#didn’t match the outside (the color) and it tore easily

[darlinimamess]

.

[logmosswrites]

That Hum of Night

Fandom: Overwatch

Pairing: Hanzo Shimada x fem!reader x Jesse McCree

Words: 4k

Warning: NSFW! 18+ only. Definitely PWP, wet dreams, BDSM dynamics, Dom Hanzo and Jesse, Sub reader, dirty talk, humiliation/degredation (verbal and otherwise), praise kink, nipple play, dry humping, rope bondage, vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, orgasm delay/denial, vibrator use, unsafe sex, creampie, oral sex/cunnilingus, come marking, aftercare. No y/n.

Author's note: cross posted to AO3.

There was nothing but heat. No up, no down, no world at all outside of the bodies pressed against yours. Your legs parted to make room for them, urging them closer still with every whimper and moan rolling off of your lips. You were hopelessly desperate, open and dripping for anything that would fill you. Fingers lazily fucked you open, joining a writhing tongue inside of your pussy. Hanzo and Jesse were everywhere all at once, sating your hunger as quickly as it appeared. Their mouths claimed every inch of skin they could find, the hot flash of teeth and tongue on your neck leaving you to gasp for air. You thrust your hips forward, shame long abandoned to the overwhelming pleasure coursing through your body. Please, you begged, just at the precipice of orgasm. Suddenly, deft fingers latched onto your aching clit, hard and punishing; you rocked with them, winding tighter and tighter until-

You woke up.

Slowly, the world came back to you, trickling in like a leaking faucet. Your mouth was dry; your heart pounded in your ears. You felt overheated, damp with sweat where you were sandwiched between Jesse and Hanzo- oh shit, Jesse and Hanzo .

“Sweetheart?”

And there was Jesse.

He was leaning over you, lit up by the moonlight filtering in through the curtains. Bracing yourself, you looked into his eyes, surprised to find concern instead of the amusement you expected.

“Are you alright, darlin’? It looked like you were having a pretty intense nightmare, there.”

Wait- nightmare?

“You nearly pushed me off of the bed,” interjected Hanzo from behind you, voice betraying his worry. It was only then that you noticed the rumpled blankets, piled up where you had tried to kick them off. Shit.

In response, you simply rolled over and tucked your flaming face into Jesse’s chest, unwilling to correct their conclusion. Jesse allowed this for a moment, but soon took your chin in hand, forcing you to look at him. “Hey, now, you don’t have to hide from me–from us. There’s no shame in bein’ a little shook up by a bad dream, sweetheart. Hell, even I get scared by what my brain decides to cook up sometimes,” the man said, sealing his words with a kiss to your forehead. You felt a tiny bit of guilt gnaw at you as he settled back down onto his side, bleary eyes watching yours for any sign of distress. But it wasn’t really lying, right? How would they ever even find out?

“Come here,” said Hanzo, snaking his arm around your waist. You went freely, fighting a shiver as you felt his familiar body conform to yours. “You are safe, my love,” he whispered, “in this bed, you are safe.” With that, your boyfriend pressed his lips to your neck, ghosting over it as he had in your fantasy. Your body reacted accordingly, hips rolling forward and a gasp hitching in your chest. You slapped a hand over your mouth, but it was too late; the room was fraught with tension, none of you daring to even breathe. Well, fuck.

“Sweetheart-”

“I-”

Silence once again.

“Do you need us to sleep somewhere else, darlin’? It’s alright if-”

“No!” you exclaimed, eyes wide. Jesse searched your face for the truth, scrutinizing your awkward expression. You avoided meeting his eyes, shifting under the weight of Hanzo’s arm. Slowly, the cowboy seemed to put two and two together, lips pulling together into a dimpled smirk.

“Hanzo, I don’t think our baby girl had a nightmare."

Kill me, kill me, kill me, you chanted inside of your head, feeling Hanzo’s grip tighten as he caught up to the idea. For a split second, you considered actually lying, dismissing it just as quickly when you saw Jesse's smirk turn devilish.

"Is that true, beloved?” Hanzo asked, breath warm on your ear, “Are you trying to hide something from us?”

This time, you couldn’t suppress your shiver. Damn, Hanzo and Jesse knew just how to play you.

“You naughty little slut,” admonished Jesse, “Let’s see how wet you are under those panties of yours.” Lightning-quick, the man reached under the covers, hooking his fingers into the offending piece of fabric. Viciously, he tore them down, yanking your knees forward in order to get them all the way off. Your breath caught in your throat as he brought your panties into the hazy light of the bedroom, showing off the soaked inner lining.

“Well, would ya look at that? Our baby girl made a mess of herself, Hanzo. What should we do about this?”

Holy shit, you were going to die, right here in this bed.

“I think,” spoke Hanzo, voice gravelly, “that we should make her clean it up.”

And fuck, if that didn’t make you even wetter. Jesse considered you for a moment, eyes gaining a ferocious gleam as he noticed your quickly-growing arousal. Without preamble, he pushed your underwear into your mouth, wrapping them around two of his thick fingers. Instantly, you began to suck, tongue working around the cloth. Jesse pushed deeper and deeper in response, nearly activating your gag reflex. As it was, your eyes swam with tears, barely able to make out your boyfriend’s face turning deathly serious as he concentrated on you. Hanzo, unwilling to be left out, began to knead his hands into your flesh, pulling your sleep shirt up in order to play with your quickly hardening nipples. His scorching-hot mouth then sank onto your skin once more, lavishing your neck with kisses. You could hardly think, hardly breathe. Desperate sounds came from deep in your chest, muffled by Jesse’s unrelenting fingers.

Minutes, or maybe hours, flew by before your panties were taken from your mouth. You drew in a greedy breath, panting from sheer desire. God, how much more could you take? You were positively soaked at this point, aching with a need for friction. You knew better than to try and seek your own release, yet you still gasped when Hanzo snatched your hands away from your throbbing clit, reprimanding you with a harsh bite to the shoulder. A hoarse cry tore from your throat, reverberating loudly in the dark bedroom.

“You,” drawled Jesse, “have been a bad, bad girl, princess. First, you made a fucking mess of your panties, which you tried to hide from us. Then, you went and played with your tight little pussy even when you know you’re not allowed to. I think you’ve earned yourself a punishment, slut.”

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck , that could mean anything. Punishments from Hanzo and Jesse were rare, but you knew you were in deep, deep shit regardless. And if his predatory grin was any indication, Jesse knew exactly what you were thinking.

“Hanzo, put her on her back. I want her begging by the time I’ve finished tying her up.”

With that, your world was disoriented, your view changing to that of Hanzo’s face right above yours. You felt more than saw Jesse getting off of the bed, quickly distracted by your other lover smothering you with a savage kiss. You did your best to reciprocate, but you were no match for Hanzo’s overwhelming influence. You could feel his hard cock pressing into your thigh where he straddled you, covered only by his cotton briefs. Before you could even think about moving your hands towards it, though, they were captured once more and pressed up above your head; holy shit, Hanzo moved fast.

“What a little whore,” Hanzo spoke, finally allowing you to draw in a breath, “So desperate for cock, you poor thing. How did you ever survive before we came along?”

Jesus Christ.

Hanzo, satisfied by your stunned silence, turned back to the task at hand, finally tearing off your shirt and sucking hickeys onto your bare chest. His goatee was coarse against your feverish skin as you rose up to meet him, writhing beneath his iron grip. You threw your head back, only opening your eyes when you felt Jesse grabbing your now-unoccupied wrist. In his other hand you saw a length of red rope, a frequent addition to your bedroom activities.

“Color?” Jessie asked, momentarily abandoning his dominating façade. Hanzo paused as well, considering you like he might consider his bow; serious and straightforward. You sucked in a deep breath, stomach swooping in anticipation when you croaked out a confident “green”.

With that, you were pulled back into Hanzo’s blazing inferno, hands and teeth and tongue setting your skin aflame. As Jesse maneuvered your wrist into a complicated cuff pattern, Hanzo took hold of your nipples once more, rolling one between his fingers as the other was caught between his teeth. Christ above, it was like someone had injected fire straight into your veins.

“You likin’ that, baby girl?” Came Jesse’s voice, off to the other side now and distinctly smug. You sent him a glare, tempered by the heady sensation of satiny rope being pulled against your sensitive skin. Jesse merely winked back, his roguish attitude written all over his relaxed-yet-confident posture. With one final flourish of the cowboy’s fingers, your hands were firmly tied to the headboard, spreading out to either side of you in a comfortable stretch of your shoulders. Before you could get too settled, however, Hanzo was moving his rough, calloused hands towards your hips–with a jerk, you were pulled flush against him, his erection just barely grazing your sex. Two forearms planted themselves next to your head, decisively caging you in.

“Jesse, tie her up like this. I want to make sure we have plenty of room to fuck her without restraint.”

God. You couldn’t believe Hanzo’s mouth.

“You got it, boss,” Jesse replied easily, taking your ankle in his hand. Heat curled low in your gut as your legs were spread wide by the cowboy’s unyielding grip, exposing you to Hanzo’s hungry gaze. The heat multiplied as Hanzo adjusted his hips, your own twitching up to meet him halfway. Yes, yes, yes, you thought, nearly salivating in anticipation. Slowly, ever so slowly, the archer began to roll his pelvis against yours, finally giving you the friction you had been craving. It was heaven; it was perfect. Hanzo steadily began to increase his rhythm, grunts of pleasure growing louder and louder along with your punched-out gasps. The man loved to do this with you, spending hours grinding on you as you cuddled to watch a movie or even as you were falling asleep in his arms.

“That’s it, beloved. Can you feel my cock? Do you want it?” Frantically, you nodded, head swimming in a slurry of arousal and desperation. “Then beg for it, you whore.”

Fuck. You could barely think a coherent word, much less say them–but you tried anyway, panting a quiet oh and yes and please as sweetly as you could. The archer only gave a noncommittal sigh in response, clearly unimpressed by your performance.

“How disappointing, Jesse; it sounds as though our little whore doesn’t want to be fucked after all,” came Hanzo's patronizing voice, sinking low in your stomach–the man never made empty threats, especially in the bedroom. A teasing slip of Jesse’s hand set you to begging, words tumbling past your lips before you could even process them. “God, please, please, Hanzo, fuck, Jesse, please, fuck me!” you cried, pleading your case in a way that could make a porn star blush. After a moment of stunned silence, all three of you came back to your senses.

“Fuck,” Jesse snarled, chest heaving. “Fuck.”

In a flurry of motion, he was tying you off, finishing the cuff on your other ankle; then he was diving towards you, capturing your mouth with his in an animalistic mix of lips and teeth. Small, possessive noises issued from the cowboy’s throat, buzzing on your tongue like the bubbles of a sweet champagne. A scorching hand burned down the lines of your body, setting your newly-formed bruises alight with sensation. You shivered in anticipation–you wanted, needed Jesse and Hanzo inside of you now.

All thinking stopped, however, when deft fingers finally reached your oversensitive clit; you jackknifed upwards, breaking your kiss with Jesse. Your hips bucked under Hanzo’s weight as you gulped in air, starving for oxygen and touch in equal measure.

“That’s it, slut,” Jesse said, voice rigid. His eyes were positively wild, stormy with need from where he was hovering over you. A glance at Hanzo’s face revealed much of the same. You imagined that this is what it must feel like to be a ship in a storm, to be something so small in comparison to nature’s unparalleled power. You opened your mouth in silent prayer as Jesse’s fingers laved over your sopping cunt, dragging them over your lips like the pages of a book. Without warning, he slipped two thick fingers inside of you, stretching you open while working his thumb in small circles over your clit. Oh, God. Your dream couldn’t even begin to compare to the actual feeling of Jesse’s hand, moving in and out with enough force to rock your whole body. Lewd noises filled your ears, setting off yet another round of sparks fizzling through you. A familiar surge of pleasure began to crescendo in the pit of your stomach, drawing out more breathless whimpers from somewhere high in your throat. However, just before you could reach your orgasm, Jesse’s thumb slipped from your throbbing clit, leaving you to clench around his fingers to no avail. Fuck, fuck, no! Just a little more...

Your eyes opened to meet Jesse’s face, finding that his impish smirk had slipped back on.

“Awww, darlin’, ya look so sad,” the man teased, crooking his fingers just to make you whine. “Don’t worry though, we’re just getting started…”

Equal measures of excitement and dread shot through you at his words. Hanzo and Jesse, while loving boyfriends, knew exactly how to push every single one of your buttons; in short, they could be assholes. Beautiful, sexy, lovable assholes. Paying your trepidation no heed, Jesse withdrew his hand from your hole, leaving you empty and shivering. Jesus, you were a mess.

“Wanna taste?” Jesse asked–but he wasn’t talking to you. No, he was offering his hand to Hanzo, who regarded the cowboy with relentless heat in his gaze. A silent something passed between them, before Hanzo was leaning in and taking the slick digits in his mouth, staring into Jesse’s eyes the entire time.

“Good, right?” Jesse said, voice gravelly once more. Hanzo simply hummed in response, before withdrawing once again. Another tense moment slipped by, in which it got harder and harder to remember how to breathe. Jesse’s eyes flicked downwards, then back up to Hanzo, seeming to ask a question; nearly imperceptibly, the archer nodded, drawing in a short breath when Jesse’s hand moved down to grasp the hem of his underwear. You bit your lip as Hanzo’s cock was revealed, red and leaking at the tip. With just a touch of Jesse’s fingers, precum was dripping onto your stomach, increasing your own arousal tenfold. Leisurely, the cowboy began to jerk Hanzo off, grip loose and taunting.

“Look at our girl, Hanzo,” Jesse commanded, swiping his thumb over the other man’s cockhead. “Look at how fuckin’ desperate she is for you”.

Hanzo’s eyes snapped to yours, and you felt the full weight of his attention crash down on you– fuck, he looked feral, lips pressed in a snarl and dark hair falling just past his chin. You couldn’t help but look away, feeling suffocated by Hanzo’s gaze; however, a metallic hand grasped your cheeks, wrenching your head back to look at your powerful lovers above you.

“Eyes up here, slut,” Jesse reprimanded, “I want you to watch him as he ruins that pussy of yours, understood?” You nodded. “Good. And don’t you fuckin’ dare cum before I tell you to, or else I’ll edge you for a week straight, got it?” Another nod, and he finally relinquished his hold on you, leaving a dull pain that you hoped would flower into bruises.

As you were told, you kept your eyes trained on Hanzo’s face, watching his eyes flutter as his cock was guided to your entrance. Once, twice, he slipped out, before he was slowly pushing in, inch by inch. God, he filled you perfectly. Finally, as Hanzo sank completely into you, Jesse relinquished his hold, stepping away to admire how the archer curved around you like a great beast getting ready to devour a meal. Arms shaking, Hanzo fell onto his elbows for support, hot breath sweeping over your face. He was close enough now that you could see beads of sweat beginning to form on his brow. You were the only one who got to see Hanzo like this, aside from Jesse–it was a fact that never seemed to get old, no matter how many times you had joined him in bed. Equally as tantalizing was the slide of his cock inside of you, beginning to move in short, calculated thrusts. Instinctively, you clenched down, earning a warning glare from Hanzo–but you were already in trouble, weren’t you? What would be the harm in doing a little teasing of your own?

Staring Hanzo in the eye, you purposely flexed your muscles once more, feeling a hot rush of slick slowly drip out of you. In a momentary lapse of control, Hanzo buried his head into your shoulder, letting out a strangled moan. You couldn’t keep from responding with a shit-eating grin, putting Jesse’s own signature smirk to shame. However, your expression dropped as you caught Hanzo’s thunderous face, towering over you as he rose back onto his hands and knees.

Oh, shit.

“You. Worthless. Whore. ” the man hissed, jaw clenched, “It seems as though you need to be reminded of your place.”

With surgical precision, Hanzo bottomed out inside of you, pausing for just a moment before retreating once again. Another thrust, and it was clear that your self-control would be pushed to the limit; already, you were falling apart, legs shaking from the sheer effort it took to hold back your orgasm. But Hanzo took no mercy on you, setting a steady rhythm that had you moaning helplessly. Fuck, this was getting difficult-

“Jesse, bring me the vibrator.”

God fucking dammit, you thought, your stomach dropping. Without so much as a stutter in his hips, Hanzo took the wand from Jesse’s outstretched hand, watching you intently as he nestled it right next to your clitoris. Your eyes flickered between the two sights, drinking in the sheer power your lover held over you. Then, with a click of a button, you were straining upwards, feeling as though you were being wrenched straight out of your body. Another click, and the vibrations grew even more intense; you longed to bury your hand in Hanzo’s hair, to scratch your nails across his muscled back, to do anything but sit there and take it. Each breath you drew in was cut off by the next, a staccato beat matching the rhythm of your racing pulse. You were close, so close that you could taste it on your tongue– shit!

“Did you really think I would let you cum, slut?” Hanzo asked, still thrusting in and out of your hole without care. Your whole body shuddered helplessly, hypersensitive after being denied once again. As you attempted to catch your breath, Hanzo reached down and twisted your swollen nipple, forcing you to lock eyes with him.

“I asked you a question, whore; answer me,” the archer commanded, practically growling, “Do you think you deserve to cum on my cock?” As if to punctuate his question, Hanzo slammed his hips forward, fucking you hard enough to pull against the ties at your ankles.

“Fuck! No!” you screamed, on the verge of tears. Your voice was wrecked with desperation, hoping beyond hope that the teasing would be over soon. However, you were soon at the mercy of the vibrator once again, letting out a whine at the feeling of it on your tortured clit. Hanzo sped up his pace, sitting up on his knees to watch every inch of your thoroughly marked body writhe underneath him. “That is right, you cumwhore. You do not deserve the honor of an orgasm at my hand. You are lucky that I am willing to fuck you in the first place.”

The vibrator was shut off once more, and you humped against it frantically, reserve long abandoned. “Go ahead, you stupid whore,” Hanzo encouraged, “Humiliate yourself. I want to see how pathetic you look when you cry.” A sob flew from your lips as the toy buzzed to life, only to be shut off seconds later, then turned on again, a sadistic pattern that made your hips jump and stutter on Hanzo’s cock. You could feel the archer’s perfect rhythm begin to falter, signaling his quickly-approaching climax; his moans burned hot on your skin, sending wave after wave of throbbing pleasure through your trembling body. Finally, you felt Hanzo seize up, almost uncannily still in the wake of his orgasm. Scorching cum flooded your hole, arousing enough to make your battered walls flutter with desire. A few heartbeats later, and Hanzo was crashing back down over you, gulping in air like a dying man. Tenderly, he pressed his sweaty forehead against yours, love and awe written in his furrowed brows and slackened mouth. As he breathed against you, you could feel your own hitching breaths slow, agonising desire fading just slightly into a dull roar.

Two pairs of hands whispered over your body, freeing your limbs from their confines, massaging the marks imprinted upon you by the ropes. You felt yourself float away just a little, untethered by chaste kisses pressed to your cheeks and soft hands stroking your thighs. Hanzo’s shifting body weight brought you back to the present, where Jesse was taking his place between your legs; Hanzo unceremoniously flopped to the side, grace all but forgotten in his post-orgasm haze. Your eyes opened slowly to see Jesse looking down at you, positively fit to burst with quiet affection. You smiled back, tensed and eager all the same.

"Ya did so good, darlin'," Jesse said, tone far softer now, "So good for us. Are ya ready for your reward?"

The praise melted into your skin, smoothing the raw edges that had been so expertly laid bare by Hanzo. With a simple nod, Jesse leaned in to kiss you once more, as slow and saccharine as honey. You embraced him in return, palms gliding over the coarse and ruddy plains of his cheeks; you felt like you were glowing from the inside out. Like a wave drawing across the sand, Jesse retreated, hands whispering down to your thighs. The rest of his body followed close behind, settling down between your legs with practiced ease.

"So beautiful, sweetheart," Jesse praised, "I can't wait to make you cum."

And there it was again, the knife's edge of hot desire. Almost subconsciously, you weaved your hands through Jesse's locks, giving them a tug. Jesse groaned deep in his chest, rekindling the flames in your gut. Your cowboy was so responsive. You pulled his hair again, set alight as Jesse muffled his moans into your sweat-soaked thigh.

“You’re gonna kill me, darlin’,” Jesse threatened, kissing his way towards your drenched pussy. A witty retort died in your throat as his tongue flattened against your swollen lips, lapping at the obscene mixture of cum and slick slowly dripping out of you. “Fuck,” you breathed, struck senseless by the hot-wet pleasure of Jesse’s plush mouth. An answering groan rang in your ears as the cowboy finally dipped his writhing tongue into your hole, drinking in the lewd slurry with feverish dedication. Your hands tightened into fists, pulling Jesse further and further in until his nose was pressed flat against your pussy. You whined; a sharpness ran through you along with pleasure, heightening each in a whirlwind of sensation.

Breathless, Jesse pulled back for a moment, sucking in air like a drowning man. In the low light, you could just make out the shine of your slick soaking the cowboy’s goatee–holy shit, that’s hot. Then, with fervor, Jesse was back to it, making you yelp as he latched onto your clit. You ground against him, his tongue sending shockwaves up and down your body; you were shaking with the oh-god-too-much of it all. Every inhale was a battle. Every movement made you see stars. Then, finally, finally, Jesse tore himself from your body, looking you in the eye as he said, “Cum for me, sweetheart."

You felt the command flow through you, breaking down walls and crashing into your nervous system. Jesse bent his head and sucked your clit hard, bringing you to the very edge once again. Mmm-hmm, mmm-hmm, he encouraged you, nearly whimpering; he was bucking his hips, and fuck, fuck, fuck, shit! You were cumming into Jesse’s mouth, vision whited out by a dazzling starburst. Your legs crashed into the cowboy’s face, pinning him to your gushing pussy as you rode out your orgasm; your whole body was spasming, uncontrollable with pleasure. Then, like a puppet cut loose, you were limp, releasing Jesse from your death grip.

The cowboy shot to his knees, ripping his boxers off as fast as possible; his flushed cock was bared, aching and practically dripping precum. "Fuck, babygirl," he moaned, hand flying, "I'm gonna-fuck, I'm gonna cum!" A final groan, and Jesse was falling off the edge with you, release streaking against your rolling abdomen--followed quickly by Jesse actually falling on top of you.

"Holy shit," you laughed, "Get the hell off of me, you jerk!" A gargled mess that might have been a "no" was your only response for a moment, before the pile of sweat and various sexual fluids that was your boyfriend rolled off of you. You couldn't help but giggle at his dramatics--god, you loved your idiots. A moment of silence permeated the room, until you yawned; oh yeah, it's like three A.M...

"If you two are done, I believe it is time for some aftercare," said Hanzo, sounding equally as tired. With his help, you got up, only to fold in half from the sore feeling radiating through your pelvis--fucking fuck, you forgot how much of a bitch this could be. Seeing your discomfort, Hanzo scooped you up, carrying you to the en-suite bathroom. You heard Jesse follow you in, fetching a second set of sheets from the linens cabinet. Carefully, you were set by the toilet, Hanzo turning to allow you some privacy. After finishing your business, you were escorted to the shower, where the archer tenderly cleaned you off. From there, things got blurry--you vaguely remembered the smell of arnica cream, the feeling of a soothing wipe on your swollen lips, strong arms carrying you to bed, and a tender kiss placed on your forehead. Then, you were off to sleep, dreamless and peaceful.

A/N: Thank you so much for reading! Likes are appreciated, reblogs/comments keep me writing! Let me know what you thought, your favorite passage, or even what time you're reading this at (bonus points if it's 1 A.M. or later). Toodles! ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

[neonponders]

Oh lord, here we go. Don’t be surprised if my sugardaddy!Billy and couture Steve turns into five parts orz for now, here’s part 3!

This is originally a birthday gift for @lazybakerart 💋and @edith-moonshadow enabled me to keep going with this with their Harringrove for Palestine donation🙏🏻.

Part 1 here ~ Part 2 here ~ read on ao3 ~

🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹 🌹

A week passed.

Billy didn’t leave a number for Steve to call, and when he tried to phone Billy’s secretary, she gave him a bullshit lie about international calls needing to occur within a certain timeframe, etc. Steve understood he was butting into Billy’s goings-on, during an hour he couldn’t play civilian.

That was another aspect of their relationship they kept dodging.

Steve did not consider white-collar crime unfamiliar. In fact, it’s wildly rampant in society; it just takes the right lawyers and judges to keep things swept under the rug.

Maybe Billy didn’t talk about it for the same reason Steve didn’t open up about his fears of being disposable. When they managed a safe little time capsule where underlying circumstances didn’t exist, things went great. Splendid, even.

But time capsules have to open at some point.

Billy called Steve.

“Hello?” he said to the unfamiliar number. If he sounded a little miffed, it’s because he’d taken more spam calls than genuine correspondences this past week, having not known what Billy’s international number was—

“Steve.”

That sounded…wrong.

“Billy?”

He could hear the man’s breath on the receiver. Heavier than it should have been. “I know you don’t like this. But I need you to come here.”

“What happened? Are you okay?”

Stupid question. Billy sounded half the man he was. Steve wanted to know what happened to the other half.

“I’m injured. I’ll be fine—”

“Define ‘injured.’”

“Steve,” Billy huffed like a laugh, but Steve could hear it stick in his throat. He hovered in the middle of his apartment, helpless to do anything but hold the phone to his ear. “I’m not arguing right now. Could you just…get in the car that comes to pick you up?”

“A car? What kind of car?”

“The driver will use the buzzer of your building. They won’t come up. Just get in the car and then the plane—”

“Plane? Billy, where did you go?”

He laughed again, a little of his voice leaking into it. “Steve, please. Can I see you or not?”

Steve croaked into the receiver, revolving listlessly in his apartment while his brain failed to keep up. “I-I—wha—um.”

Except, despite everything, like how very likely he would come back to only one or no jobs, it really wasn’t a choice for Steve. His chest ached for Billy. He missed the bastard’s smug smiles and longed for the animation he let fill his face when he relaxed with Steve.

And he felt the itch of being wanted. His ingrained eagerness to be with the person who needed him.

All of it scrambled in his brain so Steve wound up raising his voice while fisting his hair, “A plane? I have to pack! What do I pack?”

Billy’s voice came out breathily on the phone, like he filled it with relief. “You don’t need to pack anything—”

“I NEED PANTS, BILLY!”

Steve got in the car.

Steve got on the plane.

The stupid private jet in which Steve could have his own disco if he wanted because it seemed like only he and the pilot were on the damn thing. He brought the book Billy had gifted him about The New Yorker for something to distract himself, even though he mostly stared blankly at the pages while he waited for the plane to land.

A part of him expected to arrive in the middle of nowhere. Which, to be fair, they had to land in a private hanger outside of the city. But then the next car took him amongst grand buildings and turned into a narrow side street only residents would use. Steve burst upon the sidewalk, only hindered briefly by the receiving of a hotel key and the remark, “Room 532.”

Steve skipped the elevator. He wore heels in his spare time; he would’ve beaten the lift anyway.

As with any hotel, the key took some figuring out, but when he managed, he stepped into the suite. “Billy?”

It smelled like any other nice hotel. Cream carpets and matching walls. A splash of color on the rumpled bedspread amongst Billy’s clutter. Steve followed the floor plan of the sitting room to the bedroom and then the bathroom, where he heard the shower running. He knocked on the door, “Billy?”

And then louder, “Billy?”

“Come in.”

Steve carefully pushed into the room, unsure what he’d find…

What looked like two open first aid kits sat on the counter. Steve couldn’t read anything from those alone, but he didn’t have to because the shower was a large, glass cubicle. It stood big enough for four people. Billy sat on the floor, his chest wrapped in sodden cotton and gauze; barefoot underneath his black slacks. Steve opened the glass door as Billy lifted his head—

He knelt on the hard tiles, putting his arms around Billy’s neck to greet him, to hold him. Cool tendrils seeped through Steve’s hair, soft claws over his scalp until the water properly soaked his strands.

“Steve, your clothes.”

Instead of answering, he looked at the shower knobs and turned the hot water up. As soon as heat seeped over them, Billy melted against him. His head fell easily where Steve pulled him into the bend of his neck. Billy’s hands fumbled a little to find him, but all he could do was grasp onto him to avoid bending or twisting his injured torso.

Steve remained kneeling over him long past being soaked through.

He did not cry until Steve undressed, leaving his sodden raiment on the shower floor to retrieve the scissors from the first aid kits. He carefully snipped through the ruined gauze and medical tape. Soon a pile of white, and diluted pinkish-orange blood also sat on the floor. Whoever had stitched up Billy’s sides had done a good job, but Steve had to dry him off and rebind him.

After the first wince, Billy came undone. Steve wished he could say something to make it easier, but all he had were small reassurances and quietly given orders.

“Can you hold this here?”

“Lift your arm up.”

“Hang on. Almost done.”

An odd talent of Steve’s: tolerating pain with silent grace. A skill which Billy ironically lacked. But where Steve withheld, Billy knew how to release. Perhaps here was one of their bridges.

“Put your arm around me. Lift with your legs.”

The towels Steve put over their shoulders helped them grip one another. Once standing, Billy halted, “Wait. Take these off.”

To each of their credit, neither made a joke as Billy’s trousers and underwear landed with a wet slosh next to Steve’s pile. Steve wrapped his towel around his waist once Billy sat on the bed. With his hands freed, he went about drying Billy’s hair with his towel and opening the bed for Billy to fall into.

“Have you taken any meds?”

“Nothing spectacular.”

His head sagged on the pillow, following Steve to the bathroom, where he found an ibuprofen bottle and shook out two tablets. His eyes followed Steve’s hand raking his hair off his face, and the movement of his throat around a swallow. The filling of a glass at one of the sinks.

Billy let him wrangle a pillow underneath his body so he could swallow the pills with ease. Before he did so, Billy informed, “The blue pill bottle is sleeping meds.”

Steve went and read the label, even peeling the thing off to read the lengthy underside. “When did you last eat?”

“I’ll eat tomorrow. I need to rest now.”

But Steve went into the living room and pilfered through the mini fridge. He returned with apple juice and a granola bar. “If you take this on an empty stomach, you might vomit. I’m not letting you suffocate in your sleep.”

“They put that on there to avoid lawsuits,” Billy complained even while he accepted the juice bottle. He munched slowly, almost carefully on the sugar-glazed nuts of the granola bar while…

Steve got dressed. In Billy’s clothes.

He crouched right in between Billy’s suitcase and the open wardrobe to select one of his long-sleeves and boxer briefs. Billy blinked softly, feeling warmth blossom through his chest and sink through his belly.

Regardless, he sassed, “You’re not gonna sleep naked with me?”

Steve climbed next to him, facing him as if he intended to get up again soon. He tore into his own granola bar. “I don’t know what to expect with you. I’d rather not be forced out of the building naked.”

Billy’s hand touched his leg as he bit into the bar. “Nothing’s going to happen. There’s a menu on the table out there. Order room service.”

“Tomorrow,” Steve refused with a cheek full of almonds. “We’ll eat tomorrow. Or…when the sun’s up in two hours.”

Billy didn’t ask him to, but Steve stroked fingers through his hair after Billy took his sleeping medicine. “Don’t leave,” he moaned tiredly, the force of the little pill dragging him under.

“I’m not leaving. But you can’t octopus me in your sleep.”

Billy sighed, intending for more words to come out than the ones that did. “…test me…”

When his breaths came and went like the heavy sway of the ocean, Steve kept petting through his hair. Even though Billy couldn’t hear him anymore, Steve sighed, “Scared the shit out of me, idiot. I missed you. Don’t do that.”

Billy hummed in his sleep as if he heard him. Even drugged unconscious, the man tried to retort.

Steve leaned down to kiss his temple and tucked him in to keep him warm. When a knock on the door sounded, Steve donned one of the bathrobes and held a shoehorn behind the door as he answered. The shoehorn was a ridiculous ornate thing from the wardrobe; more like a walking stick than a device to help a heel slip into a boot.

The woman on the other side of the door dressed as expensively as Billy and appeared just as austere. Steve had never seen her before even though she acted like she knew him. “Is he well?”

“He’s asleep. What do you need?”

“To go over his intended schedule for today.”

“Reschedule it. He isn’t doing anything for at least two days.”

She did not look anxious. Merely…disappointed? “That will be…difficult.”

“He’s a difficult man,” Steve sighed, his posture tilting back into the room and warranting an end to this discussion. “Whoever expects to see him likely knows that.”

“Good morning, Mr. Harrington,” she dismissed.

“What is your name?” he halted.

“Elena Varma. Hargrove knows me as Elicit Vagina.”

Steve’s jaw went slack, and if she were anyone other than Billy’s secretary and personal guard, now would be the time to take his head off. Instead, she elaborated, “I’m a lesbian.”

“Right,” he nodded dazedly. “Are you single? I know somebody.”

Her dark eyes narrowed at him, but her mouth and brows moved with amusement. Like a test, she inquired, “Are they butch?”

“No,” he said a bit perplexedly, thinking of Robin’s amber blond bob and all of her many-colored Converse on which she doodled.

A pause. Then, “Does she have bad taste?”

“Yes.”

“Good. We’ll be in touch.”

Steve exhaled, “Great,” under his breath as he shut the door. Crossing over to the living room, he set the shoehorn down and picked up the room service menu.

When Billy’s eyes next opened, it was to the beckoning of dishware clatter and summons of browned butter and tangy, aromatic cheese.

Steve sat much as he last remembered, sitting facing Billy while a tray sat where his pillows ought to be. A cart of more food stood by the food of the bed. Billy’s blurry gaze traveled back to Steve, who chewed on a croissant with a newspaper, of all things, in his hand.

It was perfect.

Minus the abhorrent headache and parchedness of his throat.

“Coffee.”

Billy couldn’t not smile at the wide eyes that lifted up to him. Steve rushed to swallow the lump in his cheek and handed him his glass of water from the tray. Billy shook his head. “No. Coffee.”

“Water first.”

Billy sighed and leaned over as much as his injured side allowed him to. He drained the glass. And he never got his coffee. Steve made him drink a strong cup of tea, as if that would replace Billy’s usual espresso in the morning.

“Your, um, personal assistant came by. She knows to reschedule all of your—whatever you do. I said you need two days.”

“Two days?” Billy chirped in the middle of grumbling over his tea. “That’s a vacation.”

Steve huffed a sound, but looked toward the window and it’s sheer, white curtains. “What street are we on?”

“What was that sound?” Billy diverted.

Steve looked at him. “What sound?”

“The sound you just made.”

“You mean the sound of you complaining that I work too much but consider two days a vacation. That sound?”

“Yeah, that sound,” he remarked. “I stand by what I said. You don’t need two jobs.”

“Billy, you got stabbed yesterday. Twice. Or whatever the hell happened to you.”

“I’ll have you know I was only stabbed once. The side mirror of a moving car clipped my other side.”

Whatever mirth he intended to be in that statement wilted in the face of Steve’s glare. Billy took the silent admonishment with grace and, after a moment, said, “I’m not the criminal you think I am.”

“I never said you were one.”

“Walking around with a stab wound and clear assault damage isn’t helping my case,” he responded with another unhappy sip of his tea. At least Steve put milk and sugar in it. Dessert for breakfast.

“Long story short: I got a job and the old man CEO noticed me. He liked me a lot. I was the one male secretary in the place; it was easy to notice me. The women liked me—”

“Women have always liked you,” Steve retorted quietly. But he set his things on the tray and laid across the bed to pillow his head on Billy’s thigh.

He gazed up at him while Billy continued, “It was easy. If the head of a building likes you, job promotions come fast. Training happens in the boss’s own office. Then the asshole died and both his heir, and the board, did not take it well to my name being in the will. I’ve been cleaning up a lot of their mess.”

Steve listened and processed, “This heir was driving the car?”

Billy snorted and instantly grimaced for the pain it caused him. Steve began to get up for the painkillers, but Billy’s fingers plunged into his hair; not gripping him, but softly holding his head. “Stay. I’m fine. No, I doubt the idiot even has a license. He can’t aim a blade, either. He’s running out of money, that’s why he’s so desperate.”

“Where is he now?”

Billy’s head tilted almost piteously at him. “Do you really want to know that?”

“Well I can’t decide which is more romantic: inviting me into a shit storm, or making sure I’m safe first.”

He could see some of the tension leave Billy’s face and shoulders as he reached for Steve’s tray and took his other croissant. “He’s in the hospital. But I don’t know if he’ll make it.”

Steve could read between the lines. “Us trust fund kids. We’re not built for street fighting.”

That earned an animated frown from Billy, who spoke regardless of his full mouth. “You gave me a hell of a wallop once.”

“I lost that fight.”

“You didn’t have a homophobic, retired veteran waiting for you to bring your sister home. And this guy clearly doesn’t have a pretty boy waiting for him or he might’ve won.”

Steve laughed but it faded as he just…marveled at Billy. They had never talked this openly before. However proud of Billy he felt, though, the nagging dark corner of his brain turned his thoughts onto himself. He let slip:

“You work so much harder than me.”

Billy immediately wasn’t having it. His head tilted again but instead of pity, it was chastisement. “Steve.”

“No, no—I just mean I’m proud of you.”

“You can be proud of me without sounding like I’m about to toss you out onto the curb. I just told you the very idea of you helped keep me alive.”

“And I abandoned two jobs and an overpriced apartment to be here, so I hope you mean it. You might be keeping both of us alive for a while—Hey.”

In between thrown bits of croissant and grapes, Billy chided, “I’ve been. Trying. To convince you. That I mean it. And it takes a drive-by to. Get. Your. Attention.”

“Okay! Okay—this is disgusting. Stop it!”

Steve reared up only to be ensnared by Billy’s overstretched arms. Steve caught himself on Billy’s collarbones so he did not press on his chest, tugging the skin on his sides. “B! Be careful.”

A hand cradled the side of Steve’s head as a soft smirk lifted Billy’s mouth. “Let me kiss you.”

Steve, defiant till the last, pushed him down so he didn’t exert himself. Then he kissed Billy slowly, reverently. He liked kissing Billy a whole lot. Loved it. He liked Billy’s taste and the sound of their lips parting before meeting for more. He liked the puffs of Billy’s breath across his cheek and his hands reaching for Steve. Finding him. Holding him.

Eventually, though, Billy whispered against his lips, “Why did you ask what street we’re on?”

Steve rolled his lips together, perhaps seeking a balm for being chapped from kissing, or nerves. “It’s fashion week. We might be able to see stuff from the window.”

Billy claimed one more kiss and then released him to clean up the bed and scout the street below. Billy managed to reach the bathroom on his own, where he took another pair of meds and readied for a day in. With Steve.

Steve, who insisted he stay in bed.

Steve, who found a full-length mirror in the wardrobe and held it half out the window so Billy could see the horizon of the street reflected from his place on the bed. He watched Steve more than anything. His giggles at how ridiculous it was to hold a mirror out the window. When his features relaxed as he watched the traffic and people arriving to a place a few blocks down. When he asked Billy if

“Can you see the red coat? That thing’s massive.”

And, “Somebody famous just got there. The paparazzi are going nuts.”

Steve really should have expected the events of the next day, but Billy still faced the stern glare and long blinks when he sighed. “B, you’ve only rested a day. Your stitches could still tear.”

“One runway isn’t going to kill me. We’ll pop in and not attend the after party. Elicit’s already managed to get tickets—”

“Her name’s Elena,” Steve frowned with his hands on his hips.

“No, it isn’t,” Billy scoffed, and went to dissect Steve’s luggage himself...

He grasped the linen shoe bag, recognizing the shape inside. He lifted one of the Hot Chick 100s. “You took packing seriously, huh?”

Steve seemed to be really grappling with patience. “I didn’t know what you needed. A nurse or a kinky leg to hold onto.”

“So I got both,” he grinned.

A reluctant, little smile pulled at Steve’s face. “I’m not wearing those out.”

Billy had already set the pair on the living room table when he grimaced, “What? Why not?”

Steve glanced at the windows like they might hold an answer. “Because I’ll be giant and make more noise than anyone else in heels.”

Billy wasn’t buying it. He held onto the back of the couch to help himself stand and then made his way to his own clothes. “If there’s any time to wear what you want and get away with it, it’s fashion week. Come here, no one’s going to let you wear jeans beside a runway.”

Billy had way too much fun dressing him. A quiet little warning bell went off in Steve’s head over this, but he couldn’t listen to it without also admitting that he enjoyed himself. One of Billy’s silk button-ups around his body felt nice.

Intimate.

A black suit jacket over it made Steve feel chic and professional. And when Billy asked him to lift his foot onto the bed, Billy double wrapped the chain of his pendant around Steve’s ankle. Amber and opals on one side, and a golden saint on the other.

“If you’re tired or hurt at any point, tell me,” Steve lectured in the car.

“Yes, dear.”

“I mean it,” he insisted, but Billy’s hand on his thigh tightened.

“I know, baby. I’m okay. The show’s not even two hours long. Try to relax. You look real hot.”

Steve snorted and rubbed the silk of his shirt between his fingers. “Is this shirt new?”

“Yeah. Why?”

“I’ve never seen you wear it. And it would’ve matched my green shoes,” he added with slanted eyes at him.

“So what if I wanted to match my partner? Try and sue me.”

Partner. Steve caught his face in his hand, eyes aching with the moisture overflowing from his heart.

The car pulled up alongside a bustling street. Elena Varma accompanied them through the open double doors, but she kept to herself. She sheltered Billy’s other side while Steve slid an arm over Billy’s shoulders and held onto him. If a pair of eyes scrutinized them, Billy was hardly the only rich man with a pretty thing in heels on his arm. And people only had compliments for Steve’s classic choice in shoe.

The off-duty models sitting around them in the chairs along the runway were very sweet. Steve and Billy kindly refused their inquiries over attending the later afternoon events, but gratefully accepted their information about the show.

Models talk. And in this world where everyone knows someone who knows everyone, the models explained the architecture of the runway, the designer’s vision, the gossip about the model opening the show, and the model closing the show, etc.

“I like the butterflies,” Steve said, pointing to the ceiling, where a myriad of paper butterflies on wires fluttered with the air conditioning ventilation.

“I like you.”

Steve pointed flustered but narrowed eyes on him. “Are you even paying attention?”

“To the important things,” Billy replied, leaning back with an arm over the back of Steve’s chair. He did contribute, “I like the columns. The effect of the eroded marble and gold filigree is interesting. I enjoy looking at it.”

Steve leaned into him, resting a hand on Billy’s thigh as the lighting changed and the show began. The fashion proved largely sculptural instead of practical, but Steve pointed as models went by.

“My mom would know what that means.”

“If the designer was inspired by Greece, then it’s something mythological. Greece seems to be very in right now.”

“You read my magazines,” Steve accused with a smile.

“I smell the colognes.”

That earned Billy a soft nudge before Steve’s jaw relaxed in sight of a male model striding past them. “You’d look really good in that.”

“The gold speedo?”

“No,” he lightly slapped Billy’s knee. “The shirt.”

“I don’t really go for pastels.”

Steve turned soft eyes on him. He touched the underside of Billy’s chin with a fond knuckle. “You and your jewel tones.”

Then a model turned onto the stage wearing a sweatshirt totally encrusted with jewels. Steve and Billy exchanged looks, which ended with Steve covering his laughter and Billy pressing his face into Steve’s shoulder.

Steve and Billy left the show with at least one pocket full of models’ agents’ business cards. Steve had taken the time to write the models’ names on each card along with a descriptor, as if they actually intended to remember and reach out to them later that night, should their plans change.

Their plan did not change.

If anything, Steve and Billy only more firmly wanted to retire to their hotel room after they ordered coffees—and Steve nearly broke his ankle stepping off the pavement.

“The puddle lied! The water lied to me,” he lamented through laughter, having thought that the water was far shallower than it actually proved to be. He powered through their venture in the coffee shop, but as soon as they were in the car, Billy pulled his leg up to inspect his ankle and Steve held up one of the shoes.

“Holy shit. Look at that.” The flat of the heel now had a harsh angle to it, as if he’d worn these shoes for a decade instead of thrown off his stride by a waterlogged pothole. Both shoes had water and grit on the insides too.

“I’m sorry, B. These might need some work—Oo!”

Billy had touched his ice coffee to Steve’s ankle. “Don’t worry about it. Did you have a good time?”

“Yeah,” he said on a lighter note. “The ladies we sat with were really nice.”

“What about the show?”

That gave Steve pause. “Um. Honestly? They all walked too fast for me to really see much.”

Billy laughed so hard his stitches made him stop.

[straightlikewetspaghetti]

Demons of the Past

Pairings: Poppy x MC (Bea Hughes)

Warnings: Mature language

Word count: 3074

Ch.1 Stranger Danger

Poppy Min Sinclair had to arch her slender neck to see her reflection from over the shoulder of Chloe, who had been testing her new artistic vision on her for a good few minutes. For some time now, Poppy had become a canvas for Chloe's magical hands as she tried her luck at running a beauty salon, along with Veronica, who was doing her best advertising.

"What do you think V?"

Veronica tore her gaze away from her phone and looked towards Poppy wrinkling her nose slightly. She usually did that when she was seriously considering something. "As far as I'm concerned she could use some plastic surgery."

"Asshole," Poppy laughed hurling a pillow at her friend, which missed and knocked over a decorative vase standing nearby. Three girls looked in that direction and soon the three of them burst out laughing loudly, curling up on the floor.

"Enough, enough!", Chloe began to shout when she noticed that Poppy wanted to wipe her eyes from crying, and she caught her hands, looking at her with a chastising gaze. She wouldn't let her hard work be destroyed so easily. Poppy rolled her eyes, but the smile on her face remained constant as she silently teased the shorter girl along with Veronica. "Why am I hanging out with you guys..."

"You love us," whined Veronica hugging a reddened Chloe with one arm, who lowered her gaze quickly to her hands nervously playing with the hem of her skirt.

Poppy made the sound of displeasure she made whenever the two girls started acting too cute. She was glad for their happiness, but deep down she felt an incredible jealousy, because she herself would like to share her life with someone too.

The couple sort of understood the blonde, pulled away from each other and looked at her docilely.

"Don't worry Poppy, I'm sure you'll meet someone at the party tonight. From what I heard Zoey invited some cutie from the old days...", Chloe smiled as she tried to convey positive energy with her words. "Besides, you're wearing my makeup, no one will be able to resist you!"

"Cutie you say..."

Ch.2 Party Fever

She was the most beautiful girl in the whole room.

No.

She was the most beautiful girl in the entire world.

Bea watched from a dark corner of the room as Poppy twirled effortlessly to the beat of the music, attracting the stares of drooling people with her movements. Her tiny skirt didn't leave much to the imagination either, but that was Poppy Min Sinclair's style; if she wasn't the main attraction, what was the point of her presence?

"You're acting like a creep," she was snapped out of her observation by Zoey who magically appeared next to her, making her almost gasp.

"You should have some kind of bell around your neck, Wade," Bea rolled her eyes at her friend's laughter.

"Wow, she has nice ass... Ets, yeah, nice assets," Zoey smiled innocently seeing her friend's murderous gaze. "You'd better come over to her eventually,"

Her gaze went back to the dancing blonde. "It's been five years, what should I say to her?"

"Maybe something like; Heya Pops I already have money, maybe you want to come with me for a little Macarena?", the black-haired squirmed as Bea's fist landed right in her stomach, almost knocking the air out of her lungs. The slight pain she felt didn't stop her from laughing at the tomato-like look that appeared on her friend's face. "Come on babe, she's at the bar now, this is your opportunity."

Bea nodded and straightened up, ready to attack. "You finally said something with sense."

Ch.3 Deja-vu

"One Old Fashioned and Sex On The Beach."

Poppy turned behind her with a ready biting remark, but her voice froze in her throat when she saw the person standing behind her. And it was none other than Bea Hughes herself, her first drink, crush, kiss, sex, love, but also her first heartbreak. She stood before her as casually as if those five years of separation between them had never existed. Her short brown hair, now shoulder-length, was whiter than snow itself. Her childlike facial features had sharpened and she could see tiny wrinkles appearing from the overworked late nights. Her style had also changed, from boyishly sporty and bad girl to formal and important. She looked like a millionaire ripped straight from the cover of Forbes. She no longer resembled the person she once was.

"You remembered what I drink," the blonde choked out as the first wave of shock left her and the lump in her throat loosened. Talking to her seemed so unreal that she felt like she had lost consciousness and was now dreaming.

Bea smiled in response, though it was more of a tired smile than the beaming howl with which she had greeted Poppy daily in their school years. "There are some things that are hard to forget Pops," the white-haired girl shrugged her shoulders sheepishly as she slid the hundred across the counter towards the bartender, who with renewed vigor reached over and ran to prepare the drinks, nearly tipping over his own feet.

"Feeling generous tonight?", Poppy chuckled as she watched Bea tuck a rather thick bundle of bills into her pocket. In their teenage years, the white-haired girl had barely been able to make ends meet, but Poppy had always admired her ability to live from day to day and enjoy herself, even when an eviction order from her home hung over her head.

Bea laughed a throaty laugh that sounded almost like a cough. She nodded and tilted her head to one side, the way she did every time she got into a thoughtful mood. "There's nothing wrong with supporting the littles." Poppy's insides tightened to ask where she'd gotten all that money, but by some miracle her strong will managed to curb the urge and nip it in the bud. That would be tactless, and lack of tact is a trait that should not be associated with Min Sinclair.

"You can ask me anything you want," Bea looked her straight in the eye, making Poppy stop seeing anyone else but her. It was as if she had cast a spell on her and moved them far away, enclosing them in a safe bubble illusion. Even the music became just a distant rumble as the white-haired woman looked at her that way. The same way she had looked at her five years ago.

"I don't understand," the blonde cursed herself when she heard her own words, which sounded more idiotic than some of Chloe's wisdom. Bea seemed unmoved, by her clumsy attempt at pretending, in fact, a cocky grin appeared on her lips that she, oh so much, felt like tearing off now.

" Don't play games Poppy, we're not kids anymore," Bea reached for the drinks that had finally been brought in and handed one to Poppy, completely casually, fingertips brushing against the skin of her palm. "Drink up, it'll help you relax, and I know you have a lot of questions."

The blonde lowered her gaze to the drink and took a moment to look at the colors that danced on the surface of her liquor. How was Bea able to read her like an open book after all these years. Everyone said she had changed, but could it be that the change wasn't so great after all? And why was she always questioning herself in her company?

She was pulled out of her reverie by Bea, who unnoticeably slipped her finger under her chin and lifted her face so that they were looking at each other again. This time, however, she was closer, much, much closer. Poppy could without much difficulty smell the expensive perfume that didn't match the Bea of her memories, but did match the woman who sat before her. Just as in years past, Bea's thumb involuntarily stroked her cheek.

For a brief moment, the blonde let her selfish thoughts consume her and savor the touch, but it didn't last as long as she wanted it to. "N-no," she whispered and using all of her strong willpower she moved a safe distance away from the white-haired woman, who didn't object to her reaction. "I can't do it like this," she said as she walked away, escaping as quickly as possible from this cursed place, from this cursed past.

Ch.4 When It Rains, It Pours

When she left the building, it was already dark and chilly outside, and a light rain was drizzling from the heavy clouds hanging in the sky. At this point, however, she didn't care about ruining her expensive and designer clothes and makeup that Chloe had sat on for dozens of minutes. She needed to get some fresh air, cool down, and let her thoughts flow.

Why had she come back just now? Now that Poppy had put her life back together, without her and without thoughts of her.

"Sinclair!"

"You've got to be kidding me," she snorted under her breath hearing Bea's loud voice behind her, who as usual wasn't giving up. At least that hadn't changed. "What do you want Farmsville?"

Bea squirmed at that old nickname, but quickly imposed a stoic expression on her face and shoved her hands into her pockets. Even in this gentle rain and illuminated only by the slightly penetrating moonlight, she continued to look like a goddess, which annoyed Poppy immensely.

"You ran out so suddenly, I thought something happened and I thought..."

"Oooh now you thought?" snapped the blonde, who nervously shifted from foot to foot, almost ready to throw herself at the white-haired woman's throat. Years of pent up rage bubbled through her veins, making her skin almost burn with living fire. "Forgive my surprise, but I would never judge Bea Hughes for her ability to think!"

The white-haired woman watched her in silent contemplation, answering nothing. Her silence irritated the blonde a hundred times more than anything she could say. The atmosphere between them was becoming strained to the limit and all it took was one wrong move, one misspoken word, and the catastrophe was certain. The rain intensifying around them wasn't helping either.

"I don't understand what happened. We were talking calmly like we used to, and suddenly you run out and do one of your tantrums..."

"Ha! Like we used to...," she interrupted her again in mid-sentence, mimicking her and almost bursting into maniacal laughter, but her mood had nothing to do with amusement. "I guess you've already forgotten that you left me for five whole years and now you're back and you expect us to talk like old friends?", her voice wavered between anger and tears. "Someone paid you to come back here? That's where you got the money from, right? You were hired to get revenge on me..."

"What," the astonishment in Bea's voice was almost palpable as she stared at the blonde shaking with anger with her eyes wide open. It was Poppy's nature to explode and make arguments for any reason, but what she was saying now sounded irrational, even for her. "I'm the CEO of my uncle's company, that's where I get my money from," she corrected.

"What," this time it was Poppy's turn to be surprised and her face even softened. "What do you mean, what about your dreams of becoming a music star?"

Bea scratched the back of her neck nervously and lifted her face up, letting the raindrops wash her face of any negativity that had accumulated. When she felt ready enough not to explode, she looked back at the blonde and sighed, her face looking more tired than before. "Those were childhood daydreams. A music career would never make me the kind of money an accounting firm would."

"Childish daydreams? You spent your first earned money on a guitar and an amplifier, how can you call that childish daydreams...", the concern in Poppy's voice was sincere, probably one of the more sincere feelings she had felt in recent times.

"I needed real options and real money," Bea replied dryly, ignoring any emotion from the blonde, who was looking at her with a worried expression on her face.

"What for? Why did you need the money?" she asked, not yet knowing that she would light the fuse from the bomb with that question.

"What for? Is that really what you're asking?", Bea's so far calm expression bent into unnatural anger, her eyes misting over from the emotions gripping her. "And isn't that what you wanted? A girl who can fulfill your every whim, with a stable life, a job and a mountain of money?", a realization and simultaneous remorse appeared on Poppy's face, but it did not satisfy Bea. "Yes Poppy, I heard your conversation with Veronica the other night when you thought I was sleeping."

Poppy blinked several times, unable to formulate a response. She replayed that conversation in her mind, all the words she'd said then that she hadn't really meant, but under the onslaught of people around her, her perception was distorted. "It's not like that..."

Bea raised a hand to silence any explanation from the blonde. She didn't want to hear it. "No Pops" she shook her head, her hair wet from the downpour sticking to her face, masking any tears falling. "It at least gave me the motivation to change my life, for that I will be grateful."

Ch.5 Irreplaceable

"You understand that she still had the nerve to be mad at me? Like it's my fault for changing for her," Bea had been lamenting to Zoey for about an hour, who, like any patient friend, silently let her rant.

"And she's telling me that she changed for me... After all, I didn't ask her to!", Poppy nervously walked around the living room almost already trampling a path in the tiles. A worried Veronica and Chloe watched her in silence, letting her get all the negative emotions out.

"I know she didn't ask me to do this, but I wanted to finally be worthy of her, you know? I wanted to give her the future she deserved, and she wouldn't have it with me if I continued to follow my dreams," the white-haired girl slumped helplessly on the couch next to her friend, dipping her face into her hands. "After all, to a gorgeous girl like Poppy, it wouldn't be enough that I...”

"After all, she knew full well that she suited me the way she was, why did she take away the one person I..."

"Love."

"I wish I could be mad at her...", Bea muttered lifting her face and looking straight at Zoey who seemed to be in deep thought.

"But I can't," groaned Poppy leaning against Veronica's shoulder, who reflexively began to stroke the blonde's back, which slowly began to twitch from her silent crying. Chloe moved to the other side and snuggled into Poppy to give her her full support, knowing that no words could heal these wounds.

Zoey nodded and patted the white-haired girl's shoulder giving her silent support. Bea relaxed from her friend's touch. "Haven't you thought maybe it's about time..."

"To move on and find someone new? It's been five years," Veronica felt Poppy's whole body tense up and prepared for a burst of anger, from the blonde, but the blonde only raised her head and furrowed her eyebrows."

"No. She's irreplaceable."

Ch.6 Where Something Ends, Something Begins

It had been a week since the memorable meeting.

Since then, Poppy hadn't seen or heard from Bea who had sunk like a stone into water. Such disappearing without a word wasn't her style, but the blonde wasn't sure what her style was anymore. The days she lived as she always did, and the nights she sat curled up on the couch with a glass of wine and reminisced about old times while talking to herself.

"Thank you for coming Poppy."

Poppy slipped her sunglasses off her nose and looked over at Zoey who was warming her hands with a mug of hot coffee. "Believe it, I was surprised myself that I agreed," she lied. She agreed without hesitation because she knew it was about Bea, and inside she was dying to know what was happening to her.

Zoey giggled at the blonde's nudge and shook her head. Although her words were biting, there wasn't an ounce of incivility in them. Such a habit between them. "You can probably guess why I met with you."

"Is it about Bea?", Poppy tried to sound as formal as possible and not show that she was thinking about it day in and day out, almost unable to focus on anything else. How pathetic it would be if someone found out she couldn't control her feelings.

The black-haired woman sighed grimly and nodded her head. For a moment she began to search through her backpack and pulled out a strange little bundle. Poppy tilted her head and looked at the colorful paper that only her Bea could choose. She smiled at the surge of positive memories.

"The day she left, she told me to give this to her. I honestly thought about it for a long time, against all odds I wouldn't want you to suffer any more than you already have," Zoey's gaze drifted somewhere behind Poppy's back as she couldn't stand the pain in the blonde's eyes that grew with every word she said. "But I think this will help both you and her close a chapter in your life" Zoey pulled money out of her pocket and placed it next to the empty cup. Without a word, she placed a hand on the blonde's shoulder, who stared at the package as if mesmerized. She squeezed it tightly and walked away, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

With trembling hands, she reached for the bundle and prepared to open it. Somewhere deep inside she knew exactly what she would find, but she hoped that it was only an illusion and that it would not really contain what she had in mind. Unfortunately, hope is the mother of fools and when she opened the package, a velvet box appeared before her eyes.

She opened it with tears in her eyes.

"Maybe in another life and another time we would have had a chance, but I will love you always."

[heyitsyn]

Yellow

psa: okay i know yall are about to blast me on this even though i’ve put this warning up here, i know kuroo’s eyes are hazel or something like that. but i actually headcanon him to have somewhat yellow or even gold eyes so we’re sticking to that for now, okay? okay

kuroo x reader (tsukishima x reader in the end)

angst....

Look at the stars Look how they shine for you And everything you do Yeah, they were all yellow

I came along I wrote a song for you And all the things you do And it was called "Yellow"

all your life you thought he was the one.

growing up with kenma and kuroo, you naturally found your soulmate mark pretty early on. it was a normal Sunday afternoon when you noticed something seemed to be off the moment you laid your eyes on the rooster’s face.��

‘hm’

that was the first sound of curiosity that caught the attention of the man himself. a grin made its way on his face as he realized how deeply you were staring at him.

‘oya? am i cute, baby chibi?’

at the mere age of 10, kuroo was already the ultimate teaser he is today. the shameless and sarcastic grin has been carved on his ridiculously adorable face and kuroo tetsuro was never one to miss an opportunity to tease. combined with an older sister, kuroo learned the ways to flirt to a lady despite his initial shyness towards people in general. 

then you came.

with your signature f/s (favorite smell) scent, you were the only one he could smell as his own soulmate mark was the lack of scent. 

but there was one problem.

it is said that usually when you meet your soulmate, you would regain what you lost.

however, how come it was only a small part that he got back?

shouldn’t he be able to smell his mother’s cooking or the grass outside?

maybe that’s how he found himself drawn to you.

the questions and questions ended in one single answer.

he met you through kenma.

as a neighbor of the pudding head, kuroo often came over to kenma’s house to play since he was the only friend the older boy had. then maybe around the fifth time he came over, he saw you there.

you were standing in your tippy-toes and kuroo watched you try to get a box of fruit snacks on top of the fridge but obviously, you were too short. the poor kid felt himself freeze up at the sight of another kid in the kitchen but then he remembered kenma telling him the other day that a relative was coming over.

you must be the relative.

and a very good smelling one too.

kuroo’s ears turned red when he remembered what his sister told him.

‘it will come one day, tetsu. they will come one day. you will know it immediately when you see them’

it was like an invisible trail only seen by him trailed to you and he imagined it to be yellow.

there was no particular meaning to it but he just knew it was yellow.

‘come on!’

you mumbled repeatedly.

as much as tetsu found the sight amusing, he felt slightly bad for you the moment the 5-minute mark hit. even though he was nervous to speak to you, he mustered up all his courage and walked over, only to startle you with his voice.

‘watch and learn, chibi’

he cringed a little after he said it but he pushed it to the side.

in amazement, you watched as this boy effortlessly heaved himself on the counter and stood up to easily grab the box of snacks. you cheered once his fingertips touched the box but apparently, your noise of happiness scared him and his sock-cladded foot missed the marble top and instead sunk to the air.

‘watch out!’

you shrieked and dove to try and catch him but you didn’t realize how pointless it was as you both still fell and got hurt anyways.

the position was something your young mind didn’t register as anything suggestive.

but his intense gaze made you blink and fluster even more when he laughed and you found yourself comparing him to the cutest boy in your kindergarten.

this boy might be the first one to be cuter than akaashi keiji himself.

‘thank you’

you whispered in appreciation and tetsu nodded, moving himself up before offering you a hand to stand too.

unfortunately for you, colors were never in your life.

i guess you could say that your world was filled with black and white with the occasional appearance of grey.

it never bothered you until twice in your lifetime.

you wanted to see akaashi keiji in full color and you also wanted to see this boy’s eyes.

it looked sharp and reminded you of something your cousin and your cat had in common.

eventually, that desire went away and you went back to living your colorless life.

however.

the moment your 9th birthday hit, you noticed something different.

you were over at kenma’s while your parents were doing something (probably a surprise party). tetsu was over too and by now, he was already accustomed to you and he liked you, even more, when you helped get the volleyball whenever it strayed away. 

‘oh! chibi-chan!’

he greeted when he saw you lounging around on kenma’s bed, reading a princess book, while the bed’s owner was by your feet playing on his games.

‘oh! hello, ku-kun!’

you waved, not even looking up from the page, only for him to pull a sour face and whine.

‘aaaaaaa, call me something cute, chibi-chan! i want a nickname too! it’s not fair that kenma gets one and i don’t! and pay attention to me too!’

kuroo childishly complained and you opened your mouth to scold him for being annoying when your heart thrummed violently and your eyes found his.

they were very light.

you didn’t know what the color name was since you’ve been stuck with this problem the moment you were born.

but you were interested to learn just to know what color kuroo tetsuro’s eyes were.

right now, you had no name for it. 

all you knew was that they were very pretty.

as you got older, his eyes were the only thing you could see that was outside the black and white and grey spectrum. not even the apple you ate or the school uniform could be identified by a single color.

but his-his were yellow.

the perfect shade of not being too light and not being too dark, they evened out to be something as beautiful as gold.

oddly enough, he was the only person you could see yellow in.

added to the fact that you were still cursed of not having the full color wheel, kuroo’s yellow eyes were the only colorful thing in your life and your cousin even dyed his hair the same color to see if you could identify it on another person.

but nope.

just kuroo.

and that’s what made him so special.

sometimes, you could even see it glow brighter.

you reckon it’s just the lighting but what you don’t know is those short glowing pulses of his eyes were actually the times he realized that he falls in love with you.

so for every time they glow, it was his soul’s indirect way of saying he loves you.

‘chibi?’

kuroo snapped you out of your staring and you found yourself back to the rooftop of your high school while kenma was sipping his juice and playing at the same time.

‘oh’

you mumbled.

kuroo smirked and he scooted closer to peck your cheek before leaning close to your face. even he was flustered at the strongest smell of f/s and it was his own personal drug with no sense of limitation.

the same for kuroo, your scent would get stronger and it would happen occasionally at the most random times. 

like now.

but kuroo was a smarter boy and quickly connected the dots that with your strong scent and the clear scream of love in your eyes, your strong scent was your own indirect way that you love him.

and he swears to any higher being up there, that he would always love you more.

‘what were you thinking about, chibi-chan?’

he whispered and your eyes widened at the up-close view of his face and noticed they were glowing again. 

you wonder why.

your line of sight moved and you couldn’t help the way your eyes traveled downwards to his lips.

‘oh? you want a kiss?’

he teased and you could feel your ear bursting with how flustered you’ve become but thankfully, kenma decided to save you.

‘oi, kuroo. don’t suck faces when i’m here’

he chided and kuroo sighed heavily then pouted.

‘fine. i guess i can wait. but you owe me double the kisses’

this idiot knew what he was doing to you.

that was your kuroo.

he was everything you wanted and everything you needed.

yet the moment you laid eyes on the tall middle blocker of karasuno, everything faded away.

being the manager of the volleyball team meant you were obligated to go to practice matches with them and as you walked over to the entrance of the gym, you felt the world stop.

there, karasuno stood and your eyes settled on the tall player with the glasses. his height made his noticed quickly but to you, you noticed him immediately with the reasons of suddenly being able to see other colors and because his own hair color was this familiar shade of grey that only meant you couldn’t see the true color.

by the corner of your eye, there was a bright sight.

the hair of some other karasuno player shone brightly and his short height didn’t even register in your head as volleyball material, rather him being the confirmation of what just happened.

‘tetsu’

you almost sobbed and kuroo knew something was wrong by the way your scent started fading.

‘chibi-y/n’

he frantically asked and you looked at him, now seeing the bright color of his jacket.

his eyes still shone in color but now, they all blended with the rest of the colors.

it was all mixed--muddled.

‘kuroo’

you whispered and tetsu knew he should appear professional so he grabbed your waist and pulled you close by his side to silently tell you it was going to be okay.

but by god, it wasn’t.

as the karasuno players introduced themselves, you finally put a name to the tall middle blocker.

‘my name is tsukishima kei’

his velvet voice traveled to your ear.

you swallowed a lump in your throat and you asked kenma what this tsukishima guy’s hair color was.

‘yellow’ was all he said.

it was like thunder boomed in the distance.

it all made sense.

‘hey, y/n?’

kuroo quietly mumbled. you tore your eyes away from the sky and looked at the boy laying beside you with your arms around him to warm you both from the cold summer night at his apartment rooftop.

‘hm?’

‘how come,,,, why can i only smell you?’

your eyes stared at his face but his own refused to look at you.

‘why can i only see your eyes? its the same concept. and honestly, im too scared to find out’

you admitted and that was when tetsu finally looked at you and you might not be able to see anything else but his glowing yellow eyes made up for it.

‘i am too’

you smiled softly before leaning up to kiss his lips.

‘then we don’t have to find out’

you’ve heard from tetsu’s sister before about the taboo tales of twin flames and the differences between soulmates and twin flames.

your mind knew this would happen but your heart refused to accept it.

kuroo tetsuro was the boy you stayed up thinking about and dreaming of the simple wedding and the house with children’s laughter filling up the silence of the street. 

but then that grinning and handsome face of your tetsuro became replaced by the face of this person--this stranger.

and there was nothing you could do about it.

tsukishima kei may have given you the colors of the world.

but only kuroo gave you yellow.

okayokayokay i know this kinda sounds confusing so imma write out this quick explanation, okay?

so basically, this is a story about soulmates duh but also partially twin flames. so when you turned 9, you saw kuroo and you thought he was your soulmate immediately because he was the only person who you could see colors to. oddly, it was yellow (i know its supposed to be hazel but please bear with me!!) and so therefore yellow became kuroo’s special thing to you. and i also talked about how their soulmate marks were only partial like kuroo could only smell you and nothing else and you could only see his eyes and its color and nothing else. this goes along with the idea that you can have multiple soulmates in your life but only have one twin flame! as sad as it sounds, he isn’t your twin flame. and when you guys were questioning about it, that was my way of kinda showing this knowledge that not everyone with the soulmate prompt probably thinks about when they make soulmate fics. your twin flame is your endgame or your partner for life. they are your person and your soulmate are just people that are special to you like theyre right under twin flame.

tsukishima kei is your twin flame, not kuroo. kuroo is one of your soulmates that you’ll meet in your lifetime and he was your color of yellow. and i kinda mentioned that despite seeing all the colors in tsukki, you couldnt see his hair color and it’s grey, meaning its a light color but you can’t actually see it bc your soulmate curse blocks it. thats why you ask kenma his hair color and its yellow so you kinda make this connection like ‘how come i still see tetsu’s eye color which is yellow but not tsukishima? or even kenma’s hair?’. bc that color belongs to kuroo. it indicates and reminds you that he’s still one of your soulmates and essentially helped you grow and connected with you deeply. you mistook that connection for romantic love when it was only meant to be platonic love. i mentioned somewhere up there that the topic of twin flames is taboo so its not really known by like everyone so that would maybe explain you and kuroo’s ignorance about it. the same goes for kuroo. say your scent is lavender. he can’t walk into a store and smell a candle of lavender bc its not from you, ya feel? i dont know i suck at explanations but i hope i cleared the air with this one!!

[stop-breaking-my-heart-telltale]

[against all odds, your hand is in mine] [1/4]

Seasons change, and with each comes a different story. In a world where the dead roam around, romantic companionship seems unlikely. Yet Ericson stands, and within it are four couples who are proof that it's possible.

Spring: Briolet | flowers, picnics, blueberries, running river

Read on AO3

Notes: Sometimes I get the urge to write four oneshots over the course of two days. This is the first of those oneshots. It’s briolet in spring, but be careful: there is so much hand holding and some smooches. Don’t say I didn’t warn you. 

[screenshot used is from the lovely @pi-creates]

---

Brody pricks her finger again. It's easy to avoid that, but she doesn't have a thimble, and her hands refuse to stop trembling.

No blood, and really, it didn’t even hurt. It more startled her, a bit of panic sparking in her gut at the idea of staining the martial and ruining her project. She stops her work to rest her hands and the fabric in her lap, closes her eyes, and sucks in a deep breath. It does little to calm her nerves or her impatience.

“Don’t rush,” she mumbles to herself, readjusting her position on the bed. She crosses her legs and notices a long strand of thick, pale blue thread stuck to her pants. Great, she needed that color an hour ago to finish one of the flowers.

Doesn’t matter now, the floral design is complete and all she has left is to sew the pieces together. If she can finish soon, there’ll be more than enough time to clean up, gather the basket she made up the night before, and head down to the greenhouse. Violet should still be there.

Brody smiles, setting down her needle and holding the handmade eyepatch in her hands. She rubs a thumb over one of the little white flowers. She embroidered them just this morning, a final touch to the overall design. That feeling strikes her gut again, exciting her nerves.

The idea came to her one night after Violet found her in the common room. It was late at night, and the two shared a blanket on the couch and drank tea. Violet's ruined eye was covered with bandages despite being healed over. No one was able to find her an actual eye patch. The best they found was a plastic one used for a children’s pirate costume, so she kept it bandaged.

Violet never complains about it. She considers the bandages her patch, even though they're not the most comfortable to wear every day.

Brody decided at that moment that she would make her one. She tore through her closet the next morning, sorting through old shirts until she found one she never wore. Taupe in color, a thicker material, something she could easily work with.

Though she had no idea how eyepatches were made, figuring those things out came easy to Brody. She made several patterns, testing each one out on scraps until one worked. From there, it was all about creating a design should could see Violet wearing. It wasn't difficult- sewing and embroidery work came easy to her.

A family thing that stuck, she assumes.

Her grams used to do embroidery and cross-stitching work. She made a living off sewing intricate designs, all more beautiful than any painting. If Brody closes her eyes, she can still see the doorway into her gram’s cabin. The framed design of a flowery cottage with a stone path, rural trees and a cloudless sky hung up on the wall. Her gram’s final masterpiece. She worked on it for months, pouring every ounce of love she had into each stitch. It was something Brody admired every time she walked through that doorway.

She learned to hunt and skin animals from her dad and uncles, and sewing from her grams. Best of both worlds, she supposes. Two skills that became handier than she would’ve ever thought at the time.

Though her flowers weren’t as flawless as her gram’s once were, she still put her heart into each stitch just as she did. She hopes that when Violet sees it, she’ll feel the unspoken words Brody threaded through the fabric.

Purple, white, and blue flowers of all sizes, each with a yellow french knot in the center, standing bright against the muted taupe. She sewed a thicker piece beneath it, used a tiny bit of stuffing from an old, ripped pillow to give it some comfortable cushion. A piece of a silky shirt lines the inside so Violet’s skin won’t get agitated while wearing it.

After weeks of work, all she has left to sew is the straps she made. She had no way to measure the fit for Violet’s head since she wanted this to be a surprise, so she figured she could make them extra long enough to tie comfortably while wearing. If she needed to adjust anything, she could do that later.

Brody picks her needle back up.

It doesn’t take long to finish, even with her forcing herself to take her time.

With triumph, Brody sticks her needle back into its rightful container and hops off her bed, singing, “Ta-daah~ !”

Her mind is all over the place. Wrap up the patch-- does she have a box or even a bag?-- and hide it at the bottom of the woven basket she found in the basement, stuff the blanket in as much as she can so the two cups don’t clank together, and start boiling water for tea-- where the hell did she put the jar of blueberries?

She flicks a match to light the heater she borrowed from Clementine, letting the water come to a slow boil as she searches around for the mason jar. It’s right under her nose, of course, sitting in plain sight on her shelf.

With the greenhouse running smoothly and the trading they’ve done with the traveling caravan that comes around, they're able to plant seeds for several different fruits and vegetables. This week, they finally got their first bunch of blueberries in. She managed to pick a bunch and seal them away in a jar yesterday without Violet noticing. She thought they’d make for a refreshing picnic snack to pair with tea.

Brody’s been planning this picnic for a while now, all while she was working and spring came to chase the cold away. Her favorite time of year where it’s finally warm, but cool enough to not overheat everything. Grass grows greener, flowers bloom all over the place, the river flows, and the sun shines bright in the sky most days. Other days, like yesterday, it rains. She was worried it would rain today as well, but there isn’t a cloud in the sky today.

She lets the tea steep in a large mug and squeezes what she can from an old container of mostly crystallized honey. When it’s cooled down enough, she pours it slow and steady into an empty water bottle. Sure, they can’t have iced tea given they have no way to actually make ice once winter ends, but lukewarm tea would be just as good.

Basket in hand, Brody looks out her window one last time before leaving the dorms. With every step she takes, she grows closer to the greenhouse and her heart thumps gaily against her ribs.

Outside, everyone is out and about, enjoying the warm weather. AJ and Tenn color together at the table while Mitch works on sharpening his favorite knife. Willy sulks on the couch beside him with Ruby attending to his bleeding knee. She's going on about him needing to be more careful.

Clementine and Louis sit on the steps leading into the admin building. She sits a step lower, leaning back into his chest as the two talk. Brody waves at them as she passes, and Louis gives her a knowing grin when he eyes the basket.

It’s not a long walk to the greenhouse from there. She stops when she notices the wildflowers growing by the fence of the rabbit coop. Bees buzz around the white flowers, landing in their yellow centers. She hates to disturb them, but these flowers were part of her inspiration when designing Violet’s eyepatch. They're too perfect not to pick. She shoos away a fat bumblebee with pollen sticking to its little black legs, and gathers eight of the flowers, leaving plenty for the rest.

A simple bouquet, if she could even call it that, but it works.

Once inside, the fresh scent of wet soil and leafy greens hits her. Not as refreshing as the sweet air outside, but still, it fills her lungs with warmth. Or perhaps that sensation is from seeing Violet standing beside Omar, watering what Brody believes are the potatoes.

Most of her hair pulls back into a hair tie, apart from the bangs that fall over her forehead and bandages. She hasn’t had a haircut in a while, letting it grow long enough past her shoulders. A surprise, actually. Violet hasn’t had long hair since they were kids.

Not that Brody was complaining- she likes it very much.

Violet breaks her attention from the potatoes to meet her gaze. She grins, and yes, that warmth is definitely from her. Omar continues on about some sort of new stew he wants to try making, only stopping when he notices he’s lost Violet’s attention.

“Everything doin’ okay in here?” Brody asks.

Violet gives a shrug. She sticks her hand out to run along the wooden planter to steady herself. She meets Brody halfway, replying with, “Eh, nothing too exciting. Willy biffed it while watering the rabbits this morning, but other than that...”

“He about crushed one of the babies,” Omar adds with a shake of his head. “More upset about that than he was about his skinned knee.”

“Aw, poor little guy,” Brody laughs. “That why he looked so miserable when I passed him?”

“Probably. He tried to catch it to apologize, but it was too quick even for him, and Ruby didn’t want him getting a bunch of muck all over him with an open wound, so…”

Apologizing to a baby bunny that they’re eventually going to eat? Sounds like Willy, Brody thinks. But never mind that, she has more important things than rabbits.

She reaches out to grab Violet’s free hand, her lips involuntarily curling into a bright smile as she asks, “Are you almost finished ?”

“Yeah,” Violet says, raising a questioning brow. “Why?”

“We’re going on a picnic!”

Violet pauses, only now noticing the basket in Brody’s grasp.

“We are?”

“We are!”

“That’s news to me.”

Brody lets go of her hand to present her with the flowers. Violet stares at them for a moment as her skin flushes, starting at her neck and blooming along her cheeks. If Omar weren’t standing over there, Brody would lean over and kiss that lovely blush.

“And where exactly would we have a picnic?”

“By the river. Already got a spot in mind.”

Violet holds the flowers close to her chest and clears her throat. She glances back at Omar, and says, “Uh, I don’t-”

“Go ahead,” he interrupts with a wave of his hand. “I can take care of the rest. Go have your picnic, be careful. And Brody,” he points to her, putting on a stern voice, “have her home by eight, and don’t have too much fun.”

Brody laughs.

“Yes, sir!”

Violet shakes her head, but her smile betrays her amusement.

“Well, okay, I guess we’re going on a picnic. There better be peanut butter and jelly sandwiches in there... that's what people eat on picnics, right?”

“Yeah, but no. Close, though.”

Locking their hands together once more, Brody leads Violet out of the greenhouse and through the gates. Soon, they’re outside the walls of Ericson. Heading down the path, she makes sure to keep watch out for any obstacles to warn Violet about.

Brody knows that Violet’s other eye works perfectly well, but given that her depth perception isn’t what it used to be, she can’t help but be extra careful. She used that excuse to hold Violet’s hand before they were together, both still recovering from their respective injuries. Better safe than sorry, use the buddy system, and that system requires hand-holding. Brody didn’t make the rules.

“Never been on a picnic before,” Violet breaks the silence.

“No? Not even before?”

“No.”

“We used to go out on picnics to eat and play games all the time. Me, my grandma, my daddy and uncles, cousins- if it was warm out, we were out.”

“That sounds nice.”

“Most times it was,” Brody says, giving Violet’s hand a squeeze. “ Just because those days are gone doesn’t mean we can’t do that kinda stuff now, y’know?”

“Yeah, I guess so. Though there are more walkers around than there were back then.”

“True, but that shouldn’t be a big issue today,” Brody smiles. “I asked James to check the area and he collected the walkers he found. The river should be clear.”

Even without looking at her, she can sense her surprise. Violet’s quiet for a moment, turning her head to peer around them before saying, “You planned this.”

It’s not a question, but more of a realization.

“I thought this was a spur of the moment thing,” Violet admits. “I, uh…”

When she doesn’t continue, Brody says, “ Not many opportunities to take you out on a date,” the word makes Violet blush and repress a smile, “and when one does arise, you bet your bottom dollar I’m gonna take it .”

Violet says nothing more, but her grip on Brody’s hand tightens.

They make it to the river without spotting a single walker. She kept her knife handy in case, but James was thorough, it seems. Brody makes a note to thank him again for helping her out.

The running water is soothing and the grass colors with golden dandelions. It’s nice to be down here without the intention of working up a sweat while fishing, she thinks. They find a flat piece of grass, kicking rocks, sticks, and pinecones out of the way to lay the blanket down. Together they sit side by side with the basket between them.

Rubbing her hands together, Brody digs in to pull everything out. Except for the eyepatch. It remains, wrapped in a pillowcase she found. Hopefully Louis won’t notice she snuck it from his horde of pillows.

“Alright, we got tea and blueberries,” Brody says, handing one mug to Violet and opening the mason jar of berries. Their sweet scent escapes into the air, making her mouth water.

“How’d you manage to sneak these past Omar?” Violet asks, popping a blueberry into her mouth. Her face twists at the taste, and for a moment Brody worries they might be sour, but Violet shakes her head. “They’re good, just not used to that.”

By now the tea is completely cooled, and while not cold, still delightful to sip on.

“Open wide,” Violet says, holding up a blueberry. It misses Brody’s mouth, bouncing off her chin. Violet laughs. “Pfft, c’mon.”

“Okay, okay, I’m ready, try again.”

Another miss.

“Aww, nope!”

“Well, let's see you try!”

Brody throws up a berry, and Violet misses it completely.

“Damn depth perception,” she grins, grabbing the berry and tossing it up herself. It hits her cheek, lost to the grass. “Damn it!”

Violet’s laugh, while rare, is as bewitching as it is infectious. It’s been so long since Brody heard her laugh like this, and to know that they’re here together, comfortable together…

Emotion builds in her throat, and she has to eat berries to suppress it. She aims the blueberry just right, and Violet catches it this time. As she chews, they both let out victorious giggles.

Once the laughter dies down, Violet brings her knees to her chest as she watches the river.

“Think we’re missing out on a fish haul?” she asks.

“Nah,” Brody pulls the basket closer to look inside, biting her lip as she runs her fingers over the covered patch. “And if we are, I’m sure the traps’ll make up for it.”

Should she do it now? They did just get here, did she want to surprise her early, or…?

Brody grabs a flower instead, bringing it up to her nose to inhale the soft scent. An idea occurs to her as she admires the girl before. Scooping up the flowers, Brody breaks off most of the stems. The flower slips in through Violet’s hair, right where the hair tie is.

Violet jerks her head around to look back, but Brody says, “Don’t move.”

“What are you-?”

She doesn’t need to answer the question, she merely secures a few more flowers within the light strands of hair before leaning back to admire her work. She even tucks one behind her own ear so they match.

Violet remains quiet, but lays her hand on Brody's. A silent, content thank you.

Brody doesn’t know how long they sat there watching the river, sipping tea, and listening to the birds chirp from the trees . A small butterfly flutters by them, and for a moment, Brody forgets the world around them. Forgets the walkers, forgets Ericson, too swept up in the way the warm air blew against her skin, in how Violet’s hand felt in hers, and the strange sense of wonder, a desire to kick off her shoes and run through the river.

It took Violet kissing the back of her hand to break her out of it.

Violet grew sheepish, glancing away as if she needed to come up with an explanation for the kiss, and that was it.

“Vi,” she started, pulling her around to face her. “I have- I made ya somethin’.”

The nervous pounding in her chest thumps in her ears as she reached back into the basket, pulling out the pillowcase.

“Aw, from Lou’s stash,” Violet grins, amused. “You shouldn’t have.”

“No, no, not the pillowcase,” Brody fidgets with it until she finds what she’s looking for. Her thumb brushes over the flowers beneath the thin material. With a deep breath, she goes for it. “Listen, I’ve been thinkin’ a lot about you. Us... just everything, and- Remember that night we stayed up in the common room talkin’? I thought… well, I wanted to do this for you.”

Brody hands her the pillowcase. Not once does she take her eyes off Violet’s face, noting the curiosity and confusion playing in her features as she accepts the gift.

The eyepatch is finally brought out into the sunlight, laying in Violet’s palm.

Neither of them speaks. Violet’s lips part, eye widening.

Brody lets the air out of her lungs slow, and then the words spill from her lips before she can stop them.

“We couldn’t find you anything to wear other than that stupid costume patch, and I know you said you didn’t mind the bandages but then I got to thinkin’ ‘bout how bandages might not always be the comfiest-”

“Brody…” Violet’s voice is quiet, trembling as it breaks.

“-and I want you to be comfortable in somethin’ that you like, so I made this for you- the whole thing, hand sewed it myself. I- but y’know, if it’s maybe too much- I wasn’t sure if it might bring too much attention and you wouldn’t like that-”

She’s cut off when Violet practically throws herself at her, burying her face in the crook of Brody’s neck and holding her tight. Brody doesn’t hesitate. She embraces her back, pressing a hand to cradle her head.

“I… don’t know what to say,” Violet's voice quivers.

“You like it?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s enough.”

Violet pulls back, and without warning, her hands cup Brody’s face. She presses their lips together in a way that’s anything but gentle. It’s firm, purposeful, and loving. All tension from her body melts away, and Brody truly believes she could kiss her all day and that tingle? The one that coursed through her veins, the butterflies that fluttered in her belly? It would never go away. It wouldn't even lessen.

They break apart, and Violet’s staring down at the eyepatch in her hands.

“Holy shit. It’s… I don’t-” she tries again. “You didn’t have to do this.”

“I wanted to,” Brody assures her, brushing the bangs that fell over her face.

“No one’s ever made me anything like this before. I mean, not a patch, just … you know.”

“Want to try it on?”

Violet nods, and Brody’s undoing the bandages with ease. Her eye's healed from the damage the raiders inflicted, leaving only angry scars. The patch is a perfect size, covering everything.

“Does it feel okay?”

“Yeah, it’s… nice. Soft.”

“Does this feel tight enough? Like it won’t fall off, but not too tight?”

“Yeah, it feels good.”

“Couldn’t figure out a good way to clasp it together, so it ties. If ya want me to change it or anything, I can make adjustments... There!”

Violet turns back around, avoiding her gaze. Brody studies her face, the way the colors of the embroidered flowers make the green in her other eye vibrant, how the taupe of the fabric flatters her.

“Beautiful.”

Violet scoffs, ducking her head to hide the flustered smile that betrays her lips. This gives Brody the perfect excuse to place a quick kiss on her forehead.

“You’re so mushy,” Violet says, embarrassed but trying to force a playful tone. “Y’know that?”

Well, to be fair, Brody could be mushier, so she replies with an over-the-top, sweet, “Only with you.”

Violet groans and they laugh once more.

They know their little picnic will wrap up soon, so together they sit close and enjoy the comfort of nature for a few minutes longer.

“Thank you, Brody… really.”

Brody responds with another kiss.

Yeah, she thinks. She could kiss Violet all day.

[shortjeb-probs]

Fic Revival

After being dead for nearly five years, my fic Payback is making a comeback! 

Important to note: Chapters 1- 68 were written by a 15-16 year old and chapters 69+ are being written by a 21-22 year old. Stylistically, the writing will be different, but I’ve tried to make sure that it’s enjoyable regardless. 

Check out chapter 1 below! 

Chapter 1: Then 

It would have been fitting if the dirt beneath your short fingernails was oozing mud. It would have been fitting if the dust caked in the seams of your clothing dripped off the fabric into puddles. Anything would have suited this moment better than the cherry pink rays that mingled with fantastic gold, last vestiges of the beautiful day that had taken place, showering into a brilliant sunset. Anything dark or dreary or gross would have been better than what was.

It would have matched Sans' expression if it was as disgusting outside as you felt inside. Your teeth chattered lightly, and despite knowing that you should have maintained a calm face as you looked up at the storm that was Sans, you couldn't help it. Your brows were furrowed and your lips were tightly twisted in a vicious scowl, your fists were grabbing at the ground and tearing up clumps, and you were poised to spring at the skeleton.

Your belongings lay littered against the dead grass. At least that was fitting, you thought angrily. And maybe you were, too. You were an angry lightning bolt, threatening to pierce back up to the heavens and charge at the storm that had thrust your anger into you. The front of your shoes dug into the ground slightly, grass parting at your force as your toes fought to find a better hold.

He said nothing. For once, that lazy stupid grin you had stupidly fallen for because you were stupid--! You breathed heavily, calm, you told yourself, stay calm. For once, that stupid smile was wiped clean off of his visage, finally. Your heart twanged as you thought that it had taken much too long, you knew it wasn't true. You loved his smile, you loved him.

You couldn't convince yourself otherwise even if you tried. And oh, were you trying.

Scarlet paint smeared on the sky from invisible brush bristles, and your calves began to burn from the position you still held. You lifted your hands from the defensive hold they had taken by your sides, undoing the fists your fists quickly, not stopping to cringe as warmed earth fell from your fingers. Your teeth flashed briefly as a snarl a dog would be proud of curled onto your lips, and you sucked chilly air through the small gap in between the top and bottom sets of teeth. A shiver worked its way to your spine as the cold froze your teeth, but you bit it back.

He stared at you from his place in the doorway, right hand just itching to slam the door it held. You could see his fingers twitching from the desire to shut you out one final time. You wondered how Papyrus, who was away at Napstablook's, would react to see the two of you this way. You, in your near beastly pose, and Sans who stood with his left eye whipping through green, yellow, and blue rapidly. Had he ever seen such a sight, the one that was currently your, now, ex boyfriend? You sure hadn't.

Sans leaned forward suddenly, daring you to so much as move, and you did. You rose to a standing position, towering over the various bags and boxes easily. An army of stuff that you could use at your disposal, should you feel like getting violent. You did, but you held both your tongue and your fury. Your key chain sat heavily in your left pocket, and you dug them out when you remembered they were there.

Sans did not watch curiously, instead his arm, the left, reaching towards you. He presented his hand, palm skywards, and you continued to shuffle through the variety of keys until you slid your home key out of the loop. You didn't even look at him as you tossed it, hearing it clang against his bones as he caught it, and then against the wall after he threw it. You shoved your keys back in your pocket, fingers lingering for a second too long before you threw your hand back down to your side.

You lowered yourself and began to pile box onto box, a makeshift wall to block him from your sights that doubled as a means of carrying your items. You tested the weight, it was light enough that you could carry it to your car with ease, and so you began to do just that. The height of the boxes stopped so that the top one could rest against your forehead, and you maneuvered the familiar grasses like the expert you were. This was your home, you'd be damned if you didn't know it well.

A slur of curses sullied your mouth, waiting eagerly to pour out. You had denied them for so long, but you figured it wouldn't hurt now. You cursed the skies that would not mirror neither your anger nor your sorrow, you cursed fate for having teased you with a happy eternity only to cut it short, you cursed everything from ocean to ocean, and finally, you cursed Sans. "Fucking skeleton," You exhaled, face growing haggard as you refused to let his name slip from your lips again. Never again. "Stupid fucking skeleton. Dumb shit." You'd like to think you were better than this, but if the weather would not cooperate, your growls would have to make do with creating the thunderous atmosphere he had created.

Balancing the stack on one of your arms, you plucked out your keys again and shuffled through them, jamming the correct one into the slot without missing a beat. You swung the door open, narrowly missing the metal as it scraped by, and your fingers thunked harshly against the button that unlocked all of the doors but the trunk. You sidestepped to the right until you were directly in front of the door to the back seats. You swung that open, too, pressure screeching against the door as it shook from your power. You felt the glower of that damned skeleton on your back.

You began to pile the boxes into the car, cursing again when you saw that not all of your belongings would fit. Like hell you were coming back here again. You shoved them in haphazardly, fitting boxes in where boxes would fit before turning on your heels and marching back to the front yard. You had at least two more trips worth of stuff to grab, it would have been one if someone would help, he wanted to see you out as fast as he could anyway, but that damned lazy skeleton--! False malice that masked a deep hurt shadowed over your gaze, not that you trained it on Sans.

You were shaking now, but not with cold, exhaustion, or anger. Though it didn't show in anything but the slight tremors, the cutting sadness was searing through you like a wicked flame that you so heartily wished to douse. You picked up the latest stack, this one heavier than the first by a great deal, but not enough to cause you to falter in your movements as you guided back to your car. You threw the boxes in once more. It took a few tries, but you finally pushed the car door shut, and it stayed that way when you moved away from it. You pressed the still open driver's side door, fingers fumbling for the button that would unlock the trunk. You still had a few boxes from this last trip that would not fit in the back seats, no matter how hard you tried.

You walked quickly back over, picking the objects left by the side of your car up swiftly and traveled to the back of your car, eyes scanning over it as it went. It was a dusty old van you had snagged from the side of the road for a few hundred dollars, a good deal for a decent car, a few years back. You sneered at the color, an enthralling cobalt that mirrored the magic currently flowing from Sans' eye. You'd wanted to get it repainted, anyway.

You shoved the remaining boxes in the trunk and went back for the last of your belongings. As you padded across the grass, you couldn't help but ask yourself why Sans was still waiting on the front porch, his figure present in your peripherals. It would be easier for the both of you if he would just shut that door, you didn't care if it was closed to you forever. Your heart twinged, alright, maybe you did care.

You forced anger into your heart like air into your lungs, gulping it down in slow steady breaths. It simmered in your stomach, boiling enough to threaten the contents of your dinner, but would go no further than that. The tendrils of what you wanted to be hatred snaked up and around towards your heart, but stopped well before they could reach their destination. You cursed your inability to dislike Sans, too.

You slid the few bags over your shoulders and gathered up the last few boxes, a monumentally lighter load than your last, even lighter than the first, and stood. You made no hesitation to meet eyes with your former lover, willing there to be some flicker of doubt, some hesitation that you pretended to lack. Not even the slightest flicker crossed into his burning eye. With that, you turned away from him, exiting the yard for what would likely be the last time for a long time.

You crossed the distance to your car with ease, your shaking having stopped when you looked into his heated gaze that final time. A chilling breeze brushed against your cheek, stinging your skin harshly. That was fitting, you thought almost merrily. The wind only continued to pick up, swirling around you and tickling your fuzz-covered scalp. You dropped the boxes in and slid the bags beside them, huffing slightly as you reached up, grabbed onto cold metal, and slammed your arms down. You ran cold fingers through what little hair you had, promising yourself a hair cut as soon as you could get one, and began to walk towards the only open door.

Your cracked lips began to leak crimson fluids as your teeth tore at the skin carelessly. The inside of your cheeks had been snagged raw, suffering a similar treatment that your bottom lip was currently facing, and you inhaled deeply. The door shut firmly after you had seated yourself, your seat belt going ignored for now. You would get to it later, the very next stoplight or stop sign, you promised, but for right now, you were getting out of here.

The hood of your car was towards the street, so you didn't need to adjust the rear view mirror or look behind you. You started the ignition, turning the heat on once the car was started, and began to drive. You peeled out of the driveway quick enough to rattle your bones, but not so much so that you appeared desperate in your want to leave. You blinked away a sudden wetness as you swerved onto the streets, the distance between your former home and you increasing with every second. You noticed that Sans still had not backed away from the door, its openness likely inviting the harrowing winds that had previously tugged at your clothes.

The sun dipped further beneath the horizon, wisps of dark blue graying the edges furthest away from its fleeting light. You didn't know where to go now. You hadn't woken up and expected to have all of your stuff packed and placed on your lawn, solely their lawn now, you hadn't been expecting anything like what had happened! Your shoulders slumped as you rounded the corner, the bone brothers' home disappearing from view with a sense of finality. When you came home from work earlier, that was what was waiting for you. Brown boxes and soured moods.

The angry flame that had coursed through your veins, bubbled your stomach, and stopped before reaching your heart died out as you continued driving. You wondered if it would ever return again, likely when you saw Sans next, which at the moment, you hoped would be never. The road jostled your car slightly with every odd bump, and after a few minutes, you arrived to a stoplight. You turned your body quickly, buckling yourself in before dwelling on your current situation.

You wouldn't be able to turn to Papyrus, who had quickly become one of your best friends, aside from maybe Toriel. Sans had surpassed the 'Best Friend' status that so little people had just been able to make it to. He had become the wall you would lean against when you needed it, the clock that would offer as much time as you needed, the source of childish joy and wild laughter, the cause of playfully disappointed groans whenever he would utter those awful jokes, the most comfortable person you had ever been with, the being that presented more light than the sun, of which had drooped beyond the horizon and left an inky blue tone in the sky, for the two and a half years you two had been together. The..

You stopped yourself, wounds already clawing deeper within you. The soft trembles had returned, but they were no longer quiet. You shook violently, now, pitiful sniffles you could not push back any longer pairing alongside those awful shakes. You glared into the road, willing holes to burn through the asphalt. That didn't happen, but the light did turn green, giving you something else to focus on.

You juggled your thoughts, staying focused on the road the whole while, before settling. If you could turn to neither Papyrus, for he was busy and would likely side with his brother anyway regardless of what you could say or do, nor Toriel, who had likely heard of Sans' temper and would favor with the friend she had made long before you ever stepped into her life, you would turn to the next person. You idly wondered if Toriel knew what you did not, the source of Sans' immense rage. You pushed the thought back.

You pulled over near an empty street vendor cart, digging in your right pocket for your phone. Like most of your belongings, it was old and outdated, but again similar to your items, it worked, and it worked well. You dialed the familiar number without a thought, pressing the phone to your ear as the fingers of your left hand tapped on the steering wheel lightly. A few seconds later, and a dull click sounded through your speakers. Your voice, rough with disuse and grief, surprised you with the confidence warped within the sound, "Hey, Mettaton,"

Link to Ch2: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5700913/chapters/13135003#workskin

[kamaria-sweet-writes]

Laiken (A Mer-May prompt) part 2

**Laiken**

True to his word Barnabus woke me before the guests started to arrive. While the nap was restful, I could’ve gone for a few more hours easily. “Come on, Sparrow, you need to get ready.” Ugh, I don’t want to be paraded around right now. “There’s a dress and some shoes in your closet that I bought you to wear for tonight. I’ll see you when you come downstairs.” I acknowledged him with a grunt and I rubbed at my eyes willing the tiredness away.

After a few more minutes of procrastinating I finally got out of bed and padded over to the closet to see what dress waited for me. It was in one of those garment bags but it was easy enough to get out of it. Plaid? That was my first thought after seeing the fabric but it wasn’t some normal plaid. I’d never seen these colors used in plaids back home.

I finished pulling the dress out of the bag and laid it on my bed to get a good look at it. Beautiful. I started seeing colors I hadn’t before. Thin lines of teal and charcoal worked through the whole garment. I pet the fabric before going back to retrieve the shoes.

Just a simple black wedge to match with the deep colors in the dress. The laid back nature of the shoes and dress told me the dinner was going to be lax, that I didn’t have much to worry about in the way of impressing people.

*knock knock*

2 sharp raps pulled me out of my thoughts. “Guests are starting to arrive, Muffin.” She huffed “You almost ready?” I didn’t respond choosing to instead get my body into the shower. It was either this or deal with my mothers 20 minute lecture on timeliness. I wasn’t in the mood for the latter.

10 minutes later I walked out of the shower feeling awake and ready to deal with whatever was going to be thrown at me. It might’ve also been because I spent the whole 10 minutes muttering to myself about how I was worth it and I needed to show the world how amazing I am. Another of Dr. Z’s tools to get me through anything and I’m ridiculously thankful for it now. Back when I learned it though, not so much.

I slid on my panties and latched my bra before turning around to grab the dress. Catching sight of myself in the mirror I cringed a bit before standing tall in remembrance of everything I’ve been through. My body isn’t tight nor unblemished. It’s littered with scars and stretch marks that tell a story all on their own.

Tearing my attention from the mirror I settled back into the task at hand. ‘Let’s get dressed and meet all the people that came to see you, Laik. They’re your family, no need to be afraid.’ I gave myself a bit of a silent pep talk before padding over to the bed where the dress still lay. Again, I found new details about the plaid that made it seem even more unique, more beautiful.

The dress fit like a dream accentuating my shape by highlighting my best assets and downplaying what I deemed my problem areas. Before, I’d never buy something like this for myself out of fear that I wouldn’t do it justice. But, looking at myself in this moment I’d love to have ten dresses just like it.

Still high on the feelings of giddiness I made my way out of the room and down the stairs. Chit chat could be heard as I approached what I was sure would be the kitchen but stopped the moment I walked through the door.

All eyes were on me and my heart was pounding behind my ribs. They’re staring. Why are they staring? Do I have something on my face? Did I put the dress on wrong? Do I look like someone’s stay puffed marshmallow girl?

All of those thoughts melted away when I heard his voice. “Forget what I just said. I accept.” His voice was like soft suede. It slid against my skin and wrapped around me making me want to sigh in contentment.

I searched the room for the source of that voice and was rewarded with the sight of a ridiculously gorgeous man standing next to Barnabus. I studied him starting at his boots up to his mismatched eyes that seemed to be boring into my own. I found myself unable to look away as he stood there all vast and commanding like that.

“Whatcha lookin’ at, Muffin?” I jumped, not ready for her to sneak up on me like that. She chuckled before grasping my hand and guiding me toward a group of women that she favored “I see you’ve noticed Taine.” She whispered as we approached the group of waiting women “He’s a catch and a good man if you’re wanting to know.” I didn’t miss the lilt in her voice as she spoke to me.

We came to a stop in front of the women we’d aimed for. I stood there awkwardly twisting the fabric of my dress in my hands. No one spoke for a moment until my mother introduced me. “This is my Laiken.” Her pride surged through her words. “Laiken, these are your aunts: Dina, Dedra and Darcy. They’ve been waiting on pins and needles for the chance to know you.”

I looked at their faces noticing how much they all looked alike. I could pick out bits and pieces of my face in theirs and that just made my heart soar. I don’t look like my father so drawing the similarities between us usually stopped at our brown eyes and cocoa colored skin. Seeing these women though told me what I could expect as I got older and I must say, the future is looking bright if this is any clue as to what I’d look like.

My phone buzzed in my pocket drawing my attention. Pulling it out I noticed the photo flashing across the screen. A bear. I forgot to call him and now I’m about to hear about how I worried him to death. I let it go to voicemail with a reminder to call him after dinner but no sooner did the vibrations stop did it start again. I guess I have to deal with this now.

“Hi Daddy, sorry I didn’t call you earlier.” The sharp intake of breath on the other end of the line told me all I needed to know. I quickly excused myself and made my way onto the deck to take the call in a more private place. Here we go.

**Taine**

There are for more pressing issues at hand but for some reason Barnabus requested me to be at his daughters homecoming. I finished up my work on the boats before heading home to get dressed for the shindig. All I know about her is that she’s his little sparrow, he’d do anything for her and apparently she could likely be the first Chieftess our clan has ever had.

Big shoes to fill after someone like Barnabus. I don’t envy her. Being the first anything is wrought with hardship and without the others knowing her she will face her own fair share of persecution.

Just a meet and greet right? So not much thought needed to go into this outfit. I went with a nice fitted grey t-shirt and some jeans considering it sounded pretty lax to begin with. Showered, groomed and dressed I made my way over to the cottage letting myself in like I always do.

The environment was a little tense as Danae waited at the base of the stairs staring up them like she was waiting for someone to ascend them. “Everything ok?” She smiled nodding her head at the same time before turning her gaze back up the stairway. I made my way over to Barnabus leaving his mate alone to do whatever she was doing.

“She’s waiting for, Sparrow.” Barnabus spoke “Guests are here and she hasn’t made an appearance yet, makes Danae nervous.” His gaze shifted from me to his mate “Come now, Love. Sparrow will make her way down momentarily. No need to wait there and scare her.” She huffed before leaving her perch and making her way to waiting guests.

It seemed like most of the people in attendance were actual family members leaving me befuddled as to why I was invited at all. “Barnabus, why am I here? This is a family affair.” He huffed out a breath but didn’t answer me “Come on.” He stroked his chin before his soulful eyes found mine. He’s about to ask me to do something. Shit.

“Laiken is a strong, beautiful woman that needs a man to compliment that.” Are you fucking kidding me? “I trust you above anyone else to be that man for her. I want you to court my daughter.”

His smile punctuated the conversation like it was just some small thing. Courting leads to dating and dating leads to mating. Mating is for life. This isn’t a small thing, it’s huge and I don’t want the responsibility. “No” my word came out just the way I wanted to. Strong and steadfast leaving no room for error or miscommunication “I’m not interested. Try Denton or Merrick, they’re good men.” His face fell but I couldn’t let that sway me.

He didn’t bring it up again. Instead we spoke of plans to fortify our borders and put more thought into how to go about monitoring the other selkies that found work here. It wasn’t unlawful for them to do so but it was discouraged outside of the ferries shuttling people back and forth from the mainland.

The room grew quiet and I soon understood why. In the doorway stood the most beautiful woman I’d ever laid eyes on. “My sparrow” Barnabus whispered affectionately.

This was his Sparrow? There’s no way I would pass her on to anyone else. “Forget what I just said, Barnabus. I accept.” If the clap on my back was any indication of his feelings I’d say I just made the Chieftain a very happy Selkie. “We will hammer out the details soon.” With that I went about looking over the woman that would soon be mine.

I watched her eyes traverse my body slowly from bottom to top before her eyes locked with mine. Gone was the breath in my lungs as a smile tore across her features lighting her whole face up. Yeah, that’s all mine. Laying claim right here, right now before any of the other males even get a chance to.

She jumped when Danae whispered in her ear making the cutest squeak at the same time. I stood there waiting for more of her attention but she was whisked away to start mingling with the people that came here to see her. I kept a strict eye on her movements as she flitted person to person.

Turning my back but for a moment I’d lost her. One second she was talking to the Leery sisters and the next it seemed like she disappeared. “She’s outside on the phone.” Barnabus soothed my already frazzled nerves easily “Give her some time before heading that way. You know, I felt the same way when I met her mother. Fate is crazy like that hmmm?” He moved away from me leaving me with my thoughts. Yeah, fate was crazy alright but for now I’m following her headfirst when it comes to Laiken.

[bevvydraws]

Sweet Justice (cont.)

First , Previous

Chapter 3 

Chat Noir’s baton clattered to the floor, the metallic noise cutting through the palpable silence. His eyes glazed over as he looked not at her, but through her. His mind likely racing a mile a minute. Using his distracted state against him, Princess Justice turned to face her knights once more. 

“Tie this kitty up so he can’t get in our way,” she demanded, and looked at where Lila was still stuck in her stocks, “and quickly take her away.” With those orders she left the classroom, trusting that her knights would do as they were told. Outside the classroom she could see some of the other students who had graciously accepted her macarons had either turned into knights, or were rooted in place as punishment. She looked around thoughtfully, trying to determine the next best move when she felt a tug in the back of her mind. A butterfly appeared in front of her face and Hawkmoth spoke. 

“So, you were Ladybug?” he questioned, sounding oddly pleased. Princess Justice felt herself tense, realizing her lapse in judgement when telling Chat Noir such sensitive information. She would have to think quickly. 

“No of course not,” Princess Justice scoffed, “I only lied so he wouldn’t get in my way. Ladybug is bound to come for her lost kitten at any moment.” 

“You should take his ring while you have the chance!” Hawkmoth shouted.

“Oh yes because your grand plans so far have worked out wonderfully, sir,” Princess Justice said with an even tone. Before Hawkmoth could say anything else, she continued, “Don’t worry Hawkmoth, you will get your justice. That much I can promise.” 

With that, the butterfly faded from in front of her eyes. Acting quickly, Princess Justice went to her old locker and wrote down some information in a spare notebook. She carefully tore the page out of her notebook and folded the paper neatly. She passed it off to a nearby knight and instructed them to bring the note to Chat Noir and to only let his eyes read it. With that done, she was off to garner herself a larger army for what she was about to attempt. 

--------- 

From the balcony of Marinette’s home, Tikki watched as Princess Justice strolled out of the school’s front entrance. The tiny being began to panic, easily recognizing her dear holder. “Oh no, Marinette…” she whimpered before zipping down to where the earrings had been left. Tikki knew that she had no choice but to get the earrings to someone who could substitute as Ladybug. The miraculous wouldn’t be safe if she did nothing. Tikki carefully thought of all the people who had weld a miraculous before, before choosing who she thought would be the best replacement. 

Now all Tikki could do was hope she could find him in time. 

---------

Princess Justice strolled throughout Paris, handing macarons out left and right, and even giving boxes to some of her knights to pass around as well. The larger the army she had, the better. Her plan was going to be incredibly dangerous, and she would only have one shot at it. Although she did have a backup plan in place, if she was to somehow lose her powers before being able to complete her mission. 

As she carefully considered her next step in her plan, she almost didn’t notice the person sneaking up behind her. Almost. Quickly turning and leaping backwards, Princess Justice aimed her staff at the culprit. Her eyes widened as she recognized the familiar blue hair and matching eyes. 

“Luka,” she breathed out. Out of pure instinct--and curiosity, if she were being truthful to herself--she looked at the flame nestled in the middle of his chest. She wasn’t shocked at how small it was, but was shocked that the flame was white. Whatever injustice he had committed, it was intentional and likely repetitive. But Princess Justice couldn’t think of a single person that Luka had lashed out against minus Bob Roth and XY, and that was in defense of others. 

“Marinette,” Luka responded, his hands raised defensively and eyes full of hurt and confusion, “What happened…?” 

“I’m not Marinette,” Princess Justice responded, not letting her eyes leave him, “My name is Princess Justice. And what happened was something inevitable.” 

Luka shook his head sadly, “You’re better than this, Marinette.” Luka stepped closer to her, and Princess Justice found herself unable to move. He gently put his hands on her shoulders, “You are so, so much better than this.” 

“That’s hypocritical, Luka,” Princess Justice said scowling slightly, “You got akumatized to get justice for Kitty Section.” Her gaze softened, “You got akumatized to get justice for me.” The last sentence she said softly. 

Luka then pulled her into a hug, and she could feel the white hot flame burning her, but she didn’t pull away. 

“I’d always put you first, Marinette,” Luka whispered, “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He pulled away, and held out a hand, “Give me a macaron, Marinette.”

Suddenly, everything made sense. 

“Your injustice,” Princess Justice said, stepping away from him, her eyes wide. 

“Pardon?” Luka said, obviously confused.

“Your injustice,” she repeated, “Is never caring about yourself. You always, always put your feelings on the backburner,” she swallowed, “Especially when it comes to me.” 

“That’s my choice, Marinette,” Luka frowned, “Because I--” 

“It’s not good for you, Luka!” Princess Justice screamed, “It’s okay to be selfish! It’s okay to not put yourself in second place all the time!” Her eyes shifted briefly from blue to red in rage before returning to normal as she looked at him sadly. “Leave, Luka. I’m not going to give you a macaron. Because you wouldn’t become a knight, and I couldn’t stand seeing you in stocks.” 

“I’m not leaving, Marinette!” 

“I’m not giving you a choice!” Princess Justice yelled. Snapping her fingers, knights seemingly appeared out of nowhere and grabbed Luka from both sides, not letting go no matter how much he thrashed. “Take him back to the Liberty, and make sure he stays.” And with that, she turned and walked away, ignoring Luka’s calls. 

-----------

Tikki searched desperately along the Seine for the Liberty, trying very hard to stay hidden and also keep a tight grip on the earrings. When she finally spotted the colorful ship, she sighed in relief. Quickly flying down to look around the ship, she was confused when she found it completely empty. Was she too late? Would she have to find another temporary Ladybug? 

Before Tikki could panic too much, she heard a commotion on the deck. The sound of a yelling and cursing could be heard and Tikki cautiously flew up to see what was going on. Two knights were dragging Luka on board, all while he was desperately trying to get away. As they dragged him below the deck, Tikki hid. Once he was locked in his room, the two knights stood guard outside of the door. 

Tikki frowned, and flew around to the porthole window only to see it open and Luka already trying to escape out of it. “Luka!” Tikki whisper-shouted, which caused him to look up in surprise. At seeing the tiny red creature, Luka tumbled backwards in shock and landed on the floor of his room with an ungraceful thud. Tikki flew in through the porthole window and hovered over him. “I’m so glad I found you!” 

“Y-you’re a kwami…” Luka said in surprise, “Are you… Ladybug’s kwami? Did something happen to her? Did… did Marinette do something to her?” The fear on his face was evident, but Tikki could also tell he was conflicted in his feelings. 

“Ladybug is in trouble, Luka,” Tikki said softly, “Marinette is--or rather, was--Ladybug. Something happened at school today and… and I wasn’t able to comfort her…” Tikki looked down sadly, knowing that just the fact that she was able to say Marinette’s name to another person was sign enough that the bond between them had been broken for now. 

“Marinette is Ladybug…?” Luka asked breathlessly, “No, wait, that makes sense. It’s so like her. But…what are you doing here? Shouldn’t you be finding someone to help save her?” The panic was back in his tone, “Marinette needs help!” 

“That’s why I’m here, Luka,” Tikki smiled at him, “Please, for now, don the earrings and help save Marinette. We can’t save her completely if we don’t purify the akuma residing somewhere on her.”  

“You want me to be Ladybug?” Luka looked floored. 

“Only until Marinette is safe again. Then we can give the earrings back to her.”

“Why did you come to me?” 

“Because I know Marinette trusts you. And I know you love her, just like Chat Noir does. So I know you’ll both do everything in your power to take care of her and bring her back.” 

There was a lot of information for Luka to process. Marinette being Ladybug, Marinette giving up her earrings, being pushed to the point of being akumatized, Chat Noir also being in love with Marinette, everything was too much. Luka shook his head to clear his mind. Now wasn’t the time for his feelings for Marinette. Now wasn’t the time to worry about any romantic rivals. Now was time to focus on saving Marinette. 

With a shaky breath, Luka stood up and took the earrings from Tikki. 

“Alright Tikki, I’ll do it.” 

Tikki smiled, “I knew I could count on you, Luka! You and Chat Noir will save her for sure!” 

Luka bit his lip, still unsure, but determined to do anything he could to help Marinette. Even if he would have to be against her for now, he knew in the end it would help her. He looked at the earrings in his palm and carefully put them in, taking his normal studs and slipping them in his pocket. Immediately he felt a power and warmth radiate from the earrings. It was almost overwhelming

“What do I do now?” Luka asked. 

“Just say ‘Tikki, spots on!’,” Tikki instructed gently. Luka nodded and took a deep breath.

“Tikki, spots on!”

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

taglist:  @fandom-trapped-03 , @justafanwarrior , @ultimatetornshipper , @lunadensmidnightprowl​ , @starpony999​ , @minth0l-illness , @the-bollywood-miraculous-girl​ , @akioshiwarrior​

[irwintry]

the air before a storm

Warnings: just a bunch of good old fluff, swearing, alcohol

Author’s Note: yes this takes place in the outer banks no u are not allowed to mention the show—they are nothing alike. anyway i’m back :) hi

Summary: Y/N and Luke are neighbors in a beachside town where tourists are annoying and tropical storms aren’t rare. And they just can’t stop flirting. 

Word Count: 5.6k 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Pelican Perch was a dead-end street.

It was well-wooded, wax myrtles and river birch kissing sandy chunks of pavement while homes too small for the average nuclear family were nestled behind thick, invasive vines. Quaint homes designed to keep the rain and the bugs out. Local homes. Each had their own shimmering windsock hung out front that was already tattered from storms, gifted to them by the neighborhood community last spring. Personalized homes. Beach homes that shared every aspect without even trying. Almost every shingle had been defaced by weather damage throughout the years. And the air always smelled of hot gravel and honeysuckle on breezy days. Homes on this road were loved.

You loved yours most of all.

With a front porch stuffed full of plants—ferns, strawberries, tomatoes, the lot—and knick-knacks you had collected throughout the past year, it was easy to love and call home to something that had once been temporary. The baby blue bike perched against a yaupon bush was proudly your preferred mode of transportation. Snuck far up the driveway sat a rusting 2005 Toyota Corolla with sand painted across its rear, and it was not well-loved, though it had been well-lived. The windsock hung off of your porch matched the color of your bike.

The last house on the street never put their windsock up. That house was right beside yours.

He had been there longer than you—you weren’t entirely sure how long, but your arrival prior to last season was greeted with his kind smile. A kind smile, gentle words, and eyes that melted into the ocean, far beyond the whitecaps where the sky touched the sea. All of that beauty, and you never caught his name.

For months on end, you watched him when he wasn’t looking. He left for work during your kitchen stumble for cold brew, nothing but a plain white tee and mesh shorts as he climbed into his jeep, sunkissed and sleepy. Minutes later, you would bike to work and find his Jeep along the way. He worked at the Island Rescue Squad, a small building that held more responsibility than being a simple motel receptionist. He paid his bills by saving lives; you paid yours by telling guests that they couldn’t swim naked in the swimming pool.

You didn’t know him beyond the sights through your kitchen window. But the evenings you crossed paths were treasured.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he’d ask, a nonchalant smile gracing his cheeks before darting his gaze the other way.

After some time, you found enough confidence to reply, “Not bad—you?” as you knocked out the kickstand on your bike.

He was always in the middle of hoisting a backpack over his shoulder. And then he would shrug, smile never fading, and say, “Not bad,” right back. That would be it.

You knew that his blond curls were your favorite thing before you even knew his name. But you also knew, in good faith, that the latter half was going to change.

That was why you should at his door late in the evening in July, a saran-wrapped plateful of coconut macaroons in your hands while your eyes scanned the details of his front porch. A white surfboard beside the front door had experienced its fair share of weather discoloration on the tail. At the end of the deck, withered plants were lined up along a wooden shoe bench. The doormat beneath your feet had nylon paw prints stitched in beside the welcome lettering. When you knocked on the door, a heart-stopping voice called out, “Just a minute!”

You tucked your ankles inward as his face appeared behind the screen. His smile was bold and bright, and from up close, you could hardly breathe.

“Hey, how’s it going?” he asked in his normal fashion, opening up the screen door so he could step outside with you. His gaze fell to the plate of macaroons while he leaned up against the door. “You’re kidding—did you make those for me?”

Six more words than the usual conversation; you were off to a successful start.

“Yes,” you said, fingers brushing his beneath the ceramic plate when you passed it over to him. “I had to figure out a good way to come over here and formally introduce myself. A whole year later. Better late than never, I guess.”

He smiled along to your words and nodded. “These look so good. Thank you.” He held out one of his hands for you to shake.

His name was Luke. He was only a few years out of school. Taller than any man you knew and flirtatious with his grin, and he kept his eyes locked on you as you spoke. He shared information through little words yet maintained a steady conversation. Talking to old friends was harder than this.

It was difficult to stomach—the way his quiet chuckles and wide smiles were decidedly the best things in the world and how your heart was a concrete block in your chest. It occurred to you, after waving goodnight on your way down the porch steps, that his smile never died. But you pinned it all on his kind heart over anything else.

Life between the two of you felt cyclical. Until one morning he caught you on your way to work.

“I’m gonna be up in Manteo,” he began, tossing a duffle into the backseat of his Jeep with a quiet grunt. “Just a few days. Some ridiculously boring conference that could probably be summed up in a Skype or whatever. Better than leading rope rescue trainings again though.”

Your lips pulled down into a playful frown. “You’re leaving me?”

Luke’s responsive laughter was a good start to your morning. “I’m sorry. Promise I’ll be back. They’ve got us all in some four-star inn. Free wifi and breakfast.”

“Oh, look at you. Living like a king.”

“Right? I’m tired of paying for my own Cheerios.”

It was nice to have someone to talk to, you thought, but you knew you were searching for more than a friend in him. Your heart was warm under his company. You didn’t know how, but it felt easy with him.

“Would you be able to do me a favor?” he asked as he leaned against his car. He kept his distance, his driveway to yours while the patch of dry grass between you watched with intrigue.

“Anything but mowing the lawn, yes.”

Luke cracked a grin. “I’m not that mean. No. Could you—uh, could you water a few plants for me out front? Just once or twice. I’d pay you back in macaroons, but I’m a shit baker.”

“No worries,” you said and situated your bike against your thigh. “I’ll water your plants. But that just means you’ll have to make up for the macaroons somehow. I’ll let you think on it.” You started off down the driveway before he could answer.

“Hold me to that!” he called after you. You sent him a smile in response and sped off toward the main road.

Later that evening, you found that Luke had left a note beside each potted plant on the shoe bench. Betty – allow to dry between waterings next to the Begonia, Calum – keep moist for the Caladium, Tom – water twice a day for the newly planted tomato plant, and Babe – water sparingly for Basil. Each note was signed with a smile and a heart.

—

The next time you heard from Luke, he wasn’t alone. Four days plus a hankering for human interaction—aside from tourists that asked for restaurant suggestions every hour—had left you craving a different kind of intimacy. An intimacy that didn’t require physical touch but was only fulfilled through his presence. Just knowing that he was next door comforted you in ways you couldn’t explain. You didn’t know him, but you knew that he was someone you could rely on.

You heard his car door slam before anything else. Through the window of your kitchen sink, you peeked out into the darkening night, searching for his lanky figure only to find a small animal instead. A dog. You forgot that you had been staring when Luke came into view. His wave tore you from your gaze.

You cracked the window open before you could hesitate. The overwhelming buzzes and clicks of cicadas were immediate to greet you.

“Are you gonna introduce me?” you called out to him, grinning wide as you pressed your elbows down onto the window sill. With the edge of the sink digging into your abdomen, the position was less than comfortable, but you didn’t think about it.

Through the waxing darkness, Luke’s smile was bright. “Only if you come give her a head scratch—then she’ll fall right in love with you,” he said.

You were outside within a few seconds. The side screen door slammed behind you as you hurried over, knees meeting the rough grass so the lovely lady could easily bound over to you. She nestled her nose into your palm and let out a snort. Above you, Luke chuckled at the sound.

“Name’s Petunia,” he said, bending down beside you to pet Petunia’s bum. “A friend of mine is moving ‘cross country—couldn’t keep her. I love the damn girl, so I immediately wanted to take her in. How’re the plants doing?”

“She’s the sweetest,” you mumbled. To him, to yourself—it didn’t matter. You were captivated. “And Betty, Calum, Tom, and Babe are great. The names, by the way? Genius. You have a talent. I’ll have to get you to name my plants. So far, I just have Candace and Big Mama.”

“Big Mama?” Luke’s short giggles filled the air. “I think you’ve got the talent, too.”

Petunia leaned into your scratches before turning back to Luke. So, you stood, brushing sandy dirt from your knees, and Luke soon followed.

“If you ever need someone to take care of her,” you said, “I’m always around. And I won’t make you bake anything. I’m a big dog person, so that’s already enough. I mean, I’m not opposed to a few cupcakes every now and then.”

A lopsided smile grew on Luke’s cheeks. “Red velvet?”

“It’s like you already know me,” you gasped out. “How was Manteo? That’s where you were, right?”

“Well, nothing beats free Cheerios in the mornings, so it wasn’t too bad,” he told you as he wrapped Petunia’s leash around his wrist. She nudged herself between his legs. “Manteo actually has a real downtown, so that was kinda nice.”

“You better not be thinking about leaving me.”

“Leave you? Never.”

Your heart fluttered in your chest.

“Besides, tourists down here are the reason any of us even have a job.” He scratched the corner of his eye as he spoke. “I’d rather not be saving drunk middle-aged men from rip currents, but I’d never leave Hatteras.”

The corners of your lips twitched upward. “Good, cos’ if you leave,” you said, pointing to your other neighbor’s house, “then I’m stuck with Judy and Ted. You can’t do that to me.”

“Oh, God, no.” His eyes widened as he shook his head. “I’d never do that to you. Or I’d just make you come with me.”

Now, your heart was on fire. You raised a brow in reaction to his statement, and his eyes widened again. The words had slipped out—that was easy to understand, but he couldn’t take them back. You wouldn’t want him to.

“Um, yeah—” Luke placed a hand on the back of his neck and backed away toward his home, Petunia following in tow. “Thanks for watering my plants. Expect cupcakes soon.”

“Don’t you dare.”

His grin reached his eyes. “Goodnight,” he said.

You were certain that you were a fool.

—

NC-12 was worse on Saturdays. The highway was congested with incoming and outgoing travelers, some careless and some too careful. On the way to work, you were among its passengers. Your baby blue bike was swallowed up whole by the minivans and SUVs that occupied the road. Somehow, you made it out alive every time. All it took was a spontaneous sharp turn from a truck to send you rolling onto the pavement.

It was a miracle you ended up with a dozen scrapes and a sprained wrist. The medical bill wasn’t worth missing a few days off of your paycheck, no matter how horrible the weekends could be. A few members of the rescue squad had shown up at the scene of the minor accident—you were glad that Luke hadn’t been with them. But you also wished that he had.

When you powered through the pain as you pedaled home, you weren’t sure if you wanted to see him. You weren’t sure if you wanted to see his reaction—mild injuries and all, and you weren’t sure if you wanted him to buy out all of the cupcakes on the island to make you feel better. Nevertheless, you didn’t have a choice. He was already getting out of his car once you pulled up.

He waved and smiled, and then his eyes grew wide. The scrape on your left cheek told all.

“Shit, love, you okay?” he said, walking towards you slowly. He kept his movements careful and calculated—he had seen the tears fill your eyes before you realized they were there.

“I’m dandy,” you replied breathily, waving your hand to shake off the emotions. The faux smile you put on only faltered, and the skin beneath your eyes stung.

Luke looked horrified. You could see the twitch in his hands, the way he almost reached out for you as he approached, but he held back. And you could see it in his eyes—all he wanted to do was make you feel better.

“You don’t happen to have any cupcakes, do you?” you asked with a sniff. Your smile wavered, and a small tear slipped down your cheek.

When he chose not to hold back—when he chose to pull you in close, then you decided not to hold back either. With his arms circled around your waist, you didn’t care about soaking through his t-shirt with your tears. You didn’t care that your breathing had picked up to near hyperventilation. You felt safe and warm, so you couldn’t care.

The hug lasted until your quiet sobs calmed. Luke’s chin pulled away from the top of your head as you wiped your cheeks with the back of your wrists.

“What happened?” he said, voice soft.

“Dumb vacationers—” Sniff. “—can’t use a fuckin’ turn signal.”

Luke let out a quiet sigh.

“I’m fine, I just… hurt.”

He glanced at his home over his shoulder and then back at you. “Would you wanna come over? I don’t have any cupcakes, but I have frozen pizza. And Petunia misses you.”

You could hear the unspoken words in his voice. I miss you.

This was what happened when you finally learned someone’s name.

You didn’t know how to explain it, but his living room looked like him. Light blue, wooden walls with collected posters unevenly nailed onto the panels. An old couch was the centerpiece, tan and woven with Petunia snuggled onto it with a blanket beneath her. Bookshelves full of CDs and vinyl records stood on either side of the room, but they had been untouched for some time. The home smelled like him, as strange as it sounded. Warm, woodsy, and comfortable.

From the couch, you sat up straight once the oven door shut. You counted each smell beep as the timer was set. Luke walked into the living room a moment later.

“You sure you don’t want some Advil or something?” he asked. “Or—I dunno—a beer? Maybe? I don’t have a lot, but—”

“A beer actually sounds good,” you said to him, folding your hands over your lap. “It’s been a bit of a shit day.”

He continued talking to you as he headed back into the kitchen. The home was small enough for any voice to carry, and you were glad he could maintain a conversation. That alone told you how much he cared. Despite how long you had lived on the island—a year and four months—and despite how long it took you to know him, it mattered greatly to you that he cared. You cared about him, too. It would be hard to see such a friendly face every day and think otherwise.

“Where’d they take you to get checked out?” he called to you from the next room over.

“Urgent care in Nags Head.”

“You’re kidding.” The sound of bottles clinking on the counter followed.

“Wish I was.”

Pop tops landed into a quiet clatter as he said, “how long were you there?” He joined you in the living room a few seconds later and handed you a bottle of Corona.

“Six hours.”

“Six hours?”

You nodded, sharing your best laugh before taking a sip of the fizzing liquid. “You better believe it. All for some cuts and a sprained-frickin’-wrist. And I’ll bet you my bill is gonna be chewing me up for the next year.”

Luke furrowed his brows and kept his gaze low. He appeared to be thinking about something else. “Did they call my squad?”

“A few guys showed up, yeah.”

He bit his bottom lip. “Dunno why they didn’t call me. I would’ve just took ya home.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. He didn’t know that everything he said made your heart race pick up. If your day hadn’t been so long, then your nerves would’ve eaten you alive by now. You were lucky, for the katydid calls outside masked any hint of tension between you.

“Thanks for the drink,” you said, words heavy in your throat. Thinking about your nerves only made them worse. And being around him only made you want him more.

He had called you love earlier; it had to mean something.

Luke’s smile was small, but it said enough. “Anytime.”

Although the pizza was cold in the middle and the taste of your drink had gotten old, what mattered to you was the company. Not the sprained wrist that ached with each movement. Not the tight bandages that tugged at your skin because you shifted a certain way. Nothing about the day mattered because it brought you to this.

His laughter was hypnotic—intoxicating almost—and it took away your breath every time. Making him laugh was addicting. Getting to see those few moments when his eyes light up with joy put shame to the ocean only a mile or two away. You wondered how on earth it had taken so long to know him.

And still, you didn’t know him. Just a name, a face, and a dog named Petunia.

“So, the rescue squad, huh?” you teased at one point as you situated yourself closer to Petunia. You learned that her nickname was Piggy and that, while she was cute, she also had the stinkiest farts—according to Luke. Nevertheless, you pressed your face close to hers and smacked a kiss to her forehead. She rolled over to give you access to her tummy. “What’s it like?”

Luke’s soft smile was etched into his skin. “Fuckin’ stressful,” he answered. “But great. It’s like a family.”

“I can imagine it’s not the prettiest job.”

“No.” He shook his head, and his smile fell. As he spoke, he twirled his bottle on the edge of the coffee table. “It’s not. A lot of tourists just don’t pay attention to the ocean, y’know? We put a million signs out there, and they just think that it will never happen to them. Suddenly you get waves going different directions, and you’re floating out with the current. You never know what’s gonna happen.”

You furrowed your eyebrows as you listened. He took his job seriously; some people didn’t.

“It’s just—uh, s’just terrible to see it,” he continued, keeping his head down low. “When you save someone from the surf, but they’re not breathing… and then their families are there—their fuckin’ families are screaming and crying. They just wanted a fun day on the beach. And you gotta make sure that no one dies. I’m just lucky to not have seen it much.”

“It’s horrifying.”

He hummed. “Yeah. And I don’t like it when people call us heroes. Cos’ we’re not. I’m not. We’re doing our job. We wanna keep people safe. We wanna make sure no one has to go through that. B-but when it comes down to you, and you have someone’s life in your hands—” Tears pricked at his eyes, and he swallowed thickly before continuing. “—how the hell are you not gonna try to save them? People over-glorify hero moments. We’re all just trying to take care of each other so we’re not mentally scarred along the way.”

“I’ve seen it.”

“You have?”

“I used to vacation here as a teen with my family,” you said, “before I officially decided that tourists are the fucking worst. I just wanted to live here and be on my own. And you’re right—about the screaming and crying. The families stand there to break your heart. I bit my tongue until it bled when I saw that jet ski go out on the water. It doesn’t happen every day, so I just never assumed it would happen around me. Didn’t think forty minutes would pass with nonstop chest compressions. Didn’t think anyone would give up either. Maybe ‘hero’ isn’t the word, just ‘good people’.”

Luke’s eyes were glassy, but he smiled through it. His fingers twitched in your direction on the neck of his bottle. “So—” He cleared his throat. “—what do you do?”

“Oh, it’s my turn now?” you said, biting back a smile. “Just you wait until you hear about all of the trauma I get from being a motel receptionist. I’ll have you beat.”

Once again, his laughter filled the room. All you felt was warmth.

The house rocked after then, lights flickering with the gust, but the wind quickly died. You and Luke shared uncertain glances.

“I’m guessing it doesn’t usually do that.”

Luke shook his head. “Not usually.”

An empty bottle of Corona sat between your palms, moisture growing on the surface from how he made you feel. You asked yourself it was normal to feel this way, if it was something more than the sudden admiration of a mysterious neighbor. You liked him, but how much?

You wanted to spend every moment with him to figure it out. But the last thing you wanted was to overstay your welcome.

“Thanks for this, by the way,” you said, ducking your chin. “For the pizza and stuff. Maybe you’re not a bad neighbor after all.”

Luke smirked. “You’re not so bad yourself.”

Your knees creaked as you stood, bones still aching from the impact of the pavement. You wondered how many bruises would appear on your body by morning. Luke stood along with you, towering high but keeping his presence small. He had to know how much he affected you.

“Love you, Piggy,” you mumbled to Petunia with a quick scratch behind her ear.

She huffed in response.

Luke laughed. “She said I love you, too.”

“I’m gonna have to learn how to bake doggie treats for her.”

“But then she’s gonna love you more than she loves me.”

You smiled over your shoulder on your way toward the front door. His eyes had already been burning the back of your head. “That’s the goal,” you told him with one hand on the doorknob. “See you tomorrow?”

He bit the inside of his cheek and nodded. You swore you could see a hint of pink tint his cheeks. “See you tomorrow.”

—

A tropical storm was set to hit two days later. It became a hurricane overnight. Category 1. Category 2. It finally settled on 3, its path set for the Outer Banks before it was meant to swing up the East Coast. A mandatory evacuation was set in place by the next morning.

The air was thick, trees restless and wind loud as it picked up. The sky was a permanent dark gray, and the clouds looked like something one would see in a disaster movie. It wasn’t your first time dealing with tropical storms and hurricanes, but they never failed to make your heart race. The unpredictability—the fate of your home, your belongings, and so on—always scared you.

You loaded as much as you could into your Corolla. The wind didn’t care about your disheveled hair or how high it blew your shorts. It didn’t care that it was tossing sticks off of trees, down onto the roof of your home. You said a quick goodbye to the shingles while you were at it; a few were bound to end up in Pamlico Sound by the end of the week.

As you shut the car door, another door opened behind you. Luke rushed out of his home with Petunia toddling behind.

“You okay?” he called to you. He had two bags over his shoulders, another in his hands before he tossed them into the back of his Jeep. “Know where you’re headin’?”

“Think so,” you said over the wind. “Can’t wait to pee my pants in traffic. Any of the guard staying?”

Luke nodded as his curls danced around his chin. “They’re gonna be spotted up and down the coast. You stay safe out there, all right?”

“Yeah, you too.”

It wasn’t the preferred way of saying goodbye, but the hot, stale air trapped itself in your lungs. You were ready to greet the clicking air conditioner of your broken car like an old friend, and then one turn of the ignition turned into two, three, four, and many more. The headlights flickered off and on, yet the light never stayed long. You hit the steering wheel with the base of your palms in frustration.

A sudden knock at your passenger side window took all of the frustration away.

Luke opened up the door and said, “come with me.”

That was how you ended up beside him, stuck in two-hour traffic while you thought about the way his lips molded around words. Soft rock played quietly on the radio as you sat without making a sound. But it was comfortable silence. Thankful silence. The air before the storm disguised the thick tension.

Petunia wandered around the back seat, on occasion whining before flopping back down onto her blanket. Every so often, you would lean back and scratch her head, and Luke would smile at you. Unspoken words were better than no words at all.

“Tell me about yourself,” you said after a while. With the Bodie Lighthouse to your left, the ocean to your right, the wasn’t much else to keep you occupied. “Not like, childhood trauma stuff, but basic stuff. Favorite color, favorite food—that stuff.”

Luke had one hand on the wheel, the other pressed against his chin while he leaned on the car door. He faced the road yet had his eyes trained on you. “Well, what if I really wanna open up about my childhood traumas?” he asked playfully.

“Hey, I’m all ears. We’re gonna be stuck in traffic until the mainland.”

He chuckled and rubbed beneath his lips. You didn’t know that such a small action could make your cheeks flush. “Favorite color? Hm. Blue, I guess. Favorite food has gotta be those damn macaroons you made me. They were absolutely delicious, babe.”

Your smile lit up the car.

“If you wanna know everything about me, all you gotta do is check out my mum’s Facebook,” he said. “Liz Hemmings. She posts every photo I send her and talks about my love life when she’s bored.”

“Love life, huh?”

He huffs quietly. “Her profile has been a little dry lately then, I guess.” When his eyes found yours, a small smile grew on his lips. “She’d love you. I’ll have t’let you know when she comes to visit next.”

“Oh man,” you said. “I’m already meeting my neighbor’s mom.”

Luke chuckled. “Uh oh. I didn’t push it too far, did I?”

“Didn’t know we were there yet, s’all. But I’d be happy to meet her.”

He set his hand down on the gear shift. Inches away from yours. “She’d just wonder what the hell you’re doin’ around me. Tell you that you’re too good for me. Stuff like that. I mean, it’s true.”

“Just tell her that I can’t afford to move, so I’m stuck with you.”

“Aw, you don’t mean that.”

“Unfortunately, no. I don’t mean that.”

“Good,” he mumbled, glancing out the window. “Cos’ I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

—

The hurricane made landfall at two in the morning. The hotel walls of the Quality Inn shook and rain pattered hard against the window. The alarm clock beside the bed turned black. From across the room, you could barely hear Luke stir in his own bed. And despite the storm, your heart still tugged at the thought of him there with you.

The wind was the worst thing of all. You thought about your home, the plants you dragged inside, and the windsock you forgot to take down. Maybe Luke would let you borrow his. But all that mattered, in the moment, was the voice calling your name through the pitch-black night. Somehow, it carried over the storm, over the howling wind and the rain coming down in sheets. It pulled your heart right out of your chest.

Your eyes were heavy with sleep as you said, “Luke?

You could hear him turn over in bed, but through the dark, you could only make out the edges of his figure. You hoped he had turned to face you.

“Hey. You okay?” His voice was soft, and you felt the storm slowly slip away.

“Can’t sleep” you answered. “Not a big fan of storms.”

He was barely awake, quiet words of “wanna come over here?” floating in the air-conditioned air. Your own words were stuck in your throat. So you didn’t answer. You rose from your bed instead, feet padding to the opposite side of his bed before crawling under the sheets beside him. His warmth radiated off of him.

Luke’s hand was right beside your hand. You swore you could hear his breaths over the wind. If you were able to see his features so close to yours, you would cease to exist. Your heart had found a comfortable home in your throat.

Fingers wove in between yours, gentle and warm like they were barely there, but they were all you could feel. Rough in the right places. Luke’s hand rested on yours, his pulse beating low and steady.

You knew that words would steal the moment away.

As his fingers traced your skin, the heat in your chest grew. It was normal. It was beautiful. And it was yours. So you held his hand right back.

When his forehead met yours, you knew you were done for. The storm completely faded from your mind. Noses touched and breaths fell into sync, but your heartbeat was loud in your ears. All you could think about was the feeling of his lips brushing yours. You couldn’t remember when your eyes closed. The last thing you felt was Petunia nudging your foot at the end of the bed, and then you fell asleep in Luke’s arms.

The kiss was nothing but a dream.

You were allowed back on the island three days later. Unsaid things invaded your mind on the ride down the coast, but you couldn’t bring it upon yourself to say a word. Luke was busy humming along to every song that came on the radio. That was all you needed to hear.

Pelican Perch road was covered with leaves and natural debris, but the homes were well intact. As the car neared the end of the street, you caught a glimpse of your windsock swaying in the breeze. It was a miracle it hadn’t blown away.

Luke helped you with your bags in silence, a small exchange of smiles and brushing hands to fill in the empty space instead. This wasn’t how you wanted it to be. Yet, you never said anything.

Once the night crept in, you could no longer distract yourself with streaming movies through overused cellular data. The power was still out on the island. Everything in your fridge had gone bad, and your phone was near death by ten o’clock. And the winds, despite the long-gone storm, carried on.

You slipped on a pair of flip-flops—never mind the wet, sandy dirt caked around the edges—and walked over to Luke’s. The bugs were especially loud that night. There were no lights to guide you, no way of knowing where you were stepping, and then something hit you. Someone.

“Jesus,” he muttered, gripping your elbow to balance you.

“Luke?”

“It’s me.”

You set your hand on his arm just to feel him. His hold on you never left. “What’re you doing out here?”

“Well—” His hand slipped down to your wrist as he chuckled. Beautiful. “Comin’ to find you, I guess. You okay?”

“I’ve got a hankering for ice cream, but it’s all melted,” you said. “But I don’t suppose your freezer is working anyway. I just didn’t wanna be alone.”

“Me either, darling.”

“Darling. That’s nice.”

“Yeah?”

“I like it.”

He stepped closer to you, slow hands finding yours.

“Coming to find me, huh?” you asked.

Luke hummed and set his forehead on yours. Now, you didn’t know what to say. You figured it was best to not say anything at all. You leaned into the kiss and allowed his lips to mold against yours. Every moment you were apart was replaced with another kiss, excelling in desperation and satisfying any need through its touch. It was heavenly and full of heat and desire.

He cupped your cheek, pressing himself closer to you as he deepened the kiss one last time. You were breathless and cold without him near.

“I still owe you cupcakes, don’t I?” he asked quietly. You could see his smile through the night.

“At least two dozen by now.”

His chuckle filled your heart with warmth. “Anything for you, love. Would you like to come inside?”

You tightened your grip in his hand. “Gladly.”

—

hey! thanks for reading! since i haven’t been in the game for a while, i’m gonna tag a few ppl, if that’s ok! @goth5sos @irwinkitten @sublimehood​ @softforcal​ @cxddlyash​ @wildflowergrae​ hi y’all <3 

[zevlors-tail]

Hewwo!💕 jk jk. May I request a scnario (or headcanon what is easier for you) of shoto x izuku's older sister!reader. (Since tgis is an xreader blog maybe she is adopted? Ur choice) Maybe she meet him after the sports festival, and the only person that knew about her besides izuku was bakugo, and she is just so sweet and full of the fluffs that make his heart go boom. Sorry if I'm too specific 😅 love you💕

Um, hi! First of all, I am SO very sorry for the amount of time it took me to write this. Like seriously, I try to get things done in order, but for some reason requests have been a bitch to write. Second, I also love you! <3 And third, I love this idea! I hope you don’t mind, but I wrote it so that Izuku’s big sis was biologically related. Also, it’s mostly from Shouto’s point of view. I hope this is okay!

N/N = Nickname

It’s yours! Your quirk, not his!

Midoriya’s words repeated themselves over and over again in Shouto’s head as he trekked down the hall, trying to find the other boy before he left the stadium for the night. Crowds were already filtering into the upper halls to exit after the winners had been officially announced, and he didn’t feel like dealing with the hassle of being asked questions and giving statements about his second place win. Honestly, he could care less about that right now; he had a lot to think about, and most of it revolved around his scum bag father and his new...acquaintance? Rival? Friend? What was Midoriya to him, anyway? They’d almost been complete strangers before the sports festival, but now he felt a sort of connection to the other boy he couldn’t quite put his finger on. It was all so...confusing.

“Excuse me-!” Someone bumped into his left shoulder as they whirled past him, clearly in a hurry to get to their destination. “I’m sorry, oh-! Um...” A girl that Shouto didn’t recognize slowed only a little as she turned to apologize, a panicked expression on her face as she walked backwards without watching where she was going. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed one last time before turning around and bolting off, almost knocking over a startled Tokoyami in the process. 

Shouto stared after her dumbfounded, not sure what to make of the situation. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts again after the distraction, but he collected himself and turned to Tokoyami as the other male strode past him.

“Do you know where Midoriya ran off to? I need to speak with him.” 

“Midoriya, hm?” Fumikage paused as he thought about it for a moment. “I believe he was headed in the same direction as that girl, actually.” 

Without so much as a thank you, Shouto started down the hallway again, faster this time now that he knew where he was going. It didn’t take him long at all to catch up to the girl he saw earlier, and he could hear her stumbling her way to her own destination just around the corner, muttering apologies and greetings as she tried to stay out of the way of others. But just as he turned, she seemingly vanished, and he frantically looked around before spotting a rapidly closing door a few feet away. 

There. 

As he inched closer, he heard voices coming from inside; one of which belonged to Midoriya, he was sure, and the other... He tore open the door at the last minute before it could slam shut, barging in on the middle of a conversation between Midoriya and the mystery girl.

“-reckless, baka! Honestly, Izu...” 

“I’m fine, N/N! Recovery Girl fixed me already, and they said I did really well in sur...gery, so-” Midoriya’s voice wavered on the last half of his sentence; clearly he was afraid of the reaction he would get by telling this girl about his injuries. “Anyways, I can hold my own! You don’t always have to worry about me, you know. I can take care of myself now...”

“Surgery!? Oh, Izuku... I know you can, but as your sister, it’s kind of my job to worry about you, whether it makes you embarrassed or not!”

Sister...?

Said sister smacked the top of her brother’s head lightly, earning a light blush and a pitiful “Ow, Y/N!” from her younger sibling. “Careful! My head already has enough bumps and bruises from the festival...”

“Eh, what’s one more from a good scolding? You’ll live, kiddo.” Todoroki would hardly call that a scolding. Even with her playful words, she gently smoothed a hand over his hair, ruffling it in a tender way while gazing at him with concern. “I am proud of you. You’ve come a long way, otoutosan. Just please try to take better care of yourself. I think you nearly killed mom.”

Todoroki took a moment to really look at the two of them. Since when did Midoriya have a sister? It wasn’t like the two of them were close, so he wouldn’t have known anyway, but it came as sort of a shock that not only did Midoriya have a sibling, but they were older than him as well. His prior objective momentarily forgotten, he watched as they interacted with each other, noting how similar their features seemed yet so different at the same time. The two of you shared the same fluffy hair (though Todoroki thought the colors differed), the same nose shape, and of course what he considered to be the trademark of the Midoriya clan: those kind, round, determined eyes that he just couldn’t help but stare into-

“T-Todoroki-kun?” Midoriya broke him out of his thoughts, the greenette staring at him with a puzzled expression from across the room. “What are you doing here? Aren’t you heading home?”

Shouto was no longer sure that he wanted to talk to the other boy. He felt like he had intruded on a private conversation, like he wasn’t wanted here. And if he was being honest, it wasn’t fair of him to dump all of his problems on Midoriya. And now that he was really putting effort and thought into it, he wasn’t sure he was ready to even talk about his struggles at all. Besides...he knew deep down he needed to confront the issue at hand directly, and not just through venting to someone else. But before he could think of an excuse to leave, Midoriya’s sister cut in, clearly reading the tension between the two boys and wanting to ease some of it.

“Hey, I know you. You’re that Todoroki kid, right? I was watching your match with Izuku from the stands; you were amazing out there! You both were. You sure gave Izu a run for his money, huh? That’s saying something, considering my little brother is practically a stubborn bull when he sets his mind to anything. He doesn’t give up until he’s won, so I would say you’ve got quite the talent and willpower!” you said cheerily with a grin. “If you heard anyone screaming during your match, it was probably me. I like to show my support for my fam!” As if to emphasize your point, you slung an arm around your little brother’s shoulders.

Todoroki briefly recalled hearing someone shout Izuku’s name in the distance during their match, but he had been so focused on beating his opponent and being angry at his father that he hadn’t really noticed it at the time. “Mm. So that was you,” he stated plainly.

“Yep! Sure was! Anyways...” You suddenly made direct eye contact with Todoroki, and he swore you were looking right through him as you spoke, “It was nice to meet one of Izu’s friends, finally. I was starting to worry that maybe you guys didn’t exist.” You laughed as Izuku playfully pushed you away in fake annoyance at the halfhearted insult. “Oh, I’m Y/N, by the way! I’m a third year at UA, so you’ll probably see me around this year. I’d love to get to know you more! I think your quirk is super cool, I’ve never seen anything like it!” you gushed.

A friend...so that’s what I am.

Shouto didn’t miss the light pink color dusting your cheeks. Just a moment ago, when the two of you had locked gazes...he had felt something electric. Did you feel it too? His heart beat a little faster at your proposition, his imagination running wild with silly little scenarios; sitting with you at lunch, training with you to improve his fighting style, asking you out on a date, buying you flowers. He was no longer thinking about his struggles or what he was going to face tomorrow; those things didn’t matter anymore. For now, when you met his eyes, it felt like it was only the two of you and Midoriya and nothing and no one else. Even if he had just met you, he was already head over heals for your bubbly spirits, the way you loved your sibling, and the laughs and smiles you seemed to give away so easily. He wasn’t sure how to describe the feeling he got when he looked at you. You had this air about you; you made the people you were around feel cared for, important, and happy. You were just like your brother in that sense, he supposed.

“Thanks,” he breathed, though he wasn’t sure if you could even hear his response. Regardless, you turned back to Izuku and continued on.

“Hey, Izu, we should get going. I’m sure mom is anxious to have you home.”

“Mhm.” Izuku nodded in agreement and went to collect a his things.

“Well, see you around!” You bid Todoroki goodbye and walked past him confidently, a warm smile on your face as you waved.

“Y-Yeah...” Shouto was at a loss for words as he watched you go. 

“I’ll be outside, Izu,” you called over your shoulder, and then you were gone, only rays of sunshine left in your wake. 

“Todoroki.”

“Hm?”

“You’re staring...” Midoriya awkwardly told him.

Shouto didn’t seem phased by his words at all, instead choosing to turn to the green haired male beside him now. 

“We’re friends...right?” he asked, an unfamiliar nervousness saturating his voice.

“If you want to be, then sure. I’d like that.” Midoriya gave him an inviting smile, finally following you out the door and leaving Todoroki to his thoughts.

Yeah, he had a lot to deal with now, but at least he wasn’t alone anymore. He could do this. He would do this. For you, and Izuku, and for himself. He was going to confront life head on and deal with whatever came his way no matter what. 

After all...it was his life. His life, and no one else’s.

I hope this was okay! I realize not much happened between Todoroki and the reader, sorry...this is just where my mind took me. ;w; But since not much happened, I’m considering keeping this on the backburner of my mind for a possible part 2 drabble thing? We shall see.

[snowdice]

Illusions of Grandeur… Or Perhaps Just Illusions (Part 2) [A part of the Illusory Records Series]

Fandom: Sanders Sides

Relationships: Remus & Janus

Characters: Remus, Janus

Summary: Remus is training to be an undercover super-agent, but training is boring. So, being Remus, he… finds some “fun” (read trouble) with the city’s resident vigilante Deceit.

Janus is confused as to why this toddler dressed as a traffic cone won’t leave him alone.

This story is set in the Labeled Universe and takes place about 4 years after Sometimes Labels Fail, but runs pretty adjacent to Virgil, Logan, and Patton’s story.

Notes: Superhero AU, mind manipulation

AO3 Part 1

Stupid superheroes, Deceit thought to himself as he strode down an alley towards his secret base. Since when had superheroes gotten effective. Back in his day, superheroes were blundering idiots who were only good for punching things and creating property damage. When had all of these young brats decided to come out here and be good at things like subtlety and undercover investigation? When had they started caring about actual fundamental problems in the system instead of just showing up when some supervillain tried to make a death ray? That was Deceit’s job. They were stepping on the toes of vigilantes everywhere. Just because one of them lived cloaked in shadows and mystery did not give their little preschooler team-up the right to perform covert ops.

Janus had been doing surveillance on the Riddlon family for months now trying to figure out just what they were doing, and those two heroes had the audacity to show up at the exact right moment, clearly already well-aware that it would be the exact right moment, and tore down their entire smuggling operation a moment before Janus had planned to. How dare they?

He blamed the bloody bird.

Setting a good example and being a mentor to the younger generation. Who did he think he was? Deceit grumbled to himself and started putting his gloves on as he walked. He wouldn’t need to use his powers any time soon and, while he didn’t strictly need them as he was going back to base, it felt weird to be without them.

He paused at the end of the alleyway to use his powers to scan for any missed onlookers before opening the secret entrance to his base. He paused, eyes narrowed and turned his head to look behind him when he felt a presence.

“Halt villain!” a grandeurs voice said when he saw him looking. He put on a show at looking heroic, but it was a hard sell considering his costume.

Deceit wearily turned around. “You’ve got to me kidding me,” he almost groaned. Speaking of young superhero brats. It was Traffic Cone. Ever since the man, no child, had first seen him that day with Brigs, he’d been trying to track Deceit down. One would think that after seeing what Deceit had done to Mr. Penguins that the boy would get the message not to mess with the vigilante who’d been working in the city for probably decades before he was even born. Yet, the kid must have a chip on his shoulder or something, because he’d been persistent in following him around ever since. Deceit had managed to avoid him up until now, but he’d been tired and apparently had a lapse in vigilance.

“Fight me!” Traffic Cone insisted, shucking off his hero stance and tone to replace it with a slightly maniacal grin. Stupid idiot hero with delusions of grandeur. Did he really think he’d even get close to winning against Deceit?

“Look, kid,” Deceit ground out. “I don’t feel like kicking your ass today.”

“Well I do! And I finally caught up with you, so you’re not getting away from me without a fight!”

Deceit arched an eyebrow. “You do?” he clarified with a smirk. “You do feel like you want me to kick your ass today?”

Instead of getting all stuttery or angry and arguing that, no he’d meant he felt like kicking Deceit’s ass, he just stuck out his tongue and blew a raspberry.

Deceit gave him an irritated look, feeling his already steaming agitation boil over. “Fine,” he snapped.

“Really?!” he looked almost excited, like a puppy wagging its tail. “So, ho- where did you go?”

Deceit rolled his eyes and took a step towards him, feet light even if they didn’t have to be since the illusion that Deceit was no longer in the alley that he’d just placed in the kid’s mind would supersede his natural senses. Traffic Cone’s eyes bopped around the space in confusion.

“Oh, I see,” Traffic Cone said after a brief moment of confusion, causing Deceit to pause a few feet away from him. “This is part of it. You’re still here, you just are making me think you’re not.”

Deceit hummed. Astute. Most people were panicking by now, but Traffic Cone was calm and accurately able to piece together what had happened.

“Alright then,” the man said cheerfully. He put his hands up in a typical boxing stance. “Let’s go!”

Deceit just shook his head, unwillingly amused with him and side stepped him. He positioned himself so the kid wouldn’t be able to lash out and hit him with his super-strength in the split second between when he’d feel Deceit’s touch and when the illusion would take hold. Then, Janus stripped off one of his gloves. He didn’t need to touch someone to activate his powers anymore. He was long past that. Yet, physical contact still gave Deceit more precise control over what he did to someone, and he didn’t want to accidently shove the dumb toddler into a nightmare if he resisted too hard.

Gentle, he reminded himself as he reached out. He’s an annoyance not an enemy. His fingers descended on his forearm, and the boy went still.

“Oh,” he said, blinking fast as though trying to remove something from his eye. Deceit made the alleyway around them fold and spiral away from his perceptions. “T-that’s weird.” There was a spike of fear, but it was more instinctual than anything real and was easy to bat away. It was surprising, actually, the lack of real fear. Most of the newbie cops and baby supers that came after him were doing so because they considered him a threat. So, most panicked when they felt themselves slipping under his power. Yet, Traffic Cone was steady under it. Deceit didn’t even sense any embarrassment about being taken out so fast. “It’s like a tilt-a-whirl,” he breathed.

Deceit arched an eyebrow. They were usually too trapped in their own minds at this point in the process to speak. That was strange, but what was even stranger was how the boy’s mind held steady in the transitional phase of fuzzy white and black that rippled like TV static across all of his senses. Usually one’s mind would start filling in the gaps automatically, grappling for some sort of calm in the storm, and Deceit would just push it away from anything dangerous. Yet, Traffic Cone seemed to be oddly be content to rest in the nothing. Deceit didn’t know what to make of it.

Despite his curiosity, Deceit still shoved at him gently until he teetered off the edge into what Deceit thought was the memory of three different locations. Most of the space Deceit saw was a childhood bedroom with cheery aquatic animals on the walls and a colorful rug, but what tipped him off to the fact that it wasn’t just one location was the out of place full sized bed with the dark green comforter and the matching nightstand with a murder mystery novel on it’s top. It was an adult bedroom, likely his current one, familiar and comfortable but not sentimental. The last location bled through only in the structure of the walls and a fireplace. It seemed to be based off a cabin in the woods if the view of the sun setting over a lake outside the large window on one wall was anything to go by. It was probably a place he’d visited a few times and had a good time at.

Even though it was a mixture of locations, the memory seemed strong. Nothing was fuzzy around the edges and the inclusions from each place were logical in its construction. It was tidy and calm. The fireplace gave off waves of warmth and it smelled vaguely of cedar. He imagined the blankets on the bed were soft to the touch and all was quiet except for the crackle of the fire. Deceit was impressed. He’d expected a mess of a mind from how he’d seen the boy act, but this was decidedly not.

After a pause, Deceit drew away, leaving him inside that illusion. “Let’s get you back to Brigs.” His eyes flickered to Janus to Janus’s surprise. He shouldn’t be taking in any external stimulus yet with the attack so recent and Deceit still so near.

“Okay,” he agreed, voice distant. If Janus didn’t know any better, he’d say that the kid must have some sort of mental power. The problem with that conclusion was that he’d already read up on him when he’d started following Deceit around, and his power was reportedly super-strength. He shook the idea of the boy having a mental power away. Surely, he would have met at least some resistance if that were true, and Deceit had met less than normal.

“Come on, Traffic Cone,” Janus said, physically and mentally nudging him back towards the street. Deceit threw up a small field around them to keep passersby from seeing them and then checked the hacked security cameras on his phone. As expected, Brigs was sitting in his car in one of his usual spots. It wasn’t too far, and they could walk there easily.

It was a few minutes of walking later that the boy looked up slowly. “I told you I didn’t choose the costume,” he grumbled.

Deceit blinked at him but didn’t comment on his unusual lucidness.

Upon Deceit allowing the man to see him and Traffic Cone, Brigs laid his head briefly on his steering wheel. If Deceit cracked a smile, there was no one around to see it.

Brigs exited his car and looked Traffic Cone over with a sigh. “I told him not to.”

“You always do.”

“This was fun,” Traffic Cone said with an out-of-it giggle. “We should do it again some time.”

“Is he always like that?” Deceit asked tiredly.

Brigs looked over at the man with annoyance and maybe an iota of affection. “Unfortunately.”

[demonicintegrity]

Imagine the Underfrogs being on the edge of Mod frog territory months after they're exile, and being confronted by a patrol or former colleagues. Imagine the patrol deciding to have a little fun with the so called Mistakes of Mod frog society. Imagine the Underfrogs kicking the ever living hell out of them, not only defending themselves, but eachother as well, and proving just how tough they are without Mod Frog society holding them back from their true potential.

Ohohoho, action with a dash of angst? Letting the frogs go stupid go crazy sounds absolutely great right about now.

Anon this is my type of prompt! I can’t *not* try to make a drabble outta this. I say, having no experience writing fight scenes whatsoever.

The group wasn’t sure why or how they were back on the edge of familiar territory, but the group was. It seemed like forever ago when they could consider it their territory, patrolling it with dragonflies hitched to cars, and wearing suits they kept in top shape.

It wasn’t like that anymore though and that brought bitter feelings as the group squatted in an alleyway; resting and trying to gather their thoughts. Truly was an odd feeling, being back in town.

Jamack frowned at his shoes. Even though his tie wasn’t the only one cut that day, it always did feel like a majority of the blame fell onto him. After all, he was leading the group on the assignment. An assignment he went out of his way for. It cost them all everything they ever knew.

Jamack looked up at the other two in his “underfrogs” group. It was a name Kipo had given the trio, wordplay on the “underdogs” trope humans were familiar with. It was something about people who seemed like losers rising to the top anyways. It made a faint smile pull on his lips.

Kwat was squatting besides him, for a moment it struck Jamack that they were much closer now than they were back with the Mod Frogs. Both literally and metaphorically, Mod Frogs never really got close to each other’s personal space. Yet here she was squatting practically shoulder to shoulder with him and he was okay with it. She had ditched her jacket and tie long ago, yet kept her dress shirt, it was still in good condition despite everything.

Jamack also kept himself in good condition. Sure his suit jacket was a bit torn still, but he kept it tied around his waist anyways. His shirt was still good, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like Kwat. His pants were a bit worn, but he wasn’t worried about them, they were built to last anyways.

Harris was across from him, squatting on top of a dumpster. He practically threw the Mod Frog dress code out of the window. He also ditched the jacket, but more noticeable was the fact that his shirt sleeves were torn off. It left a messy edge, jagging out. Harris said one was torn off in a scuffle and he just tore off the other one because having just one was weird. He also unbuttoned the top button of his shirt and rolled up his pants to his knees to avoid them being snagged in branches he was constantly jumping to and from.. It was certainly... A look. Jamack figured there was no way to ever guess he was once a Mod Frog, but he supposed that was partially the point. It took some time but Harris really warmed up to throwing the Mod Frog identity out of the window, thriving without it really.

Jamack caught himself starring at the vivid colors all over his body and turned away. He seems to have embraced all his “oddities” and it honestly made him look dangerous when he was dashing from the treetops. The bright colors screaming “watch out” when it was all he could catch a glimpse of while Harris is up in tree. He was truly threatening in a new way.

Not to say he and Kwat weren’t. Ignoring the fact how they all were always exceptional at their jobs and always defeated any foe with athletic precision, spending months in unfamiliar and dangerous territory really made the three of them get better at defending themselves. It reflected in their new appearances in a way. Kwat ditching her jacket allowed her shirt to show just how much of powerhouse she was. Harris’ torn sleeves gave him a new edge that reflected the rather feral energy he was regularly exerting, and with Jamack? He suppose rolling up his own sleeves showed just how ready he was to throw himself into fight if need be.

This group of underfrogs were certainly a force to be reckoned with. It made Jamack smile. Despite being exiled he couldn’t be happier being with these two. These two he’s learned to call his friends and treat like a family. He would’ve never guessed that it would make him so happy.

“Oh, there’s no way.”

Jamack’s inner thoughts and reflections was broken by a voice at the front of the ally. The three snapped their eyes at the sudden break in city quiet. Three frogs stood at ally opening, with one leader in front.

“Y’know, I know better than to have expectations when looking into alleys of this part, but this?” The frog gestured at the group with a wave of her hand. “Is just rich.”

The underfrogs stole glances at each other while the opposing group chuckled. Her voice was familiar and the outfits said Mod Frogs, surely it wasn’t...?

“Yvonne?” Harris questioned as he scanned the group, knowing he’s seen their faces before and trying so hard to place the names of the frogs flanking her.

“Oh goodie, you remember me. Red-eyed freak.”

The group bristle and stood up. The two frogs flanking her stood at the ready with the movement. This wasn’t going to be a friendly reunion in the slightest.

“What the hell are you three disgraces doing here anyways? It’s not enough you couldn’t have died, you just had to come onto our turf?” She put her hands on her hips.

”We’re just passing through.” Jamack said. Yvonne always had a habit to give a bite with her words, but Jamack was not gonna let that phase him.

“Ridiculous.” She snorted. “You should know better than to come even close to here.”

“Or what?” Harris spat out. Jamack figured he was remembering all the crap she used to speak of him when he wasn’t around. She did that a lot. Did that for practically anyone she didn’t like, though the underfrogs were regular targets back in the day.

She laughed. “Don’t even talk to me Harris. You look ridiculous. It was one thing to be around with those freakish eyes, but to have your shirt torn to match? Do have any shame? All it does is look like shit and show those weird colors you have. Couldn’t you have spared us the rest of your gross body?”

“That’s enough Yvonne.” Jamack stepped forward. “You could’ve just told us to leave instead of being so bitchy about it.”

“Aaaww~ The weirdo has gone soft for the freak.” She cooed with a smile.

Jamack grit his teeth as Kwat made a point to straighten up and shoot daggers from behind him. Harris held his new-and-improved bat with nails and spikes in front of him to make a point.

“Yvonne look.” The frog to her left spoke. “Even Kwat’s mad.” He chuckled.

“Aw~ Mad I’m insulting your little friends Kwat?” Seems like she’s taking jabs at everyone today. “Gross. Of course the freaks would stick together.”

“Are you done?” Jamack said, making no effort to hide his growing anger.

“You know, I really could be Jamack.” She smiled. “But that’s not fun. Plus, you three deserve every bit of insult I throw at you for being utter shameful pieces of shit-”

“That’s enough!” Jamack shouted. “You’ve made your point.”

The Mod Frogs raised their nonexistent eyebrows and chuckles.

“Getting mad Jamack~?” The frog from before spoke. “What, can’t take the truth? That you’ve disgraced yourselves?”

“It’s not like that.” Harris growled out.

“Then what is it like?” He spat back. “You failed. Got tricked. Fucked up so much at the pond with the mega bunny. You certainly weren’t being proper Mod Frogs. We’d never let that slide.”

“Fat chance!”

“You’re full of it.”

“Bullshit.”

The underfrogs were quick to not buy their confidence. They didn’t know what exactly went on that day. They doubted they would’ve done better. Those assholes were just talking themselves up and trying to put them down.

“Bold words coming from three disgraces.” Yvonne bit back, finally getting irritated. “You three really should’ve died out there, would’ve saved yourselves the trouble of embarrassing yourselves more.”

“The only embarrassment here is the frog being all talk and no bite our whole lives.” Kwat spoke up, letting a smile seep through.

It makes both sides pause for a moment.

“Excuse me!?” Yvonne was livid at the accusation.

The underfrogs smiled.

“Well yea. You’ve been running your mouth this entire time.” Harris grinned.

“Some Mod Frogs you are.” Jamack said with a chuckled. “I remember when we would’ve have outsiders captured or driven out within minutes of finding them, not spending time shooting the breeze. Or did things change when we left? Shame. Would’ve made most of my assignments a lot easier.”

Jamack was thrilled to see he was pissing off his former colleagues. Seems like Kwat and Harris were enjoying themselves too, judging by how much they’re snickering when Yvonne’s face brightly flushes and the other two had their mouths agape in shock.

“You got a lot of nerve Jamack.” Yvonne said, unsheathing her two daggers. “We can run you out easily.”

“Uh huh.” He tapped his foot. “Sure.”

“What, don’t believe us?”

“Considering you’re doing the thing where you talk a lot of shit but don’t actually do anything again? Yeah no, I’m not exactly threatened by you at this moment.”

“You should be.” Her tone takes a dark turn. “We could easily kill you three and you know it.”

As if to prove her point, the flanking frogs pull out their weapons. A mace and a metal staff. If the underfrogs weren’t on edge before, they were now. They’re confident in their skills and all, but Harris is the only one with a weapon at the moment.

“Really?” Jamack spoke carefully as he analyzed their positions to assess he and his friends’ options here. No matter what, there was going to be a fight.

“Really.” She said. “And we should.”

“Yea!”

“That’ll be some real fun, make up for what they did.”

It seems the Mod Frogs are itching for a fight now.

“It’s not like you’d be a challenge.” Yvonne said, letting her smile come back. “You losers were always odd. It was miracle you lasted into adulthood anyways. Weak and pathetic as you all are.”

“Still talking Yvonne.” Jamack said as he readied himself for the inevitable fight. “Feel free to put your money where your mouth is any day now.”

“Why you little-”

Yvonne lunged forward for Jamack but was intercepted by Harris’ bat smashing right into her jaw. It threw her to the wall as he readied himself for the other two frogs. The two went for Harris but the one with the mace was met with Kwat’s fist to the face and the other with Jamack’s tongue.

Jamack pulled the one with a staff back from Harris and kneed the frog in the side. Releasing his tongue’s grip on him, he then side-stepped to avoid being struck by the staff. The frog was moving fast, Jamack will give him that, rapidly swinging the staff trying to land a hit, but Jamack was too quick on his feet. Dodging wasn’t enough though, he wanted to teach these punks a lesson. It was one thing to be territorial, but another to try and take personal jabs at him and his pack.

Catching the staff after swing, Jamack pulled on it to bring the frog off his balance and deck him as hard as he could. Using the blow to the face as leverage, he wrenches the staff out of his grip and shoves him to the side. He shifts his focus upwards onto his friends. Kwat and Harris have their attention on the one swinging his mace about. At the corner of his eye Jamack sees Yvonne getting up from the wall.

“Harris!”

Hearing his name causes Harris to look back and dodge the blades just in time. Instead of swinging in retaliation he opts to jump over to get on the fire escape. Jamack watches as the sudden leap confuses Yvonne and takes his chance to strike. Using the staff to push himself forward with a vault he shoots out to kick her with both his legs. Stepping back as his land he swings the staff forward and upward to catch her head as she lifts herself up. He readies for another blow until the mace coming towards his head causes him to jump back.

Barely after registering the mace Jamack hears Harris let out a battle cry as he launches himself at the frog behind him. Not letting the battle noises behind him distract him, he shoots the staff out at his attacker with a mace, who manages to side step away from the staff only to be punched in the head by Kwat. Before he could swing the Mace at her, Jamack takes his opportunity to hit him in the side as hard as he could with the staff.

Judging by the pained cry, Jamack knows that one should leave a nice bruise.

“She’s up!” Kwat grunts out as she moves to strike the frog again.

Jamack turns and blocks the two blades coming at him with swings of the staff. He repeats the circling movement between hands as she keeps trying to land blows on him. He backs up but his eyes never leave the movement coming for him. The sound of a frog sliding across broken pavement tells him Harris got one helluva blow in. He smirks as he knows Harris is coming up behind him for another leap.

“Who’s pathetic now Yvonne?” His smile grows as he watched the already bruised Mod Frog get even more mad.

He’s right about Harris; there’s a flash of orange and blue that streaks over him as the tree frog aims his bat for Yvonne’s head. She quick enough to take her own jump back, just barely saving her head from what probably would be from a concussive blow. Jamack winced as he heard the bat collide with the weak pavement, sending bits upward but turns his attention back to the frog Kwat is dealing with.

He takes a moment to assess how occupied the frog is with Kwat and seeing he can easily make a move, he does so. Pushing forward he lands a blow on the frog’s eye, not doubting how obvious of a shiner that’s going to make, and smiling as the frog lets go of his mace. Kwat shoots her hand forward without hesitation to grab it and bring the spiked ball towards the frog in one smooth motion, shoving him to ground while undoubtedly tearing some of his suit.

The grunt of Harris pulls the attention of the two away from the frog on the ground onto him. His bat is locked with Yvonne’s daggers as he kicks away the now unarmed frog trying to land a blow on him. The kick only knocks the frog off his balance, which isn’t enough to stop him from coming back.

“I got Yvonne if you got him.” Jamack shifts his weight to get ready to jump.

“Deal.” Kwat said a smile as she swung the mace around her head, no doubt happy to have her favored weapon back in her use.

Jamack jumps to the wall beside Harris and Yvonne as Kwat lunges for the unarmed frog. He kicks off the wall to get behind her and swings the staff. She turns and takes the blow in her side, but lunges a swipe at Jamack before side stepping out from in between the two frogs. She takes but a moment to plan her next move. She jumps onto Jamack only to be met with the staff blocking her. Using that as leverage she jumps up with the intent to get over Harris and strike his back.

Only having to give Harris a jerk of the head to warn him, Jamack watches as Harris swings his bat to collide with her shoulder and use the momentum to push her to the ground. She hits the ground and tumbles. Jamack doesn’t miss how Harris grins upon seeing how he bloodies another frog. He doesn’t pay much mind to it as he’s vaulting with the staff again to kick at the frog that Kwat just stole the mace from rushing at them. Not breaking his stride that easily, Jamack swings the staff at the frog. They dodge that blow and the next as he tries to close the gap between him and Jamack.

He’s met with Harris’ bat to the side knocking him off balance. While Harris turns to refocus on Yvonne, Jamack takes a couple more blows at the frog, landing a few and successfully bruising the other frog. Just as he gets into a rhythm he shifts and shoves the staff to successfully jab at the frogs throat. The noise he makes in pain makes his own throat feel something. Ignoring the urge to rub at his throat his pushes forward to keep swinging.

“So much for us being the shameful ones.” He smirks as he lands another blow. “You’ve barely done anything to us!”

He hears Harris laugh from behind him. It spurs him on and gives an extra flair to his attacks. This was honestly too easy!

“Incoming!”

As if to physically prevent him from getting too cocky, the now severely bloodied frog he stole the staff from was launching his tongue at him. Easily side stepping the muscle, he rushes forward to strike the poor frog on the head. Hitting his mark, he takes the opportunity to his fist to deck him square in the nose. It knocked the frog back, likely seeing stars from the two blows.

“I think we’re making a mess here.” Jamack says with a smile as he surveys the two weaponless frogs. “We’re being absolutely brutal.”

“Savages!” Yvonne spits out as she dodges a blow from Harris only to have to side step another one from Kwat.

“Nah.” Jamack says as he steps closer to her.

Surrounded and with her back towards the wall, Jamack easily reads her eyes looking around as panic setting in.

“I think we deserve this.” He grins.

“Y’know, one could make the argument that the truly savage act was kicking out three frogs who only did their best for the pond.” Harris said as he bounced his bat in his hand.

“Mhm.” Kwat let a small smile peak for a moment in agreement.

Yvonne’s panic only increases as the three close in on her. With her two colleagues effectively down for the count, she was surely in for something truly brutal. Her quick breathing and panic muscles shifting about unmistakable to the group.

“Honestly Yvonne.” Jamack said after a moment of watching her panic. “The performance you brought to the table was disgraceful.”

Her eyes flicker from Jamack and the other two as he keeps speaking.

“I really hope this isn’t the show that’s suppose to represents the Mod Frogs.” His smile drops. “Or else we really lucked out getting out when we did.”

“What-”

“With lousy skills like that, how the hell does Sartori expect you to be of use?” Harris didn’t miss a beat in the jeering. “Geez, did we carry the whole group?”

“If this is the acceptable standard? Maybe.” Jamack smiles. “Must truly be a shame they abandoned their best members.”

“You were never-”

“A shame indeed.” Kwat finishes as she swings the mace at her.

She tries to move out of the way only for Jamack to hit her in the back with the staff. The two offer the perfect opportunity for Harris to bring down his bat on her head with enough force to make an impact so obviously painful that her cry makes even Kwat flinch in surprise.

Truly brutal indeed.

To really put salt in the wound, the underfrog trio tie up the bloodied frogs with their tongues, the other frogs to exhausted and beat to put up much of a struggle.

Between their appearance and the broken Mod Frog they’re left upon, the trio knows their message would get across just fine. They don’t even take the dragonfly, just release it so it’d go back to the pond and alert someone, bringing an audience to see the pathetic state the losers were left in. 

Maybe now the Mod Frogs will realize the severity of kicking out loyal members.

[sector-i-closed]

Thought's in Your Blood

Vampire!Seonghwa x Pet!reader

Requested by anon

Warning: Smut, blood drinking, loss of virginity and almost 2k words

Seonghwa had been noticing that you’ve been off a lot lately, especially after you’d consciously admitted that you loved him.

The behavior that you were exhibiting had him worried and he kept a close eye on you to make sure that your condition wasn’t worsening.

You seemed more depressed lately and your master made up his mind that he would take you out for a walk this evening. He went into your room with the intent of escorting you outside, but what he saw made him completely forget the reason why he’d came here in the first place.

You were naked, standing still and staring at the different changes of clothing that you had lying out on the bed.

It appeared that you were having a hard time choosing what to wear and your master had brief misgivings about staring at you without your knowledge.

The thoughts didn’t last for long however once his gaze raked down your beautiful body, from your bare neck to your breasts, stomach, ass and legs.

Seonghwa couldn’t peel his gaze away from you, the desire for you shifted his eye color from the deep brown orbs that you were used to into an intense shade of red.

You were about to settle on a specific blouse and skirt when you glanced around and found your master staring at you, his eyes were as red as hot embers in a fireplace and you were alarmed that he was in here with you, watching every move that you made.

“Master!” You gasped, instinctively covering your bare chest with your arms.

“You don’t have to hide yourself, pet. You’re very beautiful and I never knew just how beautiful your body is. Until now.” Your master spoke in a velvety smooth tone that made the hair on your arms stand up straight.

“Let me see you, pet.” He moved closer to you, staring into your eyes with those deep red eyes that seemed to hypnotize you and lead you into another level of consciousness.

You slowly lowered your arms as if he held some type of power over you, allowing your master to see your chest freely.

Seonghwa licked his lips and closed in on you, hunger prevalent in his intense gaze.

Something inside of him desired to ruin you while he saw you like this and it amused him to hear your heart pounding so loudly as he appraised your body.

Your master cupped your neck with a chilly hand, looking directly into your eyes without blinking.

You trembled violently as you tried to maintain eye contact with him, the tension in the air becoming so thick that you were finding it difficult to breathe.

Seonghwa smirked as he looked down at you, guiding your head towards his face until his lips crashed into yours.

You felt as if you were swept under a current of lust, your veins burning with the heated desire that your master was feeding into the kiss.

He smirked against your lips when you rested your hands against his chest, desperately clutching at the fabric of his dress shirt.

You moaned into the kiss, uncertain about what you were supposed to do but your master guided you with his controlling lips, dominating your mouth easily as he deepened the kisses that seemed to grow warmer and warmer.

His cold hands touched your upper back, smoothly moving down the curve of your spine in seductive touches that made you melt into the vampire.

You panted softly, staring into your master’s crimson eyes longingly, although you wasn’t certain why but you could feel that your body was wanting something more.

“I can make you feel even better than this. Do you want that, pet?” Seonghwa murmured against the shell of your ear in a low, silky tone that made you jitter in his arms.

He kissed a trail of lingering kisses along the cord of your neck, touching each pulse point until he reached one that he fancied.

Your master then grazed a razor sharp fingernail across the vigorously beating pulse point, drawing blood, which he readily lapped up with greedy strokes of his tongue.

A small cry eminated from your throat, feeling confused as to why you were hurting but it felt good too.

“Yes master…” You concentrated on the sensation of his clothing brushing against your skin.

Seonghwa smirked evilly against your neck, having seen through your blood that your heat had clenched tightly and the less than chaste thoughts that were going through your mind that consisted of him.

“Lay down pet.” He ordered, watching you closely as you lied down on your back, forgetting about the clothing from earlier that you had lying on the bed as well.

“I saw what you were thinking, Y/N. You want me to ruin this cunt don’t you?” Seonghwa shamelessly cupped your mound, savoring how soft your flesh was in his grasp.

“Mm yes m-master… Please” You maintained eye contact with your master, looking at him in such an innocent way that affected him deeply.

“I’ll ruin you so good that you’ll be begging for me to ruin you for as long as you live.” Seonghwa smirked darkly and unbuttoned his shirt, watching how you gazed at him with intense curiosity.

Your heart pounded in your ears as your master slipped his shoes and socks off, followed by his pants.

Suddenly your eyes widened and you instinctively drew your legs together.

“I’m scared…” You whimpered after seeing his erect dick, knowing that having something inside of you at his size or larger was going to hurt.

“I won’t hurt you, pet. I’ll be very good to you.” Your master promised as he hovered over your body, staring into your soul with an intense gaze that stopped your heartbeat momentarily.

His lips latched onto yours again, bringing more sensual feelings to your senses as you relaxed and opened your legs for him.

Seonghwa grasped your breasts with his hands and kneaded them roughly, touching them with firm movements that screamed possessive and you secretly loved it.

His nails barely scraped across your delicate skin but it was enough to draw your blood to the surface.

You moaned out loud as his head dipped down to your chest where the red droplets decorated your skin.

“I love how beautiful you look when you’re bleeding for me."  Your master lapped up your blood, tasting the sweetness of the liquid and viewing the images that went through your mind.

He could see an image of him biting your neck and siphoning the blood from your arteries and he stored that image away for later.

You grinded your heat against his dick, feeling his hard member resting against your sex and you were throbbing for something more than just kisses and licking.

"Stop.” Seonghwa commanded firmly, causing you to flinch in surprise at being addressed suddenly.

You trembled beneath him as he stared into your eyes with a cold, predatory gaze that sent your pulse racing dramatically.

“Be a good pet and I will make you feel good.” He cupped your breast in his hand and gave the other by running his tongue across your erect nipple, taking turns with each breast until he was satisfied. You whined needily, watching your master who was preoccupied with tasting the occasional blood drops that were littered across your chest.

Your master positioned his tip at your entrance, sliding forward and filling your throbbing, wet cavern with his cock.

“Master!!!” You shrieked from the raging pain that tore through your body.

Your entire body went rigid beneath the vampire, who listened to your cries for him to stop, though he knew that he needed to move forward and to make the pain be gone as soon as he could.

He held you in place as he filled your heat with his dick, drawing back and thrusting his hips forward in powerful movements that quickly erased the pain from your mind, replacing it with pleasure.

“Ah master!” Your own hips began to match his movements, prompting your master to hiss against your ear.

“Behave or I won’t let you experience the best part of this.” Seonghwa roughly snapped his hips into you, gazing into your face and musing to himself about how much you look like his lover from centuries ago.

Your eyes screwed shut as moans escaped your lips, feeling how his cock seemed to touch something deep inside of you that made your vision blur from the tingles that made you feel good.

It occurred to your master again that you were only a human pet and his anger ignited inside of him again.

The vampire pounded into you harder, further stimulating the sweet spot inside of you.

The power of his thrusts made you scream out loud, feeling small and pathetic as you lied down beneath him under his mercy.

“How’s it feel to be fucked until you can’t speak? Huh? I could break you right now if I wanted to.” Your master growled, not missing a beat with each continuous snap of his hips, thrusting his length directly into the tingling nerves that were making you more aware of each feeling inside of you.

“Master… Ngh ah!! Ah!!! Oh…!” You cried out, sensing your walls tighten around his dick. Seonghwa watched you arch your back, your face displaying the blissful sensations that you felt in your body.

He reached down to your clit, drawing circles roughly against your engorged flesh.

“Who makes you feel this good?” He growled against your ear.

“Y-you do m-master!” You bunched up the clothing and sheets that were beneath you, feeling like you weren’t able to take anymore but you wanted everything that your master could give you.

“Good pet. Now cum for me pet. Be a good pet and let me taste you when you come on my cock.” Seonghwa ordered roughly, sinking his fangs into your neck when he felt your spasms tighten around his length.

You cried out as he drank from you, overwhelmed by the ecstasy that enveloped your senses and you instinctively grasped the back of your master’s head, holding him to you while he fed on your blood.

He released inside of you after tasting the bliss that you were experiencing during your climax, filling you with his seed and adding extra pleasure to your senses as he filled you.

The two of you lied together for a long moment, you staring up at the ceiling in awe of what you had just experienced while your master still had his head still buried in your neck, slurping softly at your sweetness and vowing to stop in another moment.

You mewled softly as your eyes rolled back in pleasure, gripping his locks and holding him closer to you, craving more of the intimacy of the moment as he sucked the blood from your body.

He stopped and cleaned the residue of the blood that leaked from the puncture marks on your neck and you whined in disappointment after he stopped drinking from you.

The vampire gave you a long kiss that caused you to taste your own blood, finding that it tasted strange to you but you returned the kiss.

“I’ve never known feelings like that before. That was… wow…” You breathed, staring shyly at your master as he pulled out of you.

“You can experiance it even more if you want to be my personal blood bag.” Seonghwa purred as he lied down beside you, allowing you to curl into his body and nuzzle him.

“I would become anything for you, master.” You voiced out of loyalty, or perhaps it was the haze of pleasure that you still experienced

[unstoppableforcce]

a mistake ( 3 )

paring: Poe Dameron x Reader

previous part | next part

a/n: with a brief moment of inspiration, I managed to write this! I don’t know if it’s good, I don’t know what’s happening to my motivation but I like it so! as always, enjoy the pain :)

“Evening, Commander.”

Evening. That’s right, he reminded himself by stealing a glance out the window behind the bar, spotting the setting sun. It was evening.

He glanced to the source of the voice, just another solider who passed, giving him a firm clap on the back of his shoulder before moving along with the fervent crowd behind him.

It had been a slow day, not particularly hard but Poe took those the worst. A slow day meant free time, and free time for him could be dangerous. Free time was when the feelings of inadequacy seeped back in through the defensive layer of confidence he so carefully constructed. If he could occupy his hands, he could occupy his mind.

But free time. That was what drove him to the bar, alone, drink hanging loosely from his fingertips as the chaos of the cantina began to blur behind him. It was practically a miracle he even heard the soldier as they passed, had they not hit his shoulder, they probably would have disappeared along with the rest of his surroundings.

Even the bartender was beginning to blur, just a means to exchange the empty bottles in his hand for a new fuller one.

Your voice was clear.

“Uh- A correllian rum maybe.” It cut through the slurry of his senses, suddenly all he could hear.

He wasn’t sure how long you had been there or how you had managed to fight your way to the counter next to him anyways, but he didn’t mind it much either. He needed a distraction and the sight of you alone was certainly that.

Though, he must have been drunker than he realized because his stare was about as far from subtle as humanly possible.

“Evening Commander.” The words drew from your lips the second you turned to him, slow, sultry, clearly as intoxicated as he felt he was. Your hand combed your hair away from your face as you leaned on the counter, waiting for your drink and he swore he nearly melted.

But for the life of him, he couldn’t remember your name.

You were a mechanic, you worked on his ship, you had certainly caught his eye before and yet in the moment, feeling the drunken flush rushing to his cheeks at the mere sight of you, he couldn’t remember it.

“Hey.” Smooth Dameron, some of your best work. “You’re that mechanic right?”

He nearly wanted to cringe at his own words, but your laugh took him back out of his head.

“Yeah, just that mechanic.” You smirked back, returning the gentle scan he had given you, trailing your stare back over him as he had done to you. Though yours had the subtlety that his lacked, he almost missed it.

Or maybe he was drunk. Both were possibilities at this point, he would admit.

“Well, you already know my name.” He tried his hand at a similar smirk, but you turned away, towards the bartender as they passed you the drink.

And even though it was momentary, and your stare was back almost as quickly as it left, just the brief moment of losing your attention made him desperate to keep it for longer. It was a distraction. But it was also you. And he was quick to imagine he would have no problem allowing you to become all-encompassing.

“That I do, Commander.” You added back, and for a second, he was so caught up in you that he barely remembered what you were referencing. He had to blink a few times before he caught back up. When you offered your name, he was back to the present, nodding as your name became the only thing he wanted to repeat in his thoughts.

He couldn’t help himself any longer. “You drinking alone tonight?”

You scoffed into your drink, but you weren’t exactly running away. You stole a glance over your shoulder, back to the crowd, but he didn’t bother following it.

“Yeah, looks like it.” You trailed off as you turned back to him, the same smirk seeming a constant on your lips. “Why, are you?”

“I was.” Not anymore.

It didn’t take long for the two of you to stumble back to a room together, his room, as would quickly become the norm. His hands scaled up and down your form, hesitant at first then everywhere at once as your hands began doing the same.

By the time he got the door open, you were practically peeling the clothes off your body for him. Could you be blamed though? It was THE Commander Dameron. Talk of the base, hero to the alliance, best pilot in the—

“Commander-” The moan tore through you as he pulled your hips flush with his own. His skin was just as hot as his face had been, the tender tips of his calloused fingers tracing along your spine.

It was delicate and hungry. It was vulnerable and ferocious.

It was in no way surprising, from what you knew of his reputation, the way he trailed kisses down from your neck to your chest and even lower, it was a perfect description of him. He was kind, he had a pitifully caring heart and he conveyed just that with every press of his lips. But he was a fighter. He made quick work of discarding each article of clothing, nipping and gnawing in between each tender kiss.

You wanted to match his enthusiasm, but in your drunken state, though you were fully aware of what you wanted, you weren’t nearly as graceful in obtaining it. Pressing forward against his grip, pushing more power into the kiss as he returned to your lips, you tumbled the two of you back to the bed.

But any mortification stemming from your display of eagerness was washed away when he let out a soft laugh and tugged you back on top of him, in no way deterred by the change in position.

If anything, sitting with you in his lap was much easier. Not only was your presence, the echoing of your soft moans, and the heat of your skin already dizzying enough, but the ale was sitting heavy in head, and had you not pulled him down, he would have made the change anyways. There were no complaints, not a single one.

Each shift of his hips got you to release a flurry of sound into his neck, “Commander” falling from your lips over and over—

“Poe.” He groaned, out of breath, “Call me Poe.”

So you did.

“Poe—” “Poe—”

“Poe!” That wasn’t your voice. And the sound of a datapad slamming on the desk he sat behind…

He snapped back to reality, the visceral memory of you that first night melting away as the fluorescent surroundings came back around him. It was Leia’s office.

It was Leia talking to him.

“Poe…” She repeated, taking in his jump out of his head, watching as he settled back into reality. Her tone was more concerned than anything else, though, he had just fallen asleep mid-strategy discussion. If he deserved anything, it was her anger, not her concern.

“Sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

“When was the last time you got a good night’s sleep, Poe?”

He scoffed. It was all he was capable of given just how absurd her suggestion sounded in his mind. Flexing his fist open and closed, the bruises had slightly faded into a yellow color, but it didn’t hurt any less than it had right after he punched the wall outside your office.

It had been about a week. The longest kriffing week.

“I uh—I just,” he could barely form a sentence, stars, what were you doing to him. “It’s been a little.”

“What’s going on?” She settled into the seat next to him, setting her gentle hand on his arm where it rested on the armrest between them. “Is there anything I can—”

He pulled back from her touch, “No, it’s not—I’m fine, I’m okay.”

“You just fell asleep in the middle of a meeting Poe. You’re not fine.”

What defense did he have against that, she could practically look at him and know how he was feeling, now all she could do was stare and analyze him. And she was not a fan of what she was finding.

“Poe—”

“She broke things off, I guess.” He added, hiding his knuckles in his lap. “I don’t know.”

Her sigh was heavy, propping herself up on her hand to stare at him. “I’m sorry.”

“No.” He shook his head. “You know, she had some fears about us, about you knowing, and she’s my subordinate…”

He had to rub over his face, to wake himself up the rest of the way. Leia was the General, but she was more of a maternal figure to him, especially in moments like this. And with her gentle gaze, the care in her eyes, he couldn’t help but spill his heart out for her.

His poor and suffering heart.

“It is technically against the uniform code…” As if he didn’t already know that. “But it isn’t uncommon, Poe. It’s frowned upon but if you’re being smart and respecting the situation, I won’t demote you for it—”

“It’s more than that, it’s—”

Well it felt like it was him.

Whether demotion was on the table or not, it felt distinctly like the issue you took fault with was that it was him. That he was known and the second anyone found out, it would be you existing only in relation to him and not of your own merit. Which wasn’t fair and it was a completely legitimate fear because that was the way rumors spread on a base like this and—

And he hated it. He hated that there was nothing he could do, there was no part of that he could fix. He couldn’t stop being him. And he wasn’t about to ruin your career for something like casual sex.

Because the worst part of it all was how casual it was. That he didn’t have any part of you for real. That none of it was ever discussed. You fell into a rhythm together after that first night. But what was it really?

Given how easily you ended it, it certainly felt that you only thought it was casual sex.

At first, he would have agreed. Except now. Now the pain in his heart felt oddly reminiscent of love. A pain not too far from that of his knuckles. Because things were over and only now was he coming to terms with what he was feeling for you.

“I don’t know how to fix this.” He finally admitted to Leia, somehow managing to look up and meet her eye. “I can’t sleep, I can’t—”

“Poe, you can’t let this ruin you.”

“I know.” He sighed.

But it wasn’t simple, or at least it didn’t feel simple.

The first night had been pure need, his need for a distraction from everything, from the stress of it all, from his responsibility, from the heavy guilt weighing in his heart and the plaguing inadequacy that lingered in his veins.

But since that first night, he had, not that he would fully admit to it but, he had become a much different person. It was no longer a distraction but something he wanted to focus on more.

There was less stress, at least it was controllable as opposed to all-consuming as it had been. There were less sleepless nights, though losing you had certainly sent him spiraling back. He’d lay awake at night with his brain surging with every thought that you could make go away, every feeling that seemed to evaporate the second he pressed his lips to yours.

He would overthink everything but you. With you, he could just do.

There was no dwelling on the past, there was only imagining a future.

He couldn’t do it anymore. He needed to find you.

It was the evening as he escaped Leia’s office on a quest to do just that, the sun just beginning to set outside the hanger. He didn’t know what he would say, but he needed to find you.

He needed you.

-> my ko-fi

[halfmoonshines]

Azula ‘Joins’ The Gaang

A one-shot wherein Azula... apologizes?

@elanceq

Azula sat in the throne room, of course draping herself against the main chair sat high upon a pedestal, feet tucked below her and examining her nails. It had been a long time since she had been in this room, especially alone. The young firebender allowed her thoughts to drift back to the battle that took place at the palace just nine short months ago, the day Azula had lost her nation, and herself somewhere along the way.

After Zuko had retrieved her from where she sat shackled that day, he took her into the mountains at the edge of the fire nation, where a wise old woman was said to be waiting for them, waiting for Azula. She didn’t care much to think about the time she had spent there, secluded, reforming.

The young princess came to realize shortly after her arrival, that her psyche had split herself into two different personalities. Princess Azula, a powerful firebender and ruthless leader, and just Azula. The child she had been at six, when all she wanted to do was find a flower that matched Ty Lee’s favorite color. Or the child she had been at eight, when she made the mistake of bringing her father an injured sparrow she had found.

A young Azula comes rushing into the throne room, hands clasped tight to her chest as her little legs pumped to move her quickly across the room.

“Dad!” She called out, upon sighting him. She knew her mother would have been the preferable healer, but her father was so good at so many things that maybe he would find it in him to help them too.

The newly appointed Fire Lord Ozai turned around from the conversation he was having with one of his advisers slowly, eyes locking on the young child who was barreling toward him.

“Azula,” He started. “We do not run in the throne room. We walk calmly, and with purpose. Now slow down and approach.”

The princess was taken aback, and bristled slightly at the command, but she slowed her run none the less into a fast paced walk. When she arrived next to him, she waited for him to speak first, afraid of acting against him again.

“What is it that you are needing my help with so urgently?” Ozai’s voice was quiet, but laced with annoyance, upset at being bothered.

Azula shuffled her feet a few times before opening up her hands a bit and holding them aloft, presenting the injured bird to her father. The bird chirped once from its place in Azula’s grasp, wing contorted at an odd angle. 

“I found this bird all alone in the garden and I thought perhaps we could try to mend it?” Azula spoke softly, head downcast, suddenly much more unsure of what was about to happen than she was when she first entered the room.

Ozai let a breath out of his nose, and a hearty chuckle escaped his mouth. “You mean to tell me that you thought it of the utmost importance to come and interrupt me, for a sickly aryan creature that surely wouldn’t even survive another year even if we did deem it worthy of such help? How very foolish of you, Azula. Your time is better spent studying, training. Not traipsing around the gardens, talking to animals. Now dispose of it and mention it no more.”

Azula looked up at him, mouth slightly agape in surprise. He had always been decisive, but never this cruel toward his own daughter before. She always tried her best to excel in all of her studies, surpass her brother in the arena, but sometimes she just couldn’t help but be a kid. He was being unfair.

“But, father-”

Ozai had turned his back to her at this point, but snapped back quickly at the sound of her voice. “Did you just disregard a direct order from me?” He reached out quickly then, violently ripping the small bird from the child's hands. Azula cried out at its sudden departure, straining her arm to try and grab it back.

Ozai’s face twisted into a glare, and he held the bird above his head, very tightly. “You do not speak against me, ever. You do not disobey me,” He brought himself down to her eye level grabbing her left shoulder with his free hand. “Ever. Now you need to go train, and I will dispose of this creature properly, and try to forget how insubordinate you’ve been.” This was as close to yelling as his voice ever got, loud and sharp.

Tears pooled in Azula’s eyes and she tore herself from his grasp, turning and walking quickly out the door, careful not to run. When she exited the room she allowed the tears to flow freely, knowing that she had just killed that bird.

This, Azula decided upon introspection, was the moment that she lost her last shred of innocence. Her hope would be stamped out just a short time after that.

Zuko had entered the room without her noticing, so he cleared his throat to garner her attention.

“Somehow,” He started with a small smile. “I knew this is where I would find you.” Shaking her head to dispel any unwanted thoughts, she raised her head and smiled a tight lipped smile at her brother. “I just had to see what you’ve done with the place, ZuZu. But it’s every bit as drab as it was when I left.” She raised herself from the throne, stepping down and heading toward him. “Though you never did have much of an eye for decoration.”

Zuko shrugged and lifted his arms a bit before letting them drop to his sides. “No, that was always more your department. I was hoping now that you’re back, we could renovate the place a bit.”

Azula smiled, recognizing his gesture as one of warmth and trust. The contentment that pulled at her stomach, tried to lull her into feeling secure was foreign, but not unwelcome. The woman Azula had trained with had taught her that these things would feel  different after all of these years, but nothing to fear.

“I would like that, Zuko. But there is also something else I had wanted to request of you?” Her tone was cautious, unsure of how this conversation would go.

Zuko’s eyebrows furrowed in slight concern, but tried his best to put his faith into his sister, someone who seemed like she truly had at least tried to make improvements on herself.

“What is that, Azula?” His tone was light, doing good to hide the anxiety that was itching at her throat.

His sister took a moment before answering, eyes flitting around the room before meeting his own. “I wanted to see your friends.” She paused for a moment, trying to gauge his reaction but there was nothing discernable. “The Ava- Aang, mostly. Though I’m sure the rest deserve an apology from me as well, especially those water tribe siblings.”

Zuko let shock show in his expression for a split second before he composed himself. Obviously he had expected that at some point, since Azula had hopefully returned for good, she would be officially remeeting Team Avatar. He just didn’t expect it to be immediately, and didn’t expect her to be the one to request it.

He only paused a beat before answering. “Of course, Azula. They’re actually staying fairly close to the palace at the moment. Would you like to go now?” Zuko was nervous, obviously. But Azula was some of the only family he had left, and if she could change then he wanted to be right there with her.

Azula nodded quickly, appreciating his trust. She had nervousness covering her like a thick blanket, but she wouldn’t let that stop her from what she felt she needed to do. 

“Let’s go.”

-

The royal siblings stood outside of the large building that Avatar and Co. were using as their home for the moment, both a little nervous to knock on the door. Azula tried to distract herself by studying the ornate carvings that adorned the door frame, but Zuko was more preoccupied with who was inside right now, and who would be first to answer the door.

“I’m just going to get some food, guys. We’re heroes! I’m allowed one extra meal a day for saving the world.” Sokka’s voice was quickly approaching from the other side of the door, and Zuko yanked Azula back to the bottom of the steps, trying to make it seem like they had just arrived.

As Sokka opened the door, his eyes were squinted shut against the sun, and he didn’t seem to notice the people standing there as he came barreling down the steps. There was no time to move, so when he was about an inch from crashing into them, and Zuko was about to scream his name in panic, Azula realized she would need to take action.

“Hello! Sokka, isn’t it? My brother and I were just coming to speak with you and your friends.” Azula forced a bit of pep into her voice, trying to shock him a bit less, and made sure she had a small smile on her face.

At hearing her voice Sokka’s eyes opened wide and he reeled back, right before he would have crashed into them, and instead tripped on the bottom step he had just gotten off of, landing on his but a few stairs up.

Zuko’s mouth opened in shock, trying to figure out what had just happened in the last 60 seconds. Azula raised her eyebrows in shock, hoping he was okay (and also hoping she wasn’t going to be accused of pushing him over). A small part of her mind was calling him a blithering idiot, but it was easily ignored.

By this time the commotion was heard from inside, and the door flew open again, but this time it was Katara; followed by Aang who looked both anxious and worried, Suki, who had her weapons clutched in her hands and a glare in her eyes, and Toph. Toph held the rear of the line, and was smiling from ear to ear. She had felt them approach the stone home they lived in, and Azula’s walk wasn’t easily copied.

“Hey guys, we we’-” Zuko could see that something was about to happen, so he quickly tried to intervene and take a step forward only to be shoved aside by an angry water bender.

Azula didn’t flinch as Katara was waterbending a whip and holding it aloft, ready to strike.

“What is she doing here?” Katara’s voice was angry, her tone bordering on hatred.

Azula chose to speak then, eyes scanning the group that stood across from her, ready for an imminent battle. She mustered up the most regretful look she could. 

“I’ve come to try and apologize to your group.” She paused a moment to let them process what she had said. No doubt it would come as a shock to some, and be unbelievable to others. “I fear that I allowed my father’s teachings and my own thirst for power overshadow every rational thought I should have had over these years.” This was the first time Azula had ever said anything like this. Sure, she would occasionally go over what she planned to say in the group to her head, but it never came out like this.

“For years I strived to be the strongest, most cunning person in the world, because that’s what I thought mattered. My father always told me that I was not a normal girl, that I shouldn’t feel the need to drench myself in such useless emotions as shame and compassion. I was told the world was not compassionate, it was hostile, and broken. Made to believe that I had to be decisive and aggressive, or the world would overthrow me.”

Azula gulped heavily, palms sweating a bit. She hadn’t felt this emotional in a long time. She kept her eyes to the group, doing her best to keep eye contact and surprised that they let her continue. “I’ve realized that we were the hostile ones, I was the threat in this world. If the fire nation was ever great, it was long before this war. Before the vision my father had for a dictatorship. I know it will take a long time, if it ever happens, for all of you to forgive me. I feel like I am far from deserving of it, but I did want to let you know that I regret the decisions I have made that put you all in danger. And regretful for my part in this war.”

No one spoke a word, they just glanced at each other through their peripherals, unsure of what to do. Toph was the first to speak, pushing Suki out of her way and coming to stand beside Katara.

Toph’s gray eyes gazed up at where she knew Azula’s face to be, and Azula stared right back, curious to see if she was going to be attacked or not.

“She’s not lying.” Toph’s words were simple, but made everyone in the group shift their stance a bit. Sokka stood from where he had fallen on the step, and Katara reluctantly dropped her water.

“I don’t care if she’s not lying, I don’t see any reason we should go along with whatever this is.” Suki sounded distrustful, weapons still held firmly at her sides.

“She said she didn’t expect us to forgive her right away,” Katara spoke now, her voice level. “But I do think she’s being serious. I might not love the idea of going to dinner with her, but,” Katara nodded at Azula a bit, coming to a conclusion in her mind. “I don’t think we should stand in the way of her redemption.”

Sokka looked worriedly at his sister. “Are you okay!? This is Azula we are talking about! The woman who would’ve killed any one, or all, of us without care. We’re just go-”

“Sokka.” The young airbender had been silent from his place at the top of the steps until now. “Katara’s right. If Azula’s aware of the mistakes she’s made, and she’s willing to apologize, we have no reason not to accept it. She doesn’t have to go penguin sledding with us yet.” Aang smiled at Azula then, shifting his attention from Sokka. “But it would be cool to learn how to bend lightning! That looks so awesome! And I mean your brother was my enemy until he became a great fire bending teacher so, maybe it runs in the family!”

Azula scoffed in shock, her own smile widening a bit. This was how the Avatar acted? Oh, if only she had had an actual conversation with this boy a year ago. 

Suki and Sokka seemed to be the only ones with a problem at this point, but upon sharing a pointed look with each other, they glanced back at Azula with slightly duller daggers than before. 

“If it’s good enough for them, it’s good enough for me. Welcome to the light, Azula. Maybe you can try to get a tan.” Sokka’s face was mostly serious, but his tone was laced with his normal humor.

Zuko couldn't believe his eyes, but the sight was welcome. His sister was standing beside him with a large smile on her face, and most of his friends were mirroring her.

“So,” Azula said, a warm feeling vibrating through her body.. “You want to learn how to bend lightning?”

And the rest…

Is history.