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robininthelabyrinth · 3 years

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part 3 of Escape Your Destiny (Star Wars Wangxian AU) - on ao3 or tumblr part 1, part 2

He had been right to reject seclusion, Lan Wangji thought grimly. The sweet siren call of calm contemplation had nearly seduced him, the Dark Side seeking to eat away at him through other means now that anger and hatred had not done the work – he would have meditated himself into a stupor, becoming little more than a vacuum within the Force, a black hole of deathly intent.

More than that, though, he would have missed – this.

This disaster.

Wei Wuxian’s lips were pale from blood loss and hypothermia. Two of his limbs were at odd angles, probably broken, and Lan Wangji feared that there were more like them beneath the body that was bruised like a tender peach – he had been shielding as many people as he could, Lan Wangji knew, because he knew his Wei Ying too well to think that he might have done anything else.

Lan Wangji still didn’t know all the details, what exactly had been the disaster or why Wei Wuxian’s starfighter had crashed when he knew (with painful recollection) exactly how good a pilot Wei Wuxian was, but it hadn’t really mattered. Xue Yang had rushed into his chamber shouting excitedly - not exactly a rare event - saying something about an alarm and a disaster and a crash and can I have one of these gadgets? possibly two, maybe, I’m thinking two but haven’t really committed yet, it’s a big decision you know, and Lan Wangji’s blood had run cold when he realized what alarm he was referencing.

(A proper Jedi would never have tagged the object of his affections like an endangered bird or a criminal, injecting the tracking chip so deep into bone and muscle that standard scans wouldn’t pick it up and even in-depth scans might register it as a naturally occurring aberration. A proper Jedi would think of such intimate surveillance as cruelty, dehumanization, the caging of a free bird –

A proper Jedi wouldn’t have known what happened.

A proper Jedi wouldn’t have been able to rush over at once, wouldn’t have been in time to retrieve the body from the wreckage, finding it still warm and breathing but swiftly fading into the Force.

A proper Jedi would have been worthless.)

“That looks pretty bad, Master,” Xue Yang said, the comm crackling in his ear, and for once his tone was almost solemn. Perhaps the lessons on empathy were working, following the introduction of the rancor Xue Yang had named Chengmei with an expression so pained and vicious that Lan Wangji had refrained from asking. Perhaps it was that he’d grown so obsessed with his pair of bounty hunters and their foundling assistant, a little not-blind Bothan girl who liked to mouth off at him. Or perhaps it was just something as simple as knowing that if Wei Wuxian were lost, Lan Wangji would have no reason to –

No reason to anything at all.

“It is within the limits of what a bacta tank can heal,” Lan Wangji said, because it was, it would be, as long as he got him there in time.

Time that was swiftly running out.

Later, when Wei Wuxian was safe, Lan Wangji would return to that obscure little space station that had nearly caused his beloved’s death and he would find out what had happened properly. He would find out, and he would slaughter every one of them that caused it, torment them for days if he needed to in order to know who to blame – it didn’t matter if their contribution were accidental or deliberate, major or slight. He would offer up a sacrifice of their suffering to the Dark Side, as solemn as lighting a stick of incense at a temple –

When Wei Wuxian was safe.

Because he would be. He had to be.

Lan Wangji’s Wei Ying would not die so easily.

“Uh, Master? We don’t have a bacta tank.” Xue Yang was silent for a long moment. “I don’t know that many people around here that do. This is Outer Rim, remember? Not even the Hutts have one.”

“There is one in an outpost in the Quiberon sector,” Lan Wangji said. His attention was split between piloting their stolen ship as fast as he could and monitoring Wei Wuxian’s vital signs. He had transferred a certain amount of energy into him already, but the Dark Side was poisonous in overly large quantities, especially if one was not accustomed to it; a pure Jedi like Wei Wuxian couldn’t tolerate it, and Lan Wangji would not risk making him worse. “Inat Prime system. I’ve entered the coordinates. Set us up for a jump to lightspeed.”

“Inat Prime,” Xue Yang repeated, instead of doing as he was told. “Isn’t that – near Rothana?”

Lan Wangji said nothing.

“Rothana’s a manufacturing planet. Heavy engineering – warships. It used to belong to a subsidy of the Jin Engineering Corps, maybe still does, I don’t know, but either way manufacturing planets like that are where those sleemos keep their precious IP. And that means it’s going to be guarded and booby-trapped up your chubba. Who in their right mind would set up an outpost anywhere near there?”

Xue Yang was descending into Huttese slang again, Lan Wangji noted to himself, keeping his calm only by sheer force of willpower even as the Dark Side screamed in his mind that now was the time for rage and pain and blood. Given his hatred of the entire species, Xue Yang only did that when he was especially anxious and didn’t want to admit it.

Later, when he didn’t have more pressing things on his mind, Lan Wangji would have to inquire of his apprentice – which he had previously believed was as transparent to him as a sheet of transparisteel – how he had learned about things like top-secret Jin Engineering manufacturing planets and IP and such things like that.

Later. Right now, he didn’t care.

“Prepare for jump,” he said again, the threat in his voice clear, and this time Xue Yang scrambled to obey, mumbling curses as he went. This was more typical of Xue Yang, but in this case it signified that he was concentrating, and that was all Lan Wangji cared about.

The rest of the trip passed as if in a daze, time counted in the beats of Wei Wuxian’s heart. Still strong, because Wei Wuxian was strong – this wouldn’t be the end of him. It wouldn’t.

Lan Wangji would make sure of that.

“We’re here,” Xue Yang said, breaking through Lan Wangji’s extreme focus on the rise and fall of Wei Wuxian’s chest. “I’m going to guess that our destination is the third planet? If you can call those other ones planets, they’re barely more than asteroids…”

Lan Wangji hummed, affirming.

“So, you going to tell me what this place is? Some super-secret Sith hideout?”

“No.”

“Smuggler’s base? Bounty hunter lair? Mandalorian terrorist cell? Clone factory?”

Lan Wangji rolled his eyes. Xue Yang had been reading too many historical action comics again.

“No, but seriously, Master! I deserve to know what we’re getting into, don’t I? What is this place?”

Lan Wangji was tempted to say you deserve nothing but what I give you, you filthy-tongue swamp-rat, but that was the Dark Side speaking, not him, and not only because the Gusu Lan Jedi order in which he had been raised did not permit cursing. It was simply anathema to him - he was Sith, but not a Lord, and he had encouraged this self-same insolence because it was better than having Xue Yang cringe before him like a kicked dog.

No matter how irritating it might be at times like this.

“It’s Jedi,” he said shortly, and to his amusement that actually shut Xue Yang up for a solid minute.

“I’m sorry, Master, I think I temporarily went insane due to Dark Force poisoning,” Xue Yang finally said. “But did you say that we’re planning on popping over and ‘borrowing’ the bacta tank of a bunch of Jedi?”

“Mm.”

“Master. Master. Please tell me you remember that we’re Sith, right? Sort of the sworn enemy of the Jedi? Arrest-on-sight orders? Any of this ringing any bells here? No? In short, have you lost your mind?”

Lan Wangji took Wei Wuxian’s pulse again. It was getting increasingly thready; he frowned.

“Take us in,” he ordered, and Xue Yang made a whining sound not unlike an especially agitated cat, but he obeyed, finding the planetary base and flashing them with a urgent medical attention required signal and transmitting the passcode Lan Wangji recited to him.

The base opened its doors in silent invitation.

Xue Yang took them in, apparently resigned to his fate and determined to pointedly suffer and judge him without saying a word.

This determination cracked the second they passed through the gates.

“Master!” he shrieked. “Master, Master! That’s the Qinghe Nie emblem!”

“It is,” Lan Wangji agreed. Foreseeing Xue Yang’s next question, he added, “It is here because this is an outpost of the Qinghe Nie Jedi order.”

Xue Yang sounded a bit like a rusty door when he hyperventilated, and even more so when he started laughing hysterically. How had he ever survived being a Sith before, if this was how he reacted to stress?

“Great, right, yes,” he said, nearly howling. “Sure, why not? Let’s go knock on the door of some Jedi and ask them for a bacta tank like we’re borrowing a cup of sugar, sure, okay, we can do that. Jedi are chumps, they’re all about mercy and sympathy and bantha fodder like that; we can con ‘em - it’ll be tricky, but it can be done when you’re in a pinch. I’m fine with that, up for it, it’s cool, all cool. You know who we can’t con? Qinghe Nie, that’s who. ‘Suppress evil no matter the cost’ Qinghe karking Nie.”

Lan Wangji ignored him, scooping Wei Wuxian into his arms and heading out into the saber hall.

Three grim-faced Jedi dressed in the immediately identifiable colors of the Qinghe Nie were waiting there, hands on their lightsabers and droids lingering in the corridors, but they did not attack. Instead, they led Lan Wangji, a nervous Xue Yang dogging his heels, to the medical bay, never uttering a single word.

The medical droids took Wei Wuxian from his arms – Lan Wangji forced himself to recall the Lan sect mantras on restraint and allowed them to do so without ripping out their wires for daring to touch him – but it wasn’t until Wei Wuxian was firmly encased in the bacta tank, the oxygen-rich liquid flowing into his lungs to heal him, the colors on all the screens all showing positive signs, that he was finally able to release the breath it felt that he’d been holding since he first saw the broken starfighter that encased Wei Wuxian’s broken body.

This was fine.

“Wangji,” a low voice said from behind him, and Lan Wangji’s back stiffened.

This was not fine.

The Qinghe Nie were a strange order of Jedi – almost heretical, really, by any traditional measure. The orthodox Jedi order, for the most part, valued calm and serenity and selflessness, prioritizing the logic of the mind over the yearning of the heart, preaching detachment from worldly concerns and attachments…

Qinghe Nie, in contrast, valued righteousness, and cultivated rage.

Halfway to Sith, Lan Wangji’s uncle had once remarked after a glass of something stronger than tea. He’d regretted it later, of course, and tried to walk it back, smooth over his uncharacteristic rudeness, but Lan Wangji still remembered.

The adherents of Qinghe Nie were of the view that for every virtue there was a fault – that the Jedi’s emotional remove would at times render them passive, that self-control could too quickly shade into indifference. They argued that it was the duty of the virtuous to be enraged by evil, intolerant of it, and that only through that anger would they be motivated to act to eradicate it.

Their philosophy often led to their deaths, whether through reckless action or through the corruption of rage into madness, but even their harshest critics had to concede that they were devastatingly effective.

Lan Wangji had always thought that there was something heartbreakingly sincere about all the Jedi that took the harsh vows of Qinghe Nie, each one willingly trading away long lives for the sake of righteousness, for the ability to make a change in the world, each one unable to tolerate life if it meant they weren’t striving to make things better. Perhaps they did not match the Jiang for creativity or the Lan for elegance, perhaps their techniques were more brutish and less refined, their diplomacy little short of appalling, but no other Jedi order could match them for sheer power.

Very few people wanted to be between a Qinghe Nie Jedi and their target, and still less if they had allowed themselves to succumb to the beserker rage that sometimes took them on the battlefield – indeed, in a crisis that called for force of arms, most people who knew what they were about would rather have a single Qinghe Nie on their side than an entire battalion of war-droids from the Jin or Wen engineering corps.

Still, even that efficiency might not have been enough to convince the ancient sticklers of the Jedi Council to condone such a Sith-like view of the Force, but the Qinghe Nie also had an unsurpassed connection to the kyber crystals that were essential to the creation of lightsabers – the mines under their hands were far more numerous and more fruitful than any other order, and for all that they seemed to have dubious connections to the lightsabers they crafted and wielded, with their highly unusual one-sided edge, they were always open-handed and willing to let other Jedi pick freely from their stores.

With the ancestral weapon of the entire Jedi order at stake, even the Jedi Council unwillingly bowed its head to reality and compromised.

Not very happily. Especially since the fierce young head of the Qinghe Nie order – the great Chifeng-zun, Nie Mingjue – had been constantly causing trouble for them ever since he had been admitted to their deliberations.

More relevantly, though, was that Nie Mingjue was also a good friend of Lan Xichen, Lan Wangji’s elder brother by blood, and it had been the gift of his token, his passcode, never revoked, that they had used to enter through the gates.

(Look what happened to the Twin Jades you prized so much, my old clansmen, Uncle, Father, Grandfather. Look at me now. Begging for scraps from a Nie -)

Lan Wangji turned and saluted, bowing deeply and ignoring Xue Yang, who had progressed so far into hysterical laughter that he was now hiccupping.

Nie Mingjue caught his hands and raised him up, just the way he always had, and that grim face surveyed Lan Wangji from top to bottom, those searing eyes seeming to pierce into the depths of his corrupted soul.

“You look well,” he said, which surprised even Lan Wangji, who had thought himself beyond surprises. “That’s good.”

“What the fuck,” Xue Yang muttered. “What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuck – you guys are with me here, right? This is kriffing insane…”

The Qinghe Nie Jedi ignored him.

“Chifeng-zun,” Lan Wangji said politely, and ignored the man’s raised eyebrow. He was not about to fall back into calling him da-ge the way he’d done back when he was in the Jedi crèche, no matter how tempting – everyone had called Nie Mingjue da-ge back then, too young to be afraid of his fierce and barely leashed energy. “Thank you for lending us temporary use of your base.”

There wasn’t really a polite way to say I wasn’t expecting to run into you here under the circumstances, but from the way Nie Mingjue snorted, Lan Wangji suspected he’d understood regardless.

“Checking up on the Jin,” he said, an explanation that Lan Wangji didn’t deserve to hear. “Treasonous svapers, the lot of them. Is this Wei Wuixan?”

Lan Wangji nodded. His heart was unexpectedly in his throat as Nie Mingjue studied the other Jedi through the glass of the bacta tank, though he wasn’t sure why.

He was Sith now, after all. Why would he care what Nie Mingjue thought?

It would have been easier if Nie Mingjue had been angry at him, full of rage the way he so often was. Easier if he’d turned his tongue as sharp as any lightsaber to scolding him, or turned his face away in coldness. Nie Mingjue notoriously despised the Sith, had probably meant to call the Jin Sithspawn instead of svapers earlier, had probably switched the word only in deference to Lan Wangji’s current occupation – which meant he knew, because of course he knew, there was no way Lan Xichen hadn’t told him even if his position on the Council hadn’t already entitled him to all such secrets.

He knew, and he still persisted in acting like – like –

“Cute enough,” Nie Mingjue commented, and Lan Wangji covered his suddenly burning face with both hands. “You have good taste.”

“Please stop,” Lan Wangji mumbled, mortified beyond all belief. Xue Yang was looking back and between the two of them with his jaw gaping wider than a Gungan’s.

Nie Mingjue snorted, amused. “I carried you around on my shoulders when you were knee high, Wangji. I think I’m entitled to torment you a bit about your crush.”

Xue Yang looked like he was going to forsake the ways of the Sith, convert to Qinghe Nie, and start logging prayers at the temple of Nie Mingjue, and Lan Wangji couldn’t even blame him.

“Don’t you have anything to say about –” Lan Wangji shut his mouth with a snap.

He didn’t actually want to hear Nie Mingjue exorcising him for his choices, no matter how little he regretted them.

Nie Mingjue was silent for a moment, contemplative. “No.”

Lan Wangji blinked, not understanding.

“I don’t have anything to say,” Nie Mingjue clarified with a shrug. “I can’t say I entirely understand why you chose what you did, but we all choose our own paths in the Force, Wangji. I have faith that even though your path leads you to the Dark Side now, it will eventually lead you back to us once more. If you keep your sense of righteousness about you and continue to stand up for what you believe is right as you always have – and avoid engaging in the wholesale slaughter of innocents the way so many Sith do – I will never be disappointed in you.”

…maybe Lan Wangji would allow the people in that spaceport to live.

But only because it would hurt Wei Wuxian to know that he had sacrificed so much for nothing, of course. It was pure selfishness, nothing more.

(The Dark Side hissed in his head, bitter-angry-vicious-hate-hate-hate, but Lan Wangji hadn’t been Hanguang-jun for nothing. He controlled himself, allowing for only the influences he chose to accept – it was his independence that had led him to the Dark Side, and his independence, he believed, that would allow him to forge his own path, as Nie Mingjue had said, even inside the ways of the Sith. His uncle would say that such thoughts were pure arrogance, pride before the fall, but, well. He’d already Fallen, hadn’t he?)

“Would you like to stay with him until his vital signs have recovered?” Nie Mingjue asked, and Lan Wangji nodded, grateful despite himself.

Grateful, too, that Nie Mingjue did not speak of Lan Wangji reconciling with the rest of his old order.

“I will not stay longer,” he added. “I know it must be a burden to you, opening your doors to one such as me –”

“Ridiculous,” Nie Mingjue scoffed. “This is a secret base, Wangji. If you don’t say anything about it, who’ll know? And before you ask, I’m going to tell Wei Wuxian that you saved his life whether you’re here for him waking up or not, so take that into account when selecting your leave time. And I’ll exaggerate.”

He would, too, Lan Wangji thought fondly. Nie Mingjue had always been big brother to all the Jedi younglings, no matter how grown up they eventually got, and he never let them forget it.

“I’ll consider it,” he allowed, and settled into a meditation pose at the side of the room.

“As for you,” Nie Mingjue said to Xue Yang, who straightened up so quickly that he might as well have attached a ruler to his spine. “I hear that you’re the one that’s been attacking Hutt palaces?”

Xue Yang glanced at Lan Wangji, who sighed.

“You shouldn’t encourage him, da-ge,” he murmured. “He gets into enough trouble as it is.”

“Comradery does more to defeat evil than any amount of solitary philosophizing,” Nie Mingjue proclaimed, certain as ever in his own righteousness. It would be unbearably irritating if it was anyone less sincerely bullheaded about it, earnest but full of flaws. “Anyway, it’d be good for some of our padawans to see a Sith in action without needing to go up against one right off the bat. You in?”

“…in? I don’t – there aren’t any Hutt palaces around here..?”

“They take their travelling palaces on the Quiberon Line,” one of the Qinghe Nie Jedi said, and Xue Yang’s eyes lit up at the promise of what he undoubtedly thought was an opportunity for wholesale slaughter. It wouldn’t be, of course, not when he was going to be fighting alongside the strict Qinghe Nie, but it would keep him busy for the time it took Wei Wuxian to stabilize and recover.

Maybe Lan Wangji would even stay long enough to speak with his Wei Ying before retreating to be his silent and unwanted protector again.

Maybe.

#mdzs #lan wangji #wei wuxian #xue yang #nie mingjue #my fic #my fics #escape your destiny #star wars au

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notallthosewho-wanderarelost · 3 years

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Since it’s Tuesday and we get Loki 1x05 tomorrow and then I’m seeing Black Widow the day after, and I guess I’m doing these now, some thoughts on Loki 1x04.

Hopefully this will be a shorter post due to me not knowing wtf is going on. This show is so chaotic and it’s perfect but that makes trying to predict it impossible. How VERY LOKI OF IT.

NOPE, NOPE THIS IS NOT A SHORTER POST, I have no idea what is going on plot wise but this episode gave me a lot of character stuff to talk about apparently.

Alright, let me get the big one out of the way. I’ve already said this in various places, mostly tags, but if I’m gonna make this post it’s gotta be here. I’m uncomfortable with Loki/Sylvie being romantic. Would prefer for Marvel to stay away from selfcest. PLEASE. I’m kind of hoping and wondering if it’s a fakeout for a reveal that Loki has finally learned to love or at least accept himself through his care of and admiration for Sylvie, which would be VERY Agent of Asgard-esque and I can see it being very probable.

I think giving Loki a love interest of any kind was always going to be difficult to pull off, but especially Loki as he is at the point in time when the show finds him- fresh off his attempted takeover of Earth and probably still deeply reeling from the revelation of his adoption and also likely mentally affected by any torture and/or mental manipulation Thanos might have done on him. Loki’s self-loathing is probably still close to an all-time high here and he’s questioning who he even is. I’m not saying that you have to love yourself before you can love someone else- I don’t think that at all; in fact I think loving someone else would probably encourage someone to value themselves more- but Loki as he is here I think would need to work through some of his own issues before he could get involved with anyone else. I think that Loki would need to learn to love himself first, to accept that he’s worthy of love, before he could genuinely fall in love with anyone else. (Remember this, I’ll come back to it.)

I got major sibling vibes from Loki and Sylvie on Lamentis. Like I said last post, they felt like alternate universe twins to me. They’re the same person from different universe, but also very much not the same- I feel like twins is the closest description? I can admittedly be pretty awful at picking up romantic vibes when I’m not expecting them, but I did not get romance vibes at all.

I also feel kind of annoyed that we would never be having this conversation or having this as a canonical ship option if Sylvie hadn’t been female. Loki is now officially canonically bi, (which means Sylvie is too btw) but in comics Loki is both bi and also genderfluid. Lady Loki is just Loki when Loki is identifying as female. So having Loki fall in love with a female version of himself feels both unnecessarily heteronormative and kind of...awkward in terms of 616!Loki’s genderfluidity, to put it lightly. (Note: I am not genderfluid, this is just my opinion, please prioritize actual genderfluid people’s opinions on the subject over mine.)

That said, after I finished the episode I was genuinely confused if they were actually going there and had to go look up interviews to see what the Loki team was saying about it. I found this interview with head writer Michael Waldron, also featuring quotes from director Kate Herron and from Tom Hiddleston. Relevant quotes below:

“That was one of the cruxes of my pitch [for the series], that there was going to be a love story,” head writer Michael Waldron explains to Marvel.com. “We went back and forth for a little bit about, like do we really want to have this guy fall in love with another version of himself? Is that too crazy? But in a series that, to me, is ultimately about self-love, self-reflection, and forgiving yourself, it just felt right that that would be Loki's first real love story.”

Loki reassures her that while they might lose, they don’t die — they survive. He goes on to call Sylvie “amazing” for how she almost took down the TVA on her own, and it’s clear from the look on his face that even though they’ve only been together a short while, Loki’s already come to admire and respect her. As the moon literally crumbles around them, Sylvie places a hand on Loki’s arm, and that’s when it happens: A branch on the Sacred Timeline. These two Lokis are having a moment they were never supposed to have, which as Mobius puts it, is “pure chaos.”

“The look that they share, that moment, [it started as] a blossoming friendship,” continues Waldron. “Then for the first time, they both feel that twinge of, ‘Oh, could this be something more? What is this I'm feeling?’ These are two beings of pure chaos that are the same person falling in love with one another. That's a straight-up and down branch, and exactly the sort of thing that would terrify the TVA.”

...

“Who’s a better match for Loki than himself?” director Kate Herron chimes in. “The whole show is about identity. It's about him, and he is on a very different path, and he is on a different journey. He sees things in Sylvie that he is like, ‘Oh, I've been there. I know what you feel.’ But she's like, ‘Well, I don't feel that way.’ And I think that was the kind of fun thing about it. She is him, but she's not him. They've had such different life experiences. So just from an identity perspective, it was interesting to dig into that.”

“When Loki meets Sylvie, he's inspired solely by curiosity,” reveals Hiddleston. “He wants to talk to her and understand her and try to discern what was similar about their experiences, and what was different. He keeps asking her questions because he wants to see if his experience was also her experience. I think he realizes, and she realizes, that while they're the same, they're not the same.”

Aside from the parts where Michael Waldron says “...have this guy fall in love with another version of himself...” and “the same person falling in with another version of one another,” everything they talk about in this article could be read as Loki and Sylvie caring for each other in a way that’s not necessarily romantic. Waldron even says that the series is specifically about self-love and forgiving yourself.

(Coming back to the thing from earlier about Loki needing to love himself now.) The way I’d read Loki and Sylvie’s relationship, especially from Loki’s side since we know more of his history, is that this is the first time that either of them actually cares about themselves. Because of their trust in and their love for each other, they’re each able to see themselves as a person worthy of love. I think that’s what the Nexus Event was. I think that’s why Loki and Sylvie’s moment of connection destabilized the timeline. Because Loki’s self-loathing is a deep root of his villainy, and the sacred timeline needs Loki to be a villain, two versions of Loki feeling self-worth, at the same time and place, created a HUGE nexus event. Loki even says it himself in the first episode: he doesn’t enjoy hurting people, he does it because (he feels) he has to, in a desperate play for control. He lashes out and hurts people because he thinks it’s the only way for him to have some control over things.

What Loki starts to speak to Sylvie at the end, he says, “This is new for me,” and references the nexus event on Lamentis. We never get to hear what it is that’s new for him. The episode sets it up to make us think that Loki’s about to tell Sylvie that he’s in love with her. But I think (or hope) that he was about to say something more along the lines of how the time he spent getting to know Sylvie on Lamentis helped him learn to care about himself and see his own self worth. That’s certainly a new feeling for him, since Loki seems to have always been an outsider and been looked down upon. And actually saying out loud that he’s starting to gain a sense of self worth would definitely be new for him. Loki knows that he and Sylvie will figure this out because he’s figured out the nexus event on Lamentis- that when they accept themselves and their own self worth, they can do pretty much anything.

I think it’s also worth mentioning that we never actually hear from Loki himself that he’s in love with Sylvie. We only hear it from Mobius, who’s feeling pretty betrayed by Loki and uses the entire concept to write Loki off as a huge narcissist. That way, he won’t feel as bad about Loki betraying him, or about sticking Loki in a time loop jail. Not that Loki would be the type to shout any romantic feelings to the world, especially in this situation, but the way he kept denying it didn’t seem like it was something he had to lie about.

This episode also called Loki a narcissist a lot; I assume to set up the “reveal” of his feelings for Sylvie and explain why he would fall in love with an alternate version of himself. But while Loki is many things and sure has a lot of issues, I do NOT think narcissism is one of them. When the time loops really start to get to him, he says to Sif: “I crave attention, because I’m a narcissist. And I suppose it’s because I’m scared of being alone.” But that second sentence completely contradicts the whole idea of narcissism! According to a quick google, the definition of “narcissist” is “a person who has an excessive interest in or admiration of themselves.” But Loki is the exact opposite. He has such a low opinion of himself that he acts out to get attention, because he’s so used to being overshadowed, overlooked and alone that he’s afraid that if he doesn’t do things for attention then nobody will give him any. He can be arrogant, yes, but even a lot of that stems from well-earned confidence. Loki is very talented magically and is used to being the smartest person in the room. He knows what he’s good at. But he sure isn’t attention-seeking just for its own sake. Any narcissism he’s displayed, he’s done since becoming a “villain” in Thor, and it’s actually been a mask to cover up his massive inferiority complex.

I also think it’s definitely worth mentioning that when Loki calls himself a narcissist, he’s repeating what Mobius said to him earlier. Loki clearly does care about Mobius and his opinion of him and feels bad about how things have fallen out with him. He’s also been through the time loop dozens of times now, and there’s a reason the TVA picked that memory. Because what Sif says to Loki really reflects his deepest fear. He doesn’t want to be alone, but he has such little love for himself that he might very well think he deserves to be. Loki’s emotionally exhausted at that point and just wants things to stop.

Okay. I think that covered most of my character analysis of the episode. I have some theories about Sylvie and the Time Keepers/TVA, etc, but they won’t be anywhere near as long as THAT^ was.

To start at the beginning of the episode: Sylvie’s backstory is SO SAD. I want to hug her. She spent almost her entire life on the run, growing up and living in apocalypses so the TVA wouldn’t catch her again. She didn’t deserve any of that and I’m so upset on her behalf.

Especially because as I said in another post, I think that the reason Sylvie got taken by the TVA was because she was never going to be a villain. Sylvie was kind and wanted to be heroic in the clip we see of her as a child, and she knew she was adopted. She was never going to be the Loki the TVA needed her to be for the Sacred Timeline because nothing would have ever pushed her to do what our Loki did.

The scene with Sylvie and B-15 was so good. Sylvie was kind to B-15, because her natural instinct is to be kind, and I have so many feelings about that. I love Sylvie. And then B-15 coming to the rescue to uncollar Sylvie and Loki and give Sylvie her sword was EPIC. She’s so cool.

Small aside, I got emotional seeing Asgard again in Sylvie’s flashback. I miss Asgard. :(

Also, if a kid can escape the TVA just by biting the agent holding her, the TVA have really got to step up their game. That’s kind of pathetic. Good for Sylvie though, that was very clever of her. The most juvenile yet effective tactic.

The Time Keepers being fake robots was an excellent twist, and one that I kind of saw coming as soon as they didn’t show Ravonna’s conversation with them earlier in the episode. It immediately made me feel like there were no Time Keepers at all. (And I was wondering if the no-robots rule from episode 1 would be plot relevant! I wonder if it has anything to do with the Time Keepers actually being robots?) It was also really clear that Ravonna was lying about what happened to C-20. As of now I think that Ravonna might actually be the real power behind the TVA. Or possibly a designated lieutenant to the real power behind the TVA:

When I was looking up interviews about Loki/Sylvie in this episode, I stumbled across an article about Ravonna’s comic counterpart and started kicking myself so hard for not recognizing her. In comics, Ravonna Renslayer is Kang the Conqueror’s wife. (Now, in my defense, my previous exposure to Ravonna was in Avengers: Earth’s Mightiest Heroes, in which she spends most of her screentime in a coma.) For anyone who doesn’t know, Kang the Conqueror is a time traveling classic Avengers villain. His whole thing is that he time travels, and wants to take over all of time. So it’s possible that Ravonna runs the TVA to benefit Kang somehow (maybe because Kang needs a certain sequence of events to assure a future victory over the Avengers?) or even does it on his orders. Kang the Conqueror is also set to be in Antman and the Wasp: Quantumania. (Aka Antman 3.)

(I don’t know if it’s relevant, but Kang the Conqueror also happens to be the reason the Young Avengers form. The very first member, Iron Lad aka Nate Richards, is a teenage Kang who meets his future self and decides he doesn’t want to be evil, so he travels back in time to get the help of Kang’s nemeses, the Avengers. However, he lands when the Avengers have disbanded and winds up putting together a team of Avengers-affiliated teenagers instead. The team gets bigger over time and a later version of it notably includes Kid Loki. I’m not going to go off on a Young Avengers tangent here but I LOVE the Young Avengers, please read Young Avengers volume 1 by Allan Heinberg and Jim Cheung and all of its associated tie-ins. It’s fantastic. Unfortunately Kid Loki is only in volume 2, which gets a very solid “no thank you” from me but ymmv. Imo if you want Loki, read Agent of Asgard instead; I keep bringing it up for a reason and that’s because it’s amazing. Kid Loki is also in Journey into Mystery prior to his appearance in Young Avengers, and I haven’t read that yet but it looks very good.)

I’m VERY curious as to what the deal is behind the TVA. This could go a lot of different ways but they all seem exciting.

This show is definitely gearing up for a finale in which the TVA no longer exists or at least no longer decides everyone’s fates, which is exactly what I predicted back in episode 1.

Final thoughts on the episode: I was just wondering after Mobius was pruned if maybe the pruning sticks are actually teleporters of some kind, instead of time tasers, and then we got THAT CREDITS SCENE. I am so confused but also VERY EXCITED. I almost screamed when I saw Kid Loki. MY CHILD. I just had this thought but oh, I would kill for a Thori reference. Best murder dog. Classic Loki’s costume looks so terrible, it’s absolutely on purpose, and I love it.

THIS SHOW HAD BETTER END WITH MOBIUS GETTING A JETSKI. AND BOTH SYLVIE AND LOKI HAPPY.

I’ve been wondering since the show was announced if this show would somehow end with a version of the comics Kid Loki + AoA Loki storyline, where this Loki gets reborn into the main MCU as Kid/Teen Loki so he can join the Young Avengers, and I still don’t know how I feel about that, but with how things are going I can still see it happening.

LET EVERYONE WE LOVE BE HAPPY AT THE END MARVEL.

#long post #loki spoilers #loki 1x04 #loki series #a rare text post appears #loki #sylvie #mobius #tva #ravonna renslayer #kang the conqueror #meta #my stuff

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heartofsnark · 3 years

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This is Love (Chapter Eight): Whispers of Wolves

Notes: Heyo, since A) I took a break and B) it’s friday the thirteenth, as it was when I posted the first chapter of this is love back in January, I decided to go ahead and post chapter 8 today. Chapter 9 is already done and I’ll be beginning work on chapter 10 soon, as this is my current hyper fixation. I hope you all enjoy.

Word Count: 8671

Chapter Warnings: Oh boy we got some shit today my dudes! Stories/Reference of Past Child Abuse, Animal Death In the Context of Hunting, Homphobic Slurs/Homphobia towards lesbians, and referenced past anti-Semitism. Less important but there’s a pov change and like three different quotes in this chapter, from the Book of Joseph, and two different songs, which is probably a lot but I ain’t editing this shit anymore

For chapter one and the warnings about this fic’s overarching themes, please click here!

For the previous chapter; click here

Pain cracks through Joseph’s skull late that night, shooting across from each temple, seeming to split his head apart. He sits on the edge of his small bed, a modest bedroom in the back of his church. He knows what it means, he’s grown accustomed to the sharp ringing pain, visions always come with it. They’ve started to come more frequently since The Lamb arrived.

He grabs at his head, as if he could press hard enough to keep his skull together as pain racks him, an instinctual reaction. Pain strikes through and breaks the reality of the world around him, closed eyes starting to see visions of what could be, images of what may await him.

A world anew surrounds him; one changed by the Collapse and washed of sins. Lush and natural, even more beautiful than the world that came before it. Vibrant pink flowers decorate the earth, thick green moss covering trees. A soft pink flowered apple tree stands at the center of the compound, white buildings replaced with hand made little houses.

Men and women are all around, working around New Eden. Parents playing with their children, carrying their babies; loyal followers allowed to pass through the gates and grow their family. Some members bring back hunted animals to be prepared for meals and others tending to gardens.

And then he sees his brothers and sister.

A fact that changes time and time again as his visions come to him in waves. He’s seen New Eden with and without them. He’s seen each of his siblings die time and time again, old and young, premonitions of what will be or what could be.

In this version, this vision, he’s been allowed his siblings. Faith, Jacob, and John talk at a distance where Joseph can’t quite hear the words, only taken in the moment. Jacob and John’s ages showing more clearly in the gray just starting to pepper their hair.

A voice rises above all others, cutting through the mumbled conversation through the compound, and Joseph knows it’s calling towards him. The soft voice calls him a name similar in meaning to his title, but it cuts to his heart so differently.

“Papa!”

Through the eyes of his older self, he can only watch and take in what happens, no control as he turns to see the source. A young boy of about five comes running towards Joseph, bright blue eyes and an even brighter smile. Joseph’s body moves of it’s own volition reaching out to hug his son, his son, but before he can feel the embrace of his child the world cracks apart again.

Pain splinters through the world and rips him from the moment, when he opens his eyes again he’s back in his room. And his hands itch to hold his son who’s yet to exist, instead he rubs at his temples, fingers knotting in his own hair as he attempts to soothe the agony within his own head. The only respite being what he hopes is a new promise from his creator. A chance for his family to not only walk with him to New Eden, but the chance to expand it.

He’ll have a son. The very idea soothes his pain and is like a salve to frayed nerves. Becoming an internal mantra as he eases himself back to sleep that night.

Sweat coats Dahlia’s skin as she does another push up, her muscles aching at the workout. She shifts to lay on her back on the living room floor, t-shirt riding up her sweaty stomach. Her second day of no work has turned into an impromptu work out, push up and using doorways for chin-ups. She uses her shirt to wipe sweat off her forehead before grabbing her phone to check the time. Dahlia must have gotten her way through the day, it has to be late by now.

“Fucking hell.”

It’s noon, it’s only fucking noon.

“Ahhhhhhhhhh!” She screams into a pillow, how the fuck is it only noon? Dahlia looks at the mess of her coffee table, trying to consider what to do just to eat at her time, she could draw again. But her hand is still cramping. She read somewhere you’re suppose to do warm up for drawing, she’ll have to start doing that.

Then she sees the Book of Joseph, her drawing still sticking out of it. She’s burned through her backlog of manga on her phone and fuck, it’s something to do. Joseph seemed like a genuinely sweet man, maybe he has something interesting to say. Music still blasting, because everything in her life requires a soundtrack, she opens the book.

“Bless the name of those who have dealt you blows.

Be grateful to those who have caused you harm.

For it is these sufferings that have led you to me.”

The first sermon in the book, she chews her lip, it’s not that much different from things Joseph told her yesterday, that he’s thankful her past led her to him. But, something rubs her wrong about the idea of being grateful for her abuse. Not for her, she plans on dying mad about it. She reads onward, an illustration of a flaming capital building surrounded by waves with someone drowning in the foreground. That’s…dramatic.

“If a person had been walking down the poorly maintained road out front of the Seed’s house on that afternoon in June and felt the strange urge to glance over, they would have witnessed a bizarre sight.

They would have seen a man dress in black pants and a white undershirt, frothing with anger, brandishing a comic book in one hand and a bible in the other at his son, a child of about ten. But no one had been down this in the poor suburb of Rome, Georgia, in a long time. Not ice cream trucks, not social service cars, not even police patrols.”

Dahlia stops almost three pages in as Joseph begins to write about a dying widow who once gave him and Jacob cakes before she grew sick. The picture he’s painted is far too clear and hits too close to home for her to continue, at least for the moment. A belligerent bible thumping drunk of a father who derided Joseph for loving Spiderman comics and beat Jacob’s back for the younger brother’s supposed misgivings.

Father Monroe, her stepfather, wasn’t quite the ruddy faced sloppy drunk that Old Man Seed was. But when Joseph describes Jacob offering his back up for a beating, she nearly feels the bite of leather against her own. Stripes for the backs of fools, is all she hears.

She wants to talk to Joseph, she realizes, thinking of both the beginning sermon passage and how their own pasts match up. Does he really bless the man who hurt him? Is he grateful for Old Man Seed? Maybe that kind of forgiveness and peace with it comes with age or is it just him? Ruth has a similar story as well, a little older than Dahlia, and she holds on to the same anger Dahlia does. Has Joseph managed to let it go? Does he still like Spiderman? Did his father beat the passion for comic books out of him or does he still enjoy them? Its hard to imagine, the intense Joseph Seed casually reading a comic book.

Less than three pages is a pathetic excuse for reading and didn’t pass much time, but it’s intense for her. So, she’d rather just…stare at the wall for a bit until she’s ready to tackle it again.

It’s Saturday night, Pratt and Hudson won’t be going to The Spread Eagle tonight, because no work. Meaning a rather mundane day with no interruptions. Other than a short walk, Dahlia spends the rest of it fucking around on her phone and watching shitty tv; passing out after downing an unevenly heated microwave meal.

Sunday morning rolls around, spent much like the last, Dahlia using her down time and excess energy to work out. It’s important to stay on top of exercising and staying in shape, given her profession, she makes a mental note to order some weights online. There’s not really a proper gym in the county and she doesn’t want to lose muscle.

She’s in the middle of another round of pushups when there’s a knock at her door; she jumps up from her position, skin still slick with sweat as she rushes towards the door. Finally, something to disrupt the monotony.

It’s Pratt standing on her porch, hazel eyes looking her over. She’s expecting a shitty comment on her appearance, dressed in shorts and a baggy shirt, hair mussed with sweat.

“You need something?” She asks him, slightly out of breath. Dahlia lifts the bottom of her shirt, using it to wipe sweat from her face, breeze skimming the bare skin of her stomach.

“What the hell has you sweating, Rook?” The older deputy chews his lip, avoiding eye contact for a moment.

“I was working out.”

“With a head injury? Seriously?”

“The fuck else am I suppose to do?”

“Figured you’d be bored out of your mind, reason I’m here,” he grins, “throw some clothes on and we can head out.”

“You mind if I shower first?” She asks, while she’s not sure where he plans on dragging her but she’d rather not stink like sweat while she’s there.

“Uh, yeah, sure that’s fine.”

“You wanna wait in here?”

He nods and Dahlia steps aside to let Pratt into her trailer, it’s not the most tidy of place because, well, she’s not the most tidy of people. She can feel the judgement starting to build up as Pratt looks around her messy living room. A pillow and blanket haphazardly on the couch; her duffle bag on the ground with clothes falling out of it. Her table has her sketchbook, thankfully closed, and the Book of Joseph is tucked under it. It’s a messy little nest, but it’s hers.

“Are you sleeping on your couch?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s just, I prefer it,” she explains with a shrug, not really sure how to elaborate on her weird feeling about sleeping in a bed.

“You have a bed, right?”

“Yes, I have a bed, I just, shut up. I don’t barge into your house and start judging how you live,” she pinches the bridge of her nose, “just sit down, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Dahlia grabs a change of clothes, hearing the couch springs creak as Pratt sits down. It’s weird seeing someone in her trailer. The closest she’s had to visitors have stayed on her porch. Pratt is the first person to be in her actual trailer, he looks immensely out of place and judging by his eyes glancing around, he seems to feel that way too. She tries not to think too hard about it, making a beeline to her bathroom.

She tries to keep her shower short, not wanting to make Pratt wait too long and not wanting him to snoop while he’s left alone. That doesn’t stop her from playing music as she showers, just limiting herself to two songs before she jumps out. A quick dry off and she tugs on her clothes, towel still on her damp hair as she walks back out to her living room.

Pratt, sure enough, has found something to snoop through. Dahlia grimaces at the sight of him picking through her little jewelry box of photos. Was he rifling through her dufflebag? She clears her throat, smirking when he jumps up.

“I was just-”

“Snooping,” she cuts him off, ruffling the towel over her hair.

“It fell out of your bag.”

“No it didn’t.”

“It did...after I kicked it a little, but it did fall out.”

“You’re ridiculous,” she snatches the little wooden box off the table, Lloyd and Caroline’s photo booklet was on top, so at least she probably avoided him seeing baby photos.

“You, uh, don’t look much like your parents. You adopted or something?”

She can’t help but chuckle as she puts it away; she can’t blame him for thinking Lloyd and Caroline must be her parents. The pair are both about Whitehorse’s age and why else would she have so many photos with a couple that age. But, the couple absolutely look nothing like her. Both fairer skinned and blue eyed; Lloyd with dark strawberry blonde hair and Caroline with light honey blonde locks. Short of some shenanigans the chance of them producing an olive skinned, brown eyed brunette is slim. And while the couple have their share of adopted children; Dahlia isn’t one of them.

“No.”

“Oh, uh…” She can nearly see the gears turning in Pratt’s head, her usual one word style of answering has put Caroline’s devotion in question and Dahlia won’t have that.

“They’re not my parents; legally or biologically.”

“Oh, you just hang out with old couples?”

“Maybe, maybe not, ain’t really any of your business,” she shrugs, “more importantly, where the hell are we supposed to be going?”

“It’s a surprise.”

“I don’t trust your surprises.”

“Would you rather sit here and twiddle your thumbs all day?”

“Fuck no.”

“That’s what I thought, you ready to go then?”

“Yeah, yeah,” she throws the damp towel onto her laundry chair before shoving her feet into her boots, “lets get going.”

She locks up behind Pratt then follows him out to his car. Compared to the last time she was in his car, this is infinitely more relaxing. She hums along to the radio, resisting the urge to sing along. He probably already heard her yelling along to her music in the shower, she doesn’t need to blast his eardrums at close range. After one song ends and another shittier one begins she starts to fiddle with the radio setting.

“The driver is supposed to pick the music,” Pratt tells her as she flips through stations, trying to find a station playing something other than country.

“The driver needs to worry about the road, while I find something worth listening to.”

“Yeah, ‘cause your taste in music is so good.”

“I have excellent taste in music,” she turns to one station and it sounds like a choir.

Help me, Faith

Shield me from sorrow

From fear of tomorrow

“Turn that crap off, right now.”

“The hell is that?” It’s not a bad song like technically speaking, but it’s definitely a bit much.

“Peggie station, it's all crap, Eden’s Gate runs it. It’s all their choir music and sermons.”

“Gross, but the song ain’t that bad.”

“You might wanna have your head checked again.”

“Piss off.”

She finds something better, even if she doesn’t necessarily mind Eden’s Gate music, she’d rather listen to something without fear of a sermon coming up after. At the very least, Pratt doesn’t complain about her choice, a few more songs playing before they cross into Holland Valley.

“How’s your impromptu vacation been going?”

“Boring.”

“That’s what I thought,” he laughs, “figured you’d be going stir crazy by now.”

“So, you decided to come end my boredom?”

“No need to sound so excited,” Pratt rolls his eyes, not appreciating her lackluster response.

“Sorry, I, uh, do appreciate it,” she admits, looking out the windows, cheeks warming at it. It’s embarrassing to say that she is genuinely thankful. Hell she nearly jumped up and ran to the door like a dog when he knocked. Boredom is hell.

“Oh, it’s fine, I was bored too.”

They pull into the police station parking lot and she raises an eyebrow at him as he parks. He’s taken her to work? What on earth is he planning?

“Don’t look at me like that, you’re gonna enjoy this, c’mon.”

She follows him out and around the building to the helipad she noticed before, a black police grade helicopter on it. He doesn’t hesitate to climb into the pilot's seat, telling her to get in. She listens, climbing into the seat next to him. It looks like a mess of buttons and controls to her, none of them making sense. But Pratt confidently starts turning switches, lights coming to life in front of her. They’re going for a helicopter ride, holy shit.

“Pffft,” Pratt huffs out a laugh, “we’re not even in the air yet and you’re already grinning.”

“This is okay, right? Like, no one will mind.”

“I’m the only person at the station who can fly, so if they needed it, they’d be calling me anyway. Don’t worry.”

“I’m fine, I just wanted to know I can enjoy this guilt free.”

“And lift off,” Pratt says as he brings the chopper up off of the ground. The station grows smaller and smaller as they ascend up into the air.

“Wow…” Is all as can seem to say at first as the chopper kisses the sky.

They’re surrounded by a bright blue sky and puffy white clouds as Pratt flies across the county. Lush green forests and farms beneath them, mountains along the edges of the county. A top down view of animals running through, specks in their vision. She oohs and awes, unable to help acting like an excited child over the view. They fly along the county, Pratt is kind enough to answer her stupid questions about flying, what buttons and switches mean. She’s certain to a seasoned pilot her naïve question must be frustrating, but he grins with every answer. Before she knows it the sky around them has shifted to an awash of pinks and purples, the sun setting, before a midnight sky takes it place. Brilliant stars twinkling around them, feeling so close, like she could reach out and touch Andromeda.

Once it gets too late, Pratt lands back at the station, her cheeks ache from all the time smiling. He drives her back to the trailer park, the pair in comfortable silence as she hums along to the radio. Her thoughts drifting off as they are so quick to do. Pratt and her butted heads a bit when they first met, but he’s quickly become her closest friend in the county. Their light-hearted bickering and shenanigans have become her favorite part of her days in Hope County.

He walks with her to her trailer, shoulders brushing occasionally as they move. She turns to look at him when they reach her door. Dahlia clenches and unclenches her hands searching for what she wants to say.

“Thanks, a lot, really.”

“You like flying that much?”

“Not just for that, not to be all mushy and crap, but coming out here, keeping me from going nuts, being my friend. It, uh, means a lot, seriously.”

“Eh,” he scratches at the back of his neck, avoiding her eyes, “just watching out for you, probie.”

“Well, I appreciate it, I, uh, know I’m not the easiest person to get along with.”

“No one in this county is.”

“Good to know I fit in, I guess.”

“Uhh, you’re getting there, once you start stinking like beer all day and have a house full of deer heads, we’ll call it good.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” she grins, “night.”

“Night.” She waves Pratt off before going back to her trailer to settle in for the night.

Monday is spent showing up to the station just to play with Petunia behind the building; just laying on the ground while the fluffy opossum crawls on her. She scratches along the marsupial’s back as they nuzzle into her neck.

“Aren’t you supposed to be home relaxing or something?” Beau asks and Dahlia shifts her head back to look at him.

“I am relaxing, what are you doing?”

“Well, everyone asked me to go see what that weirdo deputy was doing, so here I am.”

“Oh no, you hear that Petunia,” she looks at her opossum friend, “people think I’m weird.”

“Yeah, talk to the ‘possum, that’ll really show ‘em.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and he just rolls his eyes, leaving her alone for the moment. Pratt and Hudson invite her out to The Spread Eagle once the sun starts to set, but a steady throbbing ache has built in her head, she skipped pain meds. And the idea of the jukebox booming in her skull makes her turn it down for the night, once she’s back to work she’ll treat them to a meal there, she decides on the quiet ride home.

Dahlia wakes up the next day and decides to finally take that hike, wanting to explore some of the mountains and woods that surround the county. The brunt of the trails seem to be within the Whitetail Mountain area up north, the mountains in the Henbane are mostly around that statue and as much as she likes Joseph more than before; the statue is still creepy.

She tucks her sketchpad, pencils, water, and her pain meds in the storage under her motorcycle seat before she drives up to the mountains; the north section of the county is colder, a chill from the air as she rides up. She stops in at an Old Sun Outfitters, buying a little black backpack to carry her stuff in when she hikes.

The woods around her get thicker and thicker as rides further into the mountains, land growing steeper with every minute, civilization sparser and sparser; buildings harder to find, just peeks of wood or cement through trees. The trees clear on her right as a turn of the road leads her to a large parking lot with little hutch and a sign that says, ‘rest area’. The hutch says Valley View Overlook. It’s built at the top of a plateaued piece of land, not as towering as the mountains in the distance, but higher than the meager hills of the valley or river. She parks her motorcycle and packs the bag before taking in the view.

A small navel high fence, she imagines waist high for others, keep animals or children from just running off the side of the mountain. It’s a beautiful sight; she can see why the lot is named after it. She takes a deep breath of fresh mountain air looking out at the soft blue sky that meets the mountains in the horizon; the deep green forests further down. Air so clean and refreshing, but for some reason she finds herself pulling out a cigarette, to fill her lungs with smoke. Too much good needs a bad, she supposes. She watches the white clouds and birds flying through, as she lets smoke settle heavy in her lungs, only parting from the sight when her cigarette threatens to burn her fingers.

She follows along a little beaten trail through the woods, kicking up rocks and crushing grass underfoot as she lets the trees surround her. Grass rustles around where animals sneak through; deer running through, other hikers crossing her path, and hunters packing bucks back home with dogs sniffing along after them.

It doesn’t take long for her to go off the path, just walking in any direction that catches her interest. Deeper and deeper into the woods, following divots and drop offs, walking along the occasional stream of water that passes through the area. Her feet and head start to ache as hours pass, the cool air no longer able to chill her body as exertion coats her skin in sweat.

A hunting stand, one of many, is within the woods. Gray metal built around a tree with a ladder leading up. It’s empty, but if a hunter really needs it, she’ll move along. She climbs up curling her legs under her on the stand as she pulls off her back pack and red flannel, the sleeves now sweaty after her walk. Dahlia ties it around her waist, feeling the cool air on her skin as she takes a deep breath.

She takes a deep swig of water and one of the pain killers. There’s a crush of grass and she looks up to see a group of deer a short distance from the stand. A fawn and what may be younger deer, with a buck among them. The buck’s fur grayer in color than the richer warmer brown of the others. Dahlia gets out her sketchpad and pencils, balancing them on her knee as she takes the drawing the creatures. A calm energy and flow falls over her as she draws, the only sound the animals rustling within the woods. She’s better at drawing people than animals, she realizes, when she can’t quite get the right slope of the buck’s muzzle, but she doesn’t stress herself over it. No one will ever see her wonky deer. She looks up; the buck has gotten much closer, shuffling near the stand.

Dahlia puts her sketchbook aside, half finished wonky deer abandoned, as she moves to lay on her belly over the edge of the hunter’s stand. She stretches her hand out, his antlers high enough for her fingers to just brush the velvety texture. But that’s not what she’s after, wanting to pet the stags head. Dahlia shifts to a knee and a foot, she forces the fingers of one hand into the grating to keep a solid grip on the stand. She leverages herself to lean further and further out, stretching a hand out and nearly hanging completely off the stand. Her fingers just centimeters away from touching the stag’s head.

The fuzz of fur brushes across her fingers and the soft brown eyes looking up at her go blank; blood spraying from the side of the buck’s head as it’s body goes limp to the ground. She can’t help but jump back and fall on her ass; gasping at the now dead deer in front of the stand, the rest of them have scattered at the sight.

Maybe she should have expected it, being in hunter territory, but the closeness of it still startles her. There’s a heavy thud of boots, steady consistent footfalls crushing branches and grass beneath them. Ginger hair with shaved down sides and an army jacket; Jacob Seed.

This is likely the only time she’ll ever be taller than him, watching him from the stand as he shifts a bright red rifle from his hands to on his back. It seems so vivid and ostentatious compared to his utilitarian style of dress. There’s a childish urge to jump on his back and scare him. But, they don’t know each other well and he’s a veteran, so she can’t know how he’d react to the sort of thing. Maybe a boo would be okay, just something small?

“You enjoying the show, honey?”

Dahlia jolts, taken aback by the sudden acknowledgment. She tucks a strand of hair back behind her ear and chews her lip watching as he starts to gather up the slain deer; then he looks up at her, blue eyes sharp and harsh. All the masculine Seeds have blue eyes and intense stares; but Jacob’s gaze is colder than Joseph’s and more steady than John’s. Something almost predatory to it.

“I was drawing him,” she says after a moment, looking down at the stag.

“And I was hunting him.”

“Still would have appreciated another minute or two,” she says as she grabs her bag, throwing the sketchbook back inside before she jumps off the stand.

“So, you could flail around and try to pet him for another five minutes.”

“Hey,” she pouts, she was caught hanging from a hunting stand like the child she is, but, “wait, you saw me?”

He gives a vague grumble of agreeance, more preoccupied with tying up the hooves of his latest hunt to make it easier to carry.

“And you still shot? You could have shot my hand off.” Has this man never taken a gun safety course, she catches a glimpse of the scope on his rifle, there’s no way he didn’t see how close his shot was to her hand. He chuckles, dry and deep, mocking her.

“Relax, if I wanted to shoot you, you’d be dead by now.”

“Wow, that’s not comforting.”

“Wasn’t trying to be,” he says, standing up and packing the giant deer over his shoulder, like it’s nothing.

Dahlia reaches out to touch it, fingers brushing through soft fur, no warmth beneath it. She might as well be petting a rug. Jacob starts to walk off and she doesn’t know why, but she follows him. Hands clasped behind her back and walking heel to toe after him. Maybe it’s just because she’s curious about him. He’s the only one of the Seeds not to take a strange interest in her for whatever reason.

He doesn’t say anything at first, allowing her to follow along after him. Leaves and grass crush under foot as she follows along behind him, curious as to where he’s going or doing. She’s not sure what she expects, but it’s something to do if nothing else.

“You got somewhere to be?”

“Not really, no.” She tries to crane her head around, trying to get a better look at his face to gauge his reaction, but their height difference is too big to truly do so. The man has to be around a foot and a half taller than her; he seems even taller than the sheriff.

“Well, I do, so get out of here.” Her smirk drops, she was hoping to see him get more agitated like the youngest Seed brother, but his voice doesn’t rise. Staying the same steady deep timbre.

“Where are you going?”

“Nowhere you need to be, sweetheart.”

“The nicknames aren’t really necessary.” She can’t help but say, wrinkling her nose in annoyance, the condescending way he calls her sweetheart and honey make her nauseous.

“Neither is following me like a lost puppy dog; but here you are.”

“I’m bored.”

“Not my problem.”

“You killed my only entertainment, so it is now.”

He comes to a sudden stop and Dahlia has to stop herself from running into his back; she doesn’t particularly want deer corpse on her face. He turns to face her; expression still the same stern look he usually carries, and she misses his grin when he was talking to kids at the barbecue.

“Look here, deputy, sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong and irritating me isn’t a habit you want to form. Get out of here.”

“Oh no,” she rolls her eyes, “I’m really scared.”

“Keep pushing, sweetheart, won’t get you anywhere.”

“God, you’re no fun.”

“Wasn’t trying to be.”

“Jacob is something wrong,” a voice cuts through their conversation, rough and masculine. And Dahlia see the long-haired man and short haired girl from the barbecue; the ones who shot her dirty looks when she talked back to Jacob.

“Nothing you need to concern yourselves with.”

“What are you doing here?” The woman asks Dahlia directly.

“Standing.”

“Fallon,” Jacob says the woman’s name, stern tone making her posture snap straighter, “I said it’s none of your concern. Let’s go.”

The three of them start to leave down a path; Fallon and the long-haired man have heavy bucks they pack as well. A hunting trip for Jacob and his…friends? Are they friends? That didn’t seem like friendship, but Dahlia is far from an expert on the matter. She offers a goodbye wave; but Fallon just rolls her eyes. Their steady footfalls leaving the deputy behind.

Well, it staved off the boredom for a while she supposes.

Dahlia lets out a huffy sigh, blowing loose strands of hair from her face as she begins back down the path she came. The sun is setting by the time she’s back to the parking lot and climbing on top of her bike.

Her stomach is growling by the time she’s driving down a main road, she sees the sign for The Grill Steak as she reaches the intersection. Dahlia pulls in, letting her stomach guide her actions, as she’s one to do.

It’s a small restaurant packed with groups of people from friends to families; she can feel the heat of the grill radiating through, the smell of her making her stomach growl. She settles into a booth by herself, when she reads through it the menu is full of gamey meat burgers and steaks. No signs of beef or pork; it’s all bison and deer. She wonders if the cook hunts everything himself, it wouldn’t surprise her, given what she’s seen of the county. He can hear the cook yelling something she can’t understand from the kitchen. Dahlia settles on ordering a cola and a deer burger; thinking about the hunted stag she saw Jacob kill.

As she waits on her food, the chatter of a group catches her ear. They’re not from Hope County; the different cadences of how they speak mingled with fancy latin technical terms tells her as much. Trying to be discreet; she glances at them over her shoulder. A group of four; two women and two men all around the same age. Dahlia’s not the brightest bulb in the pack by her own admission, but when she hears the words corvids and lupine, she realizes they’re talking about animals. It doesn’t shock her, given the abundance of wildlife in the county, certainly people would come to research them.

The door to the restaurant swings open and a man comes walking in, shoulders back and footfalls confident. It reminds her clearly of Jacob, the walk of a soldier, though this man isn’t quite as intimidating a figure. Older than Dahlia, though most people are, with a full dark beard and long scraggly dark hair. He doesn’t bother to take a seat at a booth or look at a menu, only giving a single wave to the cook in the back as he makes a beeline to the group. Dahlia shifts a little further down into her booth, not that anyone could truly tell she’s eavesdropping, but it gives a little more secrecy to it.

“You the conservationists?”

“Yeah, we’re studying the wildlife here… And you are?”

“Eli, not here to ‘cause trouble or anything like that, just wanted to give some friendly advice.”

“Friendly advice?”

“You need to watch yourselves out in those woods.”

“Pffft.”

“We’re well aware of how dangerous the wildlife out here can be. You-”

“No, you aren’t. There’s wolves-”

“And bears and mountain lions, oh my,” one of them jokes, “look, we know what we’re doing.”

“You’re not listening, they’re not regular wolves. They’ve been trained to kill and hunt people down on sight. Even if you avoid ‘em, you get on the cult’s bad side and they’ll send ‘em after you. You gotta be careful out here.”

“Okay, sure,” the eyeroll is nearly audible, “we’ll keep an eye out for killer cult wolves, don’t worry.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you, alright.”

The man, Eli walks away, and Dahlia considers stopping him. Admitting her nosiness and ask him some of the million questions going through her mind. Surely by cult, he means Eden’s Gate, right? Dahlia can’t imagine who else he could mean. They’re small and close knit, but they’re not a cult, right? Cults imply something more out there or intense; they’re just a little Christian church. Joseph may have his own book, but they still follow Christian ideas of sins and scripture.

And wolves? How could they possibly be training wolves? It’s all so ridiculous and asinine, making gears spin and churn in her head until they overheat, but it was said with such conviction. By the time she brings herself to make a noise, Eli has already left, and it’s probably for the best. It’s too crazy to be true. Maybe he’s a tinfoil hat wearing type of guy, a conspiracy theorist like the Zip guy who leaves a newsletter in every damn corner of the county, screaming about chemtrails and baby farms.

She fills her stomach, deciding to leave that as it is, finally returning to her trailer late that night. A restless night of sleep with images of wolves and deer creeping around through her brain, nothing concrete enough to latch onto, but enough to unsettle.

A boring morning leads into a boring afternoon, time blurring before the sun has set and Dahlia’s finding herself pulling up to The Spread Eagle to catch her coworkers after their shift. She’s popped enough pain killers that the throb of music and noise is welcomed instead of irritating. A smile already gracing her lips when she catches Pratt and Hudson shooting the shit in the bar’s lowlight. As she sneaks up closer to them, their conversation starts to be audible over the tunes playing through the bar.

“I bet you break before then,” Hudson says, a teasing grin directed at Pratt.

“Hey, it’s only six months.”

“Please, you’re weak and you know it.”

“How much you wanna bet?”

Dahlia strikes, throwing her arms over Pratt’s shoulders, effectively hugging him from behind and leaning her weight into him. He’s warm and Dahlia can’t fight the impulse to squeeze him a little tighter. She breathes in the faint smell of coffee and cologne that still cling to him; comforting after so much time spent around him.

“Jesus fuck, when’d you get here?” Pratt blusters and at this close of a range Dahlia can see his cheeks pinkening under the scruff of his beard. Does this bother him?

“Right now.”

“You decided to come hang out again?” Hudson asks, grinning at the flustered Pratt.

“Mmhmm,” Dahlia hums into Pratt’s shoulder, pressing her face into him, “bored.”

“Get off me,” he grumbles and reaches back to swat at her hip.

“Ugh, buzzkill,” she bitches as she detaches from Pratt and climbs onto a bar stool, “so what the hell are you guys making bets about?”

Pratt coughs, trying to dislodge something from his throat, and Hudson laughs, “yeah, Pratt why don’t you tell her about our bet?”

“Don’t worry about it, Rook.”

“We still need to set an amount.”

“Fifty,” Pratt suggests and Dahlia wants to know even more what the hell they’re making bets about.

“Mmm, hundred.”

“Fine, if you’re comfortable losing that much.”

“Anyone gonna tell me what’s going on?”

“Nope.”

“Well, that’s gonna drive me crazy now, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

She sticks her tongue out at him and orders food, stuffing her face as she listens to her coworkers fill her in on anything of interest she’s missed during her off time. It’s not much, as usual, the workload in Hope County is pretty low stakes. Hunting violations, speeding tickets, and the like. Seems like her assault is about the most interesting case in a while. Dahlia’s tempted to ask if they know anything about wolf attacks but bites her tongue before she does. Hope County is filled with wildlife, wolf attacks have no doubt occurred to some degree and if she mentions the idea of trained cult wolves, they might start to think she’s buying into the conspiracy shit.

“Stop,” Pratt says suddenly, putting hand on Dahlia’s knee, “you’re shaking the whole damn bar.”

Her leg she realizes has been bouncing the whole time, the hike helped, workouts help, but she’s still breaming with pent up energy. There’s a rustle of movement and Dahlia is drawn to the open floor near the jukebox, she’s seen a few people dance here and there, a couple now and again swaying to softer tunes while she’s been here. But, it’s more crowded tonight, people laughing and dancing together.

“People are dancing,” she states the obvious.

“It’s ladies’ night, women drink free, so everyone’s extra, uh, energetic tonight,” Hudson tells her.

An upbeat song starts and Dahlia’s up in the next breath, she needs to move, burn off excess energy. And while her favorite club in Lake Charles isn’t exactly available to her anymore, she’ll jump at the chance to lose herself in a song.

You should be wilder, you're no fun at all.

Dahlia’s singing along as she sways and shifts through the crowd, body moving instinctually to the beat. There’s a woman about Dahlia’s age, long blonde hair and brown eyes, dancing as well and the deputy finds herself gravitating towards her.

Yeah, thanks for the input.

Thanks for the call.

She asks low into the woman’s ear, so she can be heard over the music, if she can dance with her. The response is a smile, lighting up the girl’s face, a nod of her head and then she’s pulling Dahlia in by the hips.

With dull knives and white hands

The blood of a stone

Cold to the touch, right

Right down to the bone

And then she loses herself in it. In the music that fills the bar, the feeling of a stranger touching her, the slide of her feet as she moves, the way hips knock together, the scratch in her throat as she sings lyrics in the woman’s ear, their grins as they laugh and bump noses together. It’s fun and it’s silly, a reason to move and forget life for a moment.

Cause you give me the electric twist and it kicks and it kicks like a pony.

And true, you might run away with it, it's a risk it's a risk yeah.

Because it kicks yeah.

It really kicks yeah.

Dahlia spins the woman with a laugh, before pulling the woman close against her again, wide smiles and bright eyes as their foreheads touch. There’s sweat sticking to their skin as the song winds down. Panted breaths ghosting over each other’s faces as they come down from exertion.

And the touch of your lips it's a shock not a kiss

It's electric twist, it's electric twist

“How much I gotta pay to see you kiss?!” A loud voice booms out, making Dahlia and her dance partner of the night separate. There’s a man, couldn’t be older than his mid twenties, sitting at the bar with his legs sprawled open drinking a beer at the table between the bar and the dance area. His eyes linger and look over both women’s bodies

“Can I help you?” Dahlia asks and furrows her brows, glowering at the man as she draws closer.

“Oh just enjoying the show, sweetheart.”

“Not your sweetheart and I’m not a damn show.”

“Pfff, don’t get your panties in a twist,” he turns back to his table and rolls his eyes, as if Dahlia’s the problem, “fucking dykes.”

The junior deputy grits her teeth and she sees from her peripheral the woman rubbing the back of her neck, letting her bangs fall into her face looking like she’d rather disappear.

“The fuck did you call us?” She can’t stop herself from speaking, barely managing to reign her anger in enough not do something worse.

“You heard me.”

“Fuck you!”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Pratt’s voice cuts through as the man starts to turn to retort, the warmth of her coworker’s hand wraps around the clenched fist she didn’t realize she had raised.

“Is something wrong?” Mary May calls out, starting to walk out from behind the bar.

“Everything’s fine,” Pratt responds before Dahlia can say anything and when she starts to speak, he looks at her to whisper, “you’re barely three weeks into your job, you really wanna be getting into bar fights?”

“He ca-”

“I heard what he said, Rook, but it ain’t worth your job.”

“You’re right,” she gnaws on her lip and looks down on the ground, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I get it, I just don’t want you doing anything stupid.”

“I need some fresh air.”

Dahlia leaves The Spread Eagle, noticing the woman she danced with has already vanished, unwilling to deal with the bullshit. A cool breezes ghosts over her sweaty skin as she sits down on the porch steps at the front of the bar; running her hands through her hair as she fights to ease her nerves. She digs a pack of cigarettes out of her jacket pocket

There’s a crush of footsteps as she lights one, bringing it to her lips, shiny black leather boots entering her vision.

“Dep-yoo-tee.”

“You Seeds can just smell when I’m sad, can’t you?” She teases looking up to see John, the neon bar sign setting his face aglow in the night as he chuckles at her.

“Not my intention, but if you’re in need of a talk, I’d be happy to oblige.”

“You weren’t coming out here to harass Mary May again, were you?”

“Deputy,” he puts his hand to his chest cartoonishly dramatic in his hurt, “h-harassment? That’s ridiculous. am I not allowed to visit with Ms. Fairgrave and just discuss our difference of opinions.”

His voice is ramping up in pitch as he defends himself and Dahlia can’t help but smile, appreciating the distraction from her own troubles.

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure Mary May would have a different of opinion about that one. We still gotta talk about members stealing booze.”

“Our members would do no such thing; and I assure you, if there’s any harassment here, we’re the victims. We’ve been insulted, had our sermons interrupted, our practices mocked, Mary May herself once showed up our church simply to cause trouble.”

“Okay, okay, it’s a two-way street, I get it. Sit, we can chat for a bit,” she pats the section of porch step beside her and reluctantly after a beat of silence, he sits down, “so, Mary May caused trouble for you guys?”

“Yes, yes, she has and she’s not the only one; the people of this county have persecuted me and my family since we’ve been here.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, no one should mistreat you that way,” she looks him in the eye as she speaks, “and if it ever happens again, I want you to call down to the station, ask for me, and I’ll do whatever I can to help.”

“Well, it’s certainly nice to know you’re on our side.”

“Ah, ah, I’m on everyone’s side. Mary May is owed the same respect as you and your family; and if you cause issues for her, I won’t hesitate to intervene for her sake as well. I’m here to keep everyone safe. Got to treat everyone like you wanna be treated, the whole spiel.”

“I know you’re not preaching biblical principles to me, dep-yoo-tee.”

“Not biblical, just a little maturity.”

“Are you implying I’m immature.“

“You’re a grown man spatting with a woman ten or more years younger than you; throwing a tantrum and pointing fingers when you’re told to behave.”

“First of all, I’m not that old,” Dahlia raises an eyebrow at him, “don’t look at me like that, I’m 32. Secondly, I am not a child. Mary May has-“

“And if she does something again, now that I’m here, let me know and I will help. But her actions don’t justify yours.”

“Fine, I’ll be sure to hold you to that promise, then.”

“I mean it’s less a promise and more so doing my job, but alright.”

She breathes out a plume of smoke, making sure to aim away from John’s face, his blue eyes track the movement and the nicotine fumes that escape into the air. An ex-smoker, she deems as she watches him staring at her lips and the cigarette between her fingers.

“You want a smoke?” She asks, offering her pack of cigarettes.

“Smoking is forbidden in Eden’s Gate.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

Tattooed fingers pick out a cigarette and she lights it for him with a grin, watching him take a deep inhale and blowing out the smoke that fills his lungs. The soft rise of his chest and the gray clouds that billow out from parted lips. She notices for the first time the freckles on his neck and chest, shirt unbuttoned low enough to expose them. There’s thin fresh scratches along his hands and forearms, too superficial and fresh to match the deeper worn in scars, they look like cat scratches. And yeah, he seems like a cat guy.

“So, now that you’ve berated and tempted me, deputy,” he speaks after an exhale of smoke, “why were you out here pouting?”

“BREH!” She plops her back down on the porch with a vague animal long groan and throws her arms over her eyes, cigarette still between two fingers, must he remind of her own issues.

“Well that certainly wasn’t immature or dramatic.”

And she laughs, because he’s right, she can preach maturity all she wants to him. But, she’s still a brat herself. She’d justify herself with their massive age difference, because no way he’s thirty-two, but that feels flimsy at best. They’re both just two temper tantrum throwing children, hell they’re even both fibbing about their ages. Though, she suspects his own much more severe than the few months she adds to her own.

“Don’t wanna talk about it.”

“You know,” he lays back on the porch, matching her position, “I take the confessions for our church, if there’s anything you need to get off your chest, I’m the man to talk to.”

“Not much to say; guy called me a slur, I nearly throttled him.”

“Someone else’s actions don’t justify your own,” he parrots her words back to her.

“Yeah, someday I’ll follow my own advice.”

“Has that happened before?”

The gears in her brain churn, she’s been called many a thing, but her sexuality has been one of the less insulted facets of who she is.

Her stepfather, as religious as he was, was adamant on his hatred of gay people. But her own disinterest in exploring her sexuality or romance saved her from his scorn in that area, his focus more on the other various things he found deplorable about her.

Her mother’s side is Ashkenazi Jewish, and Dahlia remembers the few people of her stepfather’s church who despite her mother converting were disgusted their preacher would marry a Jewish woman. A handful leaving the church, a few sticking by just to call Dahlia and her mother slurs when their backs were turned.

The nightclub she favored in Louisiana was considered a gay bar, though not exclusive to LGBT folks. Women dancing with women, men dancing with men, men and women dancing; and a healthy amount of people who didn’t quite fit either label. Only one-night sticks out, a car speeding past the line outside the bar just to scream a slur out the window.

Maybe what bothered her most was the boldness. This wasn’t someone whispering when they thought Dahlia couldn’t hear, and this wasn’t a man just screaming out at the public as he speeds away. Just a man emboldened and willing to hurt her in front of a bar filled with people.

“We’re blocking the door.”Everything else died on her lips; unable to spill her guts.

“And we weren’t while you were lecturing me?”

Her phone buzzes in her jacket as she brings her cigarette back into her mouth, unwilling to justify her evasiveness to a man she barely knows, she answers a number she doesn’t know at all.

“Hello?” She says around her smoke.

“H-hello, is this a deputy?” A soft broken voice, she remembers from the diner, asks her and Dahlia sits up, tension pricking at the back of her neck.

“That’s me, Cassie?”

“You remember me…”

“What’s going on, are you okay?”

“Yeah, uh, I…” a beat of silence and a choked sob comes next, “no, I’m sorry, I’m, I’m not okay, I-“

“Where are you?” Dahlia’s on her feet, heartbeat in her throat as she waves off John’s furrowed brows and concern, running to her bike.

“I’m at the diner. I didn’t know where else to go…”

“I’m headed your way now, Cassie, are you safe?”

“I…I don’t know…I…”

Her voice breaks out into sobs again as Dahlia starts her engine, slams on her helmet, and switches her phone to the speaker in her helmet. The girl’s cries echoing around her as her wheels kick gravel across the parking lot, speeding out of Falls End.

#far cry 5 #fc5 #john seed #jacob seed #this is love #dahlia hale #joseph seed #if you ever think im like smart or competent i want you to know that everytime i post a chapter i doubt my ability to count #like i know last chapter was chapter 7 but am I reeeeallly on chapter 8 is that reaaaaalllly how numbers work

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shhhlikeme · 4 years

Text

Nin’s Matchup!

(SFW + NSFW)

Matchup Profile: Sfw+nsfw matchup pretty pls! (1/5) Name: Nin>Female>5’4>Film & sfx/theatrical makeup freelancer>V athletic in MS-HS: ballet, was in volley ball, soccer &Basketball teams>Miss my prime days>Scared to start workout again b/c I’ll get lightheaded>If sum1 helps push me through initial fear, I’ll keep growing from there> Likes chilling in ballet stretch poses>paints, photographs&draws as hobby>draws a pic a day (mostly portraits)>writing a comic atm >Always plan contingencies.🦄

(2/5) >embarrassed of my loud laugh(it’s like Kuroo’s)>introvert>not afraid to lead a team tho> V shy & quiet most times>8/10 times, feels awk in public,like idk what i’m saying, but others told me I seem social>Once I’m comfy w/ u, i joke a lot(occasional mum jokes 2 annoy+Sassy dirty ones w/ S/O)>hides behind ppl who likes 2 talk, but not when they’re 2 loud>laughs @ mistakes/when embarrassed>Will stop mistreatment, even if I get in trouble>values communication&genuine discussions🦄

(3/5) Sings when home alone>competes @ Street Fighter tournaments, trains everyday 4 it>Sings “Hit Me W/ Your Best Shot” when fighting bosses in game&swears melodically when i lose>eats chips w/ chopsticks >make hats out of my cat fur when bored>Workahokic night🦉>likes 2 teach >full convos w/ my 🐱>LIVES in oversized hoodies & flip flops, regardless of weather>no pants@home!>Feels incompetent sometimes, but keep practicing 2 improve>Analytical fast learner>idk why ppl think i look innocent🦄

(4/5)>Forgets 2 speak eng when tired (Thai 1st lang.)>Headrubs 4 s/o every night b4 bed>will miss u but is bad@texting>yelps like puppy when I’m surprised>Unconventionally resourceful: Wire hangers’s fixes everything! >stress bakes & will gets pouty if it didn’t turn out well.>overwhelmed to water my 50+ 🌱 >Doodles on smt (always have a pen on me)when i feel socially anxious> 2 dance sober @ clubs> Wants a stable relationship where we work tgt like a team to bring out the best in one another🦄

(5/5) I like a s/o who is lovable, kind, genuine, mature, independent and caring, but can also joke & be silly with like best friends. NSFW: open 2 try new things>❤️restraints, blindfolds & sensual tickle sex (as lee+ler) but had always been too shy to share it with any1>occasionally self conscious of food baby+stretchmarks>🥰edging/teasing >has a thing 4 height differences (likes to feel smol lol!) & primal play.>Is a switch. I’m so sorry if it’s too much info! Thank you for doing this!🦄

————————————

A/N: HI LOVE @crushzone !!!! I SMILE WHEN I SEE YOU IN MY NOTIFS GIRL I WORKED HARD ON YOURS OF COURSE💖 But no matter whaaaat I’m going to be very authentic in my matchups bc they’re based on compatibility and therefore, without further ado, lemme introduce you to your NEW BAE:

————————————

KŌTARŌ BOKUTO 🦉

SFW:

so you’re a theatrical makeup artist.

Aight.

Mind if I offer you a word of advice? :

RUN

“DUDE THAT’S AMAZING IT LOOKS SO SICK!”

Startled by someone’s loud booming voice, you smudged the eyeliner you were applying to your actor’s face all over their forehead. Whipping around to see who had disrupted your work you were faced with a beautiful black and grey haired owl. A rather tall... and very attractive ‘beautiful black and grey haired owl.’

He started walking around the dressing room like he owned the place, touching everything.

“Excuse me, you don’t have a badge. You can’t be backstage—!”

“Pretty obvious don’t you think, Miss ________?”

You didn’t take his bait, refusing to give this stranger your name. Bokuto shrugged.

“Well since I don’t know your name I shall label thee—Miss HOT GIRL of the 9 Kingdoms!” He nudged the knight actor who was sitting in your makeup chair with his elbow. “Did I sound 15th century ish or what??” The owl turned to you expecting to be praised. “I had to meet the person who made the medieval vampire look so scary in the last act. But that guy with the lights didn’t tell me anything about you being so hot.”

You were speechless because he was hot too

But he shouldn’t be back here so you tried to shoo him out anyway

He allowed you to try to shove him out but he was way bigger than you so nice try sis

When he yawned while you panted because you weren’t able to budge him an inch....

Bokuto wagered that he would leave if you agreed to make him look like the Hulk with your makeup skills for a Halloween party he had to go to

You didn’t really want to because you were a professional and you had no idea who this owl was but because you had 15 minutes until the second act and you needed peace and quiet if you were going to finish your job!!! ....

( This boy was not peace NOR quiet )

You agreed.... but because you answered so fast Bokuto kicked it up one notch

Prince of pushing his luck (king is reserved for Shōyo‘s extra ass)

He pretended to allow you to push him out of the makeup room a few steps but before you closed the door he stuck his foot between the door so it couldn’t close.

Smiling, he peered back in, looking down at you:

“AND...... you have to agree to go on a date with me. Tomorrow night?”

“Ugh FINE!”

Bo removed his foot and let himself out with a bounce in his step.

SERIOUSLY WHO LET THIS MAN BACKSTAGE......

Needless to say, after a few dates, mans won you over like he wins EVERYONE over

It surprised you how comfortable you became with him but he just has that affect on people

***

In terms of your athletic relationship Bokuto does many things:

He pushes you to go to the gym with him for one

He signs the two of you up for impromptu Beginner 30-day challenges that you both must stick to

So every morning for 30-days straight he jumps on you in bed to wake you up:

“NIN BABY TIME TO HIT THE GYM. BABY NIN TIME TO GET IN SOME SEXY GYM SHORTS. MON BÉBÉ NIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIINNNNN—“

“Kōtarō, please shut up.”

he doesn’t

He drags you there and eventually you get back into the swing of things.. killing it in the weight room with your supportive man cheering on your every rep!

You don’t even need him to wake you up during the second challenge!

Your volleyball player boyfriend also signs you up (without permission) for the neighborhood soccer team that Akaashi’s girlfriend is already on

You hated it at first because it was uncomfortable going back after not playing for so long but you soon realized that all the girls there were ex-athletes too and not stars

You formed amazing new girl friendships (especially with Akaashi’s gf) and double dates with them were one of your favourite nights of the week!

You owed that happiness in your life all to your Owl 🦉🥰

He and Akaashi came to every soccer game y’all had and you and the three of you went to all of Bokuto’s games, obviously

Btw you all were FITTTTTT OML

***

In addition...

You already know that your man finds your artistic talents insanely fascinating

On your first anniversary together Bokuto gifted you with a new paint set and new French stand:

Because he admires you Bokuto also tries to draw and paint seriously just like you

You stand over his shoulder and give him corrections and baby owl learns so fast it’s amazing

You two make ‘paint night’ a thing when you move in together and it’s always the most fun event!!!!

Bokuto CONSTANTLY and I mean CONSTANTLY asks for you to add him to the comic you’re writing but you say no because he wouldn’t fit in

He sulks but one day you surprise him by showing him that you drew a cute soaring black and gray owl in the background of almost every outdoor scene in your comic,

you pointed out that it was him

BOKUTOOOO WAS SOOOOO HAPPY

HE WAS SHOUTING FROM THE ROOFTOPS

He called Akaashi right away and almost cried tears of joy hahahahaha

***

Your contingent based lifestyle has saved your reckless boyfriend’s life and career many-a-times

It’s one of the things he loves most about you.

Also, it is important to mention that he is in LOVE with your laugh

Bby owl does anything to hear it and showers your face with kisses when you laugh to draw it out

He loves you so freaking much

When you don’t make sense and speak gibberish in public because your awkward side randomly comes out......your boyfriend loves to make fun of you:

“Huh? Nin, that wasn’t Japanese, that wasn’t Thai and that definitely wasn’t English. What planet is my adorable baby girl from, again? And how do I return her in exchange for a floating space car instead?!”

suh cute

All of Bokuto’s teammates really like you because you work in conjunction with Akaashi which means you actually have the magic ability to get Bokuto out of emo mode even faster than his best friend 🤯🤯🤯

When he’s at an away game in emo mode his teammates will literally FaceTime you and point their phone in his general direction

“Hey, Kōtarō!!!! Look, Nin’s on the phoneeee!”

Bby owl turns around slowly when he was sulking in the corner and when he sees you on the screen he’s running and jumping on whoever is holding your phone.”

“Kōtarō baby. You’re going to stop this emo mode right now. If not I won’t let you paint me nude like we discussed.”

mans was like: 😨😨😨😨🤗🤗🤗🤗🤗

YEP the next second you see him hitting his best practice spikes and his teammate thanks you profusely

You do this several times until Kōtarō just knows to not go into emo mode anymore because you won’t be happy

A year into his professional volleyball career The Black Jackal’s coach sent a surprise fruit bouquet to your work one time:

With a note that read:

To Nin,

Thanks.

Thanks a lot.

Love,

The Team

***

I know you don’t really like people who are considered “too loud” and Bokuto is like...... “MEGA LOUD 🎙 “ but you and Akaashi work together to quiet your boy down as he gets older

He’s perfect

And you love him

***

OKAY THIS IS THE FUNNIEST day THING:

You know how you like standing up for people (even strangers) and stuff?

Well one day, you and Bokuto get caught on a show called WHAT WOULD YOU DO?

Where the two of you cussed out this cat-abusing actor on the show in a convincing scenario!

It was PRICELESS

Bokuto literally tells everyone that y’all are movie stars because of it 🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣🤣

***

More in the relationship:

Bo is always singing with you 💞 when y’all make breakfast it becomes a national sport to sing at the top of your lungs!!

And when he sees you eat chips with chopsticks he’s pulling a Hinata “🤩🤩🤩” face .

He begs you to teach him how

So you try

......and try

..................and try

He can’t do it bruv 😞

You see bby Owl’s emo mode return for the first time in like a year when the chip shatters between his sticks again

This time, you have to enlist Akaashi as the FaceTime saviour and Keiji just tells him:

“Bokuto. You should prefer eating chips with your hands anyway. It gets to your mouth faster.”

cue Bo’s 🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩🤩 face

........And all is well again

There’s more:

So you’re a workaholic?

Bokuto is fine with that. He just makes you promise that he gets to take you out on your lunch breaks a few times a week or whenever he can

He’s so sweet and your coworkers are BIG jealous of your relationship

Your man BEGSSSSS you to teach him Thai but you find it too hard so when he’s travelling on a long flight he spends the time learning the language on YouTube (and actually get decent at it) so that he can understand you when you’re sleepy😴🥺💕

When Bokuto surprises you by wishing you goodnight in Thai before he falls asleep (while you’re giving him head rubs), your heart explodes BECAUSE why is he the cutest thing in the world ?!?!?!

RELATIONSHIP COMMUNICATION:

You don’t text/you’re bad at texting? That’s fine, mainly because bby owl is so busy with volleyball anyway, but if you don’t text him back when he is feeling needy the boy will call you 20 times in a row

When you finally pick up, your heart is beating like thinking it’s an emergency

But he will answer saying:

“Oh, no emergency. I just want booty pics. Please, Nin babyyyyy?”

you’re like: 😑

ANOTHER CUTE THING YOUR MAN DOES?????

AIGHT:

It’s cringey but.......

When you’re at work all day doing makeup and he’s home he will send you pics throughout the day of him taking care of your plants like they are y’alls newborn children:

His text:

Baby look!!! Ollie the Orchid grew to 7 inches today!!! Yesterday he was 6.8 inches!!!!! They grow up so fast 😭😭😭”

Your reply:

Not quite as long as your dick, Bo

His reply:

I hate when you get me horny when I’m trying to take care of the kiiiids 😭😭😭😭

Dkm

Of all the factors you look for in a man, Bokuto has all of them

Like I said he becomes much more mature when you and Akaashi are his closest compadres

What people don’t know is that Kōtarō is actually very mature he is just a hardcore optomist (besides emo mode lmao) so people often mistake him as immature or dumb

But He’s far from it and you see that everyday

It’s why you fell for him

When dealing with serious issues that life has to handle, you see a different side of Bokuto, a real side, the side he shows in every tough volleyball game when he makes you metaphorically step behind him so he can deal with any problem that comes your way

He would literally withstand all your battles if that meant you’d remain happy forever

We stan a relationship like yours💞

NSFW:

okay so you know how you chill in ballet 🩰 stretches sometimes?

THAT DRIVES KŌTARŌ WILD.

It turns him on so much and he is constantly testing how flexible you are in the bedroom

When you keep meeting his expectations he is POUNDING you cause he is so turned on

He fucking loves it

It also turns him on when you’ll be acting shy and stuff but then randomly you’ll lead your neighbourhood soccer team like a BAD BITCH

When he sees that he’s already asking Akaashi how long until the game ends because he’s horny:

Akaashi deadpans. “Too much information. And the game just started 3 minutes ago. Get a water and calm yourself.”

Bo is sad but it makes for one hell of a I’m-proud-of-you sexscape when you get home from your game!!

Your dirty jokes also turn Bokuto on.

A lot.

A lot a lot:

“Bo.....I was joking.”

“I know but if I hear the word ‘dick’ coming out of your mouth I automatically think of you blowing me so now I want us to go home.” He whines.

You sigh. He’s lucky he’s so fucking hot.

When you’re playing street fighter every night this boy will not leave you alone until you cockwarm him

“Nin can you pleaseeeeee warm my cock while you train? I miss you.”

Your concentration turns him on so he has to ask nicely 😊

You love his dick so of course you oblige

Bby owl is so happy just sitting there being in your company and in your warmth but sometimes or every time he ends up thrusting into you

Sometimes while he’s giving you deep slow thrusts he orders you to keep playing or he won’t get you off

Damn 🤤

Let’s not forget also that you drive your man wild by walking around the house in hoodies all the time and nothing else

Every day, another hoodie will be found in various RANDOM places in the house because Bo flings it off you before he makes love to you wherever, and they go missing

Finally, when you get all sad and pouty because one of your baker trials goes to shit (ruined chocolate brownies this time, boo 💔), your boyfriend is taking your hand gently in an instant, leading you to the bedroom:

“Don’t be sad my beautiful girl, you know how much I hate seeing you sad. It makes me sad.! Here, come in the room and sit on my face—I promise I’ll make you feel better.”

WELL DAMN—😳💦

Maybe you should screw up brownie recipes more often.

————————————

A/N: do you know the show what would you do??? Watch it on YouTube if you haven’t haha I couldn’t stop thinking about you and Bokuto being on it after reading your matchup profile!!!! I hope you liked it bb! Give me all your reactions, I want all the smoke 💞💞💞

#matchups #nin and bby owl #bokuto kotaro

17 notes · View notes

egoiistas · 5 years

Text

may i feel, said he (19)

first | tag | ao3 | ffn

[co-written with @tsaritsa]

a/n: mmmm that was a long break wasn’t it? let’s go ahead and jump in! there are some important notes on the ao3 author notes that you should totes check out! enjoy!

Warnings: Sexual Content ™, cursing, roy being cute af Words: ~8.5k || Rated: M - Royai

Chapter Nineteen, in a minute

Summer arrives and officially, Riza is no longer his student.

Throughout the months, he’s tried to rationalize the pros and cons of jeopardizing her academic career from her perspective. A better grade? A decent fuck? Or a nice basket of both with a bow on top? His worst case scenario had always led him to the conclusion that if there was an ulterior motive, then she’d leave as soon as her grade was administered. If this was an elaborate, painstakingly cruel ruse, she would know him by now and have every advantage over him, forevermore holding this over his head because of a thoughtless impulse. She would know that he had unwittingly fought for what they shared, exposing himself freely, and that he’d never be the one to hold it over her. That cool façade in the beginning of the year had never collapsed so quickly and he would have fallen for the trap; hook, line and sinker.

Yet, his fears remain as unfounded as they ever were.

Time passes.

The newborn summer days swiftly turn into sweltering, humid weeks and in those weeks, he wakes with her at his side more mornings than not - passing by uneventfully, comfortable just existing in each other’s presence, finding solace indoors with air conditioning, lazily planning day trips to the countryside and never going.

Their heated, explosive start has transitioned into something that simmers comfortably now. They’re turned into an average couple, falling asleep in the middle of movies or ignoring them altogether for a bit of naked reprieve, swapping one heat for another. The root of any of their short-lived arguments usually stemmed when either of them were hungry or tired or both. It’s bizarre to Roy how easy it is to just ...be.

During one idle afternoon, he wonders on the the microcosm of their relationship, built up in these walls. In some ways they had come to rely on the self-imposed rules, and moving beyond those parameters into something that resembles a normal relationship was going to come with its own set of challenges.

This is the one and only detail that simultaneously vexes and excites him when he thinks of Aerugo. The walls that constrained them would be knocked down now and they would free to roam around an island, holding hands if they so dared. And he would. But the real test in question was the structural integrity of their relationship on mostly neutral ground - with her and him finally as equals.

In the days before they embark, the photo of a time past resurfaces on the surface of his dresser. A younger him and another woman that he’s been trying his damnedest to forget, even jumping dangerous chasms to do so. He doesn’t exert much effort into deciphering it’s whereabouts or the delayed journey it took from his old box of mementos to finally arriving on his dresser. The why is not important in the wider scheme of things.

And as the day arrives that they set off for another country entirely, Maes reassurances him that her answer is still “no.”

With that response, he departs with a lighter weight on his shoulders that perhaps this trip can be just about a celebration between friends, family, and the sun. Perhaps he can aid her in lifting some of the weight off her own shoulders. Not forgetting, but enjoying herself as her own person and coming out forward for all that she’s been through in the years.

Already, he sees excitement beyond the surface of her eyes as she boards a plane with dissecting curiosity and hints of dread when the aircraft bumps. The window seat proves to be the optimal choice and her eyes hardly tear away from looking outside to the stretching landscape up until the vast ocean comes into view.

This restrained curiosity doesn’t change when they get on the ferry that’ll take them to their last stop. Immediately she’s drawn to the outside deck, eyes wide and bright as she drinks everything in. San Clavel shifts from a distant formation, to an outline, and then to a shimmering, bright beacon as the sun reaches its zenith.

Upon seeing the approach on the island, he checks the time on his phone and sees a message that should have been seen earlier. “We have… a slight problem.”

Completely and utterly enthralled since first sight with the ocean, Riza hesitates and rather reluctantly tears herself from the balcony edge of the ferry. She takes one last cursory glance, as if the azure water would disappear the instant she looked away, and a smile of endearment appears on his face.

She squints looking up at him with the sun in her eyes, her hand flat over her forehead to try to see. “What kind of problem?”

Roy takes off his sunglasses and places them on her face. He decides it’s best to rip the plaster off quickly here. “Well, there are some guests we weren’t - well, I wasn’t expecting that are showing up.”

“Oh.” He can’t see her eyes anymore because of the reflective glass, but her smile drops. “Is that so?”

“My mother,” Roy confesses. “And some of my sisters.”

“Your mother,” she parrots back monotonously. Her poker face is practically bullet-proof without the nuances of her eyes to clue him in. “Is that what you were worried about?”

“I- what?”

“I was half expecting you to tell me the trip was cancelled.” Riza slides her arm around his waist and leans against him, looking out across the water once more as the ferry begins to dock. “I can’t say I blame them for being curious. I know you said we would visit them next week but-”

To say he’s blindsided would be somewhat of an understatement. “Yeah, for a few hours, not days.” He can’t help the petulance that creeps into his voice. “The whole point of this trip was spending time with you. Preferably with us naked for hours on end.”

She snorts a little at that, tucking her head slightly against his chest to hide her face - the faint pink tips of her ears betray her regardless. “Yes, well, that too. But you’ve met my dad. It seems fair.”

“No offense but I feel like you’re getting the short end of the stick when it comes to meeting the in-laws.”

To her credit, Riza doesn’t outwardly react to his slip of the tongue beyond adjusting her posture - the hand that had been resting comfortably against his hip flexes. From his position, her ears are bright pink now. “A family who clearly think the world of you? That’s hardly grounds to say they’ll be terrible to the people you choose to introduce them to.” Her tone is a little too measured, but nonetheless she draws back to look at him better, her hand instinctively raising to push the hair from his eyes. There’s a bright, nervous smile on her face - one that he knows is reflected on his own as well.

“Though, maybe hold off on talk of in-laws until I get the chance to actually meet them for myself,” she teases. “I’m sure it won’t be as bad as what you’re imagining.”

Roy will swear until he’s black and blue that he kisses her to stop her teasing - but that’s not the truth, not entirely. Out of the two of them he’s most certainly the one who is more practiced in dealing with emotions, and certainly the more likely out of the two of them to wear his heart on his sleeve.

There was always an undercurrent of emotional attachment with any of the women he had slept with, regardless of whether the relationship was serious or merely fleeting. Riza was meant to firmly be in the latter camp, a terrible means to the end for the itch that begged to be scratched. Instead, he had taken her out for breakfast the morning after, and offered her an open invitation for more if she pleased. He has the tendency to take the mile when he’s only meant to have an inch, and in hindsight he was already in too invested in a hookup that should never have happened.

So, it is difficult to not apply the same logic here. He knows Riza well enough to know she’d have no problem in telling him if he were wrong, but the fact that she doesn’t even seem to hesitate at an off-cuff mention of a more distant future with him, and even goes so far as to tease him - Roy knows exactly why his heart is beating in triple time. He deepens the kiss and pulls her close to him; Riza makes a noise of contentment, curling her hands around his neck, fingers burying themselves in his hair.

Her nails scratch pleasantly against his scalp, and Roy hates himself for drawing back after a few blissful moments; even more so when Riza instinctively follows to close the gap. Her blush has abated somewhat, but her lips curve up into a secret smile, full of promises for later.

Instead, she contents herself with leaning back into his chest, rearranging his arms over her; he pulls her firmly against him and she hums in contentment,

“Why are you nervous about us meeting?” Riza asks after a moment. Her confidence in knowing the root of his anxiety is something he’d ordinarily want to pay greater attention to, but -

They’re a lot. Fiercely overprotective to a fault. I was selfish, and we’re dealing with those choices.

The truth is a little simpler than he wants to admit though. “There’s a right way about introducing you to all of them and this holiday wasn’t meant to be about that.”

“What’s the right way then?”

“With a bit more preparation.” He cranes his neck and checks his watch. “She just sent me a text that her plane comes in around four this afternoon.”

Riza twists to see his face, her mouth dropping comically open. “You’d better give me a summarized version then. Good thing I’m a quick study.” She pushes the sunglasses back, catching in her fringe.

He drops a kiss on her temple, guiding her back indoors. “It’ll have to be on the road once we pick up a car.”

When they finally disembark from the ferry with their luggage, Roy thinks they might have been blessed by the gods. In the terminal he can see no familiar faces and he feels himself relax. The company he’s ordered a taxi from on to take them to their lodgings is on the other side of the terminal and sweat is already glistening on his forearms from the heat of the midday sun. In his head, he begins conjuring an outline of how to breakdown who’s who and how to detangle the enormity of his unconventional family. It would take several hours to cover in its entirety and time is not his ally here.

“First things first,” he tells her as they move from the building into the forecourt, following painted yellow strips directing him towards the southern end of the terminal, “I call her my mother but she’s my aunt by blood. When I’m in trouble I’m Roy. When I’m really in trouble I’m boy. Otherwise I’m papito. She might pretend not to understand a lot of Amestrian, but it’s all lies. She just likes to be contrary and difficult because she can.”

“Sounds like someone else I know.”

He scoffs, shaking his head. “Anyway. For the most part we have a good relationship, but she’s never quite forgiven me for leaving Central. She…” he falters here, wondering if it is worth the pain to get this next piece of information out. “I think she took my and Greta’s breakup harder than anybody involved - myself included. She has a bad habit of not thinking before she speaks and I don’t want to put you-”

Riza’s hand covers his on the handle of his luggage and he slows to a halt, looking at her. “You’re very sweet, you know,” she tells him. “I know I haven’t been the most mature in regards to her but-”

“Hablando del rey de Roma.”

That coarse, near nasally call has always carried easily over crowds of people, and in the cavern-like forecourt, it bounces against the nearby walls and sunroof. He looks in the direction beyond Riza - the wrong one, because Chris’s manicured nails-cum-talons dig in sharply into the shell of his ear and pivots his entire body from where he stands to face her. From where she materialized is still unclear to Roy. His sisters titter and crowd around him unhelpfully. He hears several different sentences at once as he receives one hug after another. “You’re looking buff!” “No, he’s looking thin! Do you have eyes?” “You need a haircut!” “We’ve missed you!” “I’ve missed him most!”

Finally, the girls scatter when Chris swats them away and in the same carrying voices tells them, “All right, all right get back.” Her face is serious and grave as she looks at him. It’s that same intimidating face that lectured him when he did something stupid or dangerous or both. Roy doesn’t say anything because he expects the signature arm cross, tapping foot, and demanding to know why hasn’t he called more often?

Instead her arms extend out and up as Roy takes half a step back. “Mi niiiiño!” she sings, an unmistakable happiness in her expression as she grabs his face and kisses each cheek. She hugs him tight and he returns it in kind, shelving the initial skepticism. “How I’ve missed you, papiiito.”

Then she shoves him back and crosses her arms. “Why haven’t you called, boy?”

Ah - there it is.

“I’ve been a little busy…” Not totally untrue, but somehow Roy doubts that will cut the mustard here. “But I should be calling more often.” He looks to the side and Riza, by some miracle, is still there and only a few steps away from him with their luggage. In fact, she has the strangest grin plastered on her face. “But,” he continues, “since you’ve managed to get the drop on me…” Roy walks next to Riza who has suddenly changed in expression as he hugs her from the side. “This is Riza,” he says expectantly and after a moment of only faint chatter from the terminal, he adds. “My girlfriend.”

The girls look at each other and one by one he can see their lips curve upwards into coy smiles. They come closer, prowling like lionesses. The barrage of greetings begin with one at a time hugs and kisses as if handshakes were old fashioned.

“So you’re Elizabeth!” says Sofia.

Riza manages to turn her body to face Roy as she’s passed from one sister onto the next. “Elizabeth?”

“I gave you a code name.”

Her grin is knowing. “So they knew?”

“Some knew.”

“They knew?” Chris asks from the end of their man-made barrier of ladies. “Why is it then that I had to find out through other channels?” She glares between Sofia and Roy.

“Some knew,” Roy insists. “I couldn’t remember who I did and did not tell and you are all in deep shit for not warning me about this.” He inclines his head as subtly as he can in the direction of his mother.

“Roy. Please. You’ve kept Riza from us this entire time! Please, please we want to know everything.” Isabelle says.

Chris urges everyone to be prying banshees in an airconditioned car. It’s a welcome reprieve from the hot midday sun, although the subdued attitude of his mother is unexpected - and worrying.

As well as Sofia and Isabelle, Phoebe and Karina are also a part of the welcome wagon. They crowd around the two of them inside the car, waving off Riza’s protests about wearing seatbelts.

“He hasn’t told us anything about you, you know,” Isabelle laments, tying her long blonde hair into a high ponytail. “All I got told was he was seeing a very pretty woman and if I said anything to Mama we’d never get to meet you at all. So tell me everything - how did you two meet? What do you do? How long has this been going on?”

Riza giggles a little nervously at the onslaught. “Not a terribly exciting story, I’m afraid,” she begins. “I worked in the university library overnights and he would come in and make a mess of the private study spaces. We got to talking after a while and…” she gestures to the scant space between them, “Here we are.”

The disappointment from his sisters is hilarious: they seemingly deflate back into their respective seats, shoulders dropping.

“To be honest though, Roy hasn’t told me much about you guys either. He’s told me your names but it would be nice to finally put faces to them as well.”

It’s a good distraction from the other questions posed - an excellent one, actually; as Riza slowly makes her way through this small fraction of his family. His mother remains quiet, seemingly happy to watch the events unfolding with a curious eye. He lets his mind drift, gaze sliding to the view outside which shifts from the town centre to higher up, wide expanses of yellow-white sandstone spotted into the lush green hills. He fiddles with her hand in his own, and when Karina catches his eye with a knowing smile it’s hard not to beam in response.

The trip goes quicker than expected, much to his relief, but the girls won’t take ‘no’ for an answer when it comes to showing Riza the villa they’ll be staying at with Chris before letting them disappear for the afternoon.

“We’ve had a long trip from East City-” he tries.

Phoebe shoots him a withering look. “We’ve had a long trip from Central too,” she reminds him none-too-gently. “Honestly, when’s the next time you’re going to come around, let alone with Riza in tow? Last time you didn’t even bother to let us know you were in town! You owe us.”

He doesn’t have much of an argument against that, and from her new position being volleyed between his sisters, Riza nods in deferment. She winks at him from across the room, mouthing something he can’t quite make out. He moves to join them; they’ve taken her out to one of the balconies and are pointing out different parts of the island but from behind him -

“Boy,” Chris calls.

Heart sinking, Roy stops in his tracks, and dutifully makes his way back to where his mother sits, overlooking the bay. “Watch her,” he signals to his sisters, and Karina’s fingers flutter in dutiful acquiescence.

With the sun favoring the other side, there are more shadows in the parlor he’s beckoned to. The motherly air to her has vanished and her face is serious. Lips are thinned, her brow entertains no amusement and a hand on her lap and the other propped on the high table she sits next to, expectantly. A seat isn’t offered to him; instead, she nods to the door to make this conversation more private and he complies. It shuts with a soft click and the sounds of excited conversation become muffled and indistinct.

Chris is quiet. He imagines she’s choosing her words, perhaps even predicting his own, and if pensive could be deadly, then she might be the only one in the world who has mastered it. She shifts in her seat, crossing one foot over the other, and her fingers rest on her many rings, twisting them over and over. Until, finally, she takes in a drawn breath.

“What are you thinking?” She asks him. Each word is enunciated and calculated in a low and gravelly tone; a night and day difference from her earlier greeting.

“Well.” He chuckles bitterly. “I’m thinking it’s been a long trip. The weather, the sun, the beach is gorgeous.” He walks towards her and she is unflinching in following his movements. “You’re looking well and the girls look well too.”

“Don’t you play coy with me. You know what I’m talking about, bringing her around here.”

He pulls the accompanying chair out from the table and takes a seat. At this level, the light shifts out of her eyes as if to perpetuate the gravitas of the situation on her behalf. “I’d prefer if you didn’t refer to my plus one like she was a disease. She’s here at my behest, as well as Maes’ and Gracia’s.”

Her only answer is a half-chuckle that sounds somewhere between a hah and a hmph. “My boy, you can prefer, refer, request whatever you want.”

“Then, what’s the problem here?”

“She’s twenty-one, Roy.”

His eyes close as he sighs. His fingers slowly ball into a fist.

“Did it ever occur to you how’d that look? Que va decir la gente? Or rather, what are they already saying? ‘He went off and got someone younger.’” She scoffs, rolling her shoulders back. “I’ve raised you better than that. Think of the example you’re putting on for the girls.”

“It’s more than that, believe me.”

“Ah, si?” She is mocking, sarcastic. She’s daring him to prove her wrong. And she is wrong - he knows this emotionally, more so than anyone else in this room. But no matter which way he would spin it to her, it would still sound the same to her: appearances are everything at home. “How selfish. Ask yourself what your reaction would be if the girls came home with an older man?”

He meets her hard gaze in equal strength. “If you’re wanting to lecture me you can do it another day, I’m not in the mood for it now.”

“No, now is the time since you decided to cut us out from your life when you moved. You are never around anymore and quite frankly I don’t know much of you since you left.” She is measured, near hissing. “Stop thinking with your dick for once, pendejo, and use that brain of yours-”

He pinches the bridge of his nose. His heart rate elevates; he feels it in the constriction of his throat. “Ya, okay?” He swallows the simmering emotion, the telltale prick of budding tears. “I have told you time and time again - endlessly - about why things didn’t work out before.”

“You’ve given me crumbs,” she says unsympathetically. “While she’s given me entire loaves, crying at my doorstep, hoping you would be reasoned with.”

Sighing, he says, “Why can’t you come to terms with this? Respect this decision that was made years ago? Or at the very least, have trust in me that what I have to say has more to do with the truth than whatever fabrications she’s feeding you?

“I’ve told you that relationship was toxic and brought out the worst parts of me. What will it take for you to understand?”

Chris thinks for a moment and it gives Roy the opportunity to release tense muscles that were winding themselves up again from the conversation. “Did you bring her because she’s pregnant?”

A hand runs down his face and mentally he apologises to Riza. “No.”

She hums, intrigued. “Do you love her?”

Yes.

The letters pop in his head; glowing, neon letters illuminating in his mind’s eye. He does not say it. His lips curl in to stop them from giving away the smile at the thought of Riza and love and the warmth that suddenly radiates in his chest. Pensive, he tries not to give any facial cues but his mother knows him far too well and she sighs, letting a hand fall to the table.

“How?” Chris asks, almost exasperated. “Where-” And then that word chokes and dies in her throat because it dawns on her immediately, because Chris Mustang is smart and sharp and where else would he find a woman of Riza’s age to be around him long enough to catch feelings? The color drains from her face watching him as he processes his own revelation - because the only thing more scandalous than this is if she was pregnant. “You were always so, so smart, but also so, so incredibly dumb sometimes, mi amor.

“You are toying with more than just your life here, but permanently with hers.” She gets up from her seat and her words are somber. “Make sure it’s worth it.”

He’s left in the parlor by himself, to his own thoughts; knuckles to his mouth.

The subject of his thoughts enters the room and softly crosses to where he sits. He perks up in his seat and his heart skips a beat. “Hey.”

“Hey,” she greets him; her brows dipped in concern and she takes a seat in Chris’s chair. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, why wouldn’t it be?” It’s a terrible attempt but she humours him nonetheless.

“Because you’re just sitting in here by yourself.”

“I just needed a moment of silence after being ambushed.”

She quickly moves out of her seat. “I can go if-”

Roy grabs her hand to stop her. “Don’t be silly,” he says softly.

She nods, slowly settling back in the chair - hands connected over the table. “What did you two talk about?” she presses after a moment, when he falls silent once more.

“Oh,” he says, stopping the circles he was rubbing on the back of her hand. “She was ripping me a new one for not introducing you earlier, for not calling.”

“What an awful son,” she teases. “And an awful brother from what your sisters were telling me.”

“I should probably go talk to them.”

Riza makes a face. “Actually… I came in here only because they were going to head into town for some food to keep in the house. They figured we would want to get settled first. I may have strongly suggested it. Karina was kind enough to back me up.”

“That’s right. You haven’t even seen the inside of where we’re staying, have you?”

“No, but I imagine it’s like any house with four walls and with rooms.”

He smiles knowingly, standing from his seat and an extending a hand for him to lead her. “Let me show you why I like to leave Amestris.”

With a slight hint of confusion, she takes it. After some quick goodbyes from his sisters - Chris is notably absent - they walk in comfortable silence to just a few houses down where the ocean waves hitting the shores becomes a little bit more audible.

Roy unlocks the door for her and her eyes widen as she takes in a breath.

Riza darts inside, taking quick strides between the rooms, jerking her head back towards where he stands, half-questions-half-incredulous-noises leaving her mouth in a garbled mess.

Yes, Roy splurged this time - but how could he not? There is something intensely satisfying about being able to elicit a reaction like the one she is giving him, to enjoy how she enjoys it. By the standards of his peers this villa might not be the fanciest, nor the most kitted-out, but Roy knows Riza doesn’t care about outward appearances. He chose it for the age and history of the stone walls, for the way it overlooks a portion of the island, and yet remains tucked away from the other villas in the area.

After he moves the luggage into the master bedroom, he asks into the house: “Just four walls with rooms, is it?” When he doesn’t receive a response, he finds her in a sun-filled study on the second floor, skimming through the book spines on the bookshelves.

Her mouth is slightly ajar. “You’re quite the schemer, aren’t you?”

Roy leans on the doorframe, arms crossed and feeling triumphant in his choice. “I’d prefer the word charmer.”

A reluctant grin appears on her face as she turns back to him. “You keep this up and I’ll be effectively spoiled. Surely, you understand that.” Her grin is infectious.

“Then my plan is working.”

She chuckles, shaking her head at him, and that tension from before simply evaporates. “So, schemer-charmer, what’s the itinerary for the day?” She absent-mindedly asks flipping through a book.

“Itinerary? That sounds so severe.” Roy pushes himself off from the door frame; overjoyed when she follows behind him as he opens the windowed white doors to the master bedroom’s balcony.

“You know what I mean…” She trails off and Roy feels his breath leave him from the view too. It truly is stunning - from the ocean to the lush green of the trees, the yellow-white sandstone fortifications bisecting the island cleanly in two. East City had its charms, but San Clavel was a blatant seduction by comparison.

Roy points out, “Now you can ignore me to look at the ocean from here.”

“Stop,” Riza warns playfully, darting her eyes between the ocean and him. “It’s not my fault I’m not well-travelled.” She stretches up on her tiptoes to kiss him - briefly, he supposes, from the way her hands rest only lightly on his chest. But her lips on his creates a tide of emotions Roy doesn’t anticipate. Hands on her hips, he pulls her flush to him, thrilling in the way she grinslaughs against his mouth, relishing in the contended hums from her throat. He is content to be, like this. Truly. Hours could pass, or even days - and yet how he is right now, a little sweaty and overheated, is where he wants to be.

One of his hands slides down over the curve of her arse, inadvertently hiking up the flimsy material of her sundress. His wandering fingers move too lightly against her skin, and she gasps, body instinctively moving away from the ticklish sensation.

She mouths against him “one minute” before ducking into the bathroom and door quietly shutting behind her.

Roy turns back to the balcony and walks out onto it proper, inhaling the sea breeze. The red carnations that dance around the sandstone pillars of the villa greet him as he steps outside. He’s missed this terribly, too. The temperature straddles a certain perfection of warmth with just enough wind to roll off the heat from lingering on his skin. In the distance, the ocean shifts below him, a mesmerising blue that softly crests until it blankets the alabaster coast; its surface is broken into fractals of light from the late afternoon sun, reflecting lazily like pieces of jewels over the water. The view is a welcoming sight and something about it breathes sunshine into his soul.

Years have elapsed since his last visit, and yet, San Clavel seems timeless; untouched by modern architecture common in Amestris and locked in a perpetual season of summer.

The air, the view, and the entire island may have remained static, but change was now a certainty for him. He looks out to the sea now with a different mindset altogether than even just hours before. He is far from the formative years of his youth, and the time he had spent here previously, saturated in alcohol, smoking Clavileño cigars, drunk on overconfidence and basking in his immaturity. Though, now he’s not so sure how much of that has changed.

“Interesting.” He hears behind him. “I can’t tell if you’re brooding or just enamored with the sight.”

A quick smile appears on his face as Riza rests her hands over the stone balustrade. There must’ve been a witty response to her tease but blown away by the wind when he manages to drink in the sight of her in the sundress. From where she stands, the midday sun hits her from behind, encasing her in a halo that filters drown from her hair into the soft white of her dress. There’s still a ghost of a grin on her face, and he’s tempted to bridge that space between them once more to kiss her, to see if the sheer warmth she’s radiating might transfer to him, even if only a little.

If he thought the sunlight on the water was mesmerizing, then the sunlight on her - the sunlight was made for her.

Her hair glows golden as it sways and brushes her pale skin. She puts a hand up to her face to stop her hair from flowing wildly with a squint in one eye. The white dress hugs all the right places and somehow an ethereal aura surrounds her. Roy composes himself, collecting his slightly ajar jaw, and eyes her up and down. “Well, enamored by the sight now.”

She grins at his response. “It’s beautiful out here,” she says finally. “Thank you for bringing me.”

Roy inclines his head in acknowledgement, his fingers drifting over hers; as if on instinct, her hand flips over to meet his, palm to palm. It’s a simple enough gesture, borne from repetition as much as affection. It tugs at his heart in a pleasant way. Tucked away in her words isn’t an I’m sorry, not quite - but an acknowledgement that goes beyond just saying thank you.

“You are very welcome,” he begins, shifting his weight to rest against the balustrade fully, pulling Riza into his space a little more. “This would be nowhere near as fun if you didn’t come.”

Her hands slide up his forearms, over his shoulders and curl loosely around his neck. She smells faintly like his soap and blinks demurely under dark lashes. “You take pleasure in me gawking at things, do you?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time.”

Riza flushes visibly, immediately. There’s an attempt to push away from lightly but he holds her in place and she stays. “All this natural beauty and instead you’d be a slave to your phone, waiting desperately for me wake up.”

“I would be,” he tells her, enjoying how his honesty throws her for a moment. It is the truth. He would’ve still attended - Maes would have had his guts for garters otherwise - but at best he would only stay for a few days, and certainly not make a meal out of this trip, surprise family be damned.

“I’d be very demanding, you know,” Riza tells him matter-of-factly, tongue poking out to wet her lips briefly. “Video calls as soon as I wake up. A million souvenirs. That sort of thing.”

“If that’s your idea of demanding, how about a quick refresher?” Her eyebrow lifts momentarily, urging him to go on. “You storming into my office about a grade? Now that was demanding.”

Scandalized, she says “If I can recall correctly - and I do - there were ulterior motives for that changed grade. It was well warranted given the circumstances.”

Roy adjusts his hands on her hips, the thin material of her sundress rising a little once more as he brings her closer to him. He officially loves this dress. A finger lifts her chin. “I beg to disagree, avecilla. Not that I don��t appreciate the fact that we’re on the same page nine times out of ten, but I’d be a little disappointed if all you asked for was a call. In fact...” He pushes himself up from the balustrade. Riza cranes her neck a little to continue meeting his eyes. It’s perfect for what he wants - his hands leave her hips, and instead cup her jaw fully, thumbs resting against her cheekbones.

Deliberately, he kisses her temple, and then the other. Her eyelids follow, then her cheeks. He intentionally ignores her lips, barely grazing against them as he opts to leave soft, unhurried kisses against every part of her face bar her mouth. Her fingers twist themselves against the shirt he’s wearing.

“You’re mean,” she tells him breathlessly, brown eyes fluttering open after a kiss that skirts the edge of her cupid’s bow. “You never mentioned what’s going on today.” Her voice is barely above a whisper.

“A dinner. Nothing important.” With his mouth brushing against the edge of her lips, he says, “It’s basically tradition to be late to these things anyway.”

“I think you’re lying-” she responds, nearly cut off as he takes her lips onto his own. She tastes sweet as she always has, but the sound from her throat hints at something more mischievous. Any items on any itinerary ever is eviscerated by what is in front of him: Riza, his Riza, in a sundress and slowly eroding what sensibilities he still has left.

“Mi reina… you wound me. I would never,” he answers coyly. The aftershocks of their kiss still thrums on his lips. He feels electric, fizzing with the knowledge - the freedom - that he could have her here, that he could potentially love her here as her fingers grasps his shirt and she gasps over his fingers. She would let him, he thinks, with the way her lips seem to brush against him with the lightest of pressure, barely enough to feel but more than enough to tease. It’s beyond tempting to give into that baser desire, to have her as he wants her; but here he stills, thumbs drifting over her now-flushed skin.

He can feel the words on his lips, waiting to be said. There’s simply so much he wants to say to her, to tell her, divulge in her, that words fail him here. He hasn’t the faintest clue of where to even begin.

“Mi reina?” Riza asks, a flirtatious smile curling her lips upwards. “I guess that would make you ‘my king’, no?” She chews the inside of her lip, thinking. “Mi…”

“Rey.” He finishes for her. He doesn’t usually have a possessive streak a mile wide but for this nickname, Roy might make an exception.

“Quite a promotion you’ve been given, sir.”

Roy chuckles darkly - a reminder that she knows him well too. He tilts her head back slightly, enjoying how her eyes flit between his gaze and his mouth rapidly. “I think it’s deserved. An upgrade from the previous one you gave me.”

Riza swallows, focusing on something beyond his face. “The ones that I..?”

He tilts his own head to the side, to her exposed skin and in between kisses on her neck he tells her, “Back in East City. With your father.”

Understanding crests over her face. “Was I wrong?”

He pulls his head back. “No.”

“Because I happen to like that one,” she tells him, drawing back from his grip after a moment. “Still feels weird saying it though.”

“Then practice.”

Riza’s reply is shot out automatically with only a lick of her lips to prime it. “Make me.”

“Make you?”

She tightens the grip on his shirt, pulling him closer to repeat herself in his ear. “Make me, sir.”

Static screeches in his brain for a moment and he looks at her, amused, and she, so daring as she dons the smallest smirk on her face. “I think you and I both know I can make you say many things.” He breathes out through his nose, slow and deliberate.

“That was then.” She bites her lower lips. “This is now. In a completely different country.”

“Is that right?” A brow flits up in her small act of defiance. His gaze drifts down to the thin straps straps of her dress and looks back at her; blood pounding in his ears. Riza takes a cursory step back and he steps forward. She seems to understand, quick study that she is. Wordlessly, he begins to unbutton his shirt and she never takes her eyes off him as she walks backwards towards the bed. She stumbles a little when her calves hit the edge of the mattress, releasing a tiny gasp, and he takes this opportunistic moment of her distraction to coax her onto the bed.

She moves deeper into the bed on her elbows to give him space to join her, and he does as his belt hits the floor.

There is something deep and dark about how he likes her like this. Riza doesn’t show lust in an overt way: flushed skin, lips a brighter shade of pink, almost entranced when she sees what she wants... or perhaps it is him that’s been entranced by this very look the entire time. One loose strand of hair curls over her shoulder - perhaps by design - and Roy leans in to hungrily kiss her, situated in between her legs; hands roaming up her legs and he feels the goosebumps rise on her skin, under his fingertips. His kisses consume her, drinking greedily from her like a man dying from thirst. The straps of her sundress are pushed to the side as his hands shift up to her neck, thumbs splaying across her pulse point. She’s breathing hard when he pulls back.

“Take it off,” he orders quietly. To elicit a quicker response, his hand dips in between her legs, ghosting over the fabric of her smallclothes. Without needing to ask twice, she sits up and they both work to get the sundress over her head and he helps in freeing her of her bra.

Riza lies back down and is a sight against the sheets. Creamy thighs beckon to him like a ship to wreck, but instead he lets his fingers drift along her torso, up over the bones of her sternum and collarbone. He studies the edges of jawline, committing it to memory, before tracing the outline of her lips with his index finger. She trembles underneath his touch, and whimpers when his other hand slips under her underwear, slipping into slick folds. His fingers are coated in her sex with a single stroke. “Excited, are we?”

“I love a good menacing walk towards me,” she jests, grinning and arching her back as he toys with her.

“Tell me what you want, avecilla,” he murmurs against her lips, barely exerting pressure.

“That would be too easy, sir,” she manages between sighs. Her fingers fumble over the button of his trousers and he takes satisfaction in the fact that he’s reduced her to this state: hips gyrating in the hopes of some change in tension. She brings her palm to her forehead, mouth open and gasping.

His hand pulls back from her completely.

Riza opens her eyes in curiosity, concern or both and his fingers tug at the edge of her underwear. Her hips move up carefully to help him remove them: first through one leg and then on the other, he holds her leg as he glides it off her, kissing her calf gently.

“You have to tell me what you want. I could have you on your back and fuck you so slowly you’ll be begging me to let you come. Or should I eat you out instead, or fuck you so hard into the bed that everyone at dinner will know exactly what you’ve been doing and not just because you’ll be walking funny? Or if you really want, do all of the above and not recover until tomorrow?”

His fingers place her leg down with delicate care next to him. “But until then, we won’t start.”

“Fuck you,” she manages in a sigh.

“Clearly. But how?” He moves in closer to her again and she watches him inch closer to her face. He closes his eyes, mouth hovering over her lips just so that they brush against each other as he speaks again, softer this time. At this distance he can feel the heat of her skin under his. “Avecilla, you have to tell your boyfriend how you want him to fuck - you.”

-------

They finally arrive when the sun is melting into the ocean; its bright orange remnants are painted across the sea and gives everything else a deep red-orange hue.

Roy takes a moment to survey the view before him. Aerugo on a good day really didn’t disappoint, and San Clavel was certainly no exception to that rule. Despite the earlier heat of the day, it was getting cooler now and out of instinct he pulls Riza closer when she rubs her arm from a wandering breeze that passes through.

Riza hums in gratitude, casting a quick complementary glance at him, before she’s pulled back again to admiring the venue. It’s a converted battlement: the familiar white sandstone forms a parapet overlooking the eastern side of the bay, before dropping down into a garden seemingly overgrown with roses in every shade and hue of red. Beyond is where most of the party guests are congregating, on a raised terrace that hugs a large hall. The exterior is covered in dark green ivy, looking classically timeless rather than unruly.

Strings of fairy lights guide them towards the center of the terrace with a view of the sea, no doubt intending to create a glowing effect when the day’s light was finally extinguished. Soft, instrumental music plays from a quartet tucked away somewhere - a vast change from the stereo system and an mp3 player playlist manned by one of the cousins - behind round tables topped with plates and silverware and intricate flower arrangements for centerpieces. They are decorated with pristine white cloths that blow lightly with the breeze and the chatter around is light and pleasant.

Riza shivers again and she scoffs. “I think I underestimated how cool it would get.”

“Do you want me to go back for your cardigan?”

“No, don’t be silly. You can’t leave me alone with these people.” She points an index finger at him. “Not again.”

“They’re not so bad.”

She looks away with a noise that neither affirms of contradicts his statement. Roy grabs her hands, looking down at her with a smile. “I can understand that you’re anxious, but I’d also like this to be for us. It’s not every day we can do this without looking behind our backs and I have to say, I’m a little excited for it.”

Riza looks down to where he’s rubbing circles over the back of her hand and she laces her fingers with his, squeezing. “You’ve been giving this a lot of thought?”

“Have you not?”

She grins and turns away slightly like she does when she’s been caught red-handed. “It might’ve crossed my mind once or twice, yes.”

He smiles back at her and nods over to the bar set up from a market stand. “Then why don’t you go get yourself something? If not for the nerves but to help with warming you up.”

Her eyes narrow suspiciously. “You’re being awfully thoughtful today.”

“As if I’m ever not.” He pivots her shoulders as she cracks a laugh and he waves her on.

She hesitates for a moment, turning her head back towards him. “What do you want?”

He takes pleasure in making a meal out of admiring her; the affected way her gait has changed for the moment more than anything else. As if she could read his mind, Riza blushes a deep red. “Surprise me,” he tells her finally.

Roy watches as she disappears into the small crowd. It’s later than the start time but true to fashion, people are still trickling in. Some greet him with a courteous hug and a kiss on the cheek but thankfully, no one stays for a proper conversation as they make their way to the stars of this whole event.

Maes and Gracia stand near the parapet with a group of people around them. They are positively glowing in spite of the backdrop of the deepening sunset. Elicia is the most entertaining part of that picture, however - for every kiss and hug that’s transferred between the adults above her, Roy watches as she demands her own set. Maes is dutiful to the point of smothering, and her squeals of protest about his scratchy beard carry far over the gardens.

It’s a far cry from the family he knew three years ago, and he couldn’t be prouder of them for what they’ve endured and risen up from. He’d never tell the two of them out loud for fear of Maes’ ego never recovering to a normal size, but if he could get something even close to what they had found in each other, he’d consider himself lucky; amongst valued peers and someone to share successes and trials with.

Part of him thinks he may have found it; a smaller part of him whispers that he’s been wrong before. He’s even less sure about how to even approach the topic with her: they haven’t discussed it in any serious capacity and he’s loathe to bring it up in a space where she isn’t on equal footing with him.

The conversation with his mother from earlier floats to the forefront of his mind.

Large, neon-colored letters. Yes.

Maybe he was overthinking it. Maybe it really was that simple.

Behind him, he can hear approaching footsteps and the warmth in his chest reemerges as her hands wrap around his torso. Contently, teasingly, he says, “I thought you were going to bring me a surprise.” His last word is tapers off in emotion and volume as he notices the contrasting difference in skin tone on the arms around him. The breeze picks up once more, carrying a fragrance from a guiltier time. The warmth ices and turns into a quick-drop feeling of dread from his throat to his gut.

She doesn’t resist when he jerks himself out of the embrace, but her dark eyes are still locked on him, amused. Hand on her hip, she stands there in a red dress complimenting her deep, sun-kissed skin and dark loose ringlets of hair; the matching blood-red lips curl up into a self-satisfied smirk.

Greta sighs dramatically. “I am the surprise.”

#royai #roy mustang #riza hawkeye #fma au #Fullmetal Alchemist #royai fanfiction #basically the notes are that ANA IS COMING TO SEE ME YALL #AND THAT WE ARE ON A 90 DAY COUNTDOWN UNTIL THEN.#which means we'll be working through may i feel in that time and hopefully seeing its end #as this is the final arc and no sequels are planned #thank you so much to everyone who has been with us along the way <#yall have made this amazing <3333 #*may i feel #*shine

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byuneebuns · 6 years

Text

Hot Toddy (Requested)

Anonymous said: Hello! I just left a tip for you because your writings are so good and well thought out. I was wondering if I could request a scenario or something where the reader is comforting Jooheon because he isn’t feeling the most confident and they end up having sex due to all the love in the air. 😂😭 I find that to be the most romantic and intimate thing. Thank you! And I look forward to part two of the series with Jiho. 😭❤️

Jooheon x Female Reader

Rated: M for Smut

Tags: NSFW, Smut, Fluff, Mild Praise

Author’s Note: Thank you endlessly for the kind words, the request, and the tip ;A; ♡ This was fun to write and I love Jooheon soooo much, I hope that I did him justice and I really, really, really hope that you like it!!!

Now I have to try my best to look at him when a straight face and not think about this fic when I meet him in a few weeks skjfbsjkfbs.

“Jooheon, we have to go! You still aren’t ready?” You leaned against the doorframe and sighed when you saw Jooheon’s limp form on his bed. He was faced away from you but you could see the steady rise and fall of his breathing silhouetted against the legion of white flurries dancing outside of his window.

You strode briskly over to him, brushing off the few stray snowflakes that had managed to cling to your hair, and shook his shoulder roughly.

“I’m awake. I just don’t want to go.”

You tried to pull him onto his back so you could see his face but he was faster than you, pulling his blanket over his head at lightning speed and leaving only a few tufts of his black hair sticking out from the top.

You sighed again, exasperated, running a hand through your hair and glancing at your wristwatch anxiously.

“Joohoney, what’s wrong? We really have to get going soon. The roads are getting bad and I’ll get in trouble if we’re late again, so will you please talk to me so I can try to help?” You said softly, smoothing your black smock dress and adjusting your thigh high socks before sitting beside him and rubbing soothing circles into the idol’s muscular back through his blanket, grateful for his body heat as you adjusted from the bitter temperature outside.

You’d been styling Jooheon since debut and you still couldn’t help chuckling over the enormous difference between his appearance and his personality.

You could still remember the nervousness you felt when you were introduced to him all of those years ago like it was yesterday. You were expecting the typical male idol, tall and thin with sculpted features. You were shocked, to say the least, when instead you were being introduced to a tall scowling man instead.

He was, of course, breathtakingly handsome. Just not in the way you expected.

His eyes were narrow and slanted and topped by low, sharp brows. His face was broad and undeniably masculine despite his full cheeks and pouty lips.

It didn’t take long for you to realize that the intimidation ended there and that Jooheon was actually just a giant marshmallow. You’d grown very close in the years you’d been styling him and he often came to you first with problems. You’d learned he was actually a very self-conscious guy and you were always first in line to remind him of how great he was when he was feeling down on himself, which is exactly what you expected was going on right now.

There was no resistance this time as you pulled the blanket from him and turned him over to face you. His eyes were puffy and his cheeks were splotchy.

“What have you been doing? You look like a mess.” You questioned, patting his swollen cheek gently.

“Your hand is cold. I always look like a mess.” He huffed, his voice scratchy.

“Now we both know that isn’t true, but when you spend a bunch of time crying you’re bound to look a little worse for wear afterwards. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up and ready for the photoshoot, okay?”

You pulled an unenthusiastic Jooheon into a sitting position, trying to contain the blush blooming on the apples of your cheeks when you saw he was only wearing boxers. You’d seen him in that little plenty of times but it still never failed to make your heart skip a beat, if anything knowing his personality only made him more fatally attractive.

“I brought my kit with me so I can just do everything from here, okay? When you didn’t show up I figured something must have happened. Do you want to tell me about it?” You asked as you finger combed his bedhead into a more tamable shape.

“Hmm, that feels so nice.” He hummed in reply, leaning into your touch and igniting the flames on your cheeks again.

“I’m sorry for troubling you. I just...I saw some bad comments online and-”

“Jooheon, what have I told you about paying attention to that nonsense?” You asked, a hint of your former exasperation breaking through your voice. The things people said about idols behind the shield of their computer monitor were downright disgusting and it broke your heart every time that you had to spend time picking up the pieces of Jooheon’s shattered ego because of it.

“I know,” Jooheon sighed, “I know that I shouldn’t let it get to me. I just...sometimes...when I see myself I don’t see anything worth liking either.” He trailed off, staring at his lap in shame.

“Joohoney, how can you say that? Is your eyesight getting worse? Don’t see anything worth liking? Do you want me to tell you what I see?” You whispered, still stroking his hair.

You placed your other palm on his cheek, turning him to face you fully before it joined it’s twin in his hair, massaging his temples with your thumbs.

“I see a smart, kind, talented, and excessively handsome rapper, dancer, singer, writer, and human being. I see someone that too many people wish that they could be. Someone that should always be proud of themselves. Someone that works so incredibly hard and is always willing to go the extra mile for the people in his life. Beyond someone worth liking, I see someone worth admiring. I see someone that I feel thankful to know, and someone that I lo-”

You cut yourself short, trailing off and refusing to finish what you’d almost blurted out in a moment of passion, cheeks blazing anew.

Jooheon’s eyes were locked on yours, somehow shining brightly despite the dim lighting.

“You really mean all of that?” He asked so softly that you scarcely believed he’d spoken at all, still not taking his eyes from you.

“Every word.”

Your body froze when his lips met yours. His touch was feather light, his mouth only barely ghosting over yours with your hands still tousled in his hair.

As swiftly as it happened it ended, and Jooheon’s eyes were almost comically wide as he slowly pulled away from you.

Before he could say anything you were pulling him back, with only enough force that the slightest resistance would have stopped you, and pressing your lips together with his again.

He stayed this time, his hands clumsily finding their way to your cheeks, his thumbs absent-mindedly stroking them while your lips moved together slowly.

His large hands mapped the expanse of your body while you lazily made out until they reached your hips. He tugged at them, pulling you into his lap where you wrapped your legs around his waist to draw him as close as possible.

Your unbroken kiss swallowed the gasp that escaped your lips when his growing erection brushed against your clothed center, eliciting a growl from him in return.

It was like a switch had been flipped and suddenly your kisses were fast, sloppy, and growing in urgency. Your teeth nipped at each other’s lips, your tongues exploring each other eagerly.

His swollen cock was pressing into your clit and whether subconsciously or not he had started rolling his hips into you, desperate for more friction. You could feel your panties starting to stick to you from the slick growing between your legs and you were panting now, clinging to his shoulders for dear life with shaking hands while he moved against you, deep moans tumbling from his lips, his hands holding fast to your hips.

“Fuck, Jooheon,” You gasped, breathless, when he suddenly attached his lips to your neck, sucking down harshly, “Baby, you’re so sexy.”

Jooheon’s lips left your neck with a soft pop and you could feel a gentle throbbing from where he had certainly left a mark.

You untangled your legs from his waist and pulled away from him. His hands found yours and held them fast, fighting to keep you close while he watched you with confusion swimming in his eyes.

You pulled him towards the edge of the bed and he reluctantly followed, his legs swinging over the side as he watched you with apprehension.

“We don’t have to do this if you don’t want to. I’m sorry, I don’t know what came over me.” He whispered, the perceived rejection making him shy.

“Jooheon...I just want to make you feel good.”

He watched you drop to your knees on the floor in front of him with astonishment, lifting his hips eagerly when your fingers started to pry at the waistband of his boxers.

His cock sprang free, slapping his stomach with a soft thud. Your mouth watered when you saw it. You knew he was well-endowed but he just looked so...enticing. His pupils were blown out and you could see how much harder he was breathing as he watched you.

Pre-cum was already glistening on the head and you couldn’t resist leaning forward and eagerly planting a few kitten licks along the tip, shuddering when you felt him twitching at the contact.

“Stop teasing me, baby.” He growled from above you.

You ran your hands up his legs, relishing every sharp inhale and shudder he made as you inched closer to where he wanted you.

When your hands finally met your mouth you pulled away to admire him once again, running your closed fist along his length, pulling a groan from him and feeling yourself growing wetter by the second, ruining your panties beyond repair.

“So perfect.” You said in a hushed tone that was nearly drowned out by Jooheon’s labored breaths. He was watching you so intently while you pumped his dick in your hands, like he was trying to commit each movement to memory.

You leaned forward again, giving his tip a final squeeze before you replaced the pressure from your palm with your mouth.

You flicked your tongue along the underside of his length over and over while you sucked his cock like your life depended on it, one of your hands massaging his balls and the other gripping his thigh tightly.

Jooheon was leaning back on his hands, his head thrown back, gasps and moans pouring from his mouth indiscriminately.

“F-fuck, baby girl, your mouth feels so good.” He said through labored breaths, one of his hands abandoning its duty to keep him upright and instead snaking itself at the base of your neck and gripping your hair tightly, forcing you to take all of him.

You whimpered, tears pricking at the corners of your eyes from how large he was, the vibrations making him buck against your throat as he started losing himself to pleasure.

“I’m so close.”

His words were stilted and punctured by moans, as if to confirm the truth of what he said.

You swirled your tongue along him one final time before withdrawing. You pulled your dress over your head and slid your soaking panties off, leaving your tall socks and bra in place, and reclaimed your seat on his lap.

Your original intention was to let him finish in your mouth but you couldn’t take it anymore, you were so beside yourself with need.

“Is this okay?” You whispered. He was already lined up at your entrance and it took every ounce of self-control in your possession to wait for him to respond before sinking onto his throbbing, waiting cock.

“Yes.” He breathed, his eyes fluttering shut as he finally entered you.

You both stayed still for a few moments so you could adjust before you started moving. Jooheon’s hands were holding your hips steady, guiding you, while you rode him at a snail’s pace, not wanting to rush after how close he’d been to release only moments ago.

The rhythmic, albeit glacial, pace you’d set somehow seemed to amplify the feeling of Jooheon’s thickness dragging along your walls and brushing your g-spot, you could already feel your legs starting to shake with the promise of your orgasm.

“Joohoney...you’re so beautiful. You feel so good.” You whispered, hiding your face in the crook of his neck in embarrassment. He wrapped his arms around you tightly, holding you to his chest, merely humming in response.

His hands started guiding a bit more forcefully than before, his hips raising to meet your own in an attempt to go deeper and faster. You obliged, trying to match the new pace he was setting. His impatience won out and you found yourself being flipped onto your back with him still inside of you.

“I want to make you feel good, too.” He murmured, his voice huskier than you remembered it, his eyes sparkling with apparent adoration.

Before you could answer he was already rolling his hips into you with far better deliberate precision than you could have hoped to achieve. He groped you through the simple black bra you’d neglected to remove and shoved it to the side to free one of your breasts, which he immediately took in his grip, rolling your sensitive nipple in his fingers, heightening the sensations you were already in danger of drowning in.

His fingers abandoned your nipple and found your clit instead, sending jolts of pleasure through you and pushing you even closer to the edge.

“That’s it, baby. Cum for me.” He moaned, his eyes flitting between your face contorted in ecstasy and where his thick cock was disappearing in your tight pussy. He was slamming into you with renewed vigor now, the circles he was rubbing into your clit getting faster and faster.

The room felt like it was spinning when you finally felt your walls convulsing around him and warm liquid drip down your thighs. Jooheon’s grunts and moans were growing louder and more desperate as he followed suit, spilling himself inside of you and mixing your juices with his.

His arms gave out to exhaustion and he fell on top of you, peppering your neck with light kisses. You raised your arm to absent-mindedly stroked his soft hair, smiling contentedly, your other hand seeking out his hand and entwining your fingers together.

The sound of your text message tone broke the peaceful silence and you wiggled your way towards the nightstand where you’d abandoned it, somehow managing to retrieve it despite Jooheon still being on top of you.

Your mind was already racing, formulating excuses for how late you both were, glancing out the window to see if the car being stuck in the snow was plausible, when you slid the text open and breathed an enormous sigh of relief.

Don’t bother coming to the shoot, power outage on the whole block. Taking the boys out for lunch, you two can meet us here if Jooheon is feeling better.

You read the message aloud, giggling as Jooheon rolled over onto his side and pulled you into him, nuzzling you affectionately while he held you in a vice-like grip.

“Tell her sorry, I’m still not feeling too great and I need a lot more cheering up.”

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sofreakinmanyfandoms · 5 years

Text

November 14 - We’re Gonna Go Flirt with Superheroes

Some important notes:

1. Thank you to my amazing friend Dean for letting me use their delightful self as a character in this fic. You may all be jealous that I actually know this person.

2. Because Dean does not have the cleanest of language, this fic has significantly more swearing than anything else I've posted here. I still only put half as much language as normally spews from their mouth. Love you, babe.

3. I've never actually been to a hipster bar and it's been years since I've been to Portland. Please forgive me for any obvious errors.

4. I normally shy away from describing the reader too much, but honestly? I needed this. I needed to explore a bit what it's like being straight but looking gay, because while it's nothing compared to what the LGBT+ community goes through, it's something I get a lot of grief for from my conservative Christian extended family. I needed a fic where the main girl has short hair, okay? Okay.

Thanks for letting me vent myself in this fic.

Word count: 2416

Warnings: Language, mentions of cheating, if you’re homophobic you’ll hate this one so go suck an egg

Pairing: Bucky Barnes X short haired!hipster!Reader

“Ah, Portland,” Sam said with a sigh, looking around at the bar that was definitely owned by someone very hipster. “Remind me again why we’re here?”

“It was the closest city with the material Stark needs to fix the jet,” Steve reminded him. “He’ll have it ready by morning and we’ll be on our way back to the compound.”

“Friends,” Thor declared cheerily, throwing his arms around their shoulders, “despite our transport’s destruction, we have won a great victory this day! Let us celebrate, even if your Midgardian drinks are weaker than mother’s milk.”

Bucky followed behind them, feeling out of place as he took in the décor. The floor and ceiling were concrete, but the walls had been coated in what looked like disassembled pallets with wooden booths build out of the walls. The free-standing tables were giant spools and he was pretty sure no two chairs in the whole building matched. Whoever had been in charge of decorating had even taken the chalkboard menu trope to the extreme, making the whole wall behind the bar a blackboard instead of just hanging one up. Everything was decked out in old – sorry, “recycled” – netting and buoys, presumably ones that had seen actual use based on their condition. Also, Bucky had never seen so much flannel in his life.

He settled into a booth with Sam as Steve and Thor went to get their drinks. The other man was looking around, a determined expression on his face.

“Here’s where we get to the hard part,” Sam whispered to him. “Now we’ve gotta figure out which women are gay and which are just fashionable.

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows at his friend. “I don’t understand.”

Sam leaned back and nodded to the bar. “Well, normally you see a woman in skinny jeans, a plaid flannel, and a beanie? She’s a lesbian. But we’re in Portland, where that’s everyone’s style, so it gets harder. Like the chick on the end of the bar? Pixie cut, slouchy beanie, band tee that’s probably for some local group her friend is in under her open flannel, black jeans that look painted on, and totally ignoring the prime male specimens currently ordering our drinks in favor of her cell phone? Definitely gay. But that chick over there,” he subtly pointed to a nearly identically-dressed girl, shorter and with longer hair, who had definitely noticed Steve and Thor’s presence, “is either straight or bi. I can work with either of those.”

Snorting at his friend’s explanation, Bucky flashed a quick look back at the woman at the end of the bar. Sam was probably right. Too bad; she was beautiful, and he wouldn’t have minded getting to know her better.

----------

You sighed at your phone and shifted on your seat at the end of the bar. Your friend was late again; they were always late. According to the text chain you were receiving nearly non-stop, they were also probably already drunk, not that that was surprising anymore.

“Come on, Dean,” you muttered under your breath. “I need you here before he shows up.”

Five minutes later, your friend stumbled through the door, giggling madly at, well, you didn’t want to know what. They stumbled their way over to you and collapsed onto a stool.

“Why are we here?” Dean immediately began complaining. “I stick out like a sore thumb. I’m more goth than hipster, you know that.”

“We’re here because I nanny for the owner part-time so the drinks are free,” you pointed out, rolling your eyes. “You know fully well that any place becomes your scene when you don’t have to pay for alcohol.”

“True,” Dean replied with another giggle. “I didn’t have to pay at the last place either, because I’m fucking hot. Three guys and two girls bought me drinks.”

“Aaand, that’s it, you’re cut off for the night,” you sighed, asking the bartender for a coffee for your definitely drunk friend. “You did kill your makeup tonight, though. It looks great.”

“Damn right it does,” they slurred. “Hey, how come you didn’t tell me? I’d have gotten here a hell of a lot sooner if you’d told me there were Avengers in the building.”

You followed your friend’s line of sight to where there were in fact four members of the Avengers seated in a booth.

“Oh… I didn’t notice them.”

Dean scoffed and gave you that knowing look that you really hated. “You got lost in your phone again, didn’t you? Just in case he showed up.” The blush on your face was enough of an answer. “Damn it, woman, he’s a fucking asshole who never deserved you and I’d have killed him already if you weren’t so fucking concerned with whether or not things are legal.” They downed the rest of their coffee with a grimace and pushed themselves off the bar, grabbing for your hand. “Come on. We’re gonna go flirt with superheroes.”

Your eyes widened in horror. “Oh no. I am not going to talk to the Avengers with you while you’re drunk.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as they looked at you. “Then you have to promise me you’ll sing karaoke tonight. You haven’t done it since that bastard criticized your voice, and I miss hearing it. You’re fucking good, and you let that fucking moron rob us all of your beautiful songbird-ness.”

“I hope you realize how drunk you sound.”

“Do we have a deal or not? Because if I’m going to give up a shot at fucking Thor, it had better be for a good reason.”

You sighed. Your friend was always stubborn like this. “Fine, we have a deal.”

“Awesome! I get to pick your song.”

“Aw, hell, no…”

----------

Your ex showed up right before karaoke started as he always did.

“Look at the smug asshole,” Dean muttered into the drink they’d somehow managed to get despite your best efforts. They put on a comically feminine voice and mimicked, “I must sing every chance I get, for my voice is God’s gift to mankind and to deprive people of the joy of listening to it would be blasphemy of the highest fucking order!”

“Dean,” you sighed, “please behave. You’ve already gotten me to agree to singing again. You don’t need to start a scene with him, too.”

“I should cut off his fucking dick for cheating on you.”

Because you knew Dean, you were concerned they meant it. “Don’t. He did me a favor, helping me realize he wasn’t worth it. Now, did you sign me up for karaoke already, or do I need to do it?”

The grin they flashed you was even more concerning when paired with how much they’d had to drink. “I signed us both up. After you sing your mystery song – yes, you’ll have enough of an intro to figure out what it is and come in on time, they put the lyrics up anyway, you’ll be fine – I’ll blow your performance out of the water with a spectacular rendition of ‘Bang, Bang.’ Your ex won’t know what hit him.”

“I’m sure he won’t,” you said dryly, only to be horrified when your name was called first as karaoke started.

Dean laughed at the glare you threw them. “Go blow them all away with your magical voice, darling!”

“Y/N,” the bar’s owner said into his mic when you stepped up on stage. “It’s been far too long, m’lady! Ladies and gentlemen, for the first time in a few months, it’s the lovely Y/N singing ‘Shake It Off’!”

“Really, Dean?” you asked, picking up your mic. “All the songs in the world to choose from and that’s the one you picked for me?” The regulars laughed at your teasing as Dean raised their beer in salute. Almost before you had a moment to collect yourself, the music was off and you could feel your ex studying you from his seat near the back with his new woman draped across him. You shut him out of your mind and focus and launched yourself into the song, determined to have fun even if you weren’t really drunk enough to do a Taylor Swift song for karaoke.

----------

Bucky hadn’t been paying attention to much other than his beer until the karaoke started. Their booth was set up at the perfect spot for watching the stage, and he chided himself for the way his heart jumped when you stepped on stage.

“Really, Dean?” you joked, shooting a look at your friend who did not look like – he? She? Bucky couldn’t tell which – would be interested in hanging out in a bar like this. Then you took a deep breath and wow, your whole demeanor changed as you started singing. It was like the song took over you and you had an entirely different energy about you.

“I go on too many dates, but I can’t make ‘em stay,” you sang, and Bucky watched you work the stage, using the mic stand to your theatrical advantage even as you held the mic in your hand. He’d say you were hamming it up for the crowd, but there was something about your performance that said maybe some of the words were hitting a little too close to home for you to be too flippant with them.

“My ex man brought his new girlfriend,” and he didn’t miss the way your eyes flickered to a couple in the back. “And to the fella over there with the hella good hair, why don’t you come on over baby? We can shake, shake, shake.”

He almost choked on his beer, because he could swear that during that last line you had looked over and winked at him in a very “I’m not a lesbian and I want to climb you like a tree” type way. Bucky’s eyes quickly flickered to Sam to see if the other man caught it, but if he had, he wasn’t giving any indication of it.

It had to have been the performance, right? You were just working the audience. When the song ended, he made sure to applaud, and soon your friend (Dean, the announcer called them) was on stage singing like they were, well, as hammered as they looked.

----------

“Come ooooonnnn,” Dean whined, tugging on your sleeve. “Y/N, they’re in town and they’re in this bar and Thor’s so hot I’m surprised I don’t have a sunburn yet. I can’t talk to them alone. Come flirt with me.”

Your friend wasn’t going to give up anytime soon, so you slammed back the rest of your drink and stood.

“Fine,” you said, “but if you look like you’re going to puke on an Avenger at any point I’m dragging you home.”

“Yay!” they cheered, immediately pulling you over to their table and sliding into the booth next to Thor. “Hello, gentlemen of the Avengers. My name is Dean, I’m genderfluid and pansexual and would gladly climb any of you. This is Y/N and she’s a straight prude but if you give her enough alcohol you might be able to get a nice make-out session with her.”

You groaned and rubbed your face with your hand. “Sorry for my friend here. They passed merely being drunk an hour before karaoke started.”

“Pleasure to meet you both,” Captain America (YOU WERE TALKING TO CAPTAIN AMERICA?!?) said. “I’m Steve, and this is Bucky, Sam, and Thor.”

“Hi, Thor.” Dean batted their eyelashes and you choked back a snerk.

Bucky pushed at Sam and the two slid a little further back in the booth, making space for you to sit next to the soldier. He motioned to the seat and you slid next to him hesitantly.

“Sorry for interrupting your evening,” you apologized quietly, although Dean had long since tuned you out in favor of attempting to seduce the god of thunder. “Dean gets an idea their head and I’m basically stuck along for the ride.”

“It’s no problem,” Sam said smoothly. “I do have one question, though. Are you really straight?”

You couldn’t help but laugh, and Bucky thought that might be the nicest sound he’d ever heard. “Yes, I’m really straight. Most people are surprised, but my sense of style wasn’t enough to keep jerks from hitting on me so I got a haircut and fell in love with the style. It’s let me fly under the radar a lot more frequently, which is nice.”

“I can’t imagine how,” Bucky said, a blush creeping up his cheeks. “You’re beautiful.”

Before you could thank him, a voice to your left made you freeze.

“Y/N.”

Dean’s attention was snapped away from Thor and they stared down your ex. “Listen, asshole –”

“Dean.” You held up a finger to stop your friend before they made too much of a scene before entirely turning to your ex. “What do you want, Daniel?”

“It’s free karaoke time,” he crooned, ignoring how unwanted he obviously was. “I thought maybe we could do a duet together, for old time’s sake?”

You affixed him with a glare that would whither a plant. “Why on earth would I want to be reminded of our time together?”

That seemed to shake his confidence a bit. “I’m just being friendly,” he snapped.

“You don’t know how to just be friendly. We’re over, Daniel, so get over it already. If you really wanted me, you wouldn’t have cheated.”

“I believe you heard the lady,” Thor cut in before Daniel could reply. “She wishes for you to leave her alone, and I suggest you abide by her wishes.

For the first time he seemed to notice who you were sitting with, and he sulked off back to his date.

“Well,” Sam broke the silence that had fallen over the table, “I’m guessing that relationship being over is a good thing?”

You nodded. “Thank you,” you told Thor. “I appreciate the support.”

“Anytime, m’lady.”

----------

“Do you want to talk about it?” Bucky asked you softly a few minutes later when you had yet to join the table’s renewed conversation.

You shook your head. “He was a jerk who cheated on me so I got out. It was a long time ago.”

“How could anyone throw away someone like you?”

The earnest way he said it made you blush.

“His loss,” you whispered shyly.

Bucky only paused a moment before asking, “Could I make his loss my gain?”

“I’d like that,” you said with a smile. “I’d like that very much.”

#30 days of avengers one shots #bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #Winter Soldier #reader #reader insert #portland #portland oregon #hipster #bar #karaoke #taylor swift #language #fic #fanfic #fanfiction #masterlist #i still suck at tagging

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eddiesrichie · 7 years

Text

You Snuck Up On Me

Just a little reddie fic. It’s really cute I swear. please read >.>

warnings: um nothing really just kissing

Age: Eleven

Richie uses his pointer finger to push his newly bought glasses back up his nose. He speed walks out of his classroom, racing to the door. He dodges Henry and his goons, choosing to focus on his escape from the school and to his friends. He shuffles down the stairs, and he catches a quick sight on Bill. He scrunches his face when he sees a stranger talking to Bill, and he looks the boy over. He was wearing a pink shirt with short brown shorts. His jaw drops without his permission at the abominable sight of a black garment wrapped around the smaller boy’s waist. The words fall through his lips before he can think it over.

“A fanny pack? Who wears a fucking fanny pack?”

Challenging chocolate brown eyes meet his gaze, and Richie raises an eyebrow. “It’s perfect for holding condoms. Tell your sister I got the right size this time.”

Richie gawks at the shorter boy in front of him, who has a smirk plastered on his lips. His eyes dig into Richie, not at all intimated by someone he doesn’t know, or the attitude of said person he doesn’t know. Richie is at a loss of words, left to stare right back at the boy. It feels like he’s been struck. He’s always been known as ‘trashmouth’ due to the fact that he doesn’t necessarily hold back to what he has to say. He’s the first to call someone out. He’s filled to the rim on his glasses with jokes and smartass comments. ‘It’s a gift’ he’s used to telling his friends, since nine out of ten things he gets in response includes them saying ‘shut up’. He’s known for it, and he’s always been proud of his role within the group.

So, the fact that he not only didn’t get something that wasn’t ‘shut up’ or silence, but he actually got a pretty impressive comeback. It has something spiraling in his stomach, heat rising in his cheeks to cause them to gain a pink hue. His body feels numb all over, and his mouth is impossibly dry.

“Th-This is my fri-friend, Rich-“

“Richie,” the taller boy introduces, interrupting Bill. He brings his hand out to make it formal. “Please, call me Richie.”

The other boy flinches at the limb splayed in front of him, and Richie feels slightly hurt and self-conscious. What was wrong with his hand? He washed his hands after lunch. Did he get the atmosphere wrong? Was this kid uptight and think he’s all that?

He watches anxiously as the boy suddenly reaches into his fanny pack and pulls a blue and red pill. He swallows it with the help of a water bottle that he hadn’t noticed before. He chooses to ignore that for now.

He starts to pull his arm back to his side, depressed at the idea that the one person he was actually interested in getting to know was actually first class trash.

But then, his hand is grabbed with a slightly smaller, yet firm hand. “Eddie. You can call me Eddie.”

A smile breaks out on Richie’s face, and he doesn’t remember even trying to smile. “Alright, Eds. Nice to meet you. Say, what’s with the pill popping? May pull a Michael Jackson.”

“I have to take this medication for when I see such ugly fuckers.”

And it’s on.

Age: Thirteen

A sharp, familiar cry bursts in the broken down shack. Layers of pure terror and fear are laced in the painful shout, and it causes Richie’s chest to tighten extremely.

“Eddie!” Richie shouts in response. He’s set in autopilot, fumbling through the house’s maze to get to his friend. He hears echoing steps behind him, signaling him that Bill was right behind him. Richie pays him no mind, legs set on bringing him to wherever Eddie was.

He dashes into the room, and he gasps at the horrific sight of the infamous clown. His gloved white hand is on Eddie’s face, and Richie forms fists with his hands.

“Eddie!” Richie calls out. Pennywise talking to Bill is background noise, and a shiver rolls down his spine when Eddie looks at him through the clown’s fingers. Fear drenches the shorter boy’s face, and it angers Richie not having the ability to get to him. He wants nothing more than to comfort him. The fact that Eddie could very well bring himself into an asthma attack has him thinking about racing over to him, running towards the danger for him.

He jumps and screams when Pennywise comes running at them, moving in nonhuman ways. He clutches onto Bill, ready to face his fate. He screams in fear with Bill as Pennywise gets within reach.

Richie jumps with a shout when suddenly a pole is sticking in the clown’s white head. He grimaces at the gruesome sight of inhumanly sharp, yellow teeth and scary yellow and red eyes now pointing in different directions. It’s obvious that the impale wasn’t life-taking, since he was still standing menacingly and laughing at them.

Richie takes one more look at the clown before racing around the creature. He is down on his knees with one hand on Eddie’s broken arm with the other caressing the wounded boy’s face. “Fuck, Eddie, told you you have the coordination of a baby deer.”

“The leper pushed me, dipshit!”

“Whatever you say, Eds,” Richie taunts back with his usual nickname for the other boy. Eddie scowls at him, but doesn’t retract from Richie’s touch. Richie only gets a moment to investigate Eddie’s broken arm, because then Eddie is screaming, and he turns around to find Pennywise stalking over to them with the pole still implanted in his head. The sight is nerve-wracking, and his hands tremble as he now uses both hands to hold Eddie’s face.

“Eds, keep your eyes on me, okay? You’re fine. It’s going to be okay, just keep your shit colored eyes focused on me-“

“We have the same damn eye color, you dumbass!”

“That’s exactly why nothing is going to happen to you. Need you to keep me in check, yeah? You’re fine, I promise. Nothing is going to happen to you,” Richie shushes the frantic boy. He runs his fingers through Eddie’s brown, fluffy hair. Every time Eddie glances at the direction behind him, Richie reminds him by lightly tapping a finger on his cheek to continue looking at him. Eddie follows his demands, looking at Richie as screams flow in the room.

Richie soothingly rubs his thumb along Eddie’s left cheek, feeling the soft skin against his own. He can’t help from counting the freckles splattered on those cheeks. Eddie is staring at him; he can feel his eyes on him. He doesn’t realize until now how close they are, breathing the same air.

There is chaos around them, but Richie keeps looking at Eddie, even when the other looks away. Finally, Richie breaks away and looks around to find Bill chasing after the clown down the hall.

Richie looks down at Eddie’s broken arm, wincing at the dislocation. They needed to get out of there. He wraps a hand around Eddie’s arm, causing a cry of pain from Eddie. “I’m going to snap it back in place!”

“Don’t you fucking touch me!”

Richie ignores Eddie’s demand, grabbing Eddie’s arm and quickly pops it back in place with a short exhale of air. Eddie’s scream takes a moment to rip through his lips, but when it does, it’s heartbreaking.

Richie helps Eddie out of the house, holding onto the shorter boy’s back and having him lean on him. Time disappears after that, and the next thing he knows, he’s watching Eddie get driven off by his psycho of a mother.

Age: Fifteen

Richie huffs as he runs across the street, where the town’s pharmacy is. He counts the seconds passing in his head, wondering if Stan was done counting to forty yet. He still can’t believe the losers club still vote to play hide and seek, considering they are all either fourteen or fifteen now. It’s a fun game though, and it reminds him of all the years he’s known the others. He loves his friends, and he would do anything to continue knowing them for the rest of his life. He may spend every minute of their interaction thinking of smartass comments, but he will agree to anything they want to do. He enjoys making his friends happy.

That being said, he dashes across the street to the alleyway behind the pharmacy. He remembers the rules and boundaries. It was from Bill’s house to Eddie’s house, and the pharmacy lies between the two, and that’s where he’s going to set up camp.

He runs into the alley, speeding behind the trashcan. He blanches at the god-awful smell, but he ignores it and waits to hear footsteps.

It takes no time at all for him to hear footsteps, and he tenses up, hiding farther behind the trashcan. Gravel crunches under his shoes, and he curses under his breath. He stills completely, listening intently to the footsteps and movements of the mystery person.

He’s always been proud of his role in the losers club. He’s the talkative smartass of the group, and he owns it. He knows his friends care about him. He’s essential to the group. He would do anything for the group, and they know that.

What he’s also good at, though, is that he is excellent at acknowledging the tell-tell signs of his friends. He notes every detail of his friends. He knows what effects everyone. He knows the likes and dislikes of everyone. He knows how to comfort in a specific way for each and every one of them. He knows how every situation effects Bill’s stutter. Bill’s eyes flicker to the right when he’s nervous or scared. He knows how Stan’s tone of voice changes with each emotion he feels. There is a crinkle by Stan’s right eye when he is embarrassed. He knows how much Mike enjoys reading, even though he tries with all his might to hide his joy when they pass a comic store. He also knows how much he hates going home every night, because the nightmares keep him up. He is an expert on Beverly, since he gets to be the ears to Ben and Bill. He does, in fact, know that Beverly loves to be watchful and caring over everyone. It wasn’t so much as a ‘motherly’ thing, but more of a ‘I want to be in control for once’ thing. With all the shit with her dad…it was a no brainer that Beverly would want to take the caring role. On the other side, though, he knows when she is upset. She always breaks eye contact and bites her lip, going quiet for a while until she opens up again. She was a healer.

Eddie… Eddie was something else. Richie knows he’s the expert on him. He has learned everything about him. He has noticed each facial expression, every move, every emotion, every eye flicker, every deep inhale, every everything. He knows Eddie’s breath hitches every time he goes outside, going on instinct to grab for his inhaler. At four o’clock, Eddie routinely reaches for his fanny pack before remembering that he no longer takes medication for whatever illness he had been lied to about having. He knows Eddie still doesn’t like being around ‘dirty’ things, but who can blame him? Especially when he’s been trained ever since he can swallow pills to think about the diseases any object can hold. In the back of his head, Eddie still believes he is sick and needs to be careful, even though the reality is that he is not sick with anything.

That doesn’t keep Richie from holding an extra inhaler in his back pocket. It angers Richie to think about poor Eddie believing every time he freaks out over something, it was his asthma picking up. It wasn’t asthma. It was only normal anxiety, only amplified.

So, that’s why he is absolute certain that the footsteps approaching belonged to Eddie.

The hesitation in the walk was what gave it away. The rapid breathing only backed it up.

He listens as Eddie walks closer, and he grabs the shorter boy fast as lightning, pulling the now panicking boy into the alley. He covers Eddie’s mouth with his hand, shushing him as he looks around the corner to check for Stan. Once he sees that Stan wasn’t coming, he releases Eddie, who immediately pushes him away.

“What the hell was that for!”

“You were going to give us away, dipshit!” Richie argues back with a ‘duh’ expression written on his face.

Eddie rolls his eyes. “Trust me, I wasn’t going to give away your weak ass hiding spot. You do know that alleyways are usually the first places people check?”

“Yes, but you know the thing about Stan?” Richie starts off. He pulls Eddie over to the trashcan, and Eddie lets him. “He checks the alleyways, but he doesn’t actually walk in them.” “Next week I’m watching America’s Most Wanted for you,” Eddie replies with a shake of his head. His lips screw up at the sight of the trashcan.

“Awe, you’re going to watch TV for little ole’ me? You know how to make a girl blush, Eds,” Richie teases with a pinch to Eddie’s cheeks.

Eddie swats at his intruding hand. “Yeah, going to print your ugly mug all over this town. You know I hate when you call me Eds,” Eddie glares.

Richie pulls Eddie closer to him by his belt buckles and whispers, “I don’t think you do! I think you secretly love it.” He freezes when he hears footsteps approaching. His attention is stolen by Eddie’s response. He always sucked at keeping his attention on something other than Eddie when he was there.

“You know trashcans are the top five most dirty things?” Eddie changes the topic. Richie counts it as a win.

Richie listens closely, eyeing over the trashcan to who he assumes is Stan. Stan was extremely close to the alleyway they were standing in, and he pulls Eddie closer to him. Eddie was still complaining about the germs on a trashcan.

“You know most people don’t wash their hands after they throw their trash bags into the trashcans? These trashcans are in the sun all day, and insects and wild animals get in them leaving bacteria…”

Stan was getting impossibly closer, and Eddie was still yapping like a dog. Normally, he would be more than happy to hear Eddie rant on and on about something, but this was a game he was really good at, and Eddie was ruining his game!

“Harmful bacteria gets in the cans from said insects and animals, and the bacteria grows! The bacteria grows, and people go to put more trash in them. They get in contact with them again…”

One more step, and they were caught.

“Bacteria transfer-Hmph!”

Richie dives in for the kill, bringing their lips together with force. Eddie’s lips are soft and free of cracked skin, most likely from his need to keep himself thoroughly clean. He’s captured by the sweet smell of the other boy. Whatever cologne Eddie uses mixes perfectly with Eddie’s natural smell from the soap he washes with.

He brings his hands up, wrapping one around Eddie’s neck with the other caressing his jaw, effectively pulling him closer to where their bodies are touching. It’s hot and feels excellent to have Eddie’s body pressed against his, and he forgets why exactly he initiated the kiss in the first place. Something about keeping Eddie quiet?

Which by the way, he loves listening to Eddie rant. He could listen to him all day rant on about the germs on a simple spoon, but god he loves the delightful silence of Eddie’s lips closed against his.

His head is spinning when Eddie finally begins to kiss back. Richie feels shy, hesitant hands on his hips, and he smiles into the kiss. He has long gone forgotten about Stan, who he doesn’t hear anymore. It was safe to say that Stan did exactly as he theorized: looked into the alley, but walked away when he didn’t see anything.

It doesn’t motivate him to break the kiss even a little bit. It actually gets him to deepen the kiss, running his tongue along Eddie’s bottom lip.

His body goes on overdrive once he feels the hot sensation of Eddie parting his lips to run his own tongue along his. Richie tilts his head to get a better angle in the kiss. The hands on his hips are more sturdy, but still slightly shy of confidence.

The hands do tighten up, and Richie knows – don’t ask him how – that Eddie was probably getting uncomfortable with all the saliva sharing. He switches things up, closing his lips and lightly yanks on the shorter boy’s hair. He smiles when he hears a surprised groan, and he takes that time to bring their bottom halves together. They both let out a moan at the contact of their clothed erections. Richie backs off, not wanting to give the other boy an actual asthma attack. He ends the kiss, giving one last peck before completely breaking contact. His heart swells when Eddie leans forward to chase the departing lips before realizing what he’s doing.

Eddie’s pupils are fucking blown, and Richie is beyond happy to know that Eddie got turned on too. He made him like this. He made Eddie’s pupils as big as the moon, and he made the tent in Eddie’s shorts. Eddie looks fucking hot right now. A smile is painted on his lips. He can’t imagine not smiling right now.

“You are so fucking cute, Eds,” Richie breathes out. Okay, he did not mean to say ‘cute’, but he apparently did right by the looks of it. Eddie’s face was as red as a tomato, looking mighty pleased. Alright, he can call Eddie cute. He can scream it to the mountaintops. Eddie was cute. He was the cutest boy he’s ever seen.

“80 million.”

Richie tilts his head. “What?”

“There are 80 million bacteria that transfers in a kiss.”

Richie breaks out in a grin. “And you shared your 80 million bacteria with me! You really do know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Shut up, asswipe.”

#reddie #reddie one shot #my writing

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aficaria · 6 years

Text

Lucis in the Rain

I had decided to get myself back into writing. And in all honesty, I’m actually really trying. New styles here and there and maybe I might actually push myself to up my vocabulary game and also my word count.

Anyways, Happy 2018!

Yes, I know it’s 5 days late. But better late than never. And comments and critics are always welcome as I’m trying my best to improve! If anything, any opinions would be taken in seriously in time for my newest fic.

Title: Lucis in the Rain Pairing: Lightning Farron x Noctis Lucis Caelum Length: ?? I have no idea. AO3 ULR: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13276860

Without further ado;

Planning wasn't in Noctis' forte.

If anything, most of the planning work goes to Ignis. He is the beast of strategies, of accuracies and surprises. And if being Noctis' future personal adviser is anything to go by-- Ignis is just the best mother in any situation. The one ready to spoil Noctis when given the opportunity to do so.

At least until now.

Thing was, Ignis had blatantly rejected Noctis' plead to plan out the best night with a certain pinkette. It was New Years Eve; and for Astrals sake, Noctis just wants to put on a good impression on that lady. Lightning wasn't one to be half assed with. But Ignis had turned down those pitiful blue orbs down with a straight forward, “It’s your date, not mine.”

And with that Noctis had the most stressful week to plan out the best Date™. From having to choose the right places to go, to finding out what suits Lightning’s schedule and what is her preferences. And ultimately, Noctis had begun to swear to Ignis for not at least helping out because this is the first time the prince had done something remotely tiring.

And by the Gods if being half ass wasn't Noctis' only attribute.

So here they are, both young adults crowded under one flimsy umbrella, soaking through their garments. And to be more accurate of the situation, the umbrella wasn't even the prince's. It was luck on his part that the young soldier had brought one upon request of her younger sister. So nope, Noctis was not prepared at all.

The young prince's demeanor was calm but for the love of God; he was having a mental breakdown. Of all things he had to forget when planning this excuse of a date was the weather. The rain was building up and the wind was getting stronger. And there's still an hour left till the fireworks.

Noctis just wants to jump into the nearest trash bin.

"Are you tired?"

"No. This is nothing compared to patrol duty." The female soldier simply shrugged before raising a brow at the man beside her. "How about you? Are you tired?"

Noctis shook his head, shifting his weight from one leg to the other. "Just worried for you. Isn't it cold? I mean with you wearing those short sleeves and everything."

Pale Aqua eyes continued to stare at the male beside her. The prince may be reticent but he's easy enough for long time friends to be read. Even after knowing him for maybe a year or so, the pinkette grew accustomed to the prince’s reserved self. If not for her training as a soldier, it was obvious from his demeanor that he was actually getting tired from standing under the rain. If not for his weight shifting, the slouching of his shoulders would’ve given it away.

Plus, he couldn't be any more obvious to his own personal suffering. Lightning knew of the prince's constant whinning from none other than Ignis Scientia-- okay, maybe also from passing by a certain training room of the King's shield once a week. Though, it was kind of adorable of him to always act macho for her impression of him. But for the sake of the prince’s ego, maybe the soldier should just keep her opinions to herself.

"I'm fine." She mumbles, sticking her wet back against Noctis. Adjusting herself to stand in front of the prince. Even though this was a ‘date’, Lightning still has a duty to uphold, especially as a member of the Kingsglaive. And of course, the courts wouldn't be all that happy to find their prince to be sick the next morning. So, if standing infront of him was anything to go by, at least he had more space to shield himself from the rain. Eyes averting, keeping her attention to looking for any suspicious behavior.

Achoo--

Silence passed by both adults.

"Okay, maybe I'm getting a little cold."

"Heh, why didn't you just say so?" Letting out a little chuckle, noting how that sneeze was extremely adorable on her part. It was even cuter for her to still play aloof after. Shifting the umbrella to rest on his right shoulder, he let the umbrella's handle to drop to his right shoulder before shrugging of his bomber jacket. "Here put this on. It might help, at least the rain won't get to your shoulders."

"Thanks."

Lightning grabbed the already wet jacket from his rough hands and proceed to put them on. Immediately Noctis could feel the droplets of rain starting to seep through his somewhat damp black T-shirt. The feeling was less inviting but-- if that would mean Lightning being somewhat more comfortable than him, then so be it.

"So uhm-- why Lightning?" Glossy blue eyes stared at the woman infront.

Raising a brow at the prince, "What do you mean, why Lightning?"

"I mean, why not some other names?" Oh Ifrit, someone shut him up right now. "i-It's not like your name isn't cool or anything, but... I mean, don't you have your rights to choose the names?"

Dead silence.

Oh Gods, he may have fucked it up now. Blue orbs staring anywhere but the woman infront of him, he just doesn't wanna look at her expression. Why in the right mind would someone ask why is their name, their name. But for the love of Shiva, he was trying. And the pinkette standing infront of him knew of that. In all honesty, Lightning couldn't help but laugh at her partner, knowing that the prince's awkwardness would be his undoing one day.

"Actually, Lightning was so much better than the other name I was going to be given." She smirked, playing along with the prince's awkward curiosity. "Plus, it wasn't I who was tryna drill that name to everyone's mind. Just that, everyone back at KG dubbed me 'as quick and witty as Lightning'. And it just kind of stuck through."

"And what might that other name would be?"

"Demon bitch?" She snorts, always eager to tease the prince. "I swear, Your highness. You just keep digging that grave."

"My apologies. I didn't know that asking a really obvious question was me digging my own grave." The prince pouts, casually ignoring his own social ineptitude. "But you gotta' admit, now that the elephants out of the room-- we can talk about other things."

"Other things?" Lighting was laughing at this point, "If watching you casually making a fool of yourself is what other things are-- then I'll gladly accept it and savor it like fine red wine," she emphatises, right hand lifting up to comically swirling a crystal glass between her fingers.

The prince snorts, blue eyes glistening under the streetlights. "Is my suffering something to be make fun of, Soldier?"

"You gotta admit, it's kinda cute when you do it." The pinkette smiles genuinely at him, before turning her attention to the watch resting on her right wrist. "--besides, I think you look much better now compared to before. I think you look better confident, your Highness."

"Thanks. I'll be sure to continue being a social potato if that would mean having a positive impression for you. " He grumbled somewhat bitterly. The prince sounds totally unamused that the fellow soldier had found his social suffering enjoying while the pinkette is all perfect. The ravenette tilts the umbrella to the other side, allowing his shoulder to relax. Joking as he may be right now, he hasn't let the way Lightning has called him to slide. "And please stop that."

"Stop what?"

"Calling me anything relating to my birthright." Damp hair swaying as the ravenette shook his head in disappointment. It wasn't like he didn't like being called by his royalty. If anything, it felt degrading for anyone he considered close to him. He wants everyone to see him as an equal; because he respect his friends for whom they are.

"Would it make you feel better if I call you by your name, then?" The soldier teases, grinning now. It wasn't like she had done it on purpose. Having a job in the citadel would have obligated her duty to call anyone with higher authority the tittle they are bestowed. Plus, lighthearted banter with the future king of Lucis doesn't mean that she should be fully relaxed around him. Lightning isn't the type whom doesn't put responsibilities first. But still, it was entertaining to be with the prince like this.

There were many passerby, totally oblivious to both adults now standing under the rain for an hour and a half now. The two of them watched as they pass with slight envy, noticing how they were smart enough to bring rain coats. Though, Noctis was more desiring to have the type of relationship with the woman infront of him that he can exhibit. Lightning however, was much more envious of a certain floating object in the hands of many. The lighted balloons seem to draw the attention of the pinkette; despite her own rational mind would find that a waste of money.

Then again, if ego wasn't a word.

"Noctis."

Pale aqua eyes blinked in surprise. "Hm?"

"I'd prefer if you would call me that..." The prince explains, a hint of redness shimmering on his cheeks, his words slowly dwindle off mid sentence.

"Hmm.." Her voice sounding as if she was considering, shrugging away from the prince before turning back towards him. "I'll think about it."

"You gotta be kiddin' me." Noctis huffs, puffing his cheeks out comically; a habit he would probably wouldn't let go. "Light, I swear to Astrals--"

"Noctis."

"W-what?" Blue orbs staring at pale aqua ones.

Noctis hadn't thought that the Kingsglaive woman would've actually given in so easily. With how the conversation was going on, he would've actually thought that the pinkette would go on about responsibilities and the hierarchy of the citadel-- or whatever Ignis would always go on about. But he knew his ears did not fail him, and neither did his eyes as he could see as those beautiful ones tried to avert their attention at anywhere but him.

"I-I'm not going to repeat." The pinkette stuttered, not wanting the silence to drag out any longer. Teeth worrying on her bottom lip, Lightning hadn't thought herself as a stammering type. And Noctis knows that she's trying her best to push away whatever she had said like as if it was nothing. How many times have the pinkette even flustered under his watch? Not that many times. And now that she is? Astrals, Noctis is going to abuse it as much as he can.

"Lightning...." His voice falling on a lower octave. Smirking almost obviously, Noctis tilts the umbrella to the side, before grabbing the girl's shoulder infront of him. Lightning couldn't help but shiver under his watchful gaze. "Please?"

"I--"

Just as she was about to finish, the weather turned for the worse. What was once a small shower turned into a thunder storm and Noctis couldn't help but curse under his breath for such bad luck on his part. Pulling Lightning closer to him, he held the umbrella like it was their life line. From afar the crowd started to disperse, running frantically towards shelter.

"I think it's better if we follow the crowd, your Highness." There she goes again, calling him not by his name. They were in an unpleasant situation, shoes soaking, hair clinging and clothes almost dripping; not forgetting how Lightning had to actually shout to get her point across. Noctis had wanted to argue right then and there but ultimately only letting out an exasperated sigh.

"Right, let's go."

The trek towards 'shelter' wasn't pleasant either. Water was collecting into puddles and the cluster of humans rushing towards a tiny entrance into the nearest subway station was...sticky. Noctis couldn't help but feel a tinge of regret, almost wondering why he had decided to bring his little date to watch the fireworks outside.

Heck, he was the prince. If only he had taken up his father's offer to sit beside him in the podium, just right infront of the firework's platform-- a sheltered seat right infront of the platform to be exact. But no, he wanted a romantic gesture to impress the pinkette.

Well, look how well it's going now.

The sliver of light in this whole situation was that Lightning was holding his hand the entire course towards shelter. Straying away from the crowd, both adults managed to find a corner with no one at all. Right beside an office building, they could hear a party going on somewhere else.

"I'm sorry." Noctis couldn't help but mutter under his breath. It was embarrassing to say the least that he had dragged Lightning out of patrol duty to entertain his childish ideas on going on a date. He didn't think it would rain cats and dogs, all he wanted was to spend time with the lady of his life. "I--"

Lights flared and the sound of fireworks echoed throughout the city. From a distance, the sound of people shouting ecstatically could be heard. The sky's colors turned from a dull grey to red and yellow, the smell of smoke was obvious. Though that did not stop the rain from getting worse. Water was pooling below their feet, but Noctis didn't care.

At that moment, the prince was solely focusing on the pinkette's expression. The color of the lights reflected in her pale aqua eyes. Despite the monotonous atmosphere surrounding them, her radiant smile was all Noctis could see. Little does he know, a grin was already etched on his face.

"Happy new year, Light."

"It's Claire." She says, eyes not straining away from the flaring of fireworks far away. Despite that, she couldn't help but smirk, knowing that she had let go something sentimental to the young prince.

"What?"

"Claire." She repeats, "My real name isn't Lightning. It's Claire."

There's a long pause on Noctis' behalf. Light could almost hear the glee form on the future king's face. Because he knew it, Lightning was just another side name she had chosen to remain mysterious. Noctis had almost taken the opportunity to tease the soldier beside him, but not wanting to ruin the moment, he simply nodded.

"Happy New Year, Claire." He fixes, his hand moving to grab hers tightly.

"Happy New Year to you too, Noctis."

#lightis #nokurai #ledrabbles #noctis x lightning #final fantasy xv #final fantasy xiii #noctis lucis caelum #lightning farron

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