#i think the only “miss” for me was the Singapore suit and even then i still thought it was cute and got the vision they were going for

[jinseulss]

i just wanna say whoever's idea it was to put jinki in different outfits for every fanmeet stop deserves a big kiss on the forehead

I mean look at the material

[fangirl-dot-com]

Chapter 28 - Always Bet on Red and Navy

As promised you hungry demons. But I love you all! My midterms were absolutely awful and have kind of put me back in a mindset that I have desperately tried to break out of. So, writing this was a bit therapeutic because there aren't any teachers grading this. It's just you all who take everything with such love.

So please enjoy this!

Your eyes glimmered with the reflective lights as you walked through the turnstile. This year, a white body suit was not on your body and your neck was void of an iconic red scarf. But, each breath you took filled your lungs with familiar air. The small crowds of people, who showed up early for qualifying, chanted your name with each step you took. Your eyes were squinted into half crescents by your smile. To your left, Vito was typing things on his iPad, a Bluetooth speaker in his ear as he talked. 

His words were mumbled as the two of you kept walking to the garage. He looked heated as his voice began to raise. He walked right passed you and into your driver’s room. You guessed you wouldn’t be using it for a while. 

A yawn escaped your lips as you looked around. Max hadn’t arrived yet, along with mostly everyone that you normally talked to. Your eyes flittered across the paddock. A light shone from the Mercedes garage. A smirk rose on your lips. You hadn’t been able to talk to Lewis for a while and you missed the Brit. You grabbed your blanket and wrapped it around your shoulders. This was nothing like Singapore where you wished you could escape the heat. Here in Vegas, you wanted to escape the cold. 

You gingerly stepped into the lighted garage, feet barely making an echo. You knew where the back room was. A coffee sounded really good right now as you were fighting sleep. Your eyes widened at the sight of Lewis all bunched on a couch. You could tell that he was sound asleep, since his eyes were shut and his face looked so relaxed. You took a couple of steps and sat down next to him. When he didn’t move, you knew you were save. You watched as he shivered next to you, neck outstretched in a weird angle, resting on the back of the couch. His arms were wrapped around his torso

You lightly pouted at the sad sight. Thankfully, your blanket was big enough for two people. You lightly draped the cream colored fabric onto most of his body. You watched him unconsciously relax underneath the blanket. You quickly situated yourself next to him, and gently put your head on his shoulder. 

Lewis stirred at the new weight on his left side. His eyes barely opened as he tried to blink the sleep away. His face was met with blond hair and the smell of your vanilla shampoo. He now noticed the cream blanket on him and you cuddled up close. 

“Kid?” 

“Shhhhh, sleep now, questions later.” 

Lewis didn’t even have time to argue before he was being dragged back to sleep land. His arm rose up to lie behind your head, inevitably giving you more room under his arm. You scooched closer to the warmth of the 7-time world champion. 

Toto sighed as he walked out of his office. Everything was falling quickly. When Lewis mentioned that he wanted to initiate the escape clause in his contract, Toto thought that he was going to be retiring at the end of the season after another failed attempt at the world championship. He just wasn’t expecting his star to leave him for another team. The Austrian’s hand rubbed over his forehead. 

He didn’t want to think about that now. He could only focus on the next three races of the 2024. Vegas, Qatar, and Abu Dhabi was all he had left. Toto rounded the corner to the little kitchen station where their multiple coffee makers were. Nothing could beat Ferrari’s authentic Italian espresso, but hopefully a regular coffee pod could do. 

What Toto didn’t expect was for you to be snuggled up to Lewis on the couch that resided there. A sad smile made its way to his face. The two of you looked so innocent together, faces void of the usual wear and tear from the life that you lived. He quickly sent a text over to Christian to let him know where you were. His phone showed that they still had a few hours left before qualification started. The team principal just knew that you were going to win this weekend. Max had done a good job, trying to get the jump on you. But, when one’s name tops the P1 spot for all of the practices, there’s no choice in fighting it. 

You owned this track. 

A homecoming of sorts. 

Toto had barely payed any attention to you last year as you walked around in your sparkly outfit, following the reigning world champion. He knew of you. Just another name of a rookie trying to get into Formula 1. Looking back now, the Austrian wishes that he had done more to sign you. 

His phone softly dinged, and his eyes adjusted to the brightness of his screen. A text from Christian let him know that Max was on the way to come get you. Inside, he truly wished that you could have maybe been what you were to Max, to Lewis. But he lost out on you and he now lost out of Lewis. His days of complete domination were over.

Toto lightly stepped closer to the sofa and crouched down. His arm extended and lightly pushed on Lewis’s shoulder. The Briton’s eyes fluttered awake as he looked around, trying to get his bearings in order. Lewis’s eyes stopped on you, who was still sound asleep. Your eyes flitted behind your eyelids. 

“Should we wake her up?” Toto asked. “Max is coming to get her in a moment.” 

Lewis shook his head. 

“She’s dreaming.” 

A soft smile formed on his face as he watched you puff air and inhale harshly sometimes. You murmured gibberish, which the Mercedes pair had a hard time trying not to laugh. Footsteps announced someone else’s presence. The duo’s head jerked in the direction and watched as Max rounded the corner. 

Max froze at the sight of you snuggled into Lewis, your coveted blanket laying across yours and Lewis’s laps. 

“I’m quite jealous Lewis. She rarely shares the blanket.” 

Lewis’s eyebrow rose. “I just saw here sharing with Logan last race.” 

Max laughed softly, still not wanting to wake you up. 

“That was a different blanket. This is her Dior one. See the monogram? She doesn’t share that with anyone, not even me.” 

There was humor in the Dutchman’s voice as he explained. Max took a couple of steps before stooping down. He gently picked you up in his arms. You didn’t move a muscle as he adjusted you in his grasp. 

Lewis stood up and popped his joints. He took the blanket off his lap and layed it back over you. It draped weirdly across you and Max’s arms. It was silent as the three men watched you try to get closer to the warm that was Max Verstappen. 

“Well, I will get her back to the garage. You two have a good night.”

After Max said that, you talked a bit loudly. 

The Red Bull driver stopped in his tracks, wondering if Lewis and Toto heard. 

Lewis snorted. “Was that Dutch?’ 

The blond nodded as he looked down at you. There was a proud smile on his face. 

“I’ve been teaching her some words, but she always claims that it’s too hard. But here she is, sputtering out fluent sentences.” 

Toto asked, “What did she say.” 

“That’s the funny thing. She said something about a king. Must be a weird dream. She had a few weird ones the other night.” 

Lewis smirked up at him. “Care to share?” 

“No.” 

The three laughed a bit before Max bid goodbye, complaining that his arm was falling asleep. Max brought you back to his driver’s room and layed you down on his extra couch. There was a lot of time before qualifying, so he thought he would follow suit and try to get a nap in. His thoughts melted away as soon as his head hit the pillow. 

A few hours later, you and Max were woken up for qualifying. You scratched your head as you tried to remember some of the dreams you had last night. Max had told you that you were able to sputter out fluent Dutch, which then he got onto you for complaining about learning it when you were awake. Now he knew that you knew more than you were letting him know. 

Thankfully, there were no loose drain holes to rip up the floors of the cars. You had easily put your car in the P1 spot, certifying your claim on this track. 

Before the race, you were hunched together with Logan, Lando, and Oscar. Another one of your blankets was around everyone. Your cream Dior blanket would not have been big enough and you didn’t want it touching the dirty floor. On a small chair that sat in front of you, a computer played Cars 2. 

It felt so much like déjà vu while watching it. The movie took you back to your first free practice as a rookie last year, cuddling up with Logan and Oscar on a shared chair. At least this time, the four of you had upgraded to a sofa that was dragged to the outside pit lane. The officials were going over the circuit one last time, just to make sure that it was safe to drive. The chilly air would have raised goosebumps, but the four of you were in the race suits already. The scratchy fabric combined with the fireproofs really kept you insulated. This year, they brought back the Elvis suits. 

Max, Alex, Charles, and Carlos were standing off to the side, checking up on you four from time to time. 

“Anyone else feel like a parent watching them?” Alex questioned out loud, leading to many groans from the group. 

Max sighed, hands on his hips. “All the time. You know how many juice boxes I have to make sure I pack just in case? The answer is a lot.” 

Carlos watched Lando snuggle more into the blanket and into Oscar, still trying to warm up. The Aussie just rolled his eyes, but let him snuggle anyway. 

The Spaniard agreed. “Lando still has his little stuffed animal from a few years ago. Doesn’t leave or go anywhere without it.”

Alex nodded his head. “Oscar and Logan were both in my driver’s room the other day, looking so tired. Turns out, they weren’t sleeping because they watched a horror movie and were too scared to just go to bed. They’ve spent the last couple of nights in my room.” 

Charles shrugged. “Yeah mate, I don’t know. Y/n is just Y/n. She’s always acted like this, with Arthur.” 

Max rolled his eyes. “Surely she’s done something while being at Dams.” 

The Monegasque thought for a moment, before his eyes widened. 

“Ok, there was this one time that Arthur called me to their room. Dams gave them like no money and they often shared a hotel room if they could. And when I got there, they immediately through swim trunks at me. Apparently, they couldn’t go to the pool or water park without adult supervision. The worker there thought they were like younger than 18.” 

The group laughed after the story, making the other group of four turn their heads. 

“What do you think they’re talking about?” Lando questioned, eyes still on the movie. 

“Probably weird adult stuff. Like how one time Max showed up to Milton in his pajamas because he thought it was just a big debrief. No, it was actually a meeting with board members and sponsors.” 

Logan started to laugh loudly at the story, a bit too tired to contain the giggles. 

That made Alex look over again as he sighed. 

“I’m glad Williams kept him on. He was so sure that he was going to be booted after what happened in Qatar.” 

Max looked with sad eyes at the blond, who was currently in a you and Oscar sandwich. 

“Are they going to be renewing his contract after this?” 

Alex had a wicked grin on his face. “Mate, the kid gave Williams their first win since 2012. Of course they extended his contract.” 

Carlos jutted his head. “What about you mate.” 

The Thai shook his head as he lightly laughed. “Logan said he wouldn’t sign unless I got the same amount of years he did.” 

Charles’s eyes widened. “Congrats mate.” 

Logan had started to look over. “They must really be talking about adult stuff.” 

You carefully turned his head back to the movie. 

“Shhhhh, Lightning McQueen is on.” 

This year, you were able to actually finish the movie instead of having to promise that you’d finish it later. 

As you sat on the circuit, Mitch did a quick radio check. 

“Ok kid. You ready to win Vegas?” 

You shrugged in the car, even if she couldn’t see you. “I don’t know about win, but I will try my best. You know what Lego Batman says?” 

Mitch rolled her eyes lovingly. “What does he say?” 

“Always bet on black. But our colors aren’t black. So I’m changing the saying. Always bet on red and navy.” 

“And they are ready to go. I’ll keep you updated when you need it.” 

With that, Mitch let you be as you took off for the formation lap. You knew you had to keep the tyres warm. You watched in your mirrors as the cars behind you started to swerve right to left and then left to right. 

However, you were doing a more subtle approach as you constantly braked hard and then accelerated hard as well. It was a trick you picked up when watching Kimi do the same. 

Charles was a bit worried as he was swerving behind Max. 

“Are her tyres even warming up? Oh, never mind. She’s doing what Kimi always did.” 

It wasn’t long before all the cars were lined up, back in the starting positions. You watched out for the dust on the asphalt, knowing that it caused lots of troubles last year. The lights went off and you were drastically pulling ahead of the pack. 

A bit into the race, you watched as your wheels smoked white as you went around a corner. 

“Lock up in turn 3.” 

“Copy.” 

You hadn’t expected it to happen again, but it did. 

“Damn it. How much are we loosing on the corners?” you questioned, trying to get your car back under control. In the mirrors you saw how Charles and Max were slowly creeping back up to you. 

“Two tenths.” 

You sighed angrily. 

The two male drivers had caught up with you and now it was an all-out, three car battle for first. You were struggling to keep your position. You prayed and hoped that your tyres wouldn’t lock up again. But, they didn’t seem to work as they locked up again, letting Max and Charles fly past. You cursed under your breath. However, you had an idea. 

“Mitch, box for hards please.” 

“Are you sure?” 

You smirked under your helmet. “Always bet on red and navy.” 

You watched as the Red Bull and Ferrari kept going away as you pulled into the pits. If you’re breaks were going to lock up, then the stopping would cause more friction to go to the tyres. In the end, you hoped that the hard tyres would warm up quicker than if you just swerved or waited for them to warm by just driving. 

At the first corner, your breaks locked up once again. 

“How are the temperatures of the tyres?” 

“Heating up quickly.” 

The smirk returned to your face. 

“Perfect.”

You were still behind Charles and Max by the time that they had done their one pitstop. They had also gone out on hard tyres. Your car was still locking up, but you made up the time since your tyres were much more hot. 

It was the third to last lap when you finally made it to the males’ radars. 

“How the hell did she make it this close?” Charles asked, looking in his mirrors as you kept gaining. 

“Last we heard, she was locking up. Keep pushing.” 

The Monegasque saw white puff out of your brakes, yet you seemed to shake it off quickly.

The last lap finally came. 

You watched as your car was getting close to the two leaders. It was time for the all or nothing. 

“Kid, play it safe. Lock up happens on the last corner.”

“Gotta play something.” 

“Kid.” 

You shut the radio off. 

It was a “Never back down never what?” move time. 

You turn on DRS and got side by side with Charles and Max. The two were paying so much attention to each other that they didn’t see you slip by. 

If your brakes were to lock up, then you’d be sent into the barriers going 300+ k/m an hour. It would be deadly at this rate. Your heart started to pick up as you came closer to the corner. You had the outside racing line. You just had to get in front of Max and break as late as you could. 

You held your breath as you finally braked. 

Mitch watched with wide eyes at the pit wall. 

“What is she thinking?” Christian questioned, watching as you finally braked. 

Yet, your tyres never locked up. 

Mitch finally got what you were saying. 

“She had to win a bet.” 

You wanted to cheer as you came out in front of Max in the final chicane. Max, in his car, couldn’t believe it as you slipped past to cross the line in P1. 

You finally let out a deep exhale as the race completed. You pulled into Parc Ferme. You undid your steering wheel and got out. You raised your arms at the crowd before walking to your team. Helmet pats came from everyone as you made your rounds. 

A soft punch landed on your arm. You turned around to see Max, faux anger in his eyes.

“What were you thinking? Braking that late with lock ups? You should have retired the death trap.” 

You rolled your eyes as his over protectiveness. 

“Would you have retired the car?” 

The silence from the Dutchman was your answer. 

“I had to bet on something. We are in Vegas after all.” 

“Sure kid.” 

The limo was squished with you in the middle of Max and Charles. However, this year, the three of you got to Maxsplain, Leclerify, and Y/n-strate on the way to the anticlimactic fountain show during the interviews. 

Nico was the one conducting them this race. After Charles and Max gave their pieces it was your turn. You walked up to the spot with a bright smile, still feeling the high of yet another race win. Nico’s smile was a reflection of your own. 

“So, Y/n, how many race wins does this make for you.” 

“Three, I believe.” 

“Wow, so you’ve already passed Lewis’s record for points during a rookie season, how does that make you feel?” 

You thought for a moment. “Well, the points were definitely different back then, so I don’t know if it’s an good comparison. I know Lewis won four races his rookie year, but I’d be very happy with my three.” 

Nico hummed. “Your race was magnificent. Want to tell us a bit about it? Especially that last overtake.” 

“Well Nico,” you started, “my brakes weren’t being very lovely.” 

You heard snorts from behind you from Max and Charles.

“Lock ups are always tough. I asked my engineer if I could pit for hards because if there was enough friction between my brakes stopping the wheels and then the circuit, I could heat the tyres faster. And then I kind of just went for it on the last corner. I really thought that I would lock up again and go straight into the barriers.” 

The blond could only let out a strangled laugh at the thought you just full sending it without having any caution to your wellbeing. You made him glad that he retired in 2016 because he would not be able to keep a calm heart racing against rookies who only had a mindset to win. 

Max snuck up behind you. 

“I told her that it was stupid and that she should never do it again.” 

You could only pout. 

“Why?”  

“Maybe so I don’t have to plan a funeral?”  

“But Max, I put the fun in funeral.” 

"nO!"

redbullracing has posted

redbullracing always bet on red and navy - y/n l/n, 2024

liked by maxverstappen1, charles_leclerc, y/n_updates, and 1,382,309 others

y/n.nation THRID WIN THIRD WIN THIRD WIN

rookie&co the ride to the fountains with everything

leclerify_me ikr, now we have the big three: maxsplain, leclerify, and y/n-strate

box_box_express we need to call y/n the tyre whisperer along with Charles

red_bull_bros like who thinks to pit to hards and use the lock ups for benefit - she really is her own strategist

y/n.89 so glad I wasn't sprayed in the face, thank you Charlie

maxverstappen1 yeah...thanks Charlie 🙂 charles_leclerc yeah, I was aiming for your eyes, I want another win oscarpiastri GET IN LINE BEHIND THE ONES WHO HAVEN'T WON landonorris you good mate? oscarpiastri I'LL BE GOOD WHEN I GET MY OWN WIN y/n.89 chill shawty - it's coming 😌

formulala_delulu max and Charles >>>>>

author lestappen for ever formulala_delulu HUH?

mericanf1_fan wish Logan was on the podium for Vegas but I'll take p5 🦅

y/n.89 has posted

y/n.89 🪩 what happens in Vegas....

tagged: lilymehe and alexandrasaintmleux

liked by arthur_leclerc, lilymehe, carmenmmundt, and 1,462,923 others

y/n.nation we're not even going to talk about the third picture...

arthur_leclerc hot damn 😳

y/nxarthur bro is done hiding rookiesboyfriend FINALLY y/n.nation is he in vegas?? max&co HOLD UP

maxverstappen1 kid...

y/n.89 yes Max? maxverstappen1 want to pick up your phone? y/n.89 no. maxverstappen1 PICK UP YOUR PHONE lilymehe uh, y/n can't come to the phone right now, she'll get back to you in 3-19 business days lewishamilton I fear this is bahrain again max georgerussell63 I'M NOT EVEN THERE THIS TIME

box_box_nightmare the dress, the disco balls, the chapel, lily and alex - I fear that Vegas has taken our girl

charles_leclerc Alex, amore, please tell y/n to text Max back...I'm nervous that he's going to have an aneurism

alexandrasaintmleux Alex can't come to the phone right now, she'll get back to you in 3-19 business days charles_leclerc OH COME ON - ALEX YOU TRY NOW alex_albon I'm smarter than that (lily said that y/n is texting max now) y/n.89 snitch 😒

formula_gossip twitter is saying that y/n did NOT get married in Vegas but was picked up by a random couple to be a witness to the marriage

y/n_fan THAT WAS ME AND MY HUSBAND! leclercbros God has his favorites

formula_fan she's going to be MASSIVELY hung over tomorrow

TAG LIST: @fionaschicken @glitterquadricorn @laura-naruto-fan1998 @treehouse-mouse @sam-is-lost @kagatinkita @fangirl125reader @megatrilss1885 @myxticmoon @angsthology @cmleitora @fly-me-away @graciewrote @ashy-kit @slutofmultifandom @aexitizen-ln4 @sugarvibez @vellicora @thatgirlthatreadswattpad @33-81 @hoetel-manager @xcharlottemikaelsonx @jayda12 @ilove-tswizzle @justme2042 @itsjustkhaos @nikfigueiredo @stopeatread @cha-hot @sadg3 @iloveyou3000morgan @s4turnsl0ver @alessioayla @torchbearerkyle @leptitlu @awekbachira @shreks-sugar-daddy @v1naco @stan-josie @mellowarcadefun @badassturtle13 @beskardroids @callisposts @poppyalice2001 @juniper-july19 @lizzypiastri

[cuubism]

thoughts had while traveling turned into a ficlet

[E]

-

After university, Hob had always kind of assumed they'd end up in the same place. He doesn’t know why he was so foolish as to think that. But he was always foolish about Dream.

Hob had stuck around in London. He liked traveling, liked seeing new places, but London was home. And it was nice to feel like he had roots somewhere. Like he was maybe sort of building a life.

Dream, meanwhile, had essentially vanished.

He’d picked up some kind of remote editing job that he could do anywhere on top of his writing, and took full advantage of it to bounce all over the globe. Hob didn’t even know all of the places he’d lived, Dream moved so often.

He’d been in Los Angeles for a while and apparently hated it. He’d been in Singapore for about six months at some point. Then he’d been in Istanbul— or was Istanbul before? At one point he’d been in a rural village in Slovenia.

(Hob got emails about these things.)

Then at one point, he’d been in Paris, which at least seemed to suit him a tiny bit better. Still hadn’t last long, though.

Now, Hob’s not sure where he is. He tries not to take it personally. Tries not to take it like he wasn’t enough for Dream to want to stay. Dream just had some things to figure out, he thinks. That’s all.

One day, seemingly at random, he gets a FaceTime call.

“Hob.”

Hob squints at the screen. It’s very bright. He can barely make Dream out. “Where are you?”

“Rhodes,” Dream says.

He pans the phone around to show Hob what must be just about the most gorgeous beach he’s ever seen. It’s a little cove with fishing boats bobbing, water still and sun-drenched.

Dream turns the camera back around. He looks like he’s been crying, eyes red-rimmed, eyeliner smudging. He’s sitting on the sand, phone propped on his knees.

“What’s wrong?” Hob asks, alarmed.

“Is it better,” Dream wonders, “to be full of despair on a beautiful beach, or does it not matter?”

“What d’you mean?”

Dream wipes at his eyes. “I. I thought if I just went. Somewhere. That it would get better. Death even said. Try changing your environment. I did. I did.”

“You did, you went to a lot of places, didn’t you?”

Dream nods, and sniffles. “Why didn’t it fix anything?”

“Oh, darling.” So that’s what it is. He’s just running away from himself.

“What is wrong with me,” Dream continues, “that. I am sat watching the sunset in one of the most beautiful corners of the world. And I feel nothing.”

“It’s not the corner of the world that's the issue,” Hob says, and Dream sighs, sniffling again.

“I want to go home,” he says, despondent.

“Come home, then.”

“Is that still with you? After all I’ve put you through?”

“Yeah, Dream.” To my peril. But Hob will never be able to turn Dream away. “It is.”

Dream nods. “Okay.” Then he stands. “I suppose I may as well go for a swim, while I am still here.”

“Not going to drown yourself, are you?”

Dream huffs. “No.”

He risks the fate of his phone taking Hob with him, though. Holds it above the surface as he treads water, hair increasingly fluffy and clumped together from salt.

“It really is gorgeous,” Hob tells him. The water is so, so blue and the sky so wide. “You’re making me jealous.”

Dream smiles faintly. “You would enjoy it better than I.”

“Maybe. I’m enjoying watching you though.”

“Oh?” Dream raises an eyebrow. Only his throat is visible above the water, but it’s enough. Hob can imagine the rest. His attraction to Dream’s never wavered. “Tell me more.”

“Come home and find out instead, idiot.”

Dream smiles. “Hmm.”

“Oh yeah, hmm.”

Dream’s smile widens. God, he’s so gorgeous. “You’re making me want to leave now.”

“Do it then.”

“Okay.” He starts swimming back to shore, and Hob laughs.

“I missed you, you maniac.”

“I missed you,” Dream echoes.

“S’gonna be okay, yeah?” Hob tells him. “So Rhodes didn’t fix anything. It’s alright.”

“It’s alright,” Dream echoes, eyes looking misty again.

“Just come home.” Hob can’t promise to fix anything. But he can promise Dream a home.

“Yes,” Dream agrees, sea water flowing around his throat, sunset in his hair. “Yes.”

-

Hob half-expects Dream actually won’t. That the flash of melancholic clarity will give way to his usual method of running, that Hob will get an email that he’s now in Samarkand or somewhere and isn’t actually coming “home.” Maybe London isn’t really home for him. He hasn’t been there in years anyway. Maybe.

But one day Dream wanders into the pub they used to get Friday drinks in, the pub Hob’s taken up bartending in, partly for the extra cash, partly to feel closer to Dream.

Hob drops a glass when he sees him, Dream flinching at the crash where he stands in the doorway. Hob ducks behind the bar to clean it up, heart pounding. God, he’s actually here. After three years.

When he stands again, Dream is standing right before the bar, looking uncertain. He’s terribly underdressed for the weather, hair damn from the rain, black t-shirt sticking to his shoulders.

“Um,” Hob says, wringing a bar towel in his hands. “Get you your usual?”

Not that Dream’s usual is necessarily the same, after all this time—

Dream leans across the bar and hugs him.

“My usual,” he says, voice so close to Hob’s ear now that he shivers. Dream’s damp hair tickles his cheek. Hob ought to get a towel and dry him off.

He hugs Dream back, leaning awkwardly over the bar. “Missed you.”

Dream hums, finally releasing him. He takes a seat on a bar stool, a faint smile on his face now. On instinct Hob takes off his sweatshirt—New Inn branded—and gives it to him.

Dream takes it, gaze lingering on Hob’s face as he pulls it on. He immediately looks less frigid, though.

“Is it still the driest red on the menu that you want?” he asks, and Dream laughs.

“Yes.”

Hob pours him one, sliding it across the bar. Their fingers brush. It feels, almost, like no time has passed at all. Nothing changed.

“So,” Hob says, grateful there are no other customers awaiting his attention. “Rhodes?”

“The last of many,” Dream says wearily.

“Looked beautiful?”

“Yes,” Dream agrees, and sips his wine.

“So.” It’s hard to ask what he really wants to ask. Are you actually back? Are you actually here for me? “Are you. You have somewhere to stay?”

“I am not wandering the streets,” Dream says with a half smile. “I have a hotel room. For now.”

“Still itinerant,” Hob says, before he can think better of it, and Dream’s smile turns sad.

“Yes.”

“Learn anything?”

“I learned that moving about doesn’t fix anything when the problem is inside of you,” Dream says. Hob winces at the phrasing of it. There’s no problem with you, he wants to say. But he understands what Dream’s getting at. “I do not know what does fix it,” Dream continues.

Hob doesn’t either. He doesn’t know what it’s like to be in Dream’s head. “Try staying here, then,” Hob says. “What’ve you got to lose?”

Dream studies him. “Indeed.”

It really does feel like nothing and everything has changed between them. But maybe not everything. And maybe it’s okay.

He rests his hand against Dream’s on the bar. “Finish your wine,” he says. “And come home with me.”

Dream takes a final sip of his wine, eyes locked on Hob’s over the rim of his glass, and licks the red droplets from his lower lip as he takes Hob’s hand.

-

Hob has him bent over on the bed, bobbing his head on Hob’s cock, before they’ve had the chance to pass more than a few additional words. Dream seems not to need words, anyway. His expression is finally slack and peaceful, neck craning, eyelids fluttering, as he takes Hob’s cock down, down, down, Hob’s grip tight in his hair. He hasn’t lost any of his skill in these intervening years, apparently. Or his enjoyment of it.

“Yeah, that’s it, darling,” Hob praises, thrusting up into his mouth. “Good. You’re so perfect at this.”

Dream whines, the vibration traveling through Hob’s body, reaching awkwardly around himself to press needy fingers to his own hole.

“I’ll do right by you, darling, don’t worry, come here.” Hob pulls Dream off and hefts him up, sitting back so he can settle Dream in his lap. “Don’t worry, love.”

Dream looks down at him with wide, dark eyes, breathing hard, mouth open and wet. He swallows, says, voice thready, “I need you in me.”

Hob’s heart thumps, hard. It hurts. “I know.”

Dream pushes his cheek into Hob’s temple, lips smearing saliva over his skin, clutching so tight at Hob’s shoulders it hurts. “Hob.”

“Shhh.” Hob holds him close as he works him open, Dream crying out and clutching at him with each touch. God, Hob remembers what he was like. He really hasn’t changed at all.

When he finally sinks Dream down onto his cock, Dream lets out a long moan, then goes slack again as he shivers. Hob tries to breathe evenly and stay still, letting him adjust, no matter how good it feels to be buried in him again.

“It has been too long,” Dream says, when his breathing’s evened out.

“Didn’t have tons of adventures on all of your travels?”

Dream shakes his head. “Not the same.”

It’s not the same. No one Hob’s hooked up with in the intervening years has been the same, either. No one else makes this feeling rear up in him, like he would do anything for the man in his arms, like he would dash himself to pieces just to have him. It might not be a good feeling but Hob wants it nonetheless.

He doesn’t say all that. He says, “It’s not, no one takes me like you do, I’ve missed how gorgeous you are bouncing on my cock, missed how perfect it feels to fill you.”

“Yes,” Dream says. “It’s so good. I missed that. Please, Hob.”

Hob hefts him in his lap, bouncing Dream on his cock. Dream cries out, holding to him tight. “Yes—!”

Fuck, he feels good. He’s so pliant and wanting, need burning in his fingertips and his wet panting breaths by Hob’s ears. Hob would give him anything in the world.

“Came back just for this, didn’t you?” he says. “Didn’t you?”

“Yes, yes— I missed— oh, Hob!” This as Hob nails his prostate, Dream wailing and clutching at him. Yes. Hob remembers exactly how it feels to make him feel like that. God, it’s everything to make him feel like that.

“More,” Dream begs. “More, harder.”

Hob will give him more. More and more until he’s full up on it, until it’s enough for him to feel satisfied, enough for him to cease his wanderings and stay.

He fucks Dream harder until Dream’s reduced to incoherent wailing, throwing himself into Hob’s touch like to feel nothing and everything is a relief. And Hob feels everything, too: the tight heat of Dream’s body, the dig of his fingertips, his wet panting breaths—and more than anything, the overwhelming want. He wants Dream. He has always wanted Dream.

Dream comes first, pushed over the edge with Hob’s hands on his waist and his cock rubbing over Hob’s belly. He cries out, and then wraps his arms around Hob’s shoulders, holding tight as Hob chases his own completion in his body.

Hob closes his eyes as he comes, just floating in the feeling of having Dream around him. He’s missed that so much. He’s missed Dream so much, in these years he’s been left behind.

He doesn’t realize how emotional he’s gotten about it until he feels Dream’s fingertips tracing over his cheeks, wiping away tears.

“Sorry,” Hob says, voice choked, holding Dream close even as he gently slips from his body.

Dream strokes his hair. “Perhaps I ought to go,” he says quietly, but makes no move to get up. “I fear I am being unfair to you.”

“I’m the one that told you to come back. Wanted you to.” Even if it just breaks his heart all over again, when Dream decides he still isn’t happy, and can’t stay.

“Even so.”

Still he doesn’t move to get up. Hob runs his hands up and down his back, just feeling him.

“I don’t know how you do it,” Dream continues some time later, still stroking Hob’s hair. Hob’s long since buried his face in Dream’s shoulder. “How you. Can feel content.”

Hob barks a laugh. “You think I’m content?”

“Are you not?”

“I don’t know, Dream.” Content to be here, in London, maybe, to not need to uproot himself, chasing some nebulous sense of better, but content? While knowing Dream was out there somewhere?

“My mistake,” Dream says. He rests his cheek on top of Hob’s head. “Perhaps there is no contentment, then.”

That makes Hob laugh for real. He finally lifts his head, looking Dream in the eye. “You’re the most dramatic bitch I’ve ever met. ‘There’s no such thing as contentment'? Dream.”

Dream smiles, then leans in to kiss him. Hob sighs into the brush of his lips. There is such thing as contentment, he thinks.

“What if I don’t leave this time,” Dream says, when their lips part.

“You mean it?”

Dream nods, forehead leaning against Hob’s. “I am. Tired. And this. Is the first moment I have not felt fatigued in longer than I can remember.”

“I’ll have to tire you out better, then.”

“Hob.”

“I’m kidding you, love.” Really, all of Hob is leaping in cautious joy. Could Dream truly mean it? “I want you to stay. Let’s get cleaned up, yeah?”

Dream nods, and lets Hob help him up. They make their joint way to the bathroom, where Hob pulls Dream into the shower with him, and they hold each other close under the warm spray, and Dream washes Hob’s hair with careful focus, mindful of tugging it. Afterwards Hob gives Dream some pajamas to borrow, for all of Dream’s things are still in his hotel room. Dream cuddles up to him in bed, hesitant at first, until Hob opens his arms and assures him of his welcome.

The feeling of Dream laying his head down on Hob’s chest is heavenly. It’s dangerous. But it’s so good.

"I'm sorry," Dream murmurs, into the dark.

“For what? Leaving? You don’t have to be. It’s your life.”

“I don’t know quite what for,” says Dream. “I feel I am wavering about and dragging you along with me.”

“Maybe I want to be dragged along.”

Dream lifts his head to give him a look. “Precisely,” he says, and Hob feels skewered. Seen in his pathetic wanting. Like if he had more self-respect, he’d hold his inconsistent friend at a distance, not invite Dream right back in to break his heart again.

Dream’s decision to leave the first time wasn’t even about Hob. They weren’t really together, more on again, off again, falling into each other and then away. “Friends with benefits.” Only Hob had always cared more about the ‘friends’ than the ‘benefits.’ Maybe if he had made it clearer, Dream would have stayed.

Maybe he needs to stop making it his fault, when it wasn’t about him.

Only. The fact that it wasn’t about him also means that it was.

“Why didn’t you stay?” he asks, grip tightening around Dream’s shoulders.

“I wasn’t happy,” Dream says. The words feel like a shove to the chest. “I didn’t. I did not know how to fix it. I tried to leave. Then I tried to leave again. Only. You can’t leave yourself.”

“What makes it different this time?”

If London— if Hob— didn’t make him happy before—

“Maybe nothing,” Dream admits, quietly, still lying on Hob’s chest. “Maybe it was a futile chase from the start. And I should give up trying.”

“Dream—"

Dream plows on, as if he needs to get it all out. “I called you because. I was staring out at the ocean. I felt nothing. But I thought, ‘Hob would like it.’ And when I showed you, that did make me happy. For a moment. And when I told you how I felt… that made me happy, too.”

Hob wants to say something, but his throat is too tight. God, Dream always finds new ways to break his heart.

“I think that maybe contentment is not… for me,” Dream adds, fingertips stroking lightly up and down Hob’s side. “But the closest I've felt, in fleeting moments, is when I am with you.”

“Dream…” this time it comes out as barely a breath. “My love.”

“Still?”

“Yeah. Always.” Maybe Hob doesn’t have very good self-preservation. But it’s Dream. It’s always been Dream.

“For me as well,” Dream says, and Hob lets out a long, heavy breath.

“Now you’ve got to show me Rhodes in person,” he teases, to break some of the heaviness in the air.

Dream’s smile curves against his skin. “You will like it.”

“I’m sure.”

“I think I will like it more with you there,” Dream adds.

“Yeah?” Hob says.

“Mmhm.”

“I think you just want to ogle me on a beach.”

“If I’m to be in a beautiful place, I ought to have a beautiful man as well,” Dream says. The feeling of his rare smile still pressed to Hob's chest is devastating.

“Completes the picture?” Hob asks, chest tight.

“Yes.” Dream wraps his arms around him and cuddles in close. “I believe it does.”

[bunniwords]

໑ৎ ׁ ׅ♡ ALIBI 🌀

part xxiii - masterlist - part xxv xxiv. ungrateful brat

bunni speaks — they’re so cute i wanna cry… this chapter is a bit shorter but hehe

︶︶ 　 ˚ ᡴꪫ synopsis — you are known for your brain rot anime content on twitter. so much so that you caught the attention of txt’s soobin on his secret stan account and became mutuals. what will become of this new friendship?

more under the cut!

“you know, i do like your hair dark too.”

“okay, but you look at me differently with the blonde hair.”

“i think the blonde is definitely sexy but your dark hair suits you too.”

“well, you’re basically telling me i have to bleach my hair every few weeks now.”

your shared laughter filled the hotel room. the last hour or so, you and soobin were getting readjusted to each other. well… the first twenty minutes or so was spent locking lips on the couch and sharing desperate touches to one another, but eventually the two of you started bickering and definitely flirting like how you normally would.

“you know, i’m going to miss seeing your face like this,” soobin said as his finger traces your jaw, “can’t you just come touring with me?”

“i’d be out of a job,” you joked, still feeling tingles from his touches. you couldn’t seem to get used to them.

“i can pay you,” he offered half jokingly, but you had a feeling he wasn’t joking at all.

“i’m not going to get paid to be your groupie,” you rolled your eyes, “plus you only have one more date left in the states.”

“i wasn’t just talking about the usa portion of the tour,” he said matter-of-factly, “there’s still the second japan part of the tour, macau, singapore, and—“

he stopped when he saw how you looked at him. your answer seemed to be written all over your face, guilt and a small pout. although he knew you couldn’t just drop everything here to join him, but just imagining it had him feeling warm inside. 

“i know it’d be so much fun, but i couldn’t possibly do that right now. no matter how much i’d want to,” you giggled, “we’re not even dating so it wouldn’t even make sense for me to go with you.”

“we’re not?” he asked innocently and slightly heartbroken from your statement.

“well, neither of us asked each other to and you’ll be on tour so i didn’t want to hold you down or—“

“would you be my girlfriend?” he abruptly asked.

“huh?”

“you wouldn’t be holding me down,” soobin told you, holding eye contact while fiddling with your fingers, “ i want you.”

“you’re serious?” you needed confirmation. 

“i’ve been committed to talking to you everyday since we started regularly,” soobin spoke lowly before pulling you closer to him by your waist, “please, be mine.”

“o-okay,” you choked, noticing how close your faces were, “yeah.”

“okay?” soobin wasn’t really asking for confirmation. he already had the biggest shit-eating grin plastered on his face before grazing his lips on yours. 

“yes,” you whispered so softly before fully attaching your lips to his.

[wethotcrazy]

SYMPATHY IS A KNIFE (vii)

pairing: Yuki Tsunoda x Fem! Driver! Reader

word count: 3715

part 7. WHAT THE FUCK IS A KILOMETER RAAAAAAAAHHHH🗣️🦅‼️🇺🇸 we are now in austin baby (and the rest of the americas triple header), anyways more painfully slow progression for these two

part i part ii part iii part iv part v part vi

The weight of expectations felt different now. YN noticed it in the way young girls' eyes followed her through the paddock, in the trembling voices asking for autographs, in the handmade signs declaring "Future F1 Driver" held by tiny hands. The Singapore podium hadn't just been her victory – it had opened a door of possibility for countless others who saw themselves in her.

During the VCARB fan zone event, a mother approached with her two daughters, both wearing miniature versions of YN's race suit. "They haven't missed a single practice session since you joined F1," the mother explained, her voice thick with emotion. "My youngest even asked to change schools so she could go karting more often."

The responsibility of it all hit YN harder than any g-force she'd experienced on track. These weren't just fans anymore – they were dreams in human form, hope wearing replica helmets and carrying notebooks filled with racing lines sketched in crayon.

Yuki found her later, sitting alone in the engineering room, staring at telemetry data without really seeing it. He didn't say anything at first, just placed a familiar convenience store energy drink on the desk – the same brand they'd shared during their junior racing days.

"Remember what you told me in F3?" he asked, pulling up a chair beside her. "After that massive shunt at Silverstone?"

"That failure only sticks if you let it define you," YN recited, the memory bringing a slight smile to her face.

"Exactly." His shoulder brushed against hers as he reached for the laptop, pulling up their comparative sector times. "So stop letting them define you by one podium. You're here because you're fast, not because you're making history."

The VCARB social media team captured them the next day, filming a segment where they had to teach each other their pre-race rituals. YN tried not to laugh as Yuki attempted to replicate her precise steering wheel adjustment sequence, his fingers fumbling over the buttons.

"How do you remember all of these?" he groaned, accidentally activating the radio instead of the brake bias adjustment.

"The same way you remember your weird lucky sock routine," she teased, earning a playful glare.

"They're not weird, they're traditional!"

The camera caught their natural banter, the way they moved in sync without thinking, years of friendship evident in every interaction. Comments flooded in almost immediately: "The chemistry between these two! 🔥" "Name a better duo, I'll wait 😍" "From F3 to F1, what a journey!"

But it was the other comments that kept YN up at night, scrolling through her phone in her hotel room: "My daughter started karting because of you" "Thank you for showing girls they belong in motorsport" "You're changing the sport forever."

The pressure crystallized during the pre-race press conference. A journalist asked about her influence on young female fans, and YN felt every camera focus on her face.

"I race because I love it," she began carefully, feeling Yuki's supportive presence beside her. "If that inspires others to chase their dreams, then that's wonderful. But I'm not here to be a symbol – I'm here to be fast."

Later, as they walked back to the garage, Yuki caught her arm. "You know what makes you a good role model?" he asked, his dark eyes serious. "You never forgot why you started racing in the first place."

The Texas sun beat down on the Circuit of the Americas as YN adjusted her helmet, preparing for final practice. Through the visor, she could see a cluster of young girls pressed against the fence, wearing her team colors. One held a sign that read: "Future World Champion."

The sight would have paralyzed her with pressure a week ago. But now, as she caught Yuki's encouraging nod from across the garage, she felt something else. Those girls weren't just looking up to her – they were looking forward, to their own futures in the sport. She wasn't just carrying their dreams; she was showing them how to chase their own.

As she pulled out of the garage, the roar of the engine drowning out everything else, YN smiled. The weight of being a role model would always be there, but so would the pure joy of racing, the thrill of pushing limits, and the quiet understanding in Yuki's eyes when she needed reminding of who she was beyond the headlines.

In the end, that's what would inspire those young dreamers more than any podium – the truth that she was, first and always, a racer who happened to be making history, not the other way around. And if her heart still fluttered when Yuki grinned at her through the garage window, well, that was just another kind of racing altogether.

The Austin qualifying session played out like a well-choreographed dance, both VCARB cars sliding through to Q3 with methodical precision. YN could feel the electricity in the air as she pulled her car into parc fermé, the satisfaction of another strong qualifying evident in the smiles beneath both their helmets.

"Not bad for someone who needed five takes to lasso a hay bale," she teased Yuki as they walked to the media pen, their race suits damp with Texas sweat.

"Says the one who claimed to have Texas racing in her blood," he shot back, but his eyes crinkled with that smile she'd grown so familiar with over the years. The one that made her forget about the cameras following their every move.

Race day dawned clear and crisp, the kind of autumn morning that made COTA's sweeping turns look even more inviting. During the drivers' parade, YN noticed how Yuki kept glancing her way, checking her pre-race mood as he'd done since their Formula 3 days. Some habits never changed, even under the bright lights of Formula 1.

The race itself was a masterclass in teamwork. Twenty laps in, running P5 and P6, their engineers' voices crackled over the radio with synchronized strategy calls. YN couldn't help but smile inside her helmet as she and Yuki executed their pit stops within a lap of each other, their years of shared experience showing in every synchronized movement.

"Box, box, box this lap," her engineer called.

"Copy," she responded, already knowing Yuki would be in the following lap. They'd discussed this scenario in the strategy meeting, finishing each other's sentences until their race engineer had joked about getting them a joint radio channel.

The final stint saw them running P4 and P5, Yuki just ahead, defending against a charging Ferrari while YN managed the gap to the McLaren behind. Their pace was metronomic, matching each other sector by sector.

"Yuki and YN, maintain position, great job both of you," their team principal's voice came over the radio on the cool-down lap. "Strong points for the team today."

In parc fermé, they found each other immediately, as if drawn by some invisible force. Yuki pulled her into a quick hug, the kind they'd shared countless times in their junior careers but felt different now under the Formula 1 spotlight.

"Just like the old days," he murmured, quiet enough that only she could hear. "Except now we're doing it in F1."

The media obligations blurred together after that – questions about team dynamics, about their history together, about her continued progress in the sport. But one moment stood out, when a reporter asked about their obvious synchronicity on track.

"You and Yuki seem to have an almost telepathic understanding during races. How much does your shared history in junior formulas play into that?"

YN caught Yuki's eye across the media pen, saw that familiar half-smile playing at his lips. "When you've spent as many years as we have pushing each other to be better, you develop a sort of shorthand," she answered. "It's like having a racing dictionary that only we know how to read."

Later, as they sat in the team's hospitality unit reviewing race data, shoulders brushing as they leaned over the same screen, YN felt that familiar warmth in her chest. P4 and P5 might not have the glamour of Singapore's podium, but there was something special about achieving it together, about proving they could be just as strong as teammates as they had been as rivals.

"Your exit speed through turn 19 was insane," Yuki commented, pointing at a particular segment of data. "Always been better than me there."

"Yeah, well, your sector one was textbook perfect," she replied, nudging his shoulder. "Some things never change."

As the Texas sun set over the circuit, casting long shadows across the paddock, YN realized that success in Formula 1 wasn't just measured in podiums and points. Sometimes it was in the synchronized pit stops, the matched sector times, the understood glances across briefing rooms. Sometimes it was in the way Yuki still remembered how she liked her post-race coffee, or how he could read her mood from the way she adjusted her gloves before a session.

The hunger for success was still there, burning as bright as ever, but now it felt shared – a flame they tended together, pushing each other toward greater heights. And if that flame sometimes felt like it could burn down the careful walls between teammates and something more, well, that was just another kind of race they were learning to navigate.

In the team photo later, standing in front of their cars with their race boots still dusty from the COTA track walk, YN felt Yuki's hand brush against hers, a ghost of a touch that sent sparks through her racing gloves. Some victories, she was learning, didn't need podiums to feel just as sweet.

The evening after the race, YN found herself in her hotel room, the adrenaline of the day finally wearing off. Her phone buzzed with a message from Yuki: "Roof? Like old times?"

It was their tradition, started in Formula 3 – finding the highest point they could after a race, away from the cameras and expectations. Back then, it had been trailer roofs and empty grandstands. Now, standing on the hotel's rooftop terrace, Austin's skyline glittered before them like a circuit made of stars.

"Thought I'd find you overthinking everything," Yuki said, appearing beside her with two cups of green tea – another tradition from their junior days. His race suit was replaced with team joggers and a hoodie, but his hair still bore the marks of his helmet, sticking up at odd angles.

"Not overthinking," YN protested, accepting the tea. "Just... processing."

"Liar." His shoulder bumped against hers as he leaned on the railing. "I know that look. Same one you had after your first F3 win. Like you're waiting for someone to say it was all a mistake."

The city lights blurred as she stared into her tea. "It's different now. Every move we make, every point we score... it's not just about us anymore. Did you see how many girls were in the grandstands today? Wearing our team colors, holding signs..."

"I saw." His voice was soft. "I also saw how you fought through sector two like a demon. How you didn't lift once through turn 15. That's what they were cheering for – not what you represent, but what you do."

YN turned to look at him, finding his dark eyes already on her. In the dim light, she could almost pretend they were back in their early racing days, when everything felt simpler. When the weight of inspiration didn't rest quite so heavy on her shoulders.

"Sometimes I miss when it was just us," she admitted quietly. "Just two kids with dreams too big for our budget racing suits."

"It's still us," Yuki said, his hand finding hers on the railing. "The cameras just have better angles now."

That startled a laugh out of her, breaking the tension. "Remember when we used to practice interviews?"

"And you always made me play the journalist asking about tire management," he grinned. "Look how far we've come."

The night air wrapped around them like a comfortable silence, filled with years of shared memories and unspoken understanding. YN felt the familiar flutter in her chest when Yuki's thumb absently traced patterns on her hand, probably not even aware he was doing it.

"Hey," he said suddenly, turning to face her fully. "About what you said in the press conference today – about having a racing dictionary only we know how to read?"

She nodded, remembering the moment.

"Some things don't need translation." His voice was barely above a whisper, but his eyes said everything his words couldn't.

The space between them seemed to shrink, the city lights and pressure and expectations fading until all that remained was the warmth of his hand in hers and the understanding that had grown between them over countless races and shared dreams.

Racing was about timing – knowing exactly when to brake, when to accelerate, when to take the risk that could change everything. As YN looked at Yuki, at the boy who'd become her best friend and the man who'd become so much more, she wondered if some moments were worth the risk of missing the apex altogether.

The Texas night held its breath, waiting for someone to make the first move in this new kind of race – one where the finish line looked suspiciously like the beginning of something else entirely.

The Mexico City paddock hummed with anticipation as teams prepared for the next race weekend. YN found herself spending more time in the VCARB garage even when she wasn't required to be there, drawn by the comfortable rhythm she and Yuki had developed. Their shared success in Austin had only strengthened their partnership, both on and off track.

During technical briefings, they sat closer than necessary, shoulders brushing as they reviewed sector times. Their race engineers had started presenting their data side by side, noting how their driving styles had begun to complement each other. Where YN was bold through the high-speed corners, Yuki was precise in the technical sections. Together, they were pushing VCARB higher in the constructors' championship with each race.

"Your throttle application through turn 4 is getting aggressive," Yuki noted one evening, pointing at her telemetry data. The garage had emptied hours ago, but they remained, bathed in the blue glow of monitors.

"Says the one who's been taking my lines through the chicane," YN replied, unable to hide her smile. The way he studied her data with such intensity made her heart race faster than any qualifying lap.

The pressure of being Formula 1's breakthrough female driver still weighed heavily, but Yuki had a way of making it feel lighter. He'd started joining her for media obligations, his presence a silent support system. When journalists asked about gender barriers, he'd seamlessly redirect the conversation to her racing prowess, her technical feedback, her contribution to the team.

One rainy evening in Mexico City, they found themselves trapped in the engineering office as a tropical storm passed over the circuit. Thunder rattled the windows as they worked through race simulation data.

"Remember Suzuka in F3?" Yuki asked suddenly, looking up from his laptop. "That rain-soaked qualifying?"

"When you insisted on running slicks because the forecast said it would clear?" YN laughed. "And then it poured harder?"

"Hey, you followed me out on slicks too!"

"Because I trusted you," she said softly, the words carrying more weight than intended.

The silence that followed was filled with years of shared risks, mutual trust, and something deeper that had been growing between them since Austin. Yuki's hand found hers across the desk, their fingers intertwining naturally, like two racing lines converging at the perfect apex.

In their world of precise measurements and calculated risks, this thing between them was wonderfully unpredictable. It showed in the lingering hugs after good results, in the way Yuki's eyes sought her out across crowded drivers' briefings, in how their casual touches had become as natural as breathing.

The pressure of being a role model, of carrying the hopes of countless young girls, still kept YN awake some nights. But now, when the weight felt too heavy, she had someone who understood both the burden and the beauty of it. Someone who saw her not as a symbol or a milestone, but as a racer, a friend, and maybe something more.

The thunder rolled on, but in their quiet corner of the paddock, they had found their own kind of peace – one built on shared dreams, mutual understanding, and the exhilarating promise of what lay ahead, both on and off the track.

The Mexico City podium celebration was still echoing through the paddock as YN made her way back to the garage. P3 felt sweeter than Singapore somehow - maybe because this time, Yuki was right there in P4, both of them having fought their way through the field together. As she rounded the corner, Lando Norris fell into step beside her, a knowing grin on his face.

"So," he drawled, "that was quite the defense you two pulled off against the Ferraris. Almost like you could read each other's minds."

"Good team strategy," YN replied diplomatically, but she could feel her cheeks warming.

"Right, 'team strategy,'" Lando air-quoted. "Is that what we're calling those long 'engineering briefings' you two keep having on the hotel roof?"

Before YN could respond, Charles Leclerc joined them, still in his race suit. "Leave them alone, Lando," he said, but his eyes sparkled with mischief. "Though I have to say, YN, your racing line through turn 4 is starting to look suspiciously like Yuki's..."

The teasing followed them to Brazil, where the intensity of Interlagos only seemed to strengthen their connection. During the drivers' parade, Alex Albon nudged Yuki. "Remember when you used to complain about sharing data with teammates? Now we can't get you out of the engineering room."

Yuki's face flushed, but he couldn't hide his smile. "The team's progress is important," he muttered.

"The team, or a specific teammate?" Pierre Gasly chimed in from behind them, earning a chorus of laughs.

In the garage, their race engineers had started making jokes about their synchronized feedback. "Let me guess," YN's engineer would say when she reported understeer, "Yuki's about to radio in with the same thing?" He was usually right.

The social media buzz was growing too. Fan accounts dedicated to capturing their moments together multiplied overnight. Every shared laugh, every trackside conversation, every celebratory hug was analyzed and gif'd within minutes. #TeamTsunoda began trending alongside #YNSupremacy.

But it was in the quiet moments between sessions that their bond deepened most. After a particularly challenging practice session in São Paulo, YN found Yuki waiting in their usual spot - a secluded corner of the garage with a perfect view of the timing screens.

"The media's getting worse," she sighed, slumping beside him. The questions had shifted from her racing to her personal life, from her achievements to her relationship status. The weight of being not just a female driver but now half of F1's most speculated-about pair was beginning to wear.

Yuki's hand found hers instinctively. "Then we give them something real to talk about - our racing," he said firmly. "Show them why we're here."

They did exactly that in qualifying, setting the track alight with a synchronized performance that put them P3 and P4. In the cooldown room, Max Verstappen shook his head with amusement. "You two are scary when you're in sync like that."

"They're always in sync," George Russell called out. "Haven't you seen their matching coffee orders?"

The race itself was a masterclass in teamwork. Lap after lap, they defended and attacked as one unit, their cars dancing through Interlagos's sweeping turns like partners in a carefully choreographed ballet. When Yuki's radio crackled with a strategy call, YN was already adjusting her lines to complement his movement.

"Your girlfriend's got your back again, Tsunoda," came Lewis Hamilton's teasing voice over the radio after YN perfectly blocked an overtaking attempt that would have compromised Yuki's position.

In parc fermé, with another double points finish secured, they found each other through the crowd of mechanics and media. The cameras caught their embrace, longer than usual, neither caring about the headlines it would generate.

"Did you see Twitter?" Daniel Ricciardo grinned as they walked to the podium ceremony. "They're calling you two the 'Race Track Romance.'"

"Better than what they used to call me," YN said softly, remembering the early days when every mistake was attributed to her gender.

"They call you a brilliant driver now," Yuki said firmly, his hand brushing against hers. "Everything else is just noise."

Later, in their now-traditional post-race debrief on the hotel roof, the São Paulo sunset painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, YN felt the familiar flutter in her chest as Yuki traced the racing line of turn 1 on her palm.

"The media's right about one thing," he said quietly. "We are better together."

"Because we push each other to be better," YN replied, but they both knew it was more than that.

"Remember in Austin," Yuki began, turning to face her fully, "when you said some things don't need translation?"

YN nodded, her heart racing faster than any qualifying lap.

"Well," he continued, his dark eyes intense, "I think I'm tired of leaving things unspoken."

The Brazilian night air held its breath as the space between them disappeared, years of friendship, rivalry, and unspoken feelings finally converging at the perfect moment. As their lips met, soft and sure, YN realized that while making history as a female F1 driver had opened doors for others, this - finding someone who saw her as both a fierce competitor and a woman who made his heart race - was a different kind of breakthrough altogether.

The paddock's teasing, the media speculation, the fan theories - none of it mattered. What mattered was the way Yuki's hands cupped her face like she was both strong and precious, the way their heartbeats synchronized like perfectly matched sector times, the way everything finally felt right in their high-speed world.

They had always been good at reading each other's moves on track. Now, as they pulled apart just enough to share breathless smiles, they realized they'd been reading each other's hearts all along. Some victories, after all, were worth more than any podium.

here are some of the tags: @floweringanna, @hiraethberry, @holendernik, @oooom4arie, @burnhampeaches, @dying-inside-but-its-classy

let me know if you want to be added to the list :))

[vettelinyourarea]

ready to run - charles leclerc

genre: fluff

warning: english is not my first language

word count: 1,349

inspired by ready to run by one direction

notes: I’m actually from Bali so, for Charles I have to mention his monkey incident there hehe. Also, this account is probably going to be a based-on-songs writing account.

feel free to give me feedbacks!

There’s a lightning in your eyes I can’t deny

Then there’s me inside a sinking boat, running out of time

Without you I’ll never make it out alive

But I know, yes I know we’ll be alright

Charles just got back to Monaco after a race in Bahrain. Disappointed would perfectly describe how he’s feeling right now. Tired, would also describe his condition perfectly. But he doesn’t go to his own house straight away, no. He is coming to you, his home.

It’s almost like a routine for him to come back to you straight away after a race weekend. He just wants your comfort and to see your beautiful smile that could make him drunk whenever he saw you.

You are instantly greeted by a tight hug by the man that is still wearing his ferrari suit in front of your house. After about three minutes of just standing there, you finally tried to pull away from him. “Let’s come inside first, okay? You should also change to a more comfortable clothes,” you said softly, still hugging him because you failed to pull away from the man that’s still hugging you.

Once you two are inside, you made him some chamomile tea to relax him a little bit while he’s changing his clothes that he stored in your closet. You were doing your dishes from earlier when you made your breakfast before Charles came, when he surprised you with a hug.

“Can we please cuddle?”

There’s a devil in your smile, it’s chasing me

And every time I turn around it’s only gaining speed

There’s a moment when you finally realized

There’s no way you can change the rolling tide

But I know, yes I know that I’ll be fine

Charles is sitting on his plane, going for Italy. After spending the holiday with you, reality finally hits and he has to prepare for the next season’s race. Going to, what he called, training camp. He loves training, but loving it doesn’t mean it’s going to be easy. But he really can’t think about it right now. All he has on his mind is your smile, how he misses you.

Charles couldn’t understand himself, already missing you when you literally just dropped him of this morning. But he can’t control his feeling, and he always misses you. Your smile, your hugs, your laugh, your eyes. And that he couldn’t see you for the next few months, he knew training would be more difficult for him.

But one thing, and only one thing finally made a smile appear on his face. Charles knew you would be waiting for him in Monaco after all these difficult months. He knew he can always come home, to you. And he finally feels okay and ready for the training camp he has to endure every year.

He will be fine, as long as you are waiting for him to come home.

This time I’m ready to run

Escape from the city and follow the sun

Cause I wanna be yours

Don’t you wanna be mine?

I don’t wanna get lost in the dark of the night

Charles is currently sitting in his hotel room in Singapore after qualifying day. It wasn’t the best for him, but it’s also not the worst. But still, he wants to hear your voice that always managed to comfort him even after all of the difficult things he has to endure during the day. And he’s very lucky that you will always pick up his phone calls whatever the occurrence is, whatever time it is there in Monaco.

“Hey, I saw the qualifying,” you said after you picked up the call. Even with that one simple sentence, you already brought a big smile on Charles’s face. “You saw it?” he asked everytime, even though he knew if it’s possible, you will always watch the free practices, the qualifying, and the race.

You are talking about your day mindlessly when Charles suddenly said something that surprised you quite a bit. “Can’t we just be official?” he said suddenly. He couldn’t help himself anymore. You are his home, you are the one he seeks comfort to, but neither of you have put any labels on your relationship.

“You’re asking me to be your girlfriend through the phone?” you said with a little laugh. Charles laugh softly too, he never thought he would be asking you to be his girlfriend when he’s literally halfway across the world. He has always been a romantic kind of guy.

“I would literally fly there now just so you can be my girlfriend,” he said jokingly, knowing it’s not possible because of the race tomorrow.

“Don’t be stupid Charles, try again when you are home.”

There’s a future in my life I can’t foresee

Unless of course I stay on course

And keep you next to me

No one can predict their future, including Charles. Especially with him being a racing driver, once his contract with Ferrari ends, he can’t be sure and confident that he will be on the grid the next season. And he is scared, he is scared of what the future holds for him. And he told you that, he always tells you whatever it is on his mind that is bothering him.

“I’m scared I wouldn’t be on the grid next season,” he said to you one night, while you’re holding him close. You’re playing with his hair because you knew it would soothe his nerve.

This season has not been easy for him, and you know it. But that doesn’t mean his love for racing is gone. Every DNF would be replaced by a win on the next race, every disappointment would be replaced by pride, and every exhaustion would be replace by satisfaction. Racing is not easy for him, for anyone, but that’s what make him more in love with the sport. “I definitely think you would be on the grid next season. I hope Toto will hire you,” you said jokingly. It’s a running joke between both of you because of your love for the Mercedes Team Principal, Charles’ team rival.

“I hope so, but I think I will be fine as long as you’re next to me,” he said, earning a laugh from you. “God, you’re so cheesy, Perceval.”

This time I’m ready to run

Wherever you are is the place I belong

Cause I wanna be free

And I wanna be young

I will never look back, now I’m ready to run

You are currently planning for your trip going to Bali. It’s been years since you last leave the country for a vacation, and you knew you deserve it. After years of working while trying to get your master’s degree, you finally got it. So, you decided to reward yourself by going on a trip to Bali, to enjoy the beautiful beaches, temples, foods, and sunsets. But you’re not alone planning the trip, you had asked Charles for his recommendation as he had been there a few years ago.

“Can I join you?” he asked suddenly while you’re looking for the visa requirements. “You sure? I won’t be racing or climbing the mountains there.” You said. You knew Charles has always been an adrenaline junky, the complete opposite of you. You prefer going to the beach, the beautiful temples, where Charles would prefer to go rock climbing somewhere.

“Please? I just want to be with you,” he said with a pout. How could you resist him with that face you rarely see from a driver? “Okay, you can come,” you said, earning yourself a little kisses from that man who is smiling so hard.

Charles knew he would rather be sitting at the beach, bore himself to death by not doing anything, than being away from you when he could have been next to you. And he knew he won’t be bored because He loves spending time with you. He loves being with you.

“But can we please not go to the monkey forest in Ubud?” he said, earning a smack on his arm.

[theagenes]

This is a late night rant about 2014 Sebastian Vettel, not my usual type of content at all but I had to get it out of my system. 🎀

I would have not particularly written this but I heard a comment about Sebastian's 2014 season and it bugged me, then I saw something very similar later that day and just thought about doing this.

Then what is it about ? Well initially, what I heard came from a commentator discussing George Russel and Lewis Hamilton's dynamic at Mercedes, and how, in their first moment driving against one another, the younger one tended to force the elder into driving a bit more desperately : to commit mistakes to try and beat their younger teammate. To this, the commentator also put the example of 2014 Sebastian Vettel and Daniel Ricciardo, which the former had seen as a threat, and as a result, had been pressured into driving poorly in 2014.

The problem I have with this is that it just highlights how little people know, and on the contrary, how much people assume, about Sebastian's 2014 season — which, arguably, is probably one of his most overlooked. It is not so much that he had a poor season that year, more than why — and you will find that it is the combinaison of many factors, most of them I thought people knew very well, but as it turns out, not so much.

Why was it such a terrible season for him then ?

First things first, I'd like to put this into perspective : we view 2014 as an “awful” season for him, if not by sheer, automatic contrast to 2013. It's not easy to have both your best and worst season follow each other in a 2 years' spawn : is it really though— his worst season ? Because it's not. Sebastian finished 5th in the driver championship that year, and stepped on a few podiums — some of them he even shared with his teammate Daniel Ricciardo.

Here he is in Singapore 2014, lifting his trophy at venue which has never failed him. 🥸

Now 5th isn't so bad, especially considering there were more drivers competing in the championship, as well as a fiercer competition. Why does it stick in our minds as such a forgettable season for him then ? Well, as we saw, 2013 was his most dominant form ever, and there is nothing more humiliating than losing a Grand Prix with the “ 1 ” sticker branded onto your every belonging : car, caps, race suit, garage ; right next to your own name.

But once that this a priori is out of the way, you will find that his 2014 season – although nowhere near his last four championship-winning years – was not simply Sebastian making silly mistakes, in the heap of the moment or born out of a rage to prove himself, because he felt threatened by his new teammate.

There are reasons behind 2014, and there are numerous.

An obvious reason, although going slightly in the same direction than what the commentator was saying – without ever reaching the same conclusion though – was that the 2014 season was all about changes for Sebastian : new regulations, new engines, new cars, new teammate : new dynamic. A change to which he adapted pretty poorly, that's undeniable, but which does not warrant for such a drastic drop of performance — when compared to 2013 or 2011, his most dominant years, but even 2012, one of the hardest fought championship he ever won, or 2010 or 2009, two championships to which he teethed and clawed at, for two very different outcomes. What I mean is that you simply do not go from breaking and setting new, unheard-of records (still unbroken, as I write this), winning 13 races out of 19, and only missing out on 2 podium finishes in an entire season, to climbing on the top of a few, scarce podiums the very next year — or at least, not without a justification.

This justification, you will find, comes into a much simpler, intertwined reason than you might think. To put it very simply, I would say “Ferrari” on one side, and “Michael Schumacher” on the other. Don't forget where we stand, and where we are : this is 2014. A few month prior, Michael Schumacher, Sebastian's greatest hero, friend and counsellor, had been drastically injured in a skying accident.

This might seem a bit foreign to us nowadays, and although we all know about his accident, do we always remember the precise date ? December 29 2013, during the winter break and somehow, both at the same time, a moment of joy and celebration for Sebastian, as well as sorrow and grief. How do you celebrate your greatest achievement in the sport of your dream, when a primordial component of this very childhood dream, your hero, fights for his life in a remote hospital ? And it's no well-hidden secret that Michael's accident dealt a terrible blow to Sebastian's mental health — he talked about it himself in interviews saying that the period which followed was one of the toughest of his life. The 2014 season cannot be extracted from its context, and the driver that got into his car this year was a man grieving, constantly ; persistently.

The third reason is very much linked to the second, as Michael Schumacher had a great impact over Sebastian's dream of ever driving shed in red. 2014 is also a turning point in Sebastian's career : both a pivot and a fulcrum, to later become an unsteady keystone. The thing is, the discussions over Sebastian ever joining Red Bull had started as early as 2008, although at this time, he had chosen to commit to Red Bull. The movement from Red Bull to Ferrari did not happen in one day, and it surely did not pop into Sebastian's mind over the spawn of a few month. It must have been there for years, simmering until he finally crossed the threshold and took a step. A move he had to make without any word of advise from the person who had made him want to join Ferrari in the first place.

The 2014 season was not so much his last year with Red Bull, more than a springboard-year before his first season with Ferrari. It was never going to be a year where Sebastian would fight for a championship, not even for wins or podiums : on the contrary, not winning with Red Bull was the only remaining necessity. His contract with Red Bull was set until the 2015-2016 season, and as we've seen in the past, a driver leaving his team is always legally managed by a contract : in order for this to happen, there has to be a clause which can break their pre-existing contract. It was the case with Daniel Ricciardo last year (2022) who was kindly thanked by McLaren in exchange of a good sum of money : that was the mandatory loophole in the contract for it to work. Similarly with Sebastian in 2014, the loophole in his contract was all about championship points. Helmut Marko talked about it after Sebastian's move from one team to the other, saying that this transaction had not came as a backstab at all, simply because it had been done in full knowledge of their team.

What do we think about it, as a whole ? Of course, I have no purpose to cast a shadow on Daniel Ricciardo's very good season in 2014 : his victories were his and he didn't rob anyone of them, nor his podiums. What I am trying to say is that there is no correlation between those two chains of event : in the same way that Sebastian losing did not help Daniel winning, Daniel winning did not make Sebastian lose. I don't think this 2014 season should be summed up as Sebastian feeling pressured by a younger teammate into making mistakes after mistakes — all the more considering his sheer streak of unluckiness and the unavoidable DNF's, engine and car failures he had no role into. Wouldn't it be pretty simplist, to link Daniel's victories to Sebastian, and wouldn't it take a bit from them ? I sincerely think that they are not linked, and that his – arguably weaker, although 5th position in the championship is no small feat if it is regarded as your very worst, considering most drivers never even win a Grand Prix, let alone make it to the top 5 of the WDC – 2014 season was about something else entirely.

Perhaps that it was less about being beaten by a teammate than saying farewell to a former team in the smoothest way possible ; for once losing sight of the championship to achieve something bigger, to try and reach for a childhood dream.

Pictures are from Motorsport Images (cr: Vettel 2014 Portrait) / Alfred Guillou - Adieu ! / - Lora Mathis - If There's A Way Out I'lI Take It / Edward John Poynter - The corner of the villa / Franz Ludwig Catel - Porch of a Church in a lunar landscape / The Guardian / Witold Pruszkowki - Falling Star / Patrick Gale - Notes from an exhibition, p.36 / Sebastian Vettel for the Daily Telegraph / Dr Helmut Marko for Sky Sports / Johan Christian Dahl - View of Dresden by Moonlight.

[r6shippingdelivery]

A high-res image of Harry’s new board just dropped, and I’m gonna analyse and transcribe as many of the notes as I can. There are parts I couldn’t decypher, so if you want to zoom in the image yourself and help me fill out the blank, I’d me more than grateful!

Under a cut cause it’s going to be a really long post.

The yellow post it above everything else says: The most practical application of my skills is to determine who works best with who. I eliminated interpersonal friction as best as I could so we can move forward efficiently.

We see that some of the names in the teams are circled in red, probably the ones who cause interpersonal friction... with the team leader, I assume? Below, I’m gonna detail the operators in each team, followed by the text on the first note (written by Harry, presumably), and at the end the text of the note under the picture of each team leader (this one signed by Zero).

Thermite’s team

Kaid Gridlock Tachanka Fuze Kapkan Buck Sledge Ash Oryx Thorn Goyo Amaru

Harry’s note: Some profiles are best suited for high-risk missions, and I’m not one to keep people from their calling. [REDACTED] is the cavalry - caution thrown to the wind get the job done at any cost

Zero’s note: Trace is motivated, and he’s seen more explosions than most, the years have been good to him despite going through hell and back. This squad needs to be led by a bad motherfucker

Hibana’s team

Thatcher Alibi Blackbeard (in red) Mute Dokkaebi Jäger Echo Jackal Blitz Maestro Kana/Flubber (hint of a new operator?) Mira Rook

Harry’s note: Members of [REDACTED] are the careers. A wide range of skill sets can be adapted to any scenario. They can lead their own missions or they can assist one of the other squads as required

Zero’s note: Imagawa is a (??) soldier and a fantastic leader. She’s been a reliable player in the past. I think it’s time we put her connections to good use and I’m sure she’d agree

Doc’s team

Lion (in red) Clash Montagne Twitch Nomad Bandit Frost Ying Castle (in red) Thunderbird Melusi

Harry’s note: A humanitarian unit was an idea I had a long time ago and I’m glad to have found a (??) that fits the bill. [REDACTED]  will be perfect for sensitive operations where collateral is not an option.

Zero’s note: Illegible

Caveira’s team

Maverick Vigil Zofia (in red) Lesion Valkyrie Glaz Nokk Warden Iana Mozzie Zero Flores

Harry’s note: Every good organization needs a covert espionage unit and for us it’s [REDACTED]. Caveira’s team is the best in the world at infiltration, surveillance, intelligence and elimination.

Zero’s note: Illegible

We have confirmation that all these ops joined Nighthaven traitors. I numbered the notes so you can follow better what Harry is talking about. Let’s begin with the missing image, then IQ, Finka, Smoke, Kali, and last Pulse.

1) I should have known something was up with Ela. I hoped that serving together would remind the sisters of their better years but I guess some wounds don’t heal with time…

2) IQ has been enamored with Nighthaven’s technology since she returned from Singapore. Kali no doubt knows how to dazzle her (??) prospect.

3) I can only assume that during her time on Kali’s team Finka formed some bonds with Nighthaven’s agents. She had everything she needed here but maybe she saw something more there.

*Doesn’t Harry know about her illness? Or didn’t even cross his mind that she’s desperate to find a cure, and the lure of high tech resources might have swayed her?

4) I don’t think Smoke was unhappy with us, but I think his philosophies might have aligned better with his new home. Thatcher is not so hopeful. He won’t say it, but he is torn up over this.

5) Cohen is taking this loss heavy, saying she saw this coming. She doesn’t want to question your judgement, but she’s worried that letting Nighthaven tamper with the Program will affect not just our organization, but the world out there - Zero  

*Actually, I think Ash has every right to question Harry’s judgement since he dismissed her worries multiple times, and lo and behold, she was right. I bet she’s also right this time and NH are bad news being out there freely

6) Pulse is one I did not see coming but I understand. He’d lost his sense of wonder and he saw that (??) in Nighthaven. I’ll have to see how Hibana is doing.

We see a spread of newspaper cut-outs, indicating unrest and crime are on the rise.

Yellow note: Zero’s pet project is slowly enlisting the aid  of (??) specialists. The associations that he’s making aren’t self-evident. I’m not supposed to ask too many questions… that’s the deal he keeps reminding me of. I just hope he won’t exploit R6 resources for this work (??)…

Report under the note: With your permission, Harry, I would like to send Flores out on a (covered part) suggests white collar crime is on the rise worldwide, and he’s confident there’s a syndicate (covered part). I’ll be monitoring his activity Specialist Ryad “Jackal” Ramirez Al-Hassar

Note: If we want to connect with the world, we should find suitable partners in different fields.Yakate Date Security is a candidate that comes to mind, with everything being online these days. I know someone close to Yakate himself. Let me know if you want to make contact Specialist Yumiko “Hibana” Imagawa

Given the content of the note, the redacted passport from a Japanese woman has to be Azami, confirmed to be the new operator for Season 1. No further references about that Kana/Flubber, but since that operator is placed in Hibana’s team, and some leaks talked about a hole-blocker operator named flubber, I wonder if that was Azami’s work-in-progress name and they just forgot to change it?

I’m very curious about the tank schematic, but since it’s placed next to that robot thing that is Osa’s trademark, I think it’s related to this next report:

Note: Harry, you asked me to dig and I did. Here is what I have on Nighthaven’s base. Schematics, location, aerial, vehicles… It’s not perfect but it’s all I could obtain - legally Specialist Meghan “Valkyrie” Castellano

It seems Harry is worried enough about NH that he wants intel about everything possible. More hints about them being a problem Rainbow will have to face and neutralize, imo.

The picture seems to be a teaser of the upcoming map, the Emerald Plains club/lounge. Confirmed by Kaid’s note:

In all my years I’ve seen many countries, but few felt like home. It’s not my Fortress, but this destination in Ireland has proven reliable in the past. It’s a nice place to unwind. Jalal “Kaid” El Fassi

We have a lot of tech stuff here! Thorn’s razorblooms up top, then a heavy mechanized armor with GIGN on the chest - so we can safely assume it’s a sneak peek of Montagne’s upcoming elite. Then there’s the Kóna stations and the “healing pods” they carry, plus a yellow note with some chemical compound. We also have Flore’s ratero drone, and a schematic of Azami’s knives. The round green gadget eludes me; at first I thought it could be Wamai’s magnets, but he’s not part of Rainbow, and Mira would have no reason to tinker on that gadget?

The note pinned between Monty’s suit and the not-Wamai’s gadget reads:  I enjoyed the games but I’m taking a break from the field. There’s a lot of work ahead and I need to make sure our gear is still top of the line. If we ever encounter something like Nighthaven out there, I don’t want our specialist to worry they’ll be outgunned.  (Covered) need me I’ll be in my lab Dr. Elena “Mira” Alvarez, director of R&D

And this is all I could get, if I missed anyting, or you have decyphered some of Zero’s notes, or have any other info, please add onto this post!!

[cutesilyo]

i know your eyes in the morning sun — an indophil fanfic

When a homesick Indonesia is unexpectedly taken out of his meeting for a day trip in Rome with Philippines, he isn't expecting much more than exhaustion ahead of him. Instead, what happens is a whirlwind of food, fun, and a surprising amount of reflection on their histories and differences as nations. And as he looks deeper and deeper in the other nation's bright eyes, he learns to come to terms with the feelings he's been ignoring for far, far too long.

Alternatively: a nation who's too attached to the past goes on a date with a nation whose entire philosophy is built on trying to live in the moment. Yes, there is kissing involved.

Also available on AO3, FF.net

—

“Tell me why we’re here again,” Indonesia groused.

“Unofficially, it’s because I’m busting you out of that damn meeting.” Philippines grinned, his purple eyes glinting mischievously under Rome’s bright sun. “Officially, it’s because we’re on a date.”

All Indonesia could do was sigh. He had arrived in Italy two days ago for a G20 summit, and all the meetings he’s had to attend since then had left him tired and restless. It would have been easier if it was like a normal ASEAN meeting, where he was at least familiar and friendly with all the members. But in the G20, he was the sole Southeast Asian nation there, and he found it difficult to get a word in everyone else’s chaos. Most of the time, he simply preferred to keep his head down and daydream about going back home.

It was during his third-favorite daydream (a peaceful afternoon at Borobudur, dressed in gold just like the old days) that Philippines had burst through the doors with his perpetually bright eyes and cheeky smile. Before he could even process what was happening, Philippines was happily dragging him out of the room while everybody else waved them goodbye.

And that’s how Indonesia found himself in his current predicament. Outside some random pizzeria in a foreign country, dazed out of his wits, and with the one nation who got under his nerves the easiest.

He really wanted to go home.

“Oh, don’t give me that look!” Philippines patted him on the shoulder with a laugh, and Indonesia couldn’t help but tense uncomfortably. “It's not like this is a real date, I just made up some lame excuse to get them off my back. Besides, you were bored out of your mind there, weren’t you? I bet you weren’t even listening. You were probably thinking about your temples.”

“No,” he denied, but the other nation simply smirked knowingly. He felt his face go red in embarrassment. “Well, can you blame me? I don’t feel right around all those Westerners . . .”

Philippines just laughed at him as they walked in.

There wasn’t much to walk into. It wasn’t a fancy restaurant, but just a small family-owned business that only had two round tables to the side. Other than them, there didn’t seem to be any other customers. Different flavors of pizza were behind glass, oddly rectangular in shape rather than the circular pizzas he was used to seeing in advertisements, but their names and prices went unlabeled. Even if they were, he doubted that it would help him much; while he was steadily getting used to English, the Romance languages were an entirely different matter.

“Buonasera,” the middle-aged woman behind the counter greeted them.

Indonesia could only nod awkwardly in response, but Philippines grinned cheerily. “Buonasera! Ciao bella, come stai?”

The two struck up a light conversation while he tried to decide what kind of pizza to get. He was used to thick-crusted, American-style pizzas, and he really didn’t see the point of eating something so expensive when a good terang bulan was always available. Besides, even if he didn’t particularly like pizza, he could see that the ones available here were an entirely different beast from the ones Pizza Hut sold at home. Much more greens and vegetables, for one.

Indonesia hoped he didn’t look too clueless when Philippines finally turned to ask him what kind of pizza he wanted. He just pointed at a random one and prayed for the best.

The other nation looked amused, but he didn’t comment any further. He just turned back to the woman and presumably rattled off their order in rapid-fire Italian that he could barely catch. They continued their conversation from where they left off, and whatever it was that Philippines was saying, it made the woman blush like a maiden. Suddenly, for a reason that he refused to name, he felt consumed by irritation.

His stony silence continued until the woman had given them their pizza, warm and each slice served in a small tray, and bid them goodbye. He’d barely given them a glance until they sat down on a bench just outside the pizzeria.

“So, what do you think?” Philippines asked him. He seemed more excited than he was. “This is your first, right?”

“I’ve eaten pizza before,” he grumbled.

“But this is different,” the other nation insisted. “This is pizza al taglio, Rome’s specialty! Come on, just start eating it already. I could hear your stomach grumbling since we left the meeting room.”

Indonesia stared at the pizza dubiously, ignoring how quickly Philippines was eating his own slice just beside him, before giving it a bite.

It was . . . good.

Not that he was going to tell the other nation that. He couldn’t bear the smug smirk that would be thrown his way.

Instead, he said, “It’s folded. It’s like a sandwich.”

“Boo,” Philippines stuck his tongue out at him. “If you must know, it’s called panino and it’s a lot better than eating it unfolded.”

“Unfolded,” Indonesia repeated. “You mean, like normal?”

Philippines gasped overdramatically. “I can’t believe you just said that! No, pizza al taglio is supposed to be eaten panino! Just ask Romano, he’ll say it's the best.”

“And I imagine if you ask Italy Veneziano, he’d say the opposite.” He took another bite, careful not to let any of the grease on his hands, and hummed appreciatively. “I think I ordered something different though.”

Philippines just laughed, a bit sheepishly. "I . . . may have taken the liberty of changing your order. The one you pointed at back there had pork sausage slices on it, so I got you something more halal. That one has arugula and mozzarella, and I know you like things a bit spicy, so I asked the lady to give you something more piccante. This slice has pepper flakes baked in the dough."

"Oh," he blinked, a bit stunned. Indonesia felt warmer than the pizza in his hands. "Terima kasih."

"Hey, as long as you're here with me, ako bahala sa'yo." Philippines stood up and grinned at him, eyes bright and his half-eaten pizza in his hand. "You know, the best thing about pizza panino is that you can eat them while we're on the go! How about we walk around the city, and I'll take you out on a real date?"

------

This was a mistake.

He and Philippines have never really hung out together much; either they only met for formal occasions or they were always joined by at least one other ASEAN member, so the chances they had to be alone were usually few and far in between. If he was being honest, it was probably better for his heart that way.

Still, he probably should've known better than to let Philippines take charge, because his definition of walking around and the other nation's idea of walking around were vastly different things. For one, he'd definitely rather be driving rather than walking anyway. It didn't help that he was still stuck in his stuffy formal suit and dress shoes, while Philippines was both comfy and stylish in his boots, jeans, and a fashionable overcoat. And though he preferred to get to his destinations as quickly and efficiently as possible, Philippines loved making stops at every little statue or shop that interested him. What's worse is that he couldn't just leave the other nation behind — between the two of them, Philippines was the only one who actually knew how to speak Italian and knew how to get around the city. His only choices were to suffer alone in a foreign land or to slowly murder his feet following Philippines around, and just this once, he'd rather swallow his pride.

"If only my motorcycle was here . . ." Indonesia sighed. "How long are you going to take?"

"Just a bit longer!" He heard Philippines shout from the back of the souvenir shop. "My neighbors would never forgive me if I didn't get them anything, you know!"

He was idly inspecting a small plastic replica of the Coliseum when the other nation emerged a few minutes later, proudly carrying about a dozen silver keychains in his hands. Indonesia couldn't stop himself from grimacing at them; in rupiahs, that was probably the cost of a plane ticket.

"You aren't going to buy anything?" Philippines said. He was fiddling around his pockets for spare coins. He seemed to have forgotten that his wallet was probably in the small leather bag he was carrying, and Indonesia didn't feel like telling him.

"Pass," he said. "I'll wait outside, if you don't mind."

Philippines shrugged, turning back to the cashier. "Suit yourself."

As soon as he stepped out into the cobblestone streets, he immediately felt restless for a smoke. The architecture, the weather, the people . . . it all just reminded him how far away from home he was. It was autumn in Italy, colder than it would ever get at his house, and with a sharp pang of his heart he realized how much he missed everyone.

He started worrying about whether Singapore had gotten enough sleep last night, because often the young nation would look at data until the sun rose, looking for where he could make himself stronger. And Malaysia got dehydrated too easily for someone with his water resources, so he always had to remind him about refilling his water dispensers every once and a while. Brunei had always been quiet, but he'd been too reclusive than was healthy these days; and even though Timor-Leste couldn't face him sometimes, he still hoped she was doing alright. He trusted Thailand and Vietnam could handle everything over at the mainland, but he couldn't help but be concerned about them anyway.

Then there was the nation he was with right now.

All of a sudden, he felt a warm breath on his neck and a whispered: "You're scaring the other tourists, mahal."

Indonesia barely held back a scream, furiously turning to face a mirthful Philippines that was clearly having the time of his life teasing him. "Would you stop scaring me like that? And don't call me mahal!"

Philippines just waved him off with a laugh. "Please, that was barely a scare. And you deserve it! I thought the way you kept staring at my bag was weird, but you meant to tell me my money was in it, right? Silly Indonesia, I can't know things if you don't actually say it."

"Don't blame me for your denseness," he shot back. "Besides, your idea of a date must be really sloppy if all you do is take me to tourist shops. Do you have any idea what you're doing?"

"Are you saying you wanted something more romantic? Oh Indonesia, how bold of you!" Philippines looked at him slyly.

He was suddenly reminded of how difficult it could be to talk to Philippines sometimes. "I just thought you'd take me to actual places, like the Coliseum. Or maybe a castle, I don't know."

They walked together in amiable silence towards a nearby bus stop. He almost cried in relief when they finally sat down after what felt like hours of walking. Maybe Indonesia was just feeling his age, but he was not nearly as full of energy as the nation beside him.

"I know you've been to the Coliseum before, so taking you there isn't nearly as exciting," said Philippines, absentmindedly scrolling on his phone. "Just so you know."

"Everything always has to be exciting for you," said Indonesia, with a huff.

The other nation winked at him. "What can I say? I love a little thrill."

He couldn't help but be amused at that. Whether it was thrill rides or thriller horror movies, Philippines was always raring to go. Still, though he was grateful, he was starting to feel a bit guilty about all the trouble he put the other nation through. He knew Philippines could be impulsive, but he didn't think he was the kind of person to drop everything and fly to Europe just to rescue him from another boring meeting. "I've been meaning to ask, but how did you end up in Italy anyway? I'd hate to think that you spent so much money just to go here."

"Don't worry! I didn't come to Europe for you," Philippines grinned brightly. "You're just a stop on the destination. I'm actually headed to Munich."

Ah. For some reason, that only made Indonesia feel worse.

"See, when I'm in Europe, I like to start by visiting the Vatican," the other nation continued. "Then Germany said that he had a meeting in Rome too, so we were planning to catch the train together. Didn't you notice that he was rushing to end your meetings as quickly as possible? It's Oktoberfest, you know."

Indonesia nodded slowly. "I guess September does end next week . . . ?"

"Dios mio," Philippines laughed. "I mean the beer festival, not the month. I'd invite you to join us but I know you don't drink."

"Even if I did, I don't think I could keep up with you and Germany," he admitted, which made the other nation's eyes twinkle with pride. "That still doesn't explain why you decided to crash the meeting."

"That's just because you weren't checking WhatsApp, which I'm grateful for." Philippines handed him his phone, which was opened to the group conversation they had with the rest of the ASEAN nations. "Here, I bet you left your phone at the hotel or something."

He did, but that was beside the point. Indonesia took the phone.

The first thing he saw was a selfie of Philippines at the airplane, snuggled up under the airline's provided blanket. Just boarded from Dubai! Be arriving at Fiumicino by morning, anything you guys want?

Abang is in Rome too, isn't he? Malaysia had asked. In that case, the both of you should bring back gifts! I need the best cheese for my sea cucumbers. Also, remember the keychains.

Singapore had sent one of his custom stickers. The merlion was sticking its tongue out.

Stop being so mean to him, or else he'll end up crying to me again, Thailand replied.

Not my problem he's a crybaby, Singapore said. Then he sent another merlion sticker.

Vietnam sent a laughing emoji, and then: You should visit Indo while you're there. You know how sad he gets when he has to go abroad alone.

Malaysia sent a GIF of a crying scene from some old movie.

Eh? But if I'm going to visit him, I want it to be a surprise! Philippines had whined. If he goes online soon, he'll already know. No fun in that.

It should be okay. He's probably asleep now anyway. And he doesn't check his phone during meetings, unlike you, Thailand pointed out.

It will be good for him to see a friendly face, Vietnam added.

Take care of him lah, Singapore had said. Make sure he enjoys himself this time.

PIRI WAIT I HAVE A GREAT IDEA, chatted Malaysia. I'll DM you just in case, so abang can't find out. He'll love it, trust me!

Oh no, said Vietnam, Thailand, and Singapore in separate, individual messages, to which Malaysia simply replied with another GIF. Brunei even mustered the energy to send a worried-looking emoji.

The last message, sent earlier this afternoon, was a selfie of Philippines with a cheeky grin. He was standing just outside the meeting room, and he had sent it with the caption: He won't know what hit him! <3

Indonesia sat there in stunned silence for a few minutes, until he was nudged gently.

"Come on, the bus is here," Philippines stood, putting his hands on his hips. Then he frowned at him. "Hey, Indonesia, is there anything wrong? You look a bit shaken."

"No, everything's fine, I just," he stammered. There was such a powerful feeling in his heart that he didn't have the capacity to explain. "Um, I don't have my phone with me, so. Please thank everyone for keeping me in their thoughts. Tell them I'm doing my best to make all of you proud."

The other nation stared at him for a moment, then smiled.

If Indonesia let a few tears drop while they were on the bus, Philippines was kind enough not to say a word.

-----

Their stop was on top of a hill. There was an impressively large monument of a man on a horse, but Philippines dragged him to the nearby café as soon as they got off the bus, and Indonesia realized that he was probably better off with a nice snack than looking at some old statue anyway. To be fair, he had been waiting for dessert all day long, and the crepes were warm and delicious and more than enough to satisfy his sweet tooth. He finished his in record time, and bought another one right after.

"Ah, there's that smile," Philippines teased, once Indonesia had returned to their spot. "I was wondering where it went."

He was too engrossed with his enjoying his food to respond, but he motioned go on.

"It's just—I've seen you with tourists, you know." Philippines delicately sipped on his drink, slow and careful like an old cat. "Remember when we had that ASEAN hang-out at Bali? The restaurant near our hotel was full of foreign customers, and the staff was overwhelmed, so you decided to help the staff serve tables and entertain the guests. You seemed really friendly there."

"You knew about that?" Indonesia flushed with embarrassment. He thought he managed to sneak out successfully; it was at the point that Vietnam and Laos got crazy drunk, after all. "Well, it's very different dealing with foreigners at my home and actually being in a foreign place."

Philippines hummed contemplatively. "I think I get it. You feel more in control when it's them coming to you, rather than the other way around."

"Yeah, I suppose so." He crumpled the wrapping paper in his hands. "It's different for you though, right? I think you're more used to foreigners than I am."

The other nation laughed nervously. "I'm not sure Boracay and El Nido can even compare—"

"I'm not talking about tourists."

He knew, of course, that Philippines met with many nations as part of his duties, but he had always taken to this role so naturally that Indonesia could only assume that his history had given him a leg up. Spain was stricter on imposing his culture on the other nation than Netherlands ever was with him, or England with Malaysia and Singapore. America was just as obnoxiously stubborn when he colonized him right after. And although he never forgot his roots as part of Southeast Asia, Philippines also kept much less of his pre-colonial culture and history than the rest of them. Anything before Spain took him away was hazy and, as far as his memory was concerned, he had spent his youth growing up with the Americas and Europe — and with his mannerisms and how close he was with the Western nations, he certainly acted like it.

When Philippines arrived at the meeting earlier, everyone was accepting him with open arms. Spain had fondly ruffled his hair and America invited him to a party at his place next week. France had cooed adoringly at how much he had grown since his youth and England reminded him that he was due to visit London's hospitals in the next month. Germany's cheeks were pink as he asked how he was doing and Italy immediately began talking his ear off about food recipes and restaurants. Mexico began crying with joy at the sight of him, while Argentina and Brazil embraced him like family. It was a miracle that the both of them were able to leave as quickly as they did; he was sure that they'd make Philippines stay for at least another hour, if they could.

Meanwhile, Indonesia's own presence was always forgotten. The only time he was talked to the entire meeting was when Australia made an awkward half-joke, half-apology about the spying issue again.

"I guess it's easier for me to relate to them," Philippines admitted, a melancholy look in his eyes. He was looking down at his still half-eaten crepe with an oddly bittersweet smile on his lips; the sun, only just beginning to set, cast a dark shadow on his face. "And for them to relate to me. But I would be lying if I said I don't feel out of place with them too, sometimes. Despite everything, we're still very different. Besides, all the cultural similarities in the world can't make up for the fact that I'm so far away from them all. There just isn't enough opportunity for me to talk to them as much as they can talk to each other."

Indonesia didn't know what to say to that. He settled for a neutral, "I'm sorry I brought it up."

The other nation waved it off. "I'll forgive you if you take a selfie with me later."

He didn't have any choice but to accept.

As he waited for Philippines to finish his food, Indonesia took the time to observe the other people around. Many of them were trying to take a picture with the huge statue, but there were also families walking around with their happily enthusiastic children. If he looked farther, he could see busts of what he assumed were various historical figures lining the pathways. Going by the number of cars that had been parked just across them, it seemed like the park was of good interest for both tourists and locals alike. There were enough people to suggest that the place was well-loved, but there were nowhere near the crowds he'd see when he passed by the other popular tourist destinations. The statue of the man with a horse was large and grand, but he didn't recognize it; he was sure that, whatever this place was, it wasn't featured on the usual travel brochures.

"I'm curious," he said slowly, "as to why you're so familiar with Rome."

Philippines gave him a wry twitch of the lips, sitting his chin on the palm of his hands. "I thought we were done talking about me and the West?"

"This is different," he defended. "I'm just asking why you know about this place. Italy never took us anywhere like this for the G20 formalities."

"Well, of course he wouldn't," he said, idly swirling his drink around. "Just think: if you have a nice and peaceful park that's meant more for relaxation and you also have more famous and historically significant places available, then you would rather take your visiting diplomats to the latter, right? So Italy takes you to Palatino and Campidoglio instead of here. If it were you hosting the meeting, you'd take them to Monas instead of Taman Surapati."

Indonesia thought about that for a moment, but no matter how much he wanted to argue, he was forced to accept that Philippines was right. Then he frowned. "But you just take everyone to Luneta."

The other nation winked. "It's to my benefit that Luneta just happens to be both historical, relaxing, and beautiful. Makes my life a lot easier."

"You're not actually answering my question," he pointed out.

Philippines simply hummed, leaning back on his chair. His hair was blowing in the cold autumn breeze. "There's not much to say. I've had to visit a lot recently, since Italy is full of my migrant workers, more so than anywhere else in Europe. But when we were younger, Romano used to take me here often. The things he'd say — well, now that I think about it, I think you could relate."

He almost choked on his spit. Indonesia had never been in much contact with Romano, especially as his younger brother was always the one who represented Italy in their meetings, but he couldn't see any similarity between him and that foul-mouthed, angry brat. At the very least, he liked to think he was much more friendly and polite.

Uncharacteristically, the other nation didn't take the opportunity to laugh at him this time. Instead there was only a faraway look on his face, pensive as he stared out into somewhere unknown.

After a moment, Philippines finally said: "Do you still remember being with your old empires?"

Indonesia stilled.

"I know I don't, but you were old enough to remember living with the other maritime nations together as Nusantara," the other nation continued. "There was a glory that you could remember living before Portugal and Netherlands came to your shores. You weren't Majapahit, but you carried his legacy and his blood; just like you carried Srivijaya's.

"Romano lived at Spain's like I did, you know. He liked me for some reason, probably because I used to get sick all the time and couldn't really annoy him as much as the others. One day, he took me to Rome for the first time. I was so amazed at finally seeing all the old ruins I used to read about in books, and then when I looked back at him, he was crying. He told me it was like he could never escape the shadow of his grandfather."

Philippines' smile was terribly bittersweet. "I remember thinking that, for the first time, I was grateful I couldn't remember who I was before Spain came. And ever since I met you again, I kept wondering if you ever felt like Romano did. Maybe you had all that burden on you and you never told us. Maybe you felt lonely too."

He remembered.

Back when all of them were just children, back when he had never seen fair skin except for when he traded with the Eastern Asian nations up north. China and India, of course, were always present. Vietnam was older, and despite all the fighting she did, it never looked like she was ever frazzled by it. Myanmar was the same, but because he was so distant and preoccupied with his own kingdoms, Indonesia saw him the least. He would see Khmer more often when she had to pick up her sons, cheerful Thailand, friendly Laos, and belligerent Cambodia, from whenever they decided to come by. In their household, Malaysia was already energetic, but he was always doubly so whenever Singapore was around; those were the days that the smaller nation still admired his brother. Timor Leste was still sweet and shy, hiding behind him at every hint of danger. Brunei, quiet as ever, spent his time diligently picking flowers for a young Philippines across the sea. Steady, dependable Majapahit had welcomed them all with a smile, and taught him to do the same.

Indonesia grew up without ever really knowing what loneliness was. Even after Majapahit had already faded away, Netherlands had visited him much more often than was necessary or appropriate for a normal colonial relationship. And though he was separated from the rest of them, his siblings were never too far from him either.

So he had to take care of them too, when he could. He had to, because he was the one who remembered the most about what life was like, before. He had to, because he was the oldest. He had to, because that was what Majapahit taught him. Whether he began to feel more and more weary as the centuries passed by and his own territory expanded didn't matter, because being able to take care of as many people as he could — that was the greatest power any nation could ever have.

Of course he remembered. He never let himself forget.

A gentle nudge from Philippines shook him out of his silence. Softly, he said, "You don't have to answer that if it makes you uncomfortable. Believe it or not, even I know when to back off."

"Sorry, you just caught me off-guard," he said, taking a moment to compose himself. Then Indonesia sighed. "You're not normally so serious. I was completely unprepared."

Philippines pouted. "Is it really all that surprising? I just thought, since you asked me a pretty personal question just now, it's only fair that I do the same to you. Answering that made me feel sad, so you needed to think of something that made you sad too! At least the both of us can feel sad together, instead of just me being sad all on my own."

Indonesia felt his eye twitch. "Your logic is really something."

The other nation just laughed, as if nothing happened at all. Then he stood, his grin wide and his hand reaching out to him, and said, "Come on, it's a complete waste for us to come here if all we're going to do is sit around! You can see all of Rome from Gianicolo, you know."

They watched the sunset from the hill's peak, and seeing the yellows and oranges being reflected in Philippines' purple eyes made for a pretty sight. As the sun shone its last light on the ancient ruins of the Roman Empire, Indonesia felt strangely at peace for the first time since he arrived. Maybe he'd even ask Philippines to properly introduce him to Romano one day.

-----

The Eternal City was beautiful even at night, but Indonesia just felt tired. He could sense that Philippines still wanted to go around with him — he mentioned something about taking him to a turtle fountain? — so they settled for slowly walking down the hill. They chatted about mundane things like food, gaming, and the merits of motorcycles over bikes, and it was unexpectedly nice. For some reason, Indonesia felt as light as air. He still wanted to go home as soon as he could, but he slowly realized that he wasn't all that opposed to just spending time with the other nation either.

"Say, Indonesia," Philippines suddenly said. "Do you know how to get back to your hotel?"

Indonesia took that back. He wanted to go home immediately.

The other nation giggled. "Don't tell me that you don't even remember which hotel you're staying at?"

He quickly turned his head away. He willed himself to look anywhere but the other nation, but he could still feel how Philippines was staring at him.

"Ah! I get it now," Philippines said, delightedly. Indonesia internally cursed himself. "Let me guess. You didn't have any plans of going anywhere but the meeting, the hotel, and the airport, so you thought it was fine if you left your phone behind and if you didn't care to remember your hotel's name. And, you kept falling asleep at the hotel shuttle that takes you to the meetings, so you can't even tell me about the nearby landmarks! My, how careless of you, Indonesia!"

"Why are you so smart," Indonesia grumbled, "for the most stupid of things?"

"I don't hear any denial," Philippines sang. "Well, whatever, that works out for me. Unless you're game for scouring through the dozens of hotels around the city, I guess I have no choice but to take you back to my place, huh?"

He faced Philippines, who was scrolling through his phone again, and said, "You don't have to do that. You can probably just ask Italy which hotel he arranged for me. I can take a taxi."

The other nation hummed. "Going from his Instagram stories, he looks like he's too busy partying with the others. Looks like France even brought out his special wine for the occasion. Hey, would you want to party with them? The bar they went to is just a few stations away by metro."

The last time he went to a G20 party, he and Germany were made to strip so that everyone could stare at their pecs. The expression he made must have been grim, as Philippines immediately backtracked. "I'm going to take that as a no."

Indonesia sighed. "Well, I don't want to disturb Italy and I don't want to waste any money trying to find another hotel. If you're really fine with me staying with you for the night, then I guess I have no problem with it either."

Philippines stopped in his tracks. "Eh? You're not going to make a fuss about it?"

Indonesia tilted his head, quizzically. "And you are?"

For some odd reason, the other nation seemed flustered. He was gripping the strap of his bag tightly and his cheeks were pink. "Well, you know, you're normally so averse to any of my ideas, and you always seem so annoyed with me. I thought, for sure, that you were just going to argue against me again . . ."

"Do you really think so lowly of me?" Indonesia frowned. "I wouldn't have been with you all day if I hated you."

That seemed to perk Philippines back up. He could practically see the sparkles in the other nation's eyes as he faced him and gleefully said, "Ha! You've admitted it! So if you don't hate me, does that mean that you actually like me, Indonesia?"

He couldn't hold back a smirk. "Don't get too ahead of yourself."

Philippines just laughed, cheery and bright.

When they stepped down from the bus, Indonesia was surprised to be faced with a block full of old apartment buildings rather than a fancy hotel. Evidently, the other nation was familiar to the residents; one old lady had grasped him firmly by the hand with a gummy smile as she engaged them in small talk. Philippines then took him to the second building on the right and led him through a few flights of stairs to a dark, wooden door.

The apartment was small but clean. Two bedrooms and a bathroom, then some communal space with a worn sofa and a dated television. There was a kitchen with a countertop, rice cooker unplugged, and more than a few succulents sitting by the window. The other nation's usual travel bag was still on the floor, a duffel bag easily recognizable by the numerous flag patches stitched by the sides as a memento for all the countries he had visited. A small corner was developed into a personal home altar, figures of Jesus and the Virgin Mary surrounded by flowers and golden crosses. Even though it was emptier than Philippines' own home back in Manila, it was still undeniably his in its coziness and warmth. All in all, it was modest and good; certainly more than what Indonesia expected for an apartment that the other nation probably only visited a few times a year.

"It's cute. It fits you," he said politely.

"Aw, you think I'm cute," Philippines teased. He was hanging his overcoat on the coat rack, which was a bit too tall for him — a sliver of skin showed only for a moment before being covered again by his turtleneck top. Indonesia pretended he didn't see. "Please go ahead and sit down, make yourself comfortable. Oh, won’t you take off your suit and place it somewhere? The good thing about Europe is that it’s a lot cooler here, so you can still wear it tomorrow without worrying about sweat and stuff."

“I knew that, at least.” He placed his suit on a nearby chair and sat down on the sofa. Philippines set a saucer full of biscuits at the table and gave him a glass of water, which he gratefully drank. As the other nation sat down beside him, Indonesia couldn’t help but ask, “Is this place really yours?”

“My government didn’t buy it for me like all our other properties, if that’s what you’re asking,” Philippines said, reaching out for the biscuits. There was an audible crunch as he bit into one of them. “One of the Filipinos living here bought it for her son, but he decided to move in with his girlfriend. She thought it would be a waste of money to abandon it, so she gave it to me. When I’m not here, it gets rented as an Airbnb. We share the profits. It’s actually pretty good passive income, you know.”

Indonesia gave him a wry smile. “You always find an opportunity to make money, somehow. I’d say it’s America’s influence, but I know for a fact you’ve been this way since we were kids.”

"My skill is all mine, thank you very much," the other nation boasted, leaning back into the sofa with a self-assured smirk. “I don't suppose there's anything else you remember about me from those days? I assure you, if you thought I inherited my charm from Spain, you'd be dead wrong.”

Your hair used to be so long, he immediately thought. He had taken care of it meticulously, washing it with several oils so it was always smooth and wonderfully scented. Gold adorned almost every inch of his body, painstakingly crafted with the tiniest details, contrasting beautifully with the vibrant textiles used for his clothes. Even as a child, Philippines was already used to traveling often — Tondo and Seludong would take him up north, Butuan and Sulu down south, Sugbu and Panay at the center, and a dozen more kingdoms in between. He loved his boats the most, and Majapahit would patiently humor him by letting the younger nation talk his ear off about the latest developments his different kingdoms had with their boatmaking.

Not that he had ever tried to listen in, or attempted to make prolonged conversation with the other nation. At the time, Indonesia was too busy trying to handle Malaysia and Singapore’s chaos to pay much attention to anyone else. He hadn’t gotten to know Philippines all that well until they met again centuries later; older and more jaded, irrevocably shaped by the circumstances their colonizers had placed them in.

Sometimes he wondered what life would have been like if things had turned out differently. But he didn’t have the energy to waste his time despairing over it all again, not when Philippines was still looking at him so expectantly.

“Your eyes haven’t changed,” Indonesia decided to say. “And as for everything else I remember, there’s nothing I haven’t already told you about before.”

Philippines smiled at him fondly, “You’re as terribly succinct as ever.”

Indonesia smiled back, “And as always, you’re just as annoyingly persistent.”

For a long moment, they just sat there on the sofa in silence — easy and comfortable and bathed in the apartment’s warm, golden light. The windows were open, and guitar music from the neighbors was softly permeating the room with its slow, relaxed melody. It was during these kinds of moments that Indonesia's heart felt full; that all he's been through in the past few centuries were worth it, if it meant he could enjoy more days like this. The mood was right and he felt good; perhaps if he was braver, he would have had the confidence to make the most out of it.

Eventually, the moment passed, and the other nation stood. "It's so late already! I should probably get to preparing our dinner. You can freshen up before we eat, if you want."

"Right," Indonesia said, hastily standing up as well. "Ah, may I borrow your phone? I just need to check on something."

Philippines didn't really answer, but he heartily belted out the lyrics to some old love song as he brought out a pot and a chopping board from the kitchen cabinets, so he took it as a yes. Ignoring how the photo for the lock screen looked suspiciously like the sunrise at Bali, he put in the PIN code — 8862, how sentimental of him — and was immediately bombarded by the number of notifications he got. There were messages from everywhere: SMS, Facebook Messenger, WhatsApp, Instagram, Twitter, Telegram . . . it's really no wonder that Philippines was named both the texting and social media capital of the world. Indonesia had no interest in intruding on the other nation's privacy though. As he ducked into the bathroom to wash his face, hands, and feet, he did a quick Google search for sholat times rome.

If he was home, he wouldn't have needed to Google such a thing; the mosques would have already blared adzan through the loudspeakers, reminding everyone in close vicinity that it was time for prayer. His overseas workers would sometimes complain to him about how difficult it could be to pray once they were abroad, that strangers would sometimes gawk at them in public or their employers wouldn't give them the time or space to do it properly in the office. Indonesia often had nothing to offer them but his sympathies. Tonight, he decided, he would pray for them.

"Are you going to pray?" Philippines called out. He was placing a tray in the oven. "Head to the back, go in the room on the right. It should be peaceful there."

"Thank you," he said, and when he opened the door, he was greeted with a welcome surprise.

Though the room was otherwise plain, a vibrantly orange prayer mat stood out — Malaysia's picking, no doubt. Indonesia raised his hands facing kiblat, slow and reverent, and made the mental note to thank his brother later. Thanks to this, he felt significantly less alone.

-----

Philippines made a quick sign of the cross as he sat down on the table. He grinned, "Let's eat!"

It was a modest meal: baked fish with lemons, Filipino-style chop suey, white rice, and a bowl of what was unmistakably Indomie Mi Goreng. While Philippines had poured out a glass of white wine for himself, Indonesia had a glass of orange juice. The other nation was uncharacteristically quiet throughout the meal, though Indonesia chalked that up to hunger; Philippines ate quickly and ravenously, shoving spoonfuls of rice and noodles into his mouth without pausing for so much as a single breath. Indonesia felt tired just watching him.

Once they were finished, Philippines patted his stomach with a satisfied sigh. "Ah, that's the good stuff."

"My compliments to the chef," Indonesia said, which made the other nation giggle. "Though I have to say, I would have cooked it differently."

"I know, but then it'd take longer and I was already so hungry — I'd even go as far to say that I was absolutely famished." Philippines groaned, slumping in his seat. "I mean, I know we could've just eaten at some trattoria down the road, but I needed rice. And I wasn't going to settle for some dumb risotto, no matter how delicious it would be. You get me, don't you?"

"It isn't a full meal without rice," Indonesia agreed.

The other nation nodded seriously. "I always felt like something was missing while I was growing up. It wasn't until I was allowed to go back to Manila that I figured out that it was rice. I haven't looked back since."

Indonesia had always known that Philippines had lived in Europe during the centuries that he was a Spanish colony, but hadn't thought any deeper about the smaller implications that had on him. Some things were obvious — his devout Catholicism for one, and the conspicuously Hispanic human name he used in his daily life — but little things like this caught him off-guard. He said, "I'm sincerely very sorry to hear that."

Philippines did nothing but take a long sip of his wine. "No need to pity me so much, it's in the past now. I don't really think about it."

"I'm not pitying you," he muttered, though he wasn't able to look Philippines in the eyes as he said it. Then, louder: "I'm just realizing that there's still so much I don't know about you. I'm your neighbor, and I don't even know what your childhood was like."

Philippines smiled at him, but it was strained. His face was saying I don't want to talk about it even as he softly confessed, "I don't know all about your history either, Indonesia. Not enough. The sentiment goes both ways. And as for my time with Spain . . . well, what is there to say, really? He said he would take care of me, and he didn't. Not in the same way he took care of the others. Whether that's a blessing or a curse, I don't think I'll ever really know. I just know that it's over now, and I'm grateful.

"I bet your experience was different though." The gaze the other nation leveled on him was nothing less than dangerously curious. His purple eyes were filled with strong contempt, but contempt for what, Indonesia didn't know. "Like I said, I don't know the specifics. But I've been told your relationship with Netherlands was something else entirely."

"He and I weren't—" he stammered, more of a knee-jerk reaction than anything else.

But the way Philippines was looking at him made him stop. He took a deep breath and calmed himself; the other nation deserved something more honest than that.

He still remembered how tightly Netherlands had gripped at his arm, decades and decades ago, his scarf flapping helplessly in the wind. Despite all the things that had gone unsaid between them and the years that they spent together, the blond was still unbearably silent. He used to admire that stoic demeanor; tried to emulate it when he was feeling overwhelmed, always so determined not to embarrass himself or the empire. Back when Netherlands had declared him the emerald of the equator, the crown jewel of his power as a nation . . . it had taken all he had to choke back his pride. It had taken all he had to keep his secret, that budding idea that he was meant to be more than just somebody else's precious colony.

Indië, Netherlands had pleaded, and suddenly the great Dutch Empire had seemed so small.

"It was different," he finally said. "But I don't think it was any better, in the end."

With a bittersweet smile, Philippines simply raised a toast. "To tomorrow."

In answer, Indonesia downed the rest of his orange juice in one go. This time, Philippines' laugh was more genuine, and he couldn't help but stare.

He had noticed this before, of course, but now — with the other nation elegantly sitting across him, his purple eyes glittering bright, and the wine glass so tantalizingly close to his lips — Indonesia was stricken by how right at home the other nation looked. Even Singapore, who probably had the most business with the Western countries out of them all, was more guarded whenever he stepped foot on European soil. Yet Philippines wasn't out of place here in the same way that Indonesia felt, and had instead carried the same easygoing attitude he had during their own ASEAN meetings. As much as the other nation's energy and eccentricities irked him sometimes, he also found himself in awe of him as well.

The others were right. If Philippines hadn't come, he would've spent all his free time wallowing around in his hotel room just feeling sorry for himself. But instead, he was enjoying himself more than he thought he would. Hesitant as he was to admit it, he almost found himself wanting to stay in Rome a little bit longer, if it meant the both of them could spend more time together.

"You're not leaving for Munich anytime soon, are you?" Indonesia said, daring to be hopeful.

Philippines rested his cheek on his hand. "If I remember right, the tickets Prussia bought for us were for tomorrow morning? He gets way too excited about Oktoberfest, you know."

Why do I even try to be happy, Indonesia thought darkly.

"Ah, don't look so glum! You have me all to yourself for the rest of the night," Philippines winked. "But I have to warn you, Pien is having his precious beauty sleep in my bedroom, so if you have any special requests we're going to have to be very quiet about it."

"Nothing like that," Indonesia quickly said, his face hot. "I just thought, I might as well treat you to somewhere nice. As a thank you for, uh, taking care of me today. But my flight back home is tomorrow night, and you're catching the morning train with Germany, and now I'm starting to think that we don't exactly have the time . . ."

The other nation waved it off. "We're nations, mahal. We have all the time in the world. Besides, we'll be meeting again for the APEC conference coming up in November, right? I don't mind waiting until then."

"But I do," he grumbled. "And again, don't call me mahal."

Philippines finished his drink and set his glass delicately on the table. "You can promise me that you'll let me sing half the songs when we go karaoke with the others. Or that you'll pay for my food the next time we have a group dinner. Oh! When Thailand makes a mean comment to me in the next meeting, you have to defend me. Say something like Filipino BL series are better than Thai BL series, that'll really get him going."

He was suddenly reminded of how frivolous the other nation could be sometimes. Either that, or worryingly low-maintenance. Indonesia built up the courage and forced out, "I'd rather make it up to you when the two of us are alone."

This time, it was Philippines who was staring. Flustered, Indonesia rambled on. "I just mean—you know, you spent all this time with me even though you didn't have to. So it's only right that I spend more time with you too, just the both of us. It's not good enough if the others are there too."

Philippines offered, "We could watch a movie before we sleep?"

"I'll probably just pass out in the middle."

"Maybe you can make breakfast for us tomorrow?"

"You gave me snacks, dinner, and a place to sleep, there's no way just a breakfast is fair."

"Well, what do you want me to do? Do you want me to spend a night over at your place?"

"It's not about you, not really. It's just, I want to do something for you. Something you want."

"I've been telling you what I want, but you keep saying it's not good enough, I don't understand—"

"It needs to be special, okay? Is it so bad that I want to do something nice for you—"

"It's not bad, I just don't get why you're being so picky about it. Like, isn't doing me a favor enough for you? Isn't this just about paying me back? What is it that you want to do with me exactly?"

"No," Indonesia stressed, feeling like he was about to lose his mind. "I want—"

He paused.

What did he want, exactly?

Philippines just smiled at him, patient and knowing and just the slightest bit sad, and stood. He was carrying his plate, and as he passed by Indonesia he gave him a gentle pat on the shoulder. When Indonesia looked up to face him, the other nation's eyes were soft. "I know I've said this to you before, but I'll say it again. I can't know things if you don't actually say it. Alright?"

Then he walked away to the kitchen sink, absentmindedly humming to himself, leaving Indonesia all alone at the table. The words I think I want you died on his lips.

-----

Later, after reflecting during his night bath, Indonesia found himself in a panic.

He wasn't a complete idiot. He's known for a while that Philippines was the only one who could fluster him like no other, but he often chalked that up to the other nation's cheeky character rather than anything else. His attraction to Philippines wasn't surprising either; it was no secret that he liked looking pretty, and to be honest, Indonesia has had worse crushes. But he was also steadily coming to the conclusion that his feelings went deeper than mere infatuation, and he couldn't help but wonder: why fall for the other nation in particular?

Philippines was an ally, someone he had founded and managed ASEAN with in a show of regional strength. Philippines was a friend, someone he had spent countless days with over the years along with all the other people he treasured in his life. Philippines was a stranger, someone who still felt so foreign to him despite everything. He could trace out the curve of his smile in an instant, and at the same time, he didn't have the faintest idea what the other nation was doing in the 1920s. He knew that watching a cheesy romcom was the surest way of brightening up his day, but not the exact nature of what Spain had done to him as a colony. And, for the life of him, he still didn’t understand the slightest bit of how verb conjugation in Tagalog worked — which felt especially embarrassing the day he found out that Philippines had been putting in the effort to learn both Bahasa Indonesia and Bahasa Melayu so he could communicate with the rest of the maritime nations better. He'd understand his own heart easier if he fell for Malaysia or even Netherlands — people who he had shared a deep and culturally signifcant history with in his extremely long life as a nation — but Philippines was, to put it sadly, not like that to him.

And yet, as Indonesia stared at his reflection in the bathroom mirror, all he could think about was how much happier he looked now compared to his bleak and boring morning.

He changed into the clothes that Philippines had laid out for him on the bed and had a brief thought of just going to sleep for the night. Pramoedya, if he were still alive, would chide him for such cowardice. Indonesia ended up at the other nation's door, nervously trying to build up the courage to knock. But Philippines must have heard his footsteps, as he called out: "I know you're out there! Just come in!"

Just like him, Philippines had already bathed and changed to more casual sleepwear; he was wearing a loose sweater and shorts that showed off his legs. He was sitting upright on his bed, looking amused at whatever he was staring at on his phone screen, and his face broke out into a warm smile when he saw Indonesia hesitantly trudge inside his bedroom. Pien was already sound asleep in a little makeshift bed on the desk.

"Sit here," said Philippines, while he scooted over to give him space. Indonesia gave him a look. "I'm being serious. Just move your arms a bit and—yeah, that's it. Aren't we cozy?"

Now they were both sitting on the bed, with Philippines between his legs and his arms around Philippines' waist. Cozy was certainly a word for it.

"Now you're just teasing me," Indonesia grumbled, but he didn't move away either.

"Me? Tease you?" Philippines fluttered his eyelashes at him. "Why, I'm just a poor tropical nation made to suffer through the unbearably cold Autumn months in the Northern Hemisphere! I'm severely in need of some aid and assistance, but I'm sure you and all your hundred active volcanoes can keep me warm for tonight."

"You're horrible, you know that?" he said, though he was unable to keep the laughter out of his voice. Philippines laughed with him, giddy and gleeful. "You don't know how anxious I was before this. It's not fair that you can just make all that go away so easily."

Philippines leaned back on his chest, smug as a cat. "Call it a gift. By the way, our neighbors want to know how you're doing. Anything you want to say?"

Now that he was right behind the other nation, he could see that his phone was opened to the ASEAN group chat. It seemed like everyone was spamming the chat with pictures of their pets again. Indonesia rested his chin on Philippines' shoulder and said, "I'm doing just fine. Tell them I mean it this time."

If the other nation was flustered, he betrayed no signs of it. He had now moved on to chatting with the other ex-Spanish colonies; they were all talking in Spanish and Indonesia couldn't understand a thing. "I'll tell them when I'm sure it won't get buried by everything else. But, you know, that's really good to hear. My influence, I hope."

Indonesia buried his face in Philippines' neck as an answer.

"So needy," Philippines murmured, who had put his phone down to pat his head. "Perhaps you really were lonely?"

"Not as lonely as you used to be, I think." At this, Philippines stilled. Indonesia tightened his hold on the other nation's slim waist even further, almost afraid that he would drift away. "About that question you asked, earlier at the cafe . . . I don't feel burdened by how great my old empires were. I've felt the pressure to make them proud, but I've never felt like it was a burden. Their legacy is my life and my connections to all of you, you know? I've certainly never felt like it made me lonely.

"And then there's you, and I know it's not the same for you, because you can't even remember — and that's fine, Singapore doesn't really remember much either. But Malaysia remembers enough for the both of them, and then there's me, and I remember the most, but then there's you, and you don't have that."

Here, Indonesia exhales a shaky breath. "Spain took you, and America took you, and Japan took you, and that's four centuries of you just being gone from me. We're neighbors yet we're so different, to the point where we don't share the same language, the same religion, the same food, the same history . . . and you have friends all over the world and you seem so happy all the time, but I don't think I've ever realized how lonely you must feel."

All Philippines did was sigh. "I told you not to pity me."

"I'm not pitying you," said Indonesia. "I'm just sorry."

All this time, he had been so in awe of how Philippines found it so easy to adjust to Westerners and Western culture when he himself found it so difficult. But now, with the realization that the same ability to connect with others may have also translated to an inability to connect with him and the rest of ASEAN, that same awe felt so bitter. How many times had Philippines stood awkwardly to the side when he spoke to Malaysia and Brunei in his native language? Kept worryingly quiet when they were wistfully reminiscing their pre-colonial pasts? Tried to tell a joke to lighten up the mood during a meeting, but because of differences in culture and history, it just fell flat?

Indonesia was startled out of his thoughts with a painful pinch of his cheek.

"Of course you're going to be sorry if you make me sound so depressing," Philippines pouted at him, annoyed.

He sputtered, "What? I mean, I just thought—"

"Do you take me for an idiot, Indonesia?" He pinched Indonesia harder, which made him yelp. "Don't you think I'd be well aware by now of where I stand with all of you? That after sixty years together, I would've realized that I wasn't as involved in your history as everyone else is in maritime, or everyone else with each other in the mainland?"

With a huff, Philippines let him go. Indonesia tried to soothe the sting of it by putting his hand on his cheek. He almost didn't hear the other nation murmur, "Do I seem that pitiful to you?"

"Not pitiful at all," Indonesia scrambled to reassure. Philippines leaned back on his chest, still looking a bit miffed. "I don't know. I just had this sudden thought that maybe we're just a bad reminder of how much Spain and America took away from you. Maybe you're actually uncomfortable with us."

Maybe you're actually uncomfortable with me, he thought, though he kept that to himself.

Philippines simply stared up at him, eyes bright, and said, "Well, if you only realized it today, then maybe you should've considered that it isn't actually a problem."

"You could just be very good at acting like nothing's wrong," Indonesia pointed out.

"Or you can think about this: maybe there really is nothing wrong in the first place," Philippines said, a wry smile growing on his face. "I founded the association with you, you know. Maybe the rest of you were there because of old ties or whatever, but I joined precisely because I wanted to build new ones. I don't really care if I feel awkward sometimes. I'd certainly find it boring if all of you were exactly like me anyway."

The other nation was so carefree about it, but Indonesia still felt conflicted. He admitted, "Maybe the problem is just that I feel awkward. I have no idea how to approach you as a nation."

"So don't approach me as a nation. Approach me as a friend," Philippines said, not unkindly. To get the point across, he put his hands over Indonesia's in a show of comfort. "You're allowed to act outside the interests of who you represent, you know. We're people too."

Indonesia kept quiet. There had been times when he privately felt like Philippines was his exact opposite — a lively, energetic person that focused more on his human side rather than the nation side, and someone whose duties were considerably more worldly than his own: having to regularly travel to dozens of countries to check on the millions of Filipino citizens that were working abroad. Meanwhile, as such a large and diverse country, Indonesia tried his best to ensure that every single one of the people that lived within his borders felt heard. It was difficult sometimes, but it always felt meaningful to him — his people were his essence, and he couldn't let politics force him to forsake them again. Acting for his personal interests felt as foreign to him as leaving his house sometimes. Not that he never took time for himself; he tried, but a lot of the time he had to be convinced to do so. Sometimes Singapore would invite him for another tour around his house, or Malaysia would drag him into some new restaurant where they would inevitably fight over the food. But more often than not, it would be Philippines pushing him and the other Southeast Asian nations out of their shells and setting up parties, taking them to his fiestas, and prodding and annoying all of them until they would finally agree to ASEAN hang-outs like the one at Bali. Indonesia could admit harboring a deep suspicion for the other nation before, thinking that he was more in line with American interests rather than his own, but over the decades that suspicion had faded. Despite all his efforts to the contrary, he had grown on him, and now Indonesia couldn't imagine his life without him anymore.

He didn't know much about the Philippines as a nation, not much more than he needed to be aware of for the sake of diplomacy and the association. Yet as the years went by and he got to know more and become friends with Philippines the person, he discovered someone who was equal parts obnoxious and endearing, foolhardy and clever, petty and proud and unbelievably kind. And as he looked at him now, there was something in the curve of his smile and the light in his eyes that told him that things would be alright if he took things a step further — something that told him that the other nation had been anticipating this for a long, long time. Heart over head and heart over country, it emboldened him to take the leap.

"I don't want to approach you as a friend either," Indonesia murmured, and because he couldn't help himself, he leaned down and kissed him.

Philippines sighed happily into his mouth as he kissed back, warm and blooming under his touch. Their kiss was relatively chaste — Indonesia had seen the other nation make out with others for a drunk dare with more passion than this — yet he couldn't complain. It was sweet and soft and lasted only for a moment, and more than anything, it was a promise: that they can take things slow, and that they had all the time in the world to get to know each other better.

Their foreheads touched, quiet and tender, and Philippines laughed softly. "It's so ridiculous," he said, his eyes filled with mirth, "that I've been waiting for so long for you to realize your feelings, and when the time finally comes that you do, you managed to confess without really confessing at all. Only you, Indonesia."

"I'm shy," he said dryly, and the other nation burst into laughter. "If you wanted a real confession, you probably could've done so yourself."

"Ah, but there's no fun in that! I like the thrill of being chased, you know," Philippines preened, wagging his finger in mock admonishment. Then, more shyly, he admitted, "Besides, if I made a move on you before you were ready, you might've just pushed me away or feel forced to return my feelings even if you didn't. If I waited, at least I could be sure you wanted me too."

"So all those jokes you made before were supposed to be you holding back? How subtle," Indonesia teased, his eyes crinkling. He held the other nation closer, smothering him with small kisses all over until what little sadness on his face disappeared and was replaced with giggles and brightness. He turned Philippines' head to face him properly and said, "I'm scared that I won't know how to balance my duties and my personal life as well as you do, and I'm scared that we'll be too dissimilar to really work out. But until the day that our differences force us apart, I'd be happy to spend my time with you."

Philippines pulled away from him slightly, an oddly vulnerable look in his eyes. "You're sure you really want something with me? That this isn't too far out of your comfort zone?"

"Oh, it's very out of my comfort zone," Indonesia said. "But recently, I've been learning that maybe it isn't so bad, you know. As long as I'm with you."

"As long as I'm with you," Philippines repeated, with a growing smile. "I like the sound of that."

They continued talking well past midnight, at some points laughing so hard and arguing so loud that poor Pien was startled awake by all the noise. And as the other nation reached out and pulled him under the covers so they could hold each other until the morning, he found himself reaching back. They kissed until their lips were red and they got so tangled up in each other until they couldn't distinguish between their own bodies anymore; despite how differently the day turned out from how his usual trips to Europe went, Indonesia swore that the unfamiliar city never felt so much like coming home until that night.

-----

"Where the hell is my sweater," Philippines groused.

"You threw it on the floor last night, it should be under your bedside drawer." Indonesia kissed his forehead and, keenly aware that he was not a morning person, gave him a cup of his precious coffee. He could tell his efforts were appreciated when Philippines greedily gulped down the scalding liquid. "Selamat pagi, sayang."

The other nation only pouted at him. "Don't call me sayang."

"After all the stupid things you've called me through the years? I'll call you however I like, thank you very much," he shrugged. "Besides, I'm not the one who has to leave in a few hours."

Philippines groaned as he pulled his clothes over himself. "This is so stupid. We finally get together and now we have to be separated like this? I mean, I'm really glad and I like you a lot and all, but I really wish you had a better sense of timing right now."

"I think you'll live." Indonesia hid his smile behind his cup. "I mean, you were the one that said you don't mind waiting until November to see me again."

"You just keep making fun of me," Philippines whined, cuddling up to him. Pien had even jumped up to nuzzle his neck, evidently just as clingy as his owner. "Where's the romance, Indonesia? The sweet nothings in my ear? The poems and songs you surely must've written while you pined for my presence? Am I to despair forever, having only been loved by a phantom version of yourself that will never return?"

"You've been watching too many telenovelas," Indonesia said, quickly setting both of their cups somewhere else before they had any accidents. At this, the other nation gasped dramatically and collapsed across his lap. Despite himself, he started chuckling at how ridiculous Philippines was being — really, how could he not find him so endearing?

Then Philippines suddenly turned serious. He stared up at him, his gaze piercing. "If you don't want me to go, I can just make up dumb some excuse again, you know. Just say the word."

Indonesia humored him. "And why wouldn't I want you to go?"

"Because I can't be there for you if you feel alone again," he muttered, expression tense and his mouth downturned in an angry frown. "I just feel bad that I'm leaving you so soon."

Yesterday, he would've been right to be worried. Indonesia probably would've found some roundabout way to say that he'd much rather for Philippines to stay just until he could see him off at the airport later that evening, if only to stave off that achingly empty feeling of waiting to go home and resenting time for moving so slowly. Philippines would have laughed and teased and inevitably posted about the day's events on his Instagram, to which Indonesia would look increasingly more exhausted with each new update, but he nevertheless would have allowed Indonesia to get away with delaying his plans to make him more comfortable.

But as it was, now Indonesia only remembered the way the other nation's eyes had twinkled in excitement when he mentioned Munich, so it was little trouble for him to simply smooth back Philippines' bangs and lightly say, "Actually, I was planning of sightseeing on my own today."

"Oh?" Philippines looked surprised — and pleased. "You are?"

Indonesia couldn't stop himself from flushing in embarrassment. Really, it had only been a passing thought he had after finishing his morning prayers, but . . . "All of you are always going on about how I can't enjoy myself abroad, so. I figured it was time I gave it a try."

Though Philippines probably knew he was still rather uncertain about it, he smiled anyway. "Well, as long as bring your phone this time, alright? I'm always just a text away if you need it."

"And here I thought you'd say some cheesy line about me never truly being alone since you'll always in my heart," Indonesia said, and Philippines was startled into laughter as he sat back up. "Don't worry. I've survived a long, long time without you by my side. I can take a little longer."

Philippines pecked him on the cheek, sweet and domestic. "Not too long, I hope. I can't wait to see the look on Thailand's face when we walk into November's meeting hand in hand. Maybe I should make a vlog about everyone else's surprised reactions."

"Whatever you like, sayang." Indonesia smiled as he stood, his hand reaching out. He pulled Philippines into a kiss — a deep one this time, slow and sensuous and full of all the things he felt too strongly to properly express in words — that left them both breathing heavily by the time they pulled away. Feeling uncharacteristically suave, he whispered, "Though I would prefer it if, in the short time that you're still here, you keep all your focus on me."

"Always, mahal." Philippines smiled back, eyes as bright as ever. "Always."

-----

Notes:

Title comes from the lyrics of How Deep Is Your Love, but specifically, it's a reference to the Christian Bautista cover. Bautista is a Filipino singer, and his cover was very popular in Indonesia a few years ago.

There are a lot of things I've had to simplify and outright ignore for the sake of story, most egregious being the fact that Indonesia actually wouldn't be the sole Southeast Asian nation in a G20 meeting. The chair of ASEAN is a permanent guest invitee, and since the current chair is the Sultan of Brunei, Brunei would probably in the meeting as well. Alas, Brunei isn't canon yet as of this writing. Sorry, Brunei!

Mahal and sayang are both terms of endearment in Tagalog and Bahasa Indonesia respectively, but with a catch! Mahal is a word that also exists in Bahasa Indonesia, but the meaning is "expensive" rather than "love" — in Tagalog you can use the word both ways. Sayang is a word that also exists in Tagalog, but the meaning is "What a waste" or "What a pity" rather than "love" — in Bahasa Indonesia, you can use the word both ways. So essentially, you have Philippines and Indonesia trying to be sweet to each other, but the other interprets it as a weird insult instead. It's really funny and really cute.

More detailed notes and references on my previous Tumblr post here!

[lebritneeey]

Second Chance (3/??)

inspired by don’t wanna cry, lie again and second life & a little idea from reply 1997 and 1988.

genre: romance. fluff, angst, love rivals etc lmao

pairing: y/n x ??? (svt)

a/n: hi guys! so my imagination started running after listening to dwc, lie again and second life on repeat lmao. i’ve always love reading angsty fics and so i came up with this series based on these three songs! disclaimer!! if there’s any similarity with other fics, it is coincidental, everything written here is based on my idea! no to plagiarism!! also, pics and gifs here are NOT mine! hope you guys enjoy this series i might be posting this on aff too so don’t be alarm if you come across it on aff! enjoy!

SERIES MASTERLIST

What if you could get a second chance at love? What if it was the wrong time but the right person all along? Would you take it? This second chance? 

Meet y/n, a 25 year old girl who had to revisit the city she once loved, Seoul. It was a city filled with both good and bad memories for her. When she left, she swore never to return. But here she is, back in Seoul, hoping to not run into a certain old flame that might reopen old wounds and remind her of how broken hearted she was back then.

chapter 2 | chapter 3 | chapter 4

chapter 3: she’s back?

nov 2020, seoul, 1:39pm (KST)

Y/n’s eyes widened as she froze. Choyi and Hana gasped as they stared at the three familiar faces in front of them. 

Seventeen Dino, Mingyu and Jeonghan were picking up their coffee orders for the rest of the group. 

“Oh! Noona!” Dino and Mingyu chimed as they greeted her excitedly. They turned to Hana and Choyi, waving at them as well. 

Jeonghan’s eyes was fixated on Y/n, his gaze turning soft. 

“Hi, Y/n.. long time no see.” 

////

The members sat down with the girls as they waited for their orders. Jeonghan took a seat opposite Y/n who anxiously drank her coffee while silence filled the air. 

“..long time no see noonas!” Dino broke the silence. Mingyu joined in, “yeah, it’s been a few years!” Hana broke into a smile, nodding. “Yes, it’s been a while.. Heard Seventeen has been getting first place recently! Congratulations!” Choyi agreed, “This year is really you guys’ year! Congrats!” 

While the four of them chatted away, Jeonghan constantly fixed his gaze onto Y/n. He gently asked, “how have you been?” Y/n looked up from her drink as she forced a smile. “I’m.. good. You?” 

Jeonghan chuckled, “well you know, busy as always. We’re preparing for our upcoming tour.” Y/n nodded, taking a sip of her drink again. 

“You still looked the same from the last time I saw you. Beautiful always.” Y/n blinked in surprise, cheeks turning slightly red at the statement. She said nothing and continued looking at her coffee. Silence filled the air once more. 

////

“Ah, lunch time is over, we gotta go now.” Hana said as the girls stood up to leave. “Aw, that’s sad. But we had fun catching up noona!” Dino chirped as he waved them goodbye with Mingyu beside him doing the same. Just as Y/n was about to follow them out, Jeonghan gently grabbed her wrist. “Y/n!” She turned and stared at him, brows raising. 

He let go and rubbed his neck awkwardly. “Um.. how long are you going to be in Korea for? We should all catch up soon, the rest of the guys missed you and they would be delighted to see you again.” 

Y/n pursed her lips together, hesitating. “If I’m free.” She gave the three guys a small smile before leaving the cafe. 

Jeonghan sighed as he watched her leave. Damn it, I never thought I would miss her this much. 

////

“Hyung.. should we tell the rest that we saw y/n again?” Dino asked in their van. The three were on the way back to the company with their coffee orders in their hands. 

“I don’t know.. We need to prepare for the tour soon, y/n’s return might affect some of them.” Jeonghan rubbed his face, feeling a tad stressed. 

“I think we should tell them. What if they bumped into y/n on the streets again like today?” Mingyu chipped in. “Aigoo hyung, Seoul isn’t that small you know.” Dino shooked his head as he replied Mingyu who pouted and continued texting on his phone. 

Jeonghan stared outside the window as he sighed once more. If fate allows it, then we will all meet again. He thought as the car ride continued in silence all the way back to the company. 

////

Flashback to march 2017, 3:53pm, PLEDIS building

Choyi, Hana and Y/n looked around in awe as they walked around the building of PLEDIS Entertainment, home to Seventeen, NU’EST and After School. Hana’s boyfriend had invited the girls over for lunch as he’s busy helping SVT prepare for their album comeback.

“Never in my life would I expect myself to be in freaking PLEDIS building where it’s the home to Seventeen!!!!!” Choyi whispered excitedly as she did a little dance while they were finding the practice room that Joohyeon was in. “Please calm down Choyi or else we’re gonna get kicked out for disturbance!” Hana shooked her head, Y/n chuckled as she follow the pair behind.

“Room 3.. room 3.. ah here it is,” Hana pointed at the practice room they found. The girls peeked through the windows.

Seventeen members were in formation while Joohyeon was in front showing them what seemed to be a choreography for their next title song. “Can’t believe I’m getting the very first look at the upcoming comeback dance..” Choyi sighed with pleasure as she fixated her eyes through the window panels.

“Okay, let’s take ten boys!” Joohyeon announced as he spotted Choyi’s face planted against the window. He walked over to the door and welcomed the girls. “Hi oppa” Hana gave him a hug while Y/n and Choyi waved at the members.

“Oh, hello, nice to see you all again!” Dokyeom waved as the rest of the members followed suit while they grabbed some towels and water bottles.

“Sorry to disturb but we brought some lunch for all of you!” Hana announced as Joohyeon took the bags she was carrying. “YES WE HAVE FREE FOOOOOD” Dino and Hosni jumped up and down pumping their fists with excitement. Y/n beamed, feeling a little surprised by their energy even after what seemed like hours of dance practice.

Jun ran up to Y/n after seeing her with two big bags of lunchboxes, “here let me help you with that!” Y/n gave him an appreciative smile and thanked him. “We didn’t speak much backstage that day but nice to meet you, I’m Jun! Are you a Korean by the way?”

Y/n shooked her head, “I’m from Singapore.” Jun nodded, mouth forming an ‘o’. “Wow but your Korean is good! Wait.. so does this mean you can speak chinese?”

“Yup, 我可以说中文 (I can speak chinese)“ Jun got even more excited and started conversing in chinese with Y/n as they sat down on the floor with the others as they took out the lunchboxes.

“Are.. those two speaking in Chinese?” Seungcheol asked The8 as he glanced at the pair. The8 looked over and nodded, “Y/n’s from Singapore I think so she’s able to speak chinese if I’m not wrong”

Seungcheol tilted his head as he watched Y/n laughing at something Jun was saying. Wonder what they’re talking about that is so funny.. He pouted slightly as he started eating.

“Yah Jihoon ah, where’s your Polaroid camera! This calls for some fun picture taking!” Jeonghan asked. Woozi walked over to his bag and took out the camera. Y/n noticed the Polaroid model, “oh is that the latest model?” Woozi turned to her and nodded. Y/n stood up and walked over looking at it. “Can I see it? I’ve been saving up for one cause my previous polaroid broke!” Woozi handed his camera over with a small smile.

Y/n clapped her hands enthusiastically as she gently held the camera. “Can I test it out?” Woozi chuckled as he gave her the go ahead. What Y/n did next was unexpected to the boy — she pointed the camera in front of him and snapped a pic, “say cheese!” Woozi stared blankly at the camera with surprised as he frozed. Did she just.. took a picture of me? Suddenly?

When the polaroid picture started developing, Y/n giggled as she showed Woozi. “What’s with the blank look!” Woozi stared at Y/n, feeling captivated by her adorable action. He blushed as he rubbed his neck sheepishly, “I was just surprised that’s all..” Y/n grinned as she return the camera to him. “I think I’ll get this model, thank you Jihoon!” Woozi blushed even more as she calls him by his actual name.

“Hyung, I can help us take a few pics!” Mingyu walked over, taking the camera from the flustered boy. “Woah, why are your ears so red?” Woozi shooked his head and passed the camera to Mingyu before returning to his food, “nothing, here ya go. Don’t drop it or else I’ll come after you.”

Mingyu sighed as he went around taking pictures of the entire gang. “Say kimchi everyone!!!!”

///

Nov 2020, choyi’s apartment, 4:19pm (KST)

Y/n dropped her bag onto the sofa as she plopped on it. Choyi walked to the fridge to get a bottle of soju. Y/n looked on quizzedly, “isn’t it a bit too early for alcohol?”

Choyi took two soju glasses and sat on the sofa beside Y/n. “it’s for you.” Y/n raised an eyebrow, looking at the soju, “for what?”

“In case you wanna talk about what happened out there just now?” Choyi poured the soju into the glasses and handed one to Y/n, who took it begrudgingly. “There’s no need for any talk Cho.”

“It’s been what.. two years? I just thought seeing them might you know, sparked some past memories again” Choyi shrugs as she downs her glass. “I’m okay. It’s in the past and I’ve moved on. Really, I’m fine Cho” Y/n gave a tight smile as she refilled her glass.

“Besides, I won’t be staying in Korea for long anyway. I’m just here for work and work only, after which I’m gonna head home.” Y/n took a shot of soju as she let the bitterness taste linger around her throat hoping she would let it distract her from the heavy feeling around her chest.

“... Do you still have his number saved?” Y/n blinked a few times at Choyi’s question. She would be lying if she say she has already deleted them. The truth is, she still has it. After all these years, she still has it saved onto her phone, she just couldn’t bear to delete it. All she did was renamed it to “Ignore” just in case he calls again, but he never did.

“… nope I deleted it the day I left.” Silence filled the air as Y/n took another shot of her drink.

“You know.. the guys were shocked and sad when they heard you left without saying goodbye” Choyi added as she refilled their glasses.

“I heard.. that he was upset too” Choyi continued a she took a shot.

Y/n paused as she reached for her glass. He was upset? What right did he have to be upset?

[knit-wear-it]

Bloom

A/N: Happy Pride! Here’s some Crossbow Canary to celebrate 🏳️‍🌈❤️🏳️‍🌈❤️

They met at a Halloween party. Helena was half-listening to a group of fellow freshmen discussing the politics of TokTok when she noticed her— a petite, athletically-built blonde wearing a yellow hard hat and a slick of red lipstick. It was a shade too dark for her, standing out stark against her pale skin; the mark of a makeup novice. She was laughing with a small group of friends, her smile radiant. She was radiant.

Then, as if she could feel Helena staring, the blonde looked straight at her.

There was a faint flush in the apples of her cheeks as she offered a tremulous but encouraging smile, and Helena practically bolted across the room toward her.

***

Her name was Dinah.

They met again a week later, by accident, at a small martial arts studio off campus. Helena arrived just as Dinah was leaving, her face shiny and blotchy with exertion, her ashy blonde hair plaited back in a sweaty French braid. She wore black Lycra gym-gear beneath her pea coat to stave off the approaching New Jersey winter. Her coat was a vibrant cornflower blue, reminding Helena of the rich pigments Italian Renaissance painters used for Mary Magdalen's robes. Without the dark smear of lipstick, she could see the graceful curve of her prominent Cupid’s bow, giving her face a sweetness that belied the clear-eyed maturity few their age possessed.

“Oh,” Dinah stopped short on the sidewalk, her face lighting up. “Hello,” she grinned.

“Hi,” Helena grinned back at her, suddenly giddy as if she’d eaten a gallon of corn syrup. She could feel excitement fizzing in her veins, propelling her closer like a moth to the flame.

“Do you train here?” Dinah asked, re-shouldering her gym bag.

“They have a Krav Maga class I like,” Helena explained. “You?”

“Jiu Jitsu,” Dinah shrugged, smiling. “My old trainer swore by Krav Maga, but it doesn’t have the same…” she pursed her lips as she took her time to search for the word. “Grace,” she settled on.

“Grace?” Helena smirked. “Are we talking about ballet or fighting?”

Dinah laughed easily. “My first sensei would say they were the same thing.”

“Wow, how many senseis and trainers have you had?” Helena teased. She immediately regretted it when Dinah visibly tensed, her expression abruptly becoming guarded.

“I was fostered at a dojo for a little while when I was a kid,” she explained haltingly, her brown eyes darting off to the side. “And uh, then I was in a group home until I was eighteen and they… let me keep taking karate to give me some, uh, stability I guess.”

Helena’s eyes widened at this revelation, delivered so candidly in passing on the sidewalk—that she’d grown up in foster care; that she was an orphan. She could feel Dinah’s uneasiness, and it inspired a desperate need to comfort or reassure her, a wholly unfamiliar impulse.

“My dad sent me to a Swiss boarding school when I was twelve,” Helena blurted out. “After my mom died. It was kind of like a group home just with, you know, rich kids and archery. And a castle.”

As the words came tumbling out of her mouth, she knew she was being horribly rude by being so flippant about her privilege, but it seemed to lighten Dinah’s mood, her kind smile blooming again.

“Well, just because there was archery doesn’t mean it wasn’t hard to be away from everything you knew,” she said, meeting Helena’s eye meaningfully.

She understood loneliness, Helena realized. She understood the pain and anger of abandonment. Yet she didn’t carry bitterness around in the same way Helena did; bitterness that didn’t taste as bad when Dinah was standing here proving there was a way beyond it. It gave Helena hope—something she wasn’t well acquainted with after repeated tragedies.

A squat city bus puttered past behind them, catching Dinah’s eye. She glanced at Helena apologetically, a sliver of vulnerability slipping into her otherwise confident counternence.

“Maybe I’ll try Krav Maga sometime,” she offered, almost shyly.

“Maybe we could get coffee afterward,” Helena suggested, beaming.

They exchanged numbers before Dinah ran to catch the bus.

***

A week later, they kicked the shit out of each other at the studio and went for coffee. Helena had expected Dinah to pick up the Krav Maga moves quickly since she was well-versed in Karate and Jiu Jitsu. She even indulged in a stupid fantasy about helping her find the right techniques and positions, a blatant ploy to be physically closer to her.

But when they began sparing, Helena quickly realized she was wildly outmatched. Dinah did not need her help—she already knew Krav Maga even if she hadn’t quite mastered it. Then the minute Helena got the upper hand, Dinah gave up on the prescribed moves the instructor gave them, and took Helena down with a few quick karate strikes she couldn’t counter effectively.

Helena’s back hit the mat hard, knocking the wind out of her. Her eyes widening as Dinah pinned her down with a steady hand flat over her heart, the heel of her small hand grazing the top of Helena’s breast through her sports bra.

Dinah released her and sat back, looking smug.

“You cheated!” Helena laughed, accepting a hand to pull herself up to sitting.

“What’s the point of fighting if you aren’t going to win?” Dinah shot her a knowing smirk.

“What happened to grace?” Helena demanded, her eyebrows raising when Dinah faltered but quickly recovered.

“You’re right,” she agreed, her face softening like she’d come to some internal revelation. “It’s not about winning. It’s about the practice, and finding balance.”

“Alright, sensei,” Helena rolled her eyes but she couldn’t stop smiling—another unfamiliar impulse. “You can buy me a coffee to make up for cheating.”

“It’s called mixed martial arts for a reason,” Dinah insisted as they headed for the changing rooms. “I was just mixing in more martial arts”

“Yeah, yeah.”

***

For the rest of the semester they trained and went for coffee at least once a week. They would tell each other which parties they were going to, what events their friends were discussing attending. It went unsaid that they were leaving breadcrumbs for each other, a trail that would lead them back together.

Their social lives began to blend. Helena became friendly with Dinah’s carefully cultivated group of scholastic overachievers and misfits. Meanwhile, the gang of loud, kittenish gay men Helena surrounded herself with fawned over Dinah. They showed her how to do her make-up properly and cheered when she paraded around the dorm in high heels for them like a clumsy newborn colt.

“She is gorgeous,” one of Helena’s friends hissed to her.

But it never went any further than a lingering touch or look as Helena restrained herself from making the first move, but not because she feared rejection. She’d taken a gap year after boarding school, a boozy thirteen months during which she’d travelled across Southeast Asia—Vietnam, Cambodia,Thailand, Bali, Singapore—and then on to Australia. The youthful hedonism that characterized backpacking made it easy not to be shy or ashamed of her attraction to both boys and girls. But she resisted making the first move with Dinah— she wanted Dinah to come to her.

***

Helena stayed at Princeton over the holidays, just like she’d done throughout boarding school. The only place she could feasibly go was Gotham to be with her younger brother, Pino. He was seventeen, and Helena had just enough contact to suspect he was already involved in the ‘family business,’ which she tried not to think about. They mostly kept in touch via Snapchat and Instagram, a selfie and meme-based relationship that removed the painful edges of reality.

Dinah returned to Gotham for Christmas to visit another member of the orphanage she’d grown up in. She wanted to see how they were getting on without her, she said, though she wasn’t looking forward to being back in the city.

But something obviously went wrong while she was away, because once they were back at school she began determinedly avoiding Helena. She made excuses about being busy with classes and other friends needing her attention. Weeks went by and Helena started to feel crazy, like she was missing something obvious, which meant she was either blind or too stupid to be able to see what was happening.

Then out of the blue Dinah showed up at Helena’s dorm, her hair freshly cut in a cute, girlish bob that brushed the collar of her cornflower blue coat, her tawny eyes glowing determinedly.

“Helena,” she breathed, searching Helena’s face. “Will you go out with me?”

***

They went out for dinner, something Helena had never done with a girl before. She’d slept with women, but she struggled with the idea of going on a date with a woman. She was disappointed in herself, that she hadn't evolved beyond worrying about the perception of others when she knew what she wanted.

But those worries were relegated to background noise when Dinah showed up on her doorstep, wearing a candy-apple-red shade of lipstick that suited her perfectly.

“Hey,” she greeted Helena, her smile radiant. Excited.

***

After dinner, Helena walked Dinah back to her dorm. When the moment she’d been waiting months for finally arrived, Dinah tucked a loose piece of Helena’s hair behind her ear, then tentatively laid her palm across the curve of her jaw. Her eyes fell shut as she drew Helena's mouth down to hers.

Her lips were eager and curious, but clumsy. Helena paused to draw back, the thick fringe of her eyelashes brushing Dinah’s nose as she opened her eyes. Dinah’s hand was still resting on her cheek, while Helena’s hands had found Dinah’s waist. Her eyes were heavy and her lips parted, the red lipstick faded.

“Don’t take this the wrong way,” Helena said slowly. “But... have you ever kissed someone before?”

Dinah’s face split into a rueful grin, without a trace of shame. “I have now,” she pointed out playfully.

Helena mirrored her grin and gave Dinah’s waist a gentle tug, pulling her closer as their lips met again.

***

They went on more dates, and eventually they found their way into each other’s beds. They got to know each other’s bodies, bringing them closer in a way Helena hadn’t realized was possible. She’d only experienced sex as a blurry, rushed encounter, but with Dinah she was overwhelmed, drunk on how badly she wanted her.

Their friend groups continued to cross pollinate with the queer communities on campus, and they slowly began to build a chosen family together since neither of them had one of their own. Helena was thrilled to see Dinah slowly shed the armour she’d built to protect herself, becoming more open and accepting of her own feelings and desires. But Helena found it harder, in part because she was lying to Dinah by not telling her the full truth of her past.

Her family and their ‘business’ was a dark, shameful secret she had never told another person, and she couldn’t decide how Dinah, with her strong moral compass, would react. It was like an invisible blockade between them, one Helena knew could destroy the delicate fabric of their blossoming relationship if she didn’t resolve it.

About four months after their first official date, it became impossible to keep it inside any longer, especially because the words “I love you” were constantly threatening to spill past her lips. It was only when she couldn’t keep it to herself any longer that she found the courage.

“You can tell me anything, Helena,” Dinah insisted, holding Helena’s hands between hers. They were sitting on a blanket on the quad, the sun shining bright overhead as the first vestiges of spring bloomed around them.

Helena felt physically sick. She’d imagined every way this conversation could go, and she usually settled on Dinah being horrified once she learned the terrible, violent truth.

“It’s about…” she swallowed thickly. “My family. I haven’t been… completely honest with you. My dad. He wasn’t really a businessman. Not in the traditional sense.”

Dinah’s eyebrows raised, but she gave Helena’s hands a reassuring squeeze.

After a few false starts, Helena explained that her family wasn’t like other families. That her father and his brothers and generations of Bertinelli men before them hadn’t had… normal jobs. They were criminals. Successful, powerful criminals whose influence manipulated the very fabric of Gotham society.

Dinah listened, her expression becoming more and more guarded as Helena ploughed ahead. She could see what she was thinking. That Helena’s family was partially responsible for the corruption and crime that plagued Gotham. That the city was a shithole because of men like her father. It was all true, or at least it used to be, before the masked freaks took over and made everything worse.

She explained that a man named Mandragora tried to usurp her father when she was twelve, killing her mother, aunts and uncles, cousins and family friends in a blood feud. She was shipped off to Europe for safe keeping while her brother Pino, just 9 years old at the time, was sent to live with extended family in Central City. Ultimately her father’s associates and friends ran Mandragora out of town, but not before the damage was done. Helena remained in Switzerland, and Pino returned to Gotham, where he was raised by what extended members of the Bertinelli clan.

There was one more piece of information Helena couldn’t bring herself to share, because just thinking about what happened to her father made her blood boil—anger frequently outstripped grief when she thought about what Harley Quinn did to her Papa.

She hunted him. Tortured him. Murdered him.

But she couldn’t say the words. Mobsters were bad enough. Harley Quinn was an entirely different kind of villain, one Helena didn’t want her family — who she loved deeply despite their flaws —associated with if she could help it.

By the time she’d finished, Dinah had taken to playing with an errant daisy springing up from the grass, her attention wholly focused on the little white flower as she worked through her thoughts. When she finally looked up at Helena, she was cautious, still uncertain, but eventually her lips curved into a smile—kind, open, generous, and reassuring.

“I have to tell you something too,” she shrugged helplessly. “I love you, Helena... and you aren’t responsible for the choices your family made. You still loved them and lost them and I know how much that hurt you.”

Helena’s eyes widened, shocked that Dinah was speaking these words to Helena. For Helena.

“I—“ she faltered, searching Dinah’s face. “I love you too.” She sprung up to her knees and pitched forward, grabbing Dinah’s face with both hands and making her shriek with laughter as they fell back on the grass together. “God, I really really love you, Di.”

Dinah laughed again, her eyes closing as Helena urgently kissed her. She felt as if she’d never be able to properly express how much she felt. This was the polar opposite of the grief and anger that plagued her. This was the beginning of something beautiful and powerful and safe.

Dinah would save her from the darkness, she decided.

She was the only one who could.

***

A/N: I know you’re all here for Jarley, but in the same way I wanted you to love Ed, I’m hoping you’ll simp for this ship. I loved writing Dinah through the eyes of someone who sees the best in her since she’s been pretty limited to her own self-punishing point of view and Harley’s warped vision of the world. And it’s a relief to see Dinah begin to grow up now that she’s around people her own age she relates to… Even wearing lipstick is like an indulgent act for her that she’s finally allowing herself to take part in. Yes, Dinah! You deserve love and lipstick and self care! ❤️🎉

[fishmongeringstudies]

scene two, aka whatever is left of this air conditioning unit

this evening i microwaved my first cup of kraft instant mac and cheese. the print on the side said to stick it in the microwave for three and a half minutes and then add in the cheese and stir vigorously, so that's what i did, but when i took it out there was a frothy boiling mess on the glass plate and an ungodly amount of water left in the cup so i poured out half of the water and added the cheese and 'stirred vigorously' and the whole thing tasted kind of like if you tried to describe the experience of going on a rollercoaster to someone whose only experience with transport is a horse-drawn cart, by which i mean it wasn't terrible, because terrible implies that an effort was made to be good. it is my humble belief that kraft instant mac and cheese has never aspired towards anything.

this morning i woke up sweating. the rooms in this dorm don't have a/c, but at least they have me. unfortunately they are likely to not have me too very soon, precisely because they don't have a/c. in hot weather a/c and i imply each other like a pair of lovers in a horrible codependent relationship that starts out on the best possible foot and starts to worry their friends and family when both of them go missing for three weeks at a time and are found in some dingy motel next to the movie theater drinking dorito-infused sprite while marathoning old animated barbie movies and eventually ends with one party riding off into the sunset on a stolen e-scooter and the other one becoming a fitness influencer on instagram. instagram is useful for some things like stalking people you might want to kidnap and stick in your basement for a few days and contacting friends who have progressed past the need for neanderthal-style text messaging. fitness influencers are not one of those things.

did you know? there were a hundred and forty-four freshmen on campus this spring. according to the corny welcome to the class of 2024 post on the admissions blog, there are three hundred and seventy-three of us in total. i stuck the numbers in the calculator app because i have progressed past the need for neanderthal-style quick math; that's thirty-eight percent. did you know? i've been a college student for a year now, and i've only met thirty-eight percent of my own class.

not to be dramatic, but i'm aggressively stirring another cup of kraft instant mac and cheese right now. not to be dramatic but i've stuck a body in your basement. it's a promise ring. what am i promising? i'm promising i'll come see you.

i think if i get a car i will feel like a real american. of course i will never be a real american because 1) i spent eighteen years living in singapore and 2) i have the spiritual capacity of a well-endowed british opera singer and 3) i don't actually want to be one but the idea has its appeals, like pretending you're part of a group with an identity that isn't an obscure gender alignment (chicken) you came up with on the fly (see? chicken). improvisation has always been my strong suit (for my january term class we had to post self-intros on moodle and for my interesting skill i said i was good at improvisational running. someone commented asking me what improvisational running was. i said i could start running at very unexpected times of the day, like in the lunch line or in the middle of an x-ray examination or while i'm brushing my teeth. this spring i've proven myself to be everything, it turns out, but a liar). forgetting where i started a sentence is also my strong suit. confrontation is not my strong suit.

maybe i should learn to drive. but who is going to teach me? every day we stray further from god, like little bath toys stuck in the pacific ocean getting fucked up by the dolphins, who have gotten bored with the lack of traffic recently and have decided to start their own acting troupe. i am writing this under the impression that there are dolphins in the pacific ocean. if i am wrong please do not correct me. ignorance is bliss. blocking the numbers of people who have set fire to your proverbial house (you live in a dorm room, after all, which doesn't count as a real place to come back to) in various interesting ways without meaning to is also bliss.

the mac and cheese was terrible. but all things are the first time you try them. like how your first novel is three pages long in papyrus font size fifteen on a word document your mom unearths a decade later when she's cleaning the hard drive on your computer. like how the first time you go to target by yourself you pin the wrong target on google maps and end up walking beside a highway getting blasted by fumes for half a mile instead of taking a nice cottagecore jaunt through the bougie neighborhood your school is located in. like how your first semester of college is this huge fucky clusterfuck of absolute horsefuckery that's so bad, even your older friends who've already done undergrad and grad school and passed out in a dumpster behind a denny's a few times in their lifetime are kind of impressed with you.

my first semester of college was a three hour dark souls speedrun. now we're stopping to enjoy the scenery. and what wonderful scenery it is! actually it's very bad. summer is boring because it reminds me of home and the geographical location of home is not itself very bad but i was very depressed for a while so the psychological associations will take a while to unlearn, like maybe five months or five decades. that's fine. i didn't come to america to get away from the monster under the bed. i am the monster. and now i am in america the world is the bed and did you know? i'm pretty tall. so it's fine. i'll break this bedframe. i'll shatter it to pieces.

05.22.21

[unmaskedagain]

Marinette: Crazy Rich

           So in this fic,. If you’ve seen Crazy Rich Asians, you’ll know why as the fic goes on. Also, I totally ripped a few lines from Girl Meets World; fans of the show will recognize them instantly!!!

 They met when they were young; younger than either of them remember. The first time, Marinette and Ali had both in babes in their cribs when their grandmothers’ introduced them. The second time, they just learn to walk and or run, and seemed love making a mess of everything; again not something they could remember but had plenty of pictures of.

The third time, and the one they both remembered, Marinette had been just six-years-old. Ali had been seven. They each were the apple of their grandmother’s eyes. Their grandmothers were best friends having known each other since they were little girls.

It had been a playdate at one of the Young family homes. Ali had worn a dapper grey suit that would look ridiculously expensive on an adult man, let alone a child that just barely learned to tie his shoes. Marinette had worn a darling silvery purple dress that was closer to a ball gown than any dress any other four-year-old girl would wear to a playdate.

           Both kids shyly hid their faces behind their grandmother’s skirts and had to be coaxed softly to greet each other.

Prince Ali bowed regally as he had been taught, “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Young.”  He was a handsome boy with dark-skin, olive-green eyes, and black hair. Ali always wore a charming smile on his face as expected of him. He was a Prince, and while it wasn’t easy, he did what of expected of him.

“It is an honor, Prince Ali,” Marinette curtseyed gracefully. She was a beautiful girl with long black hair and bluebell eyes. She was the essence of a perfect little lady. “We have a wonderful playroom that I would like to show you if you able?”

Prince Ali looked to his grandmother for an answered. She nodded silently, an amused smile on his face. The young prince grinned, “Yes, please.” He held his arm out for Marinette. She took it, a pink blush on her face, and they walked side by side out of the foyer, their perspective bodyguards trailing after them, while their grandmothers’ cooed in the background before departing to have tea.

           The playroom was larger than three apartments combined; it had specific areas dedicated to art, sports, video games, tea parties, a jungle gym built to look like a castle, and even an area just for snacks. In order to get around, there were trampoline paths.

           Prince Ali blinked in awe.

“You get used to it,” Marinette giggled. “Come on!” She grabbed his hand and ran across the trampoline path to the jungle gym. They jumped the entire way, their bodyguard watching from the distance ready to act if something went wrong.

“Call me Marinette,” Marinette said when they made it to the top. She pulled out two foams swords and handed him one. “Or Mari.

“Ali,” He said as he took the sword.

“I’m Pirate Captain Sparkle,” She yelled and pointed her sword. “And you my dreaded rival have come to steal my treasure… Captain.”

“Tiger Eye,” Ali nodded seriously. “Captain Tiger Eye. Engarde!”

           The two pirate captains dueled all over the jungle gym before teaming up to defeat the evil space monsters that came to steal all the ice cream and candy in the world.

           Ali laughed as he jumped into the foam ball pit after a giggling Marinette. They both laid there for a moment trying to catch their breaths as they stared at the ceiling painted to look like the night, each constellation connected.

“You’re not how I imagined,” Ali said.

           Marinette hummed, “Spoiled rotten, uptight, crazy rich brat who only like tea parties and princess things; who’d cry the second I don’t get what I want?”

“Well… yes.”

           She shrugged, “I get that a lot. I don’t know why. If I so much as considered for a moment of throwing a tantrum in public, my grandmother would have me shipped boarding school in Sweden. No matter what my parents said.”

           Ali nodded, “Same. Though, mine would be in Scotland. My mother has a strong fascination with Harry Potter.”

“You’re not what I imagined either.”

“Stuffy prince, that always had his nose in the air,” Prince Ali started, “So he can look down on everyone; that expects everyone to bow and cater to his every whim?”

“That about covers it.”

           He snorted, “My grandmother would have me scrubbing bedpans at one her hospitals the moment I ever said was better than anyone.”

           Both laughed.

“Do you ever get tired of it?” Ali suddenly asked. “Always been told to do this, or that you can’t do that. Always being on your best behavior because of what people would think. I never get to do anything I want.”

Ali was the first grandchild and took after his grandmother Queen Aishwarya with his kind, fun-loving nature, as well as his ability to recognize authenticity in people. Like Aishwarya, Ali would later become a philanthropist who dedicated his time to volunteering at and donating money to child hospitals and leading the go-green initiative in his country. He wasn’t allowed to behave like most kids; never allow himself to be as free as them.

“Shoulders back and stand up straight,” Marinette recited. “Mind your manners, smile for the cameras. Always be clean and orderly. It’s like I’m a trophy. Don’t make a mess. Watch what you say but never let anyone think you can’t say it. Sometimes it sucks. But what I can I do. Can I really cry about it? I’m a rich, only child that gets everything I want… as long as I behave. There are expectations of me, and if I stay, I get shut down.” Hard.

           Marinette spent her childhood split between France and Singapore.  In Paris, she was able to relax as Marinette Dupain-Cheng the daughter of a pair of rather well-known bakers. In Singapore, she was Marinette Dupain-Cheng-Sung-Young or just Marinette Young for short; the granddaughter of Eleanor and Phillip Young, an heir of the wealthiest family in all of Singapore and most of the world. And people, her family mostly, and the paparazzi had expectations of Marinette Young.

           Marinette Young was a Singaporean child socialite. The media referred to her as “The Princess” for her beauty and the impeccable fashion sense she distributed from a young age. She followed her older cousin Astrid to all the fashions, taking her cues from her.

“Yeah…”

           Marinette lift her head to look at Ali, “What do you like to do?”

“I like to help people,” Ali murmured. “I like helping my grandmother at the hospitals and making sick kids feel better. Maybe be a doctor!”

“I like fashion, my cousin Astrid likes it too,” Marinette said. “So let’s make a deal. You help kids. I’ll work in fashion. That’s what we want to do so we’re going to do it. Okay?”

“Deal,” Ali nodded firmly and then looked thoughtful. “Are we friends?”

           Marinette smiled, “Best friends.”

           And so there were. Over the next few years, the two would meet up for playdates frequently. Eventually, Prince Ali would come to know Marinette Dupain-Cheng well too.

           When the playdate ended, Marinette waved goodbye sadly as her new friend left.

           That night, while her grandmother brushed her hair before bed, she asked. “Did you like Prince Ali?”

           Marinette nodded, “Yes. He was very polite and played pretend really well.” She left off the part where he was a dreaded pirate captain because of details.

“Aishwarya and I thought you would like each other,” Eleanor nodded. “I’m glad to see you get along well. Hopefully, you will grow closer as you get older.”

“Why?” Marinette asked curiously. Her grandmother had never cared about whether she would still be friends with her playdates in the future. Normally, the playdates were a way to have a business meeting with it being obvious to the outside world that it was, in fact, a business meeting.

           Eleanor smiled softly down at Marinette, looking less like the elegant scary Dragon-lady the media claimed she was, and more like any loving grandmother.

Eleanor knew she always favored Marinette, her first grandchild; even if she had severely frowned on her oldest daughter Sabine marrying a baker. Though she had frowned less once their bakery became a successful international chain, akin to Gordon Ramsey restaurants. Their headquarters in Singapore. In Eleanor’s defense, they came from a rather wealthy family and with roots of nobility. Who wouldn’t be a little upset if their heir and beloved daughter running off to marry a baker she met in France? Sabine had even gotten Nick and Astrid to help with her elopement.

It would be years before Eleanor manages to quell the snickers and rumors that persisted after Sabine’s departure, and just as long until she was willing to speak with her oldest child again. However, that was mostly because she learned Sabine was pregnant.

Eleanor was in France for the duration of the pregnancy and had loved Marinette instantly the second she was born. Her beautiful granddaughter with hair so black it looks blue in the right light, and bright blue eyes bluer than anyone could even imagine. It’s a wonder, Eleanor, ever let go of her. (But apparently, Tom had the right to hold his child too, or some nonsense like that.)

           Because of her grandmother, Marinette’s childhood was… odder than most. While her parents preferred a more modest lifestyle despite their wealth, her mother’s side of the family… did not.

“Do you know how your grandfather and I met?” The older woman asked. Marinette shook her head no. “We met when we were really young, about you and Prince Ali’s age. Our parents were business partners who believed marriage was the best solidify the partnership, and bring up both of our families statuses. So we were betrothed.”

           Marinette blinked, slowly understanding hit her. “It means engaged right?”

“In a way,” Eleanor nodded. “It meant we were promised to each other and that one day we would marry; uniting our families as one. Do you know why I’m telling you this?”

“The playdate,” Marinette said. “It was a test to see if Ali and could get along. We are to be promised to each other.”

           Eleanor put the hairbrush down. “No. You are promised to each other. We finalized the arrangement today. The official betrothal will be announced after your thirteenth birthday. One day, you will marry Prince Ali. Prince Ali is the oldest child of Queen Aishwarya’s oldest son. Do you know what that means when you marry him?”

           Marinette nodded, not fully understand what being married meant. Or what being betrothed meant but knew it was important. She thought of Snow White and Cinderella, and what marry a prince meant for them. “If I marry Ali, it means one day, I’ll be Queen.”

“You’ll be a princess,” Eleanor correct gently. “Queen Aishwarya’s steps down, which will not be for quite some time, her son and heir will take her place, and then one day Prince Ali will take his father’s place. Then you will be Queen.”

           Marinette grew up dealing with the fact that she would one day be Queen the best way she could; she put it of mind. It wasn’t like her life changed all that much; she just attended more lessons than usual.  Heck, her life changed more when she became Ladybug. So she was engaged to be engaged, so what? All that meant was that she couldn’t date anyone seriously. She could date though, which was what counted.

           She and Prince Ali were still best friends and what girl didn’t want to marry her best friend?

           When Marinette was thirteen, Prince Ali had a surprise visit to Paris under the guise of visiting the local children’s hospital. It was the first time he came to visit without his grandmother with him. And it was the first time Marinette met him without her grandmother there.

           They met at a secluded rooftop restaurant. Prince Ali wore a dark suit. Marinette wore a stylish, elegant red dress, that coincidently matched Prince Ali’s tie. Her hair was pulled back into a messy bun. When they sat down for dinner and a violin started to play, it took Marinette all but five seconds to realize what was going down.

“This is quite romantic. You could’ve had just asked me on a date, you know?” Marinette raised an eyebrow. “I might’ve said yes.”

           Ali gave her a devilish smirk, “As if there was ever a chance you’d say no.”

           His bodyguard huffed a laugh, “He was too chicken to ask.”

“Really, Kalil! Really!” Prince Ali face-palmed in the face of Marinette’s giggles. “It’s not funny,” He told her.

“Yes, it is.”

           Ali sighed but gave a low chuckle, “It’s a little funny.”

           It went silent as each tried to think of what to say.

“I just wanted to-” Ali started.

“I know that this-” Marinette said at the same time.

           They both gave small laughs. Marinette nodded, “Please, go ahead.”

“We’re older now,” Ali swallowed hard. “You’re thirteen now. And I just wanted to… I wanted to know if it was still alright. If you were still open to marrying me?  If not, we should be mature about it. We should let our grandparents know before the announcement. Then we’ll go our separate ways and never talk or see each other again if you want.”

“Save yourselves and our families the embarrassment,” She nodded. Marinette fought now to glance down; to not show weakness, as her grandmother taught her, as her mother taught her like Astrid taught her. She was a Young. Youngs’ were not weak. “Do you want to marry me?”

“I asked you first!” Ali whined, making his bodyguard snort.

“How old are you? Six?”

           He stuck his tongue out, “Six and a half for your information.” Ali shook his head. “When we were little we made a deal. You’d go into fashion, and I’d help sick kids, help people all over the world because it’s what we wanted to do; not what anyone wants us to do. You’re a fashion designer. I’m a philanthropist. Pretty brave of us considering if Nick ever decides to run for the hills, you’d be shipped off to Harvard business school before you managed to make a protest. And if something, gods forbid, ever happen to my father; my grandmother would have me sworn in as the next king before I even buried him. Medical school or not. So let’s be brave again. Let’s only marry each other if that’s what we want. Deal.”

“Deal!” Marinette nodded. “So do you want to marry me?”

“Mari!” Ali groaned. “I asked first!”

“What point being?” Marinette said innocently. “Fine, let’s start with an easier question. Do you like me… like that?”

“Do you like me?”

           Marinette’s bodyguard, Torivana, snickered in the background. Marinette glared. “I… like you, Ali.” Other than Ali, she had only ever had a crush on two other guys; both crushes were short-lived. Adrien, who was regulated to being the brother she always wanted after she learned he was Chat Noir and her parents all but adopted him. And Luka, she realized quickly, with his dyed hair, rock band, and future tattoos was the type of guy her grandmother would have assassinated before she’d let Marinette seen in a romantic relationship with. Plus, it didn’t help that Luka asked her if Adrien was single.

Ali was different though. Marinette had set out in the very beginning to not like Ali romantically, figuring she could break off the promise between the families if it was seen that there was no romantic feeling between the two. However, the more she fought not to like-like her best friend, the more she did.

“It’s you I like, Ali,” Marinette admitted, her heart beating wildly.

           Ali looked at her for a moment, just really staring at her. “I like you too.” And he did. He fell for the blue-eyed badass that was his best friend. He’d known he liked her for the longest of times but was too afraid to tell her. “And I’d never want you to not be a part of my life. If you don’t know if you want to marry me, that’s fine. We can wait. I can wait. If you want to play the long game and see what happens. Okay. I’ll play the long game. Live your life, I'll live my life, I know you're out there... and I'm out there, too.

“That's your deal?”

“That's my deal.”

“Someday?”

“Someday.”

           Marinette leaned forward, “I have a counteroffer.”

“You are definitely Eleanor Young’s granddaughter.”

“That’s a compliment,” Marinette shrugged. She took a deep breath and said, “I want to marry you; not just because of our families but because of our friendship. I think we’d be good together. We are good together. Maybe, I’m not in love with you now but maybe after some dates, whenever you buck up and ask me on a real one, and being girlfriend and boyfriend for a while, maybe I will be. If sometime in the future, when we get older, we change our minds, we’ll figure it out then. You fight my grandma, I’ll take on yours.”

“I want to marry you too,” Ali admitted, a small smile on his face. “You know you can ask me out too, right?”

“I could,” She stressed the second word.

           They laughed and just looked at each other, olive-green eyes getting lost in blue and vice versa.

           It was the sound of a throat clearing that made them jump out of it. Each blushed red as the waiter looked at them expectantly with a raised eyebrow and a smirk on her face.

“We should order,” Marinette said, opening up her menu quickly.

“Totally!”

           They ignored their bodyguards chuckling in the background.

           Outside of the Marinette Young universe, Marinette Dupain-Cheng found it a lot harder to be nice and amicable all the time. For starters, Lila had come back to school. She didn’t mind most of the lies she told. They were annoying, however, after years of dealing with faux-faced people, she could ignore most of them. She could even ignore that al her so-called friends believed them.

           However, Marinette hated, absolutely hated when Lila lied about Prince Ali. The lies were utterly ridiculous but Marinette was overprotective and had half a mind to use every resource to have the Italian Embassy look into all of Lila’s travel claims. But she was better than that. She would not stoop to Lila’s level.

           …

           It took three months for Marinette to lose all her friends in class. They had simpered after Lila and her lies and believed Marinette to be a bully. They stopped hanging out with her, stopped inviting her places, and sent mean texts to her phone causing her to change her number. They openly declared they weren’t her friends anymore.

           Again, this wasn’t something Marinette batted a lie at.  She didn’t care what they did. Or said. As they long as they didn’t go too far, Marinette was fine with ignoring their existence. Should they step the line, Marinette would use everything in her power to destroy them.

           It was a good thing after all. Her mother, Grandmother, Nick, Astrid, and everyone else in her family always taught her to be wary of fame-seekers and gold diggers.

           It was clear that the class wasn’t really interested in what Lila did but the promises of what she could do for them. And if they had to toss aside a childhood friend to get into her good graces then so be it.

           The class was getting ready to depart for winter break.

“Prince Ali and I are going to winter in Switzerland, you know.” Lila lied, causing Marinette’s eyes to narrow. “Every year since we were children. It snows all the time in Zurich. And he just loves it.”

           First of all, Ali hated the cold. It was why Marinette insisted one of their playdates be in the Alps after he broke her favorite china doll; spite, pure spite. Second of all, it didn’t snow all the time in Zurich; barely at all.

           Anyone could fact check the second one. But no one bothers. Not even the journalist of the class, Alya.

“We go with the Young family,” Lila continued. “One of the richest families in the world. I am friends with Lady Eleanor’s granddaughter.”    

           Marinette nearly fell down laughing right then and there.

           At the end of class, her ex-best friend and the class’s new class president, stood up, “Don’t forget everyone, class party at my house,” Alya cast a quick glare at Marinette and Chloe who sat in the back. “At least for those of you invited.” Their other classmates snickered and threw vicious smiles at the girls.

“As if we’d want to go,” Chloe said. “We have plans for Winter break that doesn’t involve going to a last-minute, obviously poor planed party. That never happened in the last class president’s watch.”

           Marinette smirked. “She’s right. We have plans. Chloe’s coming with me to visit my grandmother in Singapore. My family can’t wait to meet my best friend. Luka and Adrien will be attending as well.

           Alya huffed at not getting the reaction she wanted. Also because she never got invited to go to Singapore with Marinette before, and they had been best friends for the longest time. Shows what kind of friend Marinette was! Lila would never do that to her.

           Chloe, Adrien, Luka, Kagami, Ondine, Aurore, Claude, Mirielle, Nathanial, and Marc would all join Marinette for Winter Break. They were surprised when Marinette had offered to pay. Even more so when it was on a private plane.

           Trust Chloe to be the first to say something.

“So you’re rich,” The blond asked.

           Marinette hummed as she reads her magazine, “We’re comfortable.”

“That is exactly what a super-rich person would say,” Claude laughed.

           When they got to Marinette’s home, that was less of a home and more of a palace, they realized just how right they were. Particularly when they saw the dolphins.

“So you’re crazy rich,” Claude correct.

           During Winter break, once they got to Singapore, Marinette officially introduced her best friend, Prince Ali, to her other friends. They got along well, though he was a bit wary of Chloe at first.

At the Young Family New Years’ Eve celebration; which was closer to a giant festival, it was announced that Prince Ali and Marinette Dupain-Cheng-Sung-Young, the only grandchild of Phillip and Eleanor Young, would marry after Marinette’s 21st birthday. The new article was released shortly after; it was filled with pictures of them as children growing up together, depicting their friendship, each family’s wealth, and it told the agreed-upon lie that Prince Ali asked for her hand, as traditional in his country. The media went wild.

Marinette knew the moment it was announced and her picture was released that things would change. She wouldn’t just be Marinette Dupain-Cheng, daughter of bakers. At least she couldn’t pretend anymore. Marinette would be a princess; people talking about her, Ali, and the future royal wedding for years to come.

Once the celebrations had died down, her friends ganged up on her.

“A prince!” Chloe shrieked. “You’re marrying Prince Ali. How could you not tell me! I get to be the maid of honor to a Princess!”

           Adrien glared, “Why are you the maid of honor. I’m practically her brother.”

“Exactly!” Chloe hissed. “Maid of Honor!”

“Oh, this is not over!”

           That night Marinette, with her grandmother’s blessing, gave Aurore the exclusive scoop on the engagement via an interview and an article. Overnight, her blog became internally famous. Magazines and newspapers citing her as a source.

           Returning to Paris had been wild. The moment they stepped off the plane, they were met with the flashes of cameras from the paparazzi; each one screaming her name.

“Marinette! How does it feel to be marrying Prince Ali?”

“DO you think you’re too young?”

“Are you ready to be a princess?”

           Marinette ignored them all as she got into the limousine with her friends. “So that was pleasant.”

“That was insane!” Aurore laughed. “Is it always this bad?”

“No, Singaporean paparazzi are a bit tamer.”

           The limo didn’t head to the bakery. Marinette nor her parents would be living there from then on. Instead, they bought the empty mansion across the street from Adrien’s home. They purchased it when her grandmother let them know the announcement would happen soon; giving them plenty of time to decorate. The gates were heavily lined with security.

“Oh we are so having our next sleepover here,” Mirielle said brightly when they got into the house.

“Are you going to miss living at the bakery?”

“Yes,” Both Marinette and Adrien said, causing Marinette to glare at her friend, “We talked about this; just because I had a bunk bed, did not make it your room too!”

           Adrien huffed but clearly looked like he disagreed.

           Luka chuckled and wrapped an arm around his boyfriend’s shoulder, “Aww, babe. Did the mean girl hurt your feelings?”

“You were my friend first,” Marinette pinched her nose. “Where’s the loyalty?”

           When school started back up again,  Marinette’s limo literally went straight across the street to pick up Adrien.

           Gabriel opened the door before Marinette even had the chance to knock. “Miss Dupain-Cheng-Sung-Young, an honor.”

           Marinette eyed the man. He, while always polite, seemed nicer than she’d ever seen him before. Normally Marinette would fill the urge to fix her casual outfit. But today Marinette didn’t do casual. She wore a tan Cashmere sweater dress, stockings, with black Burberry heals, and a look of boredom on her face. Gone were the pigtails, instead Marinette’s hair flowed down her back. “Is Adrien ready for school, Mr. Agreste?”

“He will be down in one moment,” Gabriel answered. “Congratulations on your engagement. You and Prince Ali make a lovely couple.”

“Thank you.”

“I was unaware there was a Young in Paris,” Gabriel chimed. “I would have loved to arrange a few playdates between you and Adrien.”

           Marinette smiled coldly, “Adrien is one of my dearest friends now. And while an official date hasn’t been set, I do hope I can count your attendance at my wedding. Despite recent… difficulties.”

           Gabriel stiffened, “Difficulties? With Adrien?”

“With Lila Rossi,” Marinette corrected. “A model of yours. She has made several outlandish claims both towards the Young family, Prince Ali, as well as several celebrities. I fear the actions that would need to be taken to… rectify this. I sincerely hope the Agreste brand isn’t hurt in the process.”

           Despite the subtly of her words, the threat was loud and clear. Fix Lila, ditch Lila, or we’ll destroy you.

           Adrien came down the stairs in a rush, not noticing his father’s pale face. He and Marinette, and Gorilla left the older man still standing stunned.

           Gabriel called for Nathalie, “Fire Miss Rossi immediately. Sever all connections, now!”

           After Adrien, they picked up Kagami, whose mother was an old friend of Sabine’s as they had grown up together. Kagami had always known that Marinette was actually Marinette Young.

           The next stop was Chloe who seemed more at home in Marinette’s limo that Marinette did.

           When the got to school the paparazzi were still waiting. The bodyguards Gorilla and Torivana held guarded the children as they entered the school. Damocles was waiting at the door, a simpering smile on his face, and a greedy look in his eyes at the potential donations he could get from Marinette and her family.

           Marinette cut him off before he could even open his mouth, “You expelled me without a proper investigation. Or going through the proper channel because of an ambassador’s daughter threw a hissy fit. You’ll be hearing my lawyers.”

           The man paled so white Marinette thought he had died right then and there. Until she saw him shaking.

           The bodyguards escorted the kids through the halls, where students stopped to watch the future princess pass.

           When they got to class, they saw most of the students waiting.

           The four ignored them and joined Nathaniel in back where they had been sentenced for not believing Lila.

“Girl!” Alya yelled with a grin on her face. “I can’t believe you’re marrying a prince! You should’ve invited me to your family’s party. I’d have loved to come.”

           The others in class nodded. Though Rose did look a bit teary-eyed. That was when Marinette remembered her ex-friends crush on Ali.

“That party was dope, dudette!” Nino added. “How’d you get Beyonce to perform?”

           Marinette smiled, “Shouldn’t you be hanging of Lila’s coattails somewhere. Where is Miss Rossi anyway?”

           Alya shrugged, “She’s a liar, you were right. Best friends with the Young Heir, yeah right. You should’ve just told me you and Prince Ali were a thing, and I’d have believed you.”

“You should’ve fact-checked,” Chloe glared. “It was obvious she was a liar.”

“No one’s talking to you,” Alya glared from where she sat in her seat. “I’m talking to my bestie.”

“Again, Lila isn’t here,” Marinette said. “And last I checked we are not friends.”

           Alya rolled over what Marinette said, “How could you give Aurore the inside scoop? I totally needed that. Ladybug had been ignoring me for months.”

“Aurore’s my friend,” Marinette said easily. “Which is more than I can say for most of you. How was the class party by the way?”

           A few of the students had the grace to blush and look away. Alya wasn’t one of them, “I’m sorry, okay. I shouldn’t have believed Lila.” Alya shrugged. “You don’t have to sit back there anymore. Me and Nino can make room.”

Marinette blinked. How could she not be getting this? “I wouldn’t sit with you if that seat was only one in school not on fire.”

It was at that moment Bustier and Lila walked into class. Bustier seemed oblivious to the tension that seemed the classroom; though she did know all about Marinette being engaged to a prince.

To Lila’s credit, she didn’t blink at the few glares she received. Her eyes on Marinette, half full of greed, half full of jealously. She knew all about the Young family; insanely rich socialites who were the It family in all of Asia. She cursed herself for not researching into Marinette more before declaring the girl her enemy and doing her best to maker her life hell. And now Marinette was marrying a prince.

Lila frowned. No wonder the bluenette always glared at me, She thought, she knew first hand that I was lying.

“Marinette,” Lila said sweetly. “I was so happy and that you and Ali finally revealed your betrothal. I wish you would’ve told me.”

           Most of the class looked at the girl like she was crazy.

“I don’ t like you,” Marinette stated easily. “You do not know Ali. You were not childhood friends. You do not know the Young family. Astrid did not ever come to you for fashion advice. She does not know you exist. As Eleanor’s only grandchild, I can happily say that we are not friends. Leave alone.” She cast a cold look to the rest of the room. “That goes for the rest of you. You happily declared we weren’t friends anymore. Well, we’re not friends anymore.”

           Her declaration rang through the classroom.

           No one said anything to her for the rest of the morning, apart from her friends in class.

           When lunch came, just before the bell rang, there was a knock on the door. Prince Ali stood there, looking as regal and as handsome as ever. “It seemed, I am a bit too early.” He said with a polite smile, though he had been long aware of the inhabitants bullying way.

           The bell rang.

           Marinette smiled, “Just in time actually.” She got up and walked to the front of the class, most of the students too stunned to move.

           Lila jumped at her chance to actually meet the prince, “Oh Prince Ali; it’s wonderful to see you again. My mother spent some time in your country. She worked was an ambassador.”

“And you are?” Ali asked, causing Lila to flush red as another of her lies were exposed.          

           She knew she could’ve easily spun to the class that Marinette was just jealous of her. They’d believe anything. It was a lot harder with the prince there to deny everything.

           Neither him nor Marinette waited for a response.

           They long since vowed to only ever wait for each other.

[smallstoriesiwrite]

The Dragon and her Knight

a/n: before I start this. This will be my first time writing a short story that I thought of. So please help with feedback!as well! its very long! its been awhile since i wrote something like years so please bear with me! remember yall are loved!

Tenya x Female!reader 

“We will be family day tomorrow remember tell all your family to come so we can all get to know each other.” Aizawa said

All the class groans

“Hey I'm just the messenger. Principle Nezu requested it for Class 1-A. So please bring your families. And I understand if some can’t make it. But please request they come. Okay class is over for today. Remember to call to see if they are coming and that it’s all day. Class dismiss”

Everyone started packing up when Shoji approached Y/N.

“Hey y/n you excited for tomorrow?”

“Honestly Sho I am. You will get to see my 3 older siblings and my parents again! They are always so busy with the agency we never see eachother.my father is even taking the day off.”

“That’s amazing! I would love to meet your parents again!”

You smile remembering how Shoji met your parents when you fell ill during Flu season and your family came and visited you while Shoji took care of you.

While walking towards the door someone bumped into you hard as you fell to the floor.

“Y/N?! Are you okay?” Shoji asked while helping you up

“Yeah Im fine sho now who the fuck bumped into me that hard ?”

“I must have not seen you there L/N. I figured because you're not up to my level?” Iida said.

“Guess who still hasn't learned how to fix that cursing problem you have L/N? Even as kids you used to curse like a sailor. You really have no manners do you?”

Smirking you said

“I may have a cursing problem Iida. But god knows I don’t have a stick up my ass now do I? And from what I hear you're just mad from your actions.”

“Now why would I be mad?”

“My family is all coming tomorrow and your precious rich daddy can’t take a day off of work now could he?” You say tauntingly

“For your information all my family is coming along tomorrow as well. Even my brother.”

“Ah the laid back Iida is coming too! Wow must be an accomplishment?! Here let me give you the pity award” You say sarcastically

Tenya growled and walked away while saying

“See your family tomorrow L/N. Tomorrow will be an interesting day.”

You rolled your eyes and walked to your dorm with Shoji.

“Tell me why again you and Tenya are always at each other’s throats about y’all’s family’s? “ Shoji says

“You see love. Me and Iida grew up together and were the best of friends. We did everything together from helping both of our older brothers with their suits to eating family dinners together. “ you say while arriving at your dorm and unlocking it

“Our older brothers were best of friends and so did my sister and brother got along with Iidas older brother. We were always neck in neck in school and Quirk power. Until one day my older brother Kyo (I’m just gonna name the siblings and if that’s your name I’m so sorry😭) was top of his class and was beating Iidas brother in both hero work and school wise. It was never more than a friendly rivalry between them but our families took it seriously. Iidas family found out that Kyo was excelling faster than Tensie. And surely enough my brother graduated top of his class and knowing how to control his quirk.”

Going into your dorm you set your backpack down and Shoji did the same. Starting to change into normal clothes while shoji did as well. It was so common for shoji left clothes because he always slept over.

While changing you continued

“So when graduation came along both of our families decided to have dinner with each other before having our own big parties  separately. While eating dinner at Kyos and Tensies favorite restaurant our families started to compare our brother's work and every time they tried to one up each other until finally Iidas' family said “You know what? Our sons don’t need to hang out with your kind. We are better than you all and our Agency and money proves it. You don’t have enough money to raise 4 Children! Ha you guys are low lives we will never associate with again.” According to Kyo, Athena and Laxus

Tensie defended us and tried to apologize but it didn’t slide with my parents. We left and ever since we have been rivals. We were never the richest like them. We worked for our big agency. My father and Kyo run the Agency.

It has been a rivalry between us as well. That’s why I study for long hours and as well practice my Quirk with Kyo Athena and Laxus when they come around to visit or present. They all graduated top number one. I want to do that as well.

Iida is just a reminder from my past that tamiles like them exist. They are born into riches while we work for ours. I can never forgive his family for what they said to mine. You know how much I love them. My family is everything to me. We might have arguments and disagreements about my future and the agency but at the end of the day they are my headache to deal with and honestly I don’t mind.” You say smiling and looking at Shoji

“But you do remember that time you lost a dare and kissed Tenya that one night I thought for sure you were over this rivalry. I swear every time I bring it up-“

You cut him off by throwing a pillow at him

“STOPPPPPP WE DON'T TALK ABOUT IT! IT WAS A STUPID DARE IT MEANT NOTHING!!!”

He laughs and says

“SUREEEE you came back a squealing mess and so unsure of your feelings that night to my room.”

I sighed and looked at the grown

“You know I can’t love him. My family wouldn’t approve and you know they are my world.”

“But n/n you need to realize that it’s your future. And your love. You love him don’t you.”

Sadly nodding

“I do. But he hates me. He doesn’t see me as a potential lover. He sees me as a rival he needs to crush because his family says so. My family wanted me to have that mentality as well. But for the love of fuck we held hands growing up and he gave me flowers because he thought it would go pretty un my hair.”

You say while walking to a small box of memories and pulling up photos of Tenya and you as children and dried flowers you pressed.

“I’ll just love from afar Sho.”

He nods and pulls you into a warm hug.

“Remember bestie I’m here for you. Anytime anywhere and if I have to knock some sense into Iida when he’s mean to you. Even if I don’t like hitting my classmates I will do it for you.”

Hugging tighter you said

“Thank you really bestie thank you.”

“Now let’s get to studying. We need to review for next week's test. But we can listen to music and dance around as well.” You said smiling while pulling away from the hug

Shoji nods and grabs his work while you turn up the music.

——time skip to next day brought to you by my raging headache and wanting to eat as well my spelling errors———————-

“Hey y’all made it!” You said running towards your family

“Hell yeah we did we miss your stupid face!” Laxus said while hugging you

“Haha I miss your dumb face as well.”

You said while pulling away from the hug

“Hi mom hi dad “ you said smiling and hugging both

“Hi my love, how are you? Are you eating well? Not forcing yourself too much are you? And Shoji, where is he?” Mom said in a hurry

“Women, she will never understand you. Calm down, I'm sure they are fine. Right love?” Dad says

“Yes dad I am, don't worry mom I’m okay I’m healthy and breathing no I’m not giving myself too much and Shoji is just with his parents In his room before we meet up in class for the activities.” I say while looking over to see Athena and Kyo walking our way.

“Tell me again you sleep deprived child why are we here again? Family day was eject a thing back when we went to school” Kyo said while leaning into a hug

“Nice to see you too Kyo and I don’t know honestly. Guess to get closer. Dawg we've been through so much shit together as a class I think In principle eyes we need to like to know each other on a deep level I guess.” You say while pulling away

“Well beats me honestly it gives us time to relax with you and spend time with our small child we raised now come here and give your sister a hug.” Athena said while giving you a bone crushing hug

“Look at her now she was Bitching the whole way saying she was hungry and didn’t want to relive her U.A. memories. Now she’s hugging you.” Kyo said while wrapping his arm around Laxus.

We all laughed when we heard

“I see you still have a cursing problem L/N. You haven’t changed since U.A.” Tenie said

“Well you see Engine arms we love to keep it real with the family and no filter who do we need to please with our manners? Now you can just simply ignore our “vulgar language”now can you?” Kyo said tauntingly

There was a dead silent between them when Tensie said

“I’m just fucking with you Kyo. How you been, haven’t seen you in months brother.” Tensie said while hugging Kyo laughing.

“I’ve been good! traveling to America for hero work and Singapore. How are you?”

“Even since the accident I’ve been in my wheelchair but I’m still helloing the old man with work at the agency. Mister and Misses L/n hope you guys are well. “ Tensie said

My parents simply nodded there head with a straight face

“The Devil Dragon herself. How are controlling your powers going?” Tensie said to me

“I’ve gotten better. Athena has shown me ways to control them better and so has Laxus and Kyo at times.”

“Now that’s good! I say take better points from Athena. They don’t give her that name for nothing. Now do they?” Tensie says flirty to Athena like who simply rolled her eyes and said

“ in your dreams Iida” while smirking

“Ah so I’ll dream of it tonight.” Tensie said and laughed

Which left Athena a blushing mess

Before Tensie can talk again I hear

“Son, why did you wander off again?! We told you to meet us at the Classroom.”  Mister Iida said while approaching us

“Yeah Tensie, we thought you got lost?” Tenya said as well

“I'm a fine father. I was just saying hello to Kyo and his family. And how could I get lost Tenya I came here to school. I can only go so far with my wheelchair.” Tensie said

Our family locked eyes and said

“Ah The L/N family I’m so surprised they let you children come to this school after your first son.” Mister Iida said

“Well I have you know Iida, my daughter and Son graduated top number one in their class as well. And our last daughter is not too far behind. I hear from Eraser that she’s number one in her class. And her Quirk is more lasting and controlling than anyone’s” my father said while stepping up

“You see Tenya isn’t too far behind and I’m positive he will beat your daughter. And her devil form.” Mister Iida said while giving me a side eye

I rolled my eyes and grabbed my dads hand

“Come on dad. Let’s go do the activities and see around.”

“Okay love let’s go.” He said not even saying nothing to the Iidas while I spoke up to Tenya

“Keep your father on a damn leash or i'll send him to a nursing home.” While bumping into him harshly

[time skip]

After a day of fun activities and hanging out with Shoji and his parents everyone decided to meet up in class to have the introduction part over with.

While everyone introduced their family my name came up.

“Y/n your turn “ Aizawa said

While dragging my parents and siblings up there I said

“Hey guys you know me Y/N I am the youngest of 4. There is my brother Kyo you may know as “The Fire Dragon” he is the oldest. Then there is Athena who y’all may know as “The Wind Dragon” who is second oldest. Then there is Laxus who you may know as “The Thunder dragon” and lastly me who happens to be “the devil dragon” us 4 beautiful babies came from our mother Lilac and our father Ivan. Together we all run Dragon Slayer Industry. Any questions?”

Someone spoke up and said

“Why does your name end with dragon?”

Kyo spoke up and said

“When we activate our Quirk our facial features slowly change into a dragon form. We saw that in the patterns of myself maturing into my Quirk along with everyone. You see, our cheek has scales at times when we use our quirk and Wings as well but only if we are fully using our powers. It differs for Y/N tho. Due to the fact her transformation is more lengthy and more levels towards her dragon form. She posses our strongest form of Dragon Slayer which is Devil power.”

I looked down and smiled when my dad speaks up

“She’s the youngest of our 4 children but we love her as much as we love our 3 eldest. They all happen to be our pride and Joy of Dragon Slayer industry.”

We all look up and dad and he gave us a soft smile

After everyone introduces their families and explains their quirks, Principle Nezu stands on Aizawas shoulder and speaks.

“All of the Families and students meet up in the common room of The dorm we are having karaoke night with the families!”

Me and Athena locked eyes and smiled

While Kyo and Laxus groaned and sat their heads on both mine and Athena's shoulders.

“Awwww what’s wrong Lawx? You don’t wanna perform?” I say while scratching his head

“No, because we don’t sing well, you and Thena always sing better than us.” He mumbled into my shoulder

“I mean that’s true but we know our old school songs don’t we Laxus?” Kyo said optimistically while wrapping his arms around Athena's neck

“You guys legit screamed Drivers License with me and Y/n when it came out. What makes y’all think y’all can’t sing?” Athena says while getting up and following the crowd to the common room.

“Did you really sign the driver's license with your sister Kyo?” Tensie said while his family behind him

“Hell yeah I did. It’s manly to scream with your sisters in the car about a breakup song. And I love them too much as well.” Kyo said proudly

“AWWWWWW you love us?!” Me and Athena gushed

“Shut up you guys” kyo says while pushing us

We both laughed and look at tensie

“What song are you planning to sing?” Athena asked

“Well hopefully a duet with my brother but if not if you want I can do a duet with you?” Tensie said

Athena blushed and mumbled

“Yeah sure.”

I smiled and quickly looked at Tenya who was just smiling at his brother and kept quite along with his parents.

“Are y’all planning to all sing together at least one song? “ Tensie ask us

“HELL YEAH WE ARE! “Laxus yelled happily

“We already have a song in mind. We relate to it too much so we might sing that one!”

We all nodded in agreement and arrived at the common room. It was big enough for the karaoke machine that was hooked to the t.v.

We all sat down Iidas family not far from us and Shoji's family right near us. Me and Shoji smiled and shared snacks while everyone performed.

So many performances went on From Sero and Ojiro performing

To me and my siblings

To Tensie and Tenya

Me and Shoji as well

And even Tensie and Athena

To even Bakugo surprisingly

Everything was coming to a end when Mina requested After her song finish

“I request Y/N and Iida do a song together to close it off!”

“WHAT?!” Tenya and I screamed

“Yes, that would be an amazing idea!!!” My sister stated

“We second that!” My brothers and Tensie said

All the class started agreeing and even there parents while I looked back at mine and Tenyas parents

“Love. It’s all up to you, we won't be mad at you if you do.” My mom stated

My father was about to say something when kyo covers his mouth

“Go sis. It’s okay. Right old man.” He said forcefully

I sighed and got up and said

“Well are we doing this or not engine legs?”

Tenya nodded and got up as well while we headed to the small stage and we looked at eachother and sighed.

“What song are we gonna do?” Tenya asked quietly

“Well I don’t know we can pick random-“ before I can finish the sentence Tensie and Athena walked up and said

“We already have a song in mind. Here this one” Tensie pointed to “Beauty and the Beast and before you say no one we won’t let you leave so do it good” Athena said smiling and walk off with Tensie

“Let’s get this over with Engine legs. I'm sleepy.” I say while pressing play

The music starts

I sing

Tale as old as time

True as it can be

Barely even friends

Then somebody bends

Unexpectedly

I look at Tenya and he smiled and turned to me

Just a little change

Small to say the least

Both a little scared

Neither one prepared

Both of us at the same while looking at each other

Beauty and the Beast

Ever just the same

Ever a surprise

Ever as before

And ever just as sure

As the sun will rise

Ever just the same

Tenya singed and looked into the crowd

And ever a surprise

Both while Turning to the crowd

Ever as before

While I sing sweetly

And ever just as sure

As the song goes on we became more emotional and more one with the song

Both looking into eachothers eyes and singed

Bitter-sweet and strange

Finding you can change

Learning you were wrong

We scooted closer together

While still singing Tenya puts his hand on my cheek which makes me melt Into his hands and forget anyone was watching. I felt that the world stopped while looking into his blue beautiful eyes.

Tale as old as time

Song as old as rhyme

Beauty and the Beast

Beauty and...

Beauty and the Beast

Singing the last note, Tenya pulled me into a kiss.

It wasn’t a dominant kiss, it was more of a passionate and tender kiss.

Happily kissing back we sadly pulled back for air and realized we were around people.

I turn to see my siblings clapping and jumping around and my mom's smiling face and my dad's soft stern look.

To Tensie clapping and hugging Athena and Iidas parents' shock.

Finally I pulled away from Tenyas grip when I felt being pulled off the stage by Tenya. Dragging me to an empty room.

“Wait Iida what are you doing? Dude let me go” I say while struggling to get out his grip when finally we stopped in an empty study room.

“I'm sorry I pulled you away. It was too much commotion for me to speak to you in private.” Tenya says while looking down

“Why did you kiss me?”

He stayed silent

“Tenya, why did you kiss me?” I say softly

He chuckles and says softly

“I haven’t heard you say my name in years. I forget how smoothly it came off your lips.”

Smiling sadly I grabbed his face and looked at him.

“Huh yeah it’s been awhile hasn’t it. But really why did you kiss me? I understand if it was in the moment and not meant-“

“Wait, you think I didn’t mean it?!” Tenya says with panic in his eyes

“Well with the rivalry and the mean comments and just brutal training against each other  at times I would never think you would like me or even kiss me.”

“I understand where you're coming from but I need to assure you that I do care for you. Even after the stupid and inconsiderate comments my parents said years ago. I never stopped caring for you. This rivalry is so dumb. if I see Tensie falling in love with Athena. Why can't I do the same.” Tenya says

“Wait, you love me?”

“I always have. Since the day we met when Kyo and Tensie had a group project and you came over with Kyo to my house. I remember your beautiful c/e looking so afraid and didn’t want to leave Kyo’s lap because you only knew him. And while I tried to persuade you to come and play with me in the garden I remembered I overheard your mom say your favorite flower was f/f and lucky for us we had it in the garden. I begged my mother to cut the smallest flower there was.” He smiles and continues

“I grabbed the flower carefully and ran back to Tensei's room where you and Kyo were. I sat next to Kyo and I saw your eyes light up in the sight of the flower. I asked if I can put it in your hair and you nodded and I said-“

“It looks beautiful. If you come outside with me we can make a beautiful flower crown for a princess like you.” We say in sink

“You remembered” I say softly

“I always have.” Tenya said

“What do we do now? We both like each other and just want to be happy with each other. Without our parents at our throats.” I say

“Come.” Tenya says while holding my hand

We both ran to the common room and saw nobody and I looked to see that both of our family’s were in my dorm room. I tugged Tenya and pointed to my family. He quickly dragged me with him and while we approached our families we heard our fathers argue.

“If your daughter hadn't come to this school Tenya would be number one!”

“Oh please that is so not true and you know that. Your son wouldn’t be number one even if my own daughter wasn’t here. She got so many recommendations to come here like Endeavor's child!”

While they argued I see our mothers knock on my door

“Y/n sweetie please open the door. We know you're in there with Tenya.” My mom says

“Y/n its okay me and your mother are not mad. Tenya please convince Y/n to open the door.” Tenyas mom said

I see on the floor crouching down my brothers and sister along with Tensie who seemed to be calling our phones. And I remember I left my phone on my bed.

“Mom, I'm right here.” I say

I see my family look at me and Tenya holding hands.

“Oh thank god. We thought you locked yourself in your room.” Athena said while getting up and hugging me

“Oh no I just left my phone on my bed. I just talked to Tenya for a bit and we want to talk to y’all actually.” I say while looking at my family and his.

“And before we go into my room. Please stop the fucking arguing this rivalry is gettin old. Of who’s better or not. Both of you men are reaching an old age, stop arguing and act normal. I will not tolerate it in my room. If y’all do I will spray you with my spray bottle that has water. Got it?” I say while unlocking my door

They nod and all pile into my room.

My siblings sat on my bed with Tensie next to them.

My parents and Tenyas parents sat on the couch I had.

After everyone settled in Tenya spoke

“I understand that this rivalry has affected me and y/n in many ways you wouldn’t understand. From me and Tensie losing our best friends to hating the idea of them succeeding. Tensie matured and became friends again with the y/n family and hell even fell in love with Athena. I always respect you father because you always knew better for me but this is my time to choose and I choose to be friends and more with Y/n.”

“I understand dad that you don’t like me associating with the family who made fun of us because of our wealth and status. And god knows I'm still upset but it was never Tenyas nor Tensei's words. Even misses Idas words. And I know it gives you rage and anger seeing with the son of the man who made fun of us. But dad. Im old enough to choose who to associate with. I know mom is okay with it. But I want you to be okay with this as well. I'm not asking you to forgive them this instant. But please work with Tenya and Tensie they are trying to make amends.” I say with tears in my eyes

“Father. I love her.”

‘Dad I love him.”

We say together

Our father look at us and each other and sighed

“Darling I will try for you.” My dad says

“ I will as well.” Tenyas father said

I smiled and ran to hug my parents.

“Thank you really thank you” I say crying

My parents hugged me back and kissed my forehead

My sister pulled me from my parents grasp and threw me to my brothers who hugged me

“Look at this little devil dragon growing up it was just like yesterday you told us to shut the fuck up.” Laxus said

“If you dont let me breathe ill make sure you don’t have children you fucking dick” I say struggling to breath

When they let me go I see Tensie and Athena hold hands having there cute couple moment

I smiled and walk over to my record player and put the disc vinyl of Cage the elephant and

“Cigarettes Daydreams” played

I look to see my father dance with my mom

As well with Tenyas parents

With our siblings singing

Distracted in the moment i hear

“Can I have this dance” Tenya says

I smiled and slowly danced with him

“ We will make this work. I promise.” Tenya says

“We better. I know I didn’t kiss you as a dare for nothing.” I say while looking up at him

“I remember that kiss. You ran off to Shoji's room while I stood shocked and eventually went back to my dorm and overthink the kiss.”

We both laughed and that’s when I sing

“Soft speak”

“with a mean streak” Tenya singed

“Nearly brought me to my knees” we said softly as we danced to the rest of the song

Do do do do do do You can drive all night Looking for answers in the pouring rain You wanna find peace of mind Looking for the answer If we could find a reason, a reason to change Looking for the answer If you could find a reason, a reason to stay Standing in the pouring rain

[tagsecretsanta]

From @I-am-chidorixblossom

to @nibenhutracycas

Full credit to the author above, secret santa does not own this piece!

Gordon’s Fashion Faux Pas

“Hey, John.  You copy?”

John Tracy turned at the sound of his eldest brother’s voice and pushed his way over to the monitor.  “Always, Scott.  What’s the situation?”

Scott tilted his head a little.  “What makes you think there’s a situation?  Can’t I just check in to see how you are?”

“You can,” John confirmed.  “But you already did that a little over two hours ago, and our next scheduled communication isn’t until--”

“Okay, okay.”  Scott held up his hands.  “You got me.  There might be just a little issue I’d like you to look into for me.”

Bingo.  John knew Scott far too well.

“And what would that be?”

A pause.

“You know that big conference and dinner Lady Penelope was telling us about that’s happening later today?”

John nodded.  “Yes, the one in Singapore where she’s a keynote speaker.”

“Yeah.  Lots of people, far too much paparazzi, high profile and of significant importance to the GDF.”

“And, indirectly, us.”  John felt a sigh coming on.  “Get to the point, Scott.”

He watched his brother pull an awkward expression while wishing he could go back to his programming.  Just once John would like to escape from all the dramas of the planet below him for twenty-four hours or so.  Was that really too much to ask?

“She’s invited Gordon as her plus one.”

Ah.  Right…  John was starting to see where this was going.  Scott was always such a worrywart at the best of times, but especially when one of them had to step into the limelight as a representative not only of International Rescue but Tracy Industries as well.  And while they were all well educated and versed in the proper protocols for such high class events, some of them were better equipped and prepared than others.

The family’s very own loudmouth, prankster, happy-go-lucky fish did not fall into that category.  At all. 

John folded his arms and let out that sigh.  “You don’t think Gordon is well suited for this assignment, am I right?”

Scott made a vague rocking gesture with his hand.  “Lady Penelope asked for him specifically, but your use of the term ‘well suited’ is very on point.”

John felt his own face morph into one of horror.  “Oh, no.  Absolutely not.”

“Please, John!  You know Gordon never listens to me, and trying to get Alan to talk to him is a waste of time.”

John grasped for an excuse or alternative option.

“What about Virgil?  He’s always good at corralling Gordon?”

Scott’s jaw tightened and he quickly shook his head.  There was even a grimace.  “You forget what happened last time I called Virgil while he was on vacation?”

Ah.  Yes.  Alan’s trip to the dentist four years ago.  Temper tantrums, lots of shouting and one very frazzled Virgil by the end of it.  If memory served he’d threatened to park Thunderbird Two on Scott’s head for not being man enough to deal with their monstrous baby brother in his hour of need.  Whether that was because Scott should have seen to Alan’s needs himself or simply because Virgil had been forced to fly home early, John had never found out.

“Scott, I’m in orbit.  And working.  I can’t just drop everything and come rushing down when you’re right there on the ground, on the same island and in the same house.”

“I’ve got that board meeting in the morning to prepare for,” Scott retorted.  A convenient excuse, if John had ever heard one.  “You’re the only one available.”

“What about Grandma?” 

“Not interested.”

“Brains?”

“Working on a new project.”

“Kayo?”  He was definitely clutching at straws now.

“Ha, that’s funny.”

John bit back a curse and let himself float away for a minute, hoping the zero gravity would help him feel better.  It didn’t.

“Do this for me and I won’t ask for any more favours for the rest of the year.”

John’s head shot up and he sent a glare at his big brother.  “That’s only two weeks!”

Scott scowled.  “Fine, the next three months.”

“Six.”

“Four and a half.”

John considered it.  “Done.”  

He watched Scott’s shoulders drop in relief.  “Thank you.”

John sighed and pulled up the launch procedure for the space elevator.  “Don’t thank me yet.  I’ve only agreed to come down and try.  I make no promises that it’ll do any good.”

“Just remember it’s for the honour of our family.”

Turquoise eyes rolled in exasperation.  “Quit with the melodramatics.  I’ll be down in fifteen.”

“F.A.B.”

John took a little too much satisfaction in swiping Scott’s face away to end the call and took stock of the situation. 

So Gordon was going along to a big fancy event with Lady Penelope, huh?  In all honesty John had seen it coming for a long time, and he was incredibly relieved that he wasn’t  the one being dragged along again like last time to that supposedly small charity auction.  The one which had ended in disaster thanks to the Hood.

Now it was Gordon’s turn, and he actually wanted to go.  He liked attention and he definitely liked Lady Penelope.

So what was Scott getting his contrails in a twist for?

Surely it couldn’t be that bad?

~*~

It was that bad.

Barely out of orbit, on the ground and out of uniform, John was quick to make his way towards Gordon’s room.  He felt as ready as he could be with such short notice, but no amount of time could have prepared him for the atrocity his gaze fell upon the split second Gordon’s door slid open.

Scott’s request for help suddenly made a whole lot more sense, but in reality it should have been the fashion police their eldest brother had called.

John tried to keep the judgement out of his tone and failed miserably.  “You’re not planning to wear that, are you?”

Gordon blinked in the full length mirror he was facing, apparently unsurprised by John’s sudden arrival.  “What?  I like this suit.”

“It’s dayglow orange, Gordon.”  Good God, John thought he was going to go blind.  “Pinstriped and dayglow orange.”

“Which matches my bright and cheery personality just nicely,” the aquanaut retorted.  He went about trying to straighten his matching tie and John looked away, trying to save his eyes from the torture they were being subjected to.

That suit really was awful.  Whoever had designed it should be locked up.

“You know I don’t like to interfere,” he spoke up after a moment.  “But I really think you should reconsider.”

“La-la-la, I’m not listening.”

Oh, how very mature.  No wonder Scott had called in help.  Where was Virgil when they needed him?  He was the artistic one with an eye for colour coordination.

John let out a low suffering sigh.  “Do you know what Lady Penelope is wearing?”

Gordon hummed at his reflection.  “Nope.  Parker sent me details, but I didn’t really read them.  He’s always sticking his nose in whenever me and Penny are around each other.”  A snort.  “Makes sense, given his nickname I guess.”

John leaned against the doorframe.  “Well if you’d bothered to read it then you’d know why I think that suit is completely the wrong choice.”

Gordon spun round to face him.  “You mean you read it?”

John sent him a deadpan expression.  “It was a communication with a marker of high importance.  I’m the communications expert.”

“It was addressed to me!”

“With no confidentiality data stamp.  Besides, I needed something to read on the way down here.”  

John almost smirked when Gordon squirmed.  

“But back to the main point.  That suit looks ridiculous and if you wear it I highly doubt Lady Penelope will ever invite you out to another public event again.”

Gordon ran his hands down his own lapels and John could see the gears in his head starting to turn.  He was successfully getting under his little brother’s skin and in all honesty it was quite fun.

Then Gordon pouted.  “I can’t believe I’m actually listening to you, of all people, about fashion.  That shirt you’re wearing should be burned.”

Ignoring the jibe he had heard oh so many times, John stepped into the room and navigated his way through all the clutter to Gordon’s wardrobe.  “Lady Penelope is wearing an off shoulder ocean blue dress with a thin diamond belt, matching necklace and earrings.  You need to pick something more subtle that will compliment her.”

“But orange and blue go together!”

“When it comes to that particular shade I respectfully disagree.”

“That shirt is definitely getting burned.”

Flicking through Gordon’s way too bright and colourful wardrobe, John finally found what he was looking for and pulled out one of the wrapped suits that had been shoved to the back.  Dark blue, tailor made by an old friend of their father, and one that was far better suited - pun unintended - for the event Gordon was to be attending later that evening.

Removing the protective cover, John presented it to Gordon.  “This is much better.”

His little brother immediately pulled a face.  “But that suit is so boring and generic.  It says nothing about my personality at all.”

Oh, for crying out loud…

“It’s a good fit on you, Gordon, and high quality.  Remember that you’re attending as Lady Penelope’s plus one tonight, not the other way around.”

A golden eyebrow quirked up towards the ceiling.  “Your point?”

John was quickly becoming both exasperated and exhausted.  How on Earth did Virgil manage being the family peacemaker and make it look so easy?  Just dealing with Gordon was a monumental task.

“A gentleman does not outshine the lady on his arm.”

Silence.  Those caramel eyes widened.  John wanted to drop to his knees and give thanks to whoever would listen.

Finally, he gets it!

~*~

John was more than a little relieved when the space elevator docked and he drifted through the airlock and back into his natural habitat.  Now a comfortable distance from Earth and any annoying younger brothers, the middle Tracy was quick to return to the programming he’d been doing before he’d received Scott’s S.O.S.

Eos filled him in on what little he had missed, with no distress calls and only minor generic chatter across all the channels and frequencies.

It seemed that, for the moment at least, all the attention was on a very specific event in Singapore which was just getting started.  High profile guests were arriving, reporters flocked to the edges of the red carpets in their hordes, and the eyes of the world looked on.

The first pictures and clips started to find their way online, and one in particular was quick to draw attention from John and apparently many others.  The reblogging and sharing counters were going into overdrive.

John took a moment to feel just a little bit proud as he admired the image.

Gordon, wearing the suit he had recommended, standing face to face with the elegantly dressed Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward as cameras flashed all around them.  She was smiling up at John’s rather bashful looking younger brother with an expression that could only be described as affectionate, her delicate hands raised towards his neck as she adjusted…

...that hideous tie which matched the equally grotesque abomination his brother had so laughingly called a suit.

Ugh.  John felt he needed to bleach his brain and eyes to unsee it.  It was vile. 

The suit may be absent but the presence of that tie mocked the middle Tracy something chronic.  Gordon had actually worn that?!  What was he thinking?

It warranted a very rarely used John Tracy facepalm.

Still, his reservations and opinions aside, it wasn’t a complete disaster.  A flick of a finger brought up all the leading stories across the news networks and social media in front of him, and John noticed that that one picture kept popping up again and again, followed quickly by others as Gordon and Lady Penelope made their way along the red carpet and into the venue.

John found himself smiling as he flicked away the images and returned to his duties.  So Gordon hadn’t completely listened to him after all.  Hardly a surprise, but John wasn’t about to lose any sleep over it.  His brother seemed happy and Penelope clearly approved of his attire, ghastly tie and all, so what more could John really ask for?

[rae-arts777]

Hey hey! I give you fluff TC Christmas Day!! Enjoy ✨ it was suppose to be short, but I got too into it.

But it’s Christmas

Summary: It’s Makoto’s first Christmas with TC, he figures they’re not doing anything together since “they’re not friends or family” so he proceeds to spend his Christmas like he always has, alone.

~~~~~

Currently they were in New York, and it was Christmas Day.

Makoto woke up early, being greeted to Laurent’s snoring. He quietly slipped out of their shared hotel bed and went to freshen up.

Once he finished, he quietly made his way to the small kitchen area of their suite.

The girls were asleep still in the second bedroom, all of them, expect Makoto, had stayed up late celebrating the success of another con.

Makoto got some leftovers out of the fridge, not wanting to make lots of noise, he ate the food cold.

10:30 am, everyone but Makoto still asleep.

By this point he figured they wouldn’t be up until mid afternoon. So, he got dressed into something warm and grabbed a room key.

“I should leave a note” he thought, however he didn’t “guess they won’t really care..” he mumbled to himself and made his way onto the snowy streets of New York.

There were lots of people on the streets, considering it was Christmas Day.

He found a little coffee shop that was still open. Ordering himself a house coffee, he sat inside enjoying the warmth. Staring outside, watching the snow fall on the city, he felt a sting of jealously, watching families and groups of friends pass by, all smiling, but also fighting over little things.

“You forgot the batteries!”

“Who’s house are we having dinner at?”

“We are NOT spending the holidays with your relatives again!”

“Do we have enough wine for tonight?”

Those were the little things they were probably saying, at least that’s what Makoto thinks.

He finished his coffee and left the little cafe. It was only 12 pm, so he walked endless around the city.

He passed by the shops, though they were all closed, he would see things and think

“Cynthia would love that”

“I think Abby would like this”

“Heh, this be a great gag gift for Laurent”

“We’re not friends” that phrase rang in his head still.

Makoto’s wander the city endless for a good few hours. He checked the time, shocked to see it was 5 pm already.

“Guess it’s time to head back” he sighed

On his way back, he proceed to pick up some Chinese takeout, the family combo, and swung by the liquor shop.

Beer, wine, whiskey, and why not, some white claws.

As he continued to walk back, a nagging voice kept ringing in his head.

“You’re not friends, you’re not family. You’re wasting your time. They’ll laugh at you. Why are you getting attached? You know they’ll dump your ass in a quick sec if you keep on the way you do. They’ll probably just take advantage of you more”

Though the voice did bother him, and probably was telling the truth, Makoto was determined to not let it get to him.

He thinks about the conversation he had with Abby back in Singapore, fuck it, even if she didn’t, he considered her a friend.

Finally, he made it back to the hotel. It was about 7 pm by now. He used his key to and walked into an empty suite.

No one was there, the bedroom doors were wide open, no one reside in the beds. All the lights were off, he checked the bowl on the counter top, all the room keys were gone.

Of course, they must have all went they’re separate ways already.

Makoto sighed and put all the stuff he bought ontop of the table. He stared blankly at the wall, he wanted to cry, he felt so stupid. Just as all the negative thoughts started to fill his head, the sound of a door click brought him back to reality.

Abby walked in and locked eyes with him, it didn’t take long for her fist to greet his chest.

“Idiot.” She growled

“Ow! What?!”

“We thought you got kidnapped or something.” She pulled out her phone and texted Laurent and Cynthia

“We??” Makoto asked

“Yes “We”, we knew you never leave without telling us, so when you didn’t come back when it started to get dark...we...went out looking for you” Abby explained.

“Oh, I did-“

She punched his chest again “fucking virgin, making us worried, making us walk around in the cold looking for you.”

“HEY! IM NOT A VIGIRN!” Makoto jumped to defended himself “no food for you!”

“If you dare try to keep that food away from me, after I spent hours looking for you, I’ll make sure you go missing forever this time”

“I don’t give food to people who bully me”

Laurent and Cythina walked in to find Abby and Makoto on the floor. Abby had him in a headlock, Makoto was trashing and screaming

“Take it back virgin!”

“Fuck you! Never!!”

“Fine! At least if I kill you I get to eat your portion”

“I’ll haunt your crazy bitch ass if you!”

Cythina burst out in laughter watching the two tussle, Laurent shook his head and let out a chuckle.

“Alright that’s enough you two, let’s be happy we found out little Edamame”

Abby growled and let him go, Makoto stuck his tongue out at her and stood up

“I was never missing in the first place, I just went for a walk”

“You should have left a note! You had us all worried Edamame!” Cynthia pouted

“Sorry, I..I didn’t really think it mattered” He mumbled out

“Of course it matters my soybean” Laurent placed a hand on his shoulder.

Makoto blushed a bit, seeing Laurent’s worried face “Laurent..I-“

“Without you, there was no one to make us fresh coffee to cure our hangovers!” Laurent smiled

Now Laurent was on the floor laughing as Makoto kicked at him

“FUCK YOU YOU BLONDE BASTARD!!”

Abby joined in on kicking him, “showing” Makoto how to kick properly.

Cythina shook her head, after what seemed like forever, she calmed them all down.

“Come on! It looks like Edamame bought enough food and drinks for everyone! Let’s eat!” Cynthia smiled, getting some plates and forks out.

They all sat around on the couch, eating and drinking.

Makoto has changed back into his pjs, the rest of them joined him.

Abby and Makoto were sharing a blanket, and bickering like siblings, that the other was hogging it.

It had taken Cythina less then an hour to get drunk off the wine Makoto had gotten for her.

Laurent was surprisingly quiet, sipping at his beer. He had tried the whiskey Makoto had bought, but it was very much trash.

He watched as Makoto and Abby decided to shotgun race with some white claws. Cythina of course cheering them on.

Laurent smiled, seeing how happy they all were, even Abby had started smiling and laughing a bit.

Laurent slowly got up and went to the bedroom, he returned with three wrapped things. He handed the gifts out, giving Makoto’s his last.

“Is this some sort of trick? Like if I opened this, you’re going to use it to hold over my head?” Makoto glared at him.

“Of course not!!”

“I don’t trust you”

“But it’s Christmas Edamame” Laurent pouted

Makoto glared at him and turned his attention back to the gift. A small flare of joy sparked in his body. He opened his gift.

Laurent was now laying on the couch laughing as Makoto beat him with a pillow

“YOU PREV!!”

Laurent laughed more “I thought you might enjoy wearing it tonight!”

“IN YOUR DREAMS!!!”

Abby and Cythina watch as Makoto continued to beat him.

“So when do you think Makoto is going to realized Laurent is totally pinning for him?” Abby asked

“I give it maybe 2 years” Cythina chuckled

“I say 5”

Cythina laughed and patted Abby’s head. “Merry Christmas Abigail”

“Merry Christmas, also don’t pat me”

“But it’s Christmas!” Cythina laughed