#that scene where he grins and his eyes literally light up as he's given permission to use the booth should not be...“interesting”

[queenspock]

Wish we got to see more of Major Reed especially in MACO uniform

[teawaffles]

It Happened One Night: Chapter 2

The country house Mycroft had introduced them to was a little smaller than the nobles’ mansions they’d been to thus far, but it was an elegant villa, one which exuded a sense of history.

Its exterior was built in the Gothic style, with stone foundations. Planted in the vast gardens was a sea of flora in exquisite colour schemes, delighting the eye of any onlooker. [1]

Of course, the interior didn’t disappoint either: it was richly decorated, with intricately crafted furniture in every room; and hanging from the walls were portraits of the mansion’s owners, as well as landscapes painted by renowned artists. As Sherlock and company were here as guests, they were restricted in the number of rooms allowed for use, but the sheer number of luxury items that greeted them was still far greater than what any ordinary person could ever hope to obtain.

Their lives had literally been turned around.

Turned around…… and yet.

“——Booored……”

In the room he had picked himself, Sherlock looked out the window, gazing at the tranquil garden flooded with gentle sunlight.

It had been three days since they’d moved in, and Sherlock had already grown weary of this lavish lifestyle.

He only took care of the plants in the garden insomuch that they wouldn’t wither, but otherwise he had no interest in the flowers themselves. Moreover, he had already tired of gazing upon the decorations and furniture and paintings in the house. The underground wine cellar aroused some interest, but as an invited guest, helping himself to the liquor as he pleased was evidently a breach of etiquette.

In the end, there wasn’t much to do in this mansion.

As John had suggested, requests from clients were reaching him by mail in the meantime, but they had all been simple cases, solvable just by reading the letters. Couldn’t one difficult case come in sometime? Sherlock sighed heavily as he wrote down the solutions in his replies.

His boredom was plain as day. John, who was seated across him, spoke up in a soft voice.

“Sherlock. We just got tangled up in a big incident a while back, so isn’t it a good thing to take a break for once?”

“Y’know, John, just one day of rest is enough for me. If I don’t get the right level of stimulation, my brain will get all mouldy.”

“What an absurd……”

Just then, the door opened.

“Sherlock, John-kun, I’ve made some tea.”

Miss Hudson walked in bearing a silver tray. On top of it were some nicely baked biscuits, and black tea in teacups with simple designs. As they’d been given permission to use the kitchens, she had been devoting her spare time to baking.

“Thank you, Miss Hudson.”

“Thanks—”

The two of them each took a biscuit from the tray on the table, and munched on it.

“How is it? I’m quite proud of them myself,” she asked.

John nodded in satisfaction.

“It’s very delicious. Right, Sherlock?”

“Oh, it’s good, yeah,” he replied, deadpan.

Miss Hudson shook her head sadly.

“……Well now. If you’re this bored, why don’t you head down to one of the nearby villages? Seeing as there’s such fine weather too.”

Sherlock sent his gaze out the window yet again.

“That’s true……. And if an interesting case pops up, it would be just my luck.”

“Don’t say something so troubling — we’ve worked hard for this peace and quiet.”

John was familiar with Sherlock’s character, but this level of addiction to his work was nothing short of astounding. Miss Hudson, clearly worried by the detective’s words, placed a hand on John’s shoulder.

“John-kun, with Sherlock in this state, I’m worried he’ll get up to no good. Just in case, could you tag along with him?”

“Certainly; leave it to me. It’ll also be a perfect opportunity to get some exercise.”

“What’re you both taking me for……?” Sherlock grumbled — he’d been half-joking, and was surprised to find his words being taken seriously.

Then, with Miss Hudson taking care of the house, the two men set off.

✦ ✦ ✦ ✦

The Cotswolds was a region 200 kilometres west of London, renowned for its rustic charm, with its rolling hills carpeted in verdant grass.

From where they were, they could see flocks of white sheep and tiny villages dotting the vast green landscape. The village buildings were constructed from limestone: in the northeast of the Cotswolds, it was the colour of honey; in the central region, it was golden-yellow; in the southwest, it turned white instead.

Walking along a path which cut through some pastures, Sherlock and John arrived at the village nearest to the mansion.

A small stream meandered through the village, and built along it was a series of stone houses. It looked right out of a picture book.

Their hearts healed by the idyllic scene before them, the two men headed to the centre of the village, in a bid to find some boredom-busting information. There, they found a two-storey inn. When he noticed that a section of the first floor had been converted into a pub, Sherlock broke into a grin.

“Oi, John. Let’s have a pint to pass the time.”

John shot him a dubious look.

“Sherlock. Drinking during the day isn’t something I approve of.”

“It’ll be fine. It’s been a long time since we’ve had a vacation anyway — why not let loose for a bit?”

“And who was it who said he’d had enough of resting just now……?”

This was a fine example of what it meant to do an about-turn.

But it wasn’t the first time Sherlock had done something on a whim. John reluctantly followed him into the inn.

As expected for a country pub in the daytime, there were only a handful of customers seated quietly inside — it was nothing like the bustle of the city. At the counter was a tall man, who looked like he was running the business alone.

The two men sat at the bar. Sherlock ordered beer, while John chose some light snacks. As their orders were served up, Sherlock took a swig, then directed a question to the owner.

“Hey. Isn’t there anything interesting going on around here?”

At this vague question, the pub owner rubbed his chin.

“Anything interesting, huh. Well there is, but it’s a family matter. Are you two tourists?”

John spoke up. “No, it’s complicated…… For various reasons, we’re staying in the residence of a nearby landowner for the time being.”

“Hmm, so you’re a close friend of this noble?”

“That’s not it either…… This man here is the detective Sherlock Holmes, and I’m his assistant.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of you. So you’re that Holmes. Must’ve been tough comin’ all the way out here.”

It seemed he had little interest in celebrities: hearing Sherlock’s name didn’t stir up much of a reaction.

Sherlock stared into his beer glass.

“By the way, you said something just now about a ‘family matter’?”

It seemed he had remembered what the owner said earlier, about there being something interesting. Then, the owner’s voice turned slightly cheery.

“Actually, my daughter’s in London now, and she’s getting married. She’s bringing her fiancé here the evening after tomorrow. I’ve met him just once before, but he’s a solid chap. I was kinda worried she’d get on with some weird fellow, so I’m relieved.”

“Congratulations — you must be proud.”

At John’s words, the owner rubbed the back of his head in embarrassment.

“Thanks. I’m also planning a wedding celebration that night, with some friends from the nearby villages.”

Sherlock hummed in reply. It wasn’t clear if he was interested or not.

“But the second floor is used as an inn, right? Wouldn’t the noise invite complaints?”

“Not to worry: there’s only one person staying upstairs now, and I’ve already gotten his agreement. Anyway, it’s pretty rare for outsiders to come to a small village like this. I still run the inn for formality’s sake, but most of my income comes from this pub.”

“But there is one person here.”

“Yeah, a guy who just arrived a while ago. It seems he’s an obscure painter; he said he wanted a quiet place to concentrate on his art and stimulate his creativity, so he’s rented a room for around ten days.”

That number startled John.

“That’s quite a long stay.”

“The rooms are all empty anyway, so I don’t mind at all. Also, instead of an atelier, well…… can you see it from here?”

The owner pointed at something beyond the window. A little ways from the inn, at the end of a patch of exposed, blackened earth, stood a small shed.

When the two men caught sight of the shed and nodded, the pub owner continued.

“It was originally a stable, but got remodelled into a storage shed. This guy said it was easy to concentrate there, so he moved lots of bulky luggage into the shed via carriage, and now he spends most of his day cooped up inside.”

“Something seems off. What happened to his original belongings?”

“There weren’t many to begin with, so now they’ve been moved to an empty room on the second floor. The others in the village don’t really like him, but he pays his bills on time, so I’ve nothing to say to that. And there weren’t many things in the shed in the first place, so he’s not causing me any trouble.”

Just as the owner finished speaking, the shed door opened, and they saw a man walk out alone.

Sherlock spoke up.

“Is, that the artist?”

“Yeah, his name is Rheos. I think he’s from around France.” [2]

Rheos was a pale, lanky young man dressed in awfully shabby clothes: he truly looked like an artist detached from reality. His shoulder-length hair hid most of his features, but his quick steps revealed the strength in his legs. He was carrying a large, dirty case under his arm.

“…………”

Sherlock stared with inscrutable eyes as he tried to figure out where Rheos was going, but quickly turned back to the barkeep.

“So, is he using this place as a base, and travelling around the area to paint landscapes?”

The owner shook his head.

“I thought so too at first, but apparently he practises by referencing works from famous artists.”

“Hmm, you said earlier that he always coops himself up in that shed. I thought he’d go out during the day if he’s painting scenery.”

“He’s an odd one, that’s for sure. But anyway, I’m the one who took him in, and he hasn’t caused any problems so far. I say it’s up to him where and how he wants to paint. ——By the way, Mr Detective—”

He leaned over to Sherlock a little.

“What is it?”

“From your detective work, I’m sure you’ve seen many strange cases, now haven’t you? If you’re willing, why not tell us about one or two at the dinner party?”

The owner broke into a wide grin, but on the contrary, Sherlock’s face twitched. To be honest, it was simply awkward to attend a complete stranger’s wedding party. Hence he decided to gently turn down the offer.

“……Umm, thank you for the invitation, but——”

“——Hmm? How about it? It’s my precious daughter’s wedding, y’know. I’ll do anything to make things even a little more exciting.”

However, contrary to his expectations, the pub owner seemed adamant that Sherlock regale the guests with stories from his detective work. The strength of his insistence had flustered Sherlock for a moment, but eventually, he clapped his partner’s shoulder beside him.

“In that case, John here can go. After all, he’s witnessed many of the strange things I’ve encountered up close.”

“Huh? What’re you saying, Sherlock!?”

Realising that he was being offered up instead, John panicked. As much as he wanted to congratulate the happy couple on their marriage, he didn’t want to be sent out to speak before a whole bunch of strangers.

“You’re always complaining about this and that — only now do you appreciate me? It’s not fair!”

“No need to be humble. I can personally guarantee your ability as a storyteller.”

“No, hold on just a——”

“——Oh, so you’ll be speaking in place of him, eh?”

Unfortunately for John, the owner had now set his sights on him.

“U-Uh, I……”

John put both hands before him in an effort to convey that he wouldn’t be joining the party, but in the face of the pub owner’s blinding smile, he realised all resistance would only be futile.

“Alright. I shall attend……”

“Thank you. As a further token of my thanks, have some slightly more expensive beer on the house.”

Now in a great mood, the owner took two bottles of beer from the shelves behind him.

Having been forced into speaking in public about their cases — a fine mess indeed — John was downright depressed. Sherlock patted him on the shoulder.

“Sorry. If I were to talk instead, it would just sound like I’m bragging. Do you want to get some practice in while you can?” suggested Sherlock, with a half-smile.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

John shot him a reproachful glare.

Footnotes:

[1] To give you a sense of how the house might look like, here are some examples of Victorian Gothic houses: The Guardian

[2] Rheos (pronounced ray-oh-s) is honestly my best guess at his name… (In the book it’s written as レオス). Rheos is also a real name!

[jenoptimist]

request:

Can you maybe write something with Mark? ✨

ミ✭ WARNINGS: mentions blood, contains minor violence and briefly mentions injuries

✮ Pairing: mark x reader (gender neutral)

✮ Genre: angst (with a happy ending!)

✮ Word count: 5.7k

♡ Yakult says: thank you so much nonie for requesting !! 💙 admittedly, it could be waay angsty-er but, well, i’m happy with it and i sincerely hope you are too! sorry it took a while for me to upload it ://

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Hey it’s Mark– dude, shut up! Uhhh what was I saying? Oh yeah, just leave a message and I’ll get back to you whenever I can.”

“Mark? Um, Minhyung? It’s me. Y/n. Look, I know that we haven’t spoken in a long time but you said. . .”–you shake your head, as if it would miraculously banish the memory from your mind–“no, that doesn’t matter. At least probably not to you. Um, listen, if this is the Minhyung who prefers chocolate covered bananas over chocolate covered strawberries, and who told Youngho that the hideous red shirt with the blue stripes looked good on him, and who helped me count poker chips in Italy, then I really need your help. Please, please call me back.”

*

There were some moments that wished you could take back in your life. Meeting Lee Minhyung wasn’t one of them. Leaving him, however, was. It was nothing dramatic, nothing like those scenes in movies. There was no crying on either end but there was, however, heavy pleading from his side.

(In the years to come, his pleading would haunt you. The way his voice was small and how it trembled. Not to mention how he looked at you. God how he looked at you. He looked at you like he was being ripped apart from the seams.)

But you had to go. The life you two lead wasn’t a sustainable one, not anymore. Not since your older brother disappeared without a trace. Without you. And you were so exhausted. It was the bone deep kind of exhaustion that was built in layers by one too many brushes with death, run-ins with the police along with a hefty dose of the constant fear of living. How long had it been since you could roam the streets freely without the low thrum of unease?

It had been far too long for you to remember.

“You know what will happen once they notice your gone, right? It’s safer here! With me! Youngho might even come back!”

“I can’t keep doing this anymore.” You replied quietly, your grip tightening on the straps of your backpack that you hastily stuffed with essentials.

“But–”

“I’m tired, Minhyung, so tired,” you refused to meet his eyes as you said it, hating the expression he wore. “Please let me go.”

You would have offered him to come with you, the words were on the tip of your tongue, ready to be spoken at any moment. But you wouldn’t ask that of him. Minhyung had his parents to think about and he wouldn’t risk their lives, not even for you. And even if he had offered to join you, you would have declined for that reason alone. You weren’t going to make him choose, even as the ugly voice in the back of your told you that if you begged hard enough, he’d go with you.

“I’ll miss you.” Minhyung said as he reached for your hand and you allowed him to hold onto it, slowly meeting his eyes. His watery eyes were scanning your face as if he wanted to commit you to memory. And he probably did. You were leaving him after all. After a few more seconds of staring, he released his warm grasp on your hand and raised his own to cover his eyes. “Go,” he said before he clenched jaw tightly. “If you don’t go now, you’ll be caught.”

“I’ll miss you.” You echoed quietly and allowed yourself to look at him from head to toe, just one more time, and then you fled seamlessly into the darkness of the night.

*

Minhyung hasn’t asked any questions. He hasn’t asked why your hair is dirty and matted or why your clothes are grimy and discolored. He hasn’t even commented on the fact that you’re emitting a putrid stench–not that he would ever. Minhyung had always been too kind to say anything that would make someone feel embarrassed or ashamed. In fact, instead of saying anything, his grip on the steering wheel is tight enough that his knuckles are white. The speed that he’s driving at is concerning but then again you suppose that the way your entire body is aching is a large cause for concern, too.

You want to shut your eyes, maybe pretend that you are some place else. You could pretend that you are relaxing with Youngho at your side, telling you a funny anecdote that you’ve heard a thousand times before.

But you can’t do that.

There are loud warning bells in your head telling you that you aren’t safe, not yet. But you’re with Minhyung. This is the boy, man now, actually, that you know, no, used to know like the back of your hand. The man who was literally your partner in crime. And he called you back. He called you back. Even after all this time, he’s helping you. Surely that has to count for something, doesn’t it?

“Hey! Hey,” he says, a clear tinge of panic in his voice, “stay with me, y/n!”

“Safe with you, yeah?” Your voice comes out a little rough around the edges and slurred.

“Of course. Definitely. You’re always safe with me.”

“Need some sleep, Minhyung. G’na close my eyes, ‘kay?”

There’s a string of curses in reply as your eyes flutter close. You want to dream of pleasant things and the only way you can think to achieve that is to block out Minhyung and retrieve an old memory.

*

Youngho had Minhyung in a headlock, rubbing at his hair affectionately. You sat on the couch, laughing at their antics. The three of you were obviously still giddy from the outcome from the previous night.

It was your first job and it went smoothly. Youngho had worried tremendously and frequently spoke into your ear piece but you and Minhyung had done great. Compared to what Youngho had to do on a regular basis, it was nothing extremely dangerous. Besides, a seasoned member of the team did most of the talking so it wasn’t as if it you and Minhyung had a major role in the operation. Regardless of your role, the pay was good. Really good.

“Let’s get ice-cream!” Your brother suggested as he finally released his hold on Minhyung. His grin was wide, already making his way to the shoe rack that was positioned by the door.

You shared a pleased smile with Minhyung as you stood up and followed your brother. “Can we do a movie marathon too?”

“Absolutely!” he said once he slipped on his shoes, “we can stop by seven-eleven and by some snacks.”

Minhyung whooped loudly and you couldn’t help but beam at your brother as you looped your arm through Minhyung’s. In turn, Youngho ruffled your hair and pinched your both of your cheeks, and laughed as he dodged your lame attempt at hitting his bicep.

*

You can see Youngho laughing vividly, his eyes the shape of pretty crescents with his head thrown forward, while you and Minhyung throw bits of popcorn at each other. But then the vision starts to slip away and you desperately want to cling on to it, even as your eyes slowly open on their own accord. The brightness that spills into the room from the window causes a dull pain in them. You shut your eyes a moment later, trying to bring the dream back but it’s completely useless. The door opens just as you open them again. Minhyung’s expression changes to one of relief when he looks at you and is quick to sit by your side.

“What’s the damage doc?” You try for a light, playful tone but instead it comes out with a wince, your voice coarse with disuse.

“Worse than Mexico but better than Italy.”

You huff out a laugh that’s entirely too bitter. “Anything is better than Italy.”

Minhyung purses his lips together and nods in agreement. There’s a loud ‘smack’ that echoes throughout the room when he slaps his hands on his thighs.

“I’ll grab you something to eat.” He says as he stands up and makes his way to the door. With one last long look at you, he exits the room and leaves you alone with your thoughts.

*

Italy was as beautiful was in the movies and the pictures you have seen, and the food was incredible. You almost begged for permission to go sight seeing. Youngho would have allowed you and Minhyung to go and you knew it, however you also knew that the situation was serious. No dilly-dallying allowed, no matter how much you wanted to, or else there would be consequences.

Minhyung stealthily sent faces your way which had you clenching your hands into fists to keep you from bursting out into laughter. Your brother was doing no better, smothering his mouth with the palm of his mouth as the leader of the operation went through what needed to be prepared for the next day. The preparation and mission was relatively easy; the cash would go in the two black briefcases while the poker chips would go in the two brown briefcases. The money had to be counted numerous times, a job that was given to you and Minhyung, and the weapons would be prepared and examined by your brother and some of the others. The next day would involve going to a lush hotel where the trading of goods would occur and then you were on a flight home.

“Nine hundred and ten, nine hundred and thirty, nine hundred and forty,” Minhyung murmured as he counted the cash. You added another tally to your page once you counted another line of poker chips that equaled one thousand. “Nine hundred and ninety, one thousand!” Minhyung placed a rubber band around the cash to keep it bundled and shoved it neatly into the briefcase.

“This sucks,” you commented as he leaned back on his chair and sighed. “I keep losing count.” The tally system that you had could only help so much.

“Same,” he said, rubbing at his eyes, “should we get some gelato?”

A grin split your face, eyes twinkling. “Of course!” You answered. Then, with a frown, you added, “we should finish first.” Minhyung nodded in agreement and then the two of you began counting again, only this time with more vigor.

“Are you nervous for tomorrow?” Minhyung asked after he shoved a large spoonful of his cantucci flavored gelato into his mouth. The two of you were quick to count the money and purchase gelato before finding yourselves back in the hotel, sitting side by side on the tiled ground of the small balcony that connected to the room. Even though the door was closed, the two of you still spoke in low voices.

“A little bit,” you answered truthfully. Youngho already informed you that he would be giving you a gun, just in case, he said. The target practice that he’d given you and Minhyung was plenty but you still weren’t confident in your skills. “Aren’t you?” 

Minhyung nodded, his mouth in a thin line. After a moment that had you mulling over tomorrow, thoughts as quick as lightning filtering through your mind, he rolled his shoulders back and shook himself. “We’ll be fine. It’ll go well, like it always does.” He said optimistically, knocking your shoulder with his. 

-

The room was completely silent as the two people in charge from either side sat across from one another. The opposing leader was counting the money that was tucked neatly in one of the briefcases, the other three were being held by you and Minhyung. Your gaze swept from the table to the people surrounding the room. Everyone was standing as straight as a ruler and looked like they didn’t even dare breathe while they stared intensely at their opposing group. One of the women met your eye, a brow arched. The steely glint in her eyes made you shift your gaze and readjust your clammy grip on the briefcase. On your right, Minhyung moved the slightest bit towards you, his bicep pressing against yours.

With a nod from both of those in charge, you and Minhyung were waved over. No matter how many operations you were involved in, and it had been plenty by now, nervousness still overcame you. Being the target of several pairs of eyes made you swallow thickly, hand clenching onto the handle of the briefcase as if it was the only thing anchoring you to the room. Once you placed the briefcase on top of the table, you spun on your heel and made your way back to your designated position. When you turned to face the centre of the room, the money was being checked.

Chaos errupted not even a second after the briefcases were closed. The other side had taken out their weapons and aimed at your side, greed and malice painting their faces. Adrenaline flooded your system and you fumbled as you reached for the small gun that you tucked inside of the blazer your wore. Your eyes darted to where your brother was standing by the door. Or where he should have been standing because he was nowhere in signt. From beside you, Minhyung grabbed your elbow and hauled you to the direction of the door.

“We need to get out of here. Now.” Minhyung’s voice left no room for argument. You cocked your gun and nodded in agreement, still looking around for Youngho.

The path to the exit wasn’t an easy feat. You hadn’t even taken three steps when you felt a sharp pain in your shoulder. Minhyung turned as you stumbled into his back, quickly aimed somewhere behind you, his eyes sharp and his mouth thin, and then fired his own gun. From that point on, it progessively became worse and worse. Eventually, you and Minhyung, by some miracle, managed to escape the establishment. You were both extremely worse for wear, you more than him—with the amount of gashes and bullets your body now owned, it was a miracle that you were still concious.

“Youngho,” you slurred, slumped against Minhyung side as he lead the two of you the car. It was sheer luck that the streets were mostly empty. “Gotta find him.” You added, wincing as Minhyung carefully laid you on top of the passenger seat. He left the door open and left you, the telltale sound of the truck being opened and closed reaching your ears as you tried not to focus on the searing pain everywhere.

“He’s gone,” Minhyung replied and when your eyes snapped open to stare at him in disbelief, you found him rummaging through a first aid kit. The deep frown that he wore didn’t suit him. It sat strangely on his face, especially with the creases that imprinted themselves on his forehead–you wished that you could smooth them away, if you had the energy you would have said something funny to lighten the mood. “I’ll explain later, just– just let me fix you first, okay? I can’t– Not you too. Please, y/n.” He was frantically rummaging through the first aid kit, grabbing what he needed.

You weren’t going to deny him to begin with but the the pleading in his eyes packed an extra punch in the gut. Instead of saying: ‘of course you won’t lose me, you’ll never lose me. You’ll always have me.’ You nodded, squeezing your eyes shut and allowed him to work on you. The disinfectant stung and you had to clench your jaw as he stitched the majority of your wounds but you survived.

“Your turn,” You told him as you blinked rapidly, as if it would clear your slightly foggy vision. “C’mon, I’ll help you.”

“No it’s okay. I got it.” Minhyung replied but you ignored him and he didn’t even try to pick a fight as you helped him tend to his wounds. He probably would have been finished much quicker if had he done it himself but of course you were going to help him–the two of you were a team. A family. Even if it was just the two of you now, if he was to be believed. And you did believe him although it was difficult to ignore the part of you that raged and wanted to call him a liar.

Just as Minhyung settled into the driver’s seat, the back door opened and someone from your team slid in. She was panting heavily, dried red splotches covering her face like freckles. You and Minhyung traded looks, mouths pressed into thin lines as she demanded him to drive off. You were hoping to hear what his explanation about Youngho, but you knew that he wasn’t going to say anything while there was additional company.

It was later that you found out that Youngho and Taeyong had hatched a plan for the four of you and a couple of others to escape. They had been planning it for weeks and Youngho had only told Minhyung their plan the previous night while you were sound asleep. Initally you were outraged. You weren’t proud of it but you threw accussations at Minhyung and he did nothing to stop you. Then, you were angry at your brother because he didn’t inform you of his plan. Because he left you and Minhyung behind, and what kind of brother was he to do that? How dare he leave you behind when the three of you promised you would never do that to each other. Finally, once the anger left your body, sadness washed over you like a huge wave, drowning you in it. You moved as quick as you could when Minhyung opened his arms and sobbed, wailing about thw unfairness of it all. He cried quietly with you, your bodies trembling in sync.

The two of you slept side by side that night, gripping each other tightly, tangled together. The nights to follow were the same, until it became an unspoken nightly occurrence. The others thought that the two of you were weird but you couldn’t find it in yourself to care, and neither could he.

*

It’s been a almost two weeks since you called Minhyung – no, Mark - for help and neither of you have discussed, well, anything. There are questions that you have that keep piling up the longer you are here with him. Questions like how he managed to escape, how long has it been since he has been free and, most importantly, how he’s been doing. Judging by the nice, spacious house that he lives in, he has been doing really good for himself but you wonder if he has the same night terrors that you do–if he wakes up in cold sweat because of nightmares where they catch him and do what they did to you but worse. Way worse.

Your curiosity is never quenched because you are too busy befriending the people he lives with. There are six of them in total and they are all really nice; they never ask you intrusive questions, make you feel comfortable and seem to genuinely want to know you. You aren’t surprised that Minhy– Mark, has found them or vice versa because there has always been something comforting and safe about him. You aren’t sure about what he has told them about his past but it’s very obvious that they all care about him and admire him deeply. And Mark? He absolutely, definitely, one hundred percent deserves it. Of course he does. You think that he deserves the world and more. It’s just. . .when you see him with Kim ‘call me Haechan, everyone here does’ Donghyuck and how they interact with each other seamlessly, you feel a nasty case of jealousy and, maybe even worse, replaced. You are mature enough to admit to yourself that the jealousy you feel is completely ridiculous along with the whole being replaced thing. Obviously he has a new best friend. Why wouldn’t he? You are the one who left him all those years ago, not the other way around. If the roles were reversed, you probably would have gotten a new best friend too.

You suppress your feelings, try not to blatantly avoid the pair when you see them together, and instead focus on trying to fit in.

Surprisingly, it works–fitting in, that is. While the main issue is still a work in progress, you get along swimmingly with them group. You go cycling with Jeno and Jaemin, learn how to speak Mandarin thanks to Renjun and Chenle, play one-on-one soccer with Jisung and get roped into what Haechan and Mark do. Before you know it, you have slotted yourself into their lives and it has been a couple of months since Mark called you back. There is evidence of your presence in every room, from articles of clothing to little knick-knacks you have collected during your stay. You don’t have a room of your own or anything, Mark had set up a futon in his room and that was that.

It occurs to you over dinner as Haechan and Jisung fight for the last slice of garlic bread. The thought that you have been with them for that long has you dropping your cutlery on your plate and leaning back on your chair, staring at your empty plate. You should probably devise a plan to leave. You’ve overstayed your welcome and they’re all too kind and lovely to mention your long awaited departure to your face. Mark’s questioning eyes meet yours when you lift your gaze and you quirk the side of your mouth into a smile, shaking your head at him in dismissal. A small frown forms on his face at that so you tear your eyes away from him to the others. Jisung is smug as he purposefully chews slowly and exaggeratedly ‘mmm’s at the taste.

“I’m leaving,” you say lowly into the darkness as you lay on your futon, staring at up at the ceiling. They are the same words you said back then, too. Except this time you don’t want to go at all. As long overdue as it is, it’s hard to say the words confidently because you enjoy living here with them. “Tomorrow.” You add decisively before you can cave to your true feelings and end up staying with them forever.

“What?! No! You can’t!” Is Mark’s frantic reply. You hear him move around and then the lamp on his bedside locker is lighting up the room. When you turn to face him, he’s sitting up, facing you and staring at you with an expression that is a blend of disbelief and distraught. “I–” he falters, his eyes dropping from yours to his hands for a moment as he audibly exhales shakily. “I just got you back.” The words are spoken quietly, vulnerability spilling into it, and you hate yourself for doing this to him again.

“I know but Mark–”

“But what? You belong here, with us. With me. I can tell that you’re really happy here, y/n, so why are you saying this? Why do you need to go? Actually, where would you even go? And– And– Why are you leaving me again?” His voice is small. It trembles throughout the entirety of his words and cracks in the middle of the last question.

It feels like you’re nineteen all over again. Especially with the way he’s looking at you. It’s the same look that he gave you back then except it’s so much more worse. You avoid his eyes as you say, “I know I’ve stayed here way longer than I needed to and that you’re happier than I’ve ever seen you. There’s no way I’m risking your happiness in case they find me again. Besides,”–you swallow thickly, the next part of your sentence harder to say–“you don’t need me here.”

“That’s not fair,” although it’s still a whisper, Mark’s voice is stronger this time, the trembling gone, but still sounding terribly wounded. “You left me. And then my parents died and you weren’t there to see that I lost massive parts of myself.” He pauses, breathes deeply before continuing. “How could you think that I don’t need you here, or at all? Of course I do. I always have.”

“But you Haechan and all the others now, you don’t need me anymore.” You counter and there must be a sliver of something in your voice because Mark’s eyebrows furrow slightly. It’s clear when he has connected the dots because he says your name softly under his breath and looks at you tenderly. You flush, heat rising to your cheeks immediately knowing that he has found out how you have been feeling.

“It’s not the same,” he assures you firmly. “Haechan is amazing, they all are. They’ve taught me how to live again and confidently express myself. But you’re different, y’know? Just as amazing, of course! It’s just that we’ve been through a lot together and you played a really big part in molding me into the person I am today, and for the entire time that you were gone. . .I felt like I was missing my heart or my limb, or– or something.”

The sincerity in his voice soothes and untangles the knot that’s been weighing heavily in the pit of your stomach. You manage a small smile. “Your heart?” You repeat, teasingly, and there’s a snippet of a memory that unlocks in your brain–you, Mark and Youngho sitting in a small circle with Taeyong, Yongqin and Sicheng in a warm, sunlight room, listening to Sicheng intently as he read poetry aloud. You huff out a small laugh and, with mirth in your eyes as you look at him, your smile growing, you then follow up with, “I carry your heart with me.”

Mark, whose expression morphs from hurt, sincerity and concern to dazed before settling on a soft, sweet expression. He mirrors the mirth that you feel, a smile of his own adorning his face. “I carry it in my heart.”

Then, together, the two of you recite the next part. “I am never without it.”

The smile you wear hurts your cheeks but you can’t find it in yourself to care. Mark gestures you to his bed with a slight nod of his head and you waste no time climbing in under the covers with him, making yourself as comfortable as possible. The two of you don’t weave yourselves around one another, not like before, but Mark does grab your hand, his grip tight - although not tight enough to hurt - as if he were afraid that you’d run off in the middle of the night. You don’t blame him. What you do instead is give his hand a reassuring squeeze and then, gather the courage to ask the questions that you have been meaning to ask him for months. Mark tells you every little detail; he staged his death, he left almost a year after you and that for the most part, he is doing better. He admits that he has bad days and even worse night terrors but they aren’t as frequent as they were before. In turn, you answer the questions that he has for you, providing him with just as much detail as he gave you. By the time the two of you have stopped swapping stories, it’s early in the morning–you can tell by the slight brightness coming from the pale curtains.

“Hey Mark,” you call out quietly, not quite ready to sleep yet. Not with the remaining question you have for him. At this point, the two of you were spooning, your back against his sturdy chest with one of his arms thrown over your middle, your fingers laced through one another and his legs are flush against yours, copying how your legs fold. He hums, prompting you to continue. “Why did you call me back?”

“I told you didn’t I?” He murmurs sleepily, “Needed you. Missed you.” When the answer leaves his lips, you feel silly. He didn’t remember the promise he made you. It wasn’t a big deal–people break and forget promises all the time, so why wouldn’t he? “Besides,” he adds, interrupting your thoughts, “I promised you didn’t I?”

A lump forms in your throat and your lips quiver slightly as you feel the telltale signs of tears start to pool in your eyes. “Yeah,” you croak out, “you did.”

“Promise you and I will try our best to find your brother?” You give him an affirmative. “Good. G’na sleep now, ‘kay? Night”

“Good night.”

It takes a while for you to fall asleep although when you do, it’s the most comfortable and safest you have felt for a long while.

*

You sat glumly on the uncomfortable plastic chair, holding a bag of frozen vegetables on your swollen cheek to alleviate help the pain. Minhyung, the newbie, had rushed to give it to you the minute you limped through the door, clearly battered. That was before Youngho caught the sight of you, steered you into his room and promptly began lecturing you on the dangers of thinking you could handle certain situations on your own.

It wasn’t as if you particularly wanted to go by yourself. You would have loved if someone tagged along with you to scope out the area that you overheard some of the senior members whisper about to each other. The only problem was there was nobody here that you trusted, with the obvious exception of your older brother and his best friend, Taeyong. Unfortunately they were out doing a task that they were given so you had no choice but to quench your curiosity by yourself.

Evidently it was a mistake - which you knew now, obviously - because even with how stealthy you were, you had been caught. The ones who found you were taunting you by having a loud conversation about what they should to you. It had your heart palpitating uncomfortably, eyes wildly scanning for an exit. In the end, they tried to extract information from you by using some violent tactics–a punch or two here, a kick there and, the worst part of it all, they trailed a knife along your body, the tip of the blade extremely distinct under your clothes. When it became obvious that you weren’t going to reveal anything to them, they gave you a quick beating as a message and then let you go.

“This is why you haven’t been given any tasks yet.” Youngho said and then after a beat he added, “you’re sitting out for everything until I say so.” His tone was firm, his arms folded across his chest as he looked at you sternly.

You sputtered. “You can’t ground me! I’m totally good for action.” Your brother arched a brow at that, and even Minhyung shot you a look of disbelief. You wanted to argue but you knew it would be futile, so you gave him a quick nod.

“Good,” he walked over to you, petting your hair as he gave you a light hug so as to not bother your injuries. “Now go get some rest. Minhhyung, will you help them to their room please? I’ll grab some food.” And then he was off, leaving you with the guy you barely knew. Why couldn’t he have taken you there himself?

At first you hesistated as he stood close to you, prepared to catch you in case anything happened, but you slung an arm across Minhyung’s shoulder so that you could lean onto his side. It was an awkward walk to your room, the silence was so loud that you eventually gave in to talking to him.

“Thanks,” he hummed questioningly at you. “For the frozen veg,” you clarified, “you didn’t have to but I really appreciate it.”

You felt him shrug a shoulder, a reflex of his that you noticed while you slyly observed him conversing with the others. “It was no big deal,” he replied as he opened the door to your room and steered the two of you towards you bed. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure.” You answered as you tried to find a comfortable position to lay down.

“Why did you go on your own? I mean, like, why didn’t you call anyone or anything?”

“Nobody I trust was free,” you told him plainly. “And besides,” you began to say as he mulled over your answer. “No-one actually answers my calls. Except for my brother and his friends.” You felt really lame for admitting that to him but it was the truth.

There was a beat of silence that stretched long enough for your statement to hang awkwardly in the air. Just as you were about to tell him that he could leave, he spoke up. “If you called me I would have answered.”

There were a million things that you wanted to say. Out of all of them, what came out was, “I don’t have your number.”

Minhyung shrugged, slightly rocking back and forth on his heels. “I could give it to you? I mean, if you want it. It’d be nice since I’ve heard we’re the closest on age here and all. We could be, you know, partners in crime or something.”

“Literally partners in crime,” you said, a small laugh escaping you at the truth of it all. You gave him a considering once over, which he seemed to fidget under. “Alright, but this means that you’ll have to answer every call I make.”

Minhyung’s mouth curled into a bright smile, excitement lighting his eyes. “I can do that.”

“Even if it’s something silly?” It was a challenge and test all in one.

“Even if it’s something silly.” He parroted back.

You stuck out your pink finger towards him and there wasn’t an inch of hesitation in him as his hooked his own around it. “It’s a promise then.”

“It’s a promise,” he agreed. When you released your pinky from his hold, he stuffed his hands into his pockets. With the bright smile still in place, he said, “I have a really good feeling about this for some reason.”

You mirrored his smile. “Me too.”

[waywardfacegarden]

burning embers

Modern Au: Zuko centric + The Gaang + Zukka + Friendship/Family feels + Angst and Fluff.

Summary: Zuko learns the meaning of love.

Read on Ao3 here.

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There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

But Zuko wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love with someone is, he doesn’t know what it feels like. Love is a concept so alien to him; he can’t even grasp the root of it. He just knows a broken home, the remaining ashes of a devastating, blazing fire that was supposed to be his father’s love.

He doesn’t know what love is. And yet, he understands: the underlying and heart-wrenching agony that comes with loving. The sorrow that comes with it; it is just there, intrinsically linked. It’s something that the small kid—full of unknown love and golden warmth, but also deep, bitter pain—comprehends at the tender age of 11.

It’s just common knowledge for him, the same way he knows the sky is blue and the sun hides at night.

Family. Love. Father.

Those words don’t have meaning, Zuko thinks, lying on his bed one night, still hearing the disappointment in his father’s voice echoing in his ears in the quiet darkness of his room. They’re there, of course. And he knows them. He can say them. But they feel far away, slipping through the space between his fingers, becoming dust that blows away with the chilly wind of an autumn midnight, escaping him before he can place what was there in the first place.

They don’t hold weight. They don’t mean anything. They’re shallow; they just exist, like a couple of letters strewn together, like when you say your name so many times in a row it doesn’t even feel right anymore; but, he supposes only a few people are blessed with their significance, with tasting them in their mouth with something not akin to hate or bitterness or emptiness.

Loneliness. Despair. Dishonor.

Those have meaning. Those have weight, despite being such empty words.

(But they very much taste like something akin to hate, too—and that’s the thing.

Maybe Zuko just doesn’t know anything aside from [self-]hate.)

.

.

Family, love, father. They are concepts that come alive to him the same way a phoenix is born.

They rise, awakening from the ashes that the fire within themselves has burned to death; so beautiful, so mystical, so mesmeric and so incredibly fragile and precious and wondrous, like a mythological creature coming back to life after having known its own death.

He learns the words and their meaning the same way his brain starts learning new things and concepts by reading a book; but he doesn’t learn with his mind—even though a part of him knows that this is where knowledge is stored—Zuko learns with his heart (he has always learned things best with his heart; after all, Zuko wears it on his sleeve; he’s emotional, visceral, volatile—his feelings are way too intense, too much that they burn his chest open; he’s always aflame), with his eyes, with his hands. He learns it in every little gesture that’s given to him, in every little crack (that keeps filling and filling and filling) of the time that goes on, in every little drop of ink that is spilled on the parchment where his life is being written.

He learns the words in the way he begins learning his uncle's tea recipes, in the satisfaction and pride he feels when his uncle congratulates him for a job well-done on a warm, quiet Saturday afternoon as he finishes helping cleaning and serving the tables around the teashop, in the way his favorite cup sits next to his uncle's on the kitchen counter in the mornings, full of Zuko’s favorite bubble tea; he learns them in the ugly, endearing, oversized sweater hanging at the back of his closet, the one his uncle gave him in his last birthday; he learns about love in the gentle smiles of weekends, in the singing of the birds outside his room’s window, in the blanket that rests around his shoulders when he is sitting on the comfy couch on a calm Thursday night, dozing off while trying to study for an English test, in the way the nightmares that used to haunt him are tormenting him less and less every time; he learns the meaning of father in his uncle's ridiculous pajamas, full of tiny drawings of cherry blossoms and tea leaves, in his uncle’s obsession with Pai Sho, and in the wise phrases he keeps throwing at Zuko even when he cannot fully understand them.

He learns, little by little, step by step, like a slow fire burning inside his guts.

And it's a weird, strange thing. Zuko learned that fire hurts you, the same way he learned that love does, but somehow, after years of building his new life, it doesn't feel that way anymore.

His uncle is patient with him. Patient as someone who would teach someone else origami or as someone who’s slowly writing a book. He teaches him, sees him fall, stumble and trip over his feet (both, metaphorically and literally speaking) and he’s there when Zuko gets up again.

It’s a nice feeling. Knowing that someone is going to be there, even if you fall. Even when you fail.

His uncle teaches him, the same way he creates a new tea receipt for the menu; carefully, gently, ever so softly. He takes Zuko, the broken child who looks at him through his pain and hatred, and makes him open his eyes. He points out, over and over and over again, that failing is not a bad thing, that love exists and that it doesn't have to hurt, and that if it does, you can heal from it; he teaches him that Zuko is full of it, full of love, he says that he’s always been.

Somehow, it feels a bit like healing. Of course, Zuko is still broken. Probably, a part of him always will be; but, somehow, he doesn't think that being a bit broken is so wrong now.

.

.

Friendship was a foreign concept to him, too. Or maybe not, but Zuko never wanted to get involved with it.

Too much trouble.

(Or maybe fear—fear of what it carries, what it holds in its nature; fear of failing, of not being enough, of being left out, of getting too attached.)

But just as Zuko was wrong about so many things in his life, this is not the exception.

He comes to learn that, too.

It’s a different process than with his uncle. Maybe because it’s slower, or maybe because it’s, rather, faster. Maybe because he wasn’t aware he was learning at all.

Zuko doesn’t know exactly when it starts. Can’t pinpoint the exact moment he started getting involved. Not that he cares much about that at this point, but he would like to know.

They kind of adopt him in their group (or, er, gang, as they call it), without Zuko noticing. But to be fair, Zuko doesn’t notice a lot of things.

Toph is a friend of his Uncle, and she lives near the teashop, so she’s around more time than she’s not; she’s loud and kinda rude, and always calls Zuko a dork or a nerd or an idiot, but Zuko realizes he likes when she’s there. Aang comes along sometimes, with his scarily bright smile. There’s also Katara and her big brother, Sokka.

He likes all of them, to his extreme surprise. They’re all good people. Aang is way too kind, Katara may be scary but she’s pretty cool, and Sokka is just a combination of a very, weirdly endearing, smart dumbass, which is, uh, new.

He honestly doesn’t know how it happened, or when it happened, but suddenly he’s tucked under a soft fuzzy blanket in winter, sandwiched in the middle of the three-spot sofa, with Aang almost laying over his lap. He’s almost sitting on Sokka’s right leg, pressing him against the arm sofa, his side overlapping with Sokka’s. He doesn’t seem to mind, though. He’s sitting there, cross-legged, with his right arm fully extended on the back of the sofa, almost like he’s hugging Zuko’s shoulders; he’s practically leaning on Zuko.

His arm and his side are really warm, though. Not as much as Zuko generally is, but it’s… kind of nice.

“Katara, Titanic is a classic, dude. What the hell.”

Zuko takes a sip from his hot chocolate, blowing off the clouds of steam gathering over the cup—the warmth of it is pretty welcomed in his throat, to be honest, while Katara rolls her eyes at her brother.

“I’m not watching that for the fifth time in a month and seeing you and Aang both cry for an hour later after the already three long hours of the movie.”

Sokka looks pretty indignant about Katara’s attitude towards his (probably) favorite movie, which is pretty amusing.

“You’re just a monster,” Sokka says, dramatically, “that’s why you don’t cry.”

Katara rolls her eyes again.

“I don’t know,” Toph says, from the couch closer to the TV, sprawled all comfortably over it. “It’s actually a really funny movie,” she points out, and then draws out her voice. “‘Jack, draw me like one of your French girls’.”

Aang laughs pretty loud, and Zuko smiles at the bad impersonation despite himself.

“Well, My Heart Will Go On is my anthem.” Sokka says, puffing out his chest.

Zuko actually snorts into his cup and Sokka shoots him a look. He remembers the time Aang and Sokka recreated that iconic scene, with Toph singing at the top of her lungs in a ridiculously obnoxious voice. He actually laughed at that.

Sokka seems to read his mind, because after a few moments of staring at Zuko’s face, his entire expression lights up. He grins, eyes sparkling, and starts singing really loud and purposely out of tune. Aang starts laughing and Toph doesn’t waste time on joining Sokka in singing. Even Katara smiles.

A few minutes later of terrible singing, they’re all laughing. Toph is cackling so hard she’s on the floor, and Sokka keeps leaning over him, laughing in his ear. He believes it should be annoying, but instead of that, it’s actually infectious and Zuko laughs a bit harder.

After they calm down, Toph is clutching at her sides and Sokka is wiping tears out of his eyes.

Aang smiles, then, softly and content, and raises a hand in the air, like asking for permission to talk.

“I have an idea.” He says, and turns around to look at him. “Why don’t we just let Zuko decide? He hasn’t chosen anything yet for our Friday movie nights.” 

All eyes turn to look at him at that. He stops his movements, mouth hanging open, hot cup halfway to his lips.

“Uh,” he frowns. “Thank you, but, um. Why would I choose? It’s your thing.”

Everyone stares at him like he has two heads, which, okay fair but why.

“What?”

Aang gives him a soft smile, all kind eyes and gentle features, like he’s about to talk to a baby, but before he can say anything, Sokka is putting an arm around his shoulders and leaning all his weight on him, as if they weren’t already close enough.

“This is your thing as much as it is ours, dude.” He says, grinning, “You’re one of us.” He vaunts, proudly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair.

Katara nods, at the same time Toph goes:

“Yup, you’re already in, loser.”

Aang chuckles. “Yes, you’re our friend, Zuko.”

Zuko blinks, stunned.

That’s… 

There’s… 

That’s… the F-word.

Friend.

Friend.

Huh? What? How? When did that happen? Huh? Did he miss something in the past few months?

Sokka, completely oblivious to his emotional turmoil, insistently points to the TV while squeezing him. "So, buddy? Don't you think we should watch Titanic to cry and share a couple of very male tears?"

"You only want to watch it because you have a crush on both Kate Winslet and Leonardo DiCaprio." Katara accuses.

"Nuh-uh!"

"Yes, you do! You even still keep that poster of them behind your…"

"Katara!!!!"

.

.

Friend.

It’s a nice word.

It tastes like hot chocolate in his mouth on a cold night, it sounds like Sokka’s laugh and Toph’s jokes, and it looks like Aang’s kind eyes and Katara’s nice smile.

It feels like something. It holds meaning. It’s not an empty word. At all.

Sokka’s hand ruffling his hair or over his shoulders, Toph’s nicknames for him, Aang’s offer of help in times he feels like Zuko needs it, Katara’s help with homework and advice on his recipes doesn’t let him forget that. ‘Friend’ is never going to be an empty word.

Friend tastes like hope, like warm food and bear-hugs.

Friend is such a nice word.

.

.

The thing with Zuko being generally—and strangely—warm all the time is that summer is a complete nightmare for him.

He's sitting directly in front of the fan at full power, barefoot in just jeans and a light T-shirt, and yet he still feels like he's going to explode. The weather forecast in the morning heralded a heat wave in midsummer, and it's exactly the worst thing in the world that could happen to Zuko's already overheated body. Toph groans beside him, lying with her arms and legs spread like a starfish on the cold ground. It is no comfort to her, however, and Zuko can understand that well.

Katara is looking at something on her phone, fanning herself with a magazine, and Aang remains practically unaffected, just as energetic as ever as he eats the remaining watermelon slices from the bowl they recently filled.

Zuko is wondering if he should go, or if he should fall asleep on the freezing ground that doesn't seem to be freezing at all, when Sokka walks into the living room in his baseball uniform. He has just returned from his morning summer practice; sweat is running down the side of his face, and his shirt is partly sticking to his body from the moisture. He smiles at everyone in greeting before gulping down all that's left of the water on the bottle of his hand. Zuko stares at his Adam's apple bob while he's drinking, and then his eyes trail the trickle of water that slides down his jaw over his desperation to drink all the water so fast. The drop goes down, down, down, dripping over his collarbone and sinking into his neck until it eventually gets lost somewhere inside his shirt. Sokka throws the bottle over the trash can and uses his shirt collar to wipe the water and some of his sweat off his face. Zuko's eyes unconsciously move downward; he can see a line of skin on Sokka's abdomen and stomach.

He swallows. Uh. His mouth is suddenly very dry. He's probably dehydrated. Is he dehydrated? He's starting to feel a little dizzy.

"So? Beloved friends, beloved little sister? Did you miss me? Obviously, you did."

Katara rolls her eyes, but still asks, "How was practice, dumbass?"

"It was cool! I hit twelve curve-balls in a row and sixteen of that weird fastball Suki pitches. Oh! And I'm finally getting the thing about that forkball. Also... woah, Zuko, are you okay?!"

Zuko blinks from where he was staring at Sokka's hair. It's kind of wet. Is that sweat? Shouldn't that be gross? Why is Zuko staring? Does he find it gross? He doesn't think so, but he also can't quite explain why...

"Woah, bud," Sokka says, kneeling in front of him and getting dangerously close to his face. "You're so red, are you having heatstroke or something? Do you feel dizzy?" He leans on his knees and presses a hand to his forehead, pulling up the bangs hanging over it. It feels nice, actually. Sokka's soft hand on his boiling skin feels like fresh water. He kind of wants to lean into it.

He probably does, because Sokka frowns. "Maybe you have a fever..." His mouth presses into a thin line. "Don't you want to take a shower to cool off? I can lend you some clothes, we're about the same height, they'll fit."

Zuko blinks. Huh?

"Here, let me help you." Sokka says, helping him up.

Around an hour later, Zuko feels a lot better, laying with his back on the floor in Sokka's baggy shorts and blue T-shirt with a cartoonish drawing of The Pink Panther. Zuko smiles involuntarily when he looks at it. It smells a bit like Sokka, or at least the detergent he uses. That makes his stomach do weird flips. He's not feeling that hot anymore, but maybe he is getting sick...

"Hey," Sokka tells him, looking at him from above, standing just behind Zuko's head. His toes are barely avoiding touching Zuko's sprawled hair on the floor.

"Hey," Zuko answers back, looking up at Sokka's soft face. His hair is down and still wet from the shower, and a few drops fall on the bridge of Zuko's nose when Sokka hovers over him. Zuko's face scrunches up, more out of involuntary reaction than out of bother, but Sokka chuckles.

"Sorry," he says, not sounding sorry at all. He uses the towel around his neck to messily dry his hair. "You look a lot better, now."

"Yes," Zuko muses, still a bit mesmerized by Sokka's wet hair. And Sokka's face. "Thanks."

Sokka grins brightly at him. "Sure."

He looks like he's about to say something else, but before he can say anything, Toph groans just a few feet away, sitting now on the couch. "Stop flirting and get a room already; it’s gross. We're here, too."

"What? We weren’t—"

Katara agrees, quietly.

"Hey! I was just worried!" Sokka excuses himself. "Weren't you all? His face was as red as a tomato."

Katara looks up from her magazine and gives him a pointed look, with one elegantly arched brow. Apparently, she doesn't even need to say anything else, because it's enough to make Sokka blush.

Oh.

He's cute, Zuko thinks. And then, oh, I think Sokka is cute. And then Sokka stomps over the kitchen muttering unintelligible things, still a faint blush over his cheeks.

Zuko smiles to himself watching his childish behavior. He is, though. He is cute.

.

.

.

It's raining heavily outside, drops pouring loudly against the asphalt of the sidewalk.

Zuko side-glances at Sokka. Maybe it's because after the course of a year, Zuko has learned to recognize many of Sokka's little gestures, or maybe it's the fact that the boy has been so much into his own mind lately, but Zuko recognizes that way he scrunches up his nose, that wrinkle between his eyebrows, that way his eyes twitch.

“Are you okay?” 

He’s asking mostly just to be polite, to be honest; he already knows he’s not. He knows something’s up.

Sokka turns to look at him, and then stares at the rain hitting the glass window of the lonely teashop.

“I’m…” He says, and looks at his hand. Then he presses his mouth into a thin line.

“You don’t need to talk about it if you don’t want to,” Zuko says, awkwardly, because as much as he cares, he’s still a mess when it comes to social cues. He’s never going to stop being a mess. And terrible at comforting people.

Sokka sees right through him, though, like he always does, and smiles softly at him. His whole face mellows. It kind of makes Zuko’s heart flutter in his chest, like a butterfly flapping its wings.

“I’m…” Sokka tries again, looking at Zuko’s face. At his eyes, at his scar, at his neck. He feels weirdly exposed, but at the same time… He doesn’t. It’s just Sokka. Which means it’s okay. “Scared, I guess.”

Zuko blinks and tilts his head to the side. He’s not sure if he should ask, but…

“Of?”

Sokka gives him a wry smile.

“Of failing? Of disappointing my dad? Of not being enough? I don’t know, I can’t quite pick a single one.”

Sokka’s voice is not quite bitter, but it feels like that, in the air around them. Zuko knows the feeling pretty well.

“You are enough.” Zuko affirms, without a single trace of hesitation in his voice. Because Sokka is enough, in every single aspect, and he shouldn’t feel like any less than that. Zuko’s also aware of what he’s worrying about, and for Zuko, it’s just absurd—Sokka is one the very few people that shouldn’t worry about passing the entrance exam of college at all, he’s crazy smart. He should know that. But, to be fair, Zuko can’t judge him nor scold him for self-doubt when it used to be all that he was, along with his self-hate. So he says it out loud, looking into Sokka’s wide, surprised eyes. “You’re also really smart, Sokka, I’m sure you’re going to ace the entrance exam. You shouldn’t worry.”

Sokka rolls his eyes, but he also adopts that playful-kinda-flirty side of him. It’s painful because Zuko can see the sadness underlying in his voice and body language so clearly. Can see the lack of confidence in every single motion.

“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.”

“I am,” he agrees, “but it doesn’t mean it isn’t true. I really believe so. You’re the smartest person I know. You’re very capable of doing whatever you want, so have faith in yourself just like I have faith in you.”

Once he says it, and Sokka blinks once, twice, thrice at him, Zuko feels painfully aware (and painfully embarrassed) of what he just said.

Oh Lord, what did he actually…

“Ah,” Sokka says, and makes a face that Zuko can’t name. “You’re blushing.”

Zuko covers his cheeks with both hands. Sokka is probably right, they’re so warm, but still.

“I’m not.” Still.

Sokka laughs, and raises both eyebrows. “You sure?” He asks, staring pointedly at his face, which only makes him blush harder.

Stupid Sokka.

He must know the effect he’s having on him, because he laughs again, lightheartedly. Well, at least he’s not upset anymore…

“I’m not,” he uselessly and pathetically insists, even when it’s tragically obvious he is. But he has some pride, okay.

Sokka grins, but it’s all devilish. It makes Zuko’s hair stand on end. A chill runs down his spine.

“It’s just hot.”

Sokka smirks. “Sure, you’re always hot.”

“Shut up,” Zuko complains and groans, facing away from him so that he can’t see his blatant embarrassment. Sokka’s natural flirty personality wasn’t that much of a problem back then, but it’s only gotten worse, and Zuko just can’t handle it sometimes. It feels like way too much.

“Ah, but you blush when you’re embarrassed. That’s cute.” Sokka points out, a wide grin on his face. “Imagine being both cute and hot, what a crime.” 

He sighs theatrically, and Zuko is very tempted to answer, “shut up, look who’s talking,” but he knows he will just get more embarrassed after saying that. He needs to calm down. So he just grumbles while Sokka laughs.

Then, when Sokka has already calmed down and Zuko can feel his face like normal again, they look quietly at the rain, steadily keeping its pace.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, after some time, and Zuko quirks an eyebrow in reply. 

Sokka smiles. “Thank you. For believing me. It means a lot.”

Zuko smiles back. “Of course.”

.

.

Zuko notices it one night. (Though, looking back, it’s weird he didn’t notice it before.)

Well, more like, Aang notices and points it out, and then Zuko realizes that what he said is pathetically true, lying in bed at night because he still mulls things over sometimes before going to sleep.

“You know,” Aang had casually said, holding a can of orange juice, sitting next to Zuko on the bleachers at one of Sokka’s practice games. “You stare at Sokka a lot.”

Zuko frowned. “It’s his game, after all. We’re here to watch him,” he had retorted, like it was obvious.

“Well, yes, but I don’t mean only now. You stare at him all the time.”

Zuko didn’t feel like he liked where this conversation was going. Something about his expression must had given him away, or maybe Aang was just too good at reading him now, because he said:

“Wait.” He actually had sounded surprised. “You mean you’re not aware you have a crush on him?”

Zuko’s eyes went wide. “What? I don’t have a crush on him.”

Aang quirked up an eyebrow. Sure, he didn’t need to say.

“I don’t,” he had pressed on.

Aang hadn’t looked any more convinced of what he had said. If anything, he looked more convinced on what he himself had said. Aang had looked at him for a very long period of 1 minute before lightly chuckling and nudging him in the arm with his elbow, smiling brightly at him.

It was weird, but Zuko has gotten better at reading them, maybe just as much as Aang has with him. Maybe that’s why he knows what Aang means with all of that. Admit it when you’re ready.

It’s not like he was trying to deny or hide it. It’s not like he was trying to lie. He just didn’t think Aang was actually right.

But he is. Zuko can’t stop looking at Sokka, all the time. Thinking about him. About the way he smiles, with his hair up, with his hair down, with that denim jacket that fits him in all the right angles, with his baseball cap, ecstatic after he scored a run in the 8th inning. 

Sokka, practicing on the field. Grinning widely and openly and hugging him tightly when he aced the entrance exam. Leaning in to taste Zuko’s ice-cream into his own mouth. Ruffling his own messy hair. Wearing those silly cartoon t-shirts. Serenading Zuko with Electric Love and the most ridiculous voice ever on his birthday as a joke. Messy eating. Scrunching up his nose while drinking green tea. Reciting 80% of the Star Wars dialogues by heart. Being obsessed with boomerangs and swords (though not as much as Zuko is with that last one). Biting into the end of his pencil when he’s focused on writing an English essay.

Ahhhhh.

Oh, holy honor.

He has a crush. A crush. Feelings.

When did that happen? Why did that happen? He doesn’t know. Was it because of his warm eyes? His pretty smile? His pretty lips? Was it because he opened up to Zuko, let himself be vulnerable around him, bled his heart out so Zuko could piece it back together? Was it because he’s funny? Charming? Cool? Smart? Astonishingly cute? Was it because he made Zuko feel made out of thin air, sometimes, so raw and exposed but yet so safe, so comfortable in his own skin? ...That is, the others don’t necessarily make him feel unsafe, or uncomfortable. He just feels like he can be all open and vulnerable with Sokka better. Maybe because he opened up to him first, about something so personal like his mom (and Zuko knew about losing a mom, too).

Well, whatever the reason, it doesn’t exactly matter, does it? He’s already in deep.

Zuko rolls over his stomach and sighs, groaning loud into his pillow. Why, why, why, why. It’s not like he even has a chance, so why did he have to…

Ugh.

Feelings are stupid. His heart is stupid.

And the way he falls asleep thinking about Sokka’s laugh is even stupider.

.

.

The thing is, because Zuko notices all the little details in Sokka’s gestures and behavior, he also notices the way he acts differently towards… Certain people.

“Me and Yue?” Sokka laughs, and Zuko blinks. He didn’t even mean to ask it out loud. Now, he would just hear the confirmation of what he already knew from Sokka’s lips. How is that any better? Good job, Zuko. 

“Nah, man, Suki would kill me if she sees me wooing her girlfriend. Or at least kick me pretty damn hard.” Huh? Zuko blinks again. Huh? So they’re… Sokka and Yue… They’re not… 

“And believe me, she’s super strong. She kicked me once and I’ve always regretted eating that last cupcake on the fridge.” Sokka makes a face and shudders, like the mere flashback is enough to make him fear. But then he smiles, in that soft way of his that makes Zuko’s knees go really weak. “And I’m pretty sure Yue is immensely happy with her, too.”

Zuko doesn’t know what to say, so he just oh-so-eloquently utters:

“Ah.”

Sokka seems amused.

“Didn’t you know they were a thing? The PDA is so strong when they’re together, you have to have seen it.”

Well, that was… Zuko just thought they were touchy with each other? Sokka is pretty much touchy with him all the time, but that doesn’t mean they’re a thing.

Well.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Sokka blinks. “Why?”

Zuko frowns. He tilts his head in confusion. “Because you are… Romantically attracted to her? It must be rough.”

Sokka blinks once, twice, three times. Stares. Then, he throws his head back and cackles, clutching his stomach.

“Dude, what the hell.” He wheezes. “Just say the word crush like normal people.” 

“Hmm.”

Then, when he calms down, Sokka eyes Zuko.

“Wait, what?” He says, serious all of a sudden. Or at least, surprised. “Do you really think that?” At Zuko’s lack of response, Sokka looks at him, then at his hands, then at the TV, where the video game they were playing is still on pause. Then, back at Zuko’s face. “No, I don’t have a crush on her. Or on Suki, for that matter.”

Zuko frowns. Sokka must know he doesn’t believe him, because he continues.

“I mean, I did.” He admits. “Back when I met her, when I was, like, 14. But I’m over it, now—Not that she’s not great; she’s awesome and I love her, just… Not in that way. It was just a silly teen-crush, anyway. And Suki is my best friend. We had a thing for a few months like two years ago, but we hit it off so much better as friends. She’s my bi icon, though. And bestest friend.”

“Oh.”

“Besides,” Sokka adds, and eyes him pointedly, “I’m interested in someone else right now.”

Zuko stares. Blinks.

What.

So he does have someone he’s interested in anyway. God, Zuko really doesn’t stand a chance. Why even bothering trying? And it’s not like he knows how to try something, anyway…

From the other corner of the room, Aang shoots him a very cryptic look. Zuko can’t describe what he’s thinking, but he guesses he’s taking pity on him. After all, he knows.

Ah. He really doesn’t like having feelings.

.

.

His mind is a cruel thing. It’s what keeps him up at night, what reminds him of all his insecurities, what makes him feel undeserving of love, what keeps throwing image after image into his head of his broken childhood on bad days. It’s what, as much as his heart, knows about his deepest desires, his longing, his yearning and thinks it’s amusing to play with Zuko for a bit.

“Zuko,” Sokka says, with a fragile smile on his face, his voice going ridiculously soft, his eyes warming up, and Zuko’s heart pounds on his chest like big waves crashing on the shore of a lonely beach. “Zuko, I love you.”

It’s kind of—very—criminal the way Sokka makes him feel. The way he makes Zuko’s heart seem like it’s going to burst out of his chest with how fast it beats after hearing just those three words, the way he makes Zuko’s entire soul ache and want, the way he makes him feel so grounded, so him, yet so tiny and delicate, like he’s made out of thin sheets of ice.

Is this how love feels?

Is this how it should feel like?

He wouldn’t know. He doesn’t know what falling in love is. He just knows a broken home, the destructive, neon-like, toxic obsession with power his dad had, instead of any tender form of anything else that can be called love that his dad should have had for his mom, but never did.

Falling in love is made to hurt. Falling in love is destined to make you feel sad, and alone, and unsafe.

Falling in love is a cruel thing. It’s not cut out for weak people, and Zuko is weak. He’s destined to break. He has always been made out of fragile, easy-to-destroy things.

That’s why his mind plays with him all the time.

He wakes up in his bed, opens his eyes to the dark quiet of his room, feels the way his heart beats so hard that he can almost feel it on his throat. And he feels lost. And sad.

He doesn’t even scream. He just lies there, feeling the world becoming smaller, feeling himself becoming smaller.

Lord, he’s royally fucked. Screwed. He knows. He’s destined to break.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say.

.

.

He’s sitting with Toph leaning back on his right side, on the fluffy couch in Katara and Sokka’s living room, cutting up squares out of colorful paper.

They are both terrible in the kitchen. Something coming from being rich kids, Sokka playfully teased earlier. And he guesses it’s true. Either way, they are terrible—Zuko even burned his own kitchen once while making scrambled eggs (and that was. Not a very good day). Sure, he has tried to help Uncle Iroh a couple of times, and he knows a bit of the basics, but besides preparing tea, he’s lost. He can’t cook to save his life. So when Zuko almost lights a fire to bake cookies and mixes up the recipe for the second time, Katara kicks them out and bans them from the kitchen for the next 4 hours. Toph protests just to be annoying—she doesn’t like cooking at all, she has told him, but she loves annoying Katara, it’s her favorite idle activity. Zuko would be offended, but it’s the smartest choice if they want to finish baking Aang’s birthday cake without setting the kitchen on fire, so it’s fine.

Besides, this way he can steal a few glances at Sokka, as he hangs up the decorations he and Toph are making. The muscles under his shirt flex when he raises his arms above his head, his messy hair down from its ponytail, falling over his face when he moves a bit to the left, a line of the smooth skin of his back making its way to Zuko's curious, avid eyes.

Zuko swallows.

Toph sighs heavily and throws her head back. “So, are you planning to make a move any time this century or are you a loser?”

Zuko eyes her, coming out of his stupor, confused. “What?”

Toph smirks. “Right, you’re always a loser, my bad.”

Zuko blinks. Not because of Toph calling him a loser, but because, for a second, he really doesn’t get what she means.

Then, when he does, he buries his face into his hands and groans.

“Even you know?”

Toph laughs. "Yes, idiot, it's stupidly obvious.” She pats his arm. “I can see it and I'm blind, you know." 

Zuko groans again. He’s in physical pain right now. "How?"

She shrugs. "I don’t know. Maybe the way you say his name. Or talk about him."

Zuko feels a bit of panic. 

What? Is he that obvious? How does he say Sokka’s name?

"His name?"

"Yeah,” Toph confirms, nodding exaggeratedly, “stupidly sappy. It's gross."

"Oh my god."

She laughs again, loudly, because his suffering is apparently amusing. "You also talk about him a lot," she chuckles, "and sigh every time you see him. At least that’s what I assume, given that he’s in the room and you keep sighing like a 12-year-old girl in love. Pinning all the way.”

Zuko wants to die. He seriously wants to die. Maybe he should just tell Sokka he likes him, so when he rejects him, Zuko can just die a quick, albeit painful, death.

Toph nudges at his arm, with her typical abnormal strength for someone her age, but she doesn’t mean any harm. “So?” She asks, again. “Are you planning to make a move or not?"

Zuko sighs, "I can't do anything, he likes someone else."

Toph kind of stops where she’s fumbling with a couple of paper sheets. She then turns around and makes this face, where she’s scrunching up her nose and frowning like she just smelled something sour, or like when she’s deeply confused. "Did he say that?"

"Yes."

"Did Sokka seriously tell you that?"

Zuko’s confused at Toph’s relentless insistence. "...Yes?"

Toph’s face goes back to normal, but there’s something about the way she continues to hum that makes it seem like she still thinks Zuko is an alien, or something.

"You must have misunderstood him—which wouldn’t be a surprise, to be honest." She says the last part in a whisper, but he still hears her. That’s probably what she wanted anyway, but it’s not like he gets it. What does that mean? Zuko gets Sokka. That’s one of the few things he’s really proud of. Did he just think that he got Sokka while, all this time, he actually didn’t?

No. He understands Sokka. Sokka himself has told him that.

"No, I didn't. And I don't have a chance if he likes someone else, so I might as well not even try."

Toph looks mad. "You're super pessimistic, dumbass."

"Hmm."

She sighs, looking deeply tired and frustrated, like Zuko has completely worn her out. Then, she raises her fist and punches him. Hard.

Ouch.

Zuko yelps, and rubs at his sore arm. “What was that for?” he grumbles.

She frowns. “To punch some sense into you, big oblivious idiot!" Toph hums a low, guttural sound in the back of her throat, like she’s a feral dog trying to threaten a pedestrian. “Just try, at least. Everyone is kind of getting tired of your pinning, too."

"Ah." Everyone?

"Full offence."

"Ah."

“Even Katara. The only reason she hasn’t intervened yet is because she says it’s not her business to push you, but I don’t think her reasoning is gonna last long.”

Katara too!? Oh, no.

Zuko seriously wants to die.

.

.

Eventually, things go on. 

Zuko’s “crush” doesn’t go away. If anything, it just grows and grows and grows until it becomes almost unbearable. But he still can’t say anything.

“Zuko.”

“Hmm?”

“You know,” Sokka says, looking at him with feign innocence, sitting with his hands upwards behind him in Zuko’s room, “that looks heavy, want me to hold it for you?”

Zuko frowns. He looks up from his work to give Sokka a confused look. “What is, my pen?”

Sokka gives him that little, playful smile—the one that is so incredibly hot for some reason Zuko can’t understand. His eyes gleam, even more than they do all the time.

“Nope,” he says, and his smile grows an inch, “your hand.”

Zuko blinks. Sokka flirting with him is nothing new, that’s why he manages to hold back his blush a bit and remain calm, even when he’s a bit dying inside.

He is just trapped between telling him, “god, I wish you were flirting with me for real,” and, “please stop doing it, it’s not good for my heart,” and, “If only you knew how much I really want to hold your hand”, but neither of those options are actually. Something viable.

“Are you flirting with me?” He asks instead, knowing the answer already.

Sokka would laugh, brush it off, and say something like, “ah, but you didn’t blush this time,” and let it go.

He doesn’t, though.

What he does, instead, is shrug and look at Zuko’s textbook, like he’s completely uninterested in the conversation.

Huh.

But then he speaks up again.

“Have been for the past year and a half or so, but thanks for noticing.” He answers.

Zuko blinks. He’s tempted to answer, “yeah, I know, which is a cruel, cruel thing to do, by the way, given how my heart just wants to escape out of my chest and go with you every time you do it,” or something equally playful to play it down like they always tend to do, but… for some reason, this time it feels… Real.

Maybe he should just laugh.

He doesn’t, though, and, “What?” is what comes out of his mouth.

Sokka looks up. “I said that I’ve been doing it for a year and a half or so, thank you for finally noticing.”

Zuko doesn’t understand. He’s not following the conversation at all. “Wait.”

“Ahh,” Sokka sighs, “honestly, if you didn’t notice by the end of the month, I would have felt deeply embarrassed. I was starting to think I lost my charm and I didn’t know how to flirt.”

“Well, that was a terrible pick-up line,” Zuko can’t help but retort, and like he wasn’t mildly-insulted, Sokka grins at him.

“But it worked for you, didn’t it?” He teases, leaning on Zuko’s personal space, “it made you feel something.”

Zuko frowns. “How would you know?”

Sokka stares. “Your face.”

“My face?”

“I can see it. In your face.”

Zuko covers his mouth, frowning. He can feel his own heart race.

Sokka is still way too close.

“You can…?”

“Yup.”

“Wait, wait, wait,” Zuko says, blinking. “That means—are you—are you flirting with me? For real?”

Sokka quirks both eyebrows. “Yes...?”

“But you—you…”

“Zuko, I don’t know where you got the idea, but I don’t flirt with anyone aside from you—at least, I haven’t done it in a long time. So yes, I am actually flirting with you.”

Zuko feels like he just got hit in the head. “Why?”

Sokka blinks. “Because I want to?”

“But why do you want to?”

Sokka shoots him a look. “Zuko,” he says, slowly, “I like you. I thought that was obvious already.”

Zuko blinks. “You have… romantic feelings for me?”

Sokka laughs, amused. “Yeah, Zuko, I have ‘romantic feelings’ for you.”

Zuko blinks again. He’s blinking too much. “So all this time… it was real… when you said… and that time you also said… and… oh.”

Sokka smiles, softly, and ruffles Zuko’s hair. It makes him blush. His heart might also not even work at this point, if it wasn’t for the fact that he can clearly hear it thundering in his ears.

Why is Sokka so calm? Zuko’s about to pass out.

“Katara is right, I’m dumb.”

Sokka grins. “Toph thinks so, too.”

“Toph thinks everyone is dumb.”

“Fair,” Sokka answers; he’s still grinning so wide. God, Sokka is so pretty. “Though I think she only calls us dumb, not that she means it.”

“Mmm.”

He’s so unfairly distracting, too. Zuko can’t stop looking at him.

“Wait,” He says, suddenly realizing something, “so you knew that I—that I—had feelings for you, too?”

Sokka looks at his lips when he talks, and Zuko has to concentrate hard to not straight up pass out from shock and his heart racing so fast it might give him an attack. Has he done that before? He would have noticed, right? Sure, Zuko looks at Sokka’s lips a lot instead than at his eyes, but he would have noticed if Sokka did it, too.

… Right?

He’s starting to feel dizzy. Is he dreaming? Is any of this real at all?

“Noticed it a while ago, yeah. That’s why I’m not freaking out that you noticed my flirting 100 years later.”

For a moment, Zuko is able to set aside  his internal emotional turmoil and state of panic, if only to complain.

“Hey!” He frowns. “Wait—”

“You have said that a lot.”

“Wait,” Zuko repeats, just to be annoying, “if you… liked me, and knew that I liked you back, why didn’t you… make a move?”

“Like asking you out? I tried to, but you’re too oblivious.”

“Huh?” Zuko utters. What does that even mean? He’s not—well, he is, maybe, just a bit, but. “Well, if you knew that, you could have been more straightforward, you know!”

Sokka smiles, then shrugs.

“I guess we’re both dumb.”

Zuko feels his lips curling up, not able to contain all his happiness anymore, his brain catching up with the last 20 minutes of his life.

Holy shit, Sokka likes him. Sokka likes him. Him. Zuko. As in, romantically speaking.

Oh.

Oh.

“I like you, Zuko.” Sokka says, as if Zuko’s brain didn’t shut down already. He reaches out and slides his hand on the table Zuko was previously working, the tip of his fingers touching Zuko’s. “So can I finally, please hold your hand?”

Zuko might pass out for real, but before that, he finally, finally, finally takes Sokka’s hand into his own.

It feels even better than in his dreams.

He feels like burning up, like all of his body is setting itself on fire.

Sokka’s hand is warm, so warm, and soft, so soft, and makes Zuko’s heart flutter like delicate flower’s petals in the wind.

Sokka’s thumb brushes over his knuckles; Sokka’s lips turn into a bright smile, like he’s been wanting to do that since forever.

It feels like home.

.

.

When they tell their friends they’re dating, Yue is the first one to say something.

“You mean you weren’t dating before?”

“Shocking, right,” Katara deadpans, but then she smiles, genuine. “I’m happy for both of you.” 

(Although remembering that minutes later doesn’t make her any less scary, when she decides to corner him out of the bathroom and put a steady hand on his shoulder, feign-sweet smile on her face, and say with a weirdly off-calm voice that, if he ever dared to hurt Sokka on purpose, she was going to break all the 206 bones on his body.)

Toph grins brightly and kicks him enthusiastically on the side with a loud “Well-done, loser!” while Aang jumps on Zuko’s back and clings to him like a koala.

“That’s awesome, guys! Be happy!”

Zuko smiles.

“Finally, I won’t have to hear Sokka’s pinning all the time,” Suki quips, like she’s tired and utterly uninterested, but even the happiness is evident in her voice.

Sokka still complains. “Hey! I had to hear you be head-over-heels for Yue for months, too.”

“It wasn’t months for you, though.” Suki deadpans, but then her face goes all soft, “I’m kidding, So, I’m really happy for you two.”

Sokka smiles, and she gets up from where she’s cuddling Yue on the sofa to hug Sokka tightly, grinning wide, and then look at Zuko (stumbling with a happily laughing Aang on his back and Toph annoyingly ruffling his hair like a proud little sister) and whispers something in Sokka’s ear.

Zuko is glad that he’s still looking at Sokka from the corner of his eye, because he catches him blushing after that.

He’s cute.

Suki laughs. Sokka frowns, still blushing, and when he catches Zuko watching, he blushes harder.

He’s really cute.

Zuko smiles softly, and Sokka blinks, once, twice, before smiling back.

The cutest.

.

.

“Zuko.”

Zuko hums, but doesn’t look up from his work.

“Zukoooo, darling, love of my life.”

Zuko is used to it by now. To Sokka calling him pet-names like those. Of hearing Sokka say he’s cute, or hot, or smart, or witty, or pretty. It still makes his heart flutter, though. Just as Sokka’s laugh does. It still makes him blush sometimes.

(It’s funny because Sokka is the same way—or mostly the same. Zuko said he looked really hot after a baseball game once and Sokka almost died on the spot. He blushed like mad, but after he calmed down, he couldn’t stop bragging about Zuko calling him ‘hot’.

“Look at you, flirting shamelessly with me! You’re all grown up!” and, “I shouldn’t be near Zuko if I’m wearing my baseball uniform, he’ll get a boner,” and a lot of more phrases.)

“Hm?”

“You are—” Sokka sing-songs, and crosses his arms over Zuko’s textbook. He puts his chin over his forearms and looks up at Zuko’s face, grinning, and Zuko would probably be a bit annoyed that he’s not letting him finish his essay if it weren’t for the fact that he’s Sokka. His, ahem, boyfriend. 

“I am…?”

“You are,” he repeats, and his smile grows bigger. Zuko thinks about kissing him; Zuko thinks about kissing him all the time. But, to be fair, he used to dream about that, just as much as he used to dream about them holding hands. And just as if he read Zuko’s mind, Sokka reaches out and holds his right hand; gently, like all of Sokka’s touches. It feels so nice, Zuko never wants to let go. “You are pulchritudinous.”

Eh?

Zuko tries to smile, but Sokka looks at him like he’s looking at a cute baby and throws his head back, still close and still holding his hand.

“You’re adorable.”

“What…?” Zuko is sure he looks as puzzled as he feels; he once caught his reflection in the mirror while playing Scrabble with Sokka and therefore knows how he must look. For some reason, Sokka finds it extremely cute. “What does that mean?”

Sokka laughs again.

Zuko narrows his eyes into slits. Or, maybe Sokka’s just making fun of him. (Not in a bad way, of course, Zuko knows. Sokka never means any harm, but he sure as hell loves teasing Zuko all the time.)

“Are you insulting me?”

Sokka wipes tears from his eyes and looks at Zuko with such a sweet face that it kinda makes Zuko stumble, even when he’s sitting.

His heart flutters alive, his face grows warm. He wants to kiss Sokka.

Sokka does, though, pulling gently at his hand and softly pressing his lips into Zuko’s wrist. He grins up at him.

“You’re adorable.”

(Later, when he’s waiting for a toast on Uncle Iroh’s kitchen, still barefoot, decked out in his pajamas and half-asleep, he finally finds what he thinks is the correct word using the search function of his phone—after 20 lame attempts of trying and failing at remembering—and pronouncing correctly—the right word.

He clicks on the dictionary tab, reads over the meaning, stumbles over, slips and falls flat on his ass.

He almost sets his kitchen on fire for the second time.)

.

.

Zuko is bad at flirting. He knows. But that doesn’t mean he doesn’t try, hard, and sometimes, sometimes, he succeeds (conscious and unconsciously).

Or maybe Sokka is just too easy to fluster (even when Sokka says it’s the other way around; even when that’s actually, probably, just a bit, true.)

Either way, Zuko basks happily in seeing Sokka get all flustered. It makes him even cuter than he already is.

(Whipped, Toph would draw out, mockingly sing-song.

And, well, maybe he is.)

.

.

Kissing Sokka is like setting himself on fire. Like burning up alive, but not in the bad sense. Not in the way he was burned as a little kid.

Kissing Sokka is like sitting near a campfire when you’re feeling cold; like standing on the edge of a cliff, feeling your chest contract; like tucking yourself in a warm blanket, with fuzzy socks and drinking your favorite drink, while hearing your favorite song. It’s like waking up on a good day, like basking in the sun at twilight, like taking a warm shower after a long day.

He feels too much, way too overwhelmed, even with just a brush of lips.

Kissing Sokka is a blessed thing.

There’s something that comes alive in his chest at the same time their lips touch. It blossoms under his ribcage, spreads over his chest, warms up all the way up to his throat. Beating, growing, marveling in every fiber of his being. Maybe that’s what love is—maybe that’s what Zuko has been searching for all this time; this connection, this overwhelming feeling, this deep, raw, unfiltered emotion, coming off him through waves of desperation for more.

He can’t be sure. But even if it wasn’t something he has looked out for, the discovery of it still feels like a sacred thing.

It’s like watching cherry blossoms falling on the street for the first time, like falling asleep on the comfortable side of your bed after a tiring day, it’s coming back home—or to what home should feel like.

It’s something delicate, at first. Zuko doesn’t have any experience, so he just lets himself feel as Sokka presses his lips softly into his own, carding his long fingers into Zuko’s hair.

Zuko feels an electric chill run down his spine, where Sokka’s fingertips—from the hand that’s not on his hair—make a slow path down. He can feel them burning, even through his clothes, even when Sokka’s hand is not that warm.

But it feels like that.

Zuko breathes shakily, moves his lips experimentally, feeling Sokka’s smile against his mouth.

He wants to do something, so he leans in, feeling Sokka’s eyelashes tickling his cheekbones, feeling Sokka’s thumb under his jaw, angling his head in a better position, feeling himself become aflame. He wants to touch Sokka. He really wants to touch Sokka.

So he does.

He uses one hand to gently touch Sokka’s wrist—the one Sokka’s using to keep Zuko’s head up—and, carefully, tentatively, he wraps his fingers around it, caresses the skin like he wants to print a topographic map of it into his mind.

Sokka makes a low, appreciative sound, and Zuko feels so happy it should be embarrassing.

Sokka has his hair down, and Zuko wants to touch it so much because he loves Sokka’s hair. Sokka’s hair is so pretty—Sokka is so pretty—so he goes for it. He brushes his fingers on Sokka’s shoulder, touches the strands of brown hair that lie there, moves his fingers to the nape of his neck. Zuko does this slowly, he wants to feel everything and he’s not going to rush, not after how long he’s wanted this.

He cradles his head with his hand, touches and touches and touches. He pulls at his hair, lightly, and his hand goes down just a bit; the skin of Sokka’s neck under his fingertips is warm, and so soft. He can feel the gentle echo of his heartbeat thundering in the tender curve of his jaw.

Just then, Sokka’s thumb brushes on his bare clavicle, and Zuko hisses, feeling like he’s on fire. Feeling like he’s become burning embers.

It’s just—too much, and at the same time, not enough—he wants more.

He has always been sensitive, but it’s different now. It’s like all his senses are turned on—he’s hyper-aware of everything around him—of Sokka’s hands, of Sokka’s steady, fast heartbeat under his open palm, of Sokka’s smell, of Sokka’s warm mouth, of Sokka’s soft skin, of the way Sokka keeps mumbling his name, softly against his lips or when he breaks apart to breath. He touches Sokka’s face, Sokka’s arms, Sokka’s neck; breathes his name into his own mouth, makes sure Sokka knows how much he wants this, how much he’s dreamed of this: of kissing him, of him kissing him back.

It feels too good to be even real—just as Sokka always makes him feel, even when they’re not kissing.

He might as well die there.

It wouldn’t be a bad way to go, though.

Linked, bare soul to bare soul, with the prettiest, smartest, kindest boy he’s ever met.

.

.

There’s something so tragically painful about falling in love, they say. But as he sees Sokka laughing in front of him because of some ridiculous joke Toph made, holding Zuko’s hand like it’s the most precious thing in the world, he can’t help but think that falling in love is anything but painful.

Sokka turns around, catches him staring and grins, playfully wiggling his eyebrows.

Zuko smiles, thinking just how much he loves Sokka, how much he loves his life, how much he loves his uncle, how much he loves his friends, how much he loves being alive, being there, curled up with Sokka on his couch, watching a stupid rom-com movie on Sokka’s cell-phone screen, sharing earphones with his boyfriend. Being there, in the house that he shares with his uncle—his real dad—in the house that he has come to call home. Being there, feeling safe in Sokka’s arms, with Toph hearing music on the TV, while Aang and Katara and Suki and Yue sleep, sprawled there and there all over his living-room.

“I love you,” Zuko tells Sokka, like he just revealed the biggest secret of the universe.

Love.

He feels the word on his tongue, and it tastes sweet. It tastes like the color of Sokka’s eyes, like the tone of Sokka’s laugh, like all of Sokka’s smiles—the gentle one, the soft one, the playful and flirty one, the wide one—all of them. Love tastes like Sokka holding his hand while they go for a walk, like Sokka’s voice when he talks about what he likes, like Sokka’s proud eyes after scoring a run, after Zuko shows him his grades. It tastes like a lot of things he can’t name, like the way Sokka says his name, like the way Sokka makes him feel, like that little mole under Sokka’s jaw, like the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles with the setting sun of the beach, like the way his fingertips feel against Zuko’s neck. Like the way he looks at Zuko like he’s not broken, like he’s the best thing that ever existed, like his scar is beautiful and all of Zuko’s failures don’t matter to him because he’s him, and that is enough. Like Zuko is more than enough, and how he loves that he’s more than enough to Zuko, too.  

“I love you,” Zuko says again, in a low voice, and it feels real. It has meaning. It’s not an empty word at all.

For some reason, he feels like tearing up a bit.

Sokka’s face mellows, softens; he brushes his thumb under Zuko’s left eye, just at the edge of his scar, and his eyes become impossibly warm. Zuko wants to kiss all of his face; he wants to taste all of Sokka’s softness on his own lips.

There, in the quiet of Zuko’s living-room, Sokka smiles, and Zuko thinks he’s the most bewitching, stunning, ineffably beautiful being.

It feels like something ethereal. Sokka smiles and Zuko feels blessed to exist.

“I love you, too,” Sokka answers, like he’s sharing one of the secrets of the universe, too, like he’s never told anyone anything more true, and ever so gentle.

Zuko smiles and kisses him.

Falling in love is a blessed thing.

[pengychan]

[Coco] Nuestra Iglesia, Pt 21

Title: Nuestra Iglesia Summary: Fake Priest AU. In the midst of the Mexican Revolution, Santa Cecilia is still a relatively safe place; all a young orphan named Miguel has to worry about is how to get novices Héctor and Imelda to switch their religious vows for wedding vows before it’s too late. He’s not having much success until he finds an unlikely ally in their new parish priest, who just arrived from out of town. Fine, so Padre Ernesto is a really odd priest. He’s probably not even a real priest, and the army-issued pistol he carries is more than slightly worrying. But he agrees that Héctor and Imelda would be wasted on religious life, and Miguel will take all the help he can get. It’s either the best idea he’s ever had, or the worst. Characters: Miguel Rivera, Ernesto de la Cruz, Héctor Rivera, Imelda Rivera, Chicharrón, Óscar and Felipe Rivera, OCs. Imector. Rating: T

[All chapters up are tagged as ‘fake priest au’ on my blog.]

A/N: First off, unlike Ernesto, I gotta give some credit! The song that features in this chapter was written by @eldathe​, who has a gift I sorely lack (but whom I'll definitely not murder for it). Also, @lunaescribe wrote the bulk of the scene in which Ernesto and John discuss the scriptures. I only made some minor edits with her permission (watch and learn, Ernesto). Art is by @swanpit​, who is a gift as always!

***

“So it… worked? It actually worked?”

“Why the surprise? I told you I could sell it.” 

Sofía made a point to cross her arms and look just a little insulted, but she didn’t really put a lot of effort in it: relief was too great. Sure, she had been pretty certain she’d managed to back the gringo into a corner and force him to keep the secret, but she couldn’t entirely discount the chance he’d decide screwing Ernesto over was more important.

“Right, right-- you did a great job,” Héctor replied, laughing a little in sheer glee. “Well, it’s sorted! We’re safe!”

Imelda rolled her eyes. “From the Federales, yes. Not from boredom now that Juan will be the one to say mass.”

“Let’s be honest, Sunday mass was never a party when Padre Edmundo led it, and we somehow survived.”

“Fair enough.”

“Huh, Ernesto? Why the long face?” Héctor spoke up, blinking. Now that he mentioned, Ernesto did rather look like he’d just announced Juan had opted to personally hang him in the plaza first thing after the evening mass. 

As a response, Ernesto made a face. “He wants me to study the Bible.”

“Well, there are worse punishments--”

“And learn Latin.”

“... Ah.”

“Oh.”

“My condolences.”

“Would you like me to send a telegram now for the Federales to come pick you up at their earliest convenience?”

Ernesto scoffed. “You know, this is the part where you’re supposed to be telling me Latin is not too bad.”

“But it is,” Héctor said, matter-of-factly.

“What, you’d have me lie to you?” Sofía gasped in moc horror, hand to her mouth. “Me? A nun?”

“... I hate all of you,” Ernesto informed them, only to yelp and laugh when Héctor threw an arm around his shoulders and ruffled his carefully combed hair. 

“Ay, don’t be like that. We survived it, and you will too,” he declared. “But I have just the thing that will make you feel better!”

“You managed to sneak in a bottle of tequila?”

“Better - I have an idea for a new song, and I know you’re going to love it.”

“Hah! If I’m left with any free time for music now.”

“Well, Juan is going to be busy, no? Saying mass and confessing and whatnot. He can’t be watching you all the time,” Héctor pointed out, and patted his shoulder. “... It’s good to know you’re safe.”

Ernesto chuckled, reaching up to fix his hair. “We all are.” The rest of the sentence - for now - hung unspoken in the air, but none of them said anything. In the end, it was Héctor to speak. 

“Well-- I’ll go looking for Miguel. I need to talk to him. And don’t you think I forgot you also owe him an apology,” he added, jabbing a finger against Ernesto’s chest before he was off... though not without giving Imelda a dreamy smile as he left the room. Ernesto scoffed.

“What, is apologizing is my new job now?” he called out, but none of them bothered to reply.

***

Héctor found Miguel at the stream, throwing flat rocks over the water and trying to make them bounce all the way down to the bridge while Dante jumped in the water over and over again, trying to catch them in mid-air and failing miserably.

The chamaco was breaking the rules in several ways - skipping his laundry duty day, staying out past the time he was allowed to be out, and in a place where he was not supposed to be - but Héctor wasn’t about to give him a lecture now that he had to try and extend the olive branch. 

… Oh, who was he kidding, he wouldn’t have given a lecture under any circumstances. He walked up right behind Miguel, grinned, and strummed his guitar with a grito. 

“Ayyyyyyy!”

“GAH!”

Miguel jumped a couple of feet up in the air, almost landing in the stream right along with Dante; the only reason why he didn’t was that Héctor reached out to grasp the back of his shirt quickly enough to spare him an unplanned bath.

“Careful, chamaco!” he laughed, pulling him back onto solid ground. “My new song may need a little polishing, but it’s not so bad to jump in the stream over.”

Miguel blinked, taken aback, then grinned. “A new song? What is--” he exclaimed, only to trail off. He made a face, crossing his arms. “I’m still mad at you.”

Héctor sighed. “I know, I know. I’m sorry I didn’t keep my word, Miguel, but it wasn’t a secret I could sit on. I had to make sure Santa Cecilia was not in danger.”

“Ernesto is not dangerous,” Miguel protested, but ay, Héctor would hear the slight hesitation in his voice, notice how quickly he averted his gaze. He frowned. 

“Miguel…?”

“I just-- he was really mad that I told you. He yelled at me, hit Dante - I mean, he did growl at him, but…” he bit his lower lip. “He said he should have let me drown the day we met.”

He said what, Héctor thought. I’m going to kick his ass, he thought. With an immense effort, he managed to let neither of those thoughts show. 

“He is sorry, and he will apologize,” he said instead. He’d better, or else. “He was under a lot of pressure, and said things he didn’t mean. He-- we were afraid word got out.”

Miguel looked back up at him, alarmed. Héctor, the nuns and everyone else had done their best to shield children from the harsh reality that was the ongoing war outside Santa Cecilia, but any child could tell that would have been bad, bringing the Federales down on Ernesto and Santa Cecilia like wolves on cattle. 

“What? But it didn’t, right? It wasn’t me, I told no one else but you, I swear--”

Héctor smiled. “No, it was a false alarm. All is well,” he promised, and strummed the guitar again. “And I have the new song. Want to be the first to hear it, chamaco?”

It had been a while since Héctor had the time to write a new song, even longer since Miguel had been the first to get to hear it, and the thought was clearly enough to chase away the lingering fear and anger. “What is it called?”

“Cómo está tu Padre - it’s about Ernest-- Padre Ernesto and Padre Juan.”

Miguel bit his lower lip. “Padre Ju-- John is not too bad,” he declared. 

“Oh?”

“He talked to me. Put in a good word for you when I was mad.”

Well. With how their recent interactions had gone, that was not something Héctor had expected to hear. “Oh. Well then, I suppose I’ll thank him for that.”

“The song isn’t too mean to him, is it?”

Héctor’s smile turned a bit sheepish. “Not excessively. Just some light-hearted fun.”

Miguel seemed thoughtful for a few moments, then he clearly decided it wouldn’t be too bad - or, more likely, that being decent for once was not enough to make up for the huge pain in the neck the gringo had been in the past few days. He perched up on a rock while Dante climbed out of the stream, a rock in his mouth, and flopped in the dirt at Miguel’s feet.

Ah, there was the public. Héctor cleared his throat. “When you're a Man of God, the people come to you to check in on the church…” he spoke, and strummed the guitar before singing.

“As I walk through the plaza, A señora comes my way From her lips falls a question Cómo está tu Padre? Ay, now what do I say? The Church of Santa Cecilia Watches with cynicism An American man hell-bent on Sharing blanco egoisms. Lone, he thinks he's the one! To have Divine Right to bear down on! He'll show dismay When his own way, Can't stay long. Such is life, with Padre-”

***

“John--!”

“Don’t John me. It’s Father Johnson, and you’ve had your break, Ernest. Now, read aloud--”

“It was three hours ago!”

The protest gained Ernesto a single, insufferable arched eyebrow from the gringo sitting across the table. He had his own Bible open, which looked… significantly more beat up than last time Ernesto had seen it. 

“Oh, no,” he said flatly. “Three straight hours of study. No man has ever endured such torment.”

“Well, it is more than enough for me!”

“Unsurprising, considering you seem to be barely literate in Spanish--”

“Hey! I can read, write and do maths, for your information--”

“-- But if you are to learn any Latin before the end of days comes--”

“-- And I can read music sheets! Can you read music sheets?”

The gringo sighed and shook his head. “Not that it is relevant, but as a matter of fact, I received piano lessons as a boy,” he said. His expression, like that of a man who sucked on a lemon, made Ernesto suspect they had not gone too well. “Now, I ask you to focus until at least the end of the page.” He pushed the book back towards Ernesto. “Go ahead, translate the next part.”

Holding back a groan, Ernesto looked back down at the page. If he did what he asked, maybe they would be done soon. “All right, so, uh. Pray for us sinners, which is ora pro nobi--”

“Nobis.” Juan - since using his real name got him no leniency, may as well keep calling him that - cut him off for the eleventh time in the past five minutes. “It is nobis. Which case is that?”

“Uhhh… ab… gen...” Ernesto glanced up, trying to gauge his reaction.

All he got was a raised eyebrow. Again. He was more and more tempted to rip those ridiculous stripes of yellow hair off his face. "Think. Nos, nostri or nostrum, nobis. Nominative, genitive…?"

Something clicked in Ernesto’s head. “Oh! Dative! That would be dative, right?”

An approving nod. “Dative plural, correct. Now, what else did you get wrong?”

Ernesto looked back down at the page, trying not to think that if he’d just let him call the Federales he would now be hanging by the neck from a tree and none of this would be his problem anymore. “Peccatoris?” he guessed. 

“Exactly. Peccatoris is genitive singular of peccator, first of all, so at least you didn’t entirely make it up. But in the sentence it refers to nobis, which means it must be…?”

Ernesto gave him a blank look. Juan sighed, but did not lose his nerve. “Think of the same sentence in Spanish - ruega por nosotros pecadores. Why not ‘nostros pecadora’?”

“Because nostros is plural and pecadora is singular. And feminine.”

“And what is the issue there?”

Well, that was a dumb question even a kid could answer. “That it’s got to match.” Ernesto frowned, thinking it over, and-- oh. Oh. “Wait. It’s got to match nobis, so-- dative plural as well?”

A nod, something that almost resembled a smile. “Very well,” Juan conceded, and Ernesto grinned. There, that wasn’t too bad, after a-- “And that would be?”

“Huh?”

“Dative plural of peccator. What is it?”

Ah. “Er… peccatorum? 

"That’s genitive."

“Peccatores?”

“Nominative. Or accusative, could be either.”

“Uuuugh.” Ernesto let out a groan, and his head dropped on the desk with a distinct thunk. He could almost hear a smirk in Juan’s voice when he spoke again. 

“Peccatores, peccatorum, peccatoribus,” he said, taking a cigarette out of the case. “Ora pro nobis peccatoribus. We’ll go through the third declension again before we call it a night.”

“What-- you said this was the last page!”

“I asked you to focus enough to finish it, didn’t say it’d be the last. You clearly need more prac--”

“It’s almost two in the morning!”

“Then we better be quick.”

Forehead still pressed on the desk, Ernesto groaned. “Don’t you ever sleep?”

“Not without a clear conscience, which is to say not until I’ve done my duty,” Juan replied, and pushed a notebook full of notes in front of Ernesto again. “It’s not difficult. You need to memorize it and, with enough practice, it will come naturally. You should have an edge on me there.”

Was he mocking him? Ernesto raised an eyebrow himself. “... Do I now?”

“Spanish is one of the closest languages to Latin, whereas English has different roots. It was difficult for me to pick up Latin at first. You’re doing quite--” he paused, stopping short of saying ‘well’. “... Passably, for someone entirely ignorant.”

“Hey!” Ernesto protested. He may not be a bookworm, or a scholar, but that was going too far.

“It is not meant as an insult. It comes from Latin ignorare, which simply means ‘not to know’--” 

Ernesto dropped his head back on the table, and rather wished the Federal Army would come to put him out of his misery sooner rather than later.

***

“So, we’re marching south?”

“Jesus Christ, we have literally just arrived, I was hoping we could rest…”

“We will, I think they said we’re not going for at least another week--”

“Two weeks. If you’re going to eavesdrop, at least do it properly,” a voice suddenly spoke up, causing the gathered soldiers to wince and turn. 

“Commander Hernández!”

“We were just, uh, we--”

“I was not eavesdropping, I only… er… walked by, and… sort of… overheard what they were telling you...”

The newly appointed Commander Santiago Hernández waved a hand, clearly unbothered by the very obvious lie, and they all breathed a little more easily that no punishment would be doled out. That was something they appreciated about Hernández, even though they didn’t know him well: he had been one of them until recently, when his actions in Veracruz and his show of loyalty in refusing discharge had gained him a promotion. He was above them, but didn’t flaunt it nearly as much as others would.

“It will be announced soon, so it is no secret,” he was saying. “Our battalion will remain here for a further week or two, in case reinforcements are needed around Mexico City, but it seems unlikely the current standstill will break. Once we receive the all-clear, we finally head south.”

That word - finally - sounded like a sigh of relief, and the men exchanged a few glances. It was no mystery that Commander Hernández had been itching to lead them down south for a good while, growing increasingly frustrated with the skirmishes and changing tactics that kept them in their current position. He was hellbent on finding a deserter who had shot a friend of his and had fled south, which was understandable but… a touch loco, really. 

South is a very vague hint to finding a man who had run off months earlier. This Ernesto de la Cruz may have joined the rebels or been killed by them, died in the desert he’d escaped into, be hiding into some hole or even have crossed the border into Guatemala or British Honduras; chances of running into him were slim to none. 

But of course, none of them was foolish to say as much aloud in his presence.

“This will be no stroll in the park,” the Commander was going on. “We will need to get through Zapata’s territory to get there, but it is necessary. We cannot let them push their control all the way to Veracruz and cut the country in two. We will have reinforcements for that part.”

“... And after that?”

“After that, the battalion splits. Some units will go towards Yucatán, while I will lead you towards Oaxaca and then down to Chiapas. There are some very active rebel groups in both regions who support Zapatistas, but few enough they can be dealt with. There is belief they have widespread support among the civilian population, and that is what we need to crush.”

If Commander Hernández noticed any of his men shifting uncomfortably, he pretended not to. His voice was cold, his eyes unyielding, the world reduced to friends to fight alongside with and enemies to be destroyed.

No, not friends - comrades. Santiago Hernández had no friends, not anymore. The last he had left were shot dead, by a deserter and by Americans. His fellow soldiers could show him obedience, show him respect and even camaraderie, but there was no one left to show him friendship.

And no one left who could talk reason into him.

***

“Since he rode in with swagger And a crass sort of charm, His unconventional ideas Keep our town safe from harm He draws in crowds To the church, old and young Quick to bestow, He'll make his blessings come We were fatherless, and Hey, presto! We were gifted with Padre-”

“Miguel.”

“-- Huh? No, Ernest-- gah!” Miguel let out a yelp, trying with very little success to hide the guitar behind his back and acutely aware of the fact the small crowd of children who’d been listening to him was dispersing very quickly; out of the corner of the eye, he could see Óscar and Felipe leaping over a fence like thoroughbred horses. Within moments the only ones in the yard were himself and Dante, with Father John towering over them. 

… Well, at least he didn’t look too mad. Only rather tired. Miguel was suddenly very glad he’d decided to only sing the part about Ernesto and not the bit about him. Even so, seeing children shrieking and running off when he approached probably was… not very nice. Miguel gave a smile he hoped would come across as charming but that was actually very, very sheepish. 

“Hola, Father John,” he said, making sure to pronounce his name as correctly as he could. The priest’s thin lips curled for a moment in something reasonably close to a smile. 

“Hola, Miguel. That was… an interesting song.”

“It was just… just a bit of fun.” Miguel shifted a little, hoping he wouldn’t find out about the rest of it, or who had written it. Thankfully, the gingo didn’t prod for more details. 

“... I do apologize. It was not my intention to spoil your fun. I am searching for my Bible - I seem to have lost it,” Father John said, letting his gaze wander around the yard, on the low stone wall and the few benches - but there was no sign of a Bible anywhere. “It is quite old and ruined, but it has a sentimental value. Could you spread the word and let me know if you find it?”

Ah. “Of course. I can go look for it. I will now,” Miguel spoke quickly, and turned to leave - but Father John spoke first, causing him to pause. 

“... You do miss Father Ernest, I gather,” he said, and well… there was no point in lying there. Ernesto had even apologized to him for snapping, as Héctor said he would, even though he’d offered no explanation, and Miguel had accepted the apology. So all was well now… right?

“We kinda miss him at Mass,” he admitted. “I know you said he’s busy with other things, and-- I like how you say Mass,” Miguel added quickly, hoping he had not noticed how he’d almost dozed off and dropped the incense the previous Sunday. “It’s just-- well-- you know--”

“It’s all right, I understand. I’ll ask him to say Mass this Sunday,” he said calmly, and walked back to the church. As he watched him go, more of Héctor’s song echoed in Miguel’s head. 

Like oil and water Their teamwork does seem strained And so I often am questioned Cómo está tu Padre?

***

Father John Johnson lit his next cigarette against his best judgment. 

He normally practiced more restraint, even with a vice, especially considering rolling papers and tobacco felt like something immoral to spend his small allowance on in such hard times. That, and it was the last in his tin - which meant that in order to get more he’d have to go on an unpleasant trek up the hill, to the small stand on the edge of town, with the little gruff man who clearly overcharged and quipped about John reminding him of Spaniard colonizers each time.

John’s family was actually of Dutch ancestry - not a drop of Spanish blood as far as he was aware - but it was a fight John had decided not to pick. He’d just take the scathing remark and be content that the man wouldn’t go telling the rest of the town that the gringo priest bought tobacco from him. By far not his most shameful secret, but still one he’d tried to keep hidden. 

“And what’s the point of that anymore,” John mused aloud, leaning back against a tree. 

As much as he’d tried to avoid the thought, he feared his worse sin would leak to this town sooner or later, due to Ernest’s continued existence here. Granted, the man had all the more reason to keep John’s secret now that his own had been found out, but a slip of the tongue was all it would take. 

And if that happened, well, he would no longer have to worry about keeping his smoking habit hidden. Who’d be bothered by a priest having a penchant for foul-smelling habits when it’s common knowledge he has an even stronger penchant for men in his bed? Perhaps Brother Hector would write a song about that, too. The thought terrified him, knotting up his stomach, and yet he couldn’t hold back a bitter laugh before he took another drag.

Such thoughts circling endlessly in his mind were part of the reason for his irresponsible rationing of cigarettes, along with Ernest’s gauche behavior ever since he showed divine and priestly mercy.

That morning’s breakfast had made him nearly reconsider indulging Sister Sophie’s plea for Ernest’s pitiful life. The man had been edging toward familiarity ever since John had given him the gift of mercy allowing him to remain in the parish, so long as he did his best to behave like a real priest so no one else learned his secret - which meant listening when John assigned him scripture to study, so his sermons no longer consisted of him improvising stories he thought he remembered from childhood. 

Even so, he regretted allowing Ernest to occasionally say mass to keep people from questioning the change. It took all the restraint in John’s body not to stand up in the middle of mass that day to correct him that Jesus never ‘set a temple on fire for revenge’ and certainly did not ‘condone’ arson in the ‘right situation’. Indeed, John 2:14 was his first assignment for that little mishap. 

Clearly, the lesson Ernest had taken from it was not precisely the one John had hoped he would. Instead he seemed quite coy at breakfast declaring loudly to all the sisters and impressionable Hector how reexamining the bible was such a ‘good reminder’ that Jesus simply ‘doesn’t care much if we sin!’.

“He was a bit of a hell-raiser himself! A rebel!” 

Each phrase announced with a strongly targeted grin toward John in an obvious attempt to excuse his own behavior, which nearly caused John to flip a table himself. But he had shown restraint, and channeled that anger into what was now his last cigarette, which he would attempt to savor as slowly as possible.

“There you are!” 

The voice burst seemingly from nowhere, causing him to yelp.  “Lord have mercy!”

John startled, nearly dropping the cigarette and turning to glare up at that man. In response, he just grinned. 

“I thought you had better reflexes than that,” Ernest began, the forced friendliness and warmth radiating off him just as strongly as it had during breakfast. He either wanted something from him, perhaps more foul carnal acts - in which case he would be sorely disappointed - or was trying to make sure his little stunt that morning hadn’t cost him John’s silence and mercy. 

John inhaled, his voice coming out strained with fragile control. “I have… given you respite, patience, and lessons. I can not fathom a reason you must accost me in private when I have been explicit that unless it is in the parish for lessons we are not to--” 

Ernest didn’t seem to be listening: the next moment he was plopping into the grass beside him, leaning on another side of the tree. “I know, I know,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “I’m not going to take up much time, it’s just that you rather rudely ran off at breakfast--”

“You cannot fathom how close I was to strangling you over the nonsense you were spouting, you should count yourself lucky that I left--”

“But,” Ernest cut him off, “you left before I made my point about my, uh, study of scriptures.”

“I’m not grading you,” John replied flatly.

“I am aware. But I think I found something that could bring you, uh…” a vague gesture. “I just think it’d be something you’d like. I don’t think what you-- we are is such a big deal. In case you missed it--” 

Missed it - now that was nothing short of an insult, and John’s composure broke. “I’m the real priest, Ermest - what could you possibly teach me that I don’t know about scripture!” he barked. Ernest didn’t even flinch, but lifted a Bible he’d seemingly pulled out of nowhere. Had he kept it hidden under his robes for a dramatic reveal just now?

“What, don’t like to think I can get something you didn’t?” Ernest made a face. “I am pretty smart, if I say so myself. Even you admitted I’m getting the hang of Latin.”

His boldness was coming back each day he awoke to see John had not yet cast him out it seemed. “Pride is a sin,” John muttered, making an effort not to release a slew of profanity he would have to confess to - God knew who to, since he was the only priest in the village. Instead, he pressed the cigarette between his lips and inhaled as though the smoke was oxygen.

Ernest shrugged. “Anyway. I’ll have you know that according to Romans 3:23--” 

“Yes, yes. ‘For all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God’,” John replied without missing a beat. “I’m well aware. Is this a case to prove why you deserve full forgiveness and a return to--” 

“Well, if you shut your mouth and let me finish, maybe you’ll see.”

Oh, John would love to be a pettier man, to make some empty threat about changing his mind to get Ernest on his toes again. But, well… God was watching, and he’s sinned enough lately. Far more than enough. 

“Well then,” Ernest was going on. “Since he’s saying we’re all sinners, there’s no reason to feel particularly bad if we--” 

“Priest. I’m a priest,” John cut him off again, stressing the words just enough to remind Ernest that he was not one, regardless of the cloth he wore.

“Huh?” He seemed honestly confused. “I know you’re--”

“Do you just keep forgetting priests are on another level of standard than--” 

“Cálmese one minute, will you?” 

“I am calm!” John snapped. “But if you don’t cease blaspheming, I’ll have you study so much--”

“So anyway,” Ernest barreled on before he could be scolded for the disrespect. “That verse reminded me of one I heard as a boy, and it took some digging to find it, has anyone ever thought of alphabetizing this thing?”

“This thing would be the Holy Bible, it would be appreciated if you showed some respect towards the Word of--”

“Anyway, it was a Psalm,” Ernest continued, clearly having made a habit of not acknowledging John’s attempts at educating him that day. “And it went, ‘for you created my inmost being; you knit me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made - your works are wonderful’, and so on, right? God made us and all that, and makes no mistakes. You told me - and I’ve watched - you tried everything to avoid these desires, so… why would God make a mistake with you?” 

John was silent for a moment; it mirrored a touch too closely to the argument Father Joseph had given him years ago. Shaking off the alarm, he turned his gaze on Ernest’s face for the first time in the conversation. “You have mistaken the Devil’s influence for divine design.” 

“Didn’t you tell me you’d felt this way since you were a child - an innocent?” 

“I was not that young, I was…” Almost a man, he’d thought then, but looking back now… oh, he truly had been barely more than a child. Something ached in John’s chest and throat, and he swallowed before speaking. “The devil, he… he works in deceitful ways.”

“Me too, you know.”

John scoffed. “Yes, you certainly do work in deceitful ways too, but that is no reason--”

“No, I mean-- being like that. As a boy.”

Ah. John fell silent, and turned back to Ernest. His hands were crossed, and he looked… uncharacteristically uneasy, no longer looking at him. “Even before my… experiences in, uh…” a sigh. “I said it was seminary, but of course that was not it.”

“Where…?”

“In the army. Overall unpleasant.” A bitter chuckle, but he didn’t elaborate. “But well before then, I would look at men. Other boys, really, well before I knew what sodomy was. Like you, correct?”

John had only ever looked that way at one boy when so young, but the memory of Walker Underwood - leaning back on the grass beside him to look up at the stars, talking and laughing, so unaware of John’s reddening skin and uneasy thoughts - still hurt all those years later, and he chose not to remark on that. 

“... Correct,” he murmured instead, and Ernest nodded before speaking again.

“And it was not lust exactly, was it? Too young for that. So… why’d God make you like that if his design is divine? Either of us?” 

A somewhat smug smirk was emerging on Ernest’s face, like that of a pupil who had turned in an immaculate report despite the teacher’s mediocre expectations. John turned his attention to the grass, his smoking hand lingering in the air as Father Joseph’s kindly voice and words echoed in his head. 

Perhaps it is in God’s plan that it remains your cross to bear.

Ah, but Ernest did not think of it as a cross to bear. He accepted it, embraced, revelled in it… and God had not struck him down for it. He’d struck down neither of them.

He was quiet so long that Ernest’s look of confidence began to waver, as though he feared that perhaps he had simply broken him further as opposed to-- ah, was comforting him what he’d meant to do? His way to apologize for his deception? John suspected as much. 

The thought sat warmly in his chest, and that feeling in itself should have concerned him, but… he wanted to revel in what comfort that knowledge gave him, if only for a little while.

Without a word, slowly, John’s free hand landed on the one Ernest rested in the grass. A delicate pat, the kind of gratitude a widowed parent shows to the child who thinks they can console them with a false belief the dead will return, knowing full well it is not to be. But the key there was that he... he recognized the attempt. 

“You’re dreadfully naive about scripture theory.” John remarked, his voice somber. Before he could pull his hand free Ernest took hold of his index finger, forcing him to linger. 

“Either I’m right, or God has messed up a lot of kids in his design.”

The notion God may mess up in any way, shape or form was another blasphemy, but it was probably the point Ernest was clumsily trying to make. So John didn’t rebuke him, nor did he try to pull away from his grasp, which was loose enough for him to be able to do  so effortlessly. There was a doubt that may be just a ploy from Ernest’s part to remain in his good graces, or maybe even slither back into his bed, but even so it was difficult not to appreciate the gesture.

Perhaps he means it. Father Joseph surely did. 

John gave a single nod, and allowed his hand to be clasped as he finished the remainder of the cigarette - Ernest’s presence no longer quite as stressful as it was before. Then the cigarette was done, he blew out the last of the smoke, and he pulled his hand away. 

“We ought to head back--”

“Here,” Ernest said suddenly, pushing the Bible in his hands. John blinked, taken aback, and glanced at him to see he was looking away. What in the world…?

“You know I can quote the Bible in my sleep, don’t you?” he pointed out, just a little offended. “I know exactly which passages you’re quoting. I simply don’t think your simplistic interpretation--”

“No, I mean--” Ernest fidgeted, uncharacteristically uneasy with words. “That’s yours.”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“Your Bible. I, uh, got someone to fix it up. As a, you know. Apology.”

Ah. John looked down at the Bible in his hands, truly focusing on it for the first time. That wasn’t his Bible, it couldn’t be; he’d ruined it slamming it down on the camera, until the spine broke, the leather cover came off and several pages came loose. The one he held in his hands was newly bound, now, with a new cover and all pages firmly in place. Still, when he opened… that was his handwriting at the margin, his notes. His Bible, indeed. So that was where it’d gone. 

“I see,” John heard himself saying, his throat a little tighter. He instinctively flipped the pages, searching for-- yes, there it was, right where he’d left it: his father’s letter. Disowning him, telling him he no longer had a son, to never be in touch again, so he wouldn’t taint them. But for the first time, seeing that letter did not fill him with shame. It filled him with anger.

“Didn’t you tell me you’d felt this way since you were a child - an innocent?” 

I did nothing. I was a boy, I only thought of kissing another. His own child, cast out over nothing.

“I noticed it looked kind of ruined, and I figured old Raúl could fix it up,” Ernest was saying, seemingly unaware of his thoughts. “He owed me a favor, so--”

“Thank you,” John said, very quietly, and smiled, the restored Bible - his keepsake of Father Joseph, the man who had called him his son despite everything - clutched to his chest. “This means more to me than you’ll ever know. I-- I have no words.”

Ernest smiled back. “Not even in Latin?” he asked.

And, for the first time since the truth had become clear to him, John Johnson laughed.

***

Well, getting Juan’s Bible fixed up hadn’t saved Ernesto from his daily Latin lesson, but at least he’d been allowed to go to sleep at a reasonable enough time, so there was that.

Not that he had hoped to fall asleep soon or easily, because he never did, not when he had to sleep alone. In the dark and the silence, falling asleep to find himself back in the barracks - or in a battlefield, or marching under the sun, or about to gun down civilians - was all too easy. So far, he found that some company was the easiest way to keep all of that away at night. 

He’d tried to casually suggest Sofía to spend the night with him, but of course, she’d shrugged him off and said she had plans. She was probably living it up with Sister Antonia right now, who was pretty but, in Ernesto’s opinion, nothing to write home about. Unlike him, of course. He was very much something to write home about. Or to the Archdiocese. Thanks for that, Juan.

Ah, yes. Juan. Asking him for nightly company was now entirely out of the question for obvious reasons, but Ernesto found that the thought of him helped a little just now. Namely, the thought of the look on his face when presented with his fixed-up Bible; the surprise, the smile, the laugh. It had been… nice, to hear that laugh again. 

Not that it had been the goal, Ernesto thought, but he was not entirely sure what the goal had actually been. He’d just eyed Juan’s Bible on the table after the gringo left to deal with some confessions, and thought that it looked in terrible shape, like he’d dropped it from a great height. He vaguely remembered Juan telling him that the old Bible was a gift from Father Joseph and very dear to him, much like the crucifix around his neck.

Grabbing it had taken a moment, and the walk to Raúl’s shop only minutes. The man was mostly a leatherworker, but was good at book binding and also the father of a woman finally expecting a child after years of fruitless marriage thanks to Ernesto’s, er, blessing - so he owed him a favor. When he’d returned to pick it up, the Bible looked new and he’d actually flipped through it to check Juan’s notes and make sure it was the same one he had left.

What am I doing?, he’d asked himself then, and he did again now. ‘Getting a book fixed’ was technically the right answer, but why would he bother was another matter entirely. He told himself it was vital he remained on the gringo’s good side, and that also was technically true. So there, that had been it - no motive but self-preservation, as always. End of story. 

Ernesto turned to the wall, pulled the covers up to his chin, and closed his eyes. His thoughts did keep drifting back to Juan’s smile, which was annoying, but when he finally fell asleep no soldiers, screams or gunfire disturbed his dreams. All in all, it could be worse.

***

You no longer have a father. I only ever had one son. For both of our sakes, never write again.

For a long time, John stared in silence at Reverend David Johnson’s neat handwriting in the flickering light of the candle barely lighting up his room. He had read that letter every morning upon awakening, and every night upon going to sleep, for well over a decade. A reminder of his sin, of his failure as a son. It hurt, each time, and it hurt him now. 

Only that the hurt was different that night, the disdain no longer entirely against himself. The letter was written on Christmas Eve, a brief unfeeling response to a heartfelt plea. Cold. Cruel.

I was a child. I was his child. How could he?

John pressed his lips together, the letter in one hand and his Bible in the other. A father’s rejection, ink more and more faded, and a Father’s gift - now restored. John’s eyes drifted towards the candle and, while he did not burn the letter, he did think about it.

He thought about it for a very long time.

***

“A flying machine! What in God’s name were you two thinking??”

“That we wanted to build a flying machine. It worked pretty well, except for the part where it didn’t fly.”

It took every ounce of Imelda’s patience, plus some she probably borrowed directly from the Almighty, not to grab Felipe by the front of his shirt and shake him hard enough to make his teeth chatter - and if not for the fact he had a broken left arm in a cast, she may not have been able to hold back.

“Maybe we should have picked someplace less high for the first test,” Óscar was conceding, all bruises and skinned elbows but with his bones still all in one piece. “We’ll choose better next time.”

“Next-- there is absolutely not going to be a next time.”

“Yes, yes, that’s what mamá said.”

“Papá as well.”

“So we knew you’d say that, too.”

“But you need not worry, because the next flying machine will actually fly!”

Imelda groaned, reaching up to rub her temples. “Was a broken arm not  enough for you?”

“Nope! I still have the other one,” Felipe quipped, flexing the arm in question to show off absolutely non-existent muscle. 

Óscar laughed. “And on the bright side, if the Federal Army comes looking for new soldiers, they won’t take him! Huh, maybe I should break my own arm--”

“Don’t say that,” Imelda cut him off, her voice suddenly sharp. It was the sort of thing she’d been having nightmares about. “Not even as a joke.”

“... The arm thing or the army thing?”

“The Federales. Actually, both. But mostly the Federales.” Imelda found she couldn’t entertain the thought even for a moment and something had to show on her face, because both of her brothers stopped smiling at exactly the same moment. 

“Hey, we… we didn’t really mean it.”

“We won’t say that again. Promise.”

Imelda sighed and finally nodded, managing a smile. “... Good. And if you want to entirely reassure me, you may also promise you will not keep trying to build flying contraptions and launch yourselves--”

“Oh look, it’s getting late!”

“We should be home in five minutes!”

“We should have been home five minutes ago!”

“Wait a moment--” Imelda began, only to trail off when her brothers took off running in the direction of their home. She sighed, making a mental note to let her mother and father know they should keep all tools under lock and key next time she saw them. Not that she thought it would stop them, but at least it would slow them down. Possibly until Felipe’s arm healed.

Their joke about Federales passing by to pick men to replenish their ranks  rang through her mind as she walked back towards the parish, impossible to entirely ignore.

If they took them, I don’t know what I’d do.

Her thoughts turned for a brief moment to the loaded pistol she kept hidden in her room. She paused mid-step, clenching her jaw. No, that wasn’t entirely true, was it?

She knew exactly what she’d do.

***

“He left, didn’t he?”

“Yes, Commander, as you said he would. We watched him take a horse and ride off.”

“Of course. To warn his friends down south of what he heard in the cantina, no doubt.” 

Santiago took a swig of his drink before setting down the glass, eyes glued to the map. It had been a grueling business, pushing past Zapata’s forces immediately south of Mexico City, but they had made it and now the battalion had split, leaving him in command of a couple of units… heading for the area where Ernesto de la Cruz had fled, leaving behind Alberto’s body in the smoldering sand.

I’m getting closer, I know I am. It’s only a matter of time.

And he could wait, of course. He could bid his time; being in the army had taught him discipline… something many of his men severely lacked. They were unruly, prone to talk and drink and then to talk even more after a drink… and that small village was full of ears. Thank God, said ears were also very bad at spying without being entirely too obvious. 

Sergeant García scowled. “Do you want us to follow him and take him out before he can warn them of our itinerary?”

“No, let him warn them. Let those traitors waste time rallying around San Luz while we take another route right past them.” With some luck, they may even be able to catch them by surprise from behind. He’d come up with another itinerary, and avoid sharing it with anyone who didn’t strictly need to hear it.

“I see. Do you need any further help…?”

“I think I’ll be fine, thank you. You’re dismissed.”

The sergeant left and Santiago focused on the map again, slowly working his way through the glass. There were several alternative routes they could take, but he settled for one that went through some hills and a small village barely marked on the map, the name printed in such tiny letters he had to squint to read it.

Santa Cecilia.

***

A/N: yes, I had to study Latin and had nightmares about it from time to time. But it's cool, they're fading. Ancient Greek, on the other hand, shall haunt me to my grave.

***

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[stephenfairbrook]

FFXIV Write 2021 - 08: Adroit (Make-Up Day)

Note: Set pre-1.0/ARR. ...remember that weird "WoL gives Cid his goggles via the Echo or something" ARR scene? I decided it was literal for my Mooncat, just 'cos it worked out with his backstory.

While he kept his stride as light as possible, Jayih’a’s footsteps echoed harshly in the empty docking bay. At the very least, he figured, no one would be able to sneak up on him. Just in case, he kept his note of permission clenched in his fist. After the day’s routine maintenance, he’d absentmindedly left behind several tools. Since he was scheduled to be sent along on a campaign in the morning, his commanding officer had written him the note giving him clearance and told him to go fetch them. Aside from a few suspicious glares from the nighttime sentries, he was able to make his way back to the bay with little trouble.

The tools were right where he thought he’d left them. He flicked the latches open on his toolkit and froze as he heard a clatter nearby. The nightly inspections weren’t to start for another bell yet… He kept still, listening for any other sounds. Sure enough, there were soon footsteps nearby.

Jayih’a stood, his note in one hand, a hammer in the other. He caught movement from the corner of his eye and turned.

“...hello?” he called.

He heard a soft swear before the stranger stepped out from behind a crate. He was short, for a Garlean, with white hair. An engineer, judging by the attire.

“What are you doing here?” the stranger asked, “This bay was supposed to be empty.”

“I could ask you the same, and for the same reason,” Jayih’a replied, holding out the note, “I have an exemption.”

“I… I see. Don’t let me keep you, then,” the Garlean said, waving his hand.

Jayih’a shrugged and went back to gathering his forgotten tools. The engineer remained rooted to his spot, watching. Something was most certainly off.

“...I’ve not seen you here before,” Jayih’a said when he was finished, clicking his case shut.

“This isn’t my usual station,” the other responded, folding his arms, “And my business here is none of your concern.”

“I suppose it isn’t. But understand I am obligated to inform the guards of any suspicious activity I might witness. I’d hate to…”

“Alright! Alright…” The Garlean sighed. “No need to call for them.”

Jayih’a stood, arching an eyebrow.

“Tell me,” the stranger said, “What are your feelings on the Empire?”

“Are you trying to get me to incriminate myself?”

“No. Just… seeing if we’re on the same page.”

“In that case…” Jayih’a sighed, choosing his words carefully, “I’m… used to it by now. And my personal situation is better than it was several months ago, which I am grateful for. But… given the choice, I’d return to my homeland in a heartbeat.”

The stranger looked him over, considering. “...would you leave tonight?”

Jayih’a tensed. “...beg your pardon?”

“If someone offered you a way out this instant, would you take it?”

“I… are you…?”

“I have transportation ready to launch, with two others already aboard,” the Garlean said, “One more shouldn’t be a problem.”

“And where are you headed?”

“Eorzea,” the stranger said, smiling softly and looking down at his hands, “Hopefully I can at least start to fix some of my mistakes there.”

After all these years, dreaming of the day, was it truly possible? A way out? Eorzea was nowhere near Jayih’a’s homeland. Nowhere near her. But… surely, he could acquire some mode of transportation…

“Well?” the Garlean said, “Are you coming along or not?”

“I’d…”

Jayih’a’s ears perked up at the sound of heavy approaching footsteps, marching in time, and a muffled, angry voice. While he couldn’t make out the precise words, they were clearly commands.

“Now or never,” the stranger said, turning his head towards the commotion.

Jayih’a bit his lip, fist tightening around the note. Cursing, he grabbed his toolkit.

“You go,” he said, “I’ll distract them.”

“What? Why? We can both make it, if we go now!”

Jayih’a shook his head and gave the stranger a reassuring smile.

“Allow me to buy you a bit more time. I’ll find my own way eventually,” he said, “In the meantime, you’ll need to cover that third eye if you’re headed to Eorzea.” He tugged off his goggles and offered them to the Garlean.

“...my thanks, friend.”

“Safe travels,” Jayih’a said, heading back the way he’d originally come. He glanced over his shoulder, watching the other jog further down the bay.

It wasn’t long before the Miqo’te met a small group of soldiers.

“You!” one of them called, pointing at him, “What are you doing here?”

“Official business,” Jayih’a responded, handing over the note from his commander, “Had a bit of absent-mindedness this afternoon, you see. We’re heading out first thing in the morning and it’d be a disaster if I’d left necessary equipment behind.”

The soldier skimmed the note, then shoved it back against Jayih’a’s chest.

“Anyone else down there?”

“Not that I saw, no, sir.”

The soldier sneered and turned to the others, giving orders for them to spread out their search.

“Ah, but… for what it’s worth…” Jayih’a piped up, pointing down a corridor opposite from the docking bay, “I did hear voices coming from that direction on my way down here.”

The soldier glanced down the corridor, signaling his men to follow him.

Jayih’a quickly made his way back outside. All that was left to do was report back to his commanding officer. He'd have to mention the patrol unit, of course. And the missing goggles could be easily replaced with a spare pair he owned.

Glancing up, he spotted an airship rising into the night sky and grinned.

[kumkaniudaku]

Trading Places

It’s 4:15 pm, I’m at work bored and wanted to post. So here I am. Enjoy. 

Put on something nice and be ready at 8. I’m taking you out.

Chadwick stood in the center of his trailer sporting a goofy smile as he read the text on his phone in his head. 

Is this a request or a demand?

Did you see a question mark? I’ll be in your city in five hours. Don’t have me waiting. 

Equal parts shocked and impressed by the tone of the message, he decided that no response was necessary. He’d been given instructions that he felt giddy to follow. Throughout the day he would take breaks between scenes and random conversations to read each message as if it was his first time seeing them before reading the name of the sender and smiling. Work had left little time for play, but he was excited to break the monotony of his two-month stay in Chicago. 

Especially with her. 

The restless energy coursing through his veins had him dressed an hour before his date arrived and constantly pushing the curtains aside to check for any movement outside of his rental. When the clock struck 8:00 with no sign of his date, he pulled out his phone to send a cheeky message. 

Attractive but late. Gotta take off points for that.

Before he could place his phone back on the coffee table across from him, a soft buzz alerted him to a response. 

Ha, try again. Come outside before we leave to drink wine without you. 

The mention of a third person made Chadwick’s head cock back with a tinge of jealousy as he walked around the small living room to shut off electronics and move toward the door. He was expecting a night alone, not a group outing. Though he wouldn’t turn down whatever was in store, he wasn’t happy about sharing the object of his affection. 

Step into the pleasantly cool night air, his slight frown spread into a grin when he saw her posted against a jet black SUV that matched her smooth but relaxed outfit choice. 

“Took you long enough,” she hollered as she watched him cross the street with a sparkle in her eye and mirth in her voice. “I almost had the driver leave you behind.” 

“Why? So you could enjoy the night with whoever else is in the car?” 

When they were close enough to touch, Chadwick bent to join his lips with hers. 

“Jealousy looks surprisingly good on you. Don’t worry, it’s just you me and the driver tonight. I’ll keep a third in mind for next time.” 

“Where is new personality coming from?”

Declining to answer right away, Tasha opened the back passenger side door and held it open. 

“We’re trading places tonight. Now get in. No more questions.” 

------------

An entire night catered to him felt foreign. He hadn’t felt like the sole focus of anything not involving an on-screen performance in years. It wasn’t that he was complaining as thousands of thoughts rippled through his mind in the short ride to their destination, but he wasn’t sure how to react. Did he turn around and offer a coy smile when she opened the door for him or ordered a drink on the sidelines? How was he not supposed to go for his wallet when a monetary transaction was required? Was he being rude by not saying thank you after every gesture? 

“You need anything else? I’m around if you want another.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. I think we’re good for now. Keep the change as a tip.” CoCo flashed the sideline attendant her award-winning smile that produced an awestruck stare from the young man. When she turned to pass Chadwick the second beer in her hand, she lightly nudged his arm and laughed. “Loosen up! We’re at a Bulls playoff game! When is that gonna happen again?” 

A small laugh preceded a sip from his plastic cup, “Good point. And thank you...for the drink.” 

“If you say that again, I’m gonna have to take you home. I appreciate the thanks, but I also want you to enjoy the night. Your night.” 

He nodded to show that he understood but kept his eyes on the side of her face when she turned to observe the game. She sat relaxed in a slight slouch, silently commanding attention in a way that would be intimidating to anyone lacking the light that she possessed. He wasn’t sure how she functioned with so much power on a daily basis, but he was happy to be positioned beside her. 

Chugging the remainder of his beverage, Chadwick decided to literally roll his shoulder back, remove his jacket and loosed up to enjoy his surroundings. As the quarter rolled to the midway point, a buzzer sounded throughout the arena to signify a media timeout. 

“It’s time for your Coca-Colaaaa KISS CAM!” 

Fans not engaged in various conversations looked up at the arena’s jumbotron to watch the camera pan from couple to couple willing to display their affection for thousands of strangers. Some moments were sweet while others bordered on outrageous. 

Enthralled in a conversation that was quickly becoming sexual in nature, Chadwick and Tasha quickly forgot that with elevated social stature came unwanted attention. 

“Kiss Cam!” The first statement didn’t do much to get their attention. “Oh, c’mon! Kiss Cam!” 

Honestly, the second time around went largely unnoticed until the cheering from the crowd around them began to grow. Chadwick was the first to look up and see their faces broadcasted around the 360 screens. 

“Hey, look.” He extended his arm to direct CoCo’s attention to the screen. Initially, her eyes flickered with worry before softening into something he couldn’t decipher until she turned to face him. 

“Let’s do it.” 

“Are you serious?” 

“Hell yeah. Kiss me!” 

“Co.” 

“Fuck it, I’ll kiss you.”

Before he could react, her small hands cupped his face to bring him into a kiss. The entire arena became charged with loud cheers and whistles as they engaged in the largest public display of affection either of them would have imagined. Just as the kiss ventured into waters to graphic for the viewing audience, Chadwick pulled away with a broad smile gracing her face. She watched Tasha’s eyes remained closed for a second longer before they fluttered open to focus on his features. 

“Loose enough for you, baby? Or should we have another drink?” 

CoCo took the comment in stride and smiled. Without breaking eye contact, she lifted her hand to signal to the sideline attendant. They’d be needing that second drink sooner than she planned. 

-------------

A few beers and a win from the home team created the kind of buzz and tension that a couple at the tail end of a date needed to wrap up the night with more than a peck at the front door. 

Hand in hand, Tasha and Chadwick walked through the sparsely populated park, enjoying the sounds of the passing city and each other’s company. They didn’t take themselves too seriously as they traded jokes about trivial matters and snuck kisses under the moonlight. The longer they walked, the louder a once distant saxophone became. 

“Yo, it’s jazz in the park,” Chadwick exclaimed, breaking contact with CoCo to point in the music’s direction. 

“You wanna go this late?” 

“Can we? For a little bit?” 

She could see the excitement in his body language as he impatiently shifted his weight on his legs. Smiling, she held out her hand to grab, giving him full permission to tug her along to the small crowd at the edge of the park. 

A few couples gathered under a covered area, bodies pressed together to move in sync to a jazz rendition of Adorn. Chadwick didn’t miss a beat as he spun Tasha in a circle and pulled her close by her waist. 

The vocalist sang a slower version of the song, making the moment feel suspended in time. This was the kind of spontaneity that characterized their time as kids ripping and running through the New York streets. A similar sense of carefree being settled over them as they spun in a slow circle in time with the music. 

“When I was 18, I met this girl with a big mouth and chicken legs. She had a million opinions about everything under the sun which I loved because she challenged me to be sure of my beliefs. So, for some crazy reason, we decided to be friends.” He felt the vibration of Tasha’s chuckle against his chest and matched it with a laugh of his own. “Now, here she is, drunk, dancing with me in the park and sporting the wedding ring I imagined giving her all those years ago.” 

After lifting her head from his chest, Tasha tilted back to look Chadwick in his eyes. They stared at each other with goofy smiles while they replayed random moments in their timeline that led to the present circumstances. 

“For the record, I’m not drunk,” Tasha spoke to reignite the conversation. 

“Well, I am. Take that for what it is.” 

Tasha’s sweet smile quickly changed to match her bedroom eyes as she trailed her finger down her husband’s chest. “Maybe we should get you back home.” 

----------

The quaint Chicago brownstone buzzed with muffled voices and music. Clothes lay scattered across the floor in a trail from the entrance to the bedroom leading to a spot where the air was thickest. Basking in the afterglow of adult activities, the couple lay on their backs staring up at the ceiling fan responsible for cooling their overheated bodies. 

“Is this what I do to you on date night’s,” Chadwick asked, turning his head against the pillow to look over at his wife. 

She smiled and nodded before breaking out in a small chuckle. “It’s great, huh? Being catered to for the night?”

“Hell yeah. You got it made.” 

“Mhmm,” she hummed before turning on her side to face him. “I’m gonna make sure you have it made more often. Starting with more of the last twenty minutes.”

Her lips left a trail of kisses from his shoulder to jawline until he suddenly used his body weight to press her softly into the mattress. 

“You’ve done an amazing job being me tonight, but I’m ready to get back into my role. I got some things I need to show you.”  

Both of their bodies became charged with excitement and visions of what was in store. They’d be trading places in a different sense for the rest of the night.

--------

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[innocentlynj]

The Very First Time

Pairing:  Reader + Kim Namjoon (F X M)

Genre: one shot 

Warnings: smut (mostly fluff) 

Word count: 2400+

ignore how many times I had to censor a word because tumblrs a bitch. 

He had tried to make everything perfect, literally down to the detail. But how couldn't he, you were the love of his life and he only wanted the best for you?

Today was the day he was going to give himself to you, you already losing your first time to a possessive ex in the past. His nerves were on end with wild thought running through his head. Was he going to be good enough? What if he couldn't please you? What if... His thoughts were interrupted from a ding of his phone. He opened up the Snapchat app and smiled as a picture of you flashed across the screen, putting a smile on his face before taking a screenshot of you as he always does and takes a quick picture of himself.

He smiles to himself again at the thought of how perfect you are in his eyes. He knows that some fans haven't been the best to you but he also saw the real fans in their support and constant love and acceptance he gave your guys relationship. He sat down on the floor, careful not to ruin the freshly made bed that had the slight smell of his cologne that he knew you loved so well by the way you would hug him just a little tighter to smell him more.

He flipped through the playlist he made for this, being the hopeless romantic he is, and the sound of soft music flowed the air like silk against skin, piano, and violin working harmoniously together.  He nodded to himself, satisfied with the scene in front of him. He heard a small knock on the door, but not any knock. The knock that you both made for each other as a secret and also as an inside joke. Yours was to the song "The Ballad of Mona Lisa" by Panic at the Disco since he knew how much you loved them, almost as much as you loved his group of BTS, and his being "Flower Cafe" By Jooheon Changkyun. He got up in a flash to answer the door as he took in your appearance, a blush creeping onto his skin.

You were dressed in almost the simplest outfit, in a long-sleeved black tee and fitting jeans and sunglasses to hide your appearance from the press. To Namjoon, you were absolutely stunning and took his breath away. You smiled brightly at him as he let you into his dorm but the other boys were out, for specific reasons. You unloaded your bag and scarf onto the nearest coat rack and are quick to wrap your arms around your beloved boyfriend of now 3 years. You both started dating after you finally got you and your friend into a fan sign after, possibly, buying 200 albums to actually get there. It was an effort but you are so glad you did it, because there you both locked eyes and it was an unspeakable connection that you two had shared, and continue to share to this very day.

"I missed you." The first words spoke since you arrived that were uttered from the very tall man hugging you tightly to him as if he was afraid you were going to slip away from him. You giggled and hugged him tightly back.

"I missed you too Aein" (sweetheart) You say softly as you softly inhale is scent and shut your eyes in comfort. That's when you heard the soft music playing and the smell of food in the atmosphere. "Wait, did you cook? And the fire department isn't here?" You joked as you looked around for any sign of a fire. He chuckled at you and rolled his eyes.

"No, I had Jin Hyung help me out with all this. I can't even cut an onion." He joked and hugged you from behind as you looked at all the food prepared for you two. You had lost a lot of weight before meeting Namjoon, being very depressed and just stopped eating which he helped you with later in the relationship, mostly due to the fact that he didn't know. You had gotten to the healthy side of life, but still some thickness in areas but he loved it on you. Your eyes watered slightly at such the amazing gesture and he cupped your face and turned you around to face him and kissed you gently on the lips. "Let's eat!"

After you both ate a little bit, him mostly knocking things over and him being his usual clumsy self but something was a little off with him, but you really couldn't put your finger on it, nor did you want to assume things. He took a deep breath and put on a huge grin, dimples shining through slightly as his eyes glittered in the light with happiness. He pulled something from his pocket and your heart skipped a beat.

"Y/N. I know we've been dating for the past three years now, so this is long past due, but I know I want to spend the rest of my life with you. I want to marry you in the future, but being with BTS takes up a lot of time and I know it is stressful for you sometimes. So until I am able to put an engagement ring on that finger, I want to give you this." The entire speech your heart filled with joy and your eyes filled with tears. He opened the box and held out the prettiest promise ring you have ever seen. It must have cost a lot, but honestly, he could have given you a ring pop and you would have been happy with the thought. "S-So," he stuttered slightly and honestly it was adorable and pure. "Will you be my forever?"

Of course, you nodded and got up quickly and kissed him passionately. When you pulled away he slid the ring on your finger. He looked up at you with love in his eyes and you looked back with the same about of love for him. You cupped his cheek and looked at the features of his face, almost studying it. 3 years ago you would have never envisioned yourself in this position but here you are, staring at the face of Kim Namjoon and him staring at you with so much love that you never felt with anyone else before. His eyes moved from your eyes to your lips and they looked back at you with the slight definition of lust. He gently grabbed the back of your hair and pulled you down to kiss him. As your lips connected, there was something different about this kiss that you ever felt before. The fireworks you heard people talk about were there. You had never felt them, kissing people only felt like lips touching but with Namjoon the hairs on your arms stood up on end.

Namjoon could feel it too as he slightly hissed into the kiss and pulled you close to him and onto his lap. You gratefully wrapped your arms around his neck and played with the hair close to the nape of his neck and tugged gently, earning a low moan from his lips that were working against yours in sync. This sent a twist of emotions to your stomach and made you do it again but a little more gently, just to stimulate him. He growled softly and picked you up, forcing you to wrap your legs around his waist as he moved you both to his bedroom, the food forgotten (for now, never let good food go to waste tf?) A slightly giggle left your lips as you left small kisses on his neck until he laid you on his bed. The air smelled of him, and the soft music was only slightly louder in here. Everything looked perfect, almost a little too perfect like he had stressed over this, and then you remembered that this would be his first time, ever. You suddenly got nervous and sat up.

"Baby, are you sure you want to do this?" You say as he steps towards you and kneels in front of you.

"Yes. I can't think of anyone I would rather do this within my life." Namjoon said and smiled softly, brushing his thumb across your cheek and searching for your expression. "Are you sure you want to do this? I know your first time wasn't the best but-" You cut him off by kissing his hand gently.

"I want you. And only you. Forever." You say and brush the hair out of his face slightly. He smiles and reconnects your lips and you both crawl back the headboard where the pillows are and he places his hand on your hip, the other supporting his weight above you. He slides his hand down to your thigh and very slowly to your heater core, almost afraid to touch you as you were a soft petal that would break.

"Is this okay?" He pulls away breathlessly, his fingers feathering over your core as he looks you in the eyes. You nod and kiss him again, sliding your hands up the back of his shirt and to his shoulders as he applied pressure, earning a soft moan from you. It made Namjoon happy to hear you make such beautiful noises, as he wanted to make sure you feel as good as he was in the moment. You slowly pulled off his shirt and touched his bare chest and looked at him.

"You are..so perfect." You say to him and he gets shy, smiling and burring his face into your neck and giggling, making you giggle and when he pulls away from you both just look at each other and start giggling as he kisses you again, slowly nipping and licking his way to your neck. You hear him mumble a soft "Is this okay?" Your breathing had picked up, leaving you only in short outtakes as you nod again. You were touched that he kept asking for your permission with everything, being a gentleman. After your nod you felt him gently nip on your skin, sucking and biting his way through a few hickeys on your neck to even darker and bigger hickeys.

Your moans were his encouragement to continue as he slowly pulled off your shirt and jeans, leaving you in only your undergarments. He blushed a deep red at the sight of you in front of him; breathing heavily by his doing, the hickeys on your neck that were just starting to form, your hair sprawled out around you making you look like an angel, and the sexy appeal of seeing what very little has seen (including friends and immediate family bc Idk about you but my mom doesn't know what knocking is). You blushed and started to cover yourself when he removed your hands and kissed your stomach. 

"아름다운." (beautiful) He said and pulled off his pants, leaving him in only his boxers. you took this opportunity to slowly unhook your bra and watch as his face went to a face of shock as he looked at you. He gulped slightly and looked you in the eyes and smiled shyly, like a kid finding seeing mommy kissing Santa under the mistletoe. He slightly lunged towards you and kissed you with such lust it sent your whole body into a sensitive shock as he gently gripped your right br*ast and looked at you, "Is this okay?"

You had to laugh softly, as he asked at least 3 times this entire time. You cup his face and forced him to look at you. "Yes, I am okay. You don't have to keep asking my love. I want you. All of you." With this, most of Namjoon's nerves left and he gently rolled your n*pple between his fingers, sending shocks throughout your body as a low moan left your parted lips. The rest of the clothes were soon discarded and Namjoon reached for the condom in the bedside table, accidentally knocking over one of the speakers as he cursed to himself. You giggled slightly at his clumsy state as he finally got a condom, after breaking the box and spilling the rest of them out. He let out a small nervous chuckle. He ripped the condom with his long finger and then looked at it slightly and breathed heavily as his shaky hands tried to roll the condom on his thick cock of his.

This was the first time you were able to take in his size and it took your breath away. The daze you were in snapped and you saw him struggling and you smiled softly.

"Baby let me help." You say and you roll the condom on him after licking your hand and rubbing it over his dick a few times to lucubrate it, smirking when a few moans and curses left his mouth. When it was on you pushed him gently to the bed and got on top of him. "Let me take care of you, baby." You say softly slide yourself onto him as you both groan in pleasure. It was a little painful at first due to his size but within a few minutes, that uncomfortable pressure was replaced with a pleasure that spread slowly throughout your entire body.

Namjoon grit his teeth and hissed through them, gripping your waist with his long slender fingers tightly that left slight marks.

"Y/N if you don't move soon I might go crazy." He muttered through his teeth and he opened his eyes that had found themselves closed and looked into your eyes. They showed pure love and passion. You felt a soft moan leave your lips just at the look alone he was boring onto you. You slowly started moving, sliding up and down on his dick as his hands guided him down onto his dick, leaving groans and stuttering curses in Korean from his lips. The effect you had on him turned you on more than the small foreplay that you shared before. You picked up your pace a bit and placed your hands on his toned chest and his hands slowly found their way to your ass, gripping the skin tightly and moved with every bounce you made.

His eyes had fluttered closed once again you looked down at his angelic face, scrunched in focus and in pleasure. The sight below you was one to make your heart flutter with love. You leaned down and placed a kiss upon his lips, receiving a kiss in return and a moan as you gently bit his lip and tug it gently between your teeth. He looked up at you and the grip on your ass tightened and he started to pull you down on his thick cock faster and more hard than your pace, making you cry out a moan and nuzzle your face into his neck.

Namjoon saw the effect he had on you and brought one hand up and between you and started rubbing your clit in lazy circles, pushing you closer to your edge.

"J-joonie," You managed to stutter out in a haze of pleasure

"I know jagiya, I'm-" He was cut off by the wave of pleasure that overwhelmed him at the moment and he stuttered slightly. His fingers worked faster against your cl*t, making sure you were feeling as good as he was, but honestly, you couldn't feel more love and pleasure at this moment.

With a final thrust, you both reached your climax and you rolled off of him gently and laid next to him, breathless. The only thing in the air was the sound of the soft music and you both heavily breathing, but it was music to both of your ears. You looked up at him and smiled, kissing him gently and cuddling into him and pushed some hair out of his face.

"Did you like it?" You ask at the breathing angel in front of you as he locks eye with you.

"I think I went to heaven being with you." He flirts and you giggle, kissing his shoulder softly. He started tracing shapes on your back as your eyes drooped from being tired. "Sleep, my love. I will wake you up in the morning." He said and kissed your forehead. You moaned in acknowledgment muttered a small,

"사랑해"

Namjoon smiled at your sleeping form. "I love you too Y/N"

[ofaugusts]

* TITUS  › 𝐚𝐮𝐠𝐮𝐬𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐲𝐧.

sleepless nights and hollow hues. impish, lopsided grins that settle upon split lips. the fall of honeyed locks over hazel hues. nicotine stained fingertips. anger worn like an accessory. a full body dunk into ice cold water. the hour right before dusk turns to dawn. the deafening silence after fireworks. the flash of lightning before the thunder.

𝐚𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬

wowowow okay first off sooo excited to be here ( totally not writing this at five in the morning just so i can have it ready to go ) ??  my name’s moosh, i’m 21+, and have no preference for pronouns. this got pretty long i’m super sorry i always try to keep it short n it never works sdfnskdjf ANYWAYS HERE’S MY BB i’m planning on plotting w every one of u but still like this post n i’ll come plot ♡

𝐛𝐚𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐬

name: august reyn age: 22 / senior gender: cismale ( he/him ) major: business + econ minor orientation: heterosexual / heteroromantic mbti: estp house: gryffindor ( 60% ) / slytherin ( 40% ) alignment: chaotic neutral

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐨

i haven’t uhh gotten around to a bio but i’ll also try to keep this as simple n concise as possible ??

death due to birth tw. baby boy is born as august tenold in los angeles, no dad in sight and mother passed. spent three/four days in the hospital until his grandmother finally made it across the country from new york to take him home to brooklyn where he would spend the next SEVENTEEN years.

they weren’t very well off and by that i mean that they had to sometimes worry about heat, leaks when it rained too much, warm water, so forth, but they were lucky enough to be able to afford a two bedroom. 

BUT august never attended a public school once. before her death she had been promised the best education for their son, in place of a role in his life. grandma would take the train with august everyday, an hour and a half to school, and she luckily found a job near his school because the commute alone was a journey. three hour commute, five times a week, and by the time he was in fourth grade he could find his way to school himself.

it was at school that he saw such a stark difference in lifestyle. it only got worse as he got older and whatever they bought would only become more and more expensive. it was there he learned that there was power and influence in wealth when he would get detention for defending himself in a fight he didn’t start while the others got away with things because of family names.

after elementary school is when boarding school starts, where he only sees his grandmother during summer vacations because flights back home only to stay for winter break are too expensive. where he gets special permission to leave school grounds because he needs a job to earn some spending money.

grandma falls ill in the beginning of his sophomore year, but he’s so busy with school and they rarely see each other as it is ( only during the summers ), that he only finds out when he’s a junior becoming a senior. his entire summer is spent working to help pay rent for the apartment no one was living in, and then his nights at the hospital. the staff allow him a makeshift bed after he’s spent a week sleeping there, and as reluctant as he is, his grandmother tells him to go to school to continue his last year, and he obliges. she tells him she’ll be there for his graduation, and it becomes the last time he sees her.

she passes in the middle of his senior year and it’s quickly followed by news that he has a new guardian. his father, who can’t be older than thirty five years old, is geoffrey reyn, ceo of reyn enterprises ( think of wayne enterprises in that they literally have their hands in everything ). he’s come under some heavy fire recently and is not favored by the public, but what’s a better than a long lost son sob story to cover it up ??  

violence tw. literally shows up to school the next day and the energy is different because he’s for once at the top of the pyramid. the same people who had tormented him for years step on his toes and he fights back knowing he has a bite to match his bark now. the first time he feels that smug feeling of power is when he leaves the principal’s office for the first time with just a tissue.

he’s dragged around places by his dad during that summer, asked about his new life, how much better it is than living in the shabby two bedroom apartment in brooklyn and not once asked about his grandmother or if he got to attend her funeral ( which he did not ). hurriedly having applied to ashcroft, he got in, and soon he was shipped off elsewhere.

child abuse and violence tw. relationship with his dad was always very violent, but august never took hits sitting down. august wasn’t the grateful puppet geoffrey had needed, and his dad was not a savior. there’s still a lot of constraint and control he tries to place on his son, however, even though years of failure have only confirmed he can’t be controlled. the last few years, however, had been running smoothly. business and econ were finally taken up as majors and minors, their interactions less turbulent, and this was all due to one thing: octavia.

so let’s backtrack a lillll so august first meets octavia when he's 17 where he’s working off the books the job his granny has ( cleaning up after classes at a prestigious ballet studio ) due to her back acting up. he becomes infatuated with her, her lifestyle, and they quickly grow closer. she builds some sort of greed within him to want to be good enough for someone like her, or maybe just her. he swears it, and then his granny passes. the next time he meets her is two years down the line at some gala his dad would insist he attend, and they spend the night stowed away in an empty ballroom, a bottle of champagne in hand and a secret kiss shared behind closed doors. she tells him she’s thinking of applying to ashcroft and he insists that she must, that he’d wait for her. the following year, he’s there to greet her on campus, and immediately they’re an item. 

around all this time, his relationship with his dad is supperr rocky. every time they spoke they fought and when august hung up on him too much, he’d appear on campus ( an effective way of getting august not to hang up ). he’s met with octavia and her parents and he realizes the kind of status he has to uphold in order to date someone like her. he finally declares the major his father had chosen for him and understands it’s a choice he has to make to stay with her. he becomes much too obedient with his dad, knowing that the way to stay in favor with her parents would be to finally yield to what his dad wanted. so he becomes a proper heir, majoring in the correct field, taking his studies more seriously, acting and talking the right way. he falls in line to keep her, he gets along with everyone and it’s all because she dulls his sharp edges and he can lean on her. a lot of his life begins to warp around her, and that’s when his dad threatens to touch the thing that had been keeping the waters still.

geoffrey had been having complications in a business deal that octavia’s dad was refusing to agree to. with the knowledge of his crimes, getting rid of the other would be easy, and closing the deal even easier. not wanting to be tainted with such an image, he tells august to end things and even goes as far as to threaten her safety. there isn’t a doubt in august’s mind he’d follow through, knowing all the dirt on his new surname, and things with octavia come to an end, though they continue to keep seeing each other as she begins her new relationship.

has fallen into a bit of a depressive slump, even after the rest of the semester was given off to them. for the first few days afterwards, no one really sees him around. he spends his days locked up in his room, not touching his assignments and not answering to the house maids that knock on his door. he’s completely heartbroken because truly, he believed the rest of his life would be spent with octavia. then comes the anger almost immediately, because while alcohol and drugs allows him to ease the pain it doesn’t allow him to forget, and after coming to bail him out of jail three times, his father stops picking up the phone and cuts august off, taking his cards, cars, everything, unless there’s a promise to behave better. obviously his father is not someone he can come to lean on emotionally for this, and so he picks up other ways of easing the pain: alcohol, drugs, adrenaline, women.

her death is very heavily placed on him for an obvious reason ( she was the love of his life ) but it also comes with the struggle of finishing his degree. he’s so close to it, yet he feels like there’s really no reason for him to continue on with it. octavia had been the sole reason his relationship with his father had been steady. now that she’s out of the picture, there’s no need for a business degree, no need for a shining reputation, no need for whatever upper class bullshit. that’s the mindset that he’s in going into the last semester of college with, and whether he royally fucks up his future because of his grief or if he decides to push through because that’s what octavia would have wanted is up in the air. 

so as usual i’m better at describing bg rather than personality so bear with me.

getting to know august is easy, because he makes it easy. he’s amiable, playful, witty, sarcastic to a fault, but he’s also pessimistic. without octavia’s light to balance it out he’s kind of let himself sink into that cynical mindset that has always been overbearing. unlike his father, however, his anger is always quiet, still, and strikes when least expected. there’s never a scene because there’s never yelling ( unless it’s to his dad ), always low voices that drip with threats and cold eyes that warn of something worse to come if the line keeps being tread. how his knuckles become bloody is always a mystery, because you never heard about august reyn getting into a fight until another kid showed up the next day with a black eye. now, there isn’t much that can be done to bring that out in him, but that’s the dangerous part that people always tell you to look out for. it’s because he always seem so easy going that people don’t ever see the darkness until it’s too late.

i did not do a good job at explaining his personality bc i never do sdfkjsndkf BASICALLY he’s?? p chill. always seems to have that easy look on his face. always looking for trouble and getting into it with the principal, or any authority figure tbh bc fuck them. looking for a good time and is always the one to hype up the party if it feels like it’s dying. lives off of adrenaline and nicotine. will call you out on your ignorant bullshit. hates rich people even though he’s one of them and will drag anyone at ashcroft that he sees abusing their power, even though he uses his name to get away with so many things. is the first person called in his friend group if there’s a fight going down. is soooo overly sarcastic that at times it sounds like he’s being serious. has serious eye rolling problems. doesn’t yell during fights but will yell during debates and get really heated. 

[amarauder]

the adventures of captain bubbles ♆ percy jackson x reader

                               001. the adventures of captain bubbles

pairing; percy jackson x reader

request; Percy and (Y/N) were dating but Hera took Percy's memory and all he remembered was (Y/N). (Y/N) kept searching with Annabeth for Percy. It was obvious to everyone but Percy that Annabeth liked him but respects his choice of him liking (Y/N), so she doesn't try to break them up and actually ships it a LOT. Percy goes through all the stuff in the book, meets (Y/N) again, regains his memory then The End.

date; Febuary, 11th 2019

word count; 7603

warning; lots and lots of angst, kissing, er i don't know. mentions of death-but wrongly accused? i don't know. you'll see.

a/n; i am so incredibly sorry for how long this took. you literally requested this seven months ago-more than a half of a year. i feel so so bad. so i tried extremely hard on this one in order to kind of make up for it. i hope you like it. if not i am very willing to rewrite it or change anything you want to. :)

trailer; in which a girl's boyfriend goes missing leaving her to pick up the clues to his disappearance.

requested by;

-

The girl's face was pale as she walked through the Camp. Everything looked just as she remembered it but it seemed different somehow. There were still children running around with glee splashed across their spaces along with strawberry juice dripping down their chins but the air seemed tense as if everyone was waiting for someone to ruin something. It reminded her of last Summer.

She felt her car keys bounce in the pocket of her army green cargo pants as she walked towards the Big House. Annabeth had written her demanding that she come to Camp immediately and meet with the rest of the Head Counselors. Y/N had obliged knowing Annabeth's temper, besides it wasn't like she had been planning on coming within the next month, she had already packed as she was going to leave within the next week.

A small laugh escaped Y/N's lips when she made eye contact with Clarisse and her siblings. They were currently bullying a poor child into giving her their money. The daughter of Hermes would have felt grim at the sight of the scene but after knowing Clarisse for years she didn't care anymore. But it didn't mean Y/N wouldn't try and distract her friend.

"Oi, big lump!" Y/N called, her footsteps increasing as she got closer. Clarisse spun around with a shrewd look in her eye just as she knew she would. Y/N watched her search for her next culprit before stopping at her form, a small smirk formed as she held in a laugh.

Clarrise rolled her eyes at Y/N and grumbled, "I should have known it was you." The girl walked over to Y/N and held out her hand. Y/N was slightly surprised at the gesture as she had been expecting a punch on the arm for insulting her. But Y/N shook it off and finished off the Camp's handshake with ease.

Y/N noticed Clarisse shoo her goonies away-who probably went to go mess with that poor child again-and scrutinize her face with purpose as if looking for any kind of feeling but happiness. When she found none Clarisse looked at her with a sadness that made a pit form in the bottom of her stomach. She hated it, the disgusting feeling almost as if she was going to throw up at any moment but her tummy wouldn't give her the satisfaction of doing so.

"What's wrong, La Rue." Y/N said after a while. She couldn't handle the silent but purposeful look every few seconds anymore.

"Nothing, nothing is wrong." Y/N rolled her eyes at her friend and gave Clarisse a harsh look. Surprisingly, she looked away with a guilty look. Y/N let herself start to worry after that. Clarisse was acting completely out of character which only meant one thing; something was seriously wrong. "Let's just walk a little faster. I don't want to be late for the meeting."

Y/N snorted from behind her friend, "Since when were you ever worried about being late when it didn't consist of Capture the Flag?" Clarisse didn't answer Y/N.

The rest of the walk to the Big House was silent and left Y/N restless, wanting to know what was causing Clarisse to act more sinister than usual. "So," Y/N started as the door hit from behind them, "How's everything been going with Chris?"

"Shut your trap, L/N."

"So, it's going well then." Y/N grinned and pickpocketed a pile of dramachas on a random wooden table. Clarisse didn't answer her again and instead made their presence known to the rest of the Head Counselors.

While Clarisse was making her usual ruckus, Y/N glanced around the room. Her eyes traveled around looking for a special sixteen-year-old boy named Perseus Jackson. Instead of finding him, her eyes landed on her two troublesome brothers. They were both grinning mechanically and for a split second, she was distracted by nervousness.

"Stolen anything recently, sister?" one of the twins snickered.

Y/N laughed and rolled her eyes, "Not since I learned that the phrase 'ignore it and it will go away' does not apply to being chased by a dozen cop cars."

"Wow," Y/n decided it was Travis. He was the only Stoll who had freckles over his left eyebrow bone. "Twelve cop cars, you special little thing."

"Stuff it, Trav-"

"It's Connor."

Y/N smiled sheepishly and would have apologized if she hadn't been interrupted by her dear friend Annabeth. Her stern glare pierced through Y/N leaving her more than a little shocked. It had been a while since she had been on the receiving end of Annabeth's famous death glare. Y/N bit the inside of her cheek and looked away, everyone had been acting weirdly since she got to Camp. Clarisse was looking at her like she was about to break any second, Annabeth seemed like she wanted to murder Y/N, even her brothers were even acting nicer than normal. It was weird but before Y/N could voice her thoughts, Annabeth had started the meeting.

"Chiron had given Butch and me permission to leave the Camp to greet two demigods and a supposed special surprise that is supposed to help us find P-"

"Chase!" Clarisse snapped from next to Lee Fletcher, Y/N had almost jumped out of her seat from her booming voice, "She doesn't know yet."

Y/N watched the exchange with curious eyes that quickly turned into wide, embarrassed peepers. [lol, I couldn't say eyes again bc it sounded terrible. so peepers it is-i'm not saying hues. I did that before when I was younger and never again will I use that word.] Unfortunately, it was a bit intimidating to have all of Camp Half-Blood's most powerful campers waiting to see a reaction out of Y/N. "Y/N is also in the room and would like to remind everyone of that." Y/N said, "She would also like to add that she wants to know what is going on and doesn't like gossiping."

Annabeth went silent after Y/N's comment and shared a look with Clarisse. Analyzing the situation more, Y/N realized it must be bad if no one would tell her. Suddenly, Y/N had a thought that made her entire body shiver. "Kronos isn't back, is he?"

The majority of the counselors laughed at the absurdity of the question and shook their heads making Y/N sigh in relief, but Annabeth wouldn't even break a smile which only made Y/N more worried.

When everyone calmed down, everyone except Chiron had arrived and it was quiet. Almost too quiet. No one said a word as they looked at her but she could all see the sadness in their eyes. Katie had her mouth covered until she stood up and walked over to her. It was a bit awkward since she had never been close to the girl and making Travis move only made it worse. Surprisingly, she took her hand and lead her over to sit between her and Clarisse, never once letting go of her hand. As time moved on, Y/N started to wonder if Katie had somehow developed a crush on her, but she shook the thought away after making a joke about it, "Katie, you're a nice girl and all but I don't feel that way about you."

Katie snorted and gave Y/N a light shove after letting go of her hand, "Fine, if you are that weirded out by physical contact, I won't touch you again."

Y/N grinned and relaxed, stretching her legs out in front of her before remembering the situation she was stuck in and quickly curled herself back into her original tense position. "Again, what's going on?"

Y/N looked around the room, trying to figure out who was missing. The only missing person seemed to be Percy and Chiron. But Percy wasn't supposed to be at Camp until next week. Even though she knew that fact, an uneasy feeling settled into her chest, worrying her instantly. Her gut had always been right.

"Where's Chiron?" She needed someone to answer at least one of her questions.

"He's on his way," Clarisse told her. Y/N scrunched her lips together in frustration. If Chiron was the only one allowed to give her answers then why couldn't he hurry up? The centaur had known Y/N for more than half of her life, yet he couldn't bother to think that she would be uneasy about this whole meeting-especially with everyone still looking at her with sympathetic gazes.

"Can someone please tell me what's going on?" Y/N whispered into the silence of the room. Katie put her hand on top of hers again but didn't say anything. When Chiron finally arrived, Y/N was done waiting for an answer as her patience had completely dwindled. She stood up quickly and rushed over to Chiron with shocking ferocity.

"What's going on? I want to know right now!" Chiron faced her, his eyes avoiding hers for a second. "Chiron please, Everyone else seems to know exactly what is going on, why isn't anyone telling me..." Realization suddenly hit Y/N, Percy had called her last Monday letting her know that he would be arriving earlier that week. She remembered the soothing sound of his voice telling her how much he missed her and couldn't wait to see her. She had made him promise that he would wait for her at the front of the Camp. Piecing all the clues together, her mind immediately went for the worst. The knowledge seemed to have struck her in the face, buried itself in the pit of her stomach, and pierced her heart as she shook her head slowly. "No...no."

"Y/N-" Chiron began but Y/N refused to hear any of it.

"NO!" She grabbed at her hair, covering her ears. "Don't you dare tell me, don't you dare say it!"

"I'm so sorry, Y/N. We don't know how it happened."

"NO! NO! NO!" She screeched at him. Connor went to grab at her arm, but she snatched it away, glaring at Chiron. "It's not true! It's not true! Tell me it's not true!"

Connor took a full step forward and caught Y/N as she fell to her knees breaking into a full cry. "It can't be true... Percy can't be dead. I don't believe you. I don't-" Y/N tried to push away but Connor wouldn't let her go-in shock of what she had interpreted.

"He's not dead, Y/N," Connor said meeting eye contact with Chiron who was also looking at Y/N with confused eyes.

Y/N looked up with a distraught look settled on her features. She studied him for a moment before shaking him with an angry scowl, "You better not be joking, Stoll or I swear to Hera I will-"

"He's not joking," Annabeth said interrupting Y/N in her trance-like state. Annabeth came over and kneeled next to Y/N who breathed out in a sigh of relief before sobbing into her shoulder. Y/N felt a surge of emotions as she cried, relief, happiness, and worry being the front-runners. She was so incredibly relieved and happy her boyfriend wasn't dead but she was scared for what was actually going on. She had a feeling it still had to do with Percy as they hadn't realized what she was crying about until later. Although, at the moment she was completely content knowing he was alive and hopefully healthy.

♆ ♆ ♆

She felt useless, completely and utterly useless. There was a sense of denial for the first few months. Y/N could only hope that Percy had moved to another country and had been too cowardly to break up with her. But even that sounded ridiculous to Y/N, she knew Percy was anything but a coward. Stupid at times maybe, but certainly not a coward.

With a flip of her hair, Y/N tied the strands into a ponytail. She was getting ready to start some of the Summer homework that she had been assigned last week. Y/N knew most people wouldn't even look at the work that early in their break but Y/N liked to get things done early despite what everyone thought.

"Hey," Someone said from behind Y/N, she looked over her shoulder as she was placing a headphone in to see Annabeth.

"Hi."

Y/N felt the bed dip and assumed it was the girl she had seen come in earlier, "How are you holding up?"

"I'm... I don't even know, Annie. It's rather weird it's like I keep expecting him to walk in at any given moment and act like we used to but I keep having to remind myself he's not here. I just feel like there is something I should be doing about this but there is nothing. You all already sent many search parties and no one has found him. To be honest, I am starting to get worried. It's just there is a very big possibility that he could be..." Y/N took in a deep breath and tightened her hands around the comforter, "gone and that is what scares me the most."

Annabeth nodded silently, "I know you probably don't want to hear this but I know how you feel."

"Annie, it's fine. You are best friends just because you had a crush on him when you were younger doesn't mean anything."

Annabeth looked away from Y/N. She didn't know how to break it to one of her best friends that she still had a crush on her boyfriend. She knew she was going to have to say something to her eventually but now was not the time. Especially since she thought Percy and Y/N were one of the cutest couples at Camp and she didn't want to be the person who ruined that. Annabeth knew both Y/N and Percy would agree to break up to help ease their friend's pain but she also knew it wouldn't be fair for them to be suffering by silently pinning after each other.

"I don't think I've ever seen you this serious before, Captain Bubbles." Y/N cringed at the terrible nickname, Percy had nicknamed her that after he realized that she knew how to sail and because she apparently reminded him of a pirate. She still didn't really understand the bubbles or the pirate part for that matter but Y/N just decided to roll with it. "I remember when Grover thought of the name. We had been looking for you two when we found you and Percy on the docks. I still hadn't liked you then and Grover had said something about you two would look good together." Annabeth said with a laugh, "I was pissed after that comment and had said you would be a great pirate and Grover declared your ship name would be Captain Bubbles. I don't remember how it became a nickname but."

"Oh, I thought Percy had thought of the name, but that's a rather odd way to gain a nickname."

"I know," Annabeth nodded, "But umm, Chiron said we are going to pick up some demigods later today if you are free then. It will be just me, you, and Butch."

"Butch from the Iris Cabin?" Y/N asked not looking up from her work. Annabeth nodded and stood up to leave, "What time are we going?"

"At Three, don't be late." Y/N heard the door shut behind Annabeth as she quickly jotted down 3 PM - picking up demigods on a bright pink sticky note. Pasting it in her Planner, she didn't hear Annabeth come back in quickly.

"Hey, Argus is looking for you."

"Oh! I completely forgot! Thanks, Annie."

"Where are you going?" Annabeth asked, hanging around the door for a little bit longer. She watched Y/N hurriedly grab all of her stuff and throw it into a bag. She wondered how Y/N was so level headed about the situation she was stuck in if Annabeth had been in Y/N's place she didn't know what she would have done. Annabeth knew she would certainly be a little more productive in trying to find Percy, but Annabeth also knew that Chiron had instructed Y/N not to go looking for Percy. It was a good thing Annabeth was a little pushier than Y/N.

"I'm visiting Sally Jackson."

♆ ♆ ♆

Y/N's fingers drummed on her thigh slowly as she waited for Sally to open the front door. She didn't quite understand why she had so much more energy than normal, she knew she shouldn't be nervous over something as stupid as visiting her Boyfriend's Mother. But she couldn't help be worried that Sally might blame Y/N for her Son's disappearance or even worse, she might not know about it yet.

At that final thought, Y/N almost turned around but decided against it when the door opened and she made eye contact with Sally Jackson. The woman looked a little bit beat up, more tired than normal but the second she saw Y/N her face lit up. She was still in her work outfit leaving Y/N to wonder if she had arrived too early. She hadn't wanted Sally to not have a break after her exhausting work.

Silently, Sally's arm lifted up to give Y/N a hug. Y/N closed the hold quickly. It felt good to be in held into a true embrace, not one that was forced out of pity or because the person felt the need too. But Y/N knew that Sally was feeling the same pain as she was which was enough to let Y/N relax into the warm hug.

"I'm so sorry, Sally. I would have come earlier-I just found out yesterday and-"

"It's alright, Y/N. Come in, I'll make some Hot Chocolate and Blue Cookies. How does that sound?"

"It sounds lovely, Mrs.Jackson. Thank you for having me."

"Now, now, what have I told you about calling me Mrs.Jackson?"

"Sorry, Sally."

A half an hour later, Y/N was sitting on the countertop listening to Sally as she sipped on hot chocolate.

"Then, in the bath, he would move the water back and forth until it would spill over and of course, right after, he would be in a fit of giggles. Teachers told me they have never met such an energized kid before-especially such a naughty one too."

Y/N laughed into her own cup, looking at Sally with mirth in her eyes. "My younger sister is quite a handful too. She has a very bad habit of getting lost all the time. I'm pretty sure she had even gotten lost in her own school once."

Sally laughed, grabbing an oven mitt and pulling the cookies out of the oven. "How do you do that?"

"That's what I said, not to mention that she had been going there for several years now. She's in Sixth Grade at the moment, I'm a bit worried about her going into middle school. Zeus knows how lost she will get there."

"She's in her Sixth Year already? My, my does time fly by. I can't believe how old she is."

Y/N shrugged and took a sip of her Hot Cocoa before answering, "I suppose. I haven't really thought about it. She is starting to look rather like an old woman though."

Sally rolled her eyes with a laugh and placed a plate of cookies in front of her. A small smile made it's way onto Y/N's face as Deja Vu washed over her. The smell of the stupid cookies was the same scent Percy seemed to obtain whenever she hugged him. She knew she usually would have loved the smell and would secretly take in deep breaths to feel as if she were in his arms again. But instead, she felt sick to her stomach like how a small child would feel when knowing they were seconds away from getting grounded by their parents.

"I have got to use the restroom, Y/N." Sally said, "I'll be right back."

Y/N nodded and picked at her cookie, it tasted the same as always. The mouthwatering taste of chocolate overwhelmed Y/N's senses as she eyed a photo on the wall. She was rather surprised it was there. She had thought Gods weren't able to be in pictures. But she had thought wrong, there standing side by side were Poseidon and Sally. They seemed to be laughing at something and before Y/N knew it a small smile landed on her face, Sally looked completely content with Poseidon at her side. Something Y/N hadn't seen in a while, a feeling she hadn't seen on Sally's face since Percy had been back at home.

Y/N pursed her lips, it must have been hard having a child that's a demigod. But at least Sally had tried, her Mother had not. Proving her unhealthy mental state further, Y/N shrugged to herself as if she had been narrating her own story. Her unstableness only seemed to get worse as she felt as if someone was staring at her when it was only the cookies. She had two more on her plate and she was painfully brought back to memories of Percy eating two or three of them. She tapped her thumb on the counter, debating if she should eat another one. She decided too. After all, it was what Percy would have done and Y/N found that doing what he would have done lessened the pain of his absence.

♆ ♆ ♆

"Oh, shut up, doggo. You're only making this situation worse."

"I still don't get the nickname."

"Seriously?" Y/N asked in disbelief, "I've been calling you that since we were thirteen."

"I know."

"Have you ever seen Tom and Jerry?" Y/N asked sneaking a glance at him from the corner of her eye, as she steered the Chariot a little more towards the left. Judging by the look of his face, it looked like he hadn't seen the hilarious cartoon making Y/N feel a little bit of pity for the boy. But it went away soon after. Y/N started to wonder if she had been spending too much time with Clarisse. "Anyway, there's a dog named Butch in the Cartoon. When you first said your name, that's the first thing that came to mind. So now, I call you doggo or puppers. I like them both."

"Whatever, Speedy Gonzalez," Butch said sticking his tongue out at her.

Y/N laughed, "You really are still bent out of shape from that stupid race."

"You tripped me! I should have won!"

"Now, now, puppers. Don't go all Rottweiler on me."

"Hey," Annabeth said, interrupting Butch and Y/N from their 'conversation', "We are about to land. I would appreciate it if you both would shut up and concentrate on the landing. I really don't want to die today."

"Ay Aye, Princess." Y/N said doing a mock salute. Annabeth narrowed her eyes at Y/N making her turn around in pure terror before turning back to Butch, "How's my first mate doing?"

Butch rolled his eyes and nudged her in the hip, "I'll take it from here, Y/N. Go sit with Annie."

"It's Captain Bubbles to you."

"The name's Bond, James Bond," Y/N said holding her hand out towards the stocky blonde, "I'm Sherlock's Newest Assistant. My current mission is figuring out the mysterious disappearance of Shark Doodoo."

Butch rolled his eyes, "Ignore her. She's been affected by his disappearance too."

Y/N scoffed, "I've always been like this, Doggo. that's something we should all know by now. Now onto important matters, any leads, Puppers? They seem like suitable witnesses." Y/N said eyeing the blonde and brunette respectively.

"I'm Piper Mclean." The only girl said in the group. Y/N offered her a grin which she returned.

"Jason."

"Nice to meet you, Just Jason. Where's the third one?" Y/N asked, turning to Annabeth, "Weren't we supposed to pick up three demigods?"

"Yes, and Hedge."

Y/N felt her eyebrows raise to her hairline, Y/N hadn't seen the Saytr anywhere. Thankfully, Butch had seemed to have developed mind-reading powers overnight and had been brave enough to voice his opinion out loud. Y/N didn't like to listen to Annabeth's lectures, they bored her to death. It didn't matter how close of a friendship they had, Y/N never had the attention span to listen to 'authority', "Hedge? Are you sure? I don't see the tiny goat anywhere but I do see the other demigod."

"Now, now, you know the correct term, Doggo. Don't want Sage hearing you say that."

"For Iris' Sake, Y/N. Sage isn't my girlfriend."

"I never said she was." Y/N said with a smirk and her hands up in a surrender position. Y/N watched Butch growl under his breath, he looked close to losing it making Y/N worry a little bit. Maybe she should take down the teasing a notch.

Thankfully, it seemed Piper had also sensed the tension between Y/N and the son of Iris as she had mentioned that no one had gotten Leo, the other demigod. Thankfully, Butch had volunteered to grab him letting him cool off. Y/N followed Annabeth, Piper, and Jason into the Chariot as she listened to Jason's Point of View for the past hour. By the end, Y/N had only realized one detail from his story. He and Annabeth were going to get along very well.

"Wait," Piper said. "So, what's your name again?"

"Y/N, Y/N L/N." She said, mimicking the same extravagated James Bond impression she had done earlier. Piper nodded, her lips perking up as she took a seat next to Jason, Y/N smiled softly at them. They reminded her of her younger self and Percy. They looked so clueless but confident in each other-well, Piper did. The blonde haired boy just looked rather confused. If she didn't have a memory of anything like he did, Y/N guessed she would be acting the same, maybe even a bit worse.

Annabeth had seemed to break a new record in somehow digging herself into an even worse mood after she found out Coach had gotten himself sucked up into the Sky. She had snapped at poor Leo many times and she glowered at anyone in her path. By the time they got back to Camp, it seemed Annabeth had yelled at everyone on the carriage for just existing. Butch had explained the Percy situation with detail and how it could possibly be affecting Annabeth. But Y/N couldn't help but wonder why Annabeth would care so much about a person she pretended to dislike half of the time, especially enough to put in a bad mood when they didn't find him.

If anyone should be pissed off, it should be Y/N.

Y/N's fingers tapped against the edge of the Chariot in rhythm with a song stuck in her head, it had been silent for a few minutes now. Annabeth had been extra harsh when she snapped at the curly haired boy for apparently being too loud.

Even though Y/N hated the way Annabeth was treating everyone, she was relieved that there was finally silence throughout the carriage. She enjoyed listening to the rustling winds against her ears, it had always been relaxing to her. It reminded her of riding Blackjack with Percy. Suddenly, a thought occurred to her, why hadn't they thought about using Blackjack?

Sitting up very quickly, she saw herself grab the others' attention including a rather annoyed Annabeth. However, before she could snap at Y/N, Y/N quickly brought up her idea, "Do you think Blackjack could bring us to Percy?"

Annabeth had almost accidentally turned the entire Chariot over in excitement.

♆ ♆ ♆

Y/N was up in the air again. Although this time, Y/N felt her stomach turn from bubbling pits of excited nerves. According to Annabeth, they had been getting closer and closer to Percy for the past few days. Y/N didn't know if she was right, but Blackjack seemed to get more and more restless as the days passed and Y/N was hoping it was from the excitement of getting closer and closer to his "boss". It had been years since Y/N found out that Blackjack called Percy 'boss' but it was still one of the funniest things she had heard in her life.

Annabeth and Y/N had been traveling for weeks,  flying on horseback to look for the man known as Seaweed Brain. It had been rather tiring in Y/N's opinion but she knew it would be all worth it in the end.

"Hey," Annabeth said urging her flying horse towards Blackjack, "We are almost in California."

Y/N perked up at that, she had never been to California. She knew Annabeth used to live there before she ran away with Luke and Thalia and that a lot of monsters lived there. But at the same time, the monster may have just been in San Francisco. Y/N's jaw clenched as freezing clouds blew through her hair, at first feeling the puffy material is interesting and delightful but later on, Y/N realized it's only delightful if it's warm and if she hadn't been blowing through clouds the entire day.

A feeling of unsettlement washed through her as her thoughts poked at her fragile feelings. They were almost in California which meant they which meant they were running out of land to search for Percy. Sometimes Y/N regretted being a hopeful person, she seemed to always be disappointed and it was starting to get depressing.

"Stop looking so depressed, we'll find him," Annabeth promised. Y/N started to wonder if being able to read minds was a power you got when you were a child of Athena.

"I've never been more thankful for you always being right." Annabeth laughed but it was cut short from a choke like a gasp as her flying horse started to buck and wiggle around. Annabeth hung on tight resembling a bullfighter which contrasted greatly with her very unadventurous personality. Y/N tried to move Blackjack towards Annabeth but he wouldn't budge if anything it felt like he was moving backward. Y/N didn't even know horses could fly backward, she thought only hummingbirds could do that.

That thought was quickly lost in the abyss of her short term memory as she stared in front of her. With an increasing acceleration, a huge boat was flying towards them. Y/N felt her hands grip Blackjack's mane tighter and tighter as her heart raced in panic. If they didn't move soon, they would be squished by the giant thing.

"Annabeth!" Y/N screamed over the whistling of the wind coming from the stupid boat. "We need to move!"

Annabeth turned to look at the h/c haired girl and somehow managed to glare at her despite her current situation. "Shut up, L/N! Can you not see I am a little busy here?"

Y/N rolled her eyes and muttered under her breath, "Well, don't go haunting after me once you've died." Blackjack whinnied from under her and Y/N looked down to see them moving towards the crazy horse and Annabeth. "Blackjack, what are you doing, you crazy horse!"

Blackjack didn't seem to like that very much and did an experimental twirl in the air as if to say, 'Watch your mouth, lady. I could very much be like my friend over there." Y/N decided to ignore Blackjack's imaginary comment and instead scooted back until she was on the edge of his hide. She was not planning on getting hit by some crazy horse or a jerking Annabeth. How was that girl still alive? Let alone the fact that she was still on the horse? Blackjack whinnied once more and nudged the horse with his nose. Y/N rolled her eyes, no wonder Blackjack choose Percy as his owner. They both acted the same, reckless but somehow lucky.

"Annabeth, are you alright?"

"Yes, I am fine." She said and shakily straightened out her outfit, "Maybe I should have listened to you about taking the car."

Y/N laughed at the absurdity of Annabeth's comment, "That's what you are thinking about right now?"

Annabeth shrugged, "That's what Percy would have said." Y/N went silent after that and looked towards the boat that seemed to be getting closer and closer as they floated. Y/N was sort of confused as to why she wasn't nervous about the boat. It was flying in the freaking sky but she didn't really care. It sort of looked familiar to her but Y/N couldn't think why it did. "Why were you so nervous about the boat?"

"Umm, Annie, in case you haven't noticed it's flying, something boats aren't made to do."

"It's the Argo the Second, genius." Realization washed over her like a wave crashing onto a dock, vigorously and dismayed. Annabeth and Y/N had been Iris Messaging Clarisse and Nico back and forth to keep in contact for any recent news, a week or two ago they had received some interesting news from them. Clarisse, the obvious sympathizer of the pair, [i'm being sarcastic by the way] had broken the news of the new Prophecy. It had hit Y/N hard. She didn't know if she could stand another war, another round of losing people she loved. The only good part of the situation was that it gave her hope that Percy was alive. After all, who would be a better hero to close the Doors of Death than Percy?

However, Y/N wouldn't be joining them on the quest. Something that scared Y/N, how was she going to be able to take care of Percy when he was going to be Hermes' knows where?

The Giant Ship slowed down next to them, giving them a good view of who was inside. Piper, Jason, and Leo were aboard the ship looking mighty pleased with themselves, especially when they made eye contact with the girls; well, Leo was. "Annabeth? Y/N L/N! Where have you been, Captain Bubbles! We've missed you!"

"Wow, don't I feel so loved," Annabeth grumbled from beside Y/N.  Blackjack seemed to want to rest immediately, he had sailed over to the deck of the ship way to quickly and had almost forced Y/N off his back due to a rather jerky landing. Leo helped her down as fast as he could, then quickly enveloped her in a hug. Y/N returned it just as tight and looked at her friend with a grin, "How's my muchacha?"

Later on that day, Y/N found herself alone on the edge of the deck. It was near sunset time and the wind was comfortably rustling her hair, a stark contrast to the sharp wind that felt like tiny needles ripping apart your face and disheveling her hair into painful knots.

A long sigh escaped her lips as she rested her head against the edge of the warship. She was alone for the first time in a while, Y/N had forgotten how important it was to develop this habit every day. She would escape time with Percy once and a while, usually it was more calming with him as long as he sat in silence. But that didn't happen most of the time.

Y/N missed Percy immensely, it had been a long few months without him and now when she knew she was so near. She could hardly wait.

Earlier that day, Jason had broken the news that they had an idea where Percy might be. So far, all of Y/N's theories were pointing positively towards Camp Jupiter. Blackjack had been flying in the direction of Camp Jupiter, thankfully they were rather close to the sight. Jason had been thrown to Camp Half-Blood with a lost memory and Y/N had a feeling Percy was having a similar experience. Which had brought on unnecessary worries, Y/N was scared that Percy might have forgotten her. She didn't want to think about what would happen if he had forgotten her. How would she be able to react to that? She knew she would try to help him remember her, but Y/N knew it wouldn't be the same-especially if he didn't love her back.

She shivered at the pure thought of the loss of Percy's love. She knew she would be heartbroken for Hermes' knows how long. The situation would only be worse with him absent from her life, going on a life-threatening Quest.

Instantaneously, Festus blew fire from his mouth breaking Y/N from her thoughts. She turned to look at the dragon only be in a rather awkward position with Leo. Nose to nose, Leo pulled back with a smirk, "You're a nice girl and all Y/N but I don't feel that way about you, Y/N." Y/N threw her head back in laughter, it felt good to laugh after so many depressing thoughts. "We are here, Y/N."

Y/N's eyes widened as she took the information in slowly, she was going to see Percy after many long months. Out of excitement, Y/N stood up too suddenly and hit her head against a rather thick beam that held up a part of the sail.

Leo cringed at the sound, shutting his eyes for a few seconds before opening them again. His eyebrows scrunched together as he looked around worriedly, she was nowhere to be seen. That was until Annabeth screamed at him and picked up Y/N's limp body from the ground.

♆ ♆ ♆

Pain.

It was the first thing she felt, the first thing Y/N seemed to have registered, and she had yet to even open her eyes. It seemed like a continuation of the last thing she remembered, but this time it was dull and widespread rather than sharp and acute.

She was on a bed, Y/N could feel it. Something warm enveloped her, most likely a blanket. There was a very muffled scraping and banging in the background, something that reminded her of Y/N's Mother's adventures in the kitchen back home. If it weren't for the dull ache in her skull and the itchiness of a bandage, she would have presumed everything that happened to be a dream.

All of this Y/N registered with her eyes still closed.

She decided to open them then, too curious to withhold it any longer. Her eyelids were heavy with exhaustion as she pried them open, despite having the feeling that a long time had passed when she was asleep. She blinked a few times to let her vision clear. She was indeed on a bed, indeed covered with the softest blanket she had ever felt. The room wasn't too large or too small. It was very cozy, however, dim sunlight poured in from the frost covered window, the rest of the light coming from a roaring fire to her right. There was a glass of water on the bedside table which she eagerly gulped down. A chair sat at the edge of the bed, a smaller blanket draped over it. Someone had been sitting with Y/N. A pair of fuzzy slippers still sat at the chair's legs.

She slowly shifted her legs to the edge, reaching to place her feet in the slippers. They were way too big for you, but they had to do. As she moved, Y/N felt her cranium constricted with what felt like bandages over her hair. The questions in her mind got louder.

Surely, she wasn't captured. If Y/N had been, she would either be dead or kept in a condition worse than death. This environment looked like something out of a movie. Above her rippled a colossal white sheet that was balancing between four wooden beams. In front of her was the crashing waves that reeked of comfortable familiarity.

It was harder to stand up than she had thought. Her legs were wobbly, probably from disuse. How long had she been out? Y/N dragged her feet towards the door. Every step was an effort since her crown still hurt, and she had to hold her arms out to steady yourself.

Y/N was only halfway across the room when someone entered. Her heartbeat sped up as soon as it did, and she immediately knew who it was.

His raven hair was disheveled beyond belief, considering how particular he was about his hair. The shirt he had on him was wrinkled, and you knew he probably hadn't changed in days. The exhaustion on his face was almost pitiful when he turned around to face her, yet he was still a sight for sore eyes.

He gasped in surprise to not only find Y/N out of bed but mere feet away from him. He recoiled slightly at the change but immediately stepped towards her afterward, speaking before Y/N even registered his presence.

"You shouldn't be out of bed! Took us ages to get the wounds to start closing, you'll open them up again." He was next to you then. "C'mon, back to bed."

She took a sharp breath as his hand came in contact with her side, skin erupting in a burning fire. He froze too, and she knew he felt it. Y/N hadn't been near Percy in almost half a year, maybe more since she didn't know how long she had been knocked unconscious. This was the first conscious touch in a long time. And it felt magical.

His hand moved further down until it reached the small of her back. He applied slight pressure, making Y/N move closer to him. Her shaky hands found his chest, traveling upward to his shoulders and behind his neck. Percy didn't hesitate before connecting their lips.

It felt as good as the first one. No, it felt better. She couldn't help but moan out loud at the feeling of his lips lapping at her own, his tongue entering her mouth. Her fingers found his hair, tugging it in a way she knew he loved. Their bodies were flush together now. She could feel every shift in his muscles. His hands were soft against the bandages on her hair, and it reminded her of the million questions she had. Reluctantly she pulled away.

He almost whined at the loss, making Y/N smile slightly. She watched as he forced his eyes open to look into her own, and she felt her body relax into his, a familiar serenity taking over her. A feeling she had craved for so long.

"Percy," His eyes fell shut again at the sound of her voice saying his name, his forehead coming down to rest onto her shoulder. She let him hold her to himself, enjoying his touch like the drug that it was.

"What happened?" She finally whispered, hands moving over his shoulder blades, feeling them relax under her touch. He shook his head and buried himself deeper into her body, his own shaking.

"Gods, I missed you so much," he whispered, his voice was chalky and cracking every now and then. It made Y/N nervous. What had happened to her or worse, what had happened while she was knocked out?

"Hey now," Y/N started to stroke his back softly, "I'm here, Perce. Just calm down and then let's talk, ya?"

His grip tightened on her before he sighed and finally let himself sink into her as he nodded. Y/N let him hold her for a while as she basked a little longer in his touch.

The story of every event from that night onward was a shocking one. Percy had snuck Y/N onto the Argo the second with them, claiming he needed her if he was going to go the quest with them. Along the way, Y/N and Percy had somehow ended up in Tartarus and she had apparently almost died there. She had been asleep for the entire rest of the Quest, including the second Giant War.

Percy let them bask in silence for a while, he knew it was a lot to take in-especially since she didn't remember anything.

"I love you," Y/N whispered as she took Percy's hands in her own, she had realized it when he was gone for so long and she had been reminded of it when he whispered it into her hair creating a warmth shiver over her body when she was asleep.

"Mmm," Percy hummed capturing her in his arms once more, "I love you so much, Captain Bubbles."

[setaripendragon]

The Light of a Pole Star - Part 3

Okay, this part was a lot of fun. The whole birthday scene came out of nowhere as I was writing, it was a complete aside that turned into an actually important plot point XD Also, Maes’s voice will always and forever sound like Opalsong’s reading of The Demon Alchemist series in my head.

“You know your boy is hopelessly in love with you, don’t you?”

“My- Are you talking about FullMetal?”

“Mmhm.”

“He’s fourteen.”

“Mm, I don’t think he is. Not really.”

“He really is.”

“Don’t be so literal, Roy, it doesn’t suit you.”

“I know what you mean, Madame, but it’s still- I can’t just ignore-”

“Ahh…! Is my baby boy falling in love, too?”

“What? No! That’s not-! He’s a child! I would never-!”

“Pfft. Of course you wouldn’t. I raised you better than that.”

“You did.”

“But he’s not going to be a child forever, Roy. He’s not even going to be a child for much longer.”

“…I know.”

“I’d let him work here in a couple of years. Maybe even one, given how world-weary he seems.”

“World-weary. That’s a good phrase for it. Speaking of, how’s Nina doing?”

“Oh, she’s as precocious as you were, Roy-Boy. She’s recovering well.”

“Good, I’m glad.”

“I’ll have someone drop some pictures off with Maes for you.”

“Oh, good god, alright. I’m sure FullMetal will appreciate some as well.”

“Speaking of, I hear his fifteenth birthday isn’t too far off.”

“Mother…!”

“Don’t take that tone with me, Roy, I’m helping you out here.”

“How, exactly?”

“Have you thought about what to get him for his birthday?”

“If you’re about to suggest something salacious, let me cut you off now and say; don’t.”

“Heheh. Only a little salacious. He’s fifteen, I think he can handle a Vittori.”

“A- One of the Vittori reproductions? Really? Why on earth-?”

“Call it a hunch.”

The Hughes residence is packed to bursting. Ed feels distinctly uncomfortable, being at the center of all this attention and effort, but it’s also kind of nice. He isn’t super keen on the idea of celebrating his birthday. He has eight of them rattling around inside his skull, plus two namedays, and a soulday. This one in particular gets lost in amongst the others too easily for him to care very much. Still, Teacher’s visiting, and so is Winry, and a woman who introduced herself as Roy’s foster-sister has brought Nina round, and Roy’s whole team have come, and Gracia has made a freaking fantastic triple chocolate cake.

Al is sitting on the floor a few feet away from the couch where Ed is sitting, passing Elysia crayons for her colouring, and Nina had two slices of cake and is now chattering Winry’s ear off, and Hughes is taking pictures of everyone and everything like a maniac, and Roy’s sister is flirting with Havoc, which seems to be mortifying both Havoc and Roy, which is hilarious. And Teacher is chatting with Gracia and Riza over mugs of tea from her place in Sig’s lap.

It’s good, Ed decides. It’s just good to be surrounded by friends and family and to take one day off from the pressure of righting his wrongs and fixing his mistakes. He’ll get back to the quest to restore Al’s body tomorrow, but today, he has permission to relax a little. It’s good.

“Is it time for presents yet?” Nina asks abruptly, abandoning Winry to throw herself half over the back of the couch, feet in the air and tail wagging, which puts her head somewhere in the vicinity of Ed’s shoulder. “Big brother! You need to open all your presents!”

“Good idea, Nina!” Hughes enthuses, and then suddenly everyone is bustling about retrieving their gifts for him and depositing them on the table. A lot of them, Ed is delighted to see, are book-shaped. Then Hughes holds Elysia up so that she can very solemnly hand Ed the card she’d made for him. It’s covered in glue and glitter, and of course the glitter goes everywhere, and Winry winces when it gets on Ed’s automail, but even she can’t deny that it’s utterly adorable.

“Mine next!” Nina insists, so Ed opens up the clumsily wrapped package she thrusts at him. It turns out to be a hand-knitted scarf, which Ed suspects is the result of Roy’s Mum’s attempts to keep Nina occupied and out of trouble. It’s a little wonky and uneven, but it’s a bright, eye-searing red, and it was made with love, so Ed wraps it around his neck at once and preens. Winry gets him a set of automail maintenance tools, like she always does in a passive-aggressive attempt to remind him to take care of his automail, and Granny sent on a book titled Beginner’s Guide to Combustion Engines, because she thinks she’s hilarious, and only Teacher and Al really get why it pisses him off so much.

Teacher got him a proper Xerxesian kattari, which she must have made herself, and Ed freaks out for a moment, because what idiot decides to take up blacksmithing – even alchemically enhanced blacksmithing – when they’re sick? Sig shares a commiserating look with him when he hands over all the extra bits and pieces Ed needs to maintain the blade. And in keeping with the theme – had they collaborated? – Al got him a book about the few Xerxesian alchemists that history remembers with a handwritten note inside that says ‘you can tell me all the things they got wrong – love, Al’.

Hughes got him a photo album half filled with pictures of Ed and Al and the people they know, with space left over for more, and Gracia added a pile of blank journals to the gift, which Ed definitely appreciates. The rest of Roy’s team all got him various books; a massive scientific treatise from Falman, a recent alchemist’s autobiography from Fuery, a fascinating obscure book about spiritual symbology in alchemy from Hawkeye, a book about the art of making fireworks from Breda. Havoc, on the other hand, had got him a swear-jar. Which sends Ed into hysterics.

Then Roy’s sister – Vanessa – hands over a small, prettily-wrapped package, and Ed splutters a little about how she didn’t have to, he doesn’t even know her, what the hell. She just laughs at him. “I insist. Auntie Chris insisted. At least as a thank you for making Roy’s work stories so much more interesting.”

“Oh, well, um, okay then, I guess?” Ed says, and sets to opening the packet. It turns out to be a couple of pretty hair-clips. Nothing so ornate as to be mockingly ‘girly’, but whoever made them paid just as much attention to form as function. If he wears them day-to-day, he’s going to end up worrying about damaging them. Not that he ever does anything creative with his hair anyway, so it’s a bit moot.

Roy looks mortified, though, so that’s definitely a plus. And, in the spirit of winding him up as much as possible, Ed decides ‘fuck it’ and tugs the band off the end of his braid, shaking his hair out and tugging the top half back into the clip he likes the best. It’s a style he’d worn a lot when he was Proteus, one that Huang had always gotten distracted by when they were researching together. “Thanks!” He says brightly to Vanessa, who looks so gleeful Ed figures she’s caught on to his plot to torment Roy and approves.

“Alright, I suppose it’s my turn, is it?” Roy asks, resigned.

He slides a large square present out from where it had been leaning against the side-cabinet thing that Gracia keeps knick-knacks and Elysia’s toys in, and hands it to Ed over the table before stepping back. There’s an odd touch of apprehension about him, nothing obvious, just a stiffness in his pleasant expression that suggests it’s taking effort to keep it in place.

Ed lays the present on his lap and studies the shape of it. “It’s a picture-frame.” He decides after a moment of feeling the edges.

“The purpose of presents is to unwrap them, FullMetal.” Roy drawls.

“The purpose of giving presents is to shut up and be nice, Colonel Bastard.” Ed retorts, but he does tear into the wrapping paper, and peel the picture out of it. And then he freezes, heart racing and head spinning, because that- that’s him. Or well, technically, it’s her, when he was a her. He presses a hand to his mouth to stop himself blurting out something stupid, and just… stares.

It’s not the original, he can tell right away, but it’s an excellent reproduction. Ed-when-he-was-Lucia is sitting naked in an unmade – and very rumpled – bed dressed in off-white linens underneath a wide window letting in a spill of brilliant morning light that picks out the amber tones of Lucia’s tanned skin and the golden tones of her light brown hair, which is twisted up into a messy, careless bun pinned in place by a paintbrush, many loose strands curling about her neck and shoulders. There’s ink and graphite stains on her fingers and thighs, and love-bites dappled across her neck, chest, and wrists. She’s sitting sort of cross-legged, one knee tucked uselessly under the light sheet and the other propped up so that she can lean a notebook on it and scribble down her ideas.

Several people are asking what it is, and Havoc and Hughes and Hawkeye all shuffle around the back of the couch to peer at it over Ed’s shoulders. Havoc lets out an impressed wolf-whistle, while Hawkeye says, in a carefully neutral tone of Stern Disapproval; “That’s a bit inappropriate, isn’t it, sir?”

Which, no. No, Ed’s not going to let that stand, because it’s not. The moment hadn’t even been sexual, except that they had just had lazy morning sex. But then Ed- Lucia had had an idea, and she’d flung herself out of Fiametta’s arms to find something to write it down with. Only then had she realised that she’d just abandoned her new lover without regard in favour of science, and she’d looked up expecting annoyance and exasperation, only to find Fiametta grinning and looking at her like she was the most perfect thing in the whole world. So Lucia had gone back to bed and settled in to write down her notes, and she’d gotten so absorbed she hadn’t even noticed Fiametta going for her sketchbook, and then her paints, until several hours later.

At which point she’d taken one look at the first attempt, and punched her in the arm for ‘making me look ridiculous, you complete sap’. The consequent versions had only gotten more ridiculous, because Fiametta had decided it was her purpose in life to wind Lucia up like that at every available opportunity.

It’s not inappropriate at all, except for the fact that Roy has no idea what he’s saying with this picture because he doesn’t know. Ed looks up at Teacher, the only one who gets it, and she raises an eyebrow at him, smug. ‘He doesn’t know he knows, but he does know.’ Ed thinks, and it’s… Good is something of an understatement.

Roy is fumbling for an explanation under Hawkeye’s stern stare, trying to play it off as a combination tasteless joke and attempt at winding Ed up, but Ed isn’t listening. He carefully leans the paining against the back of the couch and gets up. Roy’s faux-blasé defence trails off as Ed rounds the table, walks right into him, and hugs him tight. He’s in civilian dress, so it’s actually comfortable to hug him, and as Roy’s body-heat soaks through to him, Ed silently mourns the fact that he can’t just stay like this forever. “Thanks. I love it.” He says quietly.

“…You’re welcome.” Roy replies, just as quietly, carefully setting his hands on Ed’s back, not quite returning the hug, but something close to it.

“Huh.” Hughes says, in his scheming-voice. “I didn’t know you were a fan of Vittori, Edward.” He remarks lightly.

Teacher snorts.

“You shut up.” Ed grumbles at her, pointing in her direction without looking. He forces himself to let go of Roy before the hug becomes awkward, and turns to Hughes to try and explain his overly-emotional reaction to an indecent portrait of a long dead Aerugonian alchemist. “She did a good series on alchemy.” He states, crossing his arms defensively and feeling his face heat up.

“Hey, it’s okay, Boss. You’re at that age where-” Havoc begins, his tone gleefully mocking because he’s obviously a sadistic fuck.

“No. Nope.” Ed sticks his fingers in his ears. “LALALALALA!”

Ed is minding his own business, grabbing a quick lunch at a bakery a few streets away from the library, when out of fucking nowhere, Hughes slides into the seat opposite him with a cheerful “Hi, Ed!” and the sort of smile that makes Ed realise why most people find his grins a little unnerving.

“Uh, hi, Hughes.” He greets warily.

“Oh, please, Maes is fine.” Hughes – Maes – insists. “This is a social call.”

Ed gives him a dubious look. “Well it looks kind of like stalking.” He counters, and then takes a huge bite of his pasty. Maybe if he finishes quickly he can escape back into the library.

“That’s hurtful, Ed.” Maes protests, sounding entirely insincere. Ed makes an indistinct ‘mrmph’ noise around his mouthful. “I just wanted to know what your intentions are towards my best friend.” He announces, and although he’s definitely joking, tone jovial and eyes bright, there’s a thread of something a little more serious underneath.

Ed swallows hard, coughs a little, and then starts laughing. Because trust Maes Hughes to see that there’s more to Ed than a fifteen year old with a crush. “Well, I guess my intentions right now are to wait until he won’t have a panic attack if I jump him, and then jump him. Repeatedly. Preferably for the rest of our lives.” He answers, just as light-hearted as Maes, with just as much truth underneath.

Maes’s smile becomes a lot less sharp, softens into something that doesn’t make Ed want to flee to the safety of the library anymore. “How long a wait is that going to be?” He wonders, without any hint as to what he thinks the right answer is.

“Well, I had it from a reliable source when I was twelve that I’d be eligible for moderately respectable sex work in five years, so that’s only two more to go.” Ed replies lightly. Maes blinks at him for a moment, which isn’t the reaction Ed was expecting, but then he laughs. Cackles, really. “What’s funny?” He asks dubiously.

“Madame Christmas told you that, did she?” Maes asks pointedly.

Ed stares at him. “You…” He stops, and wonders if the synchronicity of his lives could get any more ridiculous. “Wait, let me guess. She’s got something to do with Roy, doesn’t she? Oh, that fucker.” He exclaims, eyes widening. “That’s how he knew to get me that painting! She fucking told him, didn’t she? Oh my fucking-!”

“Mm, yes. I think it was one of hers, originally. She likes to hang what she calls ‘dignified pornography’ on the walls of her upstairs business.” Maes confirms.

Ed whines and puts his head down on the table. “Next you’ll be telling me Roy grew up there or some shit.” He complains.

“As a matter of fact, he did.” Maes confirms, sounding intrigued, and Ed just groans, because, okay, he walked right into that one. “When she’s not working, she goes by Chris Mustang.” Maes adds, and at that, Ed sits up again.

“She’s Roy’s mum?”

“Biologically? His aunt. But she raised him ever since his parents died. So, yes, that’s who he means when he talks about his mother.” Maes explains. “But going back to that painting, Ed.” He goes on abruptly.

Ed huffs, going a little pink. “What about it?”

“I had a long chat with the Madame after your birthday. You said some very interesting things in between being very, very cryptic, and bringing up conversations you never actually had with Roy about old Aerugonian painters.” Maes states, resting his forearms on the table as he leans in and watches Ed with a pointedly patient expression.

Ed narrows his eyes. “We did too talk about renaissance painters.”

“Yes, but not Vittori.” Maes stresses. “And nice dodge, by the way.”

“Well, I was talking about Vittori, and he got the story right, so it’s not my fault if he didn’t realise, and only got it right because he’s that much like a perverted lesbian hedonist from the fifteenth century.” Ed retorts. “And I didn’t dodge shit. I just addressed the only point you actually made.”

Maes snorts, and leans back in his chair with a sigh. “You’re going to be very good for Roy, you know, when he manages to pull his head out of his ass. He needs someone like you in his life to keep him honest, keep him from twisting himself up into contortions with all the games he likes to play.”

Ed eyes him for a long moment, because, hell, but that was a good summary of at least one of his lives in its entirety. The Xingese royal court was a pit of vipers. “Yeah.” He agrees shortly, but apparently even that is enough to put that worrying gleam of curiosity into Maes’s eyes again. This time it’s totally a dodge, and Ed doesn’t even care, when he says; “So, what were those interesting things you wanted to interrogate me about?”

“Oh, you know…” Maes says, with entirely and obviously feigned nonchalance. “Treason.”

Ed snorts. “Yeah? Is this you delivering Roy’s official pitch?”

“No, Ed. This is me asking how the hell you even knew there was a pitch.” Maes sighs, no longer light-hearted at all. He’s watching Ed carefully, worried, and it makes Ed feel bad. He hadn’t meant to make Maes paranoid about discovery. But of course, if a teenage wildcard like him could figure it out, anyone who didn’t know that the knowledge came from lifetimes of experience with Roy and his masks and his stupid doublespeak bullshit and his penchant for self-sacrificial righteousness would be forgiven for assuming that one of the Generals, or the Fuhrer himself, might be able to see it, too.

Ed could lie, or dodge again, or something, but he doesn’t want to make Maes’s life harder than it has to be. He’s a good friend to Roy, and he’s been a good friend to Ed, too, so far. “I bet you looked into Valentino’s Bar, huh?” He asks.

Maes narrows his eyes, but plays along. “What do you take me for, Ed? Of course I did. Headquarters for one of the most successful Aerugonian resistance forces this side of the border in a hundred years before they blew the place up. I looked into this Malka person you mentioned too. And believe me, I’m dying to know what a border scuffle and a mullah from eighty years ago have to do with Roy, but I’d like to know about the treason thing first.”

“Valentino’s Bar.” Ed holds up his hand, and then ticks each point off on his fingers as he goes. “The Wolfsbane killings. Knyazhna Tatiana Nikiforova. The assassination of General Maultier. The Riviere Traders. The first Xingese Empress.” Ed pauses. “I think that’s… No, wait, you can probably count the Second Drachman Revolution, too, really, although you may have to dig pretty deep to figure that one out.”

“I recognise a few of those.” Maes acknowledges.

Ed nods emphatically, as though it must be obvious even though he knows Maes probably won’t understand. “That’s how I knew. I don’t think anyone else has made the connections, though, so you don’t need to panic.”

Maes stares at him for a long, long moment. “Challenge accepted.” He says finally.

Laughing, Ed shakes his head at him. “If anyone can figure it out, I’d put my money on you, Maes.” He offers, and Maes beams at him.

“Your faith in me is heartwarming, Ed. Almost as heartwarming as my beautiful daughter!” Maes enthuses, and Ed resigns himself to watching the man parade out a stream of photographs of Elysia. At least, since he’s not required to say more than ‘aww’ and ‘wow’ every now and then, he actually has a chance finish his pasty.

This goes on until Ed’s almost finished eating, and then Maes, with well practised insincerity, checks his watch and says; “Oops! Looks like my lunch break is over!” And sweeps all of his photos back into his pocket and stands up while Ed is still chewing on his last bite. “See you later, Ed.”

“Mrmph.” Ed says again, nodding.

Maes chuckles. “And, one last thing, Ed?” He says, pausing on his way past Ed’s chair. Ed looks up at him with his eyebrows raised, and Maes hands him a little folded up piece of paper. “Don’t wait too long. Roy will keep you at arms length forever if you let him, because he’s got a martyr complex the size of the Eastern Desert. We’re working on him, but he could do with a reminder from you that you’re older than you look.”

Then he’s gone, and Ed’s left staring at empty space in confusion. If he’s translating Maes-speak right, that was a ‘well, I think you should jump him now’. He looks down at the paper in his hand and unfolds it, only to find nothing but an address written there, and he’d bet his other arm and leg that it’s Roy’s. Maes is an interfering matchmaker, and Ed doesn’t know whether to be pissed off or grateful.

Ed decides Maes’ gift is too good to let it go to waste, so the next time he’s back in East, he breaks into Roy’s house while the man’s still at work and makes himself at home. When Ed had told Al his plan, Al had given him one of those inexplicably readable looks of his where he’s judging every single one of Ed’s life choices in every single one of his lives, and then he sighed and wished him luck, which is why Al is best little brother in the whole wide world.

When Roy gets back, Ed is happily ensconced in Roy’s living room with half the books from Roy’s personal library spread out around him, a fire blazing in the grate, a ridiculously snug blanket over his shoulders, and a mug of some weird fancy tea at his elbow. Roy, of course, comes in warily, prepared for an intruder, fingers poised to snap, and stops dead in the doorway, staring. “FullMetal?”

“Hey, Bastard.” Ed will call Roy ‘Roy’ to his face when Roy calls him ‘Edward’ again. “Shut the damn door, you’re letting all the heat out.”

Roy is so off-balance that he actually does as he’s told. Ed will have to remember that trick. Then he returns and goes right back to staring. “How did you get in?”

“Transmuted the lock, obviously.” Ed informs him. “I can show you how to alchemically booby-trap your locks later, if you like.”

Roy sighs in long-suffering exasperation. “How did you even know where I live?”

“How did you even know I’m a fan of Vittori?” Ed retorts.

“Touché.” Roy admits, and then just stands there, staring in bewilderment.

Ed glances up from his book at last, and gives the man a judging look. “Well don’t just stand there like an idiot, idiot. Go order some take-out and then come explain to me why the hell you have bullshit like Dee’s Hierarchy of Elements on your shelf.”

“FullMetal…”

“Food, Bastard.” Ed insists.

Sighing again like the melodramatic bastard he is, Roy goes to call for take-out. While he’s doing that, Ed clears a space for him on the couch, shifting books he’d left lying open beside him when he got caught up in something else. Roy comes back, eyes the newly open space, and then gingerly seats himself. “FullMetal.” He says again.

“I’d say ‘that’s my name, Bastard, don’t wear it out’ except, you know, it’s not.” Ed says pointedly.

Another sigh. “What are you doing?”

“Investigating your personal book collection.” Ed replies immediately. “It’s not half bad, honestly. Although, seriously, what’s with Dee’s shit? His theories were debunked decades ago.”

“Most of his theories were debunked.” Roy counters, and the next half hour is full of good-natured bickering and alchemical debate. Then the food arrives, and the next hour passes by the same way, except now with really good food, too. The conversation takes a slightly darker turn as they dive into discussing human transmutation, biological alchemy, soul alchemy, and the difference between them, but even then, Ed feels more hopeful about his quest than he has in a while now, revved up with new determination because Roy might not have as much knowledge as Ed on the subject, but he’s painfully insightful, and so good at coming up with the things Ed’s missed.

Shit, but Ed loves him.

And it must be written all over his face because Roy falters in what he’s saying, in whatever argument he was making, and his expression turns conflicted and uncertain. Ed hates it. “Don’t.” Ed says, before Roy can say anything. Roy closes his mouth, but doesn’t look any less pained.

“Edward…” He says, half chiding, half pleading.

“Roy.” Ed returns, wry. Roy sucks in a sharp breath. “It’s okay, you know.”

“You’re half my age.” Roy retorts, sounding agonised.

He’s not exactly wrong, even if he’s not exactly right, either. Ed sighs, and looks down at the blanket that’s now draped over both of them. He picks at the edge of it with his automail hand. “Yeah. Why d’you think I haven’t actually made a move on you yet?”

Roy huffs a weird little half-laugh at that. “This isn’t you making a move?” He asks dryly.

Ed snorts. “Believe me, bastard, when I make a move on you, you’ll fucking know about it.”

“Literally, I suppose.” Roy muses wickedly, and then winces. “Sorry, that was-”

“If you say inappropriate, I’m gonna hit you.” Ed warns him, holding up his flesh hand in a fist in warning. Roy very pointedly presses his lips together and doesn’t say a word. “Cause it isn’t inappropriate, it’s fucking true. But I’m not stupid, you know. I do get that you’d feel kind of skeevy if we did anything yet, so- so I’m waiting. That doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend that there’s even the slightest fucking chance I’d pick anyone else in the world but you.”

Roy’s eyes go wide, and then he closes them. He leans in, and for a moment Ed thinks he’s going to kiss him, but instead he just leans their foreheads together. “You can’t know that for sure.” He whispers, sounding like it hurts to say it.

“I can.” Ed insists. “I do.”

“I know you’ve seen more of the world than most people your age, and I know that- that there’s more to you than just a fifteen year old hellion, but you shouldn’t tie yourself to me before you’ve had a chance to- to explore, and-”

“Idiot.” Ed huffs.

“I’m serious, Edward-”

“I know you are, Roy, that’s why you’re an idiot.” Roy pulls back to frown at him, and Ed wonders if Teacher is right, if he should tell him the whole truth. They’ve already been talking about souls half the evening, after all. But Ed… Ed isn’t quite ready to put himself that far out there when Roy is still battling his fucking conscience. It would feel… manipulative, or some shit. “Can I tell you a story?” He asks, instead.

“Can I stop you?” Roy answers wearily, but he’s smiling fondly, so Ed figures that’s not a no.

“Nope.” Ed squirms around until he’s comfortably leaning on Roy, and Roy hesitates only a moment before curling his arm around Ed’s shoulders. “Once upon a time, in a far away land, there was a boy.” Ed begins, measuring out the words.

“A fairytale?” Roy wonders, sounding startled.

“Yeah, sort of.” Ed hedges, because no, it’s not, it’s his life – their lives – but he’s not going to tell Roy that just yet. “Anyway, so this boy, he had real shit luck. Like, the shittiest. His parents died in a landslide when he was four, and not even a year later, he got nabbed by fucking slavers and carted off into the desert to be sold to some rich asshole who thought he was hot shit and that it somehow made him look good to have a tiny ‘exotic’ little boy serving drinks at his stupid parties, and not like a complete shit-stain.”

“That does sound unfortunate.” Roy comments, sounding confused.

“Yeah, but this kid, right, this kid was resilient, and clever. He made this plan. Cause, see, in Xerxes-”

“Oh, is that where this is set?”

“Yeah, shut up. In Xerxes, academia was everything. If you were smart, if you could make a valuable contribution to the Great Library, you could earn your way up to the top, even if you started out a slave. Even if you weren’t Xerxesian by birth. So that’s what he decided to do.” Ed pauses, thinking back and trying to sort an entire lifetime into something he could tell Roy and have it make sense. “One day, when he was out running errands or some shit, this slave just happened to be in the right place at the right time to see this building – one of the big manors for the Savants – collapse.”

“Savants?” Roy questions.

“It’s the best translation of the title. Like I said, the heirarchy in Xerxes was about academia, not the military, or inheritance, or anything like that. They were people who- who fucking revolutionised knowledge in whatever field of study. Being recognised as a Savant was, I don’t fucking know, like being a General, I guess, here. You’re powerful, and people kinda have to listen to you, and you get lots of perks and rewards and shit. There were also teachers and shit, Professors or whatever, which was basically one step sideways, not quite parallel, but… the State Alchemists, sort of?”

“I see.” Roy says, sounding a little bewildered. “So… so this manor collapsed?” He prompts.

“Yeah, and this boy- Well, he was a teenager, by today’s standards-”

“Today’s standards?”

“In Xerxes you were considered a child until you were twenty-five, on average.” Ed explains impatiently. “When you completed the standard education and could choose a speciality. Anyway-” Ed presses when it looks like Roy’s about to ask more questions. “So, this boy recognised an alchemical reaction when he saw one, and managed to pinpoint the source in amongst the rubble.”

“Who did he find?” Roy asks, which at least isn’t a distracting question.

“This kid. Nine years old, half crushed by rubble. His entire right arm was so much mush. He’d been being an idiot, trying to get his super-clever Savant grandmother to pay attention to him, and his circle had backfired on him and brought the whole house down. And this slave kid pushed this massive piece of masonry out of the way with one shoulder and grabbed the other kid with the other hand and just hauled him out of the mess he’d turned his entire life into. Carried him to the healers. Went right back and dug out the kid’s cousin. His grandmother was already dead, but if it hadn’t been for that slave, his cousin would have died before anyone got around to getting him out.”

“Edward…” Roy says slowly.

“I’m not finished, bastard, let me finish.” Ed retorts. Roy nods silently, so Ed forges on. “So this kid, this dumbass kid who destroyed his entire life all by himself because he couldn’t appreciate what he had when his dad was gone and his mum was dead, knew that he had to pay back this slave for saving him and his cousin. So he went and found him and taught him everything he knew, everything he got to learn just because he was born to an educated family. They studied together for years, ended up fucking revolutionising alchemy. Heh. The slave was elevated to Savant because he figured out that water is actually combustible if you pull it apart.”

“Is it really?” Roy asks, smirking. “I had no idea.”

Ed cackles. “Sure you didn’t.”

“I assume the other boy became a Savant, too?” Roy questions, giving Ed a soft look under faintly furrowed brows. Like he’s figured out Ed’s talking about them but still isn’t sure what the point is. Jokes on him, because that is the point.

“Yeah. He figured out some really cool architectural tricks. There’s so much cool shit you can do with rocks and sand if you really pay attention to the molecular structure. Like fixing fault-lines in otherwise apparently solid stone.” Ed explains with a grimace. Roy tugs him a little closer.

“I take it the boy’s cousin did recover, too?” Roy asks gently.

“Yeah.” Ed confirms. He knows Roy thinks he’s talking about Al, even though he’s not. Lyco hadn’t been much like Al, really. He’d been a daydreamer, kind but absent-minded, and he didn’t understand people at all, not the way Al did. Ed had loved him just as much, though. “Xerxes was pretty good with healing alchemy, so he got better eventually. And eventually, these two dumbasses got around to admitting that somewhere between the heroics and the research and the awards, they’d fallen in love. It didn’t really change that much, though, they still bickered over theories and played with alchemy together and spent most of their time side by side in the library. It was just that when they went home, they went to the same place, and sometimes they had sex, which was pretty fun.”

Roy makes a sound that’s trying to be a laugh, but is a little too strangled to manage. “I think I see your point, Edward-”

“Still not finished, bastard.” Ed interrupts. “So they got married, and eventually they got asked to tutor the royal children. Which, in case you can’t figure it out, was one of the very highest honours a person could be awarded in Xerxes. They probably couldn’t really have said no without being, like, shunned or something, but it didn’t really matter because… because they really enjoyed it. Not just teaching, which was frustrating as all hell but entirely worth it, but teaching those kids. They were hellraisers, don’t get me wrong, but they were so good, too. Getting to help them discover themselves? Discover the amazing things they could accomplish? Those two stupid boys loved that a whole hell of a lot. Queen Aesara was one of Xerxes most beloved rulers, and they were so proud of her.” Ed pauses, and collects himself. “And they lived happily ever after for the rest of their days or whatever shit. There, now I’m done.”

They sit in silence for a while. Ed doesn’t mind, although he’s a bit restless. “Is that the sort of thing you want from your future, then?” Roy asks eventually. “Teaching?”

“Eh.” Ed shrugs and tries to explain. “Maybe? But there’s lots of things I could do once I’ve fixed my fuck up and Al’s okay. Lots of fulfilling paths to take or whatever. Could teach. Could do research. Could become a doctor. Could open a restaurant. Could go into fucking journalism. Lots of ways to do good in the world. My point is… it’ll be better with you there. I want that. And I think you want that, too. To do whatever we end up doing together.”

He hears Roy swallow, and then let out a breath that shakes. “Yes, Edward. I want that, too.” He agrees. His arm tightens momentarily around Ed’s shoulders, and his head tips to lean his cheek against the top of Ed’s head, and then he turns so he can press an achingly gentle kiss to Ed’s hair. Ed turns into Roy and hides his smile against the man’s shoulder.

[psycho-slytherin]

Strangers ch. 11

When you fall ill, your cute coworker helps you. Plus, Yoongi reaches out in the only way he can.

Pairing: Yoongi x (female) Reader

Word count: 2.8k

Genre: Fluffy floof

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<–– Prev   Next ––>

“Y/n! Y/n, for fuck’s sake– slow down!”

You screech to a halt, a meter from the door. The pain in your cut-up feet feels irrelevant compared to your constricted chest, and the whirling thoughts striking your vulnerable mind were jumping from conclusion to conclusion and giving you no room to breathe... your headache isn’t helping either.

He used me he used me he used me–

That was my poem–

Why didn’t he ask?

Why wouldn’t he apologize?

Why did he use me?

You turn to stare at Yoongi, and you haven’t the faintest idea why it hurts so much. To think that the lines in their new song– lines that he claimed credit for– were stolen practically word-for-word from the poem you recited for them...

It hurts and you don’t know why.

“Y/n,” Yoongi says, approaching you cautiously. “I’m sorry, I didn’t think–”

You whip around. “You didn’t think?” you hiss, stalking towards him. “When didn’t you think, Min Yoongi? When you were writing the lyrics? During recording? Through production?” you don’t know if you’re more furious or saddened. “When, in the month since you heard my oh-so-humble quatrain, did you think that maybe you should ask for permission?”

“We stopped talking,” Yoongi says. “I didn’t figure I’d see you again. I didn’t figure–”

“That I’d care?” you feel tears well up and force them to retreat; you won’t cry about Min Yoongi. Not now, not ever. “I didn’t write that poem for your fangirls, Yoongi. I wrote it for you.”

Yes, that was it: by making the lines less personal, he cheapened them, made them worthless. You were writing about your midnight rendezvous by the lamppost, and he turned them into– what, some mindless bop?

“I’m sorry, okay?” Yoongi says loudly. “What do you want me to do, name you as a producer? Scrap the whole damn thing?”

You rub your temples to quell your pounding head; it’s hurting so bad that it’s hard to see straight. In fact, the whole world is tilting sideways– or is it just you?

“Y/n!” And it’s Yoongi’s voice, but it’s muffled, as though he’s speaking underwater, and black spots cloud your vision... a lot of black spots, and–

“Unhf,” you squint at the sudden bright light, smacking your lips a few times. Your mouth feels so dry, and your feet feel like you’ve been dancing on razor blades, and your head...

“Y/n? Thank goodness you’re awake!” Lisa’s voice floats above you, and you feel a hand squeeze yours. “How are you feeling?”

“Hot. And cold.” you sneeze. “Everything hurts.”

“Can’t say I’m surprised,” she says. “You’ve got a fever, and there are some cuts on your feet that– I don’t know how this happened–  got infected, and the doctor says you’re fatigued. Basically,” Lisa summarizes, “everything that could go wrong did.”

You groan, propping yourself up on your elbows. “How did you know I was hurt?”

“Some lady named Irene called me, since I’m your emergency contact,” Lisa says, holding up your phone. “She said you’d been brought to the hospital. The doctor said you’ll be good as new in a few days.”

“Ugh.” you flop back on the pillow, feeling like absolute death. And where’s Yoongi gone? Not that it matters, you remind yourself furiously. Stealing your lines without permission... better a liar than a thief, you decide with a sneeze.

The thing is, you’d be ecstatic if he’d asked. But he’d just assumed that you’d be okay with him taking credit for your personal effort, and it makes your heart ache. 

A knock at the door, and it swings open to reveal Xiumin.

“Hey,” he holds up a box bearing the mark of the cafe. “I brought pastries. How are you feeling?”

You smile at your coworker’s thoughtfulness. “I’m doing okay, thanks.”

“I’m gonna talk to the doctor,” Lisa says, standing. “I called your mom, but she’s on a business trip in America–”

“Yeah, don’t worry about it. I don’t want to bother her,” you tell your friend as she leaves the room, and you’re left alone with Xiumin.

“So...” he says. “Any idea why I found a soaked dress in the corner of the storage room when I opened up the cafe this morning?”

You cough. “It’s a long story.”

“And the bloody footprints?”

“That’s an even longer story.”

Xiumin shrugs. “So long as you didn’t murder anyone. I cleaned up, don’t worry, and the manager won’t know anything.”

“Ah, you’re the best,” you rasp, accepting the muffin he hands you. When his finger brushes yours, he knits his brows.

“Your hand is so warm, y/n,” he says, and presses a palm to your forehead. “You’re burning up.”

“Don’t touch me, I might be contagious,” you warn him, sneezing again.

“Don’t worry about me,” he says before leaving the room and returning with a wet towel, using it to wipe your flushed face.

You sigh contentedly; Xiumin’s hands are gentle, and the cool cloth is refreshing against your fevered skin.

“You didn’t have to come,” you murmur, closing your eyes.

“Ah, morning shifts on the weekends are always slow without you there,” Xiumin replies cheerfully. “Besides, once Lisa told me you couldn’t make it because you were in the hospital, I figured you might need a pick-me-up.”

You take a bite into the muffin he’d given you; the familiar taste is comforting, although it does nothing to sooth your sore throat. Seriously, did everything have to go wrong? You feel like you’re a robot, and you’ve broken down.

He used me.

You wince at the thought, and your heart and mind are suddenly at odds: part of you is grateful for Xiumin’s presence, but another part wishes that it was a different man that had walked through the door. Although, of course Yoongi wouldn’t be seen here: a hospital is so public, and a celebrity of his caliber couldn’t make it through the front door without being swarmed.

That’s what made your night meetings special. There were no cameras trained on that tiny street, which was always deserted by midnight. Yoongi must’ve felt it too, right? That freedom to walk and chat freely under the stars, where the only noise came from your heart hammering in your chest– you relished in it. You had so much fun with Yoongi, even with the liar’s guilt weighing you down.

And you could tell that Yoongi also enjoyed your company. No matter how many lies you had to tell, you wanted to be there for him.

“Y/n?”

The summons frees you from your thoughts. “Hm?”

Lisa stands in the doorway, holding a small box and a card. “Someone left this for you.”

Xiumin takes Lisa’s appearance as his cue. “I’ll be off. Feel better, y/n.” he smiles warmly. “Can’t wait to see you back at the cafe.”

“Bye, Xiumin,” you reply, before a coughing fit overtakes you. When you look up again with watering eyes, the card and box are on your lap and Lisa’s smirking at you.

“So, Xiumin?”

“What about him?”

Lisa rolls her eyes. “Are you actually blind? The boy’s so into you.”

“We’re coworkers, he was just being nice,” you say.

“Uh-huh. Keep telling yourself that, girlfriend.” She motions to the box. “Gonna open it?”

You sigh, carefully opening the box and emptying its contents into your palm. A chain falls out and pools in your hand, attached to a heavy glass bead the size of quarter, painted with a familiar-looking scene. You’ve been to your fair share of museums, so of course you’d know the replicated painting anywhere: Van Gogh’s Starry Night.

Your breath catches. It’s a simple necklace, surely inexpensive, but the swirling colors and dotted stars– that light in the darkness feels so familiar.

You rip open the envelope to reveal a plain white card, upon which you see three words written in a familiar scrawl:

I’m sorry.

-Agust

“Who’s Agust?” Lisa asks, leaning over to peer at the card. “Girl, like Agust D? I was listening to Tony Montana, you know, the version with Jimin in it? Ugh, Jimin is so beautiful that I literally cannot. I think I would, like, actually give both my kidneys to meet him. Or like, any of BTS. And I wouldn’t have to meet them, just be within like, ten meters? I might actually die if I ever got that close to them. They’re just the most amazing people that have ever existed, I swear.”

Lisa sighs wistfully to conclude her monologue before turning her attention back to you. “So, who’s Agust?”

“Er– just a classmate,” you lie. Again. You adore Lisa, but she’s more of a fangirl than you’ll ever be. You’re worried that if she ever finds out you’re personal friends with Yoongi and the others, she really would have a heart attack... or twelve.

Are you and Yoongi still friends? You look at the necklace, the glass cool against your palm.

You’re not ready to forgive him yet, you decide as you fasten the thin chain around your neck. But this is certainly a good place to start.

You spend the next several days resting and recovering from your cold. The cuts on your feet heal well and soon enough you can hold an entire conversation without a single coughing fit.

But the hospital... you’re not looking forward to receiving the bill for your day and a half stay. Even with all the extra shifts you were taking, and the check for your work on the music video, you figure that you’ll be living off of cheap ramen for at least a month.

Xiumin’s been amazing, you realize as you ready yourself for your first shift at the cafe since before the music video. He’s visited every day, usually with muffins, and you’re certain that his kindness has helped you recover.

Although, you admit to yourself, you’re seeing Lisa’s point. Xiumin definitely seems interested in you. But perhaps that’s a good thing? His attention may help distract you from your completely nonexistent non-feelings for a certain rapper.

You get in just as Xiumin’s hanging up his apron. “Hi, y/n! How are you feeling?”

“Good, thanks,” you reply with a smile.

“Cool, cool.” Xiumin pauses for a second, fidgeting. “Hey, I was wondering... would you want to go out sometime? With me?”

“Sure,” you say readily. What harm was there in a date?

“What? Really?” A grin spreads across Xiumin’s face.

“Did you think I’d say no?” you tease.

“I mean... lately you’ve been acting like... and your ring...”

You roll your eyes. Has everyone in the country noticed your stupid, fake engagement ring? Why did one tiny piece of jewelry carry so much weight?

"I’m very single,” you assure him.

“Can’t say I’m not relieved,” Xiumin says. “So... are you free Saturday? I’d say that we can get coffee, but...” he waves his hands around at the cafe.

You laugh. “Saturday’s fine.”

“I’ll pick you up at three, then?”

“Sounds good.”

He leaves and you’re left alone to handle the late shift. It’s a quiet evening, and the cafe is emptier than usual by the time you close up shop.

You shiver as you make your way home. You know you really should just invest in a car, but you can’t help feeling drawn to the cool night air, the puffs of vapor escaping you with every breath. The world feels more beautiful, awash as it is in darkness.

You turn onto the street and blink a few times: your lamppost isn’t lit. Has the bulb gone out?

You pull out your phone to turn on the flashlight before sighing tiredly. You were in classes all day before rushing straight to work, and your phone is completely dead. You begin walking again, albeit much slower to avoid tripping in the total darkness.

By your estimate, you’re just nearing your lamppost when you bump into something solid. Huh? Did you miscalculate and run right into the lamppost?

No, wait. Lampposts don’t wear jackets. Or have arms, shoulders...

“Woah!” you jump backwards, cursing your own stupidity. “I’m sorry, I didn’t–”

“Hey, breathe! It’s me,” a familiar voice floats through the darkness and you feel a strong hand on your shoulder.

“Y-Yoongi?” You open your eyes wide to catch his silhouette. “Sorry, I can’t see you.”

“Yeah, that was sort of my doing,” Yoongi says quietly.

“What? Wait, you put the streetlight out?” A thousand questions are whirling about in your head, but you hold your tongue, waiting for him to speak.

“I wanted to talk to you,” Yoongi says, “and you seem more open when you can’t see me.”

“I–”

“In the car, when the divider was up,” Yoongi says quickly, as if desperate to prove his point. “And last week, in the cafe. You feel safer in the dark, don’t you?”

You open and close your mouth like a fish. “H-how...” he couldn’t be more right. Since childhood, you’ve loved dark spaces. Your mother called you catlike; Lisa said you had opposite-claustrophobia. How could you feel anything less than at home, swaddled by a natural blanket of darkness? But still... “How did you know?”

There’s a pause, and you reach out blindly to grasp his sleeve, to have some sort of physical proof that he’s really there.

“I’m the same way,” he whispers, and in the silence his words seem to echo. “I’m good at darkness. I’m good at sleep. And while I love the guys, I’m good at being alone.” you feel his sleeve rise and lower in what must be a shrug.

“I was twenty when we debuted,” he continues. “Before then I was a trainee, and I worked, and school... I never got a chance to make friends outside of a dog-eat-dog world. So, around you... I don’t know how to act, y/n, because I’m so scared of losing you.”

“Just be yourself,” you tell him, your voice near breaking. “Be Min Yoongi, the man that I–” Stop. What are you doing? The darkness is doing it again, lending you confidence.

You swallow. “The man that I... became friends with. Be him.”

Yoongi chuckles humorlessly. “Being myself... every day, that feels a bit harder. Oh!” he seizes your hands, damn near giving you a heart attack. “Did you get the necklace?”

Wordlessly you guide his hand towards you, so that he can feel the glass bead nestled against the hollow of your throat. Improper, perhaps. But it got your message across.

Yoongi sighs with relief. “Thank goodness. I screwed up. I really screwed up, and I’m beyond sorry. So, late as it may be...” he takes a deep breath, and you can hear a smile in his words. “Y/n... may I please have your permission to use and modify the quatrain you recited?”

You sigh dramatically, drawing it out for a good fifteen seconds. “I mean, I guess... You owe me though,” you add, blindly reaching for and then poking his arm.

“Well, it just so happens that since the music video is done filming, we get a few days off,” Yoongi says, grasping your hand where you poked his arm. “So I was wondering if you wanted to hang out? We can chill at the apartment, maybe watch a movie. Definitely eat snacks. I dunno which of the guys will be there, but it’ll be fun.”

He pauses, and when he speaks again the words are laden with hope. “So, what do you say?”

“Sounds fun,” you tell him, although your mind is racing. It’s not a date it’s not a date it’s not a date.

“Great. Does Saturday work for you? We’ve got a tiny bit of publicity to do in the morning, so how about three o’clock?”

“Sure.” It’s not a date it’s not a date it’s not a date.

“Good.” You hear Yoongi’s feet shuffle from side. “I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” you blurt out. "I’m glad you came to talk. Wait,” you cock your head, although he can’t see it. “How did you know I’d be working tonight?”

Yoongi laughs, embarrassed. “Well... I knew you’d start soon. I’ve actually been waiting here every night, these last few days.”

Your jaw drops. “Yoongi, you need sleep!”

“I could say the same to you. Hey, our ride’s here,” Yoongi announces, gesturing at the black car that pulls up out of nowhere– again.

You shake your head as you slide into the backseat. “You’re such a dork.”

“Whatever you say, y/n.”

[england-kirkland-bottoms]

Making America Jealous Story 1

Supposed to be a short drabble like the other ones. I had too much fun writing it out *sweatdrop* Anyway, I didn’t write out any smut scenes but if you want to read tell me and I ‘ll post it some other time! Well have fun reading!

Endearing. Sweet. Bubbly. That’s how he would describe America in their relationship if someone were to ask and truth be told, England craves for a little bit more in their relationship. He loves America, he always does. He had love the boy since the day he found the young nation at the field till this very day. Albeit it changed from platonic to a romantic.

Their relationship...is cute. Hell, even sex with the American country was vanilla.

Yes, England is very much aware that he is complaining but he craves for a little bit of excitement once in awhile. Though he had no idea on how to bring their relationship to a little bit of detour from the sweet, cheesy romantic path.

“Yo, Arthur!”

He heard someone yell his human name and he stopped walking, turning his head around towards the direction where the voice came from. To his surprise it was the ex-nation running his way, waving his hands like a lunatic. “Gilbert.” England wondered what the ex-nation could be doing here in London.

“Man, we haven’t gone drinking for a long time. Let’s go have an awesome drink at an awesome pub!” Prussia immediately slung an over England’s shoulders.

“Ah, I’d rather not.” England frowned, it was a sudden invitation but then again when did Prussia ever do things normally?

Prussia groaned, and started walking. Dragging the Briton along with him. “Nope, no objections!” He said, taking a page out of America’s book. “Let’s go singing! We can go to this karaoke place I just found, they serve liquor too so we can get smash and sing!” He whooped and ignored the protests coming from England.

Eventually England sighed and stopped protesting when they had already entered the place Prussia was bringing him to. Realizing it was useless. America was coming to visit and had finished his work rather early. It was just a coincidence that Prussia was in the vicinity for whatever odd reason he just could not be bothered to figure out. He took out his mobile phone and texted his American lover.

You know where the spare key is. Prussia dragged me to a karaoke bar. I will be back home at 23:00 p.m. Here’s the address if you decide to drop by instead.

Xx xxxxx, xxxxxxx xxxxx

He pressed the sent button and put it away. Might as well enjoy himself since he was already here. “Everything is on you since you forcefully dragged me here.” He said pointedly to Prussia.

“No problem! Everything’s going into West’s tab!” Prussia grinned, already handing the credit card to pay for the room and the drinks he had ordered while England was distracted.

England shook his head slightly, only pitying Germany a tad.

“Well, come on! Don’t keep the awesome me waiting.” Prussia dragged the Brit towards the room they were given.

A smirk appeared on England’s lips, hanging out alone with Prussia will always bring back his younger self. More specifically both of their younger self during their punk phase. The time that they both had been incredibly close to each other.

Several drinks later...

“England, you’re drunk.” Prussia said in amusement, he himself was tipsy though England was obviously worse. England can never hold his liquor well. “Your turn by the way.” He handed the microphone to England as the next song started to play.

“Shut up, you wanker.” England scoffed, pouring for himself more liquor and drank it down. They had abandoned the punk genre a few songs ago and had even started singing songs from other countries.

Well, Prussia had mostly been singing England’s as there was no other options. It was so unawesome. Ignoring the logic that they were in fact in London.  Prussia whistled at the title of the song. “Dang, man. Give a good show for the awesome Prussia!” Raising up the excitement.

England, being drunk, smirked. He had already off with his stuffy clothes, the vest and coat strewn on the sofa. Leaving him in a half unbuttoned white dress shirt and rolled up sleeved. And pants. A very snug, fitting pants. His trousers laying on the sofa with the rest of his clothes. The room was kept dark so that no one would notice his state of undress.

Prussia had turned off the lights before he was tipsy and England already showing signs of being drunk from his cockney accent.

England took the microphone and started singing along though as the song goes, he started deviate from the original lyrics, changing it slightly. Swaying along to the teasing in a teasing manner as he strode over towards Prussia. The alcohol convincing him to tease the ex-nation.

I know what you wants is to get my love

You wish we could be just like Johnny and June

You'd cut out my heart and let me in the room

 Prussia gulped, suddenly feeling nervous when England threw him a saucy smile. His green eyes glinting with mischief. ‘Uh oh.’ He thought to himself.

 And you know you, you should quit this

And you'd do it if you could

I’m a hot mess, but you confessed

Damn, I got you good

 England leaned forward and let the microphone dropped on to the sofa before straddling his companion, his lips still singing along to the song. His hands both on Prussia’s shoulder. He smirked and leaned even closer, whispering the second line teasingly into the stunned ex-nation’s ear.

Despite the loud music, Prussia could clearly hear the ex-empire singing due to their closeness. He shivered involuntarily at the warm breath on his ear. The Briton was too seductive when he wants to be. He had forgotten how the Brit could get like this sometimes.

England rolled his hips against Prussia as he sang the fourth line after pulling back slightly, licking his lips as he stared into the red eyes that was looking at him with a sense of smug.

 'Cause you love them bad boys doin' bad things

Lookin' hot with an attitude

Love them bad boys like a bad dream

Shouldn't want me, but you do

Singin'

All the bad boys singin'

Yeah, all the bad boys singin'

And you can't help it, no

Damn, it feels good when you're messin' with a bad boy

 England’s hands trailed down from the shoulders to the arms and brought them to touch his bare thighs. The drunken nation returned the smug smile when the other was taken by surprise at the implied permission to touch.

Prussia caressed the soft thighs, he had not touched the Briton for decades and truth be told the sight of the cheeks flushing from the influence of alcohol was getting him worked up. He had not planned for things to go this way but he was not about to reject a permission to some touching...and exploring.

England leant forward, hands touching the sofa, and swayed his hips along to the notes from the song still playing then his hips moved an array of rolls. Lips singing the song in the most seductive way. Gradually he leant back, wrapping his left hand around Prussia’s neck and waved her body against Prussia followed with a shimmy.

  Got a body like a fast car, movie star

You'd do anything to be my bodyguard

I like gettin' naked and swimmin' in pools

I make it look sexy to break all the rules

Falling too fast, you might crash

But once you go in bad you know you can't go back

You just wanna watch every way that I move

 Prussia enjoyed the sensual pleasure going through him. Feeling drunk and intoxicated from the lust England was exuding when the Englishman started grinding down on him in a tantalizing sway. He growled faintly as his hands gripped on the waist.

England pulled away slightly and took pleasure as Prussia’s eyes followed his movement, singing the third line to the third verse, he unbuttoned more of his dress shirt and let it dropped down from his shoulders though he did not took it off. Knowing the delectable view it made to have it halfway dropped down to his elbow.

The hypnotizing lips came close to Prussia’s own as he leant down closer once again. He could almost feel those lips moving against his as England sang though it was probably just his minds illusion. It does not matter, as England had trailed those lips along his jaw and once again whispered the lyric of the song into his ear. “Watch every way that I move.” Prussia’s breathing hitched as one of England’s hands brushed over the tent that started forming since England started the show.

“England.” He croaked, bucking his hips up though that was all he managed before the door to their room was burst open violently and England jumped off the ex-nation.

England sobered up almost instantly. “America.”

The super nation looked anything but pleased by the situation. “England.” He said calmly, the waves of anger carefully suppressed. “We’re going back, put on your clothes. Now!” He then glared at the ex-nation and pointed out the door without glancing away. “And you. OUT!”

“America, dude, totally unawesome. I was about to get some.” Prussia complained, trying to ignore the waves of anger that America was having difficulties controlling.

“From MY FUCKING BOYFRIEND! If you know what’s good for you, you better fucking  leave you fuck.” He growled, his hands balling into a fist.

Red eyes widened, he had not known that. He gulped and glanced over at the Brit, which proved to be the wrong thing to do as he was suddenly thrown out the tiny room. “Mein Gott, America! I’ll leave, I’ll leave!” He said before scrambling off.

America turned back to his now fully dressed lover, who now supported a guilty expression. He strode over to the older nation and gripped his arms tightly, unintentionally harsh though he ignored the pained wince as he dragged the English out of the place. His grip not lessening until they got to America’s ride.

England could not say anything, knowing he was at fault.

America literally threw him into the front seat of the car before closing the door and climbing in to the driver’s seat. He did not spoke a word the entire drive back to England’s house, though the anger was clear in his blue eyes and furrowed brows.

England had never seen America looking like that and despite everything, the fear and worry, it excites him.

“Out.” America said, parking the car easily outside the house. He climbed out and went to drag England that was moving distastefully slow. “Hurry the fuck up.” He gritted his teeth.

“America, just now...” England was cut off from saying his next words as his breath was knocked out of him when he was carelessly slammed against the nearest wall once they entered the abode. His back and head throbbed painfully.

America pinned both of England’s hands above him, kicking the door close. “Don’t even try to justify yourself, England. You were cheating, there is no other words for it.”

“I was not!” England protested, squirming around. The tight grip on his wrists was painful. “Fucking hell, I was drunk America!”

“Not a good enough excuse.” America tightened his grip, knowing that it hurts. “Do you want to know, how I see it?” He questioned, pressing the wrists even harder against wall painfully and England whined at the pain. America ignored it. “I had to convince the bitch at the front table to tell your room number and then paid for my entry. All the other rooms were all light up but imagine yours were dark. Then you know what I see when I peered into the tiny glass on the door to confirm that I did not get the wrong room?” He seethed. “MY BOYFRIEND STRADDLING A BLOODY FUCKER!”

England flinched at the volume of America’s voice.

“I was so shocked and then you had to just fucking PALM HIM DID YOU, YOU SLUT!” Spewing the last words, America pressed their lips together. Teeth clashed against teeth as he mauled England’s mouth.

England felt his knees weakening from the heady pleasure that shot down through him at the possessive and authoritative behaviour America was showing. He was aroused by it. More so than when he was teasing Prussia before, that was amusing but this...America being jealous and possessive was arousing. Soon after, he responded just as desperately into the kiss. The hands that had been pinning on his had let go and instead tearing apart the Briton’s clothes before sliding down the bare skin. Then those rough hands settled over his ass. He groaned as those hands started to grope him roughly.

America pulled away from England’s lips and trailed kissed along the jaw and bit the Brit’s left ear. “You’re mine.” He growled in an undertone.

“Yours.” England agreed, moaning lowly. “Yours, oh god, Alfred.” He whimpered America’s human name as the super nation teased him further.

“We’ll have to make sure of that, don’t we?” America whispered in his ear, making it clear to England that it was going to be a long, rough night.

And he shivered in delight anticipation.

[pinkrocketimagines]

British Puns and Greasy Hair: Part 3

(Cole Sprouse X Reader X Tom Holland)

SUMMARY : You’re off to a breathtaking island with the entire crew to shoot more segments of the show, including a kissing scene with Tom himself! Cole can’t seem to get his mind off you while Tom has you giddy everytime he’s around.

-

A/N : Guys! I LOVE YOU SO MUCH. Thankyou for all the love :) I hope you enjoy reading this one as well <3 Do reblog it, if you feel like, idk, it’s a freeee world x

-

You’re in a private plane, hired by the Riverdale Productions, on your way to an Island, which Mark has refrained from naming yet, to shoot the next segments of the show.

You’re pretty excited since you’ve never really travelled this far for shooting. Your script said you would have a kissing scene with Tom today. Kissing scene with Tom Holland in an Island? Hmmm.

Everybody is on board, including Tom, Cole, Lili, KJ and Cami. You’re cuddled next to Camilla while Cole’s hooked on a certain novel he had brought along for the trip. Lili is in a deep slumber while Tom, hm, you’re not sure where that 10yr old hyperactive man has gone.

“So, Tom is pretty cute, huh?” Camila cheekily grins at you, nudging your arm.

You scoff,” What’s with that grin? You look absurd, Cami” you fire back at her.

“Oh come on! You know what I mean,”

You turn away from her, still scoffing,”I have absolutely no idea whatsoever,”

“Aw, please don’t tell me you’re still hooked on Cole!”

“Quiet! You’re so loud,” you check to see if anyone has heard her. Your eyes meet Cole’s gaze. He gives a small smile and you return the same.

“It’s too soon to tell,” you quietly murmur into Cami’s ear.

“TOO SOON? (Y/N), IT HAS-“

You immeidtaely cover Cami’s mouth before she lets another word slip through it. “Cami, you’re … nevermind. I’m taking a nap now. Not a word about it, you understand?”

“But-“

“Not a word,”

“Ugh, you’re such a bore! I’m going with KJ,”

-

“(Y/N),”

“(Y/N)”

“(Y/N)”

(Y/N)”

Angered by the sudden interruption of your nap time before it even began, you roughly pull out your eye mask, “WHAT???”

“I’m bored,” Tom answers in a sad tone, leaning his head onto your shoulder.

He is…adorable. But annoying. Gosh, is he annoying.

“Tom, I’m trying to sleep!” you put your eye mask back on.

He quickly pulls it out again, “I’m SO bored, (Y/n). Captain said we stil have 2 more hrs to go. I swear if I-“

You sigh,” What do you want from me?”

“I was thinking we could, hmmm,” he takes out his phone,”Lets see what we have got here,”

After much deliberation, he finally blurts,” Dubmash?”

You laugh a little too loudly,”Dubmash? Are you-“

His stern look stops you from completing your question,

“Alright, alright. Dubmash it is,”

The next 30 minutes quickly went by with you and Tom laughing like mental!  and making fun of each other’s horrible attempt at lip syncing.

“See? I told you this was fun,” he confidentely grins,”Is it okay if I post one on my instagram?”

“Not until you pay me $1 million dollars in cash,” you sternly answer him.

He scoffs,”Pff, I was going to post it anyway! Like I need your stupid permission,”

You roll your eyes and yawn. You’re still tired, you haven’t napped yet since Tom disturbed your precious time.

“Oh look, Zendaya says you look really-“ he pauses after noticing that you had already fallen asleep.

“Over here,” he quietly whispers as he carefully lays your head on his lap.

Stroking your hair as he watches you fall into a deep slumber, he says,”Sleep well, darling,”

-

You slept like a baby throughout the plane ride, until Tom finally, reluctantly, woke you up to the most beautiful island you had ever set your eyes on-The Seychelles.

Mark has really outdone himself this time. 

The rest of the day seem to have gone in a blur- with the producers giving you very little time to get your stuffs settled in the hotel rooms and thereafter, directly heading for the shoot.

You and Tom had the same set location while the rest of the cast had their shoot in some other location in the island.

You’re now waiting for Tom outside his hotel room so you guys can go shoot some steamy scenes! “HURRY UP, YOU BEAUTYQUEEN!” you bang on his door, frustrated. You’re already 10 minutes late!

Finally, the door knob clicks. “Finally!” you groan,”What were you-“

You’re greeted by the sight of fresh-faced Tom Holland in a tight white vest, his muscles puffing out like crazy, and camouflage short pants. Very cooly putting his glasses on, he says,”Missed me too much, darling?”

You roll your eyes,”Pffff, you took extra minutes to put on a farmer’s outfit? Put a shirt on at the least!”

“Aw, I know you like what you see,” he starts showing off his muscles.

“You’re so-“

Out walks in Cole from his hotel room. His eyes widen at the sight of you and Tom.

“Cole, mate!!” Tom happily walks towards him.

Ah, why is Tom always, always, always excited to see everyone?

“Hey,” Cole intimidatingly shakes his hand,”Hey (Y/n),”

“Hey,” you awkwardly wave at Cole.

“I should be leaving, see you guys at the bonfire?” Cole takes his leave,”Bye Tom, Bye (Y/n)”

Ah, encounters with Cole are so awkward now. Quite sad when you think of it; there was a time when the first thing you did at the sight of Cole was run up to him and give him the biggest hug while he returned the same. But now, there’s nothing more than hollow hi’s and easy goodbyes.

Damn it, Cole.

“(Y/n)! Snap out of your reverie, we’re getting late!” Tom loudly blurts.

Ugh, you can’t believe this boy. You roll your eyes,”Look who’s talking!”

-

The location given to you and Tom to shoot is absolutely stunning. So much so, it has you confused whether the jitters you’re feeling is from the view itself or from the kissing scene you’re about to shoot in some few minutes. You’ve already shot half of the talking scene and you’re now sitting on the resting booth admiring the view of this spectacular island.

“Beautiful,” Tom comments.

“Indeed”

“I was talking about you, actually.”

Wait what. You shoot him an odd look.

“Just joking,” he stretches his body whilst taking in the beautiful view of the sea,”The view is beautiful,”

You roll your eyes,”Why do you always have to annoy me?”

“(Y/n), (y/n), watch this!” Tom , then, runs down the sand and pulls up the most spectacular flip. 

You gasp. You swore he was going to fall flat on his face!

“I know, I know,” he proudly takes a bow.

“I didn’t even say anything,”

“I can see it in your eyes, darling.”

Again with the eye roll.

“TOM! (Y/N)!” you hear one of the crew members call.

“That’s our queue,” you get up from your chair, “Let’s go,”

“(Y/n),” Tom puts his arm around you as you walk towards the cameras. You’ve gotten quite used to him putting his arm around you, literally, everywhere you go.

“You know,” he continues,”There’s nothing to be nervous about,”

You push his arm away,”What do you mean?”

“I know it’s your first kissing scene onscreen, Cami told me”

Cami? Gosh, this girl never knows when to keep her mouth shut.  

“What?” he chuckles,”Don’t be shy, c’mon”

“You are literally undoubtedly the most annoying person I’ve ever met,” you fasten your pace trying to hide the fact that you’re completely intimidated by him.

Mark instructs the kissing scene to the two of you. Since all the other scenes are done, once the camera starts rolling, basically Tom is going to kiss you until you hear the word ‘CUT!’ and that’ll be the end of it. Sounds easy, yeah?

Tom takes your hand and walk towards the specified spot. They’re still adjusting the lights. While that’s being done, you notice KJ, Cole, Lili and Cami pull out from a minivan.

Ah, so now they’re going to watch my first onscreen kiss live?

“Whenever you’re ready!” Mark shouts

“Okay,” you nervously look up at a grining Tom.

“What?” you ask him,”What’s with that grin?”

“You know,” he gently strokes your face, much to your surprise,”Your breath really stinks,(Y/n).”

“YOU EVI-“

Tom easily dismisses your protest by cupping your face and pulling you in for a deep kiss. It may have been one of the smoothest kiss ever. He was soft, he was careful, he was warm. His hands slowly move towards your waist, gently pulling you closer towards him.

You can already hear the coots and woots from Camila and KJ in the background.

“Tom,” you try to talk whilst he’s still busy kissing you.

“They alre-already said Cut,” you finally breathe out.

“Oh,” he cheekily breaks the kiss, placing his forehead against yours with the most adorable smile on his face.

“Great shot!” you hear the crew members yell.

“See you later, darling” Tom kisses your forehead before running off with KJ to do more flips.

Wow, that was actually amazing.

“(Y/n)!!!” Cami excitedly runs over to you,”What were you saying to me in the plane abo-“

Her voice faded once you met the eyes of Cole himself, staring at you with his weak greenish-blue eyes.

-

It’s 10pm, everybody is gathered around the bonfire, KJ is playing ‘Summer Paradise’ while Tom attempts to sing in an American accent, everybody looks like they’re having a good time. You’re cuddled next to Cami, smiling lovingly at Tom; he is , although really annoying, the most adorable person ever. The way he tries to make everyone laugh, the way everything he does is cute without him even being aware of it, the way he’s ridiculously good at everything he sets his mind on, the way-

“(Y/n),”

“Uh-huh,” you turn around to find Cole, awkwardly standing behind you.

“Can we,um, talk?”

-

“Are you cold?”

You’re taking a walk with Cole along the lines of the island, far away from everyone.

“Nah, I’m good” you smile politely at him.

“Here,” he places his jacket over you.

Uhm, okay.

“So, um, what did you want to talk about?”

“(Y/n)…” the sound of his voice already answered your question.

He grabs your hand and pauses the walk.

“I can’t stand it. I can’t stand seeing you with someone else. I thought I could but it’s killing me, (Y/n). You don’t understand, I-“

“You cheated on me, Cole!” you finally allow all your anger to pour out,”You knew I would’ve given up everything for your love. I loved you. With every bit of me. And you chose Lili…”

“No!” he protests,”(Y/n), I didn’t choose Lili. I never chose Lili. I don’t know what I was thinking, I’m so sorry. I’ll always be sorry. I’ll be anything. Anything you want me to be. Anything. I’ll do anything. Whatever it takes to have my (Y/n) back,” you can feel his emotions by the tone of his voice.

“Cole, I can’t-“

“(Y/n),” he cups your face,”I’m still the same guy who you liked to dance with at 2am near the refrigerator light. And I know you’re still the same girl who liked to ruin my hairstyle more than anything.”

You chuckle at the last comment.

“Please tell me you’ll think about it,” he quietly pleads.

“We should get going now. Everybody has already left,” you try to avoid his plead as you start making your way towards the hotel.

“(Y/n)?”

“Yes, Cole?”

“Will you think about it?”

“I-I- will,”

-

“Tom?”

On your way to your hotel room, you’re unexpectedly greeted by the sight of Tom sitting on the floor against your door.

“Goodness (Y/n), where were you?” he quickly gets up from the floor.

“Geez, Tom. I was-“

He pulls you in for a sudden hug. “Wow, I had no idea I was such a worrier. But you didn’t answer your phone, I didn’t even see you leave the bonfire, I-“

“Tom,” you look up at him lovingly,”I’m fine. I was just having a small talk with Cole,”

“Okay,” he slowly breaks the hug,

”You should go to bed now,” he says as he gently strokes the side of your face and looks deep into your eyes like you’re the ony one he sees. That’s the thing about Tom, he could just look at you, like just look, and make you feel like the most beautiful person!

“Okay,” you unlock your room. “See you tomorrow, Tom”

“Goodnight, darling.”

You stand at the side of your door as you watch him leave.

“Um, (Y/n)?” he turns back.

“Yes, Tom?”

“I don’t have to worry about anyone stealing you away from me now, do I?”

You snicker at his silly question.

“’cuz I would go bonkers trying to find someone else to annoy” he cheekily completes his statement.

“You’re an idiot, Tom. A complete nutcase,”

“Aye, but you still love me!” you hear his voice fade as he slides into his room.

This boy has no idea what he does to me.

-

A/N: So who would you choose? The guy you’ve been in love with for the longest time, who kind of broke your heart along the way but is adamant to mend it anyhow because he loves you so?

Or the cheeky brown-haired guy from London who makes you feel like a giddy 12year old everytime he says the word ‘darling’.

-

General Taglist ~ @xbobaaa  @riverdrew @dandelions-inthewind @ashleyykabob @bernaboredom  @thevioletmarkey @punkrockandchemicalx @acidbabytears @ceruleanjones  @riverdalemami @simbatastisc @caitsymichelle13 @allthelove-marz  @butterybra @margauxthemuse @tcmhollnd @desicookie @calums-band-tee @pinkglitterycactus @laa-rose @moonlight53 @oceantostars @jasmineeee85 @1022bridgetp @peachy-jordyn @prtmnstr @nano-fantasy @theweaknessstories  @castellagreen @louloudeug99 @tear-in-my-heart14   @imstillinlovewithyou  @flopmalum  @mypotronus @hehaditcoming @jugheadjonnes

[aresaphrodites]

Wicked Games Chapter Ten

So this chapter (along with the previous one) is a bit short, because I had originally planned to have them as two big chapters, but obviously it didn't work out that way sooooo... :) *shrugs shoulders*

Anywhoooo here's the smutty goodness you guys have been dying for! 40k words later and HERE WE ARE. I really hope you guys like it because this is my first time ever doing any kind of sexy scene in my writing life and it's probably really bad but.... I can only grow with practice! I really tried to incorporate their feelings for each other as well during the whole thing, because I feel like Bughead is really centric on their love for each other and I wanted to stay true to that.

As always, thank you to my lovely queen @itstenafterfour for being the best beta I could have ever hoped for. This story wouldn't be where it is without her. <3

Also guys, @chasingstoriestotellwhenimold made a trailer for Wicked Games so please check it out and show her some love! I'm kind of obsessed with it.

For this chapter, there's a lot of sweetness, smut, and fluff. You guys deserve it. Enjoy. <3

Kissing Jughead is like nothing she’s ever experienced before. He kisses her like it’s the last thing he’s ever going to do. Like it’s the only thing he’s ever meant to do. One of his hands snakes around her waist, bringing them chest to chest while the other hand makes its way up to her hair and pulls on it gently. She lets out a tiny gasp at the sensation that erupts in her scalp at the motion. It’s hardly painful, in fact it feels kind of good. This surprises her, as she’s never been one to venture out during sex, she’s always been very vanilla but Jughead’s hold on her makes her entire body go limp. She’d sit here for the rest of her life and let him use her as he pleased. She could quite literally die like this and have no regrets.

She doesn’t think that’s on the agenda though. With him pulling her head back, her neck is completely exposed to him and she soon finds out that was his goal. He presses his lips against her neck softly at first and kisses feather light lips against her skin. It’s not enough and at the same time almost too much, she wants to ask him for more. As if he can read her mind, or her body, he sinks his teeth into her neck roughly. It stings, but in the best way possible.

“Don’t leave any marks,” she gasps out, arching her body into his hold. She wants him to, she doesn’t even care if it makes her sound like a teenager. She wishes he could mark her up, but with her job she knows that it isn’t possible at all. She would never hear the end of it.

“Excuse me?” He pulls his lips away from her neck and she nearly whines at the loss of touch. “What was that?”

“My neck,” she tries to say, slowly losing her train of thought with the way his eyes are boring into hers. “Photoshoots.”

“What did I just tell you, Betty?” His voice sounds both authoritative and like he’s talking to a child, reprimanding them for doing something wrong.

“I don’t…”

“What did I tell you before we started this? Hmm?” He pulls the hand that was in her hair away and caresses her face with it lovingly. She leans her cheek into the touch, loving how warm his palm feels against her skin. “What did I tell you?” He repeats.

“I’m yours,” she whispers out to him again.

“That’s right. So if I did want to mark you up, I could, right? Because you’re mine?”

She knows Jughead would never actually do something she wasn’t comfortable with and that’s why she’s so quick to tell him ‘yes’. She says yes, because it’s all about the power balance. Jughead obviously likes to be in control while fucking and Betty’s not about to turn him or this down.

“Yes,” she tells him, “you could do anything.”

“Anything?” He smirks down at her. “You sure about that?” He gives her a challenging look, like he’s daring her to back down from her own words. She means them though. She trusts Jughead like she’s never trusted anyone else. The playful, dominating side to him that he’s showing right now is something she’s never seen from him before and she’s a bit drunk off of it.

“I’m sure.”

He just grins down at her before he picks her up off of the counter. She yelps at the sudden movement and is quick to wrap her arms and legs around his body tightly. His hands grip her ass and she has to bite her lip to stop the smile that threatens to show.

She’s not exactly sure where he’s taking her, but she’s soon thrown onto a soft surface and she realizes they’re in his room. This time she does smile at the familiar feeling and smell that his sheets offer her. She’s only been in his bed one time before and she’s glad that he decided to take them here instead of her room.

“Climb back,” he instructs her and she does exactly as he asked. His calculating eyes follow her the entire time and maybe she’d be embarrassed with anyone else, but not here. Not with Jughead.

She leans her back against one of the thicker pillows behind her and sinks into it gently. Jughead climbs onto the bed and makes his way in between her legs, placing himself there like it’s where he belongs and Betty thinks that maybe he does.

He kisses her twice, soft but deep, before he pulls away from her and places a hand at the bottom of her shirt. He tugs on it in question and then looks up at her. She nods, knowing exactly what he’s asking. With her permission, he pulls the loose shirt off of her and tosses it to the floor. The cool air hits her body and she’s well aware of how she responds to it. Goosebumps rise up on her arms and her nipples harden almost immediately. She’s completely naked in front of Jughead aside from the panties she’s wearing. It’s the most he’s ever seen of her body. Before he’d only seen her in bikinis, revealing ones for sure, but nothing like this. She hasn’t been intimate with anyone in a long time and with Jughead it just feels so much more. More of what, she isn’t quite sure but she knows that it’s exciting and different.

It’s a reflex the way her arms come up to try and shield her body from his eyes, but his hands reach out and hold them down at her sides.

“Don’t do that,” he whispers, “don’t ever feel like you have to hide from me.” He leans down and places a kiss on her collarbone. “You’re fucking beautiful, Elizabeth Cooper.” She just nods, not trusting her voice right now. He continues kissing down her body, from her collarbone to her breasts and down her stomach. Her nerves start to act up as she realizes what exactly he’s going to do.

He places a finger on the waistband of her underwear. “Can I take these off?”

“Yes.” She had thought that was a given, she was about to yell at him to do it already. He’s slow about it though, as he hooks his fingers on the waistbands and slides them down her legs before tossing them as he had her shirt.

He places a kiss on her left thigh, before moving to her right one. It seems like he feathers her thighs in kisses forever and her legs are already trembling. She’s already wet, just from the sensual touches he places on her legs and she isn’t sure how she’s supposed to survive any of this. Sex with Jughead is like something else entirely. It’s consuming and breathtaking and nothing’s actually happened yet.

He pulls his lips away from her thighs and lines his face up with her clit. He lets out a breath of air and she jerks at the sensation she feels immediately.

He’s not touching her. She tries to push her hips forward a little so he’ll get the hint, but he places his palms onto them and pushes them down into the mattress. She whines and he just smirks at her.

“What are you trying to do there, love?”

The pet name has her swooning for a bit and she tries to gather her thoughts. What does she want?

“Do you want me to do something?” He asks, playful smirk still on his face and she glares down at him.

“You know what I want,” she bites out, tired of waiting. She wonders if he knew a single thing about moderation, since he was all sweet or all dominant and there was no in between. Jughead frowns at her and digs his fingers into her hips a little harshly. She gasps at the feeling and a part of her hopes that his fingertips leave little bruises on her skin.

“If you want something then ask for it.” She gives him an exasperated look, embarrassed at even the thought. “Come on,” he urges her. “Ask nicely.”

If this were anyone else, she would tell them to fuck off without hesitation and probably stop the whole ordeal, but this isn’t just anyone. This is Jughead and so she does as he asks her, loving every minute of it.

“Please,” she whispers out. It’s a single word, but it has Jughead leaning forward and placing a single kiss on her clit. It’s something, but it’s still not enough and she feels like she’s going to scream. “Jughead…”

“Yes?” He asks as he finally sticks his tongue out, tasting her only once. “Do you need something?”

“More,” she begs. “Please, Juggie, I need more.”

“Well, since you asked so nicely.” The last thing she sees before he completely goes down on her, is a grin on his face that makes him look like the Cheshire cat. His mouth moves against her so heavenly, her hips try to buck up but he keeps a tight hold on them, not allowing her to move from where he wants her.

Her hands reach out for Jughead’s hair and tangle themselves in his dark locks. He’s doing everything so perfectly that Betty thinks he might have been made for this. It doesn’t take long before she’s coming undone completely under him, her fingers pulling a little too hard on his hair as her legs shake. She cries out his name as he gets her through her orgasm and just when it’s about to become too much, he pulls away from her.

He comes up and kisses her on her neck, a soft and sweet thing that’s a contrast to everything they’re doing right now but it’s perfect. Everything about this has been perfect. She doesn’t feel her typical revolt at the word, instead it sounds so right to her she couldn’t describe whatever this was any other way.

“Are we really doing this?” He asks, a boyish grin on his face. Betty smiles and a laugh passes through her lips.

“I think we already did.” They smile at each other, as if they can’t really believe it’s happening and in a way she can’t. She finds comfort in the way they had just laughed over it. She once read that if you can’t laugh with your partner while having sex then you shouldn’t be together. She doesn’t know if she can classify Jughead as her partner or boyfriend, but that’s a conversation for a different time.

Jughead leans over to the right of her and pulls out a condom from the bedside drawer. Betty raises an eyebrow, wondering why he would have needed them before, but she doesn’t say anything. She watches as he rips open the packet and puts the condom on before lining himself up with her.

She suddenly feels alarmingly nervous. She’s fully aware that their entire dynamic has officially changed now. It changed the moment she called herself ‘his’ and kissed him, but this seems so much more serious. If they do this then there’s no backing out; she doesn’t want to back out, not at all, but she’s still nervous.

Jughead must be able to sense the nerves coming off her in waves, because he leans forward and places a chaste kiss on her cheek and then one on her forehead.

“We can stop,” he tells her. “We’ll go as far as you want and nothing more.”

“I want this,” she reassures him, because God, she wants this. “I want you.”

His eyes stare back at hers, full of lust and something more that she can’t think of right now.

“Well, I better give you what you want.” He smiles before pressing into her gently. She gasps out at the feeling of him as she tries to get used to his size. It’s been awhile since she’s had sex and Jughead’s a little more than average. He’s slow going in, allowing her to adjust to him and she’s incredibly thankful for it.

Once he’s all the way inside, she lets out a deep breath. He stays completely still, not moving in fear of possibly hurting her and when she finally feels good she gives him a smile.

“Okay,” she tells him. “I’m good.”

He pulls out of her almost completely, leaving only the tip of himself inside of her. She looks at him in confusion, but then he moves all the way back inside of her in one swift motion and she swears her eyes nearly roll to the back of her head. It feels incredible and she lets out a long moan.

Jughead starts up a slow rhythm as he rolls his hips into her. It feels amazing and she lifts her hands up to touch the side of his face, but he’s quick to grab them both in one of his hands as he holds them down over her head. His only response to her questioning glance is a smile. She rolls her eyes at him, but stops short as he snaps his hips into her roughly.

“Don’t roll your eyes,” he chastises her. “If I let go of your hands, will you keep them up here?” Betty nods quickly at his question even though she immediately misses the feeling of his hand holding hers. Jughead brings the hand that had been holding hers down and cups her cheek with it. “You’re so beautiful.” He leans down to kiss her and Betty chases his lips with her own. She doesn’t think she’ll ever get tired of kissing him. He kisses her in a way that she’s only ever dreamed of being kissed before and she lives for it.

His lips leave hers as he continues thrusting into her fast and rough, panting against her mouth as he does. Suddenly, Jughead wraps his arms underneath her as he brings her up closer to him, pressing their chests against each other. Betty gasps out at the sudden movement and how it angles him differently inside of her.

“Fuck,” he groans out, lips pressed to her ear, “you feel so good.” The words send a shiver down her spine. “I’m not going to last long, Betty.”

“Then don’t,” she tells him, urging him to come.

“Yeah?” He says with a chuckle, but it’s way too breathy.

“Come,” she whispers out.

He tightens his hold on her as he continues to fuck her, every ounce of painful restraining control he’d been forced to practice now gone, Betty’s moans cheering him on as he finally comes undone on top of her. They’re both panting when he pulls out of her, rolling to the left of her to lay down as he pulls off the condom and tosses it into the trash can.

“Next time I’m going to fuck you harder,” he tells her as he props himself up on his elbow and looks down at her, “and longer.”

She bites her lips at his words. “Is that a promise?”

“Mhm,” he hums in agreement before leaning down to press a kiss to her lips.

She wants to ask him what this all means. He’d called her his earlier, but what exactly does that mean?

“Earlier you said I was yours, what do you mean by that?”

“What do you think I mean?” he reaches out with his hand and brushes her hair away from her face before running his thumb against her cheek. “You’re mine. I know that to a certain extent I’m going to have to share you with the outside world and I’m okay with that, but I won’t share you with anyone else. No more PR dates or anything like that. No one’s going to get to have you the way that I am.”

Betty just nods, speechless by his words. She can get the PR stunts to stop, that’s easy. She just has to say she’s in a relationship and her team will back off, she just hopes they don’t ask about who she’s dating. She wonders if it’s even a problem to date Jughead. She knows that he’s her bodyguard so there has to be some kind of line of professionalism, but if there is they‘ve definitely passed it by now.

“And I swear to God, Betty, I am going to protect you.” He holds her face securely in his hand, forcing her to look up at him. “You don’t have anything to fear when you’re with me. No one is going to hurt you ever again.”

It’s a promise she’s heard countless other times from other people, but this time she believes him wholeheartedly. Jughead wouldn’t let anything happen to her. She trusts him.

That night they fall asleep together, Jughead holding onto her tightly as she stares out of the window and for once she feels happy to wake up the next day. For once she’s excited for what’s to come next.

Cheryl calls her the next morning asking if she can fit in a quick shoot as a favor for a friend of hers. It makes her a bit skeptical that her usually transparent manager is unwilling to name names, but she decides not to worry. Betty is less than enthusiastic about it though, especially because she’s feeling really sore after last night. She’s not one to disappoint though, and work is work so she limps her happy ass all the way to the location.

Jughead had spent the entire car ride smirking. James had driven them and it was almost as if he knew what they had done last night with the way he glared at Jughead and ignored Betty’s attempts at starting conversation. She didn’t understand what was bothering him. It was odd and not like him at all, but she decided not to press the issue. James’ life wasn’t really any concern of hers just like her life wasn’t much concern of his.

She was however, this close to punching Jughead in his smug little face. She’d tried to hide her slight limp and the way she’d wince when shoved along by her team, but she knew she wasn’t fooling him at all.

“Betty! Can you please try to stand up straight?” Cheryl called off from the side. Usually Betty loved when she stayed for the shoots, but right now she kind of wanted to throttle her.

She did as asked though and twirls around for the cameraman, hoping to give him something to work with. She does a few more poses for him, laughs with the crew while posing, and just acts as silly as possible. She was once told that the best shoots are done when you’re happy and show it and she’s always believed that to be true.

When she’s finally done, she’s excited to get some well deserved rest. She makes her way to the dressing room and takes off the heels and dress she’d been wearing. Just as Betty’s muscles relax and she feels even a slight bit at peace, Cheryl throws the door open and walks into the room.

“Don’t you ever knock?” Betty snaps as she tries to cover herself up.

“Oh, please,” Cheryl says with an eye roll. “You act like I haven’t seen you naked before. Remember the hot tub in Ibiza? You were pretty drunk but I know you remember that.” Betty’s cheeks redden as she glares at the redhead. “Anyway, it’s nothing I haven’t seen—.”

Cheryl stops mid sentence and Betty looks up at her. She’s staring right at Betty’s hips. Betty looks down and curses Jughead thousands of times in her head once she sees what Cheryl’s looking at.

“Oh, my god! Are those bruises? Betty Cooper, you’re absolutely scandalous!”

“Cheryl—.”

“Are those—? Oh, my god, is that a hickey on your thigh?” Cheryl shrieks out the words and Betty tries to quiet her down. The last thing she needs is everyone outside hearing this. “Seriously, you’re having sex with someone? Since when? How did I not know about this? I don’t understand. Who could you possibly be having sex with?”

“It’s no one,” Betty grumbles. She can’t tell her about Jughead, not yet at least. She isn’t ready.

“Are you seeing Reggie again? Because if you are and you kept it a secret, I’m going to be really upset.”

“What? No. No! It wasn’t Reggie. It was a one night stand.” She winces as soon as the words fly out of her mouth. A one night stand? Really? She doubts Cheryl will even buy the lie. She’s never had a one night stand before in her life, but she doesn’t know what else to say to get her off her back.

Sure enough, Cheryl stares at her with a look of bewilderment on her face. Betty’s waiting for her to call her out on the lie and guess the only other guy it could be, but to her surprise Cheryl just grins.

“Taking one out of my book I see. Very nice, Betty. I love a classic ‘good girl gone bad’ story.”

She just rolls her eyes at Cheryl’s words, but doesn’t disagree with them. If it gets Cheryl to stop asking so many questions then she’ll take it.

“Was he hot?”

“We’re not talking about this,” Betty says as she throws on her clothes and grabs her purse from the table.

“Oh, come on!” Cheryl whines as she follows her out of the room. “Do you know how long it’s been since I’ve had some good sex? The other night this guy started crying because he said I had the prettiest tits he’d ever seen.”

“What?”

“Yeah, it was a real mood killer honestly. I need to live vicariously through you right now!”

“You really want to know?” Betty gives in as she faces her friend. She silently resolves to not name names or give any identifying details, but she has no problem living through the experience all over again. Cheryl just nods eagerly. “He was absolutely gorgeous and such a gentleman in bed. He was… he was like nothing I’ve ever experienced before in my life.”

“You sure you’re not in love with the guy? I’ve definitely thought I’ve loved a few guys after really good sex. Honestly I’m glad that it was that good.”

Betty just rolls her eyes before waving goodbye to the redhead and making her way over to Jughead.

“What was that about?” He asked as they walked outside together.

“Cheryl was living vicariously through my one night stand,” she tells him with a smirk.

“One night stand, huh?”

“Mhm.”

Jughead looks down at her, bites his lip, and then looks around them. Betty follows his gaze, trying to see what he’s looking for.

“What if I wanted to put my arm around you right now?”

It’s such a cute and innocent thing to ask, but Betty knows that the reasons behind him having to ask are anything but cute and innocent. Such a heavy and sharp dualism existed within him. One minute he was sweet and asking for permission just to put his arm around her, and at another moment he was fiercely protective and dominant. It’s a dualism she’s come to appreciate. She quickly looks around just like he had and she finds that there’s no one in the back alley they had taken.

“Jughead Jones, you filthy boy,” she jokes, “be my guest.”

He laughs as he throws his arms over her shoulders, leading her down the deserted alleyway. It feels so normal, as if they’re just two people enjoying a nice walk together. She doesn’t feel like she’s famous or like Jughead’s protecting her from all the danger surrounding her. Right now she just feels like Betty and Jughead, two people who are kind of new and unsure of a lot of things but one thing she knows; she’s sure about Jughead.

They’re in the living room watching TV together later that night. Betty’s sitting on a pillow on the floor while Jughead brushes her hair before bed. She’d begged him to watch The Adventures of Mr. Toad with her and he’d been a bit reluctant at first, but ever so often he’ll let out a little snort of laughter and Betty will smile to herself.

“I talked to my mom the other day,” she tells him randomly. They’ve never really talked about their family, aside from when Jughead had told her the story about his mother. After that, he hadn’t even asked because he assumed it was a no-go, even in casual conversation. Jughead is however, pleased to have a look into the world that laid behind her.

“How did that go?”

“Good, I miss her a lot. I miss my sister too. I haven’t really seen either of them in a while and I don’t talk to them as often as I should.” She pauses, wondering if she should tell Jughead about what her mother had told her on the phone about visiting. What the hell, she thinks to herself. What could be the worst he could say? “My mom told me to come visit.”

“Yeah?” His voice doesn’t change, it sounds just as easy and interested as it had before and she takes that as a good sign.

“Yeah. I was thinking maybe I could go down and visit her next week. Maybe for a few days.”

Jughead doesn’t say anything for a while and when she turns around to look at him, he’s staring down at the brush in his hands.

“Juggie? You okay?”

“Yeah,” he says, but it sounds a bit uneven. He gives her a smile that looks a bit forced. “Well, I hope you have fun.”

“Well, you see, that’s the thing,” she grabs ahold of his fingers and plays with them, her nerves acting up. “I was wondering if maybe you’d like to come with me. You can just come as my bodyguard, you don’t have to come as my boyfriend or anything. I don’t want to put you in that kind of situation.”

“Boyfriend?”

She looks up and Jughead is smiling widely down at her, eyes gleaming. It’s the most genuine he’s looked in a while. He doesn’t look stone cold or furiously protective, his jaw isn’t set in the angular fashion it normally was. He looked soft.

“Well, yeah. I thought that’s what this was. I thought we were kind of exclusive.”

“We are,” he promises as he places his hand on her cheek, caressing her face before touching her bottom lip gently with his thumb. “I just wanted to hear you say it.”

Betty just smiles as she shakes her head at him.

“And I’d be honoured to meet your family if that’s what you want.”

“Well, do you want that?” She asks him, still a bit unsure.

“I’d love nothing more.”

[maryjanewannabee]

Winter Formal (Part 1/?)

Summary: You’ve just started on set of the second Spider-Man movie, cast as the prestigious Mary Jane Watson. Your old crush on fellow cast mate, Tom Holland, has resurfaced as you spend time with him on set.

Characters: Spider-Man: Homecoming cast, mainly Tom Holland x Reader

Warning: swearing

A/N: This is my first ever imagine so bear with me! Hope y'all enjoy.

As I stepped off the plane at LAX, I immediately noticed the heavy smell of California. After grabbing my suitcase and backpack, I walked outside where a car was waiting for me. The car that would take me to my hotel. And then to set. It’s safe to say i was totally freaking out.

The audition process had been a whirlwind. After being noticed in a local play by a friend of Jon Watts, I slowly but surely entered the process of auditioning for a mysterious character in one of his movies. Not until last week at my last audition in Dallas did I find out who i would portray. There I not only found out I would have a leading role, but that leading role would be the one and only Mary Jane Watson. From there, I was given one week to get ready for my first move to L.A.

So here I was. On my way to the hotel where we would go through our first read through for the movie with the whole cast. Once we got to the hotel, I ran up to my room to freshen up and unpack into my home for the next month. As i stuffed my underwear into the second drawer, there was a knock on my door. Confused, I set down my cheap walmart underwear and walked to the door, looking through my peephole first. The sight almost knocked me off my feet. He was there. ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE DOOR. I took a deep breath, then turned the handle, opening the door to a grinning British boy.

“Hi!” Tom Holland’s voice was even more mesmerizing than on the screen. He stuck his hand out. “I’m Tom, it’s so nice to finally meet you!” His voice was cheery and in all honesty freaked me out a little. A few long seconds past before I eventually shook his hand, introducing myself.

“Yeah yeah, I’m Y/N, nice to meet you too!” I sputtered out. He grinned and my heart almost leaped out of my chest.

“Some of the cast is going to eat a bit before the reading if you want to come? Meet everyone? Or if you want to rest, that’s cool too.” It was refreshing seeing someone like Tom be awkward like the kids we really were. I nodded quickly.

“Yeah that’d be awesome, let me freshen up real quick and I’ll head down!”

“I’ll just wait out here and walk you to where we’re meeting if that’s alright?” I was taken aback by his kind offer. I nodded again, still trying to process it all.

“Yeah that’d be great! I’ll be out in a minute!” I closed the door and let out a breath I didn’t know i’d been holding in. I walked to the counter in the bathroom and steadied myself.

Holy shit holy shit holy shit

I fixed my ponytail and then reapplied deodorant. I always got sweaty when i was nervous. I went to the door, took a deep breath, and headed down the hallway with Tom.

We made small talk all the way to the restraint down the street from the hotel. We exchanged family profiles, high school lives, and home town tidbits. Nothing heavy. But little things you want to know about a guy you’ll be making out with on screen in a few weeks.

Once we got to the restaurant, I was shocked to see Jacob, Zendaya, and Harrison already seated. Once again, i had to pinch myself to assure the reality. They were all welcoming and kind, but it was obvious I was the outsider. Not only was I the newbie, I was also the youngest at 18.

Tom sat on the right of me, with Zendaya on the left. While we didn’t agree on political topics, our personalities meshed well together. I found myself opening up to them easier than I had with any other friend group. We laughed and ate and laughed some more until it was time for the reading.

We all began walking back together with Tom and I bringing up the back. He shoved his hands in his jean pockets and walked leisurely beside me.

“So…” He began. I grew nervous. “Have you read the script?” Oh yeah. THAT. There was one scene where Mary Jane and Peter grow… intimate before stopping prior to losing the Big V. I had been stressed about that scene since I read it. I cleared my throat.

“Yeah, I love it, it’s absolutely brilliant!” I tried avoiding talk about OUR scenes. He nodded, clearly in agreement.

“Yeah it’s amazing!” He paused before continuing. “And you read the scenes with our characters, when they’re… alone?” I started panicking a little. They must’ve not shown Tom what I looked like before I showed up and he was going to hate those scenes. Dread them. I felt like crying.

“Oh yeah, those.” I said. “Yeah, they’re… intense.” That’s all i could think of to say. He nodded, but then grinned, trying to break tension.

“They are.” He started. “But Jon wants us to do all those scenes last when we head to New York so we’ll all be really close by then.”

“That sounds really good.” I said, my relief evident. By then, we had made it to the hotel. We all entered the meeting room this was taking place in. A huge sign and lock was on the door so no one had any chance of getting in.

The reading went well. Quicker than i had expected. It was literally just reading. Jon put in some things here and there, but it all took less than an hour. After that, we dispersed to our rooms for the night.

Tom and I were on the fourth floor and the last on the elevator. We said goodnight to everyone else as they went to separate floors. Tom, being the gentleman he is, even walked me to my door. Our conversation was easy going and light. I enjoyed every second. When we got to my door, he stopped me.

“Y/N…” He started. Here it is, i thought. He’s gonna tell me he wants us to do stunt doubles or something for those scenes. The back of my eyes began burning with the hint of tears. “I just want to say today was a lot of fun.” I was shocked. “I look forward to the rest of filming.” I nodded in agreement, unable to speak.

His body was close, but far enough away to leave me wanting more. I could feel his warmth. His deep brown eyes bore into my own and left me breathless. A few long seconds passed before he eventually whispered, “Goodnight.” I could’ve melted right there.

“Goodnight.” I whispered back. He turned to go down the hall and i turned to unlock my door. Suddenly, my arm was being pulled back and my lips crashed into a strong force. After the sudden shock i realized that force was Tom. He cupped my face and I began to relax under his touch. His lips moved to a rhythm I could hear in my own mind, and his tongue seemed to ask permission before venturing further. As soon as it began, it ended. He pulled away, his hand on the back of my head and his eyes as surprised as my own.

“Just something to take the edge off.” He whispered