."

"Mate, getting sick on flights isn't a personality trait, and I'm pretty sure Y/N knows that, too."

Joe, who was laying down again, scoffed and rolled his eyes.

"...I think this situation isn't all that bad, really," Sav shrugged, his voice going up in pitch to take on a suggestive tone.

"What on earth makes you say that?"

"It's quite obvious! I just think you were-" he adopted Joe's voice and air quotes, "-'so deathly sick' that you didn't even realize exactly what was happening...!"

"Really? How so?"

"Oh, don't even get me started, Joe."

*** Joe was laying against you now, exhausted from the physical labor forced on his stomach and throat. He was still pale and shivering, but finally willing to accept your advice and remedies. You'd ordered him some club soda (and some mints from your purse), and suggested he take a rest.

This left you where you were now. He had a hand on his stomach, and another one under your hand to calm him.

To say the least, it felt like having a nice, heavy blanket partially draped on you. You couldn't help but think it was at least a little funny. To most people, they'd be absolutely repulsed by a man with a weak stomach sleeping on them during a flight. You couldn't blame them, as Joe could still hurl at any given moment. However, the instinct to care for him overpowered any repulsion you may have had. To you, Joe was like a sick puppy, and you were the one who found him first. You knew he needed you in that moment, and you were okay with it. It was a nice feeling, to say the least.

Joe moved his head against you in his weary and mostly-asleep state of consciousness. A soft grumble vibrated from his sore throat.

Amid those circumstances that would normally gross you out, you managed to smile at him. That, and you gently squeezed his hand to reassure him that he was safe.

That pale, clammy version of the singer you were trapped with wasn't the form of himself he put on display to just anyone. This was a whole new side of him that you knew he never intended you to see; he was helpless. Joe had given in and finally let himself be helpless around you. You found it was rather sweet, and even somehow softening your heart.

It almost felt like a strange honor that not many people had the privilege of possessing, given that Joe tried so hard to hide it from you.

Him desperately vying to avoid your concern was typical for any one of the guys. Naturally, none of them wanted to appear vulnerable around you, but Joe seemed so hell-bent on keeping up his charade of feeling fine. You wondered what reasons he had for his strict act. Perhaps it was the intimate public setting that drove him to conceal his motion sickness at all costs. Maybe it was in order to save himself from certain embarrassment; you really didn't know.

Whatever reason he had, it didn't dwell in your mind for long. All you knew was that even with a half-dead, cold-sweated Joe on your shoulder, your heart was fluttering in a way that was even more inexplicable than his behavior.

*** "First of all," Sav held up a sassy finger at Joe, "She was the one who suggested she hold your hand, plus she held your hair back, plus she let you sleep on her shoulder and tried to make you feel better. Sounds rather tender, if you ask me. Tenderly intimate."

"I'll tell you what was 'intimate'-" Joe's grumpiness was still prominent, "-her watchin' me regurgitate my fuckin guts from 10 inches away!"

"But those were all girlfriend duties!" Sav bounced in his seat, trying to get the point across.

Joe finally fell silent. He sat up, and Sav could see the blush in his cheeks.

"...girlfriend duties?" he nearly whispered to the bassist.

"I'm right and you know it. Tell me those weren't girlfriend-ly actions! She got affectionate with you!"

Joe let his sight fall, then rise back up after a brief moment of pondering.

"She did, didn't she..."

"She definitely did."

Sav was smirking at him now.

Joe asked him again, "You really think she did...?"

"There's not a doubt in my mind."

"Oh-" Joe made a swatting motion and shook his head. He looked diagonally down at the floor, "She probably would've been affectionate to any one of us in that situation..."

Sav laughed out loud at his friend's comment. If he didn't know any better, he'd say he was back at home, gossiping in Joe's childhood bedroom during a sleepover.

"Mate, when I had food poisoning last month, she didn't wanna get near me! But today, she was touchin' you and strokin' you and whatnot! Now that I mention it, I saw her smile while you were sleeping and holding her hand! Believe me, she wanted to help you. It was like she had an excuse to get close to you, just like you saw the flight as an excuse to get close to her."

Resting his case, Sav crossed his arms, tongue in his cheek.

They both remained quiet while Joe sat in thought. The pieces slowly began to fit together in his head, forming a train of thought he could somewhat follow.

"Suppose you are right; what do you suppose I do about it now?"

Sav could tell his argument was a success. His work there was done.

"That's entirely up to you."

*** You hadn't been awake that long, and were still pretty groggy when dawn began to break the next day. The unfortunate sensation of jet lag was beginning to catch up with you at that time, too. It didn't matter, because it was all part of the business. Your day would begin soon enough, jet lag or not.

After rubbing your eyes and throwing on your robe, you drew back the curtains and peered out at the misty morning. Thinking the hypnotic trance might wake you up more, you began to stare. Just as quickly, your eyes began to flutter shut again. Right before they did, however, there came a gentle knock at your door.

Blinking yourself back awake, you brought yourself to answer the call.

Initially, you found no one outside your room via the door's peephole. However, when you opened the door to search for anyone nearby, there came an unexpected surprise.

Rather than a person standing before you, a colorful bouquet of flowers lay on your doorstep. Of course, it was strange, but it also left you quickly growing bashful. You just hoped it wasn't one of your guy friends playing an early morning joke on you. Even so, your mind would be too cloudy to process that.

Looking around with sleepy confusion and flattery, you crouched down and picked up the bright bundle. You shuffled your fingers through the top of the arrangement to try and find a label or card that would give away the sender's identity. Eventually, you found the exact clue you were looking for; in the form of a small note.

The fresh, awakening scent of the blossoms wafted around you as you made out the handwriting.

"I'm so sorry I almost threw up on you on the plane! 🙁 -Joe"

It couldn't have been any more straightforward if it'd been put up on a neon sign. You chuckled out loud in the empty hallway and peered around to find a trace of the man in question.

Instantly, you found his eyes peeking from around the corner a few yards away. A guilty smile on his lips made him look so shy- in contrast to his average demeanor.

"This was really unnecessary, you know," the bundle was waved teasingly at him.

"I felt it was necessary," Joe's body slowly appeared more from behind the corner, "Considering you had no choice but to put up with disgusting ol' me."

Leaning on your door's frame, your eyes followed him while he strolled forward and leaned his shoulder on the wall in front of you. You both wore humorous smiles aimed at each other. If you could think any more clearly, you'd recognize this as flirting. Maybe it was- but it seemed oddly natural in that moment.

"Despite what you may think," your eyebrows lifted as you raised the bouquet up to your chin, "You weren't as gross as you expect. That, and you weren't any trouble."

"I just feel icky about the whole thing," he scrunched up his face and shrugged in disgust, "I promise it won't happen again- if I'm seated next to you."

"Don't worry about it, Joe. You just had a bad flight; everyone's got them from time to time."

"Not you, apparently."

Joe's smile turned rather bashful when he diverted his eye contact elsewhere. He silently chuckled with a hint of embarrassment. When you'd reassured him, he all of a sudden realized what Sav was trying to make him see. There was something in your eyes and your smile and your voice that just spoke to Joe; something that hit him and made him realize you wanted to be in the position you were in the day before.

You wanted to be affectionate with him.

Out of his daze, Joe spoke up after a brief hesitation, "So- um, I know it's early... but it's the perfect time for breakfast, so would you wanna go downstairs and get something to eat?"

"You mean with disgusting ol' you?"

"Don't worry-" his face almost went red at the cheeks, and his dimple appeared at the corner of his mouth, "You don't have to think about me keeping it down this time."

Your arm holding the flowers dropped down to your side as you broke up into giggles.

"I'm not worried- in fact, I'd love to go."

You couldn't be certain, but you swore you saw Joe's face actually go red that time.

"Cool! Cool. Did you wanna get dressed or-?"

"Well, you don't seem to be dressed either, so why should I?" you reached back into your room to place the bouquet inside. When you shut the door, you joined the singer, "Let's hit it before Mike and Mal take all the good pastries."

Joe showed his teeth in his grin when you came to his side and began walking.

"If they're all taken, I'll steal one for you- considering I owe you a favor after what you did for me yesterday."

"What did I do?"

The answer was simple, but Joe didn't know how to say it without implying his feelings for you.

"You nursed me back to heath- or at least tried to..."

"I told you not to worry about it..."

"Alright, alright, I'll try not to."

"I'll tell you something, Elliott," you giggled as you both got inside the lift, "You've got a strange way of flirting."

Heat rushed to Joe's cheeks, and more threatened to join them at the thought of you noticing.

"Oh yeah?" he laughed.

"You hope I won't notice every tiny effort, yet you keep doing tiny things to make me notice. Even if we're, for example- up in the air..."

"Oh, god..." just like that, Joe thought he'd be the first person on earth to die of embarrassment. He pinched the bridge of his nose, "Fuck- please don't tell me I was that obvious..."

"Calm down, don't make yourself sick again," you laughed and patted his back, "If it makes you feel any better... I did notice what you were trying to do on the flight. And- um... it worked. So..."

You stood on your toes, and lightly planted a kiss on his cheek, "Let's just say- you don't have to be sick if you want to hold my hand next time."

Joe's hand lowered from his face, and he quickly flashed a bashful glance at you before darting his eyes away.

The elevator doors opened, the smell of coffee seeping everywhere. Instead of walking out, Joe reached out to you.

"You said I didn't have to be sick next time, and I'm quite well now..."

A bashful smile of your own made an appearance as you took his hand like you did the previous day. When you did, Joe giggled to himself.

You glanced over, "What?"

With a pause, Joe rolled in his lips, then looked right at you, "Oh nothing. Just- if you get sick on the next flight, I guess we'll be even, then."

"So, you're gonna sit with me on the next flight, then?" you raised an eyebrow.

"If it means getting even with you, then yes."

"And if it doesn't mean getting even with me?"

"Well," Joe said, smiling widely, "Then the answer is still yes."

That answer was more than enough for you.

Strolling out together, hand-in-hand, you and Joe made your way towards the breakfast counter. In the corner of your vision, you noticed him snagging a pastry off of Mike and Mal's table when he passed by.

The end

[troubatrain]

taxi - j. markstrom

a/n: i swore on my life i started writing this and then hours went by and it was done. by the way, aside from this song i still have yet to chose any players for the rest of this series and the google form is open for suggestions (it’s linked below) but anyways, i need to start by saying this got super personal for me and this showcases some of my own experiences with my own mental illness, and not everyone experiences those things the same way and i just want to remind everyone of that before they read! also, i definitely suggest listening to the song while reading it because it just feels right.

i need to tag @danglesnipecelly​ because k wrote a matty fic and in turn i’m legally required to write a marky fic

part of my lovely little lonely series

tw: mentions of depression, mentions of post-partum depression

“...and in the backseat, when you asked me, is the sadness everlasting? i pulled you closer, looked at you and said love, I think it is...” - Taxi - The Maine

Jacob wasn’t sure when things had gotten so bad.

You were doing better, and Jacob even thought you were doing better than before. You’d been going to therapy again regularly, less of Jacob forcing you to go for his sake and more of going by your own will. You were back on your meds, but even you admitted they felt like they might have been working this time around now that you found the right fit. The adjustment to your new surroundings in Calgary seemed to be going smoothly, spending time with Annica and Elias like you weren’t constantly battling with your own demons.

But god you were.

Jacob honestly thought you were braver than anyone he’s ever known. You met a few years back, when you used to throw on a smile just to walk out the door and Jacob was just starting to make a splash in Vancouver. He was the only person who seemed to notice you in the large crowd you were who was mingling with a few of his teammates. He knew you were something special in that moment, and he’d tell you everyday until you started to believe it. What he didn’t know at the time was, you’d just gotten diagnosed with depression and you were tackling it on your own. Not a soul knew about the days you couldn’t wait to sleep because it was the only time you were able to turn your brain off. They didn’t know about the mess in your apartment that was so embarrassing but you still just couldn’t clean it. And they definitely didn’t know about the long drives where you just thought about never coming back.

Jacob didn’t know these things for a while, but when the signs became clear, he tried his hardest to understand. He came over and cleaned your apartment when you were at work, shrugging it off when you asked him what prompted him to do it. Jacob made sure you were taken care of on days he knew you weren’t able to do it yourself.

Then the east coast road trip happened.

Your relationship was new, and you hadn’t told him what was going on even though it was becoming incredibly clear that he knew. Jacob has always been patient, and you always joke it’s because he’s a goalie, but the truth was that his heart was bigger than him. You called him, teary eyed while you sat on a park bench in the middle of Vancouver and told him you couldn’t do this anymore. At first he thought you were talking about him, maybe he’d overstepped a line he shouldn’t have, but it was clear you meant life. It was just too much, and Jacob knew it was time to push talking about it.

So you did, you laid there in the bitter cold on that bench until the sun came up and talked to him about your mental illness. You talked about your therapist who you’d been seeing but you were honest about the appointments you skipped. You talked to him about the full pill bottles in your bathroom because you didn’t want to take them but you didn’t want anyone to notice you weren’t picking up prescriptions. He was calm, listening to your words and not reprimanding you on the stall in your recovery.

Everyone moves at their own pace Y/N, you can move like a turtle if you want to and I won’t tell you to hurry up and get better.

Jacob never pushed, but that didn’t mean he didn’t educate himself. He read and read and read, everything he could on how he was supposed to help

you. He took classes, he listened to talks and he’d even attended meetings with other people who were in his same position. He wanted to understand, and he did his best to. Jacob did this because he loves you, and he wanted to make sure that was never going to be something you could question.

So that brings him here, standing in your shared bathroom while he counted how many pills were left in that orange bottle and he just knew the math wasn’t going to add up. Jacob runs a large hand over his face, rubbing his temples while he spun out about how this could be his fault. Maybe he should have stayed in Vancouver. Was the change too much for you?

“Babe?” You call out, leaning against the bathroom door and looking at him sadly. Your voice was soft, it always was, like Jacob being in distress was more important than the hell he’d seen you go through.

“Have you been skipping days?” Jacob asks, never with an accusatory tone. He learned that lesson, watching you shrink at his words when he asked if you’d been in bed all day. You start to utter an apology, Jacob raising his hand at you to stop because you didn’t owe him one, “Why didn’t you call?”

Tears were welling up in your eyes, your lip quivering while you tried to find the right words. Jacob didn’t look mad, he wasn’t - he was feeling guilty. He promised you, if you called it didn’t matter if he was in the middle of a game, he’d be there as soon as he could, “You need to be with your new team-”

“Fuck my new team,” Jacob scoffs, shaking his head and opening his arms to you, “You think I’d want to spend any more time with Elias than you?”

“No, I just,” You sigh, pushing a piece of your hair back that seemed to just fall back into place, “I didn’t want to be a bother, you need to be with these guys all the time and how can you do that if you’re worried about me?”

“I can do that because I want to do it,” Jacob reminds you, pushing that same piece of hair back where it belonged, and it stuck, “I don’t feel like I have to worry about you, I want to.”

“Wouldn’t it be easier not to?” You ask, wrapping your arms around Jacob’s waist and pressing your head into his chest. His heartbeat was steady, he was steady.

Jacob was the most stable thing you had in your life. You couldn’t figure what you’d done to experience unconditional love like that, a person to care for you so much that they would do anything to make you happy. He calmed you on the days you needed most and he never pushed you harder than he thought you needed. Turtle speed. He always called it that, but he’d rather see you move slowly to get better than throw on another fake smile.

“My life wouldn’t be easier if you weren’t in it,” Jacob hums, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, “Do you want me to set out your meds for the week? In that little container I got you?”

You nod, making a promise to yourself to take the step in getting better. Jacob reminded you constantly, you can’t do this for him, you needed to do it for yourself - he was just helping. He was always going to help.

***

You seemed better.

Jacob swore you were actually doing okay, the little check ins he was doing was working and when he got back from his next road trip - nothing seemed wrong. You were standing across Johnny’s house, laughing along with Annica and a few other girls and Jacob knew that laugh was a real one. This was good, seeing you out laughing and smiling.

“So, when is it going to be time for you?” Annica asks, her hand running over your ring finger, “Marky has to be thinking about having a few running around soon.”

You wish it hadn’t set you off. It was a simple question anyone would ask a couple who’s been together this long.

Children was a conversation you weren’t ready for. The thought terrified you, not because you didn’t want to have them, it was the post-partum talk. You knew the risks, all of the things that could happen after and you didn’t want to stomach that. What if you weren’t enough for your kids? They didn’t ask for a mother who couldn’t get out of bed sometimes let alone take care of them, and you’d be insane to think that was a healthy way to raise a child.

Jacob’s eyes remained on you while you rushed out of the house, fiddling with your hands and shaking your head. That was your tell, and Jacob excused himself immediately, chasing you out of the house. His hands grab your cheeks, steadying you for a moment and wiping the tears from your eyes.

“She asked me when we were going to the marriage and kids thing and,” You ramble out, closing your eyes and shutting your mouth. Jacob knew where you were going with this, it was fear he had too. It was the reason there was a ring in one of his coat pockets at home that’s never been opened because he was waiting for the right time. He’d wait forever if he had to. You were the one there was never a doubt about it.

“We don’t have to talk about it right now,” Jacob sighs, knowing this conversation was far too heavy to be had in public, “But, you’ll never be alone, I’m never going to leave, I’m never going to pressure you into anything. When you’re ready I will be too, but I don’t care how long it takes.”

“What if it’s too late for kids?” You whisper, the fear that Jacob could tell you he’d wait forever but you’d seen him with kids, he was made to be a father.

“We can adopt, foster, whatever you want,” Jacob assures you, the idea of having children never had to be biological to him, “Chucky asked me if we were looking to adopt the other day…”

You let out a laugh, looking and pressing your lips to Jacob’s. You couldn’t thank him enough, not like he’d ever let you, but he was so good. You leaned your head on his shoulder, watching Calgary pass you by while Jacob hums to the radio next to you in the cab to get home.

“You think I’ll always be like this?” You ask, a question that could have been for either of you.

“There’s always going to be bad days, but you’re never going to be alone on them. I promise.”

“Turtle speed?”

“Turtle speed.”

[ashdoesfandomarchieved]

I hear you like prompts? Well I am well known for. The List. *unrolls scroll* sick fic, jealousy, fighting suitors, hostage situation, hypothermia, use of safe word, spa day, ruddiger v Hugo

AO3

It’s midday by the time Hugo finally deems his companions worthy of his company.

They’ve been staying at a small estate in Galcrest, with some friends of Nuru’s family who were kind enough to put them up for the weekend.

The last few trials have been grueling--if Varian’s being completely honest--what with the cave of mirrors and the hall of memories haunting Nuru’s nights and Yong’s smiles and Varian’s everything. So a break in what their gang was affectionately nicknaming “the air kingdom” seemed in order.

The first few days go by fine--Nuru drags Hugo out to the marketplace, talking shop about swords and armory to her heart's content, while Varian and Yong scour the countryside and set off fireworks in the clear skies.

It’s exactly what their group needs to get back on track--a little rest and a lot of free time to relax and get to know one another better.

Then Hugo shows up for breakfast one morning and all of Varians’ optimism flies out the window.

“Whoa, are you sick?” Yong says, popping his head out of the pantry. “You look terrible.”

Hugo sends him an irritated glance. “No,” he says and then immediately sneezes. “I’m not sick,” he says, peevishly when they all continue staring at him in silence. His voice sounds like he’s been gargling rocks.

Nuru places a hand on his flushed forehead that he immediately swats off. “You’re burning up,” she says with a frown. “Did you leave your window open last night?”

“More likely that he got it from town,” Varian mutters. He seems to remember a kindly merchant lamenting about his daughter coming down with a spring cold. Dammit Hugo.

“I’m going to heat up some soup,” Yong says decisively, already making a bee-line for the cupboards.

“I don’t need soup.” Hugo literally cannot sound any more like a sulky pre-teen right now. “What I need is for you all to stop ganging up on me.”

“What you need is a doctor,” Nuru mutters.

Hugo turns his scowl on her.

“How about this,” Varian says, once again playing diplomat between his two best friends, “Hugo eats the soup, and Nuru doesn’t make him see a doctor.

Hugo and Nuru continue to eye each other for a moment before Hugo mutters out an annoyed “fine.”

Varian has a feeling that today is going to be an exercise in not dumping his best friends.

____

About three hours into the “Hugo is pretending that he’s not sick” fiasco, Nuru has decided she’s had enough.

“I’m taking Yong to town,” she says, wrapping a scarf around the younger boy. “If the idiot won’t see a doctor, than I’m at least going to get him some medicine.”

Varian, who was the person who had to deal with Hugo throwing up in the bathroom half the afternoon, privately agrees.

“Is there anything I should do?” he asks, not exactly sure what to do with sick people. His dad never got sick and Rapunzel had about a million physicians taking care of her whenever she contracted some illness or another.

“Try and keep him in bed. I also left some tea leaves in the kitchen, if he feels up to drinking anything.” Nuru adds, halfway out the door. “I know you want to kill him most of the time, but it would be most inconvenient to hide his body.”

Varian rolls his eyes. “I’ll do my best,” he says, dryly.

He doesn’t actually plan to antagonize Hugo--let alone kill him. Despite the fact that the blond still manages to annoy him on a daily basis, he’s also kinda friends with the guy now.

They’ve fallen into an easy companionship with mutual banter and annoyed antics that usually have their friends up in arms, but it works for them.

Besides, the guy just looked far too pathetic, dry heaving in the sink this morning, to give him a hard time.

A few minutes after Nuru and Yong leave, Varian makes his way to the room Hugo is staying in. At first glance, the place appears empty--bed unmade, small sitting area absent of life--but after a quick scan of the large room, Varian finds him.

Hugo sits on the window seat. His legs are drawn up under him and his head rests against the wall. The breeze filtering through the open window brushes his hair back from his forehead and makes the open collar of his white, unbuttoned shirt, fluttering slightly.

Something about the sight of him--flushed, exhausted, unguarded--twists something in Varian’s stomach.

“Hey,” he says, voice cracking too loudly in the quiet.

Hugo doesn’t turn his head, but his shoulder inch up slightly. “Hey,” he says back, eyes glued to something outside the window.

Varians’ eyes narrow in on the gooseflesh raised on the skin of his neck. With a sigh, he snatches a blanket off the bed and goes to Hugo, draping it over his shoulders.

Hugo turns his head at that, blinking up at him owlishly through round glasses. “Oh,” he says, like he’s just noticing Varian’s here. Which is concerning. “Thanks.”

Varian shrugs a shoulder, throwing himself on the other side of the window seat. It’s a large enough space--or maybe Varian’s just short--for the two of them to sit without touching. Not that Varian’s thinking of touching him.

An uneasy silence--on Varian’s part, at least--falls over them as Hugo continues to stare blankly out the window. His usually brilliant green eyes are glazed over, enhancing the flush that’s spread from his face, down his to his neck.

He sniffs a couple of times, nose wrinkling.

“Nuru wants you to drink some tea, I think,” Varian says, tapping his fingers against his knee nervously. “I can go get some for you if you wa-”

“It’s fine.” Hugo’s voice carries no intonation. “I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine,” Varian says, in a very measured voice. The last thing he wants to do is upset the guy right now.

Hugo’s eyes shut. His lips press together tightly, but not out of anger. He looks like he’s just barely holding it together, and Varian doesn’t understand why.

Or, maybe he does. Varian used to be very open and free with his emotions, but over the past few years--since everything in Corona with his dad, the amber, Cass--Varian has gotten used to putting up shields around his heart. Vulnerability was a very scary thing, especially with those you cared about.

Hugo didn’t seem to be the type of person who liked to show weakness.

A particularly chilling breeze brushes through the window. It’s enough that even Varian is shivering at it’s touch.

He reaches out slowly and gently pulls the blanket around Hugo tighter. Hugo’s eyes open at that, watching Varian with an unreadable emotion.

“I think you should lie down,” Varian says.

Hugo shakes his head. “Can’t.”

“Hugo-”

“The bed’s too soft,” Hugo exhales, sounding embarrassed.

Something in Varian’s stomach twists painfully. The year after prison hadn’t been easy, but most of it was just getting used to being able to walk around without having the entirety of Corona’s military breathing down your neck. The other half was getting used to how soft his threadbare bed in Olde Corona felt.

Varian gets it. He doesn’t know Hugo’s story yet, but he gets it.

“Lie down here then,” he coaxes, one hand coming up to cup his neck. It’s warm--too warm. The worry simmering in Varian’s gut flares.

“What, on you?” Hugo snorts, sounding--if for a moment--a bit like himself.

Varian feels his own face flush about as badly as Hugo’s face is right now. “Would it make you feel more comfortable?” he asks, voice pitching up high.

Hugo’s stares at him hazily, the fever most likely getting in the way of his higher processing powers. “Yeah,” he says, looking not quite all there. “Yeah, that’d be nice.”

And then he flops face first into Varian’s lap.

Varian lets out a surprised laugh, one hand going to his hair. “Okay then,” he says, trying to calm the rapid beating of his heart.

“Mmphf.”

Varian snorts, coaxing Hugo into rolling over so that he can at least breathe. “Why do I put up with you?” he mutters, more amused than exasperated for once.

Hugo blinks a couple of times at him. “It’s weird,” he says at last. “You’re weird. I’ve never had someone who’s wanted to put up with me before.”

Varian’s hopes Hugo can’t tell his heart just shattered into about a million pieces. “Well, you do now,” he says, easing Hugo’s glasses off his face and delicately placing them on the nearby end table. “You have three people, in fact, who are willing to put up with your dumb ass.”

The blond squints up at him. “But you were first. That’s-” he gestures gracelessly with one hand, “-that’s important.”

Varian smooths his hair back from his forehead, mentally taking note of the amount of heat coming off his flushed skin. “Yeah?”

“Mmm.” Hugo’s eyes close. “You keep doing that. Surprising me.”

“Well someone has to knock your ego down a few notches.”

A ghost of a grin. His eyes open again, almost as if he’s worried Varian has left in the few seconds he stopped looking.

“Hugo, go to sleep,” Varian chides. He runs his fingers through Hugo’s hair again, hoping it will draw him into sleep. “I can continue to surprise you tomorrow.”

“You’re surprising me now,” Hugo mumbles, but he’s becoming more and more pliant with each pet of Varian’s fingers through his hair. “Don’t go anywhere, ‘kay?”

Varian swallows. “I’ll be right here when you wake up,” he promises. “Now go to sleep.”

Hugo’s eyes finally drop shut, breath evening out. Varian leans back against the wall, one hand in the blond’s hair. The weight of the other boy is both grounding and sends strange flutterings to Varian’s stomach that he doesn’t understand.

Hugo lets out a small snore in his sleep. It’s adorable. Hugo’s adorable, Varian realizes, much to his horror.

Another breezes brushes in through the window, setting the white, transparent curtains afloat in the air. Hugo shivers slightly, curling up closer around Varian.

His face is pressed somewhere between his thigh and stomach, one arm wrapped loosely around his torso. Varian runs his fingers through Hugo’s soft hair again and comes to two realizations simultaneously.

Varian has feelings for Hugo. Positive feelings. Fluffy, mushy, fluttering feelings that reside somewhere between his aching heart and the butterflies in his stomach and Varian wants to cry or throw up or maybe kiss the dumb blond until those feelings settle themselves.

Hugo might--a very, very tentative might, because Varian isn’t great at reading other people at the best of times--just might have feelings for Varian. Maybe.

That’s important, he had said, eyes glazed, pupils dilated, lips parted. You keep doing that. Surprising me.

Varian shuts his eyes. Yeah, he’s totally and utterly fucked.

[ratisnotcrying]

you’re useless

Summary: “Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Juno hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even really believe it. Maybe he would have, when he was still a PI, before he had first met Peter, but he had changed so much since then. He still had bad days, but he handled them better now. He knew when he was in the wrong.

Prompt: "You're useless." from palettes-and-prompts

Pairings: background Peter Nureyev/Juno Steel, background Buddy Aurinko/Vespa Ilkay

Warnings: implied child abuse, descriptions of violence, hidden injury, hurt/comfort

Word count: 2.6K

A/N: this is crossposted on ao3 - ik that repeticism isnt a word but im making it one for this fic 

~~~

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Juno hadn’t meant to say it. He didn’t even really believe it. Maybe he would have, when he was still a PI, before he had first met Peter, but he had changed so much since then. He still had bad days, but he handled them better now. He knew when he was in the wrong.

~~~

Rowan isn’t quite sure how they found themself on board the Carte Blanche and on the outskirts of the Aurinko crime family.

They had the typical, cliché backstory of a lone-wolf operating within the underbelly of society - a surface-perfect home life destroyed by something seemingly mundane blah blah blah, trust issues, a long line of enemies, enough friends to count on one hand, and nothing much else to show for over two decades of living.

One good thing about working alone is the need to get creative, and this is what had put them on Buddy’s radar in the first place. A few years ago, Rowan had been hired to acquire a tank of rare fish - this is about where they stopped asking questions, they didn't care as long as they got paid - and, after some very elaborate lies, an even more elaborate disguise and a rigged game of cards, they had managed to win a tank of the ugliest fish they had ever seen.

The part that caught Buddy’s attention, though, was the escape. Rowan had been found out before they had a chance to get out of the building, and had only managed to escape because they had memorised the security’s routes. It took a bit of guesswork, but they had been able to work out where the security would be coming from, found an unguarded window, clambered down a drain pipe, fish tank sloshing precariously in their bag, and landed near perfectly in a pile of rubbish bags outside the window - if you discount the broken bottle that had gouged their leg.

Buddy had picked Rowan up a few weeks after Juno and Rita, but it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows, no matter how much anyone may have wanted it to be.

The problem wasn’t that Rowan couldn’t do their job - if that were the case they wouldn’t be here. No, the problem was that being thrown into close quarters with a bunch of strangers was… a lot. Especially for someone who had been alone for so long.

Rowan liked Jet well enough, he was straightforward and honest but intense; Buddy’s ‘take no shit but do no harm’ attitude aligned perfectly with her unwavering morals, and this was a welcome relief from the lies and deceit Rowan had lived with for so long. Rita and Peter were surprisingly welcoming, and Rowan formed a reluctant almost-friendship with Vespa. Juno, though. He and Rowan were too alike: fiercely independent, stubborn as a mule, and they both fell back into old habits as easily as anything.

Maybe this clash of bad habits, the deceptive comfort in being who you were, even for a moment, is how this job went so spectacularly wrong.

~~~

It was supposed to be a simple in-and-out job. Rita had taken out the security cameras, Jet was waiting in the car, and Juno was sneaking down the darkened hallways with Rowan.

“I still don’t understand why we need this goddamn painting. It looks like a baby threw up crayons and then just threw up on a canvas.”

“I’ve just eaten, Juno, shush if you don’t want me to throw up too.”

“Rowan, darling, please do not do that - this painting is priceless and highly sought after, which is why, Juno, we need to swap this for the information August Reid is refusing to give us. I did mention this in our family meeting before you left.”

Vespa’s aggravated voice piped up in the background of Buddy’s comms, “He was too busy swooning all over Ransom to pay attention.”

~~~

They had gotten the painting easily, so it was just a matter of getting out again. Rowan had been tasked with studying the guards’ shift patterns and routes, and had had no problem getting them in. Apparently, their luck couldn't hold.

They crept forwards, leading Juno left, right, left again, ducking this way and that to avoid the, quite frankly excessive, number of guards patrolling the halls. And that’s when it happened.

Rowan ducked right around a corner into another corridor, one that was supposed to be empty for another six minutes at least and there, at the other end, was a guard. A guard who was looking right at them.

“Crap.”

“What? Rowan we need to kee- crap.”

Both of their comms beeped, Buddy asking them questions with thinly veiled panic in her voice, but neither of them answered, stood frozen, eyes locked with the guard. Then all hell broke loose.

Everyone took out their guns and bullets started flying, the guard was shouting and footsteps could be heard thundering closer from all directions.

A tidal wave of de ja vu crashed over Rowan, “Fuck, this way,” they shouted, turning to run, voice tinged with something Juno didn’t have time to decipher, but Juno grabbed their sleeve and dragged them in the opposite direction.

“Hell no. You are done giving directions, I am not letting you get me killed here.”

They ran back the way they had come, and Juno skidded to a stop in front of a storage cupboard.

“Get in, quickly. There’s a vent at the top we need to get through. Do you think you can manage that?”

Rowan wasn't sure - there was a searing pain in their side that sent shocks of nausea through them with each breath and black dots into their vision with each movement. But this was their fault - they had failed at the one job they had - the one thing they were supposed to be able to do, they got themself shot and had put Juno in danger. They did not need to hold the job up any longer - they just had to get out of here and they could deal with the shot later.

It was a tight squeeze, both of them were crammed awkwardly into the vents, waiting for Rita to work out where they were so she could guide them out.

“Christ, it’s cramped in here - my side is killing me.” Rowan muttered to themself.

“Well, maybe if you weren’t so goddamn useless then we wouldn’t be stuck here.”

Everything seemed to shift and sharpen, Rowan suddenly violently aware of everything around them whilst simultaneously being blurred by memories they had tried so hard to bury: Juno was trying to listen and see if they had been found, there was shouting from down the hall, the smell of musty metal was almost overwhelming and Rowan jerked as if physically struck by Juno’s words, completely at a loss for what to say. Luckily, Rita, who had been on the comms, was not quite as speechless.

“Mistah Steel! That is a horrible thing to say, how could you-”

“Goddamnit Rita, I don't have time for this - how they hell do we get out of here?”

~~~

Jet was still outside with the car, and took off at break-neck speed as soon as the doors were shut. Juno sat in the front seat, the painting on his lap, talking to Buddy about something, and Rowan was slouched in the back, trying to cover up the fact that their organs were about to fall out. Well, that was an exaggeration. Probably. Just to be safe they grabbed a jacket they had left in the car weeks ago and slipped it on, wrapping it tightly around themself to try and hide the blood and hopefully-not-organs.

Juno had gotten a bit banged up in the vents, so when they arrived back at the Carte Blanche he went straight to the medical bay to meet Buddy with the painting and then to get checked.

“Rowan, it is recommended that you also get checked out. You look very ill,” Jet said as Rowan turned away from the medical bay and towards their room.

“No worries, Jet, I just want to get changed first - these clothes are filthy.”

~~~

“It was a mistake, darling, the best of us make them.”

“Yeah, well, it ws a stupid mistake - all they had to do was make sure they knew where the guards would be and then make sure we weren’t there!”

Vespa growled at Juno, who was gesticulating wildly whilst she was trying to wrap a bandage around his arm.

“Juno, I don’t care if Rowan walked straight up to that guard and told him why you were there - we are a family, and you will not speak to any member of this family like that.”

“That’s another thing - I get why everyone is here except Rowan - you said it was some daring escape that brought them here, but after today’s performance… what exactly do they bring to the table?”

“I’m going to leave that for you to work out, Juno.” Buddy said tersely.

He deflated a little, head tipping back to stare at the ceiling. Goddamnit.

“Are we about done here, Vespa, I’ve got places to be.”

~~~

Rowan would quite like a stiff drink right about now. Partially to actually drink, but mainly because they had run out of steriliser and this wound was definitely going to get infected and it would be this whole thing and they would get ill and-

“Get it together, Rowan.” They hissed, pulling out a sterile needle and taking a deep breath as they began to stitch themself up. This was not the first time, and likely wouldn’t be the last, that Rowan has had to do this - working alone and working recklessly meant most jobs ended with soft pink staining bandages and staining baths, throat and skin burning from cheap whiskey. Tonight didn’t have to be different.

The shot had skimmed their side so, luckily, no organs were falling out, but it was still going to be a bitch to heal, likely would be ripped open a few times and leave a nasty scar. This, unfortunately, was also not uncommon.

The painful repeticism of the needle going in and out lulled Rowan into a violent comfort they tried to avoid, the panicked calm soothing them until they couldn't quite hold back the memories they had been reminded of earlier.

Raised voices, gritted teeth and finger shaped bruises. Running, up stairs, through doors, arou-

There was a knock at their door. They flinched, snapping back to reality.

“Rowan, it’s Juno. Can I- can we talk?”

They almost said yes, just called Juno in like nothing was wrong. Then their brain kicked it’s way through the fog and realised they were sitting in bloody trousers, half stitched up wound and thread fully exposed to anyone who might walk in.

“Rowan?”

They picked up the shirt closest to them - part of a matching pyjama set - and tried to tuck the needle away so they could carry on when Juno was gone, and threw the door open.

“Sorry, I was just getting changed. Just sit anywhere.” They mumbled, haphazardly shoving piles of washing off of a chair.

“Thanks. Listen, about earlier, I know that you didn’t mean for that to happen. It’s been a rough week, not that that’s an excuse for what I said- are you alright?”

Rowan had half-sat, half-fallen back onto their seat on the bed and was focusing very hard on not fainting, so much so that they couldn’t really understand what Juno was saying. Maybe this wound was worse than they had thought. They nodded and hoped for the best.

“Right… Anyways, what I actually came to say is that I'm sorry I called you useless. You made a mistake, no one died, well I don’t think anyone died. Whatever, it couldn’t have been avoided. I know that I can be abrasive,” he said with a look that meant he had been told this many, many times before, “but that doesn’t mean that- Rowan, you really look like crap.”

“Wow, thanks, Juno, you say the sweetest things,” they took a deep breath and tried not to panic at the fact that they couldn’t really feel most of their torso anymore, “I know you didn’t mean it, we’re fine. Stop looking at me like that, I’m fine, I just need a nap.” The last words were pointed, hinting sharply at Juno to leave.

“Yeah, because slurred speech and sweating and shaking all scream ‘I’m fine’,” he paused for a moment and Rowan could almost see the cogs whirring, piecing together the information - bullets flying, the unidentified something in Rowan’s voice, the jacket they hadn’t been wearing before, the sterile wrappers on the bed… Then the last piece clicked into place, “Rowan, is that blood?”

They looked down at their top - their white pyjama top - as their vision began to fade out, their head too heavy to hold up and mouth too numb to speak, “No-”

~~~

When they came to, they were in the medical wing wearing a loose sleep shirt - distinctly not soaked in blood - and shorts. They tried to get up and go but a not-so-gentle hand pushed them back to lying down.

“Goddamnit, stop moving. You’ve already ripped your stitches once and you weren’t even awake,” Vespa growled, fussing with the bandages wrapped tight around Rowan’s middle.

“Sorry, I’ve always been lively in bed.”

“That’s cute, darling. What’s not cute is the stunt you pulled last night - if Juno hadn’t come to see you when he did... “ An uncomfortable look passed over Buddy’s face, “Let’s not dwell on that. I will want to talk about this later, but, for now, somebody else wants to see you.”

“Great,” Rowan tried to get up again, “Where are they?”

“Nice try, tough guy, but you’re staying right here until mean old Vespa lets you out.”

“Bite me, Steel.”

“No, thanks, I think I'll leave that to-” He cut himself off at Buddy's warning glance and didn't speak again until Buddy and Vespa had both left the room.

Rowan glanced at the bandage wrapped around Juno’s bicep, “Is it bad?”

“No, just a flesh wound, unlike that one you’re sporting - what was the plan? Stitch it up and hope you didn't drop dead in the middle of the next job?”

“Something like that.”

“Goddamnit. Okay, I don't know how much of what I said yesterday you heard but I'm sorry for what I said. I know we don't really… get along, but you remind me of,” he sighed, “You remind me of someone I used to know.”

“Juno, I really don't need a pep talk.”

“Well, here's the thing - you absolutely do because this,” he gestured to the bandages and the bed, “can’t happen again. You can't see that we care about you - you wouldn't be here if Buddy didn't think you were worth something and Rita is the best judge of character I know; she thinks you’re great. You have a goddamn family here, Rowan, stop trying to push us out.”

Rowan sighed, and Juno graciously didn't mention the tears in their eyes. “I don't know how to-” Rowan shook their head.

“We aren't going anywhere, Rowan, I know that's not what you want to hear but I don't care. For right now you need to stay here and stop ripping out your stitches. Take care of yourself for once. Then we can work on whatever complexes you’re holding onto so tight.” Juno said, squeezing Rowan’s shoulder as he stood.

Rowan didn’t say anything till he was half-way out the door, “Hey, Juno? Thanks.”

“Sure thing.”

[charmingwords23]

Fanfic: Exponential Growth

Teresa hadn’t been expecting her family to grow by two members in one day. 

- OR - 

Teresa was already pregnant in the finale and I’ll prove it with this fic...

Link

Teresa couldn’t sleep. Each time she would close her eyes and try to relax, something would distract her. The side of the pillow against her cheek wasn’t cold enough, so she’d flipped it. James was too far away, so she’d snuggled closer. Then she was too hot, so she’d shifted away. Her back was aching from lying on it too long, so she’d rolled onto her side. The waves crashing outside the bedroom window were unusually loud - had they always been like that? Maybe they needed noise-reducing drapes. Did those exist? She had tossed and turned so much last night that James had eventually grumbled in his sleep and thrown his arm over her waist in a vain attempt at keeping her still.

By the time the dark of night started to fade to gray, Teresa had tried counting sheep, counting the seconds between the breaking waves, and counting the whiskers between James’s ear and chin (she lost count on that one). When nothing worked, she had mostly just lain with her eyes on the ceiling, mind racing but never settling on a complete thought. So when the clock turned to 5:30 AM and the seagulls outside started to squawk, Teresa gave up and decided she might as well just get up.   

Teresa turned her head toward the sleeping man beside her. James was lying on his side, his right arm slung lazily over the bottom of her ribcage so that his fingertips brushed her hip bone. His soft hair flopped over his forehead and jutted out in different directions, in a disarray still from when she had run her fingers though it the night before. She studied the way his dark lashes rested against his cheek and how his lips parted so slightly with his slow, rhythmic breaths that anyone who wasn’t looking wouldn’t even notice. 

He always looked so peaceful when he slept.

She didn’t know she could love a person so much. Teresa’s chest felt tight, compressed by the overwhelming urge to draw so close she wouldn’t be able to tell where she ended and he began. She wanted to wrap herself under his skin and tie their souls together. 

Instead, she gingerly reached out a hand to smooth her fingers over his brow, careful to keep her touch light as a butterfly wing. 

He didn’t stir. With a silent sigh, Teresa carefully withdrew her hand and slid her body out from under his arm. She perched on the edge of the bed and reached for James’s shirt on the floor. She remembered throwing it off of him the night before, and a ghost of a smile formed on her lips. She shrugged into the shirt and stood up, swiping her hand over the back of her neck to free her long curls from the neckline of the shirt. 

James groaned quietly behind her, rolled onto his stomach, and ran his hand over the bare sheets that were still warm from her body. “What are you doing?” His voice was low and muffled against the pillow where his face was half-buried. 

“I’m going to take a bath,” she whispered, shifting the shirt so that it sat evenly on her shoulders instead of gaping off to one side because of its size. 

James grumbled in protest. He grabbed a hold of the edge of the shirt and tugged at it. “Come back to bed,” he mumbled, never opening his eyes. 

Teresa shifted around to smile at him and shook her head. “Can’t. Too much to do today.” He huffed and buried his face further in his pillow. Teresa leaned down to kiss his bare shoulder once, then padded across the floor to the adjoining bathroom. She clicked the door shut behind her before turning on the light. 

As she drew the bath and added her favorite oils to the water, she drummed her fingers against her thigh - her restless energy increasing. She moved around the bathroom, collecting fresh towels and wash rags to set on the stool next to the tub. 

Today was the day. 

Finally, after four years, her entire family was going to be together again. 

She, James, Kelly Anne, and Kelly Anne’s daughter Lena had lived a quiet, content life together since disappearing from their old lives. They ate meals together, they played in the sun together, and they watched movies together; but no amount of happiness had been able to completely fill the Pote-shaped void in their lives. Since the moment James and Kelly Anne had joined Teresa at the beach, Teresa had felt both a happiness she had never fathomed and a longing for the day when Pote would be reunited with them to make their family whole. 

Teresa had teared up when they got the news last month that Pote would be released with time served in the upcoming weeks. 

In the present, Teresa dipped a hand into the bathwater to check the temperature. Satisfied that it was hot enough to relax her muscles but cool enough to not cause a sweat, she stirred the water around with her fingers and then shed James’s shirt, letting it fall to its most common resting place: the floor. She dipped her toes into the water, then slowly sunk her body in - letting the warmth caress her skin. 

Teresa tried to allow the calming lavender scent she had added to the water relax her. She began massaging her skin with her favorite scrub and making a mental list of what she needed to do today to get ready for Pote’s homecoming. 

She would need to refresh the sheets in Kelly Anne’s room so Pote would have a nice, fresh bed to sleep in. Kelly Anne had already washed the small starter-collection of clothes they’d purchased for Pote, so that was done at least. She wondered if she should ask James to go into town to buy a couple of bottles of Pote’s favorite Mexican whiskey? Teresa had already prepped the meat for the soup she would make tonight - letting it marinate overnight for extra flavor. She did need to bake the bread this morning so the dough would have time to rise this afternoon, but that wouldn’t be too difficult. 

Teresa had been making preparations for Pote’s return for over a week, and still she felt the nagging in the back of her mind like she was forgetting something important. 

She rinsed her face in the bathwater, then massaged her washrag over her forehead and cheeks. 

She had thought of everything, right? She had made his travel arrangements - all at a premium to ensure the highest discretion. Despite Teresa’s mixed feelings on the matter, James had successfully infiltrated the prison and passed off coded travel directions to Pote. Teresa and Kelly Anne had stocked up on Pote’s favorite foods and ingredients, and Teresa had even helped Kelly Anne start compiling a list of potential houses on the island where she and Pote could move with their daughter when Pote was ready. They had started leaving an empty chair at their dinner table and telling Lena it was where her Papi would sit when he arrived home, so she wouldn’t be confused. 

Teresa shook her head. No, she was sure she had covered her bases. Pote would be home today and everything was almost ready for his arrival. 

When she had scrubbed her skin clean and the water started to turn more tepid than warm, she swam her hand to the bottom to unplug the stopper, then lifted herself from the water. She grabbed her clean towel and patted it against the rivulets of water that trickled down her body. Shaking off as much water as she could, she stepped out of the tub and exchanged her towel for the fluffy white robe hanging on a nearby wall hook.  

Teresa made her way to her designated sink at the bathroom vanity and released her hair from where she had tied it up before her bath. The soft strands of curls cascaded over the shoulders and back of her robe. She ran her fingers through it and decided it might need a few spritzes of the leave-in conditioner she kept on hand. 

She scanned the vanity top - eyes passing over her most-used lotions, soaps, and moisturizers. Where had she put it? She glanced at James's sink. The only supply he kept out was his hand-soap, and Teresa knew she wouldn’t have put her conditioner in any of the drawers that held his razor, aftershave, nail trimmers, or any of his other things. Her lips pursed together in consternation as she started opening the various vanity drawers and rifling through them. 

Not with the nail polish; she would have never put it there. 

Not with the extra hand towels. 

Not with the cold medication, ibuprofen, and cough drops on hand for the occasional illness. 

She opened the largest under-sink drawer and began to root through the little shelves that held her blow dryer, hair straightener, and additional hair and skin products. In her digging, she bumped something onto the floor with her elbow. Teresa huffed and crouched down on her heels to gather up the tampons that were spilling out of their box and onto the floor. She made a mental note that she needed to get more of them soon. She’d been meaning to pick some up but - 

Wait. 

Teresa froze just as she was setting the little box back under the sink. She blinked a few times, her eyes flitting to the side, trying to recall a memory. 

What day was it again?

How long had it been?

She tried to count backwards in her mind and felt an uncomfortable crease forming in her brow. 

Wait, wait, wait.

She shut the cabinet door and scrambled to her feet. There was a buzzing in her ear, and she could feel her heart starting to beat against her ribcage. She swung the bathroom door open. James was still lying on his stomach with his face half buried in a pillow. He grimaced at the bright yellow light from the bathroom but didn’t open his eyes. The gray-blue light of dawn filtered through the drapes to illuminate the curves of his exposed back where the sheet had ridden down to his hips.  

“James,” she whispered, a hint of urgency in her tone. 

“Mmm?” 

“What day is it?”

“Wednesday,” he rumbled, his voice heavy with sleep and still muffled by his pillow. 

“No,” she prompted, “I mean the date.” She brought her thumb up to her lip and started chewing on her fingernail - still trying to mentally calculate the passage of time. Out here on the beach, everything moved so slowly that Teresa barely ever kept track of the day of the week, much less the day of the month. The only time she ever really checked was when she knew her cycle must be coming up - 

James frowned and opened one sleepy eye to glance at her. “The ninth.” Teresa’s gaze drifted down, lost in her counting. “Why?” he prodded, voice thick and lazy. 

The answer to the most important math problem she’d done in years - maybe in her whole life - sprung to her mind. It had been 36 days. James must have noticed something in her expression, because he started to shift himself up onto one arm. She swallowed. “No reason,” she whispered in a rush, backing into the bathroom and shutting the door again, resting her back against it for a second. She heard James huff and then settle back into the bed. 

She needed to be sure. 

She rushed forward to her vanity again and threw open the drawer where she knew she had stocked a few pregnancy tests in the back. Lena’s surprise appearance in Kelly Anne’s life had convinced Teresa to always keep one or two tests on hand. After all, she had always been one to plan for all contingencies. 

It turned out she had accumulated three slim boxes. Teresa scanned her eyes over the instructions and then yanked the packages open. 

The three minutes between when she set the last used test on the counter top and when she could pick them up to see the results felt like the seconds were wading through quicksand. Teresa sat on the edge of the bathtub and stared off into space. 

Her mind went back to a handful of weeks ago when she and James had watched from a short distance on the beach as Kelly Anne told Lena about her Papi and how he would be coming home soon. The words had tumbled out of her mouth before she’d even really registered them. I think I want that. James had assessed her, surprise and something else clear on his face. 

“A kid?” he’d asked. She’d nodded. He’d grinned and pulled her into his side, planting a kiss on the top of her head. 

They hadn’t been trying, technically. But they also hadn’t been not trying. 

When her birth control pills had run out shortly after that, she had just stopped refilling them. When the moment had come each time they had sex the last few weeks, they’d just skipped the condom. They weren’t in a rush, but they weren’t preventing anything anymore either. 

She always thought it would take longer. 

James was going to be so smug. 

When the three minutes had passed and it was time to look at her results, Teresa already knew in her heart what the tests would say. She stood, ignoring the slight tremor in her hand, and took the two steps to the vanity where the tests were laid out. 

Two lines. 

A plus sign. 

Pregnant. 

Teresa sucked in a breath and backed up to sit on the edge of the tub again. Her eyes pointed toward the bathroom door, unfocused, and her hand drifted absently to press against her stomach. A baby. A new life to love and be responsible for. Old Teresa rarely let herself dream of the possibility, but here in her new life, she was starting to get used to dreams becoming reality. 

She was going to be a mother. 

A soft knock rapped against the door. 

“Teresa?” James’s voice was gravelly, like he’d just climbed his way out of a deep slumber and his voice wasn’t ready to forfeit the sleep yet. Teresa wasn’t prepared to say anything, so she didn’t. Her mind was too distracted by a barrage of images: tiny toes, teddy bears, lullabies, pink lips and soft eyelashes. 

She heard the door click open and saw James stepping inside while scratching a hand over his bare stomach where the elastic of his sweatpants hung low on his hips. His hair looked like a charming mess, and he squinted his eyes against the light. Her vision was starting to smear around the edges. Somewhere in the depths of her mind she realized the blurriness was a side effect of gathering tears.

“Teresa, what -” She could feel the moment James’s eyes landed on her, and even through her blurry vision she could see him stop his movements. His voice was awake and demanding in the next heartbeat. “Are you ok? What’s going on?”

She blinked rapidly and lifted her eyes to his face. Her chest was starting to burn with something that even after four years, she was only just starting to recognize: joy.

His brow was furrowed and his lips were turned down at the corners. She supposed she’d be worried too if she walked into the bathroom and saw him crying in a robe on the edge of the bathtub. He crossed the distance between them and crouched in front of her. His hand automatically reached up to press the back of his palm against her forehead. “Hey,” he breathed, searching her eyes. “Are you feeling ok? What’s wrong?”

She planted her hands on the sides of his neck, his bare skin warming her palms. Her own lips wobbled into some semblance of a smile. “Nothing,” she exhaled. “We -” she cleared her throat and jutted her chin toward the vanity. “Look.” 

James stared at her for a beat, confusion written on his brows. He stood and stepped away from her grasp. She watched his eyes connect with what was on the sink and stop moving. He spun back around to face her, his eyes wide and his mouth dropping open slightly. She laughed then and clasped her hands together over her heart, the elation that had been bubbling in her lungs spilling over to the surface. “Teresa,” he murmured, turning to the sink again and stepping closer. His eyes scanned through the tests, and his hand reached out as if to grab one of them, but he pulled it back. 

He spun to face her again, taking steps toward her as if in a trance. She felt his eyes boring into her face. “You’re pregnant?” His voice was soft, like the words were a prayer. 

Teresa bit her lip, but even that couldn’t hinder the corners from turning up in a smile. James laughed and ran a hand through his hair, his eyes bright. In a moment, he was crouching in front of her again, his palms smoothing up her neck and his fingers cradling the back of her head. “You’re serious?”

Teresa bent her elbows to grab onto his forearms below his wrists. “Yes,” she confirmed, her voice sounding light and breathless. 

His answering grin matched her own. He leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers, then kissed her nose and pulled back enough to meet her eyes again. “How do you feel?”

Teresa knew he didn’t mean physically. She blinked again, and the tears building up in one of her eyes finally snuck over the edge and onto her cheek. James wiped it away with the pad of his thumb. “Happy,” she admitted, her smile growing. 

“Me too,” he confirmed, the emotion in his eyes dancing. Teresa moved one of her hands from his arm to his face, smoothing her thumb over his lips and then brushing his hair back from his face. She hoped their child had his deep brown eyes and soft dark hair. 

Teresa leaned forward to capture his lips with her own. By now, kissing James was as familiar as breathing, yet somehow her stomach still turned over when one of his hands fisted in her hair and the other one skimmed down her back to steady her where she still sat on the edge of the tub. She planted one of her hands against his jaw, relishing the tickle of his short beard against her flesh. 

His lips against hers were joy. Adoration. Reverence. 

“We’re having a baby,” she mumbled against his lips, her own curving against his. When he pulled back a few blissful moments later and grinned at her, she mirrored his expression. He laughed softly and tucked some loose curls behind her ear. 

“What?” she wondered aloud, her skin barely able to contain the euphoria bursting forth from deep inside her chest. 

James focused on that same strand of curls and ran his fingers down it, his grin turning into a smirk. He met her eyes again. “I just remembered when you said we shouldn’t get our hopes up because it might take me a while.” 

Teresa wasn’t sure whether she wanted to pinch his side in rebellion or devour the smirk from his face. 

 ---

The morning and afternoon passed in a flurry of activity preparing for Pote’s arrival.  Kelly Anne was a basket of nerves, cleaning and then recleaning every surface in the house - wanting everything to be perfect. James had offered to take Lena swimming after lunch to occupy the little girl, and Kelly Anne had almost cried in appreciation. A few minutes later, James had changed into his swim trunks and had hoisted a cackling Lena onto his shoulders. 

He had squeezed Teresa’s hand and thrown her a wink when the pair passed her on their way outside. 

It was a miracle that Kelly Anne hadn’t noticed the dreamy smile that had clawed its way onto Teresa’s face, but then again, Kelly Anne had other things on her mind, Teresa supposed. 

A few hours later, Teresa decided she needed a break when Kelly Anne asked her opinion on the fifth outfit she had changed into. James and Lena had returned from their swim, and James had headed for the shower while Lena joined her mom and tía in Kelly Anne’s bedroom. 

“Is this one too much?” Kelly Anne was babbling. “It’s too much, isn’t it. Ugh, I knew it.” 

Kelly Anne started tearing off her most recent tank top despite Teresa’s assurances that it looked great. 

“Mommy, when is Papi coming?” Lena whined, kicking her feet over the edge of the bed. 

“Soon, baby. Why don’t you go brush your teeth?”

Lena pouted and flopped onto the mattress. “I did that already!”

Kelly Anne barely spared her daughter a glance in the mirror. “Well brush them again, then.” 

“But I don’t wanna!” Lena wailed. 

Teresa grabbed the little girl’s hand. “It’s ok. I’ll take her outside for a while. We’ll build a sandcastle.” 

Kelly Anne nodded at Teresa and mouthed “thank-you.” Teresa nodded at her friend, then let the tiny brunette out of the house. 

Kneeling in the sand and watching Lena dig around and build her dream castle, Teresa couldn’t help imagining a few years down the road when she might be doing the same with her old child. Lena prattled on about dragons and moats and princesses, and Teresa humored her - helping her decide on the best place for her drawbridge. Once, James had helped the girl build a sandcastle and had insisted that she place her towers and drawbridges in tactically sound places. Lena had no idea what that meant, so now she constantly asked “Here?” before altering her creation with additional structures. They scoured the beach together for shells to decorate the castle, and Teresa relished the feel of little Lena’s hand in hers. 

Not long after, Teresa looked up to see Kelly Anne waving to her from the back porch. Deciding she really did need to run inside and check on her bread before Pote’s arrival, Teresa ruffled Lena’s hair and made her promise to wait right there until her mom got to her. The girl nodded, and Teresa started walking back up the boardwalk toward her house. Kelly Anne gave her arm an appreciative squeeze as they passed one another on the boardwalk. 

When Teresa walked into her air conditioned living room, James set his glass of water down on the coffee table and stood up from the couch to meet her. 

“Hey,” he’d said casually, reaching out to grab her by the elbow gently. She’d stepped toward him automatically, letting her eyes roam over him. He wore a light button-up shirt with polka dots and the pink shorts with tiny lobsters on them she’d given to him for his birthday. His hair was soft and windswept, despite his shower not long ago. He looked as handsome as ever. She signed, a soft smile blooming on her face. James wrapped his arms around her waist, locking her in place in front of him. “You made sure Lena put the towers in the best strategic places, right?”

She threw her head back and laughed. He watched her with a grin on his lips. 

“You doing ok?” he added quietly, a secret smile lighting his eyes. 

She reached up and kissed his cheek in response. “Yes. I’m going to check on the bread.” She patted his cheek with her hand, and he turned his face to kiss her fingers before he dropped his arms and let her step away from him. 

Only two minutes later, just as Teresa was peeking under the dish towel she had draped over the bread dough while it rose, Lena ran into the kitchen. 

“Tía Teresa! Papi is here!”

Eager, Teresa had and made her way to the back door. She could see James hugging Pote just before she stepped out onto the porch. “Welcome home,” she called, her face breaking into a happy smile at seeing her dearest friend again after so long. She approached him and pulled him into a tight hug, the wind tousling her hair. 

“Teresita,” he said, crushing her against him. 

“Hola,” she breathed with a shaky voice, rubbing his back. She had gotten regular updates on Pote throughout the last 4 years, but having him back home with her was exactly the emotional powderkeg she had expected. Her insides screamed between excitement, guilt, happiness, and regret. The happiness was winning. She pulled in a breath and stepped back from him. “You look good,” she pointed out, keeping her hand on his shoulder. 

Pote regarded her with a smile for half a second. “You look different,” he appraised. Something about the twinkle in his eye made her blink. Could he tell? Was she...glowing...or something? She shook her head slightly, her smile basically permanent at this point. 

“Four years,” she mused.

“Better late than never,” he assured her. “Your plan worked, Teresita.” 

Teresa’s smile turned sad. “I’m sorry you missed so much time with your daughter.” For a moment, she thought about her own child. She had always felt remorse over Pote not being around for the first few years of Lena’s life, but now...the thought of James not being here for their child and how she knew it would tear him apart brought a new level of understanding to the pain. 

Pote shook his head and glanced around between the three people standing on the porch with him. “Nah. If something had to go wrong, I’d rather it be on my end.” 

“So Teresa’s plan worked,” Kelly Anne supplied, “We’re safe.” 

Safe. There were only a few loose ends left, and Teresa needed to know they were tied up. She had to make sure it was all really over. She wouldn’t let her child be born into a world where having Teresa Mendoza as a mother could be a death sentence. So she inquired about Boaz. About Chicho and Marcel. Pote assured her that everything was taken care of. No one suspected she was alive, and there were no past enemies left out there who would come looking anyway. 

They were really and truly free. 

Teresa could feel James’s eyes on her. She knew he would be thinking the same thing as her. How today their freedom meant even more to them than it did yesterday. 

When Pote rubbed his hands together and asked to be shown to the kitchen, the group laughed. Teresa’s brilliant smile bubbled up again. “Actually,” she pointed out, “I’m cooking for you tonight.” 

While Kelly Anne explained to Pote some of the biggest changes in their lives, James had pulled Teresa into his side and dropped a kiss onto her forehead. She laid her head on his shoulder and her palm on his chest, letting the familiar beat of his heart drown out the demons that had tried to peek through the crevices of her mind moments ago.  The biggest and most consequential change in her and James’s life was something neither of their friends knew about yet. In time, James and Teresa would tell them, but now was not the moment. 

At dinner, no one but James seemed to notice that she brought a pitcher of a local, tropical fruit juice to the table instead of the cocktail she had mixed up the day before. Kelly Anne and Pote were too distracted about being together to take in much else, but James had squeezed her hand under the table and given her a conspiratorial smile. 

When Pote talked about how happy he was to be eating as a family, Teresa zoned out. If only her past self could see her now, surrounded by her family and preparing to start a little one of her own. She imagined how a year from now there would be a high chair added to the table for family dinners, and she felt her lips tilt up at the corners wistfully. She thought the Old Teresa would be proud of her. 

Kelly Anne and Pote were lost in their own conversation. James, the one who always saw through her, squeezed her hand again and asked if she was ok. The knowing glint in his eye made her think maybe he had had the same flash to the future when envisioning how their family dinners were about to change. 

“Yeah,” she whispered, content, before leaning forward and connecting her lips to his for just a moment. An “I love you” kiss for no reason other than that, that she loved him and she was happy and she couldn’t stop herself. She caressed his cheek softly before leaning away, and he stared at her in the way that always turned her stomach over. Like he adored her. Like he was in awe of her. 

Pressing his lips together to keep his grin at bay, he turned back to the group. “A toast,” he proclaimed, grabbing his glass. Pote and Kelly Anne looked away from one another and grabbed their own glasses. Teresa followed suit. James raised his glass up. “To a new life,” he declared, a sly glance her way. 

Cheeky bastard, she thought, fighting to control her smile. 

---

That evening, Teresa sat side by side with James on the stairs of their private boardwalk. She was pressed into his shoulder, one hand hugging his bicep and the other held gently between his palms. The wind blew strands of her hair against her neck and cheeks. The late evening sun was starting to begin its descent, but she was snuggled close enough to James that the chill of the sea breeze didn’t bother her. 

Together they watched Pote and Kelly Anne play in the waves with their daughter. 

Teresa didn’t have to be a mind reader to know that she and James were thinking the same thing. The notion of parenthood had only lived inside of them for about 12 hours, but already she could see it so clearly. How they would hold their child’s hands - one of them on each side - and swing him or her over the tiny incoming waves. How their child would laugh, and play in the sand, and enjoy the feel of the cool sea water on his or her feet. 

How together they would move heaven and earth to make sure their child was safe, and happy, and loved every single day. 

Teresa looked over at James, and let her smile overtake her. 

This will be us, she said without speaking. 

She knew he would understand. 

His answering smile was one part bashful and one part enamored. She knew with certainty that his dreams of their future matched her own. He rubbed his thumb over her hand that he held, letting his eyes make his promises to her. 

She snuggled impossibly closer and leaned her head against his shoulder. “So,” she started, a hint of humor creeping into her voice. “I guess we need to encourage Pote and Kelly Anne to start house hunting sooner rather than later. I wasn’t expecting our family to grow by fifty percent in one day when I bought this house.” 

James chuckled and tucked some loose hair behind her ear. “Do they call that exponential growth?” 

Teresa buried her nose in his shoulder, inhaling the scent of the sea that now permanently clung to him. “No, you’re thinking of one-hundred fifty percent.” 

He started playing with her fingers in his hands. He didn’t look at her this time, but the corners of his mouth turned up. “Yeah? So what’s that, like 3 more kids?” She looked up at him with raised eyebrows. “Give me some time and I’ll make it happen.” 

Teresa threw her head back and laughed. When he pulled her in more tightly and pressed his lips against her hairline, she thought exponential growth didn’t sound too bad.

[troped-fanfic-challenge]

AUTHOR REVEAL of the JATP ROUND 2: FLUFF FICS!

The Tropes:

Exes

Time Loop AU

Camp Counselors

Prank Wars

————

Okay, Campers, Rise and Shine! (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by nik_knows_nothing

Summary: When Reggie launches a particularly ill-advised prank war at HGC Ranch, Luke’s fully prepared to take it in stride.

When the days start looping, though, he begins to suspect that this might all be a little bit above his head.

In other words, he’s at least 78% sure that the time loop isn’t a direct result of Reggie’s pranks.

Maybe 77%.

Oh, well.

At least he’s not in it alone.

(The Groundhog Day meets Gravity Falls meets Summer Camp meets The Author’s Own Distaste For Prank Wars AU that no one asked for. Ever. At all.)

Starting To Forget (Just What Summer Ever Meant To You) (Not Rated) [Flynn x Carrie] by bi_magic

Summary: Last summer didn’t end on a positive note for Carrie Wilson - she and her girlfriend broke up on the last night of camp, and she’s been miserable since. But it seems that the universe is intent on having her fix that this summer. Even if that means she has to live through the same day over and over and over again until she does.

Creative B.S. Was No More, Was No Less (Look Around, You're Gonna Miss What You Found) (Rated T) [Alex x Luke, Flynn x Reggie] by @americanhoney913

Summary: The midnight men move again

Don’t know when

Best friends forever

In trouble again

Here’s to you, here’s to me

Over the rafters and we’re free

— Over the Rafters, Rick Schiffman

***

Alex and Luke go undercover on a mission to a summer camp in order to find a talisman that could endanger the camp and all the kids. While there, they bond with the kids and make peace with the fact that they broke up.

While Alex and Luke are away, Flynn accidentally fucks with time.

bitch but like romantically (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie] by @screamin-amuseum

Summary: The dining hall’s exactly the same as it has been for two mornings now, and Flynn doesn’t hesitate to poke Willie twice on the nose and whisper “pancake” on her way past their seat.

His eyes widen and he whips his head around to follow them, excitement glimmering in their eyes.

“Really?” they blurt. Flynn rolls her eyes and nods.

~

or: flynn gets stuck in a time loop. {for troped jatp round 2}

down by the bay (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @sunsetcurbed

Summary: Over time, Camp Phantom has simply become known as a selective summer camp: one that took only the kids that Caleb saw promise in. And Caleb wasn’t exactly lying. He really did take only the ones he saw promise in, he simply looked for different traits than others might.

For example, say, hypothetically, a boy who could see the future. Or, hypothetically, a girl who could interact with ghosts. Or, hypothetically, a boy who could summon objects to him with a simple thought. Or, and this is completely hypothetical mind you, a boy who could manipulate time.

Those might be some traits that Caleb saw promise in. Just, like, as examples.

Time will tell (But only if you do it right) (Rated T) [Flynn x Carrie] by @malecacidd

Summary: Carrie had been acting a little off for a week or so, but Flynn was pretty much known for seeing something in nothing, and that was probably what they were doing then. If something was going on, Carrie would tell her eventually.

OR

Who knew all it took was a little bit of miscommunication to mess up time itself?

and so it begins (Rated T) [Bobby x Reggie] by @comeonpeters

Summary: It’s the first day of their second week at Camp Carolling (they’re spending an entire month, and they’re getting paid to be there!) when Reggie gets a little lost in the woods. During this misadventure into the woods, he finds an egg shaped rock, an inhabited cabin that may or may not be riddled with signs, and something that might be magic. He probably doesn’t get paid enough to discover magic.

or, when they were thirteen years old, four boys met at camp carolling and eventually became a band that almost became something legendary. now, all four boys are coming back as counselors, three boys in one band and one boy in his own solo act.

so begins the reunion, though it doesn’t go how any of them imagine.

Porcupine Day (Rated T) [Bobby x Ray x Rose] by @wr0temyway0ut

Summary: It’s been fifteen years since Trevor broke up with Ray and Rose and they’re… not fine, but managing. But when Trevor to adds insult to injury and buys the camp across the lake from the one they once owned together, the two camps become locked in a bitter rivalry. With neither side willing to set aside their pride and work out their issues, the universe decides to settle their fates itself.

Day After Day (After Day After Day) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by hufflebibin

Summary: When Alex met Willie just after their senior year of high school, they spent a wonderful three months dating before their relationship ended in a blaze of glory. Now, four years later, they meet again as counselors at a summer camp. The only problem? Alex keeps reliving their first day together. The day that Luke had declared “Prank Day.”

This is not how Alex pictured his summer going.

clocks move faster (it's all we're after) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke] by @willexxmercer

Summary: Julie likes it when her friends are happy, so when she realizes she’s stuck in a time loop, she uses her knowledge to make sure everything works out for everyone… except she conveniently forgets to factor herself (and Luke) into the mix.

Touch of Magic (Not Rated) [Alex x Luke] by @williexmercer

Summary: When everything stands in Luke and Alex’s way of getting to be with the people they love, they have to repeat the day over and over until they can get the happily ever after that they want.

the play's the thing (that goes wrong) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @madeline-kahn

Summary: Tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow creeps in this petty pace from day to day for Macbeth, but not so for Alex and the production of Hamlet that he is directing and starring in. And while he’s stuck repeating the day of the performance over and over, mishaps of all kinds befall the cast.

anything, anything (for another run with you) (Rated T) [Alex x Willie] by @aroacethetic-shitpost

Summary: The moment Alex steps foot in Camp Greenwood, he knows that this summer is a bad idea.

He knows it as soon as he sees tan skin, long hair, and a tie-dyed crop top at the check-in table.

Willie.

-

the camp counselor/exes/prank war/time loop fic of your dreams (unless you read all of the other troped round 2 fics lmao)

there’s a glorious sunrise, dappled with the flickers of light (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @tonightthestarsalign

Summary: What comes next happens in slow motion. Luke’s foot catches on the last rung of the ladder. Julie watches as he stumbles a step forward, barely catching himself before falling on his face. The ladder clatters to the floor below. The trapdoor, no longer propped open by it, falls closed with a loud thunk, the lock clicking into place. They’re stuck.

“Luke!” she exclaims loudly. “Look what you did!” Julie drops to her knees in front of the trap door, desperately trying to fit her fingers between the wood and the stone to pry it open again. Of course it doesn’t work.

“What?” he snaps back. “I wouldn’t be up here in the first place if it weren’t for you trying to fuck us over.”

or: ex-best friends Luke and Julie, working as camp counselors at rivaling camps, find themselves stuck in a time loop

the daughter of apollo (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @the-most-beautiful-broom

Summary: (the JATP x Camp Half Blood AU that nobody asked for)

maybe the world isn't ending (maybe it's been postponed) (Rated G) [Julie x Luke] by @tmp-jatp

Summary: Alex runs his fingers through Willie’s hair. “I think it’s best to just leave them to their own prank war at this point. Let’s not forget that time Julie put hot sauce in the coffee pot and my mouth was on fire for an entire hour.”

“You’re exaggerating, Alex-”

“I most certainly am not,” Alex cuts Reggie off.

“Or how about the time Luke tried to put glitter in Julie’s bed,” Carrie joins in, “but got my bed instead? I can appreciate some glitter, but even I know when enough is enough.”

“Suffice it to say,” Willie finishes after they’ve passed around a dozen or so more memories of pranks from the summer, “we’re all done being your collateral damage. Whatever Julie has planned for you tomorrow, Luke, you’re on your own.”

-

It’s the last day of camp and Julie has one more prank planned for Luke. He just doesn’t know what it is.

Here We Go Again (Rated T) [Julie x Luke] by @kybee1497

Summary: Julie blinked as she stared at the place Euterpe had disappeared. What did that even mean? What journey? Old places and lost faces? What was she talking about? But before she could dwell on the questions swirling around in her mind, the sky full of stars began to move, shifting in place and descending until they were all around her. Julie felt her feet leave the ground as she rose up and up. One star in particular was burning brighter than the others, growing bigger in front of her.

It grew and grew, until the light was blinding and Julie had to throw a hand up against the harsh light. She closed her eyes as the light surrounded her and then she was falling. Falling down, down, down.

————

All the Winners can be found here.

We hope you enjoy these fics from our fabulous Fantoms! Make sure to leave kudos and comments to show them some love! And don’t forget, if you missed the initial writing deadline you can still submit your fics to our Non-Anon Collection at any time! Thank you all so much for participating this round! Now that winners and authors have been revealed feel free to post about your fics, create artwork for it, if you like, and don’t forget to tag us!

We hope you all will join us for Round 3! The prompt drops at Midnight tonight!

[kissesinthekitchen]

Teeth

Prompt: It’s been three weeks since Harry first slept with you. Or three weeks, one day, four hours and a few minutes - give or take. Not that he’s counting. And he’s feeling needy. Dreadfully so. 

Smut and fluff. Needy Harry. More than 6,560 words of sub!Harry.

Pairing: Harry x Reader

A/N: I’m really excited about this! This story was written for the Pick Your Poison Fic Challenge - and my prompt was 9F - Sub!Harry. It really pushed my writing and forced me to write something different and out of my comfort zone. I have so much love for @for-fucks-sake-h @andwhenshesays​ and @oh-honey-styles​ for their patience and for putting this event together. These writers have inspired me so much, they literally brought me back to fanfic -after years of writer’s block- and I could not be more thankful. This was my first time taking part in a writing challenge too! I would appreciate any love or feedback this gets. Thank you! xo

His eyes are full now, they’re brimming, prickling with tears. And his jaw is tense. He leans into the cup of your hand and you watch the features of his face flutter, the desperation is still there - simmering, but a calmness passes over him as he leans into your touch. He could be good, he could be so good for you.

God, you want to wreck him.

It’s been three weeks since Harry first slept with you. 

Or three weeks, one day, four hours and a few minutes - give or take. Not that he’s counting. 

And he’s feeling needy. Dreadfully so. 

But aside from passes of food and medication through the door of your apartment and fuzzy Facetime calls, he hasn’t seen you. 

It’s been hard. The evening after you first slept together, you were taken away from him - a girl’s trip to Maui, for one of your best friend’s bachelorette parties. You’d given him time, moments tucked away in your hotel room when your mate was gone and you had an hour to yourself. An hour of grinning at him through the face of an unreliable internet connection to tell him that you missed him so bad. Selfies taken hidden in the bathroom. Cheeky voicemails. He’s kept them all.

Then, when your plane had touched down in California, there had been another road bump in your reunion when you’d come back ill. Your achy, trembling voice had croaked into the phone delivering him the bad news. “Harry, I’m sick.” 

You’ve been sick for the last week and a half and it’s been hard to give you your space, Harry will admit to that. But you’re adamant, serious. You remind him that he has rehearsals for tour starting soon and he can’t risk it. 

“Miss you,” he croaks into his phone when you touch down.

“Miss you more,” you tell him back, a cough slicing through your promise. 

“Let me buy you groceries. I can pick up your prescription-”

Harry watches your face soften through the video call, wanting nothing more than to touch your cheek. 

“I’ll pay you back,” you tell him, smiling as if you both don’t know he has a bank account worth millions of dollars. Later, you both stare at each other miserably through the window of your living room window as he places your groceries and medicine on your doormat. He blows you a kiss goodbye before he leaves and you pretend to catch it with your hand. 

But that had been a few days ago and now you’re on your way to his house, caught in Los Angeles traffic but on your way nonetheless. 

He wonders if you’ve thought about it too, thought about him. If you have missed him just as much. He doesn’t feel alone in this feeling, if the look in your eyes as he left your window is enough to tell him, but there’s something else gnawing at him-

Harry is sure he’s in love with you. 

It’s a feeling that kindled inside of him before you slept together, but now it feels more palpable, real. Bigger than himself. The weeks without you have only cemented it for him. He loves you. He’s in love with you. He might have even written a few songs about it already. 

He wants to tell you. He likes the idea of feeling right, but he doesn’t want to wait. He wants to tell you when he feels like he can’t take it anymore, and he knows that feeling is dawning. The words feel like they are bubbling in his chest, nearing the tip of his tongue each time he talks to you. 

You’ve been together five months now. And he knows maybe that’s a bit of a long block of time to get into each other’s pants for some people - god knows he might have wanted to jump your bones earlier than that. 

But time was always in the way, the same way it feels now. A trip to take him across another country away from you. Your job making you stay late or taking you out of state. You’ve done other stuff together before - of course. Hurried handjobs when you were visiting the studio, his fingers tasting you, he might have even gotten his cock in your mouth when he went to visit you at work. But the real getting together, the real sleeping together - had taken five months. And now that he knows what you feel like, what sounds you make, how you look underneath him - Harry can’t think of anything else. It’s the only thing that has carried him through the last few weeks without you when he’s been miserably lonely. His need for you, and yes, his love for you. 

It happened in your bedroom, on the small - full sized bed in your apartment, rather than the massive mattress in his house. But he thinks it was perfect that way. He loves your apartment now, he knows it. He has his favorite mug and you stock a box of his favorite granola on top of your fridge. He names the plants in your living room. (“Bowie,” he points to a colorful succulent. “Obviously.” And then “Freddie” to the pothos sitting on your bookshelf.) And there are photos of you together tacked up with magnets in the kitchen and frames next to your bed. That night you had given him his own toothbrush to keep on the sink in the bathroom next to yours. 

Everything about him seems to ache without you here. His hands feel empty without you against them, music -even, he realizes- does not feel as vibrant without your voice there to sing along with him. 

You’ve kept him close though, and for that he is happy. He muses on this as he finishes some dishes in the kitchen, trying not to glance at the clock again. 

It started with the text messages. Then the photos you sent him from Hawaii. He has to stiffle a grin at the memory - A sex shop your friends had pulled you into a few days into your trip. You’d sent him a photo of a wall of toys - floggers, gags, dildos, chokers, blindfolds. Harry had barked out a laugh at first when he saw the picture unfold in front of his eyes. See anything you like? You’d teased. 

He remembers how he’d been sitting in his living room, the sound of the latest Packers game fading in the background. His ears felt hot as his fingers hovered over the letters on his phone. 

The choker. He’d typed out, teeth gnawing into his bottom lip. Maybe the blindfold too. 

For me or you?

Me. xx

Harry swears he must have felt all the blood rush to his groin when he saw your reply.

They have handcuffs too. 

Your talks and messages had only escalated from there. It was as if you were both daring each other to go further, but instead you were crossing new territory together, hand in hand. You made him feel dizzy with want, the way you were meeting him inch for inch. 

It’s the only reminder that Harry feels like he needs - he can trust you in a way he hasn’t been able to trust anyone before. He finds himself pledging devotion to the intrigue in your eyes, the way you don’t shy away when he teases you back or admits something through the phone. The feeling leaves him breathless, if he’s being honest. Most of all, it makes him miss you even more. 

His skin is buzzing as the minutes crawl by and your arrival gets closer and closer. He can’t stay still. He paces the hall until he sees the text banner on his phone announce you’re arrival. I’m outside. 

Harry’s favorite thing about you is the way you look perfectly at home in his house. Like you’ve alway belonged here. He swears sometimes that he must have dreamt you into life. It’s like you have just always been here. He’s reminded of this when he hears your voice over the security camera  - “It’s meee.” And when he pulls the door open -  

“Baby-” he opens his arms. 

You drop your bags on his doorstep. And you’re grinning as you launch yourself into his arms, your cheek flat against his chest and your nose buried in his neck. “Harry.”

“Oh baby,” he says, his fingers gingerly stroking your cheek, pushing your face up so your foreheads meet. He doesn’t miss the way your eyes are glistening as he presses your lips together. 

The last few weeks feel like a lie of nostalgia. Your memories of him have not done him justice. Not to the crinkles around his eyes when he smiles, not to his warmth or his laugh and definitely not to the way he kisses you. 

He smells good, like something crisp and floral - his expensive aftershave and cologne, and something still so distinctly Harry. That’s the part you have missed the most. 

You kiss him with both arms around his neck to pull him down to your height and you don’t stop until his back hits the door, reminding you both that you need a break to breathe. He’s laughing as he grips your waist. 

“Sorry,” you muse, smudging some of the lipstick that you’ve gotten on his mouth and teeth. 

“Don’t be, love. C’mere,” he takes your groceries (you owe him, don’t you?) and bag from you.

You shuffle into the house, checking your keys twice to make sure you locked your car even though Harry laughs and reminds you there’s a gate and a security guard that patrols the neighborhood. 

Harry helps you unpack the groceries, while you work on relearning the map of his kitchen again, pulling drawers and opening cabinets, trying to get acquainted with his space again. He throws on some Fleetwood Mac and The Zombies filter through the space between you as you start dinner. He muses that the song could not be more perfect for the feeling inside his chest. “Should I try to hide, the way I feel inside? My heart for you? Would you say that you love me too? I can tell the way you smile. If I feel that I could be certain then. I would say the things I want to say tonight.”

He stares at you with something that feels like pride, watching the sun filter through the window as you work. He thought -maybe- it might be hard to look you in the eyes or to push the feeling inside him aside but this, it feels easy. Watching you and being together with you in this way. His house, he feels, it finally feels like home now that you’re here. 

The smell of garlic and olive oil begins to fill the kitchen as you prepare the ratatouille and pasta you promised him you would make. You smile when he leans down to rest his chin against your shoulder as you work, sometimes squeezing your side with his hands. 

“Smells good, love,” he says, a watchful eye hanging over your shoulder at the pots and pans on the stove. 

Harry pours wine into glasses for the both of you and you hum your thanks when he pushes the throat of a glass towards you, closing your eyes as he kisses the top of your head.  And when you unwrap the loaves of bread from the store, he laughs and barks out “Could’a told me to make some, love. I used ‘ta work in a bakery!”

You laugh as you tug on his waist, reaching up to catch his lips. “I know. You never make me forget.” 

You make tiramisu later, trying hard not to stare at Harry too much as you work together. His long fingers dipping the ladyfinger cookies into the espresso mix. And you know he catches you blushing when he asks you to taste the whipped cream from his fingers. It has not stopped catching you by surprise, the way he can make you feel beautiful and important and lucky all at once. 

And even though he knows this was the plan for tonight, he can’t help but beam at the promise in your voice when the words come tumbling later. “Brought my bag,” you tell him over your empty plates. “Packed an outfit for tomorrow. Hope you like my pajamas.” You smirk at him. 

“S’the ones with coffee mugs and lattes on them?”

You throw your head back and laugh at the fact that he remembered them. 

“Sexy,” he teases. You catch him leaning against the counter and taking you in. “Got you a toothbrush.”

You smile, memories of last time quickly flooding your thoughts, but don’t take your eyes off the napkin in front of you. You know he’s lost in the same memories. When you’re washing dishes later though, he leaves you to place the fancy -electric, you’ll notice later and expensive- toothbrush sitting on top of your overnight bag. 

After dinner, when you’re both feeling warm and giggly, you pull him back into the sitting area of his bedroom. Harry gulps hard as he watches you insist on lighting some candles, and the smell of teakwood and rosemary fill the room. Watching you makes his stomach clench, this is all he has wanted, craved, needed for the last few weeks. You in his arms and in bed, taking up his space again. 

He’s sitting on the small sofa next to his bed, the enormity of his room could almost beat the entire size of your apartment. But you feel at peace here, in the same way he feels comforted and hidden in your home. He’s more than the expensive, designer clothes in his closet, the guitars that line one wall, the pile of leather bound journals and gold and white accented bathroom. Here, he’s just Harry. Your Harry. 

When he’s finally relaxed, you push some gifts bags into his hands and insist that he unwrap the gifts you got him from Hawaii. There are books, boxes of chocolate, bags of pineapple candy, floral shirts from vintage thrift stores, and a kitschy keychain with hula dancers and his name on it - that looks so hilariously out of place next to the keys for his Mercedes and vintage cars. 

You look warm and inviting as you turn towards him, the candlelight taking your skin glow like amber. Your skin looks kissed by the sun thanks to your trip. And Harry’s suddenly overwhelmed with how he wants nothing more than to kiss you for your thoughtfulness, for the disbelief he feels at having you here, for the feeling bursting in his chest. 

“Got you one more thing,” you tell him as you close the distance between you, reaching around him to place a small gift box in his hand. 

“Another present? Or summat?” he smiles. 

You kiss the side of his face, humming softly in response, stroking the back of his hair and neck. You try to stay composed as Harry’s fingers gingerly pry the lid of the box open. 

The air feels like it has been sucked out of him. He hates that his fingers tremble a little as he takes the collar out of the box. It’s black and thick, feels smooth like leather, with a buckle that slides closed on the side. He swallows hard as his thumb gingerly runs over the loopholes, imagining the way it would feel gripping his throat or how you would look tying it in place - god, help him. 

“Thought we could use it sometime. Doesn’t have to be tonight. You mentioned-”

And then he’s kissing you. Kissing you so fiercely that your mind stumbles before your body can catch up. Both of his hands on your face, knocking the collar down between you. 

It’s what you have both been walking around all night and it feels like the feeling that had been simply growing in his chest is about to burst. His vision feels like it is swimming right now, but your hands on his face are the only thing tethering him to the ground, whatever is growing between you makes him feel like so much more than himself. The feeling in his chest feels bigger than he has words for right now. 

Your eyes search his. “Do you trust me?

“I do. Y’know I do.” 

“Then Harry?”

His pupils are so wide. “Yeah?” he says. 

“Get on your knees.” 

You watch him carefully as he moves to his knees on the floor, idly shifting closer to the bed. When he stills, you reach for the belt he had discarded on the way into his room. Your fingers rubbing against the leather. “This okay?” 

You listen to his sharp intake of his breath, watch the curls at the front of his face fall briefly in his eyes. “Y-yeah.” 

His hands are one of your favorite things about him. Their large, calloused - his fingers long and tapered. You reach down to press a kiss to the cross on his hand and then move to coil the belt so it loops around his wrists, biting into his skin. 

 Realistically, Harry knows he could get out of this, but it’s the fact that he doesn’t that thrills you. He’s patient and pliant beneath your hands, reduced to his knees and shuddering when your touch leaves him. The line of his neck arching as his eyes follow you. He uses his mouth to follow the line of your palm, kissing your skin until you let go. 

He crawls for you - and oh, you love that. The way his back arches, his long legs and knees hitting the floor, his mind unable to grasp what his body can’t right now - he’s so eager to follow where you go, to be with you, to be a part of you. 

“Harry-” you say, sitting down on the mattress and spreading your legs wide. You lean back to rest your weight on your elbows, thighs lazily spread wide so he can rest between them. You shimmy the end of your dress up, loving the way his nostrils flare and his pupils widen, watching your hands - your fingers grazing where he wishes his skin could go too. Have hungered to for days and days. 

“Harry, do you want to taste me?”

“God, love. Please-”

“Say it again.”

“Please?” he begs.

His nose and lips skim the same path your hands followed. His head of full dark curls turning under the hem of your skirt. You’re gracious enough to help make it easier for him by tugging it up and he groans a sound of thanks into your skin with his lips. 

He’s hungry for it. He inhales deeply, licking you through the fabric of your panties in a way that makes you shudder. He’s even more grateful when you take pity on him by raking your nails through his hair and shifting the material down so he can look at you bare. The tug makes his eyes flutter, it feels so good. 

He’s frozen though, stilling as he waits for your instruction, and you gingerly cup the side of his face in thanks. 

“Go ahead,” you whisper, when he’s almost at the point of whimpering. And then he moves forward, making a home between your thighs. 

Last time you did this, you learned that you love when Harry has both his mouth and his fingers inside you - but this is - well it’s lovely. It’s fucking heaven. Watching how desperate he is to get you off, the way he presses all of his face into your cunt - heeding the deepest part of you, where you’re so wet and just as desperate for him. He’s needy, messy with it. His lips and tongue remembering you all over again, his nose smashed against your cunt and the hint of his teeth against your clit - just enough to have you grinding down on him in a way that makes your brain feel fuzzy. 

Feeling the slickness of his tongue as he slides it inside you makes your cunt feel like it’s fluttering around him. Your face pinches every time he comes back to lick you deeper and you listen to the half garbled words that he’s sucking and pleading into your skin. 

“So wet. So fuckin’ wet for me. Tastes so good. Missed ‘yeh so much.” 

Without the help of his hands, Harry uses one long leg to push himself against the length of the bed- trying to be close to you, while also finding some friction against the mattress. He finds no relief, but when he hears you voice gasp out for him, your fingers weaving in his hair - it’s almost better than any vision he had of you these last few weeks. Oh, it’s so much fucking better. 

He’s so greedy for it. He wants to taste you, needs to feel you cum more than he wants it for himself. You can tell by the way he pushes his tongue between your folds, trying to get deeper, like he’s trying to reach inside you and be a part of you. If his hands were free, he would use his fingers to spread you wide and open. To stuff you full. He knows he would tug on your legs, wear your thighs around his neck like a fucking necklace but there’ll be more time for that - another time, another place - right now, he just wants to feel you cum.

“Harry,” you beg him. “Harry. I’m close-” 

He moans when he watches you slide your fingers down to help aid him, his jaw dropping down in awe as you rub your clit. He works hard to sink down and lick around your fingers before dipping inside of you again. 

“You’re gonna make me come. You’re gonna - I’m going to come in your mouth. God, I’m going to come in your mouth-”

He’s lost in it, but it’s when he looks up at you - his big, green eyes against your flushed pussy, that you feel yourself lose it. It’s simultaneously loving and yet so obscene - you can’t bear it. 

You fist your fingers through his hair, shoulders trembling a little off his pillow, your thighs shaking just as hard- and if his hands were free, Harry knows he would be forcing your thighs and your hips down onto the bed. But all he can do is take it now, take it as hard as you are giving it back to him. His face getting wet and messy with it. 

You could scream with how good it feels. And he licks you through it all, only stalling when your nails dig into his head and he feels you shift away from his incessant mouth. “Too sensitive,” you murmur, and Harry finally relents. 

He sits up on his knees, leaning his forehead against your thighs, trying to breathe through his nose. 

“Harry?”

He makes a sound in his throat, still gasping against your thigh. You touch his head, urge him to rest against your thigh and he’s grateful. He feels something hanging off the tip of his tongue-

“Harry. Harry, what’s your color?” Tell me. Where are you?”

“Green,” he groans, nuzzling deeper into your skin. “That was- that was just a lot. But I’m green. So fuckin’ green, love..” 

You giggle at that and when he finally does look up at you, he looks so pleased with himself. When you take his face between your hands, he feels warm against your fingertips, from the pressure of your hips and how deeply he was digging his face between your thighs. His lips and jaw are soaked, glistening with you and you’re more than happy to help clean him up, licking the taste of yourself from his mouth and pressing soft, appreciative kisses against his face. 

When you finally step aside, his eyes follow you. He’s appreciative of the fingers you still have in his hair and the way you use them to steer him up and onto the bed. 

“Harry?” His eyes look drunk as they meet yours.  He’s still kneeling. “Are you with me?”

“Always, love.”

You smile at him, giving him another pat on the head, your fingers running through his matted hair. And he nuzzles deeper into your hand. 

“Breathe, baby. Give me your safeword.”

His mind is swimming. He thinks of your eyes narrowing at him over dinner - a field - the bright painting on the wall behind your head. - Plastic crinkling around the bouquet of flowers he held clenched between his fingers on your very first date. The vase of them you keep on the island in your kitchen and next to your bed- smiling over at him, the smell of coffee drifting, the sun hitting the bare skin of your back, the name he has you saved under in his phone-

“Sunflower,” he says, the smile on his lips lazy and triumphant when it finally comes to him. “Sunflower. Sunflower.” 

You’re beaming as you stare down at him and he feels like he wants to sink into the praise in your eyes. 

“Good,” you tell him. “Good. You’re doing so good, Harry.”

His eyes are full now, they’re brimming, prickling with tears. And his jaw is tense. He leans into the cup of your hand and you watch the features of his face flutter, the desperation is still there - simmering, but a calmness passes over him as he leans into your touch. He could be good, he could be so good for you.

God, you want to wreck him. 

“M’cock’s hard,” he says, in the same lazy, almost dazed voice. “S’leaking.”

You make work of both your clothes and then unbuckle his pants and take him out and true to his word - he’s hard. So hard. His expression looks pained when you thumb the raspberry tip of his cock, your mouth watering. He’s too sensitive for that right now, but maybe- you think- hope blooms in your chest. In the future. You could use a ring or-

It’s endearing how reactive he is to you. Not only do his eyes always follow you, but it’s as if his skin’s instinct is to follow you too. 

“Harry, I’m going to untie your hands. Would you like that?”

“Yes-Yes Please.” And god his voice breaks twice around your name -you almost want to take pity on him. 

Almost. 

“I’m going to untie them but I want you to listen to me. Listen to me, okay? I want you to raise them above your head, hold onto the headboard. You’re still not going to touch me. Is that understood?”

“Ye-yes,” he stutters out. And oh you love that. Your golden boy, who has had the world at his feet since the beginning - he’s never been denied things. But this, this he’s doing just for you. And for himself.  

He gasps as you work to undress him, pulling his jeans down the length of the bed, then his briefs. You move to straddle his thigh first, leaning down enough to rub yourself against the tiger inked into his skin. At the touch of his thigh against your clit, you moan - and he moans with you - as if he can’t help himself, can’t bear it- feeling you spread open against his skin and being unable to touch you.

“So wet,” he whimpers. “Fuckin’ christ. You’re so wet.”

You allow yourself this moment, a few seconds to rub yourself against him like some kind of cat in heat. Using him until you feel more wetness begin to pool on his skin. You note that his arms are straining with the stretch of the angle he has against the headboard, the veins in his arms a flash of trembling light blue as his fingers shake. 

When finally you feel like you’ve had enough to bear, you swing your leg over his hip and draw yourself down to his pelvis. His face is almost flush with your chest, and you can see the restraint he’s trying to give you - the pupils of his eyes are so wide, and he’s biting into his plush bottom lip, trying not to close the distance between you to suck a beautiful, puffy nipple into his mouth or between his teeth - He needs to be good. He needs to prove to you how good he can be. 

You’re more patient and forgiving this time, spitting on his cock and taking him into your hand. You stroke him a few times, letting the tip of him - just the tip- graze inside of you. 

His eyes and forehead crease at your teasing. 

“You’re so big,” you tell him, and his skin flushes beneath the phrase, his hips bucking up to meet you. 

“B-biggest?” he stutters out and you don’t mistake the nervous lilt at the end of his voice for anything but what it is - a need for confirmation. 

“Biggest. Best I’ve ever had,” you affirm. “Harry. Fuck.”

Pride swells in his chest, making him gasp. 

“God, Harry. That first time we...I didn’t think I’d be able to-. It hurt something good the next morning. Felt like I was aching without you there anymore. - Missed you so much. Missed my baby boy, so much.”

He’s rutting up, hips lifting off the mattress and you feel equally pained for him, your cunt miserably fluttering around nothing too. 

“Fuck. Please,” he begs you, the deepness of his voice making you tremble from the tips of your toes to the roots of your hair. “Take me. Take me.”

You relent, letting yourself slide down the length of him - and oh, this is nice. A snug fit. Another memory of him gone unjustified. You can feel him in your belly. His cock is so thick and deep, it’s still new but comforting. Like coming home. 

“Feel good, Harry?”

“Yes! Yes. God. Christ. You feel so bloody good-”

You shift so you’re resting against him, the palms of your hands flat against his chest. - But not moving. 

“Please,” he groans, his jaw straining towards the side of the bed. “Please fuck me, princess.”

“What do you want Harry?” you indulge him. You’ve missed his voice just as much as his touch, and you need to hear him say it outloud. 

“Fuck me till I cry. Fuck me, ‘till I’m done for. Christ.” 

His skin flushes like he’s embarrassed, so you lean down to kiss his jaw and mouth. “I will. I will. I’m going to fuck you, Harry.”

You use your hands for balance as you lift your hips, sliding up and down the length of his cock. Moaning loud and gasping hard when he shifts up to meet you thrust for thrust. 

“H-Harry,” you call him, only continuing when his head shifts up, his eyes peering up to meet you and tell you he’s listening. The green intensity of them makes you clench around him. “What if I tied you up? Would you like that?”

His feet are flat against the bed now, his hips shifting up in response - he doesn’t trust his voice right now. He feels so wrecked. All he can say is your name as he impales you on his cock. 

“Or maybe- maybe we’ll go somewhere and you could wear a collar - your collar - tight enough around your neck. Something to take out, huh? Just between the two of us - so you’ll know you’re mine. And when I’m gone again, you won’t ever have a reason to forget.”

Harry could almost choke on his disbelief. Hope and lust seem to twine together and something that feels like hope has been freed from his chest. Your mouth - it’s every fantasy, every secret he’s had - coming alive, coming to fruition hearing it in your voice. 

“I’m going to come on you, going to come on your prick, baby,” you promise him. “Then-then you can come.”

“Yes,” he sputters out in response. “Yes-yes. Use me. Please. Please, love. It’s all I’ve been able to think about-since you’ve been gone. Wanting to make you come.”

There’s no hesitation in his voice, and you feel yourself grow wet at the sound. He knows he’s safe. He knows he has you. His exhibitions are unraveling like a thread. They have been since that first message you sent him. 

He’s rambling now. “Wanna come too. Wanna shoot it in deep. But-need ‘ta feel you first. Need ‘ta feel you quaking around me-Baby, please-”

His eyes go wild when you press your hand against his throat, small tears slipping down his cheeks. Your red fingernails look beautiful against the paleness of his skin. And his knees lift up in a desperate show to fuck into you harder. 

“Fuck. I love you. I love you. Fuck please. Please!”

He’s too lost, plummeting into the safety of the haze you have taken him to - he doesn’t notice the way your eyes narrow in surprise as he gasps from between your fingers. Your heart feels too full, like it might smother your rib cage and you let that feeling take you under. He loves you. He loves you. 

Something overtakes you then. A wave of pride, and something territorial. You feel his words sinking into your bones, and you don’t feel afraid. In fact, you feel something like pride and adoration make a home inside your chest. You’re soaring. He loves you. Your teeth sink into the skin between his neck and shoulder and he groans, a heated sound that makes your skin flush, makes you feel impossibly wetter where you’re holding him between your thighs. It’s a mark to match the ones you have left on his left pec and his thighs, the line on his hip, and your handprints around his throat.. And for days to come, beneath the dim candlelight of his bedroom or the sunlight peeking through his bathroom in the morning - he will marvel at them, but now, now he’s too overcome. 

“Harry,” you rake your nails through the back of his head and grab a fistfull of his hair, harsh and tight. “I’m gonna come. You’re gonna make me cum. I want to come for you. You’re so good.”

He chokes as he feels yourself clench around him, swallowing him deep. You’re shaking, tugging his hair, and saying his name - “Harry, you’re perfect. My beautiful-Harry.” And watching you come on his cock, it’s still the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. 

You kiss him through it all and as you come back down. You’re tired, slick, and still recovering but your hands grasp Harry’s. Your fingers clenched between his long fingers, squeezing tight around his rings and pressing down on his wrists. 

You lean down so your mouth is pressed between the pink wetness of his mouth, tugging at his bottom lip with your teeth. 

“Do you want to come inside me? You can, my sweet- Harry. You can. Only you. Come inside me Harry-.”

He doesn’t need much now. You’re grinding against him, lazy and slow. Licking into his mouth. 

“Come inside you,” he repeats your words, gasping against your face. You feel his arms flexing beneath your touch, his hips pistoning his cock in and out of you. Arousal -both yours and his- dripping between your thighs. It’s a mess, but it’s your mess. “All I want - ‘ta come inside you.”

You press your fingers against his throat again and his eyes roll back into his head again. You push the weight of your hips against his pelvis and then feel it - the first few spurts of his release inside you, warm and comforting-

“Fuck. I’m coming. Y/N. I’m fuck-”

You hold him as it happens, your fingers around his throat only relenting when his hips have stopped stuttering and he’s finally stopped calling your name. 

Spent, you collapse on him. Tapping his hands and wrists and loosening them. - “You can touch me. Harry- you can touch me.”

You stay with him for a long moment, it’s a space of time you both need. He’s coming down from where you took him so high, and you need to feel grounded, tethered next to him in every way you can right now. The bites and marks you’ve left on him pulse and throb, and his skin feels like it’s been lit on fire. He aches in the best way possible. He feels each throb like an ache under the intensity of a magnifying glass.

Your hair acts like a curtain over both of you as you plant soft, wet kisses over his neck, his temple, his face. Kissing away his tears. Your fingernails tracing over the tattoos on his stomach and chest as you tell him how well he did, how good, how hard he made you come. It makes him feel looked after, cherished, adored.

Your skin is a warm and comforting weight against his back, until he feels like he’s floated down again, his feet firmly planted.

It’s only when you’re sure he’s stopped trembling, and his heartbeat has slowed beneath the palm of your hand, that you break the surface of this bubble you’ve created together- 

“Harry?” you call to him. 

“Mmm,” he grunts. 

“Are you alright?”

“I’m fuckin’ perfect,” he says. “Love?”

“S’okay if I...I’ll be right back. Need to get us both cleaned up, babe.”

“I’ll-” he starts, and you can almost see his tall frame trying to lift from the  bed. 

“You don’t have to do anything, beautiful,” one of your hands comes up to press him back down against the mattress. “I’ll be right back. Don’t go anywhere, handsome.” You press a wet kiss to his head again to soothe him and laugh as he makes a joke - “Think ya properly fucked my brains out. Can’t move, love.”

You walk to the bathroom on trembling legs and feet, and retrieve a wet washcloth to clean both of you up, only pausing to smile faintly at your reflection in the mirror - you look disheveled and happy. You hurry to grab a water bottle from the fridge and then patter back to Harry’s room and make him take a few sips from it. He stares up at you from beneath the throat of the bottle and you try to ignore the way you feel yourself flush beneath the awe in his eyes. 

Only after you’ve pulled a clean pair of underwear on him, do you join him on the mattress again. You crawl onto the bed knees first, and Harry’s breathing slows as he feels you tug him towards you, your face pressed between both of his broad shoulder blades. 

You listen to the heavy thud of his heartbeat through his back. 

“I love you too,” you tell him quietly, finally. “Love you too.”

He makes a muffled sound, and then though he feels heavy and his body protests against the movement, he turns in your embrace so he can look in your eyes. 

“Heard that, did you?” he tries to laugh. But you feel worry cementing itself in your heart when he doesn’t look up to meet your eyes. 

“Don’t have to say it back, y’know?” he finally says. “Don’t have to say it just because I did. Don’t have to know what to do with it. You can have it- you can have me either way.”

You lean up a little to brush your hands through his hair, and so he can tilt his head up to meet you. The edge of his jaw against the cusp of your breasts, the pink of his mouth sitting so pretty against your chest, his eyes half lidded and still so fucked out. You wonder if he grasps exactly what he’s telling you. 

“I know I love you. And I know I missed you so much, Harry. I want to take care of you.”

His heart thrills at what that could mean. “Want ‘ta take care of you too. Want to make you feel good.”

“You do. You’re the best. I love you and,” you smile a little, fingers brushing over the bite you left on his neck. “You’re mine.”

He laughs a little, drawing a glance at the mark too. His big hand closing over yours. “I love you too. Been wanting to say it for a long time.”

“I’m glad you did right now.” You smile at him, and the anxiety he was feeling seems to falter. He smiles back.

“Did you mean what you were saying?” Harry says, reaching for you even as sleep looms over the edge of his thoughts. “About the choker and the ring and summat?”

“’Course, whatever you want,” you smile at him above the duvet pulled up over both of your shoulders. “Trust me?”

“Know I do,” he smiles, the dimple in his cheek deepening. 

Your face softens as you reach up to trace it with your fingers. “I’m many things, Harry Styles, but I’m not a liar,” you laugh. 

“Know you are,” he laughs back, the gravely sound of it making you feel light and wonderful. Bright and adored. “First and foremost though, you’re my sunflower.”

You seem to beam under the look in his eyes. You pull him close, tucking yourself under his chin, and kissing one of the sparrows on his chest. “I am,” you tell him. “I am.” 

A/N: If you’re wondering, yes, the story and title were both inspired by the song of the same name by 5SOS.

Thank you for reading! Please Like or Reblog and feel free to follow me to keep up with more stories. I’d love to have you here. <3 Or let me know what you think!

[beggingwolf]

hi so I've just eaten too much ice cream, feel vaguely ill, and I'm here to tell you All About How I Failed At Outlining for SGKF this year!

that's partially just a fun tagline, but it's also a bit true. I told my friends I'd be trying to use several different outlining methods to try and knock out a plotty piece for the fest, and things did not go to plan!

important to begin with: I am what is referred to as a "pantser." I tend to just start writing. this is strangely contradictory to my personality, which deeply loves plans. unfortunately, what often happens is plans and outlines ruin my excitement and drive while working on a project (it tricks me into thinking I've done all the work and resolved the plot), leading me to abandon it.

and though I can throw together pretty words and made a decent fic, my fics never turned out as good as they could have been. I kept telling myself that if I planned in advanced and worked out what I was doing BEFORE I did it, I'd be able to craft a fic with such care and attention as to make it really SHINE.

so, uh, kinkfest rolls around, and since I was a mod I could see all the prompts before they even got released to the public, so I basically had a WHOLE EXTRA two-ish weeks to start planning and writing.

did I? NO.

so, despite the fact that I collect writing advice like a magpie , I'm not the greatest at implementing it. if you go into my SGKF google folder, you'll find a few instances of me TRYING to implement writing advice like metawriting:

(and you'll see some fics that didn't get finished/make it into the fest!)

my issue was (and still is) that I think I value every little word too much. this is a bad thing: I'm an overwriter by nature. when I get words down, I want to keep them because I feel like I worked hard for them, even if they're not great or don't actually serve the story in the way they should. that's not to say all my metawriting was bad; it wasn't. I tried it out for A Drowning in California as well [which will henceforth just be referred to as "California").

I had a whole subfolder for California. what kind of amazed me is how different my initial notes for the prompt are from what the story actually ended up being. here, take a look:

literally almost none of this is in california. the WWE and UFC stuff made it in, and so did sid wrestling with horny, but that was it. I was going to start this fic in the locker room, with sid wrestling someone, and it was seriously going to be a story about sex—about sid wanting to hold geno down in bed. that was the premise.

and instead, we got a really emotional story about familial rejection and the isolation it can make people feel. SO! something happened along the way, right?

when I started getting into the plot that would support this supposed sexfest, this is where I went at first:

geno wants the relationship to get serious, sid is like mentally still a 12 year old who just wants to wrestle people and doesn't want to talk about his emotions, and prefers to use physicality to communicate. this doesn't work for geno, who wants ... more

we can start to see the actual emotions come through, the things I was interested in: sid using touch to talk, and geno desperately wanting more

what did the most good for me, in the end, was "doing" the metawriting by talking with my friends.

I told them what i thought this story was about ("I'm thinking about making this a story about relationship-defining, maybe? and the communication needed for a lasting adult relationship? I think I'm going to set it in california/LA, where Sid has invited Geno along for the first time for his California Summer Fun/Training/Escape, whatever, and Geno's going to be emotionally preoccupied with Defining The Relationship—maybe they've been on-again-off-again? maybe they're just new to this, like almost a year deep, and they're not getting younger—and thinking this trip is about that [or hoping this trip is about that, and realizing it isn't, and being disappointed].") and they told me what jumped out at them.

Jes told me what would ramp up the tension would be a deadline of some sort; "Geno’s going to break up with Sid or make some decision or something, or there’s something approaching where they have to make a will they or won’t they decision of some kind related to the core ‘defining the relationship’ issue. Geno’s going back to russia and in previous summers they’ve always slept with other people while apart? or Sid has a wedding coming up and he’s offhandedly mentioned taking someone else as his plus one?"

I liked her thoughts. it made sense to add an external pressure to all this, and that wedding idea stuck out to me the most.

Lis said I should add a jealousy angle, so you can largely credit her for the club scene: "one thing i like to sort of headcanon/imply about sid's california trips is he uses them to hook up anonymously. so you could have, like, sid and geno seeing sid's friends, but also accidentally running into some of sid's friends. and geno's like oh, great, so here i am doing this horrible summertime training that i hate because i don't need to train in the offseason actually, and i'm learning what exactly sid gets up to when we're apart."

My magical solution these days is GOING FOR WALKS. do it if you're able. it clears out your brain. so on my walks I ended up deciding that I wanted a taylor crosby wedding. I like taylor as a character, and as a person with sisters I just like writing her in. best of all, she and sid are close and I like writing "I'd do anything for my family" sid.

and then I was like. oh. what if it's not that sid is afraid/nervous to bring geno, it's that he can't.

I... wasn't as conflicted as I thought I'd be about writing sid's parents as homophobic. I prefer to write them as supportive; I think troy crosby's been eviscerated more than he should have been in older fanworks, and though I respect their right to make fictional!troy whatever they want, I've been a little skeptical of outlandish takes on him ("he doesn't say I love you to his son because a camera caught them mid-interaction once!") ever since I read how the media has found him a convenient narrative villain while he tried to keep his underage son safe from the media as a child and while they needed to cook up Spicy Stories about squeaky-clean sid.

uh, tangent aside, I always thought I'd never write a "parents are the villains" story, but I did here. it felt right. it was easier, too, because they're not PRESENT in the story. I didn't have to write trina actually being horrible to her son. I just had to skirt the edges of the wound.

which works well on two fronts: I don't have to actively write the crosbys being horrible to sid, and I also leave more to the imagination of the reader, and that almost never fails to make the work better. whatever the reader imagines them saying to sid, it's going to be 10x more hurtful than anything I'd write.

I dug really deep on some personal emotions and fears I experience as a gay person for a lot of sid's arc here. sid is deeply imperfect in this story, and he's internalizing his pain and the horrible thing that's happened to him, which is making him pull away from his partner, and sid is not responding how geno wants, nor is he responding well, period, though he's trying in his own wounded, stilted way.

and beloved geno, whose tender heart is so hidden away for fear of someone hurting it. I really like writing geno; he's huffy and emotional and sometimes bitchy and feels things SO deeply.

once I had more of an idea, I was already working on a more detailed outline. this is where I seriously took Jes's advice and WROTE EVERYTHING OUT! it made it so much less daunting, because I didn't have to be figuring out my next steps AND crafting sentences at the same time. also this is where I tell you that the title of this post is mostly a lie, it was metawriting I failed at.

This outline also meant I avoided writing large swaths of things that should've been cut. Another beta told me I should delete three scenes and condense a bunch of emotions into the club scene, and she was SO right. Cutting events out of an outline is WAY easier than cutting out pages of text.

Ironically my outline kind of deteriorated after the club scene, but that's alright: after I wrote the club scene, I actually had a clear vision of what I wanted the end to be. I just had to trust myself. I CAN do this, I CAN still just write intuitively sometimes!

I think California did what I wanted it to do. I'd love to try something out that's longer and has more story arcs in it (jes has a post for that too!) but I think that's best saved for another, longer project, though 18k isn't short.

next up is maggie stief's writing seminar that I bought a month back. I'm going to start working on that this month and see how I like it. I have a few halloween fic ideas, plus spookfest, so these next two months we should be cooking in the kitchen!

[kenanda]

Love your lonelyeyes fics!! I'm waiting for the sequel you mentioned and the abo one.

If you want to, no pressure, for the kissing prompt whichever you want to pick 11, 23 or 62 would be amazing. Have a lovely day !!!

Hello! I'm so humbled that you enjoy my fics, thank you so much! I'm a bit swamped atm, but I have those fics all outlined. I still plan on writing them, so bear with me!

Also, thank you for your patience, I know this took a while xD I've come back (sorta) after a week of being ill to commit more LonelyEyes crimes. I hope y'all are ready for some tooth-rotting fluff!

Since I'm still a bit under the weather, I decided to do what I never do and pick only one prompt (oh noes!). But here it goes:

Kissing prompt 23 - Exhausted parents kiss

Rating: PG-13 Words: 1,2k Pairing: LonelyEyes Characters: Jonah Magnus!Elias Bouchard; Peter Lukas; Martin Blackwood; Tim Stoker Tags: Established Relationship; Parenthood; Gentle Kissing; Fluff; No Hurt Only Comfort; Parents!Lonelyeyes; Domestic (like VERY); Doting Parents LonelyEyes; yeah Tim and Martin are their kids in this one; Prompt Fill

Disclaimer: None of these characters belong to me. They are the property of Rusty Quill's The Magnus Archives.

Warning: If you're squicked by any of this, back out. Don't read. Thanks!

After nine years of being a parent, Elias had learned to recognise the shy knocking on his and Peter's door for what it really was. The day and hour — just a little past 11PM on a Sunday — were also a hint. Tim was supposed to be in bed by ten, and yet here he was, a small figure standing awkwardly on the threshold.

Elias lowered his reading glasses and elbowed Peter in the ribs when he failed to turn off the TV.

Peter jolted awake, having been on the brink of sleep. "Tim- Timothy? What's wrong?" Peter grumbled.

Between the two of them, Martin let out a tiny sound in his slumber.

Tim rubbed the back of his leg with a foot. "I just remembered… I have schoolwork… For tomorrow..."

Elias sighed, wondering why in the deepest part of his heart. But what could he do except help his forgetful child?

"I'll go get the cardboard and old magazines," he said and got up, careful not to jostle Martin.

Tim smiled. "Thank you, Daddy."

Unfortunately for him, Elias was rather weak to his child's eyes. Something about them reminded him of Peter; an acquired trait, maybe? Elias knew he was doomed the moment he saw the same little wrinkles appear on the sides of Tim’s eyes. Alas, he would die for this child — the love blooming in his chest upon noticing that their boy looked more and more like them was evidence enough.

Elias picked Tim up on the way out. Just as he was about to leave, he noticed that Peter hadn't moved an inch.

"Ahem.”

Peter wiggled out of bed with many a groan.

"Keep an eye on Martin while I help Tim," Elias told him.

Their youngest had just turned two; they were having some trouble getting him to fall asleep in his own bedroom. Martin was adamant in sleeping between his dads, even with the TV and the lights on.

Since Martin was out like a light, Peter picked him up and carried him to his bedroom.

Elias and Tim got to work in the kitchen. Elias should have known better than to not check Tim's assignments, but he believed it was good that their oldest had some responsibilities.

Elias also believed in dealing with the aftermath of one's own actions, but he wasn't a cruel parent. When the yawning and eye-rubbing became too much, Elias gently patted Tim on the back.

Wordlessly, Tim crawled into his arms. Elias could finish this alone. He would wake up exhausted the next day and have a busy day of meetings at work, but he at least could drink coffee.

Just as he was putting Tim to bed, he heard a yelp followed by a wail from Martin's bedroom. His heart raced, but hopefully it would be just another nightmare. If Peter had dropped their kid...

He strode over to find Martin plastered against Peter's chest, tiny arms wound too-tight around his neck. Peter gave Elias a look and a shrug.

"Stepped on a god forsaken Lego on my way out and let out a cry. Woke him up."

Elias relaxed. He could empathise, having been on the receiving end of a painful Lego-stepping more than once. It hadn't been pretty.

Peter sat on the blue armchair near the curtains, the one that was too small for him. Elias pulled up a chair next to them and gently helped rock Martin to sleep. Their baby boy was sniffling, so Peter started humming an old shanty that both Martin and Elias loved.

Elias was ready to sleep right there when Peter nudged him. Martin's arms had gone lax.

Elias removed him with a care that one would only employ to defuse a bomb, but managed to tuck him in bed.

They tiptoed out and heaved another tired sigh upon checking the hour. Way past midnight.

"I've still got Tim's assignment," Elias whined. It sounded almost like a cry.

"Come.” Peter encouraged, gently pushing Elias towards the kitchen “Four hands work faster."

By the time they were done, it was almost one in the morning. Peter would be able to sleep in on Monday (he was only needed at the harbour by noon), but Elias would have to be up in five hours.

Bleary-eyed, Elias put the finished work aside. Peter massaged his shoulders and nuzzled his hair, offering him some tea. They could certainly do with a cuppa, but all they needed right now was sleep — though not before one last check

Peter poked a head into Tim’s bedroom and Elias into Martin’s. The kids were fast asleep and thankfully it seemed like no more trouble would arise that night.

The pair crawled into bed and only whispered a tired good-night before turning off the bedside table lamps and immediately falling asleep.

***

Getting the kids out of bed the next day was torture. Martin was throwing a tantrum for having woken up yet again somewhere other than his parents' beds, and Tim was cranky due to the lack of sleep.

Elias could relate, but he still roused them with a smile and a kiss.

While Elias dressed Tim, Peter prepared Martin's food. Elias was in charge of dropping Tim off today. Peter would stay in with Martin until the minder arrived — a lovely young one called Sasha.

"Don't forget your assignment!" Elias told Tim as they were getting ready to go. Tim ran to get it. And to the pair of scoundrels he was leaving behind: "You two, no biscuits before lunch! I mean it. And don't forget to put away the laundry, I left it running last night."

"Will do. You take care as well!"

Martin was currently too entertained by his food to co-sign. Also, he was only two.

As they were about to leave, Elias remembered something. He did a little sprint to the kitchen and gave Peter a kiss.

Peter smiled (as he always did) and kissed him back. It lingered.

They had no idea what awaited them when they'd first decided to move in together. Even less so when after a few years, they had come to the conclusion that there were too many empty rooms in that house.

Elias had never once pictured himself as paternal and frankly, neither did Peter. But now, with way more grey hairs than when they started and many stories to tell, both agreed that it had been their best idea.

"Love you," Elias told him.

"Eww," Tim exclaimed. "That's gross, Daddy!"

"Come now, we don't talk like that about your Father. He has feelings, you know."

"Hey!"

Peter gave him a reprimanding pat on the bum.

Martin giggled at Elias's yelp with a face covered in carrot porridge.

"See you in a few," Elias said, ignoring Tim's now sudden protests that they were going to be late.

This was their life now — from sleepless nights in the ER to the swelling pride at school events; to the chaotic rush of mornings and relying on each other more than they ever had before.

Peter may be all smiles today, but Elias knew that he was just as tired. He also knew that neither would trade this for anything in the world. They were in this together.

"Miss you," Peter said.

"You won't have time for that." Elias looked pointedly at Martin, who was now making a sculpture of sorts out of his food.

"Yeah, you're probably right..."

"Appreciate the sentiment, though."

"Dad!" Tim warned.

"Right. Coming!"

Peter waved them away and blew a small kiss in Elias' direction. Elias caught it in mid-air and put it in his pocket, then blew one of his own. Peter held it in his hand.

[guiltysecretpasttime]

Fic and tag masterpost

(to be updated from time to time)

Last update: 24 Aug

I've decided to have a masterpost with both tags and links. Figured maybe there is merit in organizing them here in tumblr for ease of searching and navigation. Will be doing a lot of cross-posting from Ao3 in the next few days as well.

--

Lin/Tenzin pairing

Adversity

Multi-chapter, work in progress, AU, pre-LoK,

Latest status: up to Chapter 15 uploaded in A03

Blurb: Lin and Tenzin are both at the height of their respective careers – she with the Metalbending Police and he with the Air Nation. Questions about their future begin to arise and things come to a head when Lin responded to an emergency call. Would her job take them from each other forever? Eventual happy ending. Alternatively: The one where Lin and Tenzin had to go through adversity like Lin’s dangerous job, a near-death experience, temporary separation and memory loss, unplanned pregnancy and Tenzin’s responsibilities before they end up with a family.

Tumblr chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Ao3 link |   Ff.net link

Contentment

One-shot, completed, AU, pre-LoK

Blurb: Ever since she made it to Chief of Police, she found that she was able to take more control of her schedule. Nonetheless, quiet Friday nights at home like these were rare. Alternatively:

The one where Chief Lin Beifong and her last airbender spend a typical night at home.

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Ao3 link  |   Ff.net link

The Airbender’s Wife

Multi-chapter after Contentment, work in progress, LoK AU

Latest status: up to Chapter 12 uploaded in A03

Blurb: Korra arrives in Republic City to reside at Air Temple Island to begin her Airbending training.

As excited as she was to leave the compound in the South Pole, she was wary of living with her Airbending Master and his mysterious wife. The airbender’s wife, who, Korra realized, she has never met before. Alternatively: The one where Tenzin throws caution to the wind and chooses Lin over repopulating the Air Nation.

Tumblr chapters:  1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5

Ao3 link | Ff.net link

The Right Beifong

One-shot, completed, post-LoK AU

Blurb: For all the bad blood between them, there was no one else that the Beifong sisters would trust with their secrets but each other.

One might argue that guilt may have motivated Suyin’s actions. Lin learned not to question it, not when a secret has remained undetected for more than a decade. Who knew that it would all unravel in a hospital room in Republic City. Lin Beifong was expected to mother an airbender. What if she did give birth to an airbending Beifong?

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Ao3 link | Ff.net link

Harmony Tower

One-shot, completed, pre-LoK

Prompt/headcanon: What if and why does Lin smoke?

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Grey Eyes

Two-shot, completed, pre-LoK AU

Prompt/headcanon: What if there was a secret airbending child and what if Tenzin learns about it after the break-up

Blurb: He broke up with her then she destroyed part of the island.

He regretted it but she had already left.

He tried to look for her but she managed to evade him.More than a year later, by chance, he was drawn to a baby picture in Chief Toph Beifong’s billfold.

Alternatively, Tenzin finds out about his airbending daughter in the Earth Kingdom.

Tumblr parts: 1 | 2

Ao3 link

Respite

One-shot, completed, end season 3 AU

Prompt/headcanon: Soft/protective Lin taking care of Tenzin after he’s hurt post-Red Lotus encounter (Married AU)

Blurb: Chief Beifong had seen a lot of blood and death in the years that she had been serving in the force. She was no stranger to injury as well (she’s a Beifong, no one would have expected any different).However, nothing could have prepared her to see her pacifist husband bruised, bloodied, battered and at the brink of death.

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Ao3 link

Blended

One-shot, completed, Modern AU, now a multi-chapter, WIP

Latest status: up to Chapter 3 uploaded in A03

Blurb: Republic City was known to be a melting pot of cultures.

This was where people go to for new beginnings and to search for happy endings.

People were relatively more open-minded here compared to other cities or nations.

However, not everyone’s road to happiness is straightforward - Lin Beifong in particular believes that, by now, true happiness for her is elusive.

A modern AU with no bending where Lin finds herself with three kids, where Tenzin is Mr Big Shot CEO, where Mako is an overprotective son, where Ikki endears herself to Lin, where Bumi is the cool meddling godfather/uncle and where Pema is out of the picture.

Tumblr post

Ao3 link

Parapraxis

One-shot, completed, pre-LOK AU

Blurb: Parapraxis: a lapse of memory or mental error, such as a slip of the tongue or misplacement of an object, which, in psychoanalytic theory, is due to unconscious associations and motives; commonly called a “freudian slip.” | Alternatively, the one where a wrong title and a wrong name were said in different occasions and Lin could not complain about the outcome in the end.

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Ao3 link

Untitled Thwarting Fate

WIP, pre-LOK AU

Overview: Linzin endgame AU

Latest status: up to Chapter 5 uploaded in A03

1 of 3 (or 4?) chapters (or more, if I decide to post them in chunks)

I really haven’t thought this out (shrugs and looks around shiftily)Pre-canon AU (prior to Book 1)

Blurb: All her life, Lin Beifong had been trying to go the path that she thought was right. All his life, Tenzin had been trying to go the path that he thought is expected of him. Trying being the operative word.  --- Alternatively, the one where it started pretty much the same but with Pema's illness, the Red Lotus being active, and Lin Beifong going a detour in her career - everything changes.

Tumblr parts: 1 | 2

Ao3 link

Homecoming

One-shot, completed, pre-LOK AU

Blurb: After travelling to the different Air Temples, Tenzin arrived back at Republic City to a surprise that he did not expect.

Ao3 link

Bubble Bath

One-shot, completed, pre-LOK AU

Blurb: Lin sank into the bathtub, sighing as the warm water relaxed her tired muscles.It had been a long week and it was only Wednesday

Lin Beifong had a long and busy week at work. At least, she is able to pride herself in not forgetting any important occasion at that time. ...Or did she?

Ao3 link

Pretense

One-shot, completed, pre-LOK AU

Blurb: As far as the Earth Kingdom is concerned, Lin Beifong is in a relationship with the son of the Avatar .No, not that one.

Alternatively, the one where Lin engages in a mutually benefitting arrangement with the son of Aang.

Ao3 link

—————————————————————-

Lin/Bumi pairing

Happenstance

One-shot, completed, pre-LOK AU

Blurb: Alternatively, the one where Lin Beifong’s happiness started on the night of what was supposed to be her wedding: an encounter with Bumi during his brother’s nuptials that turned into something more.

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Ao3 link

Arranged Legacy

One-shot, completed, pre-LOK AU

Blurb: By some ill-conceived agreement, the eldest of Toph Beifong and the eldest of Aang were arranged to be married. Neither wanted to but they felt that they had to. Could they find companionship with each other? Could they rise above their circumstance and prove once an for all that they were worthy of their parents’ legacies? | Alternatively, see Lin and Bumi come together and make the best of their situation - and maybe create their own legacy.

Submitted as part of the 2021 Avatar Pro-Shipping Rare Pair Challenge

Ao3 link

Discretion

One-shot, completed, post-LOK AU

Blurb: Bumi watched the teenagers pair off during Varrick's wedding. Observers might think he was turning melancholic but he wasn't. After all, under the cloak of the night, he also had someone to pair off with.

Ao3 link

===

Tags

Generic

·       toccatina's fanfics: all fics, regardless of status or pairing

·       toccatina wip: fics which are not yet complete

·       toccatina completed: completed stories, includes one-shots

·       toccatina draft: just a draft, open-ended

·       writing prompts maybe: usually a post inspired by a prompt/message/another post

Specific

·       linzin fanfic: Lin/Tenzin stories

·       linumi fanfic: Lin/Bumi II stories

·       toccatina airbender: posts for Airbender’s wife

·       toccatina adversity: posts for Adversity

- #toccatina untitled: posts for that untitled Linzin story

======

On an unrelated note:

I’ve created a ko-fi acct, feel free to drop by if you would like to donate.

[nblesbianbenhanscom]

43+45 for kaspbroughzier or streddie

anon! hello! a million years later, and your fic is ready! are you even still here? i hope so ❤️🧡💛💚💙💜

*

i had to go with the kasproughzier cause i love those goofs and also sonia is the perfect no, really you don’t want to meet my family.

the prompts were ‘trust me, you don’t want to meet my family’ + ‘you may technically be an adult, but you are still my child.’

***

read it on ao3

Little Dashes of Doom

“Eh-Eddie, your phone is r-ringing,” Bill says. It’s the tenth time in the last half hour.

“Just turn it off, Bill. I’m not going to answer it.” Eddie doesn’t look up from his computer.

“Buh-But it’s your ma.”

“I know, Bill. I already told her when I was coming home. She can chill.” He sounds tired, and Bill just wants to wrap him up in a blanket and make him relax between him and Richie. This semester had really kicked all of their asses.

Bill watches the phone as it stops ringing. It dings a moment later with a voicemail. Bill picks it up and turns it off. He kisses Eddie’s hair as he sits it on the table next to him.

“H-How’s the puh-aper coming?” Bill asks as he opens up the fridge. Bill himself had just finished his own last final just a few hours before.

“I hate fucking Shakespeare,” Eddie growls.

“Th-That good, eh?”

Eddie doesn't respond while Bill looks through the fridge. He finds a beer and heads to the couch where Richie is playing on their shared Switch. His legs are spread awkwardly, one up and over the back of the couch, the other hanging down by the floor. Bill sits in between his legs, pulling Richie’s leg into his lap.

“Hey, babycakes, you ok?” Richie asks without looking up.

“I’m ok.” Bill takes a sip of his beer. “You ok?”

“Yeah, fine. Why wouldn’t I be? Shit! I just fucking died!” He sighs and lets the Switch fall to his chest. “What are we doing for food?”

“We have l-leftover p-pizza,” Bill says.

Groaning, Richie sits up and tugs himself closer to Bill with his legs. He leans close and kisses Bill’s neck.

“I am so tired of pizza.” Richie scrapes his teeth against Bill’s chin. “Maybe I’ll just have you for dinner. How does that sound?” They giggle and Eddie huffs from the kitchen.

“Ugh, rude of you to start without me,” Eddie grouses, but there’s no real heat to his words.

Bill and Richie giggle again.

“S-Sorry, E-Eddie!”

“We were just discussing dinner.” Richie kisses Bill’s neck again.

Giggling, Bill pushes him away. “Shhh… St-Stop.”

Richie just pulls him closer and they giggle again.

“If I fail my final, it will be all your faults!” Eddie yells.

“Wh-What d-do you want for d-dinner?” Bill asks.

Eddie is silent for a minute. “Surprise me.”

Bill turns and kisses Richie. “We’re guh–nna go p-pick up dinner.”

“We are?” Richie asks. Bill nods. He holds his hand out and Richie takes it. They go to the door, tug on their coats and boots. It’s cold outside, but Bill just holds tightly to Richie’s hand.

“Where to, Big B?” Richie asks after they’ve climbed in the car.

Bill shrugs. “I don’t care.” He thinks for a minute. “Wh-Where do you—”

“I already told you what I wanted.” Richie winks.

Leaning back against the passenger seat headrest, Bill smiles at him. “Ok, b-but like a-actual food, Richie.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun,” Richie says. They talk for a few more minutes and end up going to the local diner. They get pancakes, fries, salad, and pie. Sometimes Eddie has trouble eating when he’s stressed, and they want to make sure to get him something he’ll eat.

When they get back, Eddie’s computer and his books are in a neat stack. The bathroom door is closed and they can hear him screaming at someone.

“I am working on my finals, mommy!” Eddie screams. Richie and Bill hesitate in the doorway. They look at each other but creep in. It’s been a while since Eddie had gone off like this. When they’d first met him a few years back, he’d yelled a lot more. Richie liked to tease that he was a feral chihuahua until Eddie’d absolutely lost it and tried to beat Richie up. It hadn’t gone well; Richie was so much taller than him and he had just pulled him into a hug, apologies sliding off his tongue. He promised to never do it again. After that, there were less and less explosions until there were none.

“No! No! You listen! I’m doing my work. I’ll be home in three days. Three! You have my–” Eddie pauses. “Please, would you just–”

Richie puts the food on the table and Bill clears away Eddie’s school work.

“God damnit, mom! They are not my roommates, they are my boyfriends. We have been over and over–” Another pause. “Well maybe I won’t come home then!” There’s another pause followed by a loud banging sound and then Eddie begins to sob.

Bill and Richie look at each other as they sit there listening to Eddie cry and yell at himself. Bill can’t quite make out everything he’s saying, but he knows it’s not good. He hears things like pussy, and coward, and little bitch. Things that he’d been told his whole life. Things Bill had thought he’d worked through.

Bill had apparently been wrong.

“I’m gonna go get him,” Richie says, and gets up. Bill catches his hand, and shakes his head. They sigh.

“Wuh–ne m-more m-minute.” He swallows hard. Richie sits back down slowly. Bill hates this just as much as Richie, but he doesn’t want to push Eddie too hard.

Slowly, Eddie’s sobs lessen. Bill wants to get up and go to him, but still he hesitates. Richie leans into his space and rests his head on Bill’s shoulder.

“Can we go get him now?” Richie asks.

Bill licks his lips. He’s about to say yes when they hear the bathroom door open, and Eddie sees them as soon as he looks up.

“Oh,” he says softly. His eyes are red and puffy. He swallows hard several times. “I-I–” And then tears fill his eyes, and his face crumbles, and Richie and Bill go to him, pull him close and let him cling to them as he cries.

“It’s ok, Eddie, we’ve got you,” Richie murmurs into his hair. “We’ve got you.”

“L-Let it out, b-baby,” Bill whispers.

Eddie’s fingers dig into Bill’s shirt as he sobs. His whole body is shaking and Bill wishes he could find Sonia Kaspbrak and give her a piece of his mind, but he tries to push these thoughts away as he kisses Eddie’s hair.

They sit on the couch, and it takes a long time for Eddie to calm down. Even after he’s stopped crying, he still clings to them. He whines when Richie pulls away.

“I’ll be back, my love, just going to get you some water,” Richie says as Eddie grips his shirt hem.

“But I–” Eddie’s hoarse, and Bill can’t help but feel sorry for him.

“I-It w-will help,” Bill says. He reaches out and pulls Eddie’s hand free. “It will help.” Slowly, Eddie lets go and lets Bill lace their fingers together. He leans back into Bill and closes his eyes.

After Eddie drinks his water, he looks around at them with heavy sad eyes. He’s cradled between them, both of them pushing into his space.

“I’m–I’m sorry,” Eddie says.

“What for, love?” Richie asks. He strokes Eddie’s hair, kisses his temple.

“Because I–Because I’m such a freaking mess,” Eddie whispers.

“Yo-You’re n-not a m-mess.” Bill kisses Eddie behind his ear and Eddie’s eyelashes flutter a little.

“Your mom is a fucking cunt,” Richie says.

Bill frowns at him. Eddie usually freaks whenever someone says something bad about his mom.

“Yeah, she is,” Eddie says. 

Bill and Richie make shocked noises. Bill squeezes him.

“I’m just so tired of her. She’s...” His voice waivers and takes a deep breath. “I have to use the bathroom.” Eddie gives them each a kiss before he gets up.

Once the door is closed, Richie looks at Bill, scowling.

“What the fuck is that bitch’s problem?” Richie growls.

“I d-don’t kn-know.” Bill sighs. He scoots closer to Richie. “I h-hate her so much. It’s been s-such a l-long t-time si-since–”

“Yeah, he’s been doing so good.” Richie huffs. “I just wish I could meet that bitch just one time so I could–”

“Trust me, you don’t want to meet my mom,” Eddie says. Richie and Bill jump, neither of them had heard the toilet flush. “C’mon. I’m hungry.”

Sharing glances, Richie and Bill get up and follow Eddie into the kitchen. He’s sitting at the table, pulling the food out of the bag and frowns at the fries.

“Aww, fuck, they’re cold.” Eddie’s lip trembles a little. “I’m sorry. I should have waited to call. I just finished my final and I–”

“N-No, b-baby. It’s ok. Th-The fries w–ill heat up,” Bill says.

“Yeah,” Richie agrees. “That’s why God invented microwaves, right?” He picks up the container and throws it in, pushing buttons quickly. “See? It’s fine.”

Sniffling, Eddie wrinkles his nose. “Nuked fries taste so gross.”

“I think we got some cheese and Ranch. That will help.” Richie goes to the fridge as Eddie looks at the rest of the food and looks up at Bill.

“You two are the best, do you know that?” Eddie asks. Richie kisses his hair as he wraps his arms around Eddie’s shoulders.

“N-No you,” Bill says.

Wrapping his fingers around Richie’s forearms, Eddie kisses his inner arm. “I love you both so much.”

“We love you, too.” Richie pulls away as the microwave beeps.

After they eat, they curl up on the couch to watch TV. They’re all crossed limbs and elbows in stomachs and pulled hair, but they don’t really care. Eddie just lets the others hold him close, pet his hair, kiss him.

“Are you doing better?” Richie asks after a bit. Eddie shrugs.

“Wh-What happened?” Bill asks.

Eddie shrugs again. “Just the usual. I finished my paper like right after you left, so I decided to call her before she called the police like she did that one time, and she said since I was done with my finals that I needed to come home right away. When I said I want to stay with you two, that my ticket is nonrefundable or exchangeable, she said she didn’t care about the cost, that she’d pay and…” He sighs. “She just wouldn’t listen. She kept saying, ‘You may be an adult, but you’re still my child.’” He huffs. “I’ve been financially independent from that old bag for over a year. She has no right to say shit like that to me any more.”

“N-No, she doesn’t,” Bill agrees.

“Honestly, she never should have talked to you that way, ever,” Richie says. Eddie leans a little closer to him. He plays with the strings on Bill’s hoodie.

“I know,” Eddie whispers.

Bill can hardly believe what he’s hearing. His heart fills with pride and he pulls Eddie’s legs into his lap and cups Eddie’s face in his hands before kissing him so, so gently. When they pull apart, Bill pushes his forehead into Eddie’s forehead. 

“L-Love you,” Bill whispers. When he pulls back, Richie presses his own kiss into Eddie’s temple.

“You know, you don’t have to go,” Richie says. “You can come home with us.”

“O-Or we c-could go wi-with you,” Bill says.

Eddie shakes his head. “It will be ok.”

Sighing, Richie shakes his head, no. “You shouldn’t have to deal with her alone. Let us come with you.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that,” Eddie murmurs.

“Y-You d–idn’t. We’re t-telling you. We’re coming wi–th you,” Bill says. Richie smiles at Bill.

“You really don’t–”

“Eds, you may as well give it up. We’re coming with you, and if your mom can’t deal, well, fuck her, and we’ll leave early.” Richie pauses. “In fact, plan on it. We’ll all have to change our tickets, call our families, but we’ll split up the break evenly. It will be fun.”

“We can’t afford that!” Eddie protests.

“Y-Yes we c-can! I just got p-paid for th–at piece I wrote a why-while back,” Bill says.

“No, Bill, you were going to use that for a new computer!” Eddie says.

“I’ll j-just st-steal yours.” Bill strokes his arm.

“You’re ridiculous,” Eddie murmurs, but there’s a small smile on my face. He sighs and leans into Richie. “You guys are the best, do you know that?”

“N-No, you.” Bill laces their fingers together.

“Yeah, spaghetti, you’re the best.” Richie kisses his hair.

Eddie closes his eyes, and settles back.

“We d-don’t have to m-make any d-decisions tonight,” Bill says. “W-We can t-talk t-tomorrow.”

“Ok,” Eddie says. He sighs again and sits up. “You guys wanna do something?”

“Like what?” Richie asks.

“Play Mario Kart?”

“Only if you don't cry when I kick your butt!" Richie says as he pulls himself free and gets up to set up the Switch. Eddie scoots around and leans into Bill's side.

"Yeah, we'll see who cries, Tozier!" Eddie teases.

Bill knows it is a toss-up between the two; they are both really good. It's Bill that's going to be the loser, but he doesn't really care. He's terrible at video games, but he loves being with his boyfriends. 

He sits there listening to them argue about who is the worst player and waits to be handed a controller. He loves listening to them bicker like this, and he knows Eddie bickering is a good sign. Licking his lips, Bill leans into Eddie, eyes closed for a moment. 

"You ok, Bill?" Eddie asks as Richie's attention falters. He's fighting with the cords and cursing under his breath.

"Yeah, I'm good." Bill takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Love you so much."

Eddie squeezes his hand. "Love you."

"Got it!" Richie says triumphantly. He tosses a couple of controllers at them and sits near the TV. "You two losers ready?"

"Shut up, buttmunch," Eddie says. "Get ready to eat my dust!"

"Bring it!" Richie says. 

Bill struggles with his controller and gets settled. He knows the next couple of weeks are going to be hard. Eddie had agreed tonight that they would change their winter break plans, but that doesn't mean that it isn't going to be a struggle. He knows Eddie wants to break free, but Bill knows it isn’t easy; Sonia has a firm grip on her son.

Bill is not looking forward to the back and forth that is inevitably coming, but he decides there is no point in worrying about that now. Right now, Eddie is happy, Eddie is safe, and the three of them are going to have a good night. Tomorrow is future Bill’s problem, and tonight all he has to worry about is not driving the wrong way on the track. He knows everything will be ok.

[the-goddess-of-mischief-writing]

꧁Midnight Masquerade꧂

Description; A masquerade becomes the perfect time for a monster to stalk its prey. But what if the heroine knows the villan?

Pairing: Pietro x reader

Rating: Mature

CHAPTER NO/ONESHOT: Oneshot

Word count; 3.230

Warnings; Kinda entering the thriller genre, a bit of fluff (?)

Author; @the-goddess-of-mischief-writing

A/N: So this is my little piece in @sdavid09 halloween's challenge and I had the prompts "Scooby Doo" and M.J's "Thriller". Though this isn't only an entry in the challenge, but also my way of introducing a new character I'm going to start writing for. I took a new and kinda differente approach with this fic, so this isn’t how I characteristically write and honestly I don't really now how it turned out. Maybe I'll do a part two or just leave it as this is, we'll see. Nevertheless, hope you enjoy this little work xx

MASTERLIST

Autumn. From where you came the season didn't bring much more than chilled temperatures that nipped at every part of your body, no matter how much or little clothes you wore for the time of year. The only thing differing it from the snowy winter though was the colours. Leaves painted in every colour between green and red, making the forest look as if it was on fire. The otherwise dull coloured buildings, speaking of an ill-favoured state, blended together with the third season of the year, as the smell of earth and heaviness of rain was present. 

Those scents reminded you of your home more than ever as you now walked through the mist coating the streets outside. Goosebumps spread across your body as the wind ruffled the leaves enough for them to fly. A curse left you as you hugged the coat closer around your body, damning the wind for penetrating your scant pieces of clothes for the season. As well as your friends, for the night stroll that you now needed to take.

"Miss, your costume is pretty", the tiny voice surprised you to a stop. As the masquerade mask covering your face also entered your outermost vision, you need to tilt your head downwards to find the owner of it. As soon as you did, you saw a little girl standing there, with illuminated wings and brightly coloured clothes. Her face was painted as well, but unlike yours which aimed to look somewhat regal, it accentuated the costume she was clad in.

"Oh, uhh thank you", you mumbled, unsure if the little girl heard you as another gust of wind fittingly blew by, although seemingly she did. With nothing but a giggle in return and a bright smile, she skipped away to catch up with her mother, who had stopped not far behind you as she noticed her daughter wasn't with her.

You followed the pair for a few seconds, unable to not notice a few dozen other people roaming the streets as well. It seemed that everyone below the age of fifteen was out and about in silly costumes, knocking on each door of the houses in the scary decorated neighbourhood.

The ghosts, mummies, fairies and other creatures and costumes were what reminded you that the outfit you felt was bothersome walking around in, looked unusually modest. Aside from the black lace mask covering your face, there wasn't much more which differed your outfit from any other party clothes.

You sighed, continuing forward to reach the new place your friends said they meet you at, while in the background hearing voices gleefully exclaiming trick or treat. Everything reminded you that here, autumn didn't only bring a change of season, but Halloween as well. You were not used to it, in fact, you had never experienced it until now.

"Hey Y/N!" Along with the call of your name, came the honking of a car and if you hadn't recognised the voice, the rapid sound would have helped you figure out that it was your friends.

"Oh stop it you pest!" You shouted back, laughter lacing your tone, at the man behind the wheel.

"Won't stop until you're in this car missy!" You openly laughed at the way Jake, from his position in the driver seat, leaned closer to the open window on the passenger side to holler at you.

"Can't you see I'm on my way", you answered, almost entering a jog to reach the car to stop his irritation of the whole neighbourhood.

Thanks to your hurried steps, you soon jumped in the backseat, though the person already sitting there didn't give you much time to close the door behind you before throwing themselves at you. Automatically you encircled them, naturally knowing who it was by their display.

"I see you went for the devil after all", you said, regarding the brunette opposite you as you parted. Noticing she matched her deep red glitter dress with devil horns, while a red mask covered her upper face.

"Seeing as we aren't going to the ordinary college party, I thought I could try a classic in a different style".

"Stop lying to yourself Lily, we all know you picked that dress because it made your butt look good", turning to meet you from the passenger seat was Emma, a short-haired blonde.

"And perhaps that's the second reason", Lily stated, though before any further comments could be made, you felt the jolt of the car as it jumped forward.

"Anyways, welcome to the Mystery Machine", Jake said excitedly, though you couldn't miss the blonde rolling her eyes at her boyfriend's comment.

"He's waited to say that since we began heading here", you chuckled at the way she said it, an act that only grew when she swatted his shoulder after a smart comment he made.

"Hey, hey! Don't hit the driver, right Y/N?" You glanced up to meet Jake's eyes in the rearview mirror.

"I want to arrive at our destination and survive, so perhaps don't hit the driver, which for further information, also is your boyfriend Em".

"If anything that gives me the right to", she said sarcastically, which made him make a pouty face and lean in to kiss her. With a giggle, one that made you smile at their exchange, she pushed his head away while saying eyes on the road.

Although the ride was anything but short, your company and their storytelling of previous Halloween's, made the journey pass quickly. Soon enough, you pulled up to the estate-like property, already filled with cars and people flowing through the entrance.

"Geez, they really went all out this year", Jake's eyes strayed from searching for a parking spot for a few seconds to eye the bustle outside. You heard Emma mutter a there, showcasing an empty lot for you to take which her partner immediately headed for.

"When don't they go all out", Lily shrugged before continuing " Though this year you made a valid effort to match the theme, compared to earlier", Lily gestured to the hair Jake had coloured green for the night and the black tailcoat he wore. The man addressed was momentarily busy parking the car, so he only hummed as recognition to her words, but if he gave any further affirmation once it rocked to a stop, you didn't know as you hurriedly opened the car door.

Once stepping out, your mouth dropped open, before a gleeful smile took over. You heard the chatter of people passing by and watched their choice of clothes, the cocktail-dress code for the masquerade impossible to miss.

"You look like an eager puppy", you hadn't noticed the rest stepping out of the vehicle, but Emma's word you heard. Turning around you saw how she had matched the Joker her boyfriend dressed as. Patch-work jumpsuit in black and red followed her body, mask a bit more excessive then both your own and Lily's, as her face was covered in a joker masquerade mask.

"Don't tease her Harley, I'm the Joker for the night", Jake had come up to draw her close to his side, half of his face hidden behind a grinning mask.

"With jokes like that, I'm going to dump you".

"I know you won't", he said, the banter between them continuing as they took the lead towards the house, you and Lily following behind them. You felt exhilaration starting to pump through your veins and your mask gliding up as you couldn't contain a smile. Your undivided attention made the man following you with his gaze, go unnoticed.

You felt how the dress stuck to your skin as you made your way out from the dancing crowd. Since you arrived, you and your friends had busied yourselves with drinking and dancing. Up until this moment you hadn't parted from each other, though the suffocating atmosphere now prompted you too. You excused yourself to get through the crowd, knowing the exit to the garden was on the other side of the mass.

It didn't take long until you got to the door and opened it, doing so you were met by a cold autumn gust. Although it was probably barely noticed by those inside, you felt it envelop you like a counterproductive blanket. The sensation made a shaky sigh escape you, a sound which was swallowed by the noise of the door closing. Hugging your form your eyes closed momentarily, taking in how your bodily temperature steadily lowered. Something about it was comforting, feeling how the hotness disappeared though never fading to freezing. Even though you could hear the music from inside, it was nice fleeing it and the crowds for a few moments.

Taking a deep breath, you slowly opened your eyes while tipping your head backwards, following the fog the exhale then created. Not until it dissipated fully, did you refocus to watch the night sky. It seemed to be close to midnight if the full moon shining brightly from above was any sign to tell from. It cast a cold glow over the garden you stood by yourself in, that was what you had thought at least.

It caught you off guard, heart jumping as you hastily switched to look towards the source of movement in your peripheral. Far to your right, at the end of the patio, a man stood, almost hidden in the shadows. It was his dark grey suit, with few other lighter details, that made him blend so well against the wall of the house, yet the thing deceiving him was his hair. Light, almost verging silver, became a beacon of his presence, nearly as much as the shining mask hiding the majority of his face. His gaze had been heavily set on you the whole time since you noticed his presence and only thanks to this, could you see what the piece shielding his face resembled, a wolf.

As your eyes flickered up to meet his eyes, a pair you couldn't see but feel, you started to feel how the cold grew palpable. It was if the temperature dropped several degrees and a creeping feeling begun to spread in your body. It was then, instead of just having his head turned to you, his whole body did. However, the swift motion didn't stop there, as he didn't waste a second before walking towards you.

You couldn't read it as threatening, yet the way he closed the space between you without saying anything made you unsure. The door you had exited through was still nothing but a step away, as you hadn't ventured further from it, but you were paralysed. Even though you wanted, you couldn't move, merely stare at the man who already had crossed the halfway point to reach you.

It was when he started passing the windows, the flickering lights from inside illuminated his features enough for you to see him clearer. He was tall and well built as he moved with grace, although at the same time it seemed to be a restrained speed. You noticed a stubble on the visible part of his jaw, yet before you reached his eyes, you blinked and when looking towards him again, your jaw dropped.

He was gone.

There was no trace of him even being there in the first place. You started to doubt your sanity while stepping forward. That was when you felt it, a hand on your shoulder. Frightened you jerked away from it, scream dying in your throat as it closed from the sheer panic wrecking throughout your body. However, instead of being met by a silver wolf, you saw a shocked devil.

"It looks like you've seen a ghost", your hand was still placed over your heart and you felt it race from the jump-scare you just got. A relived, albeit airy, chuckle left you seeing Lily stand there, eyebrows scrunched at your reaction.

"From how you appeared from nowhere, I might as well have done it", you tried joking. Earning a laugh told you that you succeeded.

"Well you disappeared, so I came looking for you", you smiled, ever the caretaking friend she was.

"I needed to cool down, too sweaty with the crowd inside".

"Understandable, but you better come inside again", she reached for your hand, about to make you follow her, but not before exclaiming "God women, your freezing!" You wanted to laugh at her outburst, although the uneasy feeling in your stomach of being watched irked you to look behind you instead. As expected, no one was there.

From that moment and onwards, you couldn't let go of what happened. The man had disappeared into thin air, something you couldn't find any explanation to. Though that was not everything, ever since then, you felt observed. The feeling of having a glare in the back of your neck never ceased, yet every time you turned, you couldn't find anyone looking your way. It made an uneasy feeling settle in your body, but you tried pushing it away, knowing your easily spooked mind most possibly played a part in the trick your brain now played on you.

You had since then also joined the dancing crowd, at the moment throwing your head backwards, singing along the lyrics. You moved along the bodies, eyes closed to delve into the sensation of letting go. Even though you hadn't touched a drink since returning inside, you had had a few glasses earlier. Not enough to lose your reason, but plenty for renewed energy to develop.

Suddenly you felt how someone bumped you, harsher than acceptable even for the setting you were in, to which your eyes shot open. You were to turn around and tell the person off, yet something else caught your eye. Through the crowd, you could see him again. Silver mask reflecting the neon lights, yet none reached his eyes. You blinked, but in the second people had moved in the way and he was gone.

"This can't be real", you shook your head, though it was then you felt the burning feeling of eyes on you once more. This time you didn't hesitate to start turning in a circle to find the onlooker and when you did your eyes widened.

You had turned the opposite way of how you originally stood, something which would've taken minutes to walk. No matter if you walked through the dancing crowd, or around it. Yet there he was. The quickening of your pulse wasn't noticeable, not until the music started to fade to give room for the pounding in your ears that was. As heads began clouding the vision of him again, you tried to peer around them, as well as standing on your toes. Still, you lost him a second time.

It felt like someone played with you by now or you were going insane. At that instance, as it was triggered by your thought, you felt your body stiffen and straighten. Your body was hot, but you felt a coldness spread from your core. You recognised where the feeling came from, horrified you slowly turned to look the way it came. His mask shone in the dark, yet you could see nothing besides from it, the rest of him drenched in darkness.

"This can't be real, this can't be real", you uttered to yourself while turning and exiting the crowd and continuing down one of the corridors.

You knew Halloween was the night of terror, but never had you thought you would end up in a thriller. There must be a reason for everything, you thought, yet you had no explanations of the events you had witnessed.

Continuing to move forward, you heard the music fade behind you and your steps echo filling the silencing space instead. The empty space resonated each of your heavy steps loudly, the thought almost stopped you. There was no way your heels would give away that deep and loud of a noise. Intensely you listened, noticing how the sound followed yours perfectly, hitting the ground with the pace of your soles, making it sound like a further echo of yours. But it wasn't, someone else walked behind you.

The growing panic quickly crossed the threshold of fear, making you bolt. You zoned out, only focusing on putting as much distance between you and whatever was behind you that was humanly possible. You didn't dare look back, only held your gaze fastened on the door of the toilet, which had been your original goal.

It felt like the distance never ceased then all of a sudden, your shoulder connected to de door, while hand turned the handle, making you crash trough it. You stagger into the polished room, still not forgetting the door was wide open behind you. With all your weight you threw yourself at it, fingers finding the lock as soon as it closed with an echoing bang.

Your breath had turned shallow, shaking att both in and exhale. In a futile attempt, you tried holding your breath to silence the sound of your breathing. You stared at the door, attempting to hear if whatever chased you still was outside or worse, trying to break in. You realised that if it succeeded, there was nowhere left to run. However, besides your ragged breaths, it was silent, almost to silent.

It was then the impossible happened, you felt a cold hand wrap around your wrist. A choked sound was the only possible noise able to leave you. Biting your lip, you tried to quite the cry that wanted to escape, as well as your tears which were threateningly close.

You prayed this was your imagination, but you knew it wasn't as you felt the one being behind you step closer. You didn't need to turn to feel the looming feeling, which made you insignificantly curl into yourself.

"Y/N", unprepared for the sound of a voice, a whimpered left you, while you covered into yourself further. Your fear clouded your thoughts and not until his voice had echoed in your head multiple times did you realise, you knew that voice.

Though fear still gripped you, you slowly turned, eyes wide as you saw the mass of a man now standing before you. It was impossible to see anything more than his form in the dark, so you reached behind you, fumbling to find the light switch. Flickering to life the sudden source of light blinded you momentarily, though as soon as your eyes had adjusted, you looked at him once more.

Though his mask still covered most of his features, the light revealed many traits you hadn't seen before. His hair, which you had thought was silver, was dark brown at the roots, matching the stubble covering his jaw. The blue of his eyes shone from the cuts in his mask, seemingly crinkled in the corners. That was when you recognised him.

You recognised those blue eyes which you had gazed into so many times before. Those blues that could shift from shining brightly, to dangerously opaque. The ones you had left when moving from Sokovia, from him.

It was like he was bound, thus as you reached towards him, he stood perfectly still. You found the laces to his mask easily and with a few tugs, the tie loosened and the disguise fell from his face, hitting the floor with an unbothered cling.

"Pietro"

Taglist; @flowerchild1216 @haven-in-writing @krystallynx​ @sdavid09​

[perseusannabeth]

Bottled Up Storms - Chapter 1

So this is something I started writing thanks to a prompt I received (shout out to the anon who sent me that). I’m sorry that this has taken me so long to write, but my job has been kicking my arse so I haven’t had much time to write. I originally was going to write this as a one shot but lmao oops it turned out a little too long and I have too many ideas so now it’ll be a multi-chapter fic. 

This is a pregnancy fic for Nessian. I don’t really know much about being pregnant so everything is from google so I’m sorry if I get stuff wrong. I hope you enjoy it. Let me know if you want to be added to my tags list!

Description: Nesta and Cassian have been living in the Illyrian mountains for some months now, and they had it all figured out. They mostly ignored each other, and seemed to be getting by. However, after one drunken night together, they must deal with the consequences of what they have created together, both the new life they created, and the lives they have created for themselves.

This is also posted on AO3

Word count: 4511

They didn’t talk about the fact that they’d had sex. It was a one-time thing, and something not to be repeated as far as they were both concerned. They had both been drunk and they needed to feel something. There had been tension lingering around them ever since Nesta had been ordered to go with Cassian to Illyria. The tension was normal around the two of them, it had been there ever since they had first met, which felt like a lifetime ago. The tension had built until it was going to burst. That’s what had happened that drunken night.  

Nesta found she was fine not talking about what had happened between them. She didn’t want to talk about the mind-blowing sex, the way Cassian had looked at her like she was his world, the way he had held her after, how it had made her feel calm and safe, the way she’d had the best nights sleep since Gods know when, the way she had woken up to him staring at her with such love and wonder that she couldn’t breathe. Cassian hadn’t spoken about it either. He had just watched her as she left his room. The weight of his gaze nowadays was suffocating but different reasons. Now it was heavy with the memories of that night, of what they could be if she wasn’t so broken, and if she hadn’t been such a coward and left. 

Nesta was content to go about her life at the blasted camp her sister had dumped her at, barely seeing Cassian. She carried on with her routine of going to see Emerie in the shop. She would help if she needed it, but Emerie so rarely had customers that she did things herself just so she could keep busy. After spending a few hours with Emerie, sometimes talking and sometimes sitting in comfortable silence, she would wander around the camp, sometimes watching the training of the women, sometimes tiring and going to the cabin she shared with Cassian and reading one of her books. 

Very occasionally, Nesta would wander down to the healer’s tent and help them. She worked in silence, just doing as she was told, but the work was good for tiring her out and keeping her hands and mind busy. It made her feel useful, something she had not felt in a long time, maybe not ever. 

She hadn’t felt the need to drink herself into oblivion like she had done most nights in Velaris. Maybe the distance had helped, but Nesta still couldn’t bring herself to thank her sister for sending her away. Even when she and Cassian had… made their mistake that night, she wasn’t anywhere near as drunk as she could’ve been. She just pretended she was after it had happened so that Cassian wouldn’t talk to her about it. She was eating too, although that was a bit more hit and miss. She was shocked to find that the alcohol she could easily leave, but the punishing her body, the not eating, that was harder to do. Still, she was making progress and eating something is better than nothing. Her lack of drinking meant she was throwing up less, meaning she was slowly starting to look healthier. Her nightmares did cause her to throw up though, so the food didn’t always stay down. She still couldn’t make much of a dent in the food that Cassian plated up for her, but she still felt a small amount of pride for eating what she did. 

Which is why she was confused. She was being sick in the morning, despite the fact she hadn’t drank any alcohol since that night with Cassian. She wouldn’t even have it with her meal, just in case her control slipped. The alcohol made her too free, which was dangerous around Cassian.

This was the third morning in a row now, where Nesta had been sick. At first, she had thought it was food poisoning, but Cassian was fine and he always cooked for both of them. Plus, she had felt better later on in the day. She had gone to the healers who told her she wasn’t ill. They had offered to check her over more extensively, but Nesta refused, hoping whatever it was would go away. 

It hadn’t. Because of course, of course, things could never be that easy for Nesta. This morning was particularly bad. She was sat on the floor in the bathroom and had been for the past half an hour. She didn’t want to risk getting up because every time she did, she felt sick again. Cassian was (thank the cauldron) at his morning training session, and wouldn’t be back until dinner. She had the cabin to herself for the day to deal with whatever this was. 

She decided to move to the sink to rinse her mouth out with water. She didn’t want to risk going into the kitchen to get a glass, just in case she was sick again. As she stood up, her body protested, and her stomach churned. Nesta took a deep breath in the hopes it would calm her stomach, but she had no such luck as she once again leaned over the toilet bowl, slowly sinking to her knees again as she retched again. 

Nesta always prided herself on being well aware of her surroundings. However, while she was being sick, she didn’t notice Cassian coming back into the cabin. Nor did she hear his footsteps getting closer and closer as he followed the noises she was making. 

Cassian stood in the doorway of the bathroom and stared at Nesta who had now stopped being sick and was leaning against the bathtub, panting. Nesta glared at him, but without as much heat as she would’ve liked, exhausted from throwing up for half an hour. 

“Are you alright?” Cassian asked, seeming to break himself out of whatever was going on in his head. 

“Do I look alright to you?” Nesta bit back, taking deep breaths as her stomach churned again. She closed her eyes, willing her stomach to settle, hoping that the cool feeling of the bathtub against her would help. 

“A little too much fun last night?”

“Yes, it was a joy, sitting in my room all night, reading my book until I fall asleep, not having to be around you,” Nesta replied, angry that he would imply she had been drinking. 

He seemed thrown by that. They both knew that she wouldn’t lie about the drinking, she had never felt the need to before. She wasn’t ashamed of her chosen coping habit, it wasn’t hurting anyone else, just herself. It shouldn’t bother everyone as much as it does, but if they choose to worry about her drinking habit then that’s on them, she didn’t care. Or so she would keep telling herself.  

“I… are you saying you haven’t been drinking?” Cassian asked, unable to keep the shock out of his voice.

“I haven’t drank any alcohol since-” she cut herself off, unable to say that she hadn’t touched alcohol since that night they had shared. 

Thankfully, Cassian seemed to realise what she was about to say and just cleared his throat awkwardly and gave her a small nod. “Okay then, shall I get a healer?” 

“No, I’ll go down myself, I’m fine now anyway.” Nesta tried to slowly move, but it was no use. Her stomach churned again as she turned quickly to the toilet before being sick again. 

Nesta’s whole body shook as she was sick, she could feel her energy draining with each time she heaved, her nose and mouth, filling with the acidic smell and taste of her vomit. She couldn’t believe she was vomiting this much, not when she didn’t think she had this much lining her stomach to even get rid of in the first place. She felt a warm hand slowly rub her back as she threw up, so softly it hurt her heart. 

Eventually, her body stopped, perhaps running out of things to force out of her, although Nesta was not very hopeful. Her body was clearly punishing her for all the havoc she had caused when she was drinking her meals. She leaned back against the bathtub once again, Cassian’s hand still so soft and warm on her back. She could feel the liquid around her nose, mouth and the tears that had escaped as she had been sick leaving marks down her cheeks. She closed her eyes, wishing Cassian was anywhere but here, wishing he wasn’t seeing her like this. 

Perhaps Nesta’s wishes come true quickly, but perhaps that’s only true when her wish is something that will hurt her. Cassian slowly stood up and left her in the bathroom. He returned briefly with a glass of water and some tissues to try and clean her face up as best he could. She would have stopped him, and his soft movements as he wiped her face, but she didn’t have the energy to stop him, to yell, to be a bitch and push him away. Not right now. But maybe she could do it without even trying because she closed her eyes and felt him leave, and heard the front door open and shut, and the cabin was once again was empty. 

Nesta sat on the floor for what felt like an age. Time seemed to pass differently when you’ve been sick all morning. She waited until she started feeling a bit better, her legs not feeling as weak or shaky, her stomach settling down slightly, her nose stopped stinging, her eyes stopped watering. She slowly moved herself to stand up, trying to keep her movements as smooth and slow as possible, in the hopes it wouldn’t make her sick again. 

Her limbs felt too heavy for her, her body exhausted from being sick. She didn’t have the energy to deal with people, she didn’t want to speak to anyone or see anyone. She wanted to sleep. Even though she was sleeping better than she had been, her sleep was interrupted, bitty, and more like she was taking several naps at night rather than getting proper rest. She didn’t bother undressing or undoing her braided hair. She simply walked over to her bed and collapsed, feeling grateful that her room wasn’t far from the bathroom.  

She closed her eyes but knew that despite the exhaustion her body was feeling, her mind would not let her sleep. She knew she wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Cassian’s hand on her back. It was the first time he had touched her since that night. It hurt, that he didn’t want to touch her again unless he had to, but she understood. Things were so messy between the two of them, they needed space between them. Nesta couldn’t think when she was near Cassian, and when he touched her it felt like he had lit a fuse. She was sure that if she hadn’t been otherwise occupied when he had touched her, she would’ve reacted differently. She was glad that she hadn’t since she had been embarrassed enough for one day. 

Cassian clearly felt she hadn’t been embarrassed enough, however, because he returned, and she could clearly hear the voice of another person with him. She recognised the voice of the healers from the tent that she helped out in. Their footsteps grew closer, and Nesta, in her panic, decided that she would pretend to be asleep. 

“Oh,” was all that Cassian said as he opened the door and saw her fully dressed and asleep on top of her covers. She had been so exhausted that she couldn’t even muster the energy to get under them before they had arrived. “Shall I wake her?”

“It’s okay general, you can go and wait elsewhere. I will wake her up and speak to her,” there was silence, Cassian not moving away like he had been told to. Eventually, he let out a small sigh and walked away into their shared living space as the healer shut the door behind him. 

“You can stop pretending to be asleep now. You may have fooled the general but that won’t work on me.”

Nesta slowly opened her eyes and looked at the healer. She was short, with dark brown hair, tied in a neat bun. Her wings were clipped, but she seemed to carry herself in a way that suggested she was fairly old even for fae standards, and she wore the typical healers uniform, which was immaculate. In fact, everything about this woman was immaculate, which put Nesta on edge even on a normal day. After three days of being sick every morning, Nesta wanted nothing more to hide under her blanket. She did not give in to her urge to hide, however, and slowly sat up on her bed, hoping not to make the queasy feeling turn into something more again.   

“I know we’ve seen each other around the tent, but I’ve never had a chance to speak to you before. I’m Theodora. I heard you were throwing up this morning? Is this the first time you’ve done that?” As she asked the questions, Theodora set her bag down on the foot of the bed and started rifling through it and putting things onto the bed. 

“I’m Nesta. And no, this is now the third day this has been happening. It seemed to calm down yesterday afternoon so I hoped that it was just a stomach bug that had passed.” 

Theodora looked up at her in surprise. “Three days?”

“Yes although I have been feeling a bit queasy for much longer than that, I just learnt to ignore it.”

“Hmm okay, and how long have you been noticing my queasiness?” Nesta paused, unsure if she should divulge all her secrets with the healer, in case she told Cassian or anyone what she had been suffering recently. As if able to sense her worries, Theodora added, “Nothing you say will be shared with anyone else without your permission.”

Slightly comforted that if someone was to find out at least she would have warning, Nesta decided to share her troubles. “I’ve been feeling sick ever since my last period.” 

“How long ago was that?”

“It was supposed to be 2 weeks ago, but it never came. That isn’t unusual though. I’ve put my body through a lot, my periods are never predictable.”

Theodora pursed her lips and nodded to indicate she was listening as she looked through her healer’s bag once more, a small frown on her face. When she found what she was looking for, she inspected it, before looking up at Nesta. 

“This is a routine question I ask every female, so please don’t get offended, but is there any chance you could be pregnant? Just so I can choose my treatment method correctly.”

Nesta froze. Pregnant? Surely not. Fae pregnancies were difficult and rare, she knew that. With what Nesta had been putting her body through before coming to Illyria, she wasn’t even sure she could do that right now. There was no way she could be pregnant, could she? But then a flash of blurry memory hit her, stumbling into Cassian’s room, the desperation, ripping each other’s clothes off and “oh fuck could I be pregnant?”

“I, erm, I don’t know,” was all she could stutter in a small voice, her throat constricting, making it difficult for her not to cry. She didn’t know for sure, but she suddenly had a very bad feeling about all of this. 

“Right then, we will do a pregnancy test first in that case. I’ll just go get you some water because I’ll need a urine sample to find out for sure,” Theodora smiled at her before walking off towards the kitchen. 

Nesta remained frozen on the bed, staring at the open door. She could hear Cassian speaking to the healer, but she couldn’t focus on what was being said, she couldn’t focus on anything. She was pregnant, she knew it as soon as Theodora has asked. This was just another way to punish her. It was probably that damned cauldron’s idea of a joke. Of course, she would get pregnant after the one time she slept with her ma- with Cassian. It was like the cauldron could tell that she would run, avoid him, push him away. But if she was pregnant with his child, then she couldn’t do that. Nesta would need him, would want him to be involved if she had his child.

Before she could go even further into her thought spiral, Theodora came back with a large glass of water, which she handed to Nesta as she shut the door again. 

“The general tried to ask me questions, but don’t worry, I put him in his place and told him it was up to you to share any details with him,” Theodora said in a matter of fact tone. 

Nesta couldn’t reply, so she simply gave a small nod of acknowledgement and started drinking her water. Once she had finished the entire glass, she put it on her bedside table and finally drew the courage to look at the healer who was now seated on the other end of her bed. 

“What happens if I am?” Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say that word out loud yet. 

“Then you have options. You don’t have to keep it. But if you decide you do then we can help you learn more.” There was no judgement in Theodora’s voice. Just soft, kind words, letting Nesta take control of a situation which already felt too out of control. 

“What happens if I don’t want it.” Nesta could only whisper the question, looking down at her hands to avoid looking at the kind woman sat in front of her. She didn’t feel like she deserved the kindness, but right now she didn’t have the energy to stop her from being so kind. 

“Then that is your decision. We would tell you about the process, what we do, how it works. In the end, it would just be like heavy bleeding, nothing more.”

“I thought that fae pregnancies were…” Nesta trailed off, not knowing what she was going to say. Her mind was spinning with so many thoughts, she could barely think straight. 

“They are very rare, and when people want to be pregnant, then it is considered very blessed. But not everyone wants to keep that child. Not everyone’s circumstances are happy or healthy. Not everyone can afford to have that child. There are so many factors in pregnancies, not just someone putting their penis in a vagina.”

At the impassioned speech from Theodora, Nesta looked up to see something she couldn’t quite name painted across the healer’s face. All Nesta knew was that she felt understood. She felt unjudged and knew Theodora was not pitying her or the situation she was in. That helped calm the thoughts spinning around in her head. 

"I don't know what I want." Nesta looked down at her hands which were folded in her lap as she finally admit out loud what she had felt since she had emerged from that cursed cauldron. Before that, when she was human, things were simple enough. Her ambitions were simply to marry someone so she could live comfortably. As a woman, Nesta was well aware that she needed someone to look after her and provide her. That was not the case for her in this new Fae world, the possibilities seemed endless for Nesta. However, Nesta felt overwhelmed with the amount of freedom she had suddenly gained in this new world, she had no idea what to do with it.  

"You have some time. Think about it. It's early days yet. Finding out you're pregnant is always a shock, it can take some time to come to terms with that. There are other options too. Many Fae can't have children, so there's always the idea of adoption. Many loving parents would happily raise your child if you are not able to. You can choose to be involved if you want to, or not at all. The possibilities are endless." Theodora started packing her things away, not looking at Nesta as she spoke, which Nesta was grateful for.  

"I... thank you." 

"You're welcome. If you need someone to talk to, just know that I will all always be kept confidential. Even the high lord and lady could not make me break my oath to the people I serve. You know where to find me if you need me Nesta." Nesta gave a small nod, still not able to look up at the healer.  

“Do you need the bathroom yet?” Nesta thought for a second and then nodded. Theodora handed her a vial and instructed her to try and gather as much urine into the vial as possible, which seemed disgusting but Nesta went to the bathroom to do as she had been told. 

She came back and handed the vial to Theodora, cringing as she did. Nesta sat back down on the bed as she watched Theodora put a leaf, which she had kept out of her bags into her urine sample. The leaf floated and started to shrivel up as soon as it was emerged in the urine, turning a funny orange colour with little brown splotches on it. 

“What does that mean?” Nesta whispered, not being able to look away from the leaf. 

“It means that you’re pregnant my dear.” There was a short silence, as though Theodora was waiting for Nesta to say something, but when she didn't Theodora spoke again, breaking the awkward silence. "I will prepare the herbs you will need to drink in your morning tea and send them along to you. If you drink the tea from the herbs every morning, it should help with your morning sickness. If it persists despite the tea then let me know." 

"Thank you," Nesta murmured again, as though unable to think of what else to say in the face of such kindness from a virtual stranger, still trying to process what she had just been told, that her suspicions were correct. Theodora simply nodded and left the cottage, not even glancing at Cassian as she left.  

Cassian walked up to Nesta's room after Theodora left, leaning on the door frame and looked at Nesta's pale face as she stared at her hands, but not really seeing anything. It seemed Nesta was miles away, so he cleared his throat in order to get her attention. 

"Is everything alright?" His eyes looking over her body for signs of an injury, as though there would be something he could see on her body causing her to be unwell. 

"I'm fine," Nesta said, looking up at Cassian finally. He was trying to look casual, as though there was nothing going on, but Nesta could see the tension he was holding in his shoulders. He was worried about her. The realisation came with a large amount of shock. She couldn't quite believe that he was worried about her. Perhaps her shock got the better of her because before she could stop herself, she blurted out "I'm pregnant." 

Nesta's eyes widened as she cursed herself internally for not being able to keep her mouth shut. She looked up to see Cassian, to see he had frozen in shock, his eyes wide, staring at Nesta. Nesta could feel her heart beating in her chest, the tears starting to fill her eyes as Cassian said nothing, and just stared at her with different emotions flitting across his face, too quickly for her to guess what they might mean.  

"I... who? Is it... am I?" Cassian eventually managed to choke out, his eyes drifting to her stomach almost unconsciously.  

"It," Nesta paused, wondering if she should lie, not tell Cassian he was the father, wondering if she could somehow take all of it back. But she knew she couldn't when she saw Cassian looking at her flat stomach. His expression had finally settled on something, and that was hope. Nesta knew after spending time in the Illyrian camps, that Cassian's childhood had been terrible. She knew that Cassian would never, not in a million lifetimes, abandon this baby. "It's yours." She whispered, a tear managing to escape her eye. She quickly wiped it, but knew that it hadn't gone unnoticed. Nothing Nesta did ever went unnoticed where Cassian was concerned. 

"Do you want it?" Cassian asked softly. She knew that he would never begrudge her if she wanted to get rid of the baby. She could see, and she knew, that Cassian would love this baby with everything he had, but if Nesta decided she didn't want this baby, he would never hold it against her, and never stop her from getting rid of it. If she allowed him to, she knew he would be with her every step of the way for that too, even if it broke his heart.  

"I don't know." She closed her eyes, hoping that it would stop any more tears from escaping. 

"I'll stand by you, whatever you choose. You know that, right?" Cassian asked, almost desperately, like he needed to know that she knew this was her choice, and he would never leave her. The desperation in his voice reminded her of the metallic smell of the blood that the ground soaked up, his warm body beneath hers as he gasped for air and told her to leave him to die alone. 

Nesta couldn't get the words out, they got stuck in her throat. She choked out a small sob, unable to stop herself, and gave him a small nod, overcome with emotions. Before she could try to compose herself, to put up the icy exterior she relied on so much, she felt something warm and solid wrap around her. Cassian was silent as he held Nesta in his arms, something he hadn't done since the night they had spent together. Nesta finally let herself cry, unable to keep her emotions at bay any longer.  

 When she felt like she couldn't cry anymore, like she had run out of tears to cry, she slowly pulled away from Cassian's chest, where he had been holding her and stroking her back, telling her everything would be alright. She looked up at the male who had been by her side every step of the way, whether she wanted him there or not.  

She could feel her exhaustion taking over her, hitting her like a hammer. She tried to search for something to say, but didn't know how to put into words what she was feeling, not when she didn't even understand her emotions herself.  

"You should rest," Cassian said softly, as he moved her so she was lying down on her pillow. He pulled her blankets over her, smoothed her hair down and kissed her forehead. Nesta was asleep before he had even left the room, feeling calmer than she had any right to be.

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