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five-rivers · 3 years

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Loved chapter 4

Written for Dannymay 2021 Day 3: Portal, even though the connection is sort of tenuous.

Bad things happened when Vlad came to Amity Park. For that matter, bad things happened wherever Vlad was. It was part of what made Vlad Vlad. Some part of his otherness, some twist of the shadow-fabric he was made of that left rot and ruin wherever his hem brushed. Of course, Vlad was never affected by this misfortune. In fact, he seemed to suck the luck out of everyone around him. Like a vampire.

Along with sanity. But that was a given for the others, even partial others, like Vlad. Or Danny.

But Vlad didn’t even try to hide or ameliorate the effects he had on people, didn’t try to keep them safe, to make their lives shine like the precious lights they were.

(Danny drummed his fingers on his chest and wondered, if, perhaps, it would feel less empty if Clockwork let him become a jewel box.)

But that was the way Vlad was, and Danny felt him enter Amity Park like nails on a chalkboard. His skin started to itch. His teeth hurt. Pressure pulsed in his head like waves of heat coming off asphalt. Being human, being real, was too tight, too heavy. It would be so easy to slip into the cool waters of the Dream and cut through them to wherever Vlad was.

No. He couldn’t. As shown time and time again, that would just exacerbate things. No matter what Vlad did, it would be worse if they fought, especially if there was anyone there to see it. Like what had happened with Jazz…

Danny was beyond lucky he’d been able to snap her out of whatever Vlad had done to her, but she still was quite right. The Vultures had actually apologized on Vlad’s behalf, after that.

(And wasn’t that strange, standing in the Dream on ground covered by bones and feathers, the Vultures on a dead tree, speaking as one. A thing of terror, apologizing for their ward. For pain suffered through Love. For lines crossed.)

Still. He had better… supervise Vlad, for a lack of a better word. Make sure he wasn’t getting up to anything. He’d go as a human – as himself.

He sighed and splayed his hands out on the table.

“Something wrong?” asked Sam, who had been making a complex sigil out of her fries and ketchup.

“Vlad’s in town,” said Danny. “I—”

The doors to the Nasty Burger were thrown open with a bang as Jazz came running in. She ran halfway through the store, to weak protests from the employee behind the counter, and skidded to a stop in front of their table.

“Vlad’s here,” he said.

“You saw him?” asked Danny, concerned. “Did he try—”

“No,” said Jazz. “I can just—It’s like he’s under my skin, and I—” She made a sound of frustration and gripped both sides of her head with clawed hands.

“Hey,” said Danny, gently, grasping her wrists. “It’s going to be okay. I’ll take care of it.”

“Okay,” said Jazz, breathing deeply. “Alright. I shouldn’t have freaked out like that.”

“It’s okay,” said Danny. He looked back to his friends. “Anyway, I’m going to go see what he wants, okay?”

“I’m coming with you,” said Sam, standing.

“Me too,” said Tucker. “Sort of. Halfway.”

“You really shouldn’t,” said Danny. “You know what happens when we get together.”

“Which is why we want to back you up,” said Sam. “As long as he stays physical, there’s stuff we can do.”

Unless Danny was prepared to do something incredibly inadvisable, there wasn’t much he could do to stop her. “Okay,” he said. “Just… be careful. If it looks like it’s going to turn into a fight, you need to leave.” He didn’t want them to get anymore spiritually messed up than they already were.

“We know, we know, you give us the spiel every time,” said Sam.

Yes, and Sam ignored it every other time. Danny shook his head. “Alright, let’s—”

Danny was promptly interrupted yet again, this time by his parents rushing in wearing… He could loosely call them clothes.

“It’s retro night, baby!” shouted Jack.

It was not retro night. There was no such thing as retro night at the Nasty Burger.

“I’ll take care of them,” said Jazz.

“Thanks,” muttered Danny, sliding out of the booth. “Come on, let’s go out the back.”

The alley behind the Nasty Burger was fetid in a way that made Danny’s shadow lift from the pavement and float on the air. Something that inhabited rats skittered in the corners at Danny’s presence and ran for a storm drain. He breathed shallowly.

“Which way?” prompted Tucker.

“He’s actually coming this way,” said Danny, frowning, debating facing him in this alley, just to see the disgust that would surely paint itself on Vlad’s face, paper-thin mask that it was.

Reality rippled, the surface tension that kept the Dream from bleeding in snapping. A miasma rose from the ground. Vlad stumbled into the alley, clutching at his face, which was melting. No, transforming. No, stretching. No, layering over itself a in dozen sickening ways, all the masks Vlad wore flickering over whatever truth he had all at once.

“Help me,” he grated. His words felt sick, diseased.

“Guys,” said Danny, fighting back the urge to vomit, “run.”

“No!” shrieked Vlad. “Help me!”

And sanity fractured like glass.

Whatever Danny’s parents had done to stabilize Vlad had worked, to a degree. It hadn’t fixed the underlying problem, which Danny could still feel slinking through the Dream. It also didn’t fix whatever he’d done to Sam and Tucker, although it had kept it from progressing further.

Danny took a slow, angry breath and ran a mental count of the lives stored inside his chest. They were there, all of them. Whatever happened to Sam and Tucker, they wouldn’t die.

But Danny knew there were fates worse than death.

His fingernails left half moon impressions on his palms as he clenched his fists. The Dream roiled with his fury, the force of it enough to keep Vlad’s diseased thoughts away.

“Daniel,” croaked Vlad. “Cure me.”

“That’s what Mom and Dad are trying to do.”

“Find a cure for me,” said Vlad, as if he hadn’t heard Danny at all, “and you’ll find a cure for your precious little friends.”

Danny stilled. “You did this on purpose.”

Vlad laughed. “Of course, I did, my dear boy. What value is a simple human mind compared to those such as we?”

Any rage Danny had felt up to this moment paled in comparison. The mirror over the sink cracked down the middle, never to show a true physical reflection again. He hated—

A concerned tug at Danny’s throat jolted him from his thoughts. Clockwork. Clockwork would know what to do. He turned, and without a second glance at Vlad, strode bodily into the Dream.

It took Danny even less time than usual to find Clockwork, and, when he did, he immediately found himself at Clockwork’s center, deep within the castle that was his metaphor. Dozens of Chains were fixed to Danny’s collar, each of them completely taut, holding him perfectly immobile, the embrace of a relieved but panicking parent. Clockwork’s emotions, too vast for Danny to fully comprehend, were transmitted directly through those chains, microscopic vibrations raising gooseflesh on Danny’s skin. A wordless noise both distressed and pleased wound its way from Danny’s throat, continuing to echo long after he’d run out of the breath to maintain it.

Clockwork’s avatar cupped Danny’s face in its hands, long fingers almost completely encircling his head. There was more of Clockwork in it that there usually was.

“Clockwork…?” asked Danny, weakly, confused and overwhelmed by the sudden flood of affection.

Poor little one, whispered the avatar, this is what happens when matters are not properly attended to. The Vultures should know better, should take care of him properly… It pressed its forehead to Danny’s, startling a squeak from him.

Danny, reflexively, brought his hands up to clutch at the avatar’s robes.

My poor child. What are they thinking, letting him run around so ill, so that he might infect other children?

Clockwork saw Vlad as a child, too. Not surprising, considering how ancient Clockwork must be, but good to know.

That emotion! It was only a shadow, and even so-!

“Emotion?”

Hatred, hissed Clockwork’s avatar.

The collar around Danny’s neck constricted, a tighter, more Loving, more comforting, hug. Danny gasped, although breathing here was psychological rather than physiological. The cloth of the avatar’s robes began to wind up Danny’s arms.

Even the pale, human shadow of it is not something you should experience, my child.

Danny didn’t like being that angry, but—

Even the concept of it is too much, too heavy. You should not have to bear it. I should not have overlooked it. The avatar’s hands moved to the back of Danny’s head, pressing his face against its shoulder. It must hurt you so,murmured the avatar, carding fingers through Danny’s hair. Fear not. I will excise it. All of it, even the idea of it shall not touch you, shall not sully your thoughts.

The avatar stepped away.

“Wait!” shouted Danny, panicking.

Not being able to hate? Danny had mixed feelings about that, but he doubted he’d be able to talk Clockwork out of it, not with how damaging Hate could be. In the end, it wouldn’t be that much of a loss. Not being able to understand that it existed? Not being aware of hate at all? Being unable to understand that, sometimes, people would go out of their way to hurt one another?

That was dangerous. That would render him unable to even begin to comprehend vast swathes of human history and humanity.

“If I don’t know what it is,” said Danny, “if I don’t know that it exists, how can I protect myself against it?”

A gust of wind blew through Clockwork’s sepulchral hall like the sigh of a giant. It is my duty to protect you, my child.

The sheer possessiveness of the words lingered on Danny’s skin. He wanted to lean into them but held his imaginary breath.

But very well.

Danny let himself relax, slightly, even as the avatar walked to somewhere he couldn’t see, its silent footsteps giving him no clue as to where it was. With only the constant, regular hum and tick of Clockwork’s gears to stimulate him, it was hard for Danny to stay vigilant. He found himself drifting, his thoughts wandering.

Did his hatred of Vlad cause him pain, as Clockwork said? What was it going to be like, to not be able to hate at all, rather than just not being able to Hate? Would he still be angry at Vlad? He hoped so. The man deserved it.

Two points of frigid cold touched the back of his head, contracted into a single point, and pulled. Danny felt something within him come free, and he sagged as much as the chains would allow him.

The avatar walked back into view, and Danny recoiled from the thing he was carrying, clasped in a long, silver pair of tweezers. “Is that,” started Danny, before he swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry. “Was that in me?”

Yes, said Clockwork’s avatar, lowering it into a small, jeweled box. Danny felt relieved as soon as the lid closed on it and he was no longer forced to look at it. At the same time… Fear not, said the avatar. I could never destroy something of you. It will be remade into something more useful.

Danny nodded as much as he could and shuddered. He felt… dirty. Unclean. Just remembering what he’d felt, what he’d thought… It left a deep sense of wrongness.

Come, said Clockwork. I have just the thing for that. You are due for a bath. A cleansing, inside and out.

The metaphor of the chains fell away, leaving just the one, usual, slack one. Danny knew Clockwork could call them back at any time, that, in truth, they had not gone anywhere at all.

“What about Vlad?” he asked, twisting his hands around the hem of his shirt. “And my friends? Can you help them? Please.”

He felt Clockwork examine him appraisingly.

Perhaps the bath can wait for another day.

The mirror was a portal, tall and wide as a door, glassy surface gleaming with otherworldly light. The edges were crimped, filigreed, flared. Beyond the reflection, Danny could just make out the suggestion of movement.

It is not real, said the avatar, putting a hand on Danny’s shoulder, but a might-have-been.

“But I can find a way to fix things in there?”

The avatar did not answer. A prickling feeling rose up inside Danny, settling in his stomach. Somehow, this felt similar to when he’d eaten the mirror with the bad future.

It is,confirmed the avatar, briefly nuzzling Danny.

“Why?” asked Danny, just a little horrified.

Is it not satisfying to complete two tasks at once? I told you, back then, that our next task would be to remove those presents that seek to exclude you.

Danny didn’t understand.

You will. Clockwork’s avatar paused, as if thinking. This is what the Vultures should have done for young Vladimir, although they would have accomplished it differently.

“Oh,” said Danny, trying to wrap his head around that.

Clockwork’s avatar nudged him forward. Follow the chain when you are ready to come home.

Danny wasn’t connected to anyone in this might-have-been world. It was odd, watching every eye slide off him as if he wasn’t even there. If he wanted to interact with someone directly, he’d have to put a lot of force of will into it.

It was strange. Other than that, everything here seemed perfectly real. Not imaginary at all. The sun shone. People spoke to one another. The grass crunched under his feet.

The University of Wisconsin-Madison lay before him in all its questionable glory.

He’d have to find Vlad and his parents. They had rented a small lab space for their experiments with the Dream and research into the others.

Normally, he’d follow his connection to them to find them, or the disturbance Vlad made in the dream, but neither of those things existed, now. Not yet. Danny didn’t exist yet.

He could just wander, try to seek out questionable lab space, but the university’s campus was large. Normally, he’d ask for directions, but…

Yeah, the no one being able to see or hear him thing really didn’t allow for that.

But there was one other thing he could try to do, one other thing he could try to sense. Their experiments. They should send waves across and through the Dream.

He let his eyes drift closed and walked blind across campus. When he opened them, he was in a lab, watching his parents and Vlad working on a kind of magic circle, inscribed with runes.

A portal, intended to let humans directly access the Dream. A portal that had created Vlad, all because he leaned too close, watched too closely, seen too much, became something else, changed.

Something like anger stirred under his skin. After this, his parents had continued to experiment, continued to try to reach the Dream, to create a weapon against the others, and in doing so both doomed Danny himself and Amity Park by making what amounted to a highway for the others to come to the real world.

But they hadn’t intended to do that, he knew. They’d been trying as best as they could to fix things. Had been trying to defend the world the best they knew, portal or no portal. And speaking of the portal… If others could damage human sanity, if Danny, small and weak and almost-human as he was, could damage human sanity, then how much more could a direct link to the Dream do? Discounting, of course, that normal dreams could lead to the Dream… That connection was more tenuous. Filtered.

His anger was a distraction from what was really bothering him.

These people, they looked like his parents. They were his parents. But… they weren’t. There was no attachment there. Nothing. It was like looking at empty shells. No Love.

It was distressing.

He watched, waiting, making note of the symbols and the placement of the ritual objects and the technological enhancements. There had to be something here that would help explain why Vlad was having such a hard time, while Danny had transitioned to his present existence without much problem.

He leaned over his not-mother’s calculations, then his not-father’s, made note of the differences. Looked at the fire, the knife, and the carved cylinders. Some of them didn’t feel quite right. One of them had been nudged out of alignment by a soda can put down by not-Jack, shifting the circle, making it bigger. Could that be something?

Vlad leaned over to examine the circle, and, at the same time, not-Jack pushed a button on the tape player, which started chanting. Danny could feel the hole boring into reality before the first syllable was finished. They’d made the portal both too well and too poorly.

Danny reached for Vlad and pulled him back, out of the way of the opening portal.

Danny may have made a mistake.

He’d saved Vlad from becoming other. In doing so, he’d changed things, altered this entire make-believe world. The way the story was progressing was no longer the same as his own. Which meant that it might be useless for collecting clues for fixing Vlad, Sam, and Tucker. Mostly Sam and Tucker.

(He’d help Vlad if it wouldn’t hurt his friends, he didn’t hate the man, not anymore, didn’t desire his suffering. But his friends were, of course, his main concern.)

But he couldn’t just leave. He’d made note of all the flaws in the portal, but that wasn’t in any way conclusive, wasn’t a guarantee.

And, in the meantime, his not-parents and not-Vlad had continued working on the portal, which they hadn’t shut down, unlike in the proper timeline. Or had it been disrupted by Vlad? He didn’t remember the exact sequence of events. His parents had never been clear.

But the portal was on, it was working, and it was wrong. Everything was wrong. The portal was in a class of things that should-not-be.

Just like Danny, in this world. He… With the portal, and the way things were going, he shouldn’t exist here, the butterfly effect would keep him from being born, and he was becoming painfully aware of that fact. Literally painfully. It was starting to hurt, being here, a throb in the back of his head.

Or was that the portal?

Either way…

(He couldn’t shake the suspicion that he was breaking things just by being here. Everything was going wrong. So many little accidents.)

(Or was that the portal?)

He kept watching.

It had been… a while, now. It was easy to lose track of time like this, with no one to talk to. Days? Maybe? He’d been drifting, which should have been troubling.

Maybe he should go back. Cut losses.

(Besides, it was disturbing watching his parents flirting with each other. And Vlad. Even if they weren’t really themselves.)

Then his parents wheeled in a… What was that? He walked closer. This was about the same size around as the pillars that had done this to him.

Danny would never forget those, after all.

Something hummed inside him, picking up a kind of resonance between the active portal and the pillar.

The ground fragmented beneath his feet.

Reality followed soon after.

He found himself nowhere with nothing. Only nowhere and nothing.

Oh, no. Oh, no. Oh, no.

What had he done? He’d, he’d destroyed a world, he’d—

There was a gentle, but insistent tug on his chain. He followed it home.

He clung to Clockwork’s avatar, gasping, as if he was the only real thing in the world. His emotions were too much, too great, uncontained and roiling. They battered him like a stormy sea.

It’s alright, it’s alright, comforted the avatar. It wasn’t real, and now it never will be. All those worlds where you would not be. All gone.

No. No. No. Horror buzzed in his brain. He couldn’t have destroyed so much.

Never were,continued the avatar, Clockwork apparently oblivious. All disproven. Paradox. You could not be and yet you were. You were in the places you were not. So, now you exist, in all these places, in everywhere that could be, and always will. It stroked Danny, brushing away tears. Only one more to go, until you never were not, my beloved child, until you always were mine, as you were meant to be.

Danny keened into the robes of Clockwork’s avatar, distraught. Wind ruffled his hair.

Considering the point in time in which you were placed, said the avatar, Vladimir will be well again.

Danny looked up, hopeful for the first time in hours.

Mostly. The underlying cause has been removed. You should bring the rest to your… progenitors. They are at least competent in this area.

Danny nodded vigorously and attempted to extract himself from the avatar’s grasp. He was unsuccessful, although the avatar did adjust its grip on him.

You have had a difficult day, it observed. It then presented Danny with a cookie.

Confused, Danny took it.

A gift, said the avatar, Clockwork having evidently returned to his normal laconic mode.

“What’s it made of?” asked Danny, suspicious.

Love. What else?

“How do you feel?” asked Danny.

“Weird,” said Sam. “But okay.”

“What was it like?”

Sam shrugged. “It was like…” She waved her hand. “Watching a thousand different movies of my life, but they were all wrong. Like if they were crappy biopics done fifty years after I died or something.”

“Speak for yourself,” grunted Tucker. “I just got a lot of sand. So, so much sand. And sun. Do I have a sunburn?”

“No?” said Danny. “You look fine.”

“Ugh, I forgot you were white. You don’t know what sunburns look like.”

“I’d argue,” said Sam, “but you’re not wrong.” She fell back against her pillows. “I just want to sleep.”

“Same,” said Tucker. “I never want to see the sun again.”

“We’ll make a goth of you yet,” joked Sam, tossing a pillow at him.

“Okay,” said Danny, backing away. “Should I get the lights?”

“You don’t mind?”

“Sleep well,” he said. He hoped they would.

(Because he would not.)

#danny phantom #loved #eldritch abomination AU #dannymay #dannymay 2021 #dannymay day 3: portal

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hotchseyebrows · 3 years

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thoughtfulness in little things

a derek morgan x penelope garcia fic

a/n: can you believe that is my first ever full length morcia fic? me? resident morcia nut? wow. what a world. anyway!! i hope yall like this (and if you noticed it was already on ao3 earlier today shhh this is a scheduled tumblr post im Sleeping rn) and hopefully i dont take 4 months in between posting fics again, but i make no promises!!! my brain is Evil

thank you @blkantigone for being my beta and thank you @derekmorqan for letting me barf 1k of this in our dms a while back, i love you both sm

they do kiss a fair bit in this (it is, in fact, a first kiss fic) and its a little steamy, but by no means explicit and is rated teens and up on ao3 :)

read it here on ao3!!

Penelope splutters. “Sugar, you don’t have to stay here with me, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

He shrugs. “How am I supposed to party when my best girl is stuck at work?”

Everything changes during a late night in Penelope's batcave. But really, nothing changes at all.

word count: 3000

Friday nights without a case are a rare treasure for SSA Hotchner’s highly sought after team of profilers. Normally, Derek and Penelope would be taking advantage of the freedom by dancing all night, but sometimes the universe has other plans.

Penelope used this week’s case-free time to put the finishing touches on an antivirus and security software of her own creation. The personal information of her beloved BAU babies was a hot commodity well worth the additional protection, and she’s always looking for a reason to fiddle with Quantico’s servers. It ended up being a whole production, taking the entire afternoon and then some. Apparently, she still doesn’t have all of the permissions required to make certain adjustments which means that she’s fiddling and bending her way into all of the things she needs to do. If that wasn’t bad enough, the whole damn thing crashed around 4:00. She managed not to pull her hair out, but it was a close thing and it set her back at least an extra hour.

Derek stops by a little after 5, his jacket slung over his shoulder. “Baby girl, I can hear the bottles of DC’s finest vodka and Hennessy calling our names, are you almost ready to leave for the day?” He pauses in the door, taking in her furious typing and furrowed brow. “Whoa, Mama, what’s the matter? You’ve got Hotch’s eyebrows.”

She throws her arms up. “The entirety of the FBI and also the world is getting on my nerves!” He walks over to her, leaning on the side of her chair and turning her away from her monitor. His hands gently grab both of hers and he rubs a soothing circle with one of his thumbs.

“Explain, baby girl.”

She does, eventually just ranting and raving about how annoying it is to still be put in metaphorical handcuffs by the FBI as if she can’t just do what she wants anyway. “I’m not even breaking any rules, technically, they’re just making things annoying and long winded.” She sighs, moving her hands to interlock their fingers. “But now that it’s started, it would be doubly annoying to stop it and come back later. So I’m stuck here until it’s done, which might take a while.”

He nods, thinking. Then he straightens up, grabs the extra rolling chair, and sits down.

Penelope splutters. “Sugar, you don’t have to stay here with me, it’s really not that big of a deal.”

He shrugs. “How am I supposed to party when my best girl is stuck at work?” She blushes, turning away to hide it on instinct.

“You cheeseball.” She spins around to lightly push on his arm. He just smiles.

They sit together for 20 minutes in relative silence as she continues her work. It’s a comfortable silence; his occasional humming soothes her rising annoyance at how needlessly long this is taking. She can hear him playing with one of the fidget toys she keeps on her desk behind him. When she gets to another point of sitting and waiting, she turns towards him and asks him about his day. He tells her about how Prentiss helped him get Reid back for a prank by distracting him in the break room while he switched out the keyboard of Reid’s computer with an identical one with a grass garden planted inside. “It’s a long con for sure, but I’m hoping it sprouts this weekend.”

She laughs. “How long did it take you to set this up, dumpling?” She already knows the answer, but it’s nice to see his slightly sheepish but proud look about his dedication to his prank war. Her computer beeps at her, and she spins back around to begin working again.

He rolls closer, avoiding her question and wrapping an arm around her shoulders. “You getting hungry yet?”

She relaxes, leaning against him. As if on cue, her stomach grumbles. “Yes, I’d say so.”

He leans over and moves a strand of hair out of her face. “Okay baby girl, I’ll go grab us food and be right back.” She nods, lifting her cheek on instinct to meet the kiss she knows is coming. He stands and sure enough, leans down to kiss her cheek. “I’ll be quick. Be good.”

“How can I do anything else if you’re not here?” She bats her eyes up at him.

He grins. “Oh, I’m sure you’d think of something.” He brushes his knuckles against her cheek. It makes her shiver.

She watches him leave, catching the kiss he blows at her from the door. Turning back to focus on her work, it feels like she blinks and he’s back. A glance at the clock tells her it’s been over a half hour. He puts the bag of food onto the table before coming to pull her away from the computer.

“One minute, I promise, I’m so close to just letting this thing run for a little.” He twirls her hair around his fingers before dropping his hands onto her shoulders, rubbing away the tension. A minute and a half later, she leans back in her chair with a sigh. She tilts her head back and sticks her tongue out at him. He smiles at her.

"Come eat, baby girl. Don't think you're getting out of eating my hard won dinner." He moves to the table and pulls out her chair. She follows and sits.

"Hard won — mon cher, you didn't tackle a wild animal and lug it home to our log cabin in the woods, you drove your car 20 minutes."

He kisses her temple, handing her a pair of chopsticks. "Yeah, but I would lug home whatever you needed anytime, so the sentiment is the same."

She smiles and knocks their feet together under the table lightly. He moves his chair, so they are sitting right next to each other on the same side of the table. The heat from his arm is palpable.

Derek grabs a box from the bag and splits the vegan pad thai within onto two paper plates. He opens the box of spring rolls and places it in between them while she places napkins in front of them both. He pops the cap off of her bottle of lemonade without her asking, and sets that in front of her too. “Thank you, handsome.” He smiles in response. They start eating and the comfortable silence returns.

She talks him through what she still needs to do to fix everything in between bites, even though she knows he doesn't really understand her technobabble. But Penelope can feel his eyes on her, and without looking, she somehow knows that something has shifted in the air around them.

"What?" she asks, turning her attention away from gesturing at her computer with the chopsticks. "Do I have something on my face?"

He chuckles. "Actually, yes, c'mere." He brushes away a stray spot of sauce on the corner of her lips with a gentle swipe of his thumb. The rest of his hand stills on her cheek. She shivers. She can see him notice it, his attention focusing in on her. Penelope's blood is thundering in her ears as he glances in between her lips and her eyes.

She leans purposefully into his hand. His thumb brushes over her lips again and her mouth falls open a little.

"Penelope, I-" he cuts himself off with a hard swallow. "Penelope." His eyes flicker down to her lips and back up to her eyes quickly again.

She can only blink at him for a moment. "Yes, Derek?"

"I don't kn- um. Can I-" She's never seen him flustered and unsure like this. But they've never been out of sync before and they aren't about to start now, so she nods, bringing up a hand to rest on his. A smile grows on his face before he starts to lean in. His hand slides along her cheek to more firmly grip her face- it makes her gasp.

He pauses, thinking something is wrong. "Penelope, are y-" Her heart swells at how careful he is to take care of her always, and she meets him in the middle, pressing their lips together in a soft, purposeful kiss.

For a moment, all is still. The world boils down to just the place where their lips are touching. Their lips barely brush against one another, but already Penelope feels light headed. Derek separates their lips for a moment before kissing her again, a firmer touch this time. She sucks in a breath through her nose. His lips are incredibly kind- that’s the only word for it. He doesn’t seem to know the word “take” right now because all she can feel from him is “give.” As he presses into the kiss and gently cups the side of her face, her brain wildly spins through thoughts about how of course he’s like this even when kissing her and how good he smells and how she can’t believe they haven’t done this sooner.

He draws her closer against him, pressing into the kiss more insistently before bringing his other hand up to her face and holding her. His fingers move to cup the sides of her neck and she tilts her head to the left a touch, letting her mouth fall open in a sigh. He makes a soft noise before tentatively sliding their tongues together. A full body shiver runs down her spine and through her limbs. Another small noise falls from the back of his throat. Her stomach swoops like they've just dropped down the side of a huge arch in a roller coaster. She places both hands on his chest, pressing forward. He moves with her, chair squeaking underneath him as he presses closer, one arm snaking around her back. Penelope’s heart pounds even louder. His tongue is gentle even in its insistence as their kiss turns slightly desperate.

It feels like someone has lit a fire underneath Penelope’s chair, warmth washing over her whole body and radiating out from everywhere they touch. One of his hands tangles into her hair as he gently tilts her head back. If she wasn’t sitting her knees would have buckled so long ago, but now she would absolutely be on the floor. It’s no surprise that Derek Morgan is an incredible kisser, but knowing something and knowing something is so different.

He pulls back, letting their foreheads rest together. Her eyes stay closed, tingles radiating from everywhere his fingers are tenderly holding her face. She tightens her grip on his shirt. He kisses the tip of her nose. "You still with me, baby girl?"

She nods, breathless. She slowly opens her eyes and smiles at him. "Hi." It's the first thing she thinks to say.

He laughs. "Hey you."

She has so many questions- how long have you wanted to do that, can we do that again right now, can we do so much more right now, right here- but before she can ask any of them, her computer beeps loudly. "Oh!" She jumps at the sudden noise. He drops his hands and leans back, looking far too much like the cat who got the cream. "I should- right, I should deal with that," she says, standing on shaky legs. Heels were never so precarious. Of course, there is no hiding from a profiler.

He grins up at her. "Need some assistance?" His eyes are shining like he's hiding a joke. She scrunches her nose at him, biting back a smile.

"Oh, hush you. I’m perfectly capable of walking 3 feet, thank you very much." Her tenacity is a little undercut from the way her hands are trembling a little as she smooths her skirt, but still. The point remains.

He raises his hands in surrender. "Alright baby girl, go on then."

She walks over to her computer and stays standing to fiddle with the wires behind it before bending over at the keyboard and reading the report on the screen. "It shouldn't be much longer now, it just needs to run the last new anti-virus- what?" He's leaning back in his seat and staring at her, a small smile dancing on his lips.

"What, Mama?" But he knows what, clearly evident from the way he is trying to school his expression into something innocent.

She blushes. "Derek Morgan, I don't know what I'm going to do if you keep looking at me like that."

"Oh, I don't know. I might have some ideas."

She sucks in a sharp inhale through her nose. Playing nonchalant, she turns back to her computer. "Well, I might have to hear your ideas out."

"Yeah?"

She glances at him out of the corner of her eye and he's grinning.

"Yeah." she says, not trusting what will come out of her mouth if she elaborates (probably something along the lines of “I’d listen to all your ideas, do your ideas include any semblance of forever, if you keep grinning like that I'm gonna lock the door and do something reckless”).

They sit in relative silence, just the sounds of her typing filling the room. When she finishes, she spins her chair around. "Hi," she says again.

"Hi baby," he responds.

Her fingers twist and curl the hem of her skirt. "So, uh, well, that's gonna take at least another 30 minutes to finish running."

He raises one eyebrow. "30 minutes, huh?"

She nods. "Might be a good time for some of those ideas."

He stands and walks across the room to her. She takes his offered hand and stands as well. They stay there, inches apart and holding hands as the charged atmosphere around them seems to crackle. In the same breath, they lean in to kiss again. Both of her arms wrap around his neck as he tucks his around her waist. He pulls her against him, fully pressed together as the soft kiss deepens into something heated and desperate.

He bites her bottom lip gently before the kiss turns open mouthed and slick. She arches against him as they slide into a slow rhythm. She feels fluttery, like his arms are the only anchor point in the whole world and if he let her go, she’d simply float away. He tastes like lemonade, sweet and alive. She hums as he tracks his hands in a slow circle at the base of her spine. Her knees really do buckle a little as he attempts to tug her closer, but he holds her steady. She rests a hand on his cheek and grounds herself by using the other to grip the back of his neck. She’s utterly swallowed up by him, his arms and his mouth and just him surrounding her in their own little cocoon. He separates their mouths to kiss across her jaw and down her neck, hands flattening on her back. He places a line of long kisses down to the crook of her neck. She lets out a sigh, letting her head fall to the side to give him more room. He sinks his teeth into the same spot lightly, and she shudders.

"Derek," she whispers. She can feel his smile against his skin as he kisses the same place again.

They slow to a stop, tucked against each other. He rests his face against her neck and mumbles something against her skin. "Hmm honey?" she says, hand rubbing a circle on the nape of his neck.

"I got us that Talenti ice cream you like," he says, only moving enough to be heard. “Chocolate peanut butter cup, and the color changing spoons are still in the break room.”

"Oh Der, that's so sweet, you didn't have to do all of that." Her heart skips a beat.

He shrugs, kissing the side of her neck. "I wanted to."

She is half tempted to haul him in for another kiss, but as if on cue, her stomach grumbles. He picks his head up and smiles at her. "Come eat now," he says before giving her another quick peck.

She lets him pull her to the table, but before they sit, she pulls him in again. He chuckles into the kiss. "Eat, you menace." He mumbles against her lips. Pulling back, he plants a kiss on the apple of her cheek as he guides her into her seat.

She bites a retort about how she was trying to but he sees it on her face anyway.

"Later, baby girl. Dinner first."

“Then dessert?” She tilts her head and gives him a flirty smile.

He runs his thumb along her bottom lip. “All the dessert you want, Penelope.”

Much the same as before, they eat in comfortable silence. Except this time he rests a hand on her thigh, and traces a slow lazy circle with his thumb. The conversation picks back up and turns to unrelated things. Derek muses about possible retaliations from Spencer once he notices his new desk plants as he casually offers her a bite from his plate. She takes it, humming.

Something Penelope did not realize had lost its footing resettles in her chest. Nothing is different, not in any way that would scare her or be a loss. They are just the same as they've always been, but also more. (Though she'd be hard pressed to think of a time when this wasn't the way they were. Maybe things are just being unveiled, not changed.)

When they finish eating, he goes to get the ice cream and two of the fun spoons from the break room. They split the pint and laugh far too loudly for how late it is. The computer beeps for a final time, software finally fully uploaded and settled. She still has to run tests and double check that everything is working, but that can wait. Derek offers her a bite of ice cream, and if he kisses her again to remove the ice cream from her bottom lip, she can't say she minds.

#morcia #derek morgan #penelope garcia #cm #cj.txt #cjs fic #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds

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tsarisfanfiction · 3 years

Text

Libel (Part 2)

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Hurt/Comfort/Family Characters: John, Scott, Grandma, Tracy Family

Day 6 “touch and go” for @whumptober-archive and for the prompt bruises my muses decided to add on to my day 3 chapter, so have a rather displeased John. I’m not expecting this one to go any further, but then again I wasn’t expecting to add onto it at all, so who knows what’ll happen the rest of this month.

<<< Part 1

Grandma was waiting for them when they got home, the smell of something heavenly and clearly take-out wafting through the front door as it opened, and John felt a flash of guilt for forgetting to warn her about Scott’s physical condition when her mouth parted slightly in clear shock.

Scott’s weight had increased against him slowly but steadily as they’d finished the trek home, until his head was resting against John’s and his arm hung awkwardly around his shoulder. His eyes were rimmed with an angry red, and salted tear tracks cut down across the blossoming bruises. One eye, in addition to the tell-tale sign of crying, was swelling shut with a purple-black mark blooming around it, but while that was the worst mark on his face, there was barely any untouched skin. The exposed arms were also littered with colour, including vibrant handprints that told a story all of their own.

John was certain that Scott’s t-shirt was concealing more.

“What happened?” Grandma demanded after a moment, swooping in and gingerly cupping Scott’s face in her hands. His brother’s messenger bag dropped to the floor, and John let his own do the same without ever relinquishing his grip around Scott’s waist. Scott was clearly feeling the emotional damage more than the physical, but that didn’t mean that the physical didn’t promise pain in his brother’s future.

The weight against him increased again as Scott sagged at the question. John couldn’t see his face very well from his angle, but considering how wrecked his big brother was about the whole thing – and understandably so, in John’s furious opinion – he couldn’t envisage him repeating the tale again.

“Bullies,” he said shortly, enough to give an answer without tormenting Scott further by retelling the whole thing in his earshot. At some point the rest of the family needed to know that Scott and Christie were no longer together – preferably before one of them made an innocent comment – but he wasn’t going to dredge that up in Scott’s vicinity.

In his pocket, Scott’s phone hadn’t stopped vibrating with incoming messages. If they were all along the same vein as the ones John had seen initially, he was very glad he’d decided to, for all intents and purposes, confiscate his big brother’s phone. He’d probably need to change his number before it was safe to give it back.

“Terrible children,” Grandma muttered beneath her breath, before slowly stepping back and letting her hands reluctantly part with Scott’s face. “Your dinner’s in the kitchen and your brothers are upstairs in bed.” Had they stayed out that late? “Alan’s sharing with Virgil and Gordon tonight so you two don’t need to worry about him.” That was a relief – John loved Alan, and neither he nor Scott minded sharing a bedroom with the youngest, but tonight the last thing Scott needed was Alan’s innocent blue eyes forcing him to struggle to hold himself together.

Dinner sounded – and smelled – inviting. Grandma had taken his warning text seriously and gone straight for Scott’s favourites, from the smell of it. It was definitely a pleasant surprise in John’s book, and he hoped that Scott was up for trying to stomach at least some of the comfort food. If nothing else, the apple pie, whose cinnamon-tinted scent was wafting through invitingly, should entice his brother in.

Scott hadn’t said a word since choking out what had to be an extremely brief summary of events, and his silence continued as he kicked off his sneakers – still not separating from John for a single moment.

It was familiar behaviour;going to a brother for comfort when the world went mad was a common tactic, but the brother they all went to was Scott. He was never the one seeking comfort – that is, until now, and John couldn’t blame him in the slightest, so he stayed close and kept one arm around his brother without saying anything, hoping that it would help Scott as much as Scott’s presence always helped him.

“Get some food in your stomachs,” Grandma instructed. “Scott, have you taken any painkillers?”

Hair rustled in John’s ear as Scott shook his head. He still didn’t say a word and John rubbed his back gently.

“I’ll get you some,” she said, ushering them through the kitchen door. “Once you’ve eaten, Scott, I want you to take a hot bath.” She didn’t wait for a response before disappearing, leaving John to guide his brother over to the table, where Scott’s favourite burger waited.

To his relief, Scott didn’t need any convincing to eat, although the way he mechanically took each bite told John that he wasn’t really tasting it. The apple pie went down a little better – while Scott still didn’t speak, or smile, his mouthfuls seemed to be a little more organic, and irregularly frequent. John ate his own in equal silence, aware of the still-vibrating phone in his pocket but refusing to check the messages while Scott was next to him.

Grandma reappeared with Tylenol and a cold compress as Scott sipped at the soda, both of which were gratefully received, even if Scott’s reaction remained unusually muted. Still, he finished his meal, accepted the painkillers without a fuss, and let Grandma press the compress gently over his swollen-shut eye, which was as much as John could ask, given the situation.

All the while, Scott stayed in physical contact with him, leaning in and seemingly trusting John to hold him up so he didn’t fall to the floor. It felt rather like a metaphor, so when Grandma eased the compress back again several minutes later and nudged Scott towards the bathroom where she promised a nice, warm bath was waiting for him he didn’t hesitate to escort him.

The door clicked shut behind them and Scott sank onto the tiled floor, wrapping his arms around his knees. John settled down beside him and put his arm around him again, letting his brother lean in to the touch. Silence continued to reign.

Outside the room, he could hear the running feet of several brothers – probably all of them – and the subsequent scolding for running in the house, followed by a reminder that they should be in bed and that they’d see their eldest brothers in the morning. John would be very surprised if no black or blond heads poked into his and Scott’s room during the night. Dad was moving around, apparently finally appearing from his office for food, and John heard the outraged outburst as Grandma no doubt told him about Scott.

At least John could be confident that Scott wouldn’t be allowed into school tomorrow – with both Grandma and Dad on the warpath, his brother would be kept safely at home, likely not doing any work at all, although he might poke at some of his preferred subjects.

Speaking of his brother, Scott was showing no signs of getting in the water. John nudged him gently. “It’s going to get cold,” he prompted. “Do you want me to leave?”

His brother groaned lightly, but straightened enough to yank at his top. John shifted out of the way as the fabric came off over messy brown hair, and did his best not to let his reaction show on his face.

As suspected, Scott’s torso was awful. Bruises littered the skin, the fabric doing almost nothing to protect it from the blows it had taken, leaving it a rainbow of red hues. One in particular caught John’s attention – a large, darker area that sprawled across one side as though it’d been hit multiple times in quick succession. It took him a moment to yank his eyes away, shifting his entire body until Scott was out of view, and not turning back until water splashed and then stilled again.

Only his brother’s head and shoulders were visible over the edge of the bath, complete with one arm hanging over the side, fingertips just brushing the cool tiles of the floor. The heat of the water was rapidly adding even more pink to Scott’s skin, as though it needed it when there were enough broken blood vessels below his brother’s skin to change the hue all by themselves. Even with the painkillers Grandma had bestowed, John knew Scott was in for a sleepless night.

Then again, the heartbreak probably hurt more than everything else put together.

“Do you want me to leave?” he asked again, already gathering his legs underneath himself in preparation.

“No,” Scott rasped, the first word he’d spoken since returning home. His voice sounded scraped raw and weak, and John obediently settled back down again. “Please.”

John was going to destroy everyone who had a hand in reducing his big brother to this. There would be no mercy, and a large number of them were obligingly making his life much easier by blowing up Scott’s phone with messages his brother would never see hide nor hair of.

“Okay,” he agreed, settling his back against the toilet and shifting around until it was halfway comfortable. From that angle, Scott couldn’t see anything that might be on a phone screen, so while his big brother soaked in an attempt to ease the bruising, John got to work.

First was a message to Grandma from his own phone, giving her the basic rundown of events. She didn’t reply, but she did leave him on read, so he knew she had seen it.

There was no doubt in John’s mind that she would do everything in her considerable influence and power to make sure Scott didn’t have to go in to school again, or at least until it all blew over. His big brother was in good hands.

Still, John was not about to let things lie himself, either. Scott’s phone was a veritable goldmine of information, and while there was little John could do without his laptop, he could at least take note of the names sending threats and begin to scheme how he was going to get revenge.

No one hurt his brother and got away with it.

Quiet sobs that started up after a while, muffled in a way that sounded like Scott had a hand or arm over his mouth. John reached out for the dangling arm and tangled his fingers lightly with Scott’s even as he scoured his way through the social media of Christie’s two brothers, looking for the most damaging place to hit them back. If he played it right, he could ruin their football aspirations with a neat black mark on their record.

Oh, he understood why they’d reacted the way they had – if he’d gone to Scott and said someone had hurt him, there was no way Scott wouldn’t have launched himself straight into the situation entirely on his side. That didn’t mean John was going to spare them from retribution; he wasn’t that benevolent.

Christie herself he left for the moment. If he was going to hurt everyone who had hurt Scott, he was going to destroy the girl behind it all in the first place, and that would require his full attention. It would be most efficient to eliminate everyone else involved first.

From the state of Scott’s phone, it was a long list of targets, but John was nothing if not thorough as he sifted through the hateful messages.

Some of them were truly vile, and there were threats in there that made John feel sick just thinking about them. He set those aside to show Grandma; some things needed an adult’s intervention to handle effectively, and he was certain that some of the threats were jail-worthy if acted upon.

Scott had barely moved since getting into the bath, and John wondered if he was falling asleep in the pleasant warmth. Part of him hoped so; it was much better than wallowing in negative thoughts, especially ones he didn’t deserve. He squeezed his brother’s fingers lightly and was rewarded with a twitch in return.

His brother still didn’t talk. Not when he stopped crying again, wiping away tears with a wet arm. Not when Grandma lightly knocked on the door to suggest that they get ready for bed. Not when he got out of the bath, either, skin pruned and wrinkly, and John averted his gaze so he didn’t see anything he didn’t want to as Scott slowly dried off.

Dad was waiting when they left the bathroom, Scott wrapped up snugly in his favourite pyjamas, and wordlessly folded Scott into a big, warm hug which his big brother sank into bonelessly. John took the chance to slip away, finding Grandma downstairs and slipping her Scott’s phone.

She took one look at the first message on the screen and her face turned to granite.

“Neither of you are going to school tomorrow,” she told him. John hadn’t expected to be included in that, but it was clear there was no arguing. It worked in his favour anyway; vengeance would be easier to enact using his laptop without the prying eyes of hovering classmates. “And whatever you’re planning, John, don’t get caught.”

She followed him back up the stairs. Dad and Scott had migrated into their bedroom and John took the chance to get into his own pyjamas – although sleep wasn’t on his agenda just yet – before going to join them.

A door creeping open as he passed caught his attention and he paused to see three pairs of worried eyes peering out.

“Is Scott okay?” Alan was the one that spoke, not yet aware of the nuances of the indoor voice, but making a good go at whispering regardless. John could see the question reflected in two pairs of brown eyes as well and sighed, shoulders slumping.

“He broke up with Christie,” he explained, keeping his own voice low enough that there was no way the brother in question would be able to hear from down the hall. It was Virgil’s eyes he met, knowing that he was the only one old enough to comprehend what his next words would mean. “It was a bad breakup.” Sure enough, chestnut brown eyes widened.

“But is he okay?” Gordon asked, frowning, and John swallowed, not wanting to lie, but not wanting them to worry, either.

He settled on shrugging. “He will be.” I hope.

They surged forwards, apparently taking that as an invitation to go see him, and John had to plant himself firmly in the doorway to stop them. There was no way Scott would want them to see him in his current state.

“Tomorrow,” he said, somewhat sharply. “He needs space right now.”

They grumbled malcontentedly, but he stood firm, pulling upon his rarely used big brother clout to get them to obey until the door closed again.

In all likelihood, they’d be sneaking in later, but hopefully Scott would be less visibly distraught by then.

John padded into his bedroom and headed straight for his bed. Dad was sitting with Scott on his brother’s bed, arms firmly around him and one hand running through his hair as he sobbed. From the way he was slumped, and the weakness of the sobs, Scott was on the cusp of sleep. John wasn’t naïve enough to think that he’d sleep all through the night, not with all those bruises, but he’d gladly support any sleep Scott could get.

For his part, he pulled up his phone and continued scrolling through the names of Scott’s year mates. Most of them had left a message on his phone.

“Don’t stay up too late,” Dad cautioned suddenly and he jumped, checking the time to see it was much later than he’d realised. Scott was neatly tucked into bed, the vision of a perfect slumber ruined by the tear tracks down his face.

“I won’t,” he shrugged, an acknowledgement but not a promise. “Night, Dad.”

“Goodnight, John.” He was pulled into a brief hug, kiss pressed against his brow, before Dad slipped out of the room, leaving him with his sleeping brother.

Armed with his laptop, phone, and the simmering fury kept at a boil by the sight of his battered brother, John got to work.

#whumptober2021 #no.6 #bruises #thunderbirds are go #fic #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #john tracy #scott tracy #grandma tracy #jeff tracy #virgil tracy #gordon tracy #alan tracy #thunderwhump #thunderfluff

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jonesyjonesyjonesy · 3 years

Text

Wildflowers (pt. iii)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

pt. i, crocus pt. ii, gorse pt. iii, primrose pt. iv, willow 🌼 pt. v, heart’s-ease pt. vi.i, daisy 🌼 pt. vi.ii, daisy pt. vi.iii, daisy 🌼

(🌼) denotes nsfw

notes: angst, oc for the oc, hurt/comfort, grief, slow burn, eventual nsfw

a/n: Thank you all for your continued support. I know I said it would be awhile until the next bit, but I don't find it healthy to stifle things I want to write if they're ready to be born, so here we are.

Side note: I know the timeline is a little wonky for this fic as I'm taking canon events and smooshing them all around for my purposes. Let me know if you would ever like a post as kind of a behind the scenes look at the timeline and any points of reference I have.

Thank you for all your love and support in all forms. It means the world.

pt. iii, primrose

"If you’re around them long enough, I don’t see you being able to resist that kind of trouble. And we know how that turned out the first time."

need to catch up? click here for pt. ii, gorse

“Oh dear, Julia…” Nick murmured, thumbing through the document. “This is…”

“Bad?” I asked.

His easy brown eyes flicked up to mine and his lips curled to the side. “You can’t sign this.”

It was the middle of the first Sunday in April and the sun eagerly beamed through the lace curtains of the apartment. We sat opposite one another on the matching sofas, two cups of once steaming tea lazing on the coffee table.

“You know what kind of money these guys have?” Nick asked and then laughed at himself, gesturing to the room. “I mean, you’re like living at Wildfell Hall or something.”

“So, it’s iron clad?”

He shook his head. “It wouldn’t matter if it is. They’ve left plenty of holes for you to twist your pretty ankles in, Julia. You’d think you’re getting away with something and then you’ve tripped and fell flat on your face.”

I frowned, “But I’m not looking to get away with anything.”

“But on the off-chance you did –”

“What do you think I’m going to do, Nicky? Take the girls’ grade reports to the press?”

Nick gave me a look, “You’d be backing yourself into a corner by signing this, that’s all.”

“Stop it with the metaphors,” I rolled my eyes and reached for the pack of cigarettes he had left out on the coffee table.

He grunted in response and flipped through the pages again as I lit a cigarette. Nick looked lovely that day. I wasn’t going to lie to myself. He had coiffed his dark bronze hair nicely, a perfect curl fallen out over his forehead. And he was immaculately dressed in slacks and the brown tweed sportcoat he had tailor made for him just a few months ago. New, creaseless leather shoes too. When I first met him, he looked so much younger, still with the baby fat in his cheeks and slacks that were a little too short for him. Boyish and sweet. And now, he was slim and handsome, the slightest wrinkles forming on his forehead from all the nights spent reading and writing for school. The boyishness and the sweetness had been exchanged for maturity and misanthropy.

“How did you get wrapped up in this, huh? I mean, bloody Led Zeppelin, that’s not nothing.”

“You read my contract; you know there wasn’t a pin about it.”

He sighed and suddenly slapped the papers back into a stack. His eyes shot up to mine. “Lover.”

Lover. A pet name that fit so well five years ago that in the end only bubbled up when things needed desperate attention. Now, though, in my mind, we were separate. I was not “lover”. The cigarette smoke in my lungs went cold.

“I can’t in good conscience let you stay here.”

I looked away and snorted, “The contract told you that?”

“No, no, forget the NDA. Forget it and look at me,” he said.

“I’m looking.”

I wasn’t.

“You’re not.”

Damn.

I raised my eyes to his. Brown like the beetles running through soft and rain filled bark. His eyes alternately gave me thrilling goosebumps and made my skin crawl. “You know what those men are like, don’t you?”

“What are you talking about?”

“They’re heathens.”

“Oh, come on, Nick.”

“They destroy hotel rooms and drink excessively and have Dionysian orgies and – “

“Orgies. You’ve gone absolutely mad.”

Nick’s jaw fell agape. “Have you read a single thing about them?”

“Have you?” I shot back. “You a big fan all of a sudden? Traded in your beloved Chet Baker vinyls for something a bit harder?”

“A bit? That’s generous,” he said and, without missing a beat, reached into his briefcase and pulled out several magazines, splashy tabloids that in his pale hand looked totally out of place. “I’ve read into them plenty. More than I would ever have liked to. They’re despicable from what I can tell.”

I side-eyed the stack. Melody Maker, Creem, Best…“That’s silly, Nick.”

He sat up straight. “Silly?”

“Are you trying to collect all the posters while you’re at it?” I asked, reaching for one of them, covered with a striking image of Jimmy slinging his guitar across his front with his head tossed back in an aural fury. It was a funny feeling to know I had met the man in the flesh. “A full color of Jimmy Page in this one. You can hang it on the wall of your new flat.”

“You’re not taking this seriously,” Nick snapped at me, his lips going thin.

“I’m taking it plenty seriously. I asked you to go through the contract, not to go gathering gossip.”

Nick’s ears were deaf to me now. “I did this for you, Julia. I came all the way out here to go over your little NDA and I’m giving you my professional opinion and – “

“Nicky, you’re not giving me your professional opinion,” I said in annoyance. “You’re making it about something completely different than what’s on the page and editorializing about people you don’t know to avoid what you actually want to say.” I stamped out my cigarette. “You know I can’t stand that. Say what you mean.”

Nick opened his mouth to reply and then stood up with a gruff exhale. In moments like these, I felt miles older than him, even though it was just two years. His petulance often led to infinite feeling silences. He exhausted me.

“And may I remind you that you’re the one who insisted you come out here. We didn’t have to do this,” I murmured and looked out the window at the driveway where there were dark treads in the gravel driveway from where the Interceptor peeled out earlier.

I hadn’t wanted Nick to visit me at Warren House, but he wouldn’t relent. “After all,” he had said. “You owe it to me for all the worrying I’ve done.”

John and I had not yet discussed the boundaries of my life at Warren House. This is always one of the tricky things about living in someone else’s home, negotiating where their life ends and yours begins. I approached John about it after dinner the night after I called Nick while the girls were all distracted around the television.

“John?” I rarely said his name if I could avoid it. It almost gagged me each time, that crossing of a familiar line when I couldn’t help but feel he wanted me so distant.

He lifted his gaze from the magazine he had been reading, a Beat Instrumental with Mick Jagger on the cover (I did recognize him since his face was hard to avoid ten years ago), and raised an eyebrow. “Hm?”

“My legal counsel would like to meet with me in person and –“

“He can come out here, then. Whenever you need the time,” he said quickly before I could even finish and returned to reading his magazine.

I was stunned. “I could go up to London if that’s easier, I don’t want to encroach on your space. Or the girls or –“

“The girls should get used to you having a life outside of them. You know, if you’re staying on.”

I carried the word “if” heavily around the rest of the week, that small yet formidable operative in his sentence. It would certainly be a convenient way to get rid of me if that’s what he wanted. But I hadn’t actually considered that anyone else was negotiating the idea that I might decline to sign and leave. And so, I begrudgingly called Nick back and he said he’d drive out for a cup of tea on Sunday afternoon.

When Nick arrived, 20 minutes earlier than expected, John answered the door and sent Jacinda up to fetch me. Jacinda and I had become good friends over my first weeks at Warren House with all the time we spent over her school books. She was most talkative during homework time; when her sisters were around, she tended to go quiet. After all, Kiera was the littlest, a handful and Tamara was withholding and dramatic, often changing the mood of a room just by walking into it. Jacinda waited to share until she was sure she’d be heard.

“Maureen’s girl,” Annie murmured in my ear once as we watched the three girls playing a boardgame. Kiera and Tamara were arguing over the rules while Jacinda stared at instructions, attempting to find the words to describe the solution to her sisters. “Those two were stuck together like glue.”

Parents say they don’t have favorites, and this is true, but just as with our friendships, some children are easier than others, and those are the ones parents tend to keep close. Jacinda was a “good friend” type of child, easygoing and respectful. But, like most children kept close, it was clear she was reliant on that familiarity and camaraderie with the adults around her. Without her mother, Jacinda’s anxiety had been born in the smallest things like the loose threads of her school uniform and the egg yolk that dripped off the edge of her plate. I was certainly no replacement for Maureen, but Jacinda had found comfort in my presence.

“Your friend is here,” Jacinda had said in the doorway of my bedroom.

“My friend?”

Jacinda shrugged. “That’s what daddy said.”

I was unsure how Nick introduced himself to John. He wasn’t an idiot (necessarily), but I could see him undercutting me and characterizing our relationship in familiarity rather than professionalism. “Come here, pick out which lipstick I should wear.”

She sorted through the golden bullets of lipstick on the vanity and chose a soft and subtle shade of mauve which I applied quickly before leading her out the apartment to the back staircase. “What do you think of my outfit, Cin?” It was perhaps disingenuous of me, but I had dressed up for the occasion too in a blouse and long skirt that I knew he loved.

She paused, let her eyes cross from my shoulders to my shoes, and then smiled, “It looks pretty.”

“Thank you. I have to say, I’m feeling a little nervous,” I said lightly even though my insides had been churning since the middle of the night.

“Butterflies or bees?”

Butterflies or bees, the code we had come up with for when she was feeling overwhelmed. The children I had worked with before had often taken to the idea of their feelings as animals. Something a bit easier to understand than amorphous emotions. When she was overwhelmed, I would ask her if she felt like there were butterflies in her stomach or bees on her fingertips.

“Both. Have you ever been that nervous?”

I was too distracted by the two men’s voices beyond the door to hear her answer. I couldn’t make out the words, John’s voice too gentle and Nick’s too low. But when I heard a shared bit of laughter, I felt an unfair stroke of frustration at them getting on and took that as my cue to enter.

Nick’s attention snapped to me at once and made his way over to me. “There she is,” he said, his voice as grave as ever even if he was smiling. “You look lovely.”

“So do you,” I replied, flushing.

I felt him leaning toward me, leaning in for something closer than I wanted. I couldn’t very well turn away and start our meeting off so coldly when I needed his help. So, I let Nick close the space between us, giving me a soft and lingering kiss on my cheek and resting his hand on my waist.

We were, of course, being watched on both sides. John’s eyes met mine over Nick’s shoulder, his head cocking slightly as he observed the way Nick greeted me. I averted my gaze and whispered quickly, “You’re early, you know.”

“Prompt, more like it.”

“Yes well, I wanted to be able to meet you at the door,” I replied, pulling away from his touch entirely. There was a small, uncomfortable silence over the entire room. Nick’s eyes in mine, waiting for me to say something, Jacinda and John watching and trying to understand who we were to one another. I cleared my throat, “Why don’t we go upstairs and we can –“

“I’m about to take the girls out to run some errands,” John interrupted suddenly. “Perhaps you’d like to give Mr. Westerling a look around the place before you get down to business.”

I narrowed my eyes at him and was about to refuse before Nick bubbled, “I’d like that very much, thank you.”

“Is that really necessary, Mr. Westerling?” I asked, forcefully lingering on his last name. “After all, you charge by the hour.”

“Not for my favorite client, Ms. Morgan,” he replied.

I had intended on paying him his hefty going rate, but now that seemed out of the question if he was going to use our time casually. “Well, fine, as long as we won’t be a bother to you all,” I said to John with a careful nudge toward rescinding his offer.

“No, not at all,” John replied. “Jacinda, get your shoes on, I’ll get your sisters.”

After John disappeared to up the main stairs, Nick was much more forward with me, even though Jacinda was still in the room, tying up her trainers. He brushed my hair off my shoulders and gave my waist a squeeze before saying at full volume, “I forgot how beautiful you are.” I felt Jacinda’s eyes and ears on us until we disappeared through the drawing room and out onto the stone patio.

Nick clearly hadn’t expected me to be so cold through his visit. As I showed him around, I dodged his affectionate gestures whenever I could, even though I knew the Baldwins weren’t even around. He was able to steal a kiss underneath the beautiful Beech tree on the edge of the main part of the property that became greener by the day. Once in the privacy of my apartment, he exuded a sort of dangerous hope to get through the work and then toss it aside dramatically so that we could take care of other ‘unfinished’ sorts of business since we had had such a lousy goodbye in London. But to my mind, we had used up our allotment of dramatic plot twists, been broken up and returned to one another too many times. I was getting too old for that.

And now, here we were. Nick finally broke the silence between us. “They’re animals.”

“Well, I’m not working with them, I’m working with three little girls.”

“I bet they’re animals too,” he said under his breath.

I quickly snapped at him, “You can slander grown men all you want, but I will not tolerate you speaking about children like that.”

Nick went red and turned away, masking a very small ‘sorry’ in his hand. The silence fell again, shorter this time, until he found my gaze. “I don’t want you around them, Julia.”

“I’m the nanny, not a groupie.”

“You don’t know what –“

“You don’t trust I can handle myself, do you?”

He went silent. That was answer enough. He didn’t and that was clear. Even on nights out when we were in London, at functions and dinners, Nick’s hand always seemed to find the back of my neck as if I were his marionette.

“Unbelievable,” I scoffed.

Nick quickly tried to backtrack, “You’d be doing a foolish thing by signing that, that’s all. Come with me or don’t, but you should go back to London at the very least.”

“Come with you?” I asked. “Is that an option now?”

Nick frowned, “It was always an option.”

I let out a blistered laugh. “You never even asked.”

“Well, I don’t know Julia. You didn’t even seem interested. You kept going on interviews and then you wound up here, why would I have asked?” he shrugged.

“Stop it, just stop that.”

“What?”

“It’s not my fault that you didn’t ask,” I said.

“Would you have said yes? Be honest, would you have agreed?” Nick shifted toward me with a fiery look in his eyes.

No, I wouldn’t have. “It doesn’t matter now if I would have said yes because you didn’t.”

“See, this is so like you. You want to have the option to tell everyone no. It’s why you called me out here, isn’t it? You’re going to sign the damn thing no matter what but you wanted to tease everyone into thinking you were going to leave so that when you stay it’s this big sigh of relief and –“

“Don’t act like you know me and my every move, that’s so childish,” I intervened.

Nick’s turn to laugh, loudly and reproachfully, “Julia, lover, I know every single thing about you.”

I swallowed.

“Every single thing.”

Nick did know every single thing. After five years, how could he not. He knew things I rarely speak aloud. Things that weigh on my mind to this day; a combination of mistakes and regrettable events, questions of understanding I hold for the universe that are never answered. These secret things would find new audience in due time, but with Nick, they only required slight allusion to put me ill at ease.

His voice softened, “If you’re around them long enough, I don’t see you being able to resist that kind of trouble. And we know how that turned out the first time.”

I held my breath, tears irritating the corners of my eyes. I pulled my gaze away and looked back out the window. The sofa bent beside me as Nick sat, his hip brushing against mine.

“You don’t deserve that kind of pain again.”

“I’m not a child, I’m not going to…“ I couldn’t even finish before the tears started spilling.

“Oh, lover, of course, you’re not,” Nick replied gently, his hand finding my knee. “You know I don’t think that.” He was getting closer, his breath starting to slip through strands of my hair. “Why risk it, though? You can come with me. I’m a sure thing. No surprises.”

At the root of all of this was the simple notion that I no longer loved Nick. On paper, he was wonderful: handsome, a good job, well-humored, often compassionate if he could stomach it. But when it comes to love, it doesn’t matter what someone looks like on paper. I knew that I couldn’t stomach Nick’s love the rest of my life.

My delay in reply left a gap for Nick to lean in and kiss me. His lips were desperate for me to return the kiss with some ferocity. I wanted to vomit. I pushed him off of me and glared, “You’re a self-important arse.”

“Julia –“

“You want to play a hero. That’s the only reason you’re offering now.”

Nick recoiled, “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Acting like I have no self-restraint, that you need to cart me off to Paris where I’ll just sit in your flat until I off myself.”

“Christ, what is –“

“I asked for your help in good conscience. I don’t need your antics.”

Nick was icing over by the moment; his brand of ire was hypothermic. “You’re nothing but a bitter fool,” he seethed through his teeth.

The Interceptor rolling into the gravel driveway gave us both pause. “You should go.”

“They pay you to be here. They don’t care for you.”

Car doors slamming, the girls’ voices tittering, John calling after them with some sort of direction.

“As soon as they’ve found use for you, they’ll get rid of you.”

I mirrored his coldness, “I’ll take your opinion into account as I make my decision.”

Nick’s eyes widened and his nostrils flared. Cruely was inevitable. “You want to accuse me of being a hero, but just look at yourself trying to play mother to children that aren’t your own.”

Nick knew too much. What was once something I gave him in the cloak of night that he took with tender hands and held carefully had become something to use against me in anger. Several tears escaped my eyes. “That’s enough.”

Nick’s anger broke, jaw dropping, the boyishness I remembered fondly overwhelming his hard-edged persona. The redness on his face was no longer his blood pressure rising but the utmost embarrassment. “Julia…”

“Leave.”

Nick was a good listener; of that I was grateful. Nick retrieved his briefcase and moved toward the back stairwell before pausing and deciding if he should speak.

“I care for you, lover. I wish you realized that.”

And with that, he was gone.

Thank god. I couldn’t contain the tears longer, crumpling over my knees and letting out a heaving, relieved sob. The few hours we had been together had been so tense and seemingly unending. Now, my coffee table was a dissonant amalgam of black and white legal documents and gaudy news rags. I didn’t even know where to start with picking up after the blustery mess.

I pulled back on the lace curtain and, bleary-eyed, watched Nick and John’s paths cross. They greeted each other, Nick anxiously trying to exit John’s attempt at conversation. John didn’t keep him long and watched Nick retreat to his car across the driveway. Then, his eyes flipped up to my window with curiosity. I tossed the curtain closed as quick as I could and retreated to my bedroom where I rode out the rest of my tears for the next several hours between fits and starts of napping.

If I had been leaning one way or the other on if I was to sign the contract, I was now staunchly in the middle. There was something to be said for Nick’s concern; the juggernaut of Zeppelin was all red tape and platform shoes and I very well could twist my ankles in those. But I couldn’t shake the girls from my mind. Even Tamara, who was cold to me a good deal of the time, was starting to show signs of thawing to my affection and presence (although this breakthrough would not come without a coup de grace).

I awoke to a rapping on my bedroom door. To my surprise, the room was already completely dark and the sounds outside my window were those of a world starting to nestle into nighttime. After a moment, there were whispers on the other side of the door, a small voice met with warm coaxing.

I rose from the bed, rubbing my eyes and readjusting my shirt as I went, entirely mussed from my unanticipated slumber. When I opened the door, I found Jacinda with a paper in her hands, nervously shifting from foot to foot, accompanied by John who hung back near the doorway to the apartment.

“Well, hello there, Cin,” I said with a small smile. “What are you doing here?”

Jacinda looked back to John who nodded with all the affirmation a father can give and a small gesture of his hand for her to speak. “This is for you,” she replied, holding the paper out to me.

I accepted it gingerly with a wondrous gasp, “Jacinda! Oh, my goodness.” I unfolded the paper and found a delicate drawing of light-yellow flowers being visited by jolly butterflies and bees, completed with a dedication at the top – To Julia. Love, Jacinda and Kiera. “Look at those beautiful lowercase letters,” I remarked with awe. She was known to rush through her writing and use all capitals if I wasn’t on her about it.

Jacinda walked me through the process of her picture: the flowers that were supposed to be primroses, her representation of each member of the household as a bee or a butterfly, and letting Kiera sign it even though she didn’t do anything.

“That was very nice of you to include her,” I giggled. “Oh, this is just so lovely, Cin, really. You are such a fantastic artist. Thank you.”

Her face burst into an excited redness as she beamed up at me.

“May I give you a hug?”

She nodded vigorously. I bent down and wrapped my arms around her. “You are so sweet to think of me,” I said with an extra squeeze.

Jacinda laughed into my neck as I lifted her just enough so only her toes were on the ground. When I pulled away, I gave her a big smile and she smiled back bashfully before looking to John.

“Okay, to bed now,” John said quietly with a jerk of his head. “I’ll be in in a minute; I want to talk to Julia.”

I felt my heart sink at the idea of him wanting to talk to me. What it could be about, I could only guess. Jacinda disappeared into the main hall quickly without any fuss. John and I were quiet a moment before both trying to speak at once.

“I’m sorry for interrupting –“

“I hope it wasn’t a bother to have – “

We both stopped short and smiled uncomfortably. “You go ahead,” I murmured.

“Well, uh, I…I know it’s Sunday so I apologize for interrupting your privacy,” John said and then cleared his throat. “But we thought you should know you were missed at dinner tonight.”

The earnestness and care in his words was so jarring that I couldn’t muster words. I realized that tonight was the first dinner I had missed with the Baldwins. I always made a point to eat with them, even on my off-days. Everyone was most at ease over dinner, even John.

It was nice to know I was missed.

“Without swaying whatever decision you’ve come to, the girls are very taken with you,” he said, lowering his gaze to the coffee table, scanning the mess Nick and I had made. Perhaps he would have said more if it weren’t for the magazines. A small smile blipped onto his face. “You were doing some reading earlier then?”

I swiftly went to pick them up and fumbled through my words, “My lawyer, he brought those, they aren’t – I didn’t – “ I looked back to him and sighed. “I wouldn’t have gone out of my way to –“

“Relax, Julia,” John chuckled, running a hair back through his hair. “Seems your man thought he was well-researched.”

Emphasis on the word thought. “Yes, brought a whole newsstand with him,” I mumbled.

“May I?” he asked, a hand going toward the stack of magazines in my arms.

“Please, I have no use for them.”

As he took one of the magazines, I noticed the slightest ripple of musculature in his fingers, skill and craft oozing from his touch. It was all well and good to talk about the mighty Led Zeppelin as hedonistic savages, but I had to hope they were deserving of the glory. He began to flip through the magazine until he landed on the spread on Zeppelin. He smirked, “God, that was a look.”

I peered at the page featuring a group shot of the band in front the jet of a huge airliner. None of them were recognizably John, at least not at first, until I spotted him at the end, sporting a fringed bob look and a denim button-down entirely undone. I couldn’t help but laugh. “I didn’t even recognize you at first.”

“Hard to believe it wasn’t that long ago,” he blushed. The accompanying article title no doubt threw him off balance: Has Zeppelin Gone Down Like a Lead Balloon? “Feels like eons.” He snapped the magazine shut and started to hand it back to me. I pointed toward the bin in the corner and he laughed before dropping it in. “You alright then?”

“Hm?”

“Your lawyer looked quite perturbed on his way out.”

I rolled my eyes. “Isn’t that normal for lawyers?”

John conceded with a nod, “That’s fair, although I’ve been in some pretty tough rooms and I’ve never seen a lawyer have such a pitiful look in his eye while walking out of a meeting.”

I was quiet a moment. John was a very observant person, although it probably wouldn’t have taken a genius to gather that my relationship with Nick was anything but platonic. “I didn’t want him to come out here and be a bother to you and the girls, I –“

“No, Julia, that’s not what I meant.”

“I know it’s not what you meant, but I am…” I looked up to catch a word from the sky. “I am mortified.”

“Mortified? What for?”

“All of it,” I answered with a humorous jostle of my head, feeling drunk from the emotions of the day.

“Please, nothing so dramatic as that.”

“But I am,” I said grimly. “I was trying to be –“

“You were trying to be prudent,” John interrupted. That’s how I had described the maneuver a few days earlier, a gesture of prudence. “You needed to talk with your lawyer. Anything else is your business.”

I stared at him. His softness was almost unsettling, bothersome. “I had no idea who you were,” I said quietly. It was not an apology or an attack, but an observation I felt must be said.

“Which was how I wanted it,” John replied with a nod. His brow knit together as he processed the impact of his withheld information. “And was a mistake in hindsight. Was a bit…dishonest, I guess. But I didn’t see it that way at the time.”

I couldn’t look him in the eye too long before becoming flustered. “I don’t hold it against you.”

He smiled, “You didn’t answer my question.”

I laughed, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember it.”

“’Are you alright?’ Are you alright, Julia?”

I had thought I had cried out all my tears, but the pricking sensation suddenly returned to my eyes. I nodded heavily, “Yes, just been a long day.”

John hummed knowingly.

“Thank you, though, for the – “ I pulled the card out from the stack of tabloids pressed against my chest. “I needed this; I really did.”

John looked to the card; the tenseness in his cheeks dropped, casting a solemn pall on his face, even though he smiled. “You said they know more than we give them credit for, right?”

“They do.”

John leaned in and murmured, “And for the record, it was all Jacinda. Kiera really did just come in at the last minute to stamp her name on it.”

“Oh, you’re a snitch, are you?” I teased.

“They may be my children, but dammit if I’ll let them get away with that kind of behavior,” he added wryly.

I laughed and couldn’t help but wonder if John’s sudden ease with me was from the understanding that I was, indeed, a broken person too. We bid one another “goodnight” and before John left, he reminded me to make a decision that felt right for me: “We’ll be alright.” I wasn’t sure if I believed him from the way his face broke so subtly in certain places.

Not ten minutes later, the ink of my signature was dried on the contract and I was crawling into bed for a well-earned sleep, eager to start the next day with a phone call to Mr. Page.

click here for pt. iv, willow

✨ For more of my writing, visit my masterlist. ✨

taglist: @princesspagey, @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @edal-weis, @salixfragilis, @kyunisixx, @ritacaroline (let me know if you’d like to be added 🥰)

#a classic oc for the oc situation #john paul jones #john paul jones x fem!oc #fanfiction #fanfic #wildflowers #the nannyfic #jpj #jonesy #classic rock rpf #jimmy page #alternate timeline #rpf #john paul jones x oc #MO JONES STILL DESERVES THE WORLD THIS HAS NOTHING TO DO WITH HOW MUCH I ADORE HER

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sofwrites · 3 years

Note

for the prompt thing; polin + 41

41: sitting close and knees touching | Also my entry for Polin Week Day 3: Modern AU

A modern twist on Penelope finding out about Colin's journals

Themes: angst, yearning, teasing | Length: 2.3k

Read on ao3 or under the cut | masterlist

Thank you for requesting! xx

He hadn’t planned on telling anyone. He really hadn’t planned on anyone seeing them. And he really really hadn’t planned on anyone ever reading them.

The only reason Colin had even started keeping a journal was to remind himself that he was a real person on his travels- that he had the power to leave something permanent on earth. That he wasn’t completely wasting his time flitting from country to country- desperately trying to find some sort of purpose in his life.

Again, he hadn’t planned on anyone seeing them.

But one day he was painstakingly hiding his journals in a deep, hidden corner of his laptop, and the next, Penelope Featherington had found one. She’d found one then read. And somehow, she thought they were good. Actually good. Not I’m-only-saying-this-to-be-nice good.

And, sure, it had all happened by accident, but after some time, Colin was so incredibly thankful that it did.

He’d been hiding out in Eloise’s flat (Anthony had texted about wanting to meet that afternoon because- well, it didn’t matter really. The fact of the matter was that Colin had no desire to do so) when the buzzer rang.

He ignored it and continued to flip through the book in his hand.

But then it rang again. And again.

And on the fourth ring, Colin finally groaned and forced himself off of the sofa.

It was barely a second after his finger had reached the speaker that a loud, rather familiar-sounding shriek rang out. “Eloise!! Eloise! Please tell me you’re there!”

With a snort, Colin cut the voice off and buzzed them in. And in roughly a minute (an impressive feat considering that Eloise lived on the fifth floor), he saw a bouncing bit of red hair through the peephole and opened the door.

“Thank God, I really need-” Penelope froze mid-step in the frame as her eyes traveled up to reach Colin’s face. For a moment, she just stared, her mouth parted open. And then she swallowed and gave a quick shake of the head.

With a slightly forced smile, she nodded and swept past him, looking around as she went towards the sitting room. “Is Eloise in?”

“She’s not,” Colin answered flatly as he casually leaned against the closed door. He kept an impressively blank expression as Penelope haphazardly rifled through Eloise’s desk, roughly blowing a few loose curls out of her face. “Looking for something?”

Penelope either missed or simply ignored the teasing tone as she frantically moved her search to the sofa cushions. “Did she leave her laptop here?”

“Don’t think so. Though I’m not entirely sure- all she told me was to try not to empty her entire fridge.”

Normally, that would have elicited Colin a laugh or an amused smile, but all Penelope did was let out a groan. A groan that bizarrely caused his stomach to flip. He glanced away from her, clearing his throat. ”Erm- but if you need a laptop, I do have mine.”

Penelope looked up at him with such sharpness that it caught him a bit off guard. “You do? Can I borrow it?”

He blinked at her for a moment, but quickly nodded and motioned to his bag near her feet. He’d barely muttered a “Course” before she’d already retrieved and set it on the table.

“Oh, password’s-” Colin balked for a second, his mouth still open. He’d never told anyone his password before, and it felt… Odd. Unnerving to give away such a private piece of information. But Penelope was looking up at him again, eyes huge and slightly feral, antsy fingers hovering over the keys. He rubbed the back of his neck before mumbling, “GregorySux. With an x.”

The tips of Penelope’s fingers froze as the corner of her mouth twitched, but she bit her lip as she looked down to type.

“He kept hacking into it,” Colin said in an attempt to justify himself.

She seemed so focused on the screen that he thought she hadn’t heard him, but, almost absentmindedly, Penelope said, “Don’t think it’s hacking if your password is literally Password.”

He gaped at her. “I can’t believe Eloise told you!”

This time, Penelope just shrugged in response, her attention completely taken away. The only sounds that filled the room were those of her lightning-quick typing.

He stood there for a moment, feeling uncharacteristically awkward as he watched her fingers work. And then he cracked his neck before nodding. “Right, I’ll give you a minute…”

And as he reached Eloise’s toilet, it occurred to Colin he’d never before been alone with Penelope- not really. He’d known the girl for over a decade, but they’d never really been friends. They were friendly and had spent a decent amount of time together, but there’d never been a real closeness, definitely not one where they could spend a casual afternoon hanging out.

But Colin had never had trouble with finding the right words to say, so it shouldn’t be different with Penelope, right?

He’d asked her about work- that was safe. And maybe how her recent trip with Eloise and Frannie had been- also another safe topic. After that, it’d be no trouble.

But when he reentered the hallway, Colin immediately noticed how quiet it had suddenly gotten- the air completely absent of any hasty typing. Silently, he peered inside the sitting room.

Penelope was still hunched over his laptop, her mouth parted slightly as she stared at the screen. The only movement of her hands was to scroll, but her eyes were running across the screen at an inhuman speed. He watched her for a moment, the corner of his mouth rising unconsciously as her lips mouthed a few words.

He felt intrigued.

Not intrigued by her- of course. But rather intrigued by what had entranced her so much that she couldn’t dare peel her eyes from the computer.

She didn’t react as he crept behind her, looking over her shoulder to see the screen. The brightness was a bit lowered, but he could see a Word document. He leaned a bit closer, eyes squinting as he read a random line.

Imagine you’re at a party, feeling weightless and invincible-

Wait- he recognized those words.

Colin’s eyes flew to the title of the page, which very clearly read, Italy, 09/03/19.

“What the hell are you doing?”

Penelope yelped at the sudden noise, turning her head so quickly that her forehead made contact with Colin’s nose.

“OW!”

And that was how it had all started. A frantic Penelope, a trip to the toilet, an accidentally minimized Word document, and a (luckily) not broken nose.

He’d been angry at first… Well, really, he’d been fairly livid about the entire thing. Not because he was necessarily mad at Penelope, who had accidentally opened the tab initially, but rather because he felt… Embarrassed. It was embarrassing having one’s little sister’s best friend accidentally come across their greatest secret.

But even though he wanted to forget and pretend it all had never happened, Penelope had been unrelenting. After an assurance that what she read had been good, she’d practically demanded that he let her read through the rest of his work.

And now, weeks later, here they were sitting next to each other at his kitchen table, two cups of tea and a printed-out version of his journal laid out in front of them.

“What was it you were trying to say here?” Penelope asked, her eyes rolling over a highlighted section of an Australia entry.

He looked down at the page, following where her finger rested. Instantly, he felt himself flush a bit. She was pointing out a particularly convoluted metaphor he’d written, one likening the magnificent sunset to the familiarity of reading one’s favorite childhood book for the first time as an adult.

“Erm…” He cringed, unable to say anything else.

It was still so odd- the not knowing what to say. Colin Bridgerton wasn’t someone who ever had trouble figuring out his words, and yet… And yet having Penelope had that effect on him. Or, more likely, having Penelope inspect his work, dissecting every word that had ever come out of his brain, make him feel insecure in a way he never was.

It wasn’t so much that it was Penelope, of course. She was his sister’s best friend, a woman he’d known since they were barely grown. It would have been like that if anyone else had seen his work, he was sure of it.

But even still- he found himself staring at a rogue curl on her cheek, his hand twitching to reach up and tuck it away.

“Colin?” Penelope interrupted his roaming thoughts, abruptly looking up at him. Her lips pinched together once she saw his expression, pulling themselves down into a small frown. “Colin,” she repeated in a softer voice. “I wasn’t lying when I said you were a fantastic writer. It’s just that everyone needs a little editing- even the best of us.”

His head tilted slightly as he looked at her, suddenly caught on her use of the word, us. “Do you write a lot then?”

Penelope’s lips slowly formed a smile as she looked at him, a hint of hesitation on her face. She sighed, taking a moment. “Well, actually-” But then she cut herself off, suddenly resembling the same shy Penelope he hadn’t seen in years.

Colin found himself leaning in, putting both arms on the table in front of them, desperate to hear the end of whatever she’d wanted to say. He could feel his knee bumping into hers, but neither of them moved. “What?” he prompted, surprised to hear how faint his voice was. There was something about the moment that was making it rather difficult to breathe.

Penelope was looking back at him with an intensity, mouth slightly parted as she licked her lips reflexively. There was nothing inherently seductive about the movement, but- But something about the way her tongue flicked out made Colin’s stomach clench uncomfortably.

“Uhm,” she whispered, only hearing the loud beating of her heart. No one knew about her secret, other than her editor. And it would surely be a disaster if anyone ever found out …

But she had found out about Colin’s secret, albeit by accident. It felt only right that he should know hers as well…

But if she were being truly honest, she didn’t care very much about her secret at that present moment. Not when the two green eyes she had spent her entire adolescence (and much of her early adulthood) pining over were staring directly at her, looking as though they could see through her entire soul.

Every breath was an effort, every movement was the most difficult task in history. The spot where their knees were still gently pressed against each other felt like it was on fire, spreading itself across her body. She’d been in so much shock when the contact had happened that she hadn’t moved away. And then she’d been astonished when he hadn’t either.

Penelope couldn’t even remember what they’d been talking about, and it almost appeared that Colin… That Colin shared the same sentiment.

It felt like she was dreaming. Somehow, he was staring at her with just as much intensity as she was to him. She wasn’t sure if anyone had… She was quite certain that no one had ever looked at her like that.

Colin swallowed as he stared at her, taking in every freckle spread across her nose and every loose curl surrounding her face. He could see her eyes clearly for perhaps the first time in his life- a beautiful shade of warm brown with golden flecks throughout the iris. And then his eyes unwillingly moved, flickering to her lips as she licked them again, causing his gut to wrench painfully.

And then he realized that his hands on the table were so close to her own, the one still resting on his forgotten journal excerpt.

Almost without meaning to, his pinky twitched, moving just enough to meet hers. His breath hitched as he looked back up to meet her gaze.

Neither of them moved, as if moving would break something fragile. As if moving would forcibly tear them from the moment they were.

But then- he wasn’t sure how long- Penelope’s soft eyes left his, darting down to rest on their touching fingers. And then her eyes widened, and her entire body jerked backward, and suddenly Colin’s knee was incredibly cold.

Her chair made a loud scraping noise against the floor as she jumped up, startling him out of the hold he’d been under. “Pen-?”

“It’s getting a bit late,” Penelope muttered through a quick breath, quickly stashing away her belongings. “I’ll finish this at home, and we can meet another time to discuss it. Maybe coffee- next week.”

Colin frowned, getting out of his seat, and taking a few steps towards her. Quietly, he said, “Or you could stay here?”

Penelope froze for a moment before slowly retrieving her keys, gaze firmly locked onto the ground. All he could see were her eyelashes as she blinked.

He bent down slightly and reached out to lift her chin. “Or you could stay here,” he repeated with a bit more reverence in his voice. “We could get some dinner and- talk.”

Penelope swallowed as her eyes rested on his face for a fraction of a moment, but soon enough, she pulled away again. Her fingers trembled as she draped the bag over her shoulder, shaking her head as she looked towards the door. “Erm, no, sorry. I really- really need to go, Colin.”

And then she all but sprinted from the flat, leaving a speechless Colin Bridgerton behind.

#polinweek #polinweek2021 #polin #bridgerton fic #my fic #this is my first posted modern polin #I have another one coming at the end of this crazy week #hope you like this though!#also I'm sorry this took weeks I hope that's okay #polinanon #ugh can you tell polin week is killing me #because it is

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and-there-were-words · 3 years

Text

A Spider Life: You don't belong here (Chapter 03)

Taking place after “Sleep Bug” but before “Dumpling Destruction”.

After a successful mission, there was no time for a long rest. Though, Syntax decided that a little bit of a break didn’t hurt anyone. He was foolish to think that Huntsman would let him be at peace. (Wordcount: around 1300)

---

Blue filled the entire main hall of the Silk Web Cave. The looming forms and shades of their new project towering over all. It was certainly odd to watch these new plans of a mech he hadn't designed himself. Something about it struck the scientist as odd, but he wasn't well versed enough in sorcery and ancient artifacts to really know which item was supposed to do what. It didn't help that basically nobody but the little Miss Mystery knew exactly how any of this was going to work.

But they finally did have a more tangible goal. And one more good thing came out of this whole treasure hunt – Syntax had not to do any research where to find said items, since the girl seemed to already know where they were.

As questionable as this was, his Queen did not raise any concerns about this knowledge, so why should he? Instead, he took the opportunity of free time to work on his own projects. He had to overhaul their Spider Base blueprints, repair some of the Spiderbots and… actually. On second thought, after his successful heist into the Cloud, he deserved an evening of rest. Just leaning back a little, kicking up the feet, maybe coding some new games and programs. When he wasn’t working on machines, he still could experiment with them. It was a blessing when one's job was also their hobby.

Walking deeper into the tunnel system of the lair, Syntax found the little niche that he had claimed for himself. Mostly to sleep and keep a few of his more important items safe. Not that he had many, but it still was a comfort to have a little bit of autonomy, away from all those watchful spider eyes. The scientist hummed, and with the lab coat off, he was officially clocked out for the day.

Sleeves were neatly folded up to the elbows, his utility goggles snapped away. Magic was so handy! He lingered for a moment, holding bright green glasses in hands. Syntax wasn’t entirely sure how or why, but he found himself oddly sentimental over them. Even though one of the lenses had a crack. His eyes were perfectly fine too, so anything looked blurry trough them, rendering them practically useless. With a shrug, he put them back into his little box of trinkets, turning around to his personal computer.

…..

There was not really any sense of time within the Silk Web Cave, not that it mattered much. Hours could’ve pass by and the only indicator that the world was still turning, was that his coffee always grew cold way too fast. Running another test for his current code, Syntax frowned as errors popped up where none had been before. He reached for his cup without looking, first confused about something not being right. It took him a few seconds to notice that he was grabbing into thin air. His cup was not at the spot where he placed it anymore.

“What’cha doing?”, a raspy voice required from his other side, making the scientist jerk violently, nearly falling off his chair. A groan escaped Syntax, slightly turning his head to confirm his apprehension. And indeed, it was Huntsman. With his coffee mug in hands. It was bothersome how he always managed to sneak up unnoticed and seemingly appear out of nowhere. The other spider was not even looking at him directly, just watching the screen displaying an endless amounts of lines with mock interest. It was clear that the hunter had no idea what he was looking at, and Syntax knew that trying to explain any of this to him would be wasted breath. Still, he thought himself better than that.

“Optimizing the behavioral pattern of the Spiderbots. So next time we can spread the Queen’s venom faster.”, he left it at that, starting to tip away on the keyboard again.

“Uh-hu.”, the spider demon mused, but it was clear that this wasn't the focus of his attention at the moment. Instead, he just sniffed at the drink in his hand, nose curling up a little. “...I have no idea how you’re capable of drinking this stuff. Gross.” And with that, the cup was back on the table within Syntax’s reach, but the scientist didn’t dare to touch it. This was obviously a trap, both of them knew. Huntsman never had been subtle about waiting for the other to make a misstep. Syntax wasn't sure what the taller man hoped to achieve, but there was a bitter taste at the back of his throat with how he was watched by this particular spider demon.

Tension filled the room, making the air as thick as butter, as both men were just analyzing each other carefully. It almost felt like a game of chess, one that Syntax didn’t like at all, being forced to play so damn defensively. He still wasn’t sure what he did to upset the hunter, but he clearly was out for his neck in some way or another. It was Huntsman who broke the silence, and to no one's surprise, he just unceremoniously kicked down the metaphorical door.

"You don't belong here.", the spider rasped, stalking awfully close, only to loom over the sitting scientist. Green eyes glimmering in the twilight of the cave, mostly illuminated by just the cold light of the computer screen. Syntax could only swallow, feeling caged like a prey animal under this intense glare.

"You're a disgrace to the clan, human.", the hunter continued his venomous words, "Do you really think you're important to the Queen? Nothing but just a tool, once you've done your purpose, you will be nothing but dinner." The demon cackled, and Syntax could feel his body going into a panic mode. Yet, his mind was still clear, rational. The buzzing crawling up his spine keeping him grounded.

Syntax simply clicked his tongue in a (what he hoped to come off as) unimpressed tsk. "Is that all? I am busy, Huntsman.", he was not going to give in that easily, even though the words were cutting deep, slicing into something that the scientist hadn't even been aware of himself yet.

The hunting spider frowned, letting out a soft growl. Only to grab the coffee mug again, giving it another glance. Apparently, he came to a conclusion in this moment. "You'll never be one of us, freak.", the second that followed felt like an eternity, before ceramic shattered into hundreds of pieces, cold coffee splattering all over the floor. A pang of some emotion shot through Syntax's chest, watching the mess on the ground. Somehow managing to not show a glimpse of this storm of feelings on the outside.

Huntsman almost seemed disappointed, but a breath later, he was showing off fangs in his ugly grin again. A hand reaching for the communicator in his ear as he was surely contacted by the Miss. "Now, this was fun and all.", he mused, crossing arms behind his back as he twirled towards the exit. "It seems that my special skills are needed once again. So long, cyberbug." With that, the hunter was gone, leaving the scientist finally alone.

So much for that rest, Syntax thought bitterly to himself, still staring at the floor. This evening or night had been ruined in every way possible. Now trying to make sense of why his limbs felt so cold and stiff, why his heart was beating in the rhythm of a scared animal while also screaming in anger. His hands clenched into fists, short nails digging into soft palms. Syntax knew all of this already. Knew that this wasn't his place, that he wasn't like the other spider demons. But he was part of this clan, and by the Queen's pride… he will prove that he was a better henchman than Huntsman could ever dream to be.

#next chapter will be from goliaths pov #spider queen did try to cook pigsy and tang im sorry everybody #look at me learning how to use tumblr #lego monkie kid #lmk syntax #lmk huntsman #monkie kid

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driedmarigolds · 3 years

Text

Gladiolus Pt. 1

I decided to start a Flower Language series for Dr. Richter. This is the second one in the series, the first was actually a request, but if you like it I would appreciate if you gave it Kudos on my AO3 Link to the fic on ao3 Pairing: MC x Vyn Richter Series: Tears of Themis Rating: T Word Count: 1619 Chapters: 1/2

It had been several weeks, and Rosa still felt no closer to the end of this case. Every new turn she took lead to a dead end and while usually it didn’t frustrate her to this degree she couldn’t help but feel a lot rode on this. Even the Beautiful Gladiolus that Dr. Richter had given her were looking sad and frustrated—she hadn’t changed the water nearly enough as she had been too busy. It was a shame that the petals were wilting and gathering around the bottom of the Vase. It was an on the nose metaphor for how she felt right now, wilting and gathered around the bottom of this case.

She was about to delve back into the pits of her notes, when her phone buzzed on the table next to her. It was Dr. Richter—almost as if he knew she was thinking about him. For a moment, she considered not answer; he would know she wasn’t sleep well pretty immediately, but her desire to be honest won out in the end. There wasn’t a point to hiding anything from her and she did want to speak to him. It had been a handful of Saturdays since they last had tea together and she….missed him very dearly. With a sigh, she tried to put on her cheeriest tone as she answered; knowing that it wouldn’t fool him in the slightest.

“Hello? Dr. Richter?” Rosa answered in the same polite tone she always used, but she could practically hear him frowning on the other end of the—oh no caught already. She couldn’t help but wonder if maybe on some level she wanted to be found out because she knew he would want to take care of her. Despite all of her good intentions—there were times where she was just a little bit selfish.

“Rosa,” There was a pause on the other end. “Are you feeling well?” He didn’t even bother to say hello much to her dismay; she really wasn’t good at hiding her lack of sleep and her emotional turmoil from him. “You have not been over working yourself, have you?” It was a rhetorical question, she could tell he didn’t need an answer. There was concern mixed with dissatisfaction in his voice. This is what she wanted to avoid by not contacting him as much lately—but she was a little relieved that she could have someone to talk to now. Even her boss had been mostly shut out while she worked—this was a case for her to do and she wanted to prove herself.

“No point in lying is there?” A soft laugh, one that wasn’t echoed from her...friend. “I may have been skipping a few hours, and focusing only on this case, yes.” A pause. “I’m sorry Dr. Richter.” For what she was apologizing for, she wasn’t sure but it seemed necessary. Maybe for his concern? Or all of the Tea time she had missed? Maybe the lack of calling and texting. Maybe for all of it. “It’s just...this case is very important for me, my client is very upset and I know she didn’t do it; but the further I dig the harder it is to piece everything together.” She knew she was right, but she was starting to doubt her capabilities—not a path she usually traveled mentally but it was just difficult.

There was a long silence on the other end, before Dr. Richter spoke up. “Perhaps, I could come and help you sort through your thoughts.” It was less of a question and more of a statement, he was inviting himself over as politely as he could, and Rosa wasn’t someone who would refuse company of her closest companion. She wasn’t sure when they had fallen into this sort of closeness, but there was nothing she minded less. Instead she hummed her approval, checking the time. It was only 3pm and she was already exhausted. Maybe a distraction would be for the best. They both hung up, and Rosa made for the bathroom to make herself look less exhausted.

--------

It was about a half an hour before Dr. Richter arrived with and odd assortment of things; Fresh Gladiolus, Madeleines and tea to brew. Rosa couldn’t stop herself from smiling just a little as she answered the door—though it was obvious she had fallen asleep and only woke as he tapped on the door. “I still have the last Gladiolus you brought me.” Rosa stood off to the side allowing him to enter and set his things on the kitchen counter—immediately turning to change out the water and flowers from the vase that sat on the counter near her things.

“I made the assumption that if you were not sleeping well you would not be changing out the water.” It wasn’t chastisement of any kind, it was a gentle plea to accept his help. “I also had hopes that fresh Flowers would temporarily brighten your mood so that you might be able to allow yourself rest.” Vyn had turned to Rosa, frowning ever so slightly—he didn’t like seeing her this way; tired and at the end of her rope, and to a degree he felt helpless. There was a number of things he could do for her clinically but he didn’t want to help her in such a sterile fashion, he wanted her to depend on him in a more intimate way but he also knew he couldn’t force it.

Vyn watched Rosa sit down and look at her notes again, her brow furrowing; she already looked close to forgetting he was here at all and normally he wouldn’t mind but that would defeat the purpose of his visit. He was here to soothe and distract. Swallowing his formalities and manners, he reached across the counter and rested his hand atop hers, which immediately on the page. “Rosa, please take a rest; you can not do much for your client if you work yourself past a reasonable limit and I am sure whoever they may be that they would agree.” His tone was soft, tender teetering on the edge of loving.

He was right of course, this was no way to do this. “I know you’re right but….” The but was the end of the sentence, there was no argument she could have back—especially not with his hand on hers...it was so warm. Not a callus to be found anywhere, her heart was racing. Perhaps for his sake, she could rest. Rosa relented, but left her hand under his. “Alright, you’re the Psychiatrist, you would know better.” Still she didn’t close her notebook, she didn’t want to lose his touch just yet.

“Thank you.” To Vyn, it was clear what she meant by not removing her hand. His heart flipped and he gave a light squeeze. He was a little glad he had won out against her insistence to keep going. A relief, he wouldn’t have to worry just yet—not more than he already was. “I brought Chamomile with me this time because it has relaxing properties and I also brought more of the madeleines we liked.” They had eaten those a month ago, but now they had been incorporated in several of their visits. Her wanted to do anything to bring Rosa comfort. “If after we take a break together,” He removed his hand to turn towards her cabinets to find a tea pot, “You feel you need to keep going I will talk through it with you. Sometimes a second mind can help one sort facts and emotions. Especially a third party with no prior opinions.” Vyn found what he was looking for and quickly filled the pot with water.

“That sounds good to me Dr. Richter…” Rosa closed her notes and pushed them off to the side, eyes turning towards the fresh Gladiolus in the pot. Yes her mood was already improving. “Thank you, for everything. I would like some help talking through this, there are a few things I’m a little hung up on, but for now we take a break.” Her gaze turned to Dr. Richter's back—the sunlight filtering in through the windows casting a halo glow around his silver hair. Every so often, she was reminded of how breath taking he was, not that she was willing to voice that to him—but he was. The glow of his hair, the tenderness of his voice, the deep pools of summer golden eyes. Ethereal wouldn’t be too far off, but that was a little embarrassing. Her eyes were growing heavy accompanied by thoughts of Doctors and Halos. She was far more tired than she realized, and now that work had been removed from her sight, her almost reckless schedule was catching up.

“I would like nothing more than to help you walk through your case, and perhaps you can have a full rest after.” Vyn gave all of his attention to the pot, not realizing Rosa has slumped and started dozing. It was several moments later when the tea was made that he turned around realizing she had fallen asleep on him. Vyndidn’t mind—in fact he was relieved, she must have needed the sleep if she napped with company. Another, deeper part of him felt pleased that he was deemed safe enough to sleep near. Setting the cups to the side, he walked around the counter and rested his jacket over her shoulders carefully, not wanting to disturb her. With a pat on her head, he wandered back to the sink—he would tidy up to keep himself occupied while she slept even if it took all night.

#tears of themis #tears of themis fic #vyn richter #vyn x mc #mo yi #my writing

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sp00kworm · 4 years

Text

Quiet Night

Pairing: The Collector / Asa Emory x Gender Neutral Reader

Warnings: Adult Content, Mild Horror

A/N: Anon asked for soft Asa with his s/o with some spicy adult content so here is this little oneshot. This is about as soft as he gets I think? I don’t know anymore but I mega just had to roll with this little thing.

---

The nights were getting colder, and wetter, this time of year. Rain streamed down the windows and wind battered at the glass. You curled closer to the fire in the lounge, tucked up in a blanket as you peered at the book in your lap. It wasn’t uncommon for Asa to be late home. You’d cooked for both of you, but had film wrapped his dinner for when he got home. Even then, you knew he’d be unlikely to sit and eat it. Usually, Asa walked through the door and straight into his office or the basement, where he kept some of his favourite little bugs. Most of his tarantulas were in there, and you liked to avoid it. He had some with inch long fangs and those were fangs you would rather not be on the receiving end of. The fire was warm against your legs and you yawned quietly as you reached for your drink. It was getting late. Late even for Asa. Usually his work didn’t take him this long. With a sip of your drink you opened your phone and looked at the notifications. Nothing. You unlocked the device and opened your text messages with Asa. Just as you debated typing a message to ask where he was, the front door handle jiggled, the lock snapping open with a quick flick of a wrist. Asa walked in, dragging the rain in with him as he carefully closed the door and snapped the two locks back into place, the chain bolt first before he turned the keys. He looked at the door for a moment, water dripping from his hair as he turned his eyes on you.

You smiled over the back of the sofa at him. Asa didn’t return it right away, instead turning to hang his coat near the radiator so it could dry. The sheepskin and leather looked drowned with water, it dripped by the heat as Asa looked at you again. His shoes came off with similar precision, the laces swiftly undone before he placed them in the same area to dry. Scorching eye contact made you look back at your book, sipping your drink as you waited for him to finish with his little ritual. He walked over quietly, his wet socks slipping over the floor before he stood over you, damp and looking dark, his eyes shadowed by the fire light.

“Did you have a good day?” You asked gently, letting his hand run over your cheek.

Power coiled in his arm, but he didn’t hold you still or snap your cheeks tight. Instead, he leaned forwards and brushed his lips over yours in an uncharacteristically soft kiss. Your heart fluttered in your chest. Before you could really lean into it, Asa pulled away, holding your chin between his strong fingers as you breathed the same air for a moment. Conflict burned in his eyes as he pulled away. He was unsure whether that kiss had satisfied the urge he had in the back of his mind.

“Bad day?” You asked again as Asa reared back, his brows furrowing under his wet fringe as he touched his plush bottom lip curiously, “Asa?”

Asa was broken from his revere, “Bad. As usual, Fred decided not to show for labs. Drinking again. Found him in the office.” He grunted, “Papers to mark.” He flicked his fingers in distaste as he went to collect the mail from the small table by the stairs, “I’m going to get a shower.” He grumbled as he took the stairs, socks slapping against the wood as he left you in confusion. You watched him disappear around the corner to the stairs. The boiler hummed to life as the water was turned on upstairs. You opened your book again and tried not to think too much on the soft kiss that had been pressed to your lips.

There was an unmistakable ache in him as he stepped into the shower. For once, he hadn’t been late due to one of his little hunts. Work. His mundane, normal work-life had kept him away from his normal façade of a home. Asa reached for the shampoo and worked it into his hair. He sniffed as he rinsed it away and opened his eyes to see your own hair product in his hand. He repeated the action by accidentally using your soap. He grumbled as he stood in the hot water, trying to ease the pain in the top of his back from leaning over his desk marking. The hot water worked against his tight muscles, and Asa sighed as he looked down at himself. He was well managed, clipped and clean shaven in other places. Another façade. He brushed at the short hair on his chest under the spray and wondered if you would prefer it gone. He’d never bothered to ask, but you also never had a complaint. He caught himself, strangling the notion with a metaphorical fist inside his head. He wasn’t supposed to care. You were a convenient tool. In the right place at the right time. Still, he thought about your face and felt conflicting feelings well up in his throat. You’d learned almost everything about his habits. Just now, as he walked in, you had let him go through his own routine, without the interruption of a loud ‘hello’ or a rush for a kiss. He thought of your face again and felt a phantom smile turn the corner of his lips up at one side. Even through his exhaustion, he felt frustration tense him again as his length twitched between his legs. Tonight, he didn’t have his usual outlet. He was too tired to pack up and head away to his little base.

The water turned off with a clunk, and you listened to Asa’s striding gait as he strode across to your shared room and closed the door. It was only closed for a moment before Asa strode across the landing and leaned over the banister. Your name was said from the stairs. You listened from the sofa. You knew he had heard you move.

“Come upstairs.” Asa’s tone was tired. There was the usual demand his words, but it was softened, not as cold as it once was. You snapped your book closed and made sure the fire guard was in place before you walked upstairs. Asa was stood at the top, his brown hair damp, and his face tired.

You reached the top and smiled as you tucked a piece of his hair behind his ear, “What’s wrong?” You asked. Asa swallowed but didn’t say anything as he leaned forwards again on the top step, his hands reaching for your hips. They slid over the flesh carefully, purposeful as he reached to hold you in place. It wasn’t the usual hungry gnash of teeth clicking, but rather, another soft kiss. Asa held you upright on the stairs before he coaxed you up the last step and into his chest, his lips forcing your own to part before he gingerly touched your tongues together. Confidence gathered within him quickly, and he stole your breath with a demanding kiss. His teeth stayed away from your lips as he pulled away and you peered up at his tired face, star struck still as he ground you against his hips. You held onto the robe wrapped around him as he held you against him, backtracking towards the bedroom.

You followed Asa in a daze, watching as his fingers undid your own clothes and left them in a heap on the floor. Firmly, his hands traced at your figure, moving over the contours and grooves of your torso before he slid his own robe free and grabbed at your buttocks. His fingers dug into the muscle meanly before he relaxed and leaned forwards again, exploring the side most people had as their main function. Your lips met again as he pulled you towards the bed by the wrists. He looked back at the sheets, feeling like an unsure virgin again as his own feelings clashed. His fingers twitched at his sides, wanting to grapple you down on the bed and push inside of your mouth. He enjoyed the drool sliding between his fingers, gloved or not. The idea made him hard, but he let you ease him back against the bed. Control. He didn’t like this. No control. Asa’s breathing deepened before his hands gripped your hips tight.

“I set the pace.” He hummed as he kissed at your collarbones, “Or not at all.” His tongue tasted your skin, but he didn’t mark you. You shuddered over his hips, looking down at him, love drunk. Asa looked at your eyes and felt his own breathing pick up again. Your skin stretched over you as you knelt up to touch yourself. His hands made short work of stopping your own attentions.

“Please.” You leaned forwards for another kiss and looked at Asa’s black eyes, “Please.” You whispered again against his lips. He blew a breath against your lips before he kissed you again and lifted your hips. His fingers made quick work at replacing your own, slick with lubricant you didn’t remember hearing him get out.

“Shhhh.” He whispered against your ear as you moaned shakily. His hands cupped at your skin as he leaned back and pushed your hips flush together, finally.

#asa emory x reader #the collector x reader #asa emory #the collector #the collection #the collector (2009)#The Collection (2012)#asa emory x gender neutral reader #the collector x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #reader insert #slashers #slasher #slasher x reader #slasher reader insert #fanfiction #fanfic #my writing #oneshot

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thedumpsterqueen · 4 years

Text

Standards of Performance, Chapter 8: Heartbreak and Lattes

From the Beginning, Previous Chapter

AO3 Link

Only announcement for this week: I've started a new job, and my schedule is such that a weekly update is unlikely without the quality being verrrry questionable. Therefore, I've decided to move off a set schedule, but I PROMISE I will update at least twice a month. Thank you for your patience and understanding; I know a set schedule is preferable but I wanna make sure this doesn't go to shit. Also... apparently this isn’t showing up in the tags I use, which sucks - so reblogs help a lot if you’re able. I love you guys <3

Summary: You’re the BAU’s newest intern, desperate to prove yourself amongst an established team of much more experienced profilers. Agent Hotchner, the seemingly infallible team leader, sets strict expectations for your performance. He commands your respect without even trying, but is there something more to your relationship than a simple desire to impress your stony-faced boss?

Chapter Summary: In which decisions are made and overturned and many cups of coffee are drunk.

Words: 2666

Rating: Explicit, 18+. Warnings on AO3.

Pairings: Hotch x Reader, Hotch x You

You were sulking.

Not enough to affect your work - you’d have to go through something much worse than heartbreak before you risked your internship. But your home life was beginning to resemble a timelapse straight out of an overdramatic teen movie wherein the protagonist’s crush asks someone else to prom. Your apartment was a pile of half-done laundry, takeout containers, and case files; your evenings filled with sad Spotify playlists and too much red wine.

And work? Not much better. Seeing him stride into the office every morning, filled with power and purpose and completely oblivious to the fact that he had shoved your heart into a metaphorical blender with a simple response to a seemingly innocuous question was really starting to wear you down. You had been so sure, that was the thing - so convinced by the team’s reaction to your story that it had all meant something. And maybe it had. But he had looked you in the face and told you it didn’t, so that was the answer that mattered.

So maybe sulking was the wrong word. ‘Spiraling’ was more accurate. A controlled spiral, mitigated only by the fact that 1. you had appearances and responsibilities to maintain and 2. Aaron Hotchner wasn’t actually the reason you showed up to work every morning, despite what it had seemed lately.

And it had seemed like that. You remembered getting the phone call that you had been accepted for an interview for the BAU internship, and the phone call that you made it to the final round, and finally the phone call that you had gotten the position - each more exciting than the last. You remembered meeting him, shaking his hand, completely oblivious to how much he was about to fuck up your life. Even when you first started to feel something for him, you convinced yourself it was nothing - a harmless crush wrought from your veneration and respect for one of the best in the field. Someone you admired. Someone you wanted to be one day. But then he’d made the unfortunate move of revealing bits and pieces of himself to you, exposing tiny slivers of humanity and emotion you were convinced didn’t exist, until you realized he was a person, an incredible one, and it wasn’t just admiration you felt anymore. It took all of a few months and a handful of genuine conversations until you were this far gone, and after he made it clear that your pining was one-sided, you knew you had to stop your fall there.

So you tried.

You kept your conversations strictly professional. Avoided driving with him or sitting next to him on flights whenever possible. Disallowed yourself lingering glances. But it was still too goddamn much. He was still too goddamn much.

The next case pushed you over the edge. It was bad (not just normal bad, BAU bad), and it was no one’s fault, not really. You got called in late, the evidence was shoddy at best, and when all was said and done, you caught the unsub, but only after he’d killed 4 women. The last one died moments before you arrived and apprehended the killer, and despite the delay of those few minutes being, again, no one’s fault, the team was at each other’s throats the whole trip home.

You were slouched in the corner of the plane trying to avoid getting caught in the crossfire. Morgan and Reid were sniping viciously about something completely unrelated to the case, because despite everything they’d just endured, they would never outright blame each other for what went wrong. Hotch, deciding he’d heard enough, raised his head slightly and said quietly,

“They’re not always going to end the way we want. We did all we could.”

And you were just done. You couldn’t stand to be around this pillar of strength and compassion and resolve. You needed to hate him for rejecting you, and you couldn’t. So you marched over to his seat, and, steeling yourself, you said what you’d been wanting to say since he broke your heart:

“I need a day off.”

It had sounded more dramatic in your head.

“A day off?”

You nodded. Hotch gathered himself, seeming to realize that such a request wasn’t unheard of (though perhaps in his department it essentially was) and nodded.

“This case was difficult. I wish I could say exceptionally so. Get me your paperwork by tonight and take tomorrow off.”

You went back to your seat, relief overshadowed by disgust that it wasn’t, in fact, the 4 deaths you’d just been privy to that had broken you - it was the crush on your boss. You’d handled this case like a champ, in fact, because you were so absorbed in self-pity that you couldn’t feel anything else.

You needed to fucking recalibrate.

***

You were determined to make the next 24 hours the most self-indulgent, healing 24 hours you’d ever experienced. Quiet breakfast at a cafe? Planned. Self-improvement books? Downloaded. Vibrator? Fully charged.

No man was going to keep you from focusing on the internship you’d been gunning for for years. No man was worth that. You were going to cry, you were going to journal, you were going to masturbate, and you were going to get him out of your head.

You were going to march into the quaint little coffeeshop two blocks away that you’d Googled last night, you were going to order the cinnamon spice latte that an indie food blog had called “the epitome of fall,” and you were going to go for a nice, early morning walk.

Except you weren’t.

Because the next morning, when you turned to leave after grabbing your drink from the barista, you saw Hotch sitting at the table by the window. And Hotch saw you. And you weren’t equipped to handle this situation, because you were only 4 pages into your self-help book so far and honestly, the smile that lit up his face when you made eye contact would’ve broken you even if you’d read all the ‘how to move on’ manuals the literary world had ever produced.

So you obeyed his beckoning hand and sat down.

“Thought you’d be up to something much more exciting on your one day off.”

You smiled wryly. “This is exciting. I haven’t had coffee that wasn’t made out of an ancient breakroom pot or a hotel carafe in months.”

Hotch chuckled. “I’m afraid you’ve made a mistake by coming here. Breakroom coffee is going to be impossible to tolerate now.”

“That good, huh?”

“Better. Try it.”

His eyes on you, you took a sip of your latte, and swallowed the most delicious concoction you’ve ever tasted in your life.

“Holy shit.”

“Indeed,” Hotch confirmed, ignoring your vulgarity. “I’ve been coming here before work for years.”

“I hope you don’t mind if I impose on your hangout,” you laughed. “I haven’t tried many coffee shops around here, but I imagine this is hard to beat.”

“Not at all. But just know - this is my table.”

You grinned. “Understood.”

You still went on that walk. Still read that book. Still spent the day trying to think about anything else but the softness of that moment - you and Hotch sipping lattes, bathed in the light of the early morning sun.

But on Thursday, the next day, bright and early, you found yourself at that coffee shop again. This time, you took a seat at the table adjacent to his. He looked up and smiled.

“Glad you heeded my advice.”

You smiled back and gestured to the heaping pile of files in front of him. “Not like there’d be much room for me anyways.”

You finished your coffees in relative silence and left at the same time for the office.

Friday, you learned Hotch’s coffee order: flat white with an extra shot of espresso.

Saturday, you happened to arrive before he did, so you ordered his drink and set it on his table. Ten minutes passed and you thought he wasn’t going to show up, but he soon bustled in looking frantic. You waved him over, and he smiled when he saw the coffee waiting for him.

“Sorry, got stuck on a phone call,” he apologized. Like you were expecting him. Like this was something you guys did now.

You supposed it was.

Sunday, you got called for a case before you even made it to the coffee shop. You sat down in the conference room at 6 am, groggy as all hell. Hotch entered after you and handed you a mug, saying nothing before moving to address the team.

There was a small sticky note attached to the mug that read, “It’s no cinnamon spice latte, but it’s caffeine just the same.”

You fought to keep a grin from splitting your face, and ignored the team’s knowing smirks.

The case was in a small town in Colorado. The motel the team was staying in was less than ideal because of the location - bare bones, broken heaters, probably had the same bedsheets since its opening over 50 years ago. There was a small coffee pot in your room, and after you arrived Sunday evening, you walked down the street to the small convenience store and bought a bag of ground coffee.

When you handed him the cup Monday morning, he looked at it like it was salvation itself. Which, judging by the dark circles under his eyes, it may well have been.

“Long night?” you asked, loading into the back of the SUV.

“Always,” he responded from the front seat. He took a sip of the coffee. “I don’t mean to offend, but this is terrible.”

You gasped in mock indignation. “I’ll have you know that is genuine Folgers pre-ground gas station coffee.”

“It tastes like it was made in a toilet,” he grumbled. He took another sip and smirked at you in the rearview mirror.

You’d long stopped trying to get over him.

After the case in Colorado, the team was given a merciful break from the rapid-fire calls they’d been caught up in the last few months.

You and Hotch continued your pre-work ritual, showing up to the coffee shop earlier and earlier each day. For you, it was a conscious attempt to spend more time with him. He didn’t acknowledge the extra 20 minutes that had worked its way into the morning routine, but you could only hope his intentions were the same.

One particularly chilly fall day, you burst in the door 10 minutes later than your unofficial meeting time. Hotch shot you a patented raised eyebrow as you unwrapped your scarf and took your seat.

“Overslept?”

“No,” you retorted, “I was trying to make breakfast and my stove stopped working. Again. Maintenance can’t come fix it for two days.”

“Did you eat?” he asked.

“No, I was just gonna grab a muffin or something here.”

He nodded and went back to his laptop.

The next day, you sat down to a metal thermos on your table.

“What’s this?” you asked him.

“Oatmeal,” he responded without looking up. “You said your stove was broken.”

You opened the thermos to a puff of brown sugar-scented steam and the feeling that your heart was going to burst out of your chest.

“Thank you,” you whispered, afraid your voice would crack if you spoke any louder.

He looked over at you with an expression softer than you’d ever seen him wear. “You’re welcome.”

A week later, you’d miraculously worked your way through the backed-up deluge of paperwork from the last few cases, and after clicking through the morning’s emails, you slammed your laptop shut.

“We should go for a walk,” you said to Hotch, who somehow still had a stack of files in front of him that was threatening to surpass the table’s weight capacity.

“A walk?” Hotch asked, looking at the aforementioned files as if he were afraid they’d hear him considering the idea of a break.

“Yeah,” you responded. “Come on. It’s so pretty outside, and it’s gonna be too cold soon. Besides, we’re more caught up with work than we have been in months.”

“Speak for yourself,” he quipped, but he packed his briefcase just the same.

It really was beautiful outside. As soon as you stepped out the door, a gust of wind sent red and orange leaves skittering across the sidewalk at your feet. You wrapped your scarf tighter around your neck and motioned to the park across the street.

“Want to walk through the park?”

Hotch shrugged, a noncommittal ‘yes’, and followed you.

The park was sprawling, packed with massive trees in the midst of displaying their autumnal colors. Despite the early hour, there were joggers and dog-walkers populating the dirt path that meandered through. You strolled side by side, making idle chat about the weather and the holidays coming up, until you came to a bench set beside a pond in a small grove. Hotch took a seat and you followed his lead.

Reclining your head against the back of the bench, you exhaled. “This is the closest I’ve come to being out in nature in forever. I need to do this more often.”

Hotch murmured his agreement. “I’d apologize for the lack of free time, but I’m afraid it only gets worse.”

“When you officially join the team, you mean?”

“Yes.” He cleared his throat. “Assuming that’s something you’re interested in.”

“Of course I am,” you said, “but I didn’t think it was really up to me.”

“It’s not - I give the final recommendation.”

“Better start buying you more coffees then,” you teased, looking over at him.

“Unfortunately, as Unit Chief, I have a responsibility not to accept bribery.” He smiled back.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. You studied his face - the stern curve of his brow, the carved structure of his jaw, the stress lines set in from decades of sleepless nights and unspeakable losses. Despite the increasing time you’d been spending in close proximity, you were mesmerized, as always, by the stormy intensity of his eyes meeting yours. You were close enough to smell his cologne, and you were reminded of the night in his apartment when he told you about his family. If you thought you’d fallen for him then, it was nothing compared to how you felt now, after starting each morning sitting beside him in the quiet peace of that downtown coffee shop.

“We should get going,” he murmured, not checking his watch, not shifting his gaze from yours. You nodded, not fully comprehending his words, feeling dazed at his nearness.

It was impossible to tell who made the first, imperceptible shift. All you knew is you scarcely had time to think before his hand was on your jaw, cradling the back of your head, bringing you to him. His mouth met yours and you closed your eyes instinctively, melting into his warm body beside you, fisting the front of his jacket in your hands.

You couldn’t remember ever having been kissed so decisively before. His fingers gripped into the base of your skull, his forehead nearly pressed against yours, and despite the chastity of your closed mouths, you whimpered into his. He stiffened at the sound and pulled back, still holding you, inches away.

You saw the shift in his eyes before he moved. It was as if he consciously closed some gate, walling himself off. His pupils, blown, started to retract to their normal size, frown returned, hand drew back. You watched, heart still racing, unable to speak as he turned to grab the briefcase sitting at his feet. Only then did he look back at you.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, and if his low voice was meant to betray any hint of emotion, you didn’t hear it.

He stood, walked around the back of the bench towards the path, and paused.

“I’ll see you at the office.”

You were too shell-shocked to reply.

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five-rivers · 3 years

Text

Loved 8

Danny found himself without human senses or even a rough analogue of a human body. Even so, he still had an understanding of his surroundings, alien senses leaving impressions on his mind.

His body was soft, boneless, rounded, unformed. He was intimately connected to, part of, and entirely surrounded by an infinitely greater being, whom he was dependent on. He was known, all of him, by this being.

If he’d had eyes to cry with, he would have, knowing that he would never be able to know this being as he himself was known.

Amusement and affection – or, at least, things that were like them – pressed into him as the being contracted around him. An object was inserted into the single orifice he currently possessed.

Slowly, Danny became aware of an intense… discomfort in that area. He couldn’t call it pain. He currently had no sense of pain. But he could feel it and he didn’t like it and it was growing—

He woke up, tangled in blankets, skin slick with sweat, head and teeth aching.

Except, he didn’t. He was in the Dream. But if he were in the Dream, what had that been?

Already, many of the details were slipping through his fingers. He could no longer recapture what he had felt, although the general events were still somewhat clear.

He… had sleeping here somehow peeled back the layers of metaphor through which he experienced the Dream? Or had that just been a different metaphor, no truer than this one?

He sat up – or, rather, he tried to. An unexpected weight around neck stalled him. Overnight, the chain of Clockwork’s Love for him (and his Love for Clockwork in return) had more than doubled in size. It had also been reinforced by thick, colorful, silk ropes wound in and out of the links as well as other, smaller, chains.

There were also two of them, now, leading in opposite directions. As if Clockwork’s Love was simply too great to be confined to a single representation.

More carefully this time, Danny sat up. At least the collar, despite being far, far heavier, was no longer configured like a neck brace. Danny could turn his head to look at things.

The dog, evidently sensing an opportunity, deposited itself in Danny’s lap. Danny, not knowing what else to do, started petting it, running fingers through shadowy fur. He had always wanted a dog. Although, he didn’t remember telling Clockwork that…

“Maybe I should name you,” said Danny. He wasn’t sure how he felt about naming a personification of his hate, but he wasn’t sure if that’s what the dog was, or if the dog was just a container for his hate. It was confusing. “How about Cujo?”

The dog wagged its tail agreeably.

“Cujo it is, then.” He sighed and looked around the room. It didn’t have a door or any other visible opening. Honestly, in comparison to everything else he’d experienced in the Dream, that was pretty pedestrian. He supposed he’d just have to wait until Clockwork came back.

Maybe he could take a look at some of those interesting objects along the wall in the meantime? Something in his mind whispered that they were his and they were toys. They could take his mind off the pain building in his jaw and temples.

He stood up and walked almost all the way to the edge of the depression in the floor before being brought up short. He stumbled and sat down abruptly. What-?

The end of the chain was buried in the floor at the center of the depression.

Oh. Well. This whole room was part of Clockwork, too, so Danny really shouldn’t be surprised. It wasn’t like the chain hadn’t acted like a chain before.

Still.

Being forcibly trapped in, well, a crib was infantilizing. Not that everything else about all of this wasn’t. This just seemed like a step further.

The collar hummed lightly against Danny’s throat, eliciting a croon as he reflexively attempted to harmonize. The act settled him somewhat, and he gazed blankly at the runes surrounding the depression. The drop between the depression and the rest of the floor was too high for him to get over by himself anyway… no, that wasn’t right… couldn’t be… he couldn’t see the runes if that was the case, he’d be too short… but the lip there was definitely too tall, he knew it…

He tore his eyes away, squeezing them shut against his suddenly raging headache. The dog, Cujo, padded over to him and sniffed him gently. Danny whined, trying not to cry.

It looks like your horns might be growing in as well, said Clockwork’s avatar, running a hand through Danny’s hair. Poor baby. Teeth and horns all at once. That must hurt.

“Horns? Like Nocturne?”

Yes. They will help you navigate the other layers of the Dream once they are fully grown. With practice.

Danny let Clockwork’s avatar lift his head, resting his chin in its palm. “Layers of the Dream?”

You did not think the Dream was as simple in structure as that place you call reality, did you, little Love? This place you have become familiar with is only the closest layer to that place, no matter how deep you go.

“But—” said Danny, trying to work out how that could be. The answer slotted itself neatly into Danny’s mind. “It’s… like a tesseract?”

More than that, but essentially, yes. The avatar was gathering blankets around Danny again, swaddling him. Danny squeaked and tried to twist away, but the avatar easily anticipated him, and the fight quickly went out of him.

Danny was carried from the room and brought to a long table covered in bowls. The bowls contained pastel orbs of various sizes and colors. A single piece of furniture shaped like a basket woven of silver strips sat next to it. Clockwork’s avatar set him down gently on this piece of furniture and several of the strips peeled off to wrap securely around Danny.

Time for breakfast, said the avatar, happily.

Mentally and emotionally, it was easier to eat the orbs than the obviously alive things of his previous meal. Physically…

Danny asked why the orbs were so tough and difficult to chew. The avatar murmured something about practicing using his teeth. Danny wasn’t exactly in a position to refuse, so he was filled to satiation and beyond, until every piece of food on the table had been eaten.

By the time Clockwork’s avatar lifted him again, he felt exhausted and disgusting.

“Can I go home now?” he asked.

You are home.

“You know what I mean.”

It would be remiss of me to let you go when you are still in so much pain. Besides, sleep is necessary for children such as yourself to properly digest food.

“Don’t want to sleep,” said Danny, alarmed. He didn’t want to go back to the place he was before, where he could not see, hear, smell, taste, or touch.

That is not the only place you may go, said the avatar. In fact, it is rather unlikely for you to return there unless you do so on purpose. It touched the place where one of Danny’s horns would eventually bud. It was tender and Danny whined. Which is not something you can yet do. It paused. Perhaps I could guide you to a… cozy layer. One you might find educational. Would you like that?

“I wanna go home. I feel icky.”

I will set up a bath for you when you wake up.

Danny moaned and tried to tuck his face into the avatar’s shoulder. “Don’t want a bath.”

You do need one eventually.

“Don’t wanna.”

The avatar lowered Danny back into the nest of blankets.

Sleep well.

Danny woke up. This time in an actual crib. A mobile with star shapes hung overhead. He reached up with a chubby baby hand. A medical bracelet jingled around his wrist.

With some difficulty, his hands lacking dexterity, he turned the bracelet over. The writing there was incomprehensible and made him slightly dizzy. He huffed and rolled over before pushing himself up onto hands and knees.

The room he was in was dark, and far more defined than he was used to in the Dream. He could see picture frames on the walls and clocks. Every wall had at least one clock.

He grabbed the top of the crib railing and pulled himself up into a standing position. The rest of the room looked normal. Lived in.

The door opened, letting light in. A figure walked through the doorway and picked Danny up.

“You’re awake already! Ready for the day?”

“Clockwork?” squeaked Danny.

“Hmm, yes. But there’s something else you can call me here, hm?” The figure shifted, light falling on a feminine face and long hair.

“Mama?” tried Danny.

“There we go,” she said.

“Where are we?” asked Danny, lisping his words slightly. He wasn’t sure he had teeth right now. He put his hand in his mouth, feeling his gums. “’s different here.”

“Yes,” said Clockwork, walking out into a hallway. It was bright. There were clocks here, too, evenly spaced on the walls. Danny hid his face. “Oopsie daisy. Too bright, baby?”

“Mhm,” said Danny.

Clockwork balanced Danny on her hip and fiddled with a dimmer switch. The lights dimmed to a more comfortable level. “I’m sorry, baby. I keep forgetting about your eyes.”

“What about my eyes?”

“You’re photosensitive. That’s what the bracelet is for. You need low light.”

“Mama?”

“Hm?”

“What is this place?”

“Ah,” said Clockwork, putting him in a highchair. “A world within the Dream. Once,” she punctuated the word by clipping Danny into the seat, “it was much like the place you were first born. But we came to understand it completely and everything that thought or dreamed opened themselves to us. We engulfed it, brought it here. Now everyone is happy.”

Clockwork put a sippy cup on the little table on the highchair and then several pieces of cereal. Danny didn’t recognize the brand.

“Do I have to?”

“You need energy for today,” said Clockwork.

“But I just ate so much.”

“Not here. Come on, sweetheart. It’s just a little bit.” Clockwork sat down in one of the chairs at the dinning room table, brushing her hair over her shoulder. She smiled. “Isn’t this nice?”

Danny shrugged.

“I know you don’t care for the other part of the Dream, that you find it frightening, so… If you like this place, you can stay here. It’s just like the other place. The one you like. Would you like that?”

“My friends are there.”

“I can bring them here. It’ll be difficult, but very possible.”

Danny shook his head. Clockwork sighed.

“Well. Let’s just see how this day goes before you decide. Maybe you’ll like being here so much you’ll never want to leave at all. Give it a chance. Just for one day, okay?”

“Okay,” mumbled Danny.

“And that means eating your breakfast.” She ruffled Danny’s hair. “Okie-dokie?”

“’Kay.”

Clockwork smiled, eyes crinkling. “We’re going to have so much fun today, just see!”

#danny phantom #eldritch abomination au #loved #dannymay 2021 #dannymay 2021 day 23: cozy #dannymay

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megaeratheefury · 3 years

Note

hello omg that r/crown prompt was so soft and well-written i just... if it's not too much trouble, would you consider writing one for x/crown but with the prompt, "you can call me whenever you want... even if you don't have a reason to." 👀

thank you for such an inspiring prompt, anon! i literally created my X romancing crown just so i could read the route and fill this prompt. 🥰

i hope y’all enjoy crown navid, who is my love letter to @ataleofcrowns’ X 🥺💌

ps. i have an atoc sideblog now! askbox is open for r/crown and x/crown prompts over at @sorcererrezan 💛

—

Navid finds out about Xelef’s return to the city via a messenger from the Crescent Blades. Apparently the Pale Sword himself saw it fit to give advance notice, though whether it is because he is the Crown or because he is Navid is still elusively up for interpretation.

Typical Xelef.

Navid conceals having to swallow the piece of his heart that jumped up his throat at Xelef’s impending return. He doesn’t reveal any additional curiosities about how far away the Blades are or how long they plan on staying to the mercenary, maintaining instead a welcoming though busy countenance. Internally he runs over his schedule over the next few weeks to calculate his free time while he calls for a servant to show the messenger to one of the rooms in the guest quarters.

The more rational and less giddy part of him tries to temper his eagerness—where he and Xelef stand with each other is as opaque as it is exciting. ‘You are both but distractions,’ it reminds. Not for their duties necessarily, but for their idiosyncratic inner turmoil. There’s something about Xelef—whether its his acute sensitivity, his devil may care attitude, or his unflagging self-assuredness—that makes it easier for him to escape the gaping maw of trauma he’s left unprocessed and memories his mind has already saw fit to protect him from.

Navid has never faced a distraction quite like Xelef, after all.

And perhaps, he considers when the sellsword greets him with an unabashed grin and an embrace that lingers a few days later, Xelef has never faced a distraction quite like him either.

—

“So General Delal has finally scrubbed off the decade old rust on the Imperial Army, has she?” Xelef’s words are as light as the breeze that dances around them. They’re in a sitting area nestled in the corner of an upper floor with high ceilings, enclosed by open windows more than walls. It’s the Crown’s favorite with its bright light and how it only takes one step into his imagination to feel like he’s sitting in the sky.

Navid drinks from his cup of tea—perfectly brewed and sweetened, he’d have to compliment Siham on his attention to detail later—before responding. Xelef always speaks with hidden context. Navid reasons that it could be because the man himself processes so much information outside of just what’s spoken whenever he interacts with others. The practice of figuring out what Xelef really means in any situation is a more efficient lesson in navigating politics than a week of interacting with the nobles. He guesses that in this situation it is equally likely that Xelef is inquiring about the strength of his security as he is looking for something with which to needle the general.

He has to remind himself not to project motives or objectives onto Xelef just because of his own expectations and hopes. But it’s hard not to, when for all intents and purposes, Xelef seems to have returned to see him. He offered up the veil of having business in the city and giving the Blades a break, but Navid has gotten even better at reading people since they last saw each other.

You have to pay attention to what Xelef does, he’s learning. And take what he says with a grain of salt. As it stands, the sellsword has managed to squeeze himself into every bit of free time that Navid has had luxury for since his arrival earlier this week: be it testing his combat training, joining him for a meal, or inviting him to the Red Lantern and then personally escorting him back to his quarters. For safety, they both reason, considering how the last time went. But there’s an almost palpable tension that only grows whenever they’re alone together, and Navid somehow intuitively knows that they’re approaching the edge of something they may not be able to dismiss after the fact.

He’s never backed down from an adventure though.

Navid settles his cup in its saucer before replying, a touch of genuine pride coating his words, “Yes, she’s seen to it personally.”

He meets Xelef’s eyes, can feel a smirk dancing on his lips as he continues, “Why? Planning on invading me soon?”

Xelef’s gaze heats up in the face of the suggestion Navid doesn’t bother to conceal, lingering on the expanse of his chest and arms that the diagonal drape of his tunic leaves exposed.

“I could try,” Xelef leans closer, drawing Navid into his orbit until he can almost feel the air behind his words. This tucked away into the palace, behind an army and the full strength of the guards, Xelef’s attention isn’t split by trying to foresee an attack. The full weight of his focus builds up a thrill that pounds through Navid’s entire being. He can feel his pulse in his palms just as clearly as he can see the green of Xelef’s eyes shift from lighter to darker.

“How successful do you think I’d be? In your infallible opinion as the Crown.”

“As it stands?” Navid pretends to weigh the question, using the pause as an excuse to let his own eyes do some appreciating. He doesn’t flatter himself by believing that Xelef dressed just for him today, but the way the fabric parts across his broad chest when he props an elbow on the table is too effective to not be intentional.

Spirits but does he look irresistible. And he knows it, too. Navid can’t hide the sentiment from him—not that he wants to, anyway. Xelef tries his damnedest to rile him up every time they see each other and Navid would be doing them both a disservice if he didn’t make Xelef face the consequences of his own boldness.

“Near impossible,” Navid answers like fate herself gave him the authority. “But maybe if you had an agent on the inside…”

“And do I? Have an agent on the inside?”

Navid hums to consider. “You could.”

His inherent evasiveness prevents him from leaving the cover of their loaded metaphor. There is a line that he has learned not to cross when dancing around with Xelef. He refuses to be the sentimental fool that blindly steps too close.

—That’s what Navid tells himself at least, when Xelef is not within two breaths of him and watching him intently, like he’s pulling him apart and putting the pieces back together in his head. It’s much harder to resist testing him when he’s right there.

But to his delight, Xelef huffs out a satisfied chuckle before breaking into a wide smile.

“Sounds like I have my way in then.”

Navid grants him an indulgent look. “Let’s see what you do with it, chief.”

This time he lets out a full-fledged laugh and Navid joins him in it, reveling in how fun it is to be around Xelef. This is how he’d like for them to remember each other when they’re apart.

Xelef regards him for a beat when their amusement tapers off, likely having sensed the emotions that thought inspired as it passed through him. Navid quietly holds his breath. It’s not exactly comfortable, how easily Xelef can pierce through his walls, but if it’s out there then he’s not going to hide from it.

“You know,” Xelef begins, looking away for a second before locking gazes again and resting a calloused palm on the back of his hand. “You can call me whenever you want. Even if you don’t have reason to.”

That… isn’t what Navid expected. There’s an almost tentative seriousness to the mercenary’s words and demeanor. The warmth that he’s learning to associate with Xelef radiates from their hands, powering the quickening beat of his heart.

Navid swallows, though he doesn’t look away. Xelef’s skin shines from his stare. “Even if I’m just thinking of you?”

“I don’t think there are enough birds for that in the whole Empire, my dark-haired beauty.”

And just like that, Xelef settles back into his easy demeanor, self-satisfied grin and all. But now Navid knows better, can discern the seed of… something behind the mysteries of Xelef’s eyes. Something that could be more than just a distraction.

#a tale of crowns #xelara/xelef #x/crown #oc: navid riahi #otp: for you i'll try my very best #my writing #i love this dance that they do #i'm coining it: distractions to lovers

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elisaphoenix13 · 3 years

Text

A Day Of Calm

Stephen's heart warmed at the sight before him. He happened to go up to Valerie's room to check and see if the toddler was taking her nap for the day since William had yet to come back down. The teen periodically took his sister up to her room to put her down for her nap, and a story was usually involved, but it never took more than five minutes. Ten had passed so the sorcerer was curious as to why William hadn't returned to the kitchen.

The moment Stephen opened Valerie's bedroom door, he had his answer. William clearly read her a book as he usually did, but this time, it worked on the teen too. He and Valerie were curled close together and the book lay forgotten in the teen's hand which lay behind the little girl. Valerie had one of her hands clutched in William's shirt and was using his arm as a pillow as soft breaths escaped from her. With a soft smile, Stephen silently walks over to retrieve the book and closes it before returning it to the bookcase. He then grabs the throw blanket folded at the end of the bed and gently lays it over them before leaving the room as quietly as he came.

It was nice that Valerie had someone besides him that she enjoyed spending time with. Especially when he was busy. Just now he had his hands full with his Sorcerer Supreme duties so William offered to put her down for her nap. He figured he would try and get some more reading in before the inevitable chaos and sat back down on the couch after grabbing the books he had briefly set down just minutes ago.

The blissful quiet only lasted for about ten minutes of course. Stephen's only warning before the metaphorical storm was the sound of a jingling bell growing in volume before Flynn dashed into the penthouse by way of the stairs. Normally that wouldn't have bothered him, but then Emir followed the kit and chased him around, knocking things over in his attempt to catch Flynn. Athena lifted her head from the large pet pillow she was laying on and watched with a bored expression as the tiger finally scruffed the fox and carried him over to the newly made pet corner.

Emir and Flynn were such frequent visitors to their floor that it was decided that the pets needed their own corner to hang out in, and it truly lived up to its purpose. A corner in the living room that was almost bare was transformed into a comfortable corner full of pet pillows, blankets, Tibb's cat tree, some toys, and even a little curtain to make it like a small room. That last bit had been Diana's idea. The curtains were never closed but they did resemble some form of...privacy. Stephen and Tony weren't sure the animals would care about it, but the moment it was finished and it was shown to the pets, they used it immediately. Every single one of them loved it.

Tibbs was found snoozing on his tree when he wasn't wandering the tower, Athena had a pillow she used, and even Emir had one he shared with Flynn. The fox was known to use the cubby in the tree sometimes too. For now though, it seemed the kit was stuck with Emir and his pillow where the tiger had carried him and laid down with Flynn between his paws so he could groom him.

"If someone told me this would be my life five years ago, I would have laughed in their face." Stephen mumbled as he closed his book.

The elevator opened and the sorcerer looked over just as Steve and Bucky stepped off and joined him in the living room. The winter soldier looked to have bags of pet supplies and his suspicion was confirmed when Bucky reached into one of them and pulled out a bone.

"Are you spoiling my wolf?" Stephen asks and Bucky grins.

"She deserves to be spoiled." He whistles softly to get the wolf's attention and Athena crawls out of the pet corner to approach him. "Such a good girl." He croons and offers her the large bone he had procured which she takes into her mouth.

"We got something for all of them." Steve says . "Not sure how long the bone we got for Emir will last but we got him the biggest one."

Stephen watches in amusement as the couple unload the bags of pet supplies, and not only do they pull out some bones, but they also pull out some jerky, catnip, and a rope. He raises an eyebrow at the last item, but then Flynn crawls out of the corner curiously and carefully approaches Steve and Bucky. The captain opens the bag of jerky and offers a piece to the kit and Flynn sniffs it before snagging it and darting back into the corner to enjoy his treat.

"I thought he might like those." Steve chuckles and tosses the large bone to the corner for Emir. The tiger picks it up and chomps on it once he gets settled comfortably with Flynn against his side, and a loud crack fills the room. The bone definitely wouldn't last long but Emir was enjoying himself.

To Stephen's surprise, so was Athena.

"Do you think Emir would go for catnip?" Bucky asks and Stephen shrugs.

"Maybe. I know Tibbs will."

Said cat was taking his turn inspecting the new presents and when he was offered catnip, he quickly turned into a rolling mess. Tibbs flopped onto his side and rolled from side to side with loud purrs, and the smell was strong enough to garner the tiger's attention. The three men watch curiously as Emir abandons his bone to get up and investigate (Flynn decided he wanted to chew on the bone too and looked hilariously small compared to it), and when the tiger gets a good whiff of the catnip…

...he joins Tibbs in a rolling session.

Emir chuffs and rumbles alongside Tibbs' purring and all three men burst into laughter because it wasn't something one saw every day.

"What did you do to my tiger?" Scott asks and they look over at him.

"Catnip." Steve replies after he manages to calm down.

The thief laughs and walks over to kneel next to Emir and rub his side. "Are you a high kitty? How much did you get?"

"He licked up a good handful after nearly inhaling it." Bucky says.

"Where's Flynn?"

Stephen points to the corner where the fox is still trying to chew on Emir's bone and Scott shakes his head as Quill, Cassie, and Diana enter from the elevator. The girls glance at the cats briefly before going up to Diana's room to do whatever it was they normally did together, and Quill stares for a few moments before laughing.

"Catnip?"

"Yup."

The two couples find a spot on the couches to watch tv after that, and both Tibbs and Emir eventually pass out after coming down from their high. An hour passes in a comfortable quiet as they watch tv, and then Valerie's bedroom door opens to reveal both William and the little girl freshly woken from their nap.

"How was your nap?" Stephen asks them both and William blushes.

"Sorry. I didn't mean to fall asleep." The teen apologizes.

"You don't need to apologize. You clearly needed it." The sorcerer says as the two descend the stairs. "Would you like an after naptime snack too?" He teases.

"Might as well." William shrugs and joins Valerie at the coffee table.

Stephen chuckles and gets up to prepare their snack. Thankfully it would be relatively simple since William didn't mind sharing his favorite snack with Valerie, so he just had to make a little more than usual. Strawberries and whipped cream were taken out of the fridge and the cutting board was pulled out, but when he grabbed a knife, he realized his hands were shaking. They always shook but sometimes if they shook too much, he didn't risk using sharp knives. His hands had enough scars and he wasn't inclined to add to them.

"Bucky...would you mind…?" Stephen asks softly and the soldier looks over at him and nods.

"Yeah. Of course." Bucky joins him at the counter and carefully takes the knife from Stephen to cut the fruit.

"Just into quarters. They like to scoop the whipped cream." Stephen says as he puts some whipped cream into a bowl.

The strawberries were cut and put into another bowl and Bucky carried both bowls over to the kids and set them on the coffee table. They both thanked him and Stephen before digging in, and Valerie almost immediately got some whipped cream on her cheek. Levi got as excited as a cloak could get and swooped over with the intent to wipe it off, but Athena had beaten it to it and licked it off of the little girl's cheek. Valerie giggles and Levi's lapels sulk, causing Stephen to shake his head.

"You are supposed to be a powerful and ancient relic." Stephen huffs. "You're an unglorified nanny."

"Tea?" Valerie asks and Levi immediately perks up and flies over to the toybox to dig out the tea party set.

"Make sure you record every moment of this for the next master it serves." Quill laughs and Stephen chucks a book at his forehead. "Ow!"

A plastic tea cup followed and also hit the god's head and William almost choked on his food when he laughed.

"The book wasn't enough?!"

Stephen chuckles. "Oh, I didn't make it do that."

Flynn was quick to jump up onto Quill's lap and stood on his hind legs with his paws on the celestial's chest to be able to lick his face. Quill rolled his eyes, but clearly softened when the kit tried to make his "wounds" feel better. Emir woke up a few minutes later but was happy to only move just enough to lay his head in Scott's lap, which made the thief lay back on the floor in defeat. Scott clearly didn't want to go through the trouble of trying to push a tiger off of him.

"Duchess! Lulu is hungry!" Tony says when he arrives with the baby from possibly the lab.

"Then feed her."

"I don't have the natural equipment to do that."

"Neither do I!" Stephen almost screeches and the mechanic cackles as he walks into the kitchen to make Lucy a bottle. "That joke is getting old!"

"I'm still going to milk it for all that it's worth."

William groans.

"I could throw you off of this building and make it look like an accident." Stephen huffs. "I'll be set for life and can have Harley and Peter take over your R&D department."

"I love you too honey."

"Good thing Scotty can't kill me. Even if he could, I don't think he would want to lose access to the fountain of youth and immortality." Quill snickers.

"Honestly, it's just nice knowing that if I ever feel compelled to murder someone, I can just kill you and you'll come back." Scott says. "That's healthy right?"

Both Quill and Bucky burst into laughter while Steve sighs. While it was true, Scott didn't actually like hurting people so it would take a lot to get him to the point of actually wanting to murder someone. Stephen was pretty sure he almost came close when Cassie got hurt. That closeness was still in the "maybe Scott will string them up by their toes" level though. Quill usually got violent for him.

While Tony joined them in the living room to watch tv with the adults, Valerie was playing tea party with William and Levi, and even Athena joined. She just sat by one side of the table and occasionally took a treat from the small plate William set in front of her, but Levi actually hovered nearby with its own little plastic cup and saucer and pretended to take sips. When the kids had a tea party at the Sanctum and Wong saw the cloak participating, he stopped and stared for a good couple of minutes. He then gave Stephen a scandalous look (which the Sorcerer Supreme ignored) before leaving to the Sanctum's library.

Now he didn't pay the tea parties any mind. In fact, Stephen caught him participating in one of the sessions and Wong calmly sipped from his plastic cup before saying,

"She offered me some tea. I thought it would be rude to reject it."

Stephen definitely laughed at a later time, but Wong wasn't offended and still partook in the tea parties on the rare occasion. He would even conjure real tea and snacks and Valerie loved it. Wong was a decent babysitter but Stephen would never call him that to his face.

"Is that weed on my floor?" Tony suddenly asks.

"Cat weed." Steve answers and Bucky laughs again.

Tony looks at Tibbs when he starts to wake and points at him. "I thought I taught you better! No drugs! Emir is being a bad influence on you isn't he?"

"Hey!" Scott exclaims.

"Mrow?" Tibbs answers sleepily.

"Don't lie! I see a piece on your whiskers!"

Stephen sighs. "I would say I can't believe you're giving the cat the drug talk, but that would be a lie."

"I'm sure it doesn't even qualify for the top ten weirdest things you've dealt with." Steve says.

"Not even close."

#mama bear au #supreme family #stephen strange #ironstrange #tony stark #mama bear stephen strange #avengers

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alex-ruins-everything · 3 years

Text

Turning Pages - Chapter 8

Intrulogical bookshop au! Read the whole thing on ao3 here.

Remus had really tried not to be stalker-y when he texted Virgil for Logan’s work hours that morning. He just wanted to surprise the cute boy who had been filling his thoughts up! And it had worked, because here Logan was letting him drag him out for dinner. Not only that...but Logan trusted him! It made his gay little heart sing.

“A diner?” Logan questioned as they sat down in a booth. The place was mostly deserted despite it being peak season on the boardwalk. Luckily their home town was just far enough from the water to not be a tourist trap.

“My favorite diner. It...used to be better, but the owner died a while ago and his daughter didn’t wanna inherit the place. But she did. At least she kept the staff because Ed in the back knows how to make a killer burger,” Remus explained with a grin. “You wore your new tie today.”

“I did, and though it was mostly hidden behind the apron, it was a somewhat nice change to my usual rounds of blue ties,” Logan said, looking over the menu with slight distrust. “I saw you and Cthuwu had a wonderful day together. I liked the pictures you updated me with throughout the day.”

“I’m glad! I took him to meet Jan and Jan’s snakes, and then him and I went on a ride and I’m immensely happy he didn’t fall off the back of the bike. He’s in the saddle bag now, napping I imagine. It’s been a long day for a little stuffed octopus.”

“You’re quite good at giving personalities to inanimate objects,” Logan observed, deciding he was just going to get whatever Remus got since the other clearly knew the place better.

“Yeah, it’s a skill of mine.”

“Is this akin to an average day of yours? Just...filling your time with whatever you want to do?”

“Well. yeah. I’m not a college person, and I’ve hit a wall with the latest piece I’ve been working on. Apparently being an artist is just as bad as being a writer when it comes to creative blocks…”

“You’re an artist?” Logan asked with a small smile. “I should have known. You had paint smeared on your cheek when you came to Patton’s book reading. I assumed you were just messy.”

“Well, I am messy, but absolutely, Loganberry. I’ll show you my stuff sometime. I can never pick a medium, so it’s pretty inconsistent.”

“Somehow that does fit in with your, ah…’vibe’. Did I use that correctly?”

“Sure did, babes,” Remus winked.

The waiter came over to take their orders and Remus put his in for a bacon cheeseburger and asked for a note to be put down for Ed in the back that it was him. Logan asked for the same thing, just with no tomatoes.

“You got a tomato vendetta?” Remus asked with a chuckle.

“Awful texture. Slimy goo with little seeds inside...I cannot stand them,” Logan replied, scrunching his nose up.

“Aw...you’re adorable, you know that?” Remus said, leaning forward on his hands.

“Oh, well…” Logan’s cheeks started to turn pink. “I suppose if you find a hatred of Solanum lycopersicums adorable then, yes.”

“Solanum...I have no clue what you said, but I certainly liked the way you said it,” Remus grinned. “Though your hatred of tomatoes isn’t the sexiest thing about you, it certainly makes the list.”

“Well, now you’re just flirting.”

“Yes,” Remus laughed. “Have been for a while, but thank you for finally noticing, Specs.”

“Oh, apologies. I’m not the best at picking up on such things.” “I noticed” Remus smiled. “But it’s okay. According to many people, I never know when to shut the fuck up or tone it down, so we both suck.”

“You’ve been quite good thus far, I hadn’t noticed. Well, except when you screamed in the bookshop. That was rather crass.”

“That bookshop,” Remus smiled fondly. “Do you wanna tell me what’s up with you and that bookshop? I can tell you really love that place. There has to be a story there, right?”

“A story? Hardly. I simply did not connect with my peers as a child, and as a result I spent most of my time in Mr. Sanders’ shop and then started working there when I was of age,” Logan shrugged. “I find the shop comforting, and I am in charge when Mr. Sanders goes away, which is quite often actually. But I don’t mind. The bookshop makes me happy.”

“That’s totally a story, babes,” Remus chuckled, nodding a thanks as their food was brought out. Nothing special, exactly what you would expect from a run down diner, though a bottle of hot sauce was placed on the table right after which he happily grabbed. “And it’s cute. It’s nice that you have something like that.”

“Do you have a metaphorical - or physical - bookshop?” Logan asked, taking the ketchup bottle from the end of the table. Seems his hatred of tomatoes only applied to solid ones.

“Do I have a thing that makes me happy?” Remus asked. “I dunno. Lots of stuff. I like riding my motorcycle and watching horror movies...and visiting Duke at the aquarium. Painting, Halloween, going to the Renaissance fair with Ro...all those are things that make me happy.”

“Those are valid, but I meant in a larger sense,” Logan said. “For example, at the bookshop I feel as if I have a purpose which is psychologically very important for humans. I suppose I’m asking if you feel as though you have something that gives you that.”

“Pretty deep for second date conversation,” Remus said, smile faltering for a moment as he looked down at his food.

“Apologies, I did not-”

“No, no. It’s all good,” he assured. “I’m not one to really keep secrets or anything. I just...don’t. Have a purpose that is. I’m workin’ on finding it, but nothing ever really seems to fit right. Y’know? And, hey, I’m a lucky enough person to be able to try stuff out until I find a fit. Not everyone has that luxury.”

Logan nodded, giving Remus a slight smile. “That’s okay, I’m certain you’ll find your metaphorical bookshop one day.”

“Thanks, Lo,” Remus replied, expression softening at the other for a moment before he took a deep breath. “Okay! Okay, pro tip here...douse everything in hot sauce. You’ll thank me.”

Logan did not douse everything in hot sauce, he claimed he wasn’t a fan of spicy foods. Remus was, though, and did just what he had suggested. They talked more about what they each did in their free time, and Remus really found he liked spending time with Logan. He was cute, sure...but he was adorable on the inside too. Remus was definitely developing more than a crush on Mr. Berry. When the time came to pay he covered the check without a second thought.

“We could have split it,” Logan said after he had paid.

“Why? This is a date. I wanted to pay,” Remus shrugged, looking outside. It was sunset. “Wanna go for a beach walk? You said you could tolerate sand.”

“I did say that, didn’t I?” Logan said, looking out to the beach. “Very well. We can go for a walk.”

Remus grinned, standing up the second his card was handed back and taking Logan’s hand which he noticed got another pink cheeked reaction from the nerd. They headed down to the beach, walking along the edge of the water, far enough away that nobody’s shoes would get wet. The summer nights were quite chilly on the shore, so the beach wasn’t terribly full. Remus only let go of Logan’s hand to go chase some seagulls, regretting the choice when the seagulls chased him back. Birds had been doing that a lot to him lately, there must be an anti-Remus bird conspiracy going. That was what he explained to Logan as he grabbed the other’s hand and fled from the birds. Their walk ended as the sun was gone from below the horizon with them both slightly out of breath and back at Remus’ motorcycle.

“In my defense...they usually don’t chase back,” he explained.

“It would seem this time they did,” Logan replied, brushing a hand through his hair to keep it neat. “But...that was certainly exhilarating in it’s own way. I can’t say I’ve ever run from seagulls before.”

“First time for everything,” Remus laughed, meeting Logan’s eye.

And, shit. He wanted to kiss Logan. He really wanted to kiss Logan. It would be so easy, just lean forward and smooch...but it was their second date and what if Logan didn’t want to kiss him.

“Remus, are you alright?” Logan asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Oh, yeah. Totally, Specs,” Remus said, pulling himself out of that moment. “C’mon, let's get you home.”

“Yes, home seems good. I forget the sun goes down quite late sometimes,” Logan said, taking his borrowed helmet when it was offered to him. “I’m actually starting to somewhat enjoy riding the motorcycle with you.”

“Well, good! I like riding with you too, mon amour.”

Remus shoved his own helmet onto his head, getting on the bike and starting it as Logan climbed onto the back. He smiled when he felt the other’s arms secure around his waist and headed off. He parked outside of Logan’s building, getting off after Lo to say a proper goodbye.

“I will see you next time I see you,” Remus said, taking Logan’s helmet back with a smile. “I had fun on our spontaneous little date.”

Logan seemed to ponder for a moment before taking a deep breath and speaking, “Would you like to come up for some tea? I usually have a cup to relax around this time anyway...and I have lots of tea…”

“Heh, sure, Loganberry. I’ll come up for some tea,” Remus smiled, taking Logan’s hand again and following him inside.

TAGLIST:

@theiwatobiicepic

#alex-writes-everything #turning pages #sanders sides #intrulogical #prinxiety #moceit #remus sanders #logan sanders #roman sanders #virgil sanders #patton sanders #janus sanders

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waywardfacegarden · 4 years

Text

burning embers

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

Summary: Zuko learns the meaning of love.

Read on Ao3 here.

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

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

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

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

Family. Love. Father.

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

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

Loneliness. Despair. Dishonor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Too much trouble.

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

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

He comes to learn that, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Katara rolls her eyes again.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

Katara nods, at the same time Toph goes:

“Yup, you’re already in, loser.”

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

Zuko blinks, stunned.

That’s…

There’s…

That’s… the F-word.

Friend.

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

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

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

"Nuh-uh!"

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

"Katara!!!!"

Friend.

It’s a nice word.

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

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

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

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

Friend is such a nice word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zuko blinks. Huh?

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sokka grins brightly at him. "Sure."

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

"What? We weren’t—"

Katara agrees, quietly.

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

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

Oh.

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

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

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

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

“Are you okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Of?”

Sokka gives him a wry smile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Oh Lord, what did he actually…

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

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

“I’m not.” Still.

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

Stupid Sokka.

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

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

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

“It’s just hot.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zuko smiles back. “Of course.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I don’t,” he had pressed on.

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

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

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

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

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

Ahhhhh.

Oh, holy honor.

He has a crush. A crush. Feelings.

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

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

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

Ugh.

Feelings are stupid. His heart is stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Ah.”

Sokka seems amused.

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

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

Well.

“That’s rough, buddy.”

Sokka blinks. “Why?”

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

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

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

“Hmm.”

Then, when he calms down, Sokka eyes Zuko.

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

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

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

“Oh.”

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

Zuko stares. Blinks.

What.

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

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

Ah. He really doesn’t like having feelings.

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

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

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

Is this how love feels?

Is this how it should feel like?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zuko swallows.

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

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

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

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

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

“Even you know?”

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

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

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

Zuko feels a bit of panic.

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

"His name?"

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

"Oh my god."

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

"Did Sokka seriously tell you that?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hmm."

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

Ouch.

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

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

"Ah." Everyone?

"Full offence."

"Ah."

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

Katara too!? Oh, no.

Zuko seriously wants to die.

Eventually, things go on.

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

“Zuko.”

“Hmm?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t, though.

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

Huh.

But then he speaks up again.

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

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

Maybe he should just laugh.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zuko frowns. “How would you know?”

Sokka stares. “Your face.”

“My face?”

“I can see it. In your face.”

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

Sokka is still way too close.

“You can…?”

“Yup.”

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

Sokka quirks both eyebrows. “Yes...?”

“But you—you…”

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

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

Sokka blinks. “Because I want to?”

“But why do you want to?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Katara is right, I’m dumb.”

Sokka grins. “Toph thinks so, too.”

“Toph thinks everyone is dumb.”

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

“Mmm.”

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

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

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

… Right?

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

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

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

“Hey!” He frowns. “Wait—”

“You have said that a lot.”

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

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

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

Sokka smiles, then shrugs.

“I guess we’re both dumb.”

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

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

Oh.

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

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

It feels even better than in his dreams.

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

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

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

It feels like home.

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

“You mean you weren’t dating before?”

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

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

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

“That’s awesome, guys! Be happy!”

Zuko smiles.

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

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

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

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

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

He’s cute.

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

He’s really cute.

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

The cutest.

“Zuko.”

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

“Zukoooo, darling, love of my life.”

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

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

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

“Hm?”

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

“I am…?”

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

Eh?

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

“You’re adorable.”

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

Sokka laughs again.

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

“Are you insulting me?”

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

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

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

“You’re adorable.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And, well, maybe he is.)

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

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

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

Kissing Sokka is a blessed thing.

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

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

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

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

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

But it feels like that.

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

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

So he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He might as well die there.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Love.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Zuko smiles and kisses him.

Falling in love is a blessed thing.

#zukka #zukka fic #atla #avatar the last airbender #my writing #... this is my contribution to the atla/zukka fandom #please let me know what do you think in the comments/tags/ao3!!!!!!!!#have a lovely day and thanks for reading :')

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