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ri-ahhh · 4 years

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Okay, but with Grayson complaining about being lonely and wanting a girlfriend I CANT HELP but to think about how horny he probably is on top of that. Like- its been on my mind for days, so can you PLEASE write something about gray meeting a bitch, like through friend or something, and realizing he likes her and then having these dirty thoughts about her, and like he doesn't want to but he just cant help it... I will die and love you forever, you're writing is my absouloute favortie.

Ur so sweet babe haha thank you😊 hope this is along the lines of what you wanted.

Getting his dick wet has never been a problem for Grayson Dolan; not since receiving his first sloppy, inexperienced blowjob when he was on tour at the tender age of 16. There’s been a steady flow of girls in and out of his life ever since, fulfilling both his needs sexually and the fleeting desire for noncommittal intimacy. And that’s how he likes it for the longest time. Easy and no-strings-attached.

But he’s older now, and even though quarantine hadn’t stopped him from hitting up his favorite one or two booty calls every now and then, he feels empty in a way that’s becoming all-too familiar. It’s not a new feeling, but every time he leaves their homes (because that’s his number one rule — hookups stay out of his bed), there’s a longing that wasn’t satisfied and that’s becoming more and more apparent to him.

So he stops fucking around — literally. He believes in the power of the mind and manifestation almost to a fault, and considers that maybe he’s letting casual hookups interfere with what he really wants: companionship.

It seems like a breeze at first. Grayson swears he feels lighter, clearer in the head, more focused on what he wants out of his life. He puts his mind to being the best version of himself and hoping that it’s enough to attract the same kind of person that he can put all of his love and effort into in return.

As months roll on, however, he realizes that sometimes the universe just doesn’t listen right away. And for the first time in his life, Grayson discovers the monotony and reality of what it’s like for the ‘regular’ guys out there, whose only sexual pleasure comes from their own hand and the porn category of choice for the night. He was used to that as a filler, for sure, but not as his one and only outlet.

Plain and simple, he’s horny. All the time. Which makes him grumpy, and irritable, and frustrated with both himself and everything around him. So when Ethan tells him in passing that his girlfriend is flying in from New York with her friend to visit, it just makes him grunt. The fact that his brother is in such a happy and healthy relationship himself is a point of contention for Grayson in his head. He’s thrilled for Ethan, but he can’t help but dwell on the creeping jealousy in his chest. Here he is, starved for both intimacy and sex now, and Ethan will get served both of those the following night in excess while Grayson lies in his bed alone.

The next night, they’re all having dinner at the kitchen table — all four of them, including her. The friend. The friend that Ethan had mentioned would be coming but that Grayson had so brusquely ignored. The friend that had his eyebrows raised the second she walked shyly through his front door, drawn in immediately by her beauty.

The friend he can’t keep his eyes off of now as she goes to town on the roasted sweet potatoes and black bean burgers he had made himself. She’s quiet but witty and has a cute laugh that makes his heart flutter a little in a way he hasn’t experienced in a long time.

He feels a nudge against his ribs, and startles when he jerks to the side to see Ethan staring at him pointedly with a knowing little smile on his lips.

“You’ve got ketchup on your shirt, bro,” he says, nodding to the blob of red on Grayson’s white shirt that had dropped from the forkful of sweet potatoes, which had only made it halfway to his mouth as he listened to her talk.

“Shit,” he mumbles embarrassedly, flushing a color near the tomato-red that’s now stained his shirt. Of course, the first time he’s feeling real feelings around a beautiful girl, he has to revert to awkward, clumsy Grayson rather smooth, relaxed Grayson.

He starts to scrub up the mess with his napkin, but she reaches out from her seat across the table from him and grabs his wrist in her petite hand. “Oop, wait! Dab, don’t swipe, or you’ll make it worse. I know how to get that out as long as it’s not smeared around into the fabric.”

Grayson swallows, his arm flaring with goosebumps at her gentle but insistent touch, but tries to keep his cool. She’s grinning at him amusedly, then sits back in her seat when Grayson follows her instructions.

“I thought ketchup was one of those things that you’re just kinda fucked if you get it on your clothes, Ethan says, filling the silence left by his brother.

She shakes her head. “Nope. Peroxide will get it right out, especially if you wash it after. Do you have any?”

Ethan cocks a brow and looks at Grayson, hoping he’ll use the opportunity to speak to her. Thankfully, he does, even if it is lacking a little bit of gracefulness. “Huh, peroxide? Oh... uh, yeah, I — yeah, in my bathroom.”

“I’ll help you when we’re all done, if you want,” she offers before taking a modest bite of her burger.

Grayson nods, and can’t help but watch the way she sucks a bit of barbecue sauce off her thumb once she swallows. His heart picks up and he has to shift in his seat a little when she winks at him, his pants tightening under the table. Damn it. He’s been trying to avoid that reaction and those thoughts, determined to do this right.

He fixes a smile to his lips, and hopes his face isn’t giving him away. “Yeah, that’d be great.”

Everyone helps clean up the table and dishes, and Grayson leads her into his room while they leave the other two to have some alone time. He prays that he made his bed that morning and that there’s no dirty underwear on the floor or used tissues on the nightstand.

Luckily, the floor is relatively clear, and the bed is made, if haphazardly so. She follows him into the en-suite bathroom and watches him dig under the cabinet in the first aid bucket he has down there.

She’s wearing jean shorts and a loose-knit sweater, and when Grayson starts to stand back up he takes a moment to appreciate the tone in the muscles of her legs and the flashes of skin he can see through her top, hoping he isn’t being too obvious.

She takes the brown bottle from him and tugs on the hem of his shirt. “It’ll be easier if you take this off.”

Grayson nods, and can’t help the laugh that escapes him when she turns her back to him. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you your modesty! I don’t know you, for all I know you might be super insecure.”

“At the risk of sounding like a total douche, I promise I’m not,” he answers, reaching behind his neck to tug the collar up and over his head. “Here you go.”

She turns back around, and Grayson doesn’t miss the way her eyes travel over his sculpted torso. He can’t help but smirk a little, thrilled at the cute blush that tinges her cheeks when she meets his eyes and realizes she’s been caught.

He hasn’t had a woman look at him like that in months, however, and he’s grateful when she tells him, “This will need to go in the laundry tonight if you want to make sure the stain comes out, so you’ll need another shirt anyways.”

It gives him an out to duck into his closet, taking a moment to collect himself before grabbing the first T-shirt his hand touches and slipping it over his head.

“Cold water first,” she informs, smiling at him through the mirror when he re-emerges as she leans over the sink with the water running. She shuts off the water and squeeze out the excess, then takes the peroxide and pours some onto the stain.

“Woah,” Grayson says, eyebrows raised in surprise at the fizzing bubbles visibly picking up the bright red from the fibers of his shirt. “Where did you learn this trick?”

“I work in the toddler room at a daycare. We keep this stuff on sight and scene to avoid 20 outfit changes a day on a few two year-olds. I’m sure you can imagine the amount of ketchup and blood stains a toddler procures on the daily.”

Grayson chuckles. He feels himself growing more fond of her by the second. “You like kids?”

“I love them,” she replies with a grin. “Working in childcare is pretty rough, but it’s been a great college job. Lots of experience for my degree. And, you know, good practice for the future one day.”

If he hadn’t been sold by now, that does it. Beautiful, smart, and good with kids?

He takes a moment to assess himself and his thoughts. He doesn’t think he’s letting his dick lead him right now, even if he does want her that way. He’s just as attracted to her mind as he is the curves of her body and the features of her pretty face, and finds himself wanting to talk to her for hours on end.

He doesn’t realize there’s a heated silence, both of them standing there staring at each other, until she clears her throat and holds up his shirt. Grayson glances down at it to see just a faint brown rim around what use to be a bright red mark. “All done.”

“Thank you,” he says, taking it from her and tossing it in his laundry basket. “Come on, hopefully we don’t walk into something we can’t unsee.”

“You make a pretty good meat shield,” she says jokingly, following close behind him. “All big and broad. I can just hide behind you and keep my eyes unscarred.”

Grayson laughs loudly, his ego swelling, and he has to resist the urge to take her hand in his. That would be too much. Right?

Thankfully, the couple is just cuddling innocently on the loveseat when they enter the living room.

“Movie?” Ethan asks when the two of them settle on the couch, a respectful and calculated distance between them — not too close and not too far.

“Sure.”

They’re all in a fun and lighthearted mood tonight, so they settle on Moana. Grayson wants nothing more than to throw his arm around the beautiful girl next to him, who sings along playfully to the songs she knows, her enthusiastic movements shuffling her closer to him. He doesn’t know if it’s intentional, but he doesn’t really care; her presence in both body and spirit feels good to him.

Ethan’s girlfriend only makes it about halfway through the movie before she’s passed out, tired from the long flight earlier that day. He looks down at her fondly and chuckles when he sees her nuzzled sound asleep against his chest.

“I’m gonna take her to bed,” he announces quietly before standing with her in his arms. “Goodnight, guys.”

They both murmur back “goodnight” and watch Ethan disappear down the hall. The movie plays on for a couple of minutes, before she’s turning to him and making small talk. Which turns into broader conversation about bigger things. Which leads to them settling so close that their knees touch. She finds an excuse to pick an invisible fleck of something off his hand, which turns into their fingers playing with each other’s teasingly.

Which turns to Grayson checking his watch in a quiet but not unpleasant lull, and muttering, “Oh, shit,” in surprise.

She checks her phone lying on the couch cushion behind her. The time shines back at her 1:27 AM.

“Damn, when did it get so late?” she wonders aloud, looking at him amusedly.

Grayson shakes his head. “Time flies,” he says. Whether it’s the late hour, or him getting his mojo back, or just the fact that he’s so naturally comfortable with her, he suddenly feels bold enough to reach out and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. “Are you tired?”

She blushes and bites her lip, allowing him to keep his warm palm pressed to her neck while his thumb strokes the ridge of her jaw gently.

“Not really,” she answers, scooting that much closer to him. “Not ready to go to my bed, anyways.”

She’s referring to the guest room she’s already settled her things into. Grayson smiles. Rules be damned, he thinks, until he realizes in the next moment that there’s no way this amazing girl is going to be just a hookup. There’s no rule to be broken.

“Why don’t you come to mine, then?”

#dolan twins #grayson dolan #ethan dolan #dolan twins fic #grayson dolan fic #blurb #g blurb

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secret-engima · 4 years

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nammuellyll

@secret-engima congrats, you woke the monster. ardyn in my hero academia. there. go wild.

Me: MWAHAHAHAHA. You say that like I regret it >:DDD

-Ardyn in this wakes up post The Great Stabbing and is ... more than a little annoyed. Hello. He wanted the afterlife experience. HELLO WHAT HAPPENED TO HIS DESTINY OF FADING TO COSMIC DUST.

-But no. Apparently he gets to have a “second chance” to “be a hero”.

-Just let one of the Astrals show themselves, he’ll show where to put that “second chance”-.

-Anyway. Ardyn is Ardyn, he looks like he did in canon but he’s sane again. Oddly enough he’s still got both his armiger magic, his super healing, and some of his scourge-like abilities (scary face included). He’s not corrupted tho. Ardyn isn’t sure what to make of that.

-Goes and hobos around for a while, getting used to this world and the fact that everyone looks like a storybook encounter with cursed items gone wrong. Picks up a Smol Traumatized Child that can disintegrate things with his fingers off the streets because Why Not, Let’s Both Be Homeless Together Kiddo, then in short order gets himself known as a Major Villain when he finds a trafficking ring and, since Ardyn is Not Exactly Moral Even If Arguably Sane, he slaughters them to the last man.

-Ardyn is known on the news via grainy footage that only catches glimpses of his scourge face and a lot of rumor, he laughs his head off when the ONE soundbite they manage to get from the scene leads to his being named Adagium. AGAIN. Okay he walked into that one.

-Uses the resources of the no-longer-operational trafficking ring to set up a nice restaurant bar with a secret (illegal) clinic in the back. He makes dishes exclusively from his original time period and so the food is known as very eccentric but good. Ardyn rapidly gets the wackiest duel rep in history. To the mainstream/police/pro heroes he’s a shadowy super-murderer named Adagium. To the underworld and the homeless, the quirkless and the children, Adagium is a name that means hope and shelter, healing and comfort and a monster that protects its own rather than giving meaningless promises, all in exchange for simple favors like clothes and information and school books for his child.

-Ardyn makes special one-finger gloves for Tenko so that he can touch touch stuff without worrying about destroying it. He also, at some point, picks up the rest of the not-LoV by pure happenstance. Toga comes into his clinic hunting a patient, he scolds her, puts her in time-out, then gives her a lolli with heavy iron supplement because clearly if the girl has a blood craving she needs more iron in her system. Don’t you heathens know anything about the meaning behind cravings. Spinner gets into a fight in Ardyn’s territory, Ardyn patches him up and gently informs him that if he’s going to pick fights, at least fight dirty enough to win them. Twice comes there often for a meal and company that won’t look at him funny for talking to himself, Mr. Compress is bound and determined to get Ardyn to be surprised by one of his magic tricks (never works, because unlike Compress Ardyn can do LITERAL MAGIC). Magne is not a regular, but still shows up once in a blue moon because Ardyn’s illegal clinic is probably better stocked than most legal ones at this point (people tend to trade his treatment for actual medicine and equipment, Ardyn never asks where they get it).

-Dabi is the last to be picked up. He is also how Ardyn’s increasing collection of strays first learn about Ardyn’s superhealing factor when he TAKES Dabi’s fresh, weeping burns onto himself and they heal over in minutes, leaving both of them unscarred (or mostly so, Ardyn’s skin will always have faint ripple marks where the burns were). It is also around this time that, coincidentally, people start gunning for Endeavor and trying to make his life miserable. Because Adagium hates him and is plotting to end him, so clearly that’s their cue, right?

-The rest of Endeavor’s kids vanish in the middle of the night. No one in the police or pro heroes can find them.

-Far away in a little, unnoticed restaurant bar, Dabi holds his siblings tight and promises they are never going to have to suffer That Man again. Ardyn rests gentle hands on Shōto’s face and whispers that everything will be okay even as his skin bubbles and boils into an ugly burn before healing over with the faintest scars.

-Moving on from Ardyn’s growing collection of strays (that will keep growing so keep an eye on that):

-Ardyn doesn’t get the whole quirk thing. Or the whole superhero society thing. If something needs doing and it suits him then he shall do it, none of this Symbol of Peace nonsense.

-Yes, he said nonsense. The Symbol of Peace is nonsense and only setting society up to fall apart when this All Might fellow either gets too powerful and is made to take a fall or when he finally picks a fight he can’t win.

-Ardyn says as much to Toshinori Yagi, the nice civilian man who wandered into Ardyn’s bar without knowing who is running it. The man sputters a bit and asks why he thinks so, Ardyn just laughs and laughs and laughs until there is something unnerving about the sound and Ardyn has to stop and catch his breath. Blue eyes flicker gold as Ardyn murmurs that he’s seen it happen before.

-Somehow, Toshinori thinks this strange, eccentric barkeep doesn’t mean as a bystander.

-Ardyn meets Aizawa while Aizawa is on the hunt for Adagium, they eyeball each other like wary cats before Ardyn decides that this angry hobo hero is His Now and invites the man over for food. Aizawa declines. Ardyn casually slings Aizawa over his shoulder and carts him in anyway before Aizawa can think to retaliate.

-Ardyn is highly amused to learn that Hobo Man is after the Adagium. Good luck with that, truly, best of fortune.

-So, for those of you paying attention, Ardyn’s count of Heroes He Has Adopted is officially up to 2, even if he pretends not to notice the first one (pretends. Because he knows exactly who Toshi is, come ON it’s not that hard, they have the same voice and smile and everything).

-Ardyn’s kids grow up with his scathing political commentary and one foot in both legal and illegal worlds. Some of them (Tenko, Dabi, Toga, Spinner) decide that they’re gonna make a League to show the world how dumb its being. A League of Villains! (”League of Vigilante’s sounds more appropriate for your chosen activities, Tenko Mine-” “VILLAINS. WE ARE VILLAINS NOW.” “Alright then, will all villains in the room please wash up for supper?”)

-Ardyn finds Hitoshi and decides he’s not quite qualified for this one.

-Aizawa wakes up from another rare session of being black-out to find Ardyn cheerfully tearing up his apartment to make it more “child suitable”. Child WHAT. Child suitable. For your child.

-MY WHAT.

-Ardyn calmly holds out the adoption papers that have Aizawa’s signature on all of them, perfectly legible because the man is a little too good at pretending he isn’t stone drunk, and then gestures to the sad-eyed, skeptical boy with purple hair in the corner. Ardyn smiles (reads: threatens with killing intent) and says that he’s sure Aizawa will take his new responsibilities seriously (read: you’d better or you’re next on my hitlist).

-Aizawa, never one to go back on his word, has a kid now I guess.

-Shōto comes home one day with a bby Izuku in tow and Ardyn is charmed beyond all words over the boy. He’s so Smol! And Smart! Lookit his little brain firing away! Upon hearing the boy is developing All The Esteem Issues because of his bullying and quirklessness, Ardyn stares off into space for a long time, acknowledges that he’s a sap, and then soothingly tells Izuku that some quirks just come in late, why, Ardyn’s came in late too! Just give it a few days. Then he pats Izuku on the head and uses the motion to disguise the teeny tiny fragment of magic he splits off from his own and gives to this boy who deserves better.

-Izuku comes back two days later, crying for joy and with sparkling green magic dripping from his fingertips. Ardyn exclaims in “surprise” over the similarity of their quirks and offers to teach him. Izuku accepts and after some sweet-talking to Inko, Ardyn gets to mold this tiny genius boi as he pleases to both be proud of himself and his “quirk” AND to fight quirkless as much as possible because “tactics, my boy, take them by surprise!”

-Also then he figures out that he didn’t just lend Izuku magic because this world is funky like that, he genuinely gave it away which counts as LC adoption rituals so OOPS GUESS WHO HAS A BLOOD SON NOW.

-Oh well.

-Toshi and Izuku get along like a house on fire whenever Toshi comes over for a hot meal and Ardyn is pretty content with his brood and his handiwork against Endeavor (who by this point has been exposed as an abuser and put in jail for a long time HAH). Toshi ... pointedly doesn’t ask why several of his kids look like Endeavor. Nope. Not asking. They get their red hair from Ardyn, clearly.

-Of course, all of this casual wrecking of canon attracts the attention of AfO, who is not happy about the competition. He shows up at one point, all suave and intimidating because he is immortal and older than anyone alive and smarter too and-

-Ardyn laughs in his face.

-Baby.

-Bby playing at immortal.

-You think two centuries or so makes you hot stuff? You think stolen quirks makes you special? You think you can come into Ardyn’s territory and threaten his kids and get away with it because you’re ... a little older than the average human being? Ardyn leans close and smiles as AfO tries and fails to steal a quirk that doesn’t exist to be stolen, his Scourge face leaking into existence as he purrs that AfO should’ve minded his own business a little more than he minded others.

-AfO came prepared for a quirk. He did not come prepared for the combined might of 2k year old LC magic and abilities of a Scourge the world has never, and will never, see.

-It’s not even a fight.

-Adagium makes the news again when a body is found hanging from a high tower, torn apart as if by dozens upon dozens of blades, the corpse pinned in place by a spear that dissolves into red sparks upon the police touching it, leaving behind only a note that gets leaked to the media and goes viral.

-Dear World, refrain from touching my stuff, and you won’t end up like this man. Sincerely, Adagium.

-Not the most menacing letter until you considering the delivery method.

-Toshinori has to sit there and have a Moment upon the news that the man who murdered Nana is already dead by someone else’s hand and they have no idea when the fight went down. Because surely there was a fight, right? AfO had been centuries old and with dozens upon dozens of quirks. Who could possibly have brought him down when Nana, the then-wielder of OfA could not???

-Ardyn gently pats Toshi’s shoulder through the breakdown. There there. I’m sure you’ll figure out the culprit eventually, you’re a smart man Toshi. There there.

-Also Kurogiri shows up not long after that entire debacle looking for a new job because his old one got murdered and Adagium seems like an efficient dude. Ardyn is always happy for more hands on deck in wrangling the kids, and this one has warping powers. Welcome aboard Kurogiri.

#Secret Engima Rambles #Melodies and Manuscripts #ffxv #bnha #xover #I'll call this au #Gentleman Ardyn verse #no idea why

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zukos-tsungi-horn · 5 years

Text

Souvenirs We Never Lose Ch. 2

Chapter 2: become our history (1 | 2 | to be continued) (Read on AO3 | FFN)

Summary: The past is never far. Zuko remembers what Katara said about the spirit water. Now there’s a second scar to heal, and Katara’s feelings are more complicated—but if he wants to erase the past, she’s willing to give it a try. She owes him that much, and more. Zutara. Rated T to be safe, probably G though.

Notes: Thanks again to Lexosaurus for beta reading!! And thanks to everyone who left comments/reviews on the first chapter, it means a ton! I’m super happy with how this chapter turned out, so I hope you enjoy! (Also please please let the read more link work this time tumblr hhhh)

XXX

~Reruns all become our history~

It wasn’t a vacation. It had never been a vacation, as much as it felt like one when she didn’t have to cook or wash clothes. She still had plenty to keep her busy. The days passed in a blur of economic discussions, combat training with old acquaintances—still mostly boys, but she was excited to find three girls had been admitted since she’d last visited—and healing practice with Yugoda.

Even though concern for Aang and Toph tickled the back of her mind, it was nice to have this time on her own. Training just for herself and not for the fate of the world was more of a relief than she’d expected.

Of course, Zuko’s request regarding his scars shrouded the otherwise peaceful atmosphere. He hadn’t asked her again since they’d gotten here—he trusted that she would let him know once she had the spirit water—but she felt like she could see the unspoken question every time their eyes met across the council hall.

That was almost the only time she saw him. At this rate, she’d have to get the water on her own, and then wait until the return trip to see if she could actually heal him. Which would work just as well… but felt oddly disappointing.

What had she expected? That she would get to spend this not-vacation just hanging out with him, like old times?

She should’ve known it would be like this. He was the Fire Lord now. She was… well, on a technicality she was an ambassador from the Southern Water Tribe, but her presence was hardly necessary for the trade negotiations. Zuko made sure she was admitted to the most important meetings anyway. Having travelled the world—even if it was usually from atop Appa rather than by ship—meant she was at least a little bit useful in helping map trade routes.

As much as she appreciated and enjoyed being included, today’s particular meetings had been nothing short of monotonous, and the lunch break couldn’t have come soon enough. Katara picked up a plate of food from the table at the back of the large dining hall and scanned the room for Zuko. He was easy to spot at a round table in the corner. As usual, the seats surrounding him were empty. Outside of the official meetings, no one seemed to know what to do with him, so they left him alone. She couldn’t tell if that was because he was so young to be a leader, or just their wariness of the Fire Lord title.

She took a seat beside him, suppressing a laugh as he tried to peel a frost melon with his bare hands. His fingernails barely made a dent in the fist-sized fruit’s tough white rind.

Finally, taking pity on him, she asked, “You need some help there?”

“What’s wrong with this thing?” He said, finally giving up and dropping the fruit on the smooth ice table. The dull thud startled the delegates seated at the nearest table, though they quickly went back to their own conversation.

“Nothing’s wrong with it. Here.” She held out her open palm, and he handed over the frost melon. “You just have to know the trick.”

Her fingers found the near-invisible crack in its stony rind. With one quick smack against the table, the melon split in half.

“Huh.” He blinked at the now-exposed blue flesh of the fruit. “So the trick’s just to hit it really hard?”

“Not exactly.” She held out the two halves. “They grow underwater. The rind hardens and cracks when it dries.”

“So the trick is just to hit it really hard on the cracks.”

“Pretty much. It’s a good way to let out some frustration if you need to.”

“Believe it or not, that hasn’t been a problem lately.” He cracked a smile and took back the melon.

She could verify that statement first hand. Even though the Water Tribe council mostly ignored Zuko outside of the trade talks, they took him seriously during them. And he responded in kind, speaking confidently with his hands folded tightly behind his back while he discussed coal, oil, and fish prices. Only during these breaks did she sometimes catch him cradling his fist over his middle.

“You’re getting the hang of this whole Fire Lord thing, huh?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know if I’d say that. I’ve just been doing what I always do. Working hard, screwing up a lot, and learning from my mistakes. And trust me, there’s been a lot of those. Those first few months…”

He ran his free hand through his hair—or tried to. Apparently he forgot it was in its topknot, and his fingers caught in the tight style. A few strands came loose as he tried to untangle them.

She chuckled and reached up to push them back in place as best she could. As cute as she found his hair like that, he wouldn’t want to look disheveled when the meeting reconvened.

He froze, the unscarred half of his face going red. Oh. She drew back her hand and made a show of picking at her food while he finished fixing his hair. Then she remembered what had prompted him to muss it in the first place.

“Hey, you’ve made it this far and no one’s tried to kill you. I’d call that a success.”

He grimaced.

She put down her chopsticks and gaped at him.

“Wait—have people tried to kill you?”

“Shh.” He scooted closer, gesturing for her to keep her voice down. “I’m fine. It’s not a big deal.”

“Not a big deal?” She lowered her voice to a near-whisper, her hands clenching into fists. “Zuko. I know you’re used to almost dying, but you shouldn’t have to be! That’s not—”

He cupped a hand over her fist. “Look, I know, okay? That’s why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to freak out.”

“Being concerned that my friend could’ve been assassinated is not the same as freaking out.” If he got hurt and she couldn’t heal him because she wasn’t there, if she’d brought him back from the brink of death just to lose him mere months later—

She forced herself to take a deep breath. He was here. He was alive. And he was staring at her, his eyes trying to convey comfort to her when he was the one who could’ve died.

“There have been fewer attempts than Uncle expected,” he said, as if that were actually good news.

“You expected people to try to kill you?”

He shrugged. “It tends to happen around successions. Especially messy ones like this. But most people, even in the Fire Nation, are just glad the war is over. Really. Everything’s fine.”

He made it sound like assassination attempts were an ordinary part of life, not even worth mentioning. Maybe that was true for Fire Nation royalty. She couldn’t imagine anyone ever trying to assassinate Ozai, though.

She almost snorted at that. Assassinating Ozai had been the focus of their lives for the past year before the comet. Shorter than that for Zuko, but he’d still been a major part of the plot too. Maybe for him, being on this end of assassination attempts was better.

Then she was sad all over again, because no one should consider being targeted by assassins an improvement.

“Okay,” she finally said. “I trust you. Just… you can tell me about stuff like that, alright? I can’t promise I won’t ‘freak out,’ but I’d feel better knowing than not.”

She would really feel better if she could be there to take out any would-be assassins herself. At least she was here now. Not that she expected any assassins here. The negotiations were going well, and hired killers were taboo in Water Tribe culture. Besides, if Zuko was worried about that, he’d have guards around rather than sitting by himself.

Not that he had the best sense of self-preservation on a regular day.

“Fair enough.” He nodded a little sheepishly. Like he’d only now realized what a big deal it was to almost get killed.

Again.

“Good.” She nodded back, deciding to let it go. There wasn’t anything she could do about it now.

After a moment of awkward silence, he experimentally bit into blue flesh of the frost melon and made a face.

“Not a fan, huh?” She smiled and took back the other half of his melon.

“It’s not bad,” he insisted, though his furrowed brow said otherwise. “I just didn’t know fruit could be salty.”

He stared down at the melon like it had presented him a particularly difficult math problem. She couldn’t help but laugh a little; it was just too cute.

“What?” He looked up in confusion. A thin trail of salty juice dripped down his lip to his chin.

She felt her face flush and shook her head, biting into her half of the fruit to stop herself from grinning any wider.

“I just missed this, that’s all,” she replied. That was a safe enough thing to say—definitely better than voicing her sudden impulse to wipe the juice from his lip.

“Really?” He looked up at her with his head tilted.

“Of course I did, Zuko. You’re my friend. We’ve all missed you.”

It was true. Even if it wasn’t what she really wished she could say.

“Oh.” His fingernails picked at the frost melon, meticulously separating the blue flesh from the rind. In a low voice, he added, “Right. I’ve missed everyone too.”

Was he… lonely? Katara hadn’t been able to stay in the Fire Nation capital after his lightning wound no longer needed regular healing sessions. There was so much Aang still had to do around the world to establish peace, and he needed her. Going with him had been the logical choice. Still, they tried to visit Zuko from time to time, even if that was less often than she would’ve liked. But even without her and her friends, Zuko had his Uncle.

And Mai, she reminded herself while stabbing a piece of fish a little too forcefully with her chopsticks. She had to be imagining the emotion in Zuko’s voice.

“You have?” She asked anyway.

“Like you said. You’re my friend. Er, all of you are. My friends.” He coughed. “I never had to worry about where I stood with you.”

He pointedly avoided her eyes as his hands continued to shred the pulpy flesh of his melon. Something in his statement felt personal, like an inside joke she’d wasn’t privy to. Only with much less humor.

“Is that something you worry about now?” She asked softly. Maybe she wasn’t the only one who only mentioned the positive in her letters.

“Too often,” he sighed.

He didn’t seem to notice the frost melon juice staining his hand as he pressed it against his torso—over his lightning scar. Blue juice bled onto the silky red fabric, turning it a muddy purple.

“Oh,” he said when it registered, his face turning pink. “I’ve got to stop doing that…”

“What, the Fire Lord ruins good clothes often?” She waved her hand in front of him, and the juice bent out of his robes.

He blinked before smiling in relief. “Thanks. Wouldn’t want to embarrass my babysitters.”

He nodded at the adjacent table, where his advisors and other Fire Nation officials were sitting and looking even more confused about the fruit than Zuko had. One even tried to split open a melon with a fingertip of fire.

“They look pretty occupied.”

His habit of putting his hand over his lighting scar had reminded her of the real reason she was here. As much as she wanted to ask about what was bothering him, they only had so much time together—and she still needed to make good on her promise.

“So... you think you’ll be able to sneak away from them?”

He looked up in surprise.

“Not right now, of course,” she backpedalled quickly. “After I talk to Yugoda. I’ve been training in healing with her in the evenings. I’ll find a way to ask her soon. About… you know.”

She didn’t think anyone else knew about his plan, and though the other Fire Nation officials did look occupied, she didn’t feel right talking about it out loud here. Everyone would know soon enough, though. He couldn’t exactly hide having a giant scar removed from his face. She wondered if he really planned on just showing up to the meetings one morning without it. Knowing him, he probably would.

“Oh. Yeah, I’ll figure out something.” He nodded, picking at his fruit again. It was practically a pile of pulp by now.

“You don’t have to, you know. I can get the water and wait until the trip back. If you’re busy, or—”

“Katara.” He looked straight into her eyes. “I won’t be busy.”

She ignored the tingle running down her spine and nodded slowly.

“If you’re sure, then.”

She hoped he didn’t notice how her own hands trembled as she finished off her half of the melon.

XXX

Black was the wrong color, he thought as he climbed out his second-story window that night. He’d known that, of course, but he was despairingly out of options for inconspicuous attire. Habit was only reason he’d brought his dark clothing at all. And of the other eleven outfits Uncle had forced him to pack, there was no option that would help him blend into the ice and snow.

Of course, Uncle hadn’t known that he intended to sneak down to Katara’s room in the middle of their diplomatic trip. He didn’t even want to be sneaking. He wasn’t sneaking. He just… found his black stealth suit more warm and comfortable than the billowing Fire Lord robes.

Besides, who wanted to climb down the side of a slick building in a cape? It just wasn’t practical.

He shouldn’t have worried though; all of his advisors (babysitters) were long since asleep in the adjoining palace guest rooms. The early northern nightfall had taken its toll on the firebenders. Even the non-benders who didn’t have the instinctive need to rise and fall with the sun were still used to sleeping when it was dark outside.

Of course, Zuko had long since learned how to push through into the moon’s domain.

As he snuck—no, he wasn’t… okay, maybe he was sneaking, just a little—he hoped that Katara wouldn’t mind the late visit. She’d usually stayed up late when they travelled together. Plus she’d wanted to know if he could manage to get away from everyone. This was the easiest way to find out.

Don’t play dumb. That’s a stupid excuse and you know it. His real reason—the question he wanted to ask her—hung heavy in the back of his mind.

Still, even that didn’t warrant the dark clothes, or sneaking out in the middle of the night. It felt right, though. For the first time in months, his breathing seemed to come easier. His inner fire invigorated him as it fought back the harsh cold. The only thing that would make him feel more alive would be the comfortable weight of his daos across his back, or maybe his old Blue Spirit mask over his face.

Agni, Katara had been right—he was feeling nostalgic.

For what? The times when I was on the run? When everyone wanted to kill me? When we still had to worry about defeating my father and Azula?

He was Fire Lord now. The political unrest in the wake of his coronation had settled down, and a whole month had passed without an attempt on his life. Reparations without and rebuilding within the Fire Nation were both going as well as could be expected. The world was at peace. Agni, he even had a girlfriend.

Who would probably have some sharp words to say if she knew he was sneaking towards Katara’s room right now.

His face heated as he realized how it would look. He had nothing to be ashamed of, though; he just needed Katara’s advice.

He pushed thoughts of Mai aside, pulled his dark wrap higher over his face, and crept onward across the courtyard.

The moon shone down brightly, gleaming off the polished ice and leaving precious few shadows to hide in. He didn’t have far to go, though. Katara’s guest house—the traditional Southern Water Tribe Ambassador’s quarters—was just below the courtyard.

He slid down the icy cliff and landed silently on the terrace level below. There wasn’t any reason to avoid the stairs, but if he was going to be sneaking around anyway, he might as well do a thorough job of it.

From there it didn’t take long to reach the small igloo-like structure Katara was staying in. In fact it didn’t take long enough. Doubt itched at him, nudging his hand back towards his sunburst scar. Did he really want to hear the answer to his question? It shouldn’t affect his decision one way or another. The scars were interfering with both his royal and personal life. Everything would be easier with them gone.

Then again, he wasn’t one to do something only because it was easy.

That thought gave him the courage to take a deep breath and knock on Katara’s door.

A second passed. Then a few more. Maybe she was asleep; he hadn’t knocked loudly, just in case. Maybe that was for the best. He’d never actually sought her out at night before. Their only late conversations had been when they both ended up in the kitchen, unable to sleep. Those times had become increasingly frequent over their stay on Ember Island, and even when she’d stayed in the palace to heal him, but that was months ago, and that didn’t mean she would welcome—

The door opened.

Katara blinked blearily a few times before her eyes snapped to his. She wore a long, thick nightgown, and her hair was down, poofing out around her face in rumpled curls. He hadn’t seen it like that since they’d traveled together, on the rare occasions she rolled out of bed late and waved off his offer of morning tea. She was as beautiful now as she’d been then.

And now he knew that she wasn’t dating Aang…

Stop it! That doesn’t mean she likes you!

Even if she did, there was no way she would stay with him, and—that was all completely missing the point, because he was trying to work things out with Mai. She’d gone to prison for him, and forgiven him, and most importantly, she was still there. He couldn’t handle being Fire Lord with no one his age around. He needed her.

And he’d promised not to break up with her.

Agni, he’d made a stupid choice in coming at night. He imagined the moon laughing at his pathetic, traitorous emotions.

“Zuko? What are you...” Katara scanned him head to toe, her eyebrows raising. “Black doesn’t really blend in here, you know.”

He hoped the moon wasn’t bright enough to illuminate the his flushed face. It seemed to glow a little brighter at that thought.

“...I didn’t pack any white,” he mumbled, dodging her gaze. “And I, uh, sorry it’s late, I should’ve asked—”

She grinned and pulled him inside. Woven tapestries adorned the walls, and a pattern of waves in the floor-length rug divided the small kitchen from the bed space. A few polished ice windows let in the gibbous moon’s light. The fire pit in the corner and sconces set into the icy walls were unlit, but somehow the hut was still warm. He hadn’t realized how much energy it had taken to hold his core temperature until he didn’t have to anymore.

“It’s fine. I wasn’t asleep anyway,” she said, though her unmade bed and disheveled hair said otherwise. Her fingers reached up to tame the wayward curls. “I’m sorry, though. I don’t have the spirit water yet. I was going to ask Yugoda tonight, but the healing class went late...”

“Huh? Oh! I—I didn’t think you would. I mean, I didn’t expect you to yet, I... that’s not why I’m here.” He ran a hand through his hair, mostly to stop it from reaching for hers. Agni, trying to talk to her this late was stupid for more reasons than one. But he was running out of time. She might not have the spirit water now, but she would soon. And then she’d expect him to make his decision—or rather, to go through with the decision he’d already made. The decision he’d been so sure was right, was necessary, until…

Until he’d realized just how complicated his feelings still were.

“You’re not?” She asked in confusion. “Then why… um…”

“I just wanted to talk to you.” That probably wasn’t a good enough reason to invade someone’s house in the middle of the night. It was the truth, though—he’d never been able to lie to her. Now he just needed to ask his question before any worse truths came out.

“You snuck out of the palace at night… just to talk to me?” Her lips curved towards a grin.

He felt his face flush again and winced. So much for not revealing anything else.

“Well not just to talk to you, I mean, you wanted to know if I could sneak out. So. I can.”

Did that sound better or worse? She frowned as her fingers caught in her hair, but he couldn’t tell if it was because of what he said or just from the tangle.

“Oh. That’s good, then.” Her hands dropped back to her sides. “Um. It’s kind of dark in here, do you mind…”

He lit the lamps in the wall sconces before she could finish. Warm light swept over them, seeming to wash the stiffness out of Katara’s posture.

“Thanks.” She smiled, and he hid a sigh of relief. She hadn’t told him he was being stupid, or to go back to the palace before someone noticed he was gone. She was letting him stay. He’d get to ask her.

His stomach clenched at that realization, and his hand instinctively found his scar again.

“Are you… does it hurt?” Katara asked softly. Her hand twitched towards him.

“Does it hurt?”

He flinched away at the memory of Mai’s words. The spark that had brought him to this decision.

“I’m sorry.” Her arm quickly curled back to her chest, as if his response had burned her.

“No, it’s—it doesn’t hurt.” His hand stayed pressed against it anyway.

“Not anymore. She did a fantastic job.”

“Are you sure? I could… I mean, I don’t have the spirit water, but I know Aang’s lightning wound still acts up sometimes, and regular healing can help the pain.”

The offer was tempting, but for all the wrong reasons. He could only imagine what Mai would think if she could see him now, considering taking off his shirt in a different girl’s room.

He shook his head quickly. “I’m fine. Really.”

“Okay,” she said in a tone that suggested she didn’t buy it. He was telling the truth though—the kind of hurt he clung to couldn’t be healed with waterbending.

A rebellious part of him thought it might still be healed with her hands.

“At least have some tea.” She was already moving to the small fire pit in the corner of the room.

“Alright.” He smiled a little and followed her, crouching down to light the fire before she could ask.

“You’re going to spoil me, doing that.” She chuckled as she bent the water from her waterskin into the kettle.

“What do you mean? You asked me to light the torches. Besides, I used to start the cookfire all the time.”

“I know. It took me almost a month to get used to doing it myself again.” She set the kettle on the grate above the flames.

He suppressed the fire from a bright yellow blaze to a gentle orange, the way Uncle had taught him so the water wouldn’t heat too quickly and spoil the tea’s flavor.

He shrugged. “Sounds like I should make up for lost time, then.”

“I guess it is kind of cool to have the Fire Lord performing menial labor for me.”

The return to her humor was a relief. Teasing was easier to handle than sympathy.

He flexed his fingers over the fire and deadpanned, “We’ll see if my delicate royal hands will be able to handle it.”

“Well, don’t overexert yourself.”

They fell into comfortable conversation while the water heated, and for at least those few moments, it really was like old times. The tension bled out of him, evaporated in the smell of charcoal, the warmth of the crackling flames, the cadence of Katara’s laugh. He knew he still needed to ask his question, but a selfish part of him wanted to just enjoy the peaceful moment. To enjoy being with her.

He was enjoying this. That was dangerous. Disasters usually followed moments like these.

“Zuko?” Her hand on his shoulder snapped him from those thoughts. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he said reflexively. He wasn’t ready for her sympathy, wasn’t ready to see her sad because of him again. So even though he should’ve used it as a chance to ask his question, a different one came out. “How are your combat lessons going?”

“They’re going fine, I guess. It’s nice to have other waterbenders to train against, but I’ve mastered the Northern Style of waterbending already.” She shrugged, as if it wasn’t a big deal that she was a Master at age fifteen. It seemed he was destined to always be surrounded by prodigies.

“I’ve actually been working on developing some new techniques.” She scooted closer to the flames. And to him, technically, but he assumed that was just a side-effect. “You know that move you always use when you get knocked down? Where you do the spinny thing with your legs?”

She twirled a finger in the air, and he rolled his eyes. Spinny thing. Well, it wasn’t as bad as being teased for the Dancing Dragon, he guessed.

“Of course I do. I invented that move.” Rolling across the ground, transferring the momentum of a fall to his windmilling legs, releasing a whirlwind of fire to cover him as he regained his stance—the exact way he used it varied depending on the circumstance, but the maneuver had been one of his favorites ever since he’d used an early version of it against Zhao.

“Really?” She blinked. “Actually, that explains a lot. I always thought it looked different from other firebending moves. That’s why I tried to adapt it to waterbending.”

“You’re kidding.” He gave her a disbelieving look. “You haven’t seen me use it in ages.”

“Yeah, well, I— it might not be the same move, exactly. It was more like, you know, an inspiration.”

“Sounds more like stealing to me.” He smirked. Inspiration, stealing—either way, she’d thought about him. That felt like some kind of victory. If one in a game he shouldn’t be playing.

“Oh yeah, like how you stole my water whips?” She raised her eyebrows. “Or the wave form?”

“That’s different. Those moves already existed; I created this firebending technique on my own.”

It had taken a lot of practice—and even more falls—to make it work. Maybe she was right about it being more suited for waterbending; that could explain why perfecting it had been so difficult. The effort had been worth it, though. The move had been one of the few advantages he’d had against the more traditional firebending style, which didn’t provide any way to recover after being knocked down.

“Hmm. Did you name it then?”

He snorted. “No.”

The thought hadn’t even occurred to him. Should it have? No, that was something he could imagine his father doing. He would’ve come up with a ridiculous name like “Ozai’s Phoenix” or something.

“That’s too bad. I’ve been calling it the Spinny Fire Fall Kick in my head, but that doesn’t have a great ring to it.” She rubbed her chin before giving him a sly look. “Then again, if you haven’t named your move yet, then I could name it first.”

He choked a little. “We are not calling it the… what did you say?”

“Spinny Fire Fall Kick.” She grinned. “Though I guess mine would be the Spinny Water Fall Kick. Actually, Waterfall Kick isn’t such a bad idea...”

“And here I thought only Sokka came up with the terrible names.” He groaned and leaned back on his hands. Still, he couldn’t completely hide the smile on his lips.

“I’ve had to pick up the slack since he’s been gone. Besides, I’d like to see you come up with something better.”

“I will. As soon as I see you pull that move off.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Her smug look sent static up his spine. But before he could reply, the kettle started screeching.

Katara jumped to take it off the fire and then muttered at it under her breath. “I should’ve taken it off sooner. I can cool it with my bending, but boiled water still never tastes as good.”

“It’s not your fault, I should’ve been keeping an eye on the fire.” He held the teapot while she poured in the hot water. “Either way, I probably won’t notice.”

After searching for a moment, she found a pouch of lavender petals near her bed and returned to crumble them into the pot. “Didn’t you work in a tea shop, though? And your tea was always pretty good.”

It was? Uncle said he’d improved after their time in Ba Sing Se, but Zuko had thought he was just trying to spare his feelings after he’d struggled for so long. He smiled a little at the compliment.

“Uncle taught me how to make tea properly, but I still can’t taste a difference. It’s all hot leaf juice, more or less.”

“Hang on. You make the best tea and you can’t even tell?”

“So my tea’s the best now?” His smile widened. Katara didn’t pass out compliments easily—at least, she never had to him.

“Oh, don’t go getting a big head about it.” She rolled her eyes. Firelight flickered over her face, giving her cheeks the impression of a blush. “You’re probably out of practice by now, anyway.”

“You’d be surprised.”

He might not appreciate the taste of tea, but brewing it was soothing, in a strange way. Maybe it was just another of his nostalgic hobbies—if one with less potentially-dangerous consequences than running around on rooftops. The warm herbal scents always brought him welcome comfort when Uncle had to travel on political business. Brewing tea also doubled as a firebending control and meditation exercise, which helped during the moments when he wanted to light his paperwork on fire and chuck it out a window.

Of course, the calming effect hadn’t helped him during the one disastrous time he’d tried to show off his tea-making skills to Mai.

“You don’t have to pretend to be a peasant anymore, Zuko. Just let the servants do it. That’s their job.”

“It’s not like that, Mai. I want to do it. Uncle taught me how when we were in Ba Sing Se—”

“Pretending to be peasants.”

“Those peasants are good people! They’re proud and strong, and they deserve our respect.”

“Are you serious? This isn’t a public address, Zuko. You don’t have to pretend you care about them.”

“I’m not—ugh, forget it!”

He didn’t realize his hand had found his scar—again—until Katara passed him a steaming teacup. If she noticed his action, she didn’t point it out.

The warm vapor curling from the cup loosened the tightness in his throat. What had they been talking about? Oh, right. Tea.

“Your tea’s good too,” he said belatedly.

She snorted and shook her head before pouring her own cup. “You just said all tea tastes like hot leaf juice.”

“Yeah— err…” He covered his stammering with a sip and nearly choked when it burned his tongue. “It’s—uh, good leaf juice.”

“Sure, whatever you say.” She smiled and chilled her tea with a breath.

“Um… do you mind doing mine too?” He asked, holding out his cup with a sheepish smile.

“You mean the firebender doesn’t want it scalding hot?”

“This firebender’s had enough burns, thanks.” He meant it to be a joke, but his voice came out too somber.

Her eyes flickered to his left eye, then his middle. He fought the urge to protect that spot—it wasn’t like she could see the scar through his black clothes, and even if she could, she’d seen it plenty of times before while healing him.

“Of course.” She exhaled over his cup, accidentally covering his knuckles in frost as well. He shivered before taking a sip.

Too cold. At least that was a problem he could fix. Katara’s downcast silence, on the other hand, might not be.

Nice going. Zuko wanted to groan. For these last few moments, he’d felt… right. For once. Like he belonged here, sitting on her floor, talking about nothing and drinking tea. For those moments, he didn’t have to be the Fire Lord. He didn’t have to be the perfect boyfriend. He didn’t have to be anything—except himself.

But he’d known it wouldn’t last. Things that made him happy generally didn’t.

Well, at least he didn’t have anything to lose by asking his question now.

He cleared his throat. “Katara?”

“Yeah?” She asked quickly, meeting his eyes over her teacup.

Don’t look at me like that. It’s not fair. The reflection of flames danced in her blue irises. It would be difficult to toe the line between telling her enough to help him with his question, and not telling her so much that she uncovered his real motivation for asking.

“Do you think I’m doing the right thing?” He hoped his desperation didn’t show through his voice. “Getting rid of my scars, I mean.”

There. It was out. Maybe it was a stupid question—it felt stupid, now that he said it out loud—but he needed to know. He certainly had enough reasons to want them gone, but part of him—the same part that liked sneaking out in black clothes and brewing his own tea—felt an attachment to the blemishes on his skin. It was too complicated to sort out in his head, but talking it out with her might help him decide. She’d helped him gain the courage to apologize to Uncle. He believed she’d have similar wisdom again.

His heart pounded in his chest as he waited for her reply.

“...Do you not want to get rid of them?”

“I do. I did. I don’t know.” He covered his middle with one hand, the other gripping his teacup so tightly it could crack. “I’ve got a lot on my mind.”

“Well, if you want to get it off your mind, I’m here,” she prodded gently.

“Are you sure? It’s complicated. It might take a while.”

“Of course I’m sure, Zuko. That’s why I offered.” Her tone was light, but her smile sincere.

He inhaled shakily. He didn’t know what he’d expected. Katara wasn’t the type to tell him to shut up, but he still wasn’t used to anyone besides Uncle caring about what he had to say. Unless what he said was a Fire Lord order, of course, but that didn’t count.

“Right.” He took a sip of tea to collect himself. “I told you how I got the scar on my face. I used to think it marked me—but you know that.”

Another gulp of tea. She knew all this. He was just going to bore her, going over it again. He should have gotten over it by now. After four years, he was still just weak, pathetic—

Her hand was covering his over the teacup. It wasn’t until then that he realized he was shaking. A few drops of tea had fallen on his dark pants. He hadn’t felt it.

“It’s okay,” she whispered.

“It’s not okay.” His voice came out too harsh, but her hand just tightened over his. “I’ve chosen my own destiny. My father’s in prison, and Azula’s getting help for her… condition. I’m not in their shadow anymore. I can fix the terrible things we’ve done. But this scar…” He shook his head. “People look at it, and they don’t see what it means to me. All they see is a weak, disfigured boy trying to fix a weak disfigured nation.”

“Zuko, no one—”

“You haven’t seen it! It’s even worse here, everyone stares! I can tell they’re thinking it. How am I supposed to represent my country when people take one look at me and think I’m—I’m disgusting?”

His voice cracked on that last word. His eyes squeezed shut. It wasn’t so bad, usually. People in the palace knew better than to stare. But foreign nobles and ambassadors, his own citizens, and the Water Tribe—they didn’t. Wide eyes and barely-veiled gasps often were their first reactions.

Deep down he wondered if that was why the Tribe didn’t speak to him much outside of the trade negotiations.

“Zuko.” Katara squeezed his arm.

His trembling hand splashed more tea into his lap, but he barely noticed. Her stare pinned him as easily as her ice needles could have.

“You are not weak. You’re not disgusting, either, I can’t believe you would—” She shook her head, and her gaze softened. “My point is… you don’t deserve that. Scar or no scar, you’re…”

His heart sank as she trailed off. If even Katara, the one person who could both scare him senseless and tell him exactly what he needed to hear, couldn’t think of something positive to say about him, then he was even worse off than he’d thought.

But it didn’t matter. He was here for advice, not sympathy. He was just about to shrug it off when her voice came warm and clear.

“...you’re the strongest person I know.”

He blinked. Had he heard that right? No. Aang had defeated his father; that by definition made him the strongest person she knew. Besides herself.

“You don’t have to try to make me feel better, Katara. I just—”

“What, you really think I’d lie to make you feel better? Can’t you just trust me and take the compliment for once?”

This time he wasn’t sure the fire in her eyes was just a reflection. He wasn’t sure whether to feel afraid or touched.

“Sorry. I’m not used to it, I guess… but thanks.” He swallowed another gulp of tea, then busied himself refilling his cup. Hopefully that would keep her from seeing the redness in his face.

“No, wait, I’m sorry.”

He looked up at the sound of her sigh. Her eyes remained downcast, staring at her frosted tea.

“I shouldn’t have yelled at you. I do want you to feel better, but I… this must be bothering you more than I know. I can’t fix that with words, and it just makes me…” She trailed off as ice began to crystalize through her cup again. “It’s no excuse, though.”

“No, I get it.” He lit a fire in his palm and held it near her tea until the ice thawed. “Sorry I yelled, too.”

She didn’t deserve that. She didn’t have to listen to him at all, but here she was, letting him ramble about his problems when she could be sleeping. She was a better friend than he deserved.

“I know there’s nothing you can say, and I don’t expect you to. My scar will always make me look different. People don’t like you when you’re different.”

She frowned down into her still-full cup. “...I can understand that. That doesn’t make them right, though.”

Maybe it didn’t, but it didn’t change the fact that it hurt.

“There’s other reasons I should get rid of it, too. My sight and hearing aren’t as good on my left side. Every once in a while the skin still itches, especially when I’m in dry places.”

“Even after all this time?” She looked up, her brows turned upward.

“I didn’t have a waterbending healer like you to fix it. There’s only so much regular medicine could do.” He shrugged. “Anyway. I’ve got a lot of reasons to want it gone.”

“But… you have some reasons for wanting to keep it too?” She picked up on what he left unsaid.

“...Yeah. I do.” He brushed his fingers over his older scar. The rough skin felt right to his touch by now. He wasn’t sure what his face would feel like without it.

Actually, he feared that he did.

“I don’t want to look like…” He grimaced. “You know. You mistook his baby picture for me. That’s not the only time we looked similar.”

Katara blinked before catching on. “You mean… oh.”

“Yeah,” he said before she could study him. Look for any traces of Ozai in his face.

Logically, he knew that she’d never seen Ozai in person. She wouldn’t be able to tell one way or another. Somehow, that was comforting.

“That’s not the only reason. The other reason, though… it might sound kind of stupid.” His thumb traced the etchings on his teacup. “I got this scar right before I was banished. Looking back, that was the best thing that ever happened to me. I feel like if I erase this scar, it’s like saying I regret everything that happened since then. Like I’d just be going back to the person I was before.”

He took a long drink. The tea was already cold again, but he didn’t bother warming it.

“Zuko… I don’t think that’s stupid at all. It’s… kind of sweet, actually.”

He choked on his tea. When he looked up, Katara was smiling softly again.

“Sweet?”

“You know what I mean.” She drained her cup in one gulp and refilled it by bending a stream out of the teapot. “It reminds you of who you are. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Something in his stomach unclenched at that. It didn’t really help, though—she’d validated both his reasons for wanting to keep and to get rid of the facial scar.

“How can you say that? I brought you all the way here to get rid of my scars, and now I’m telling you I might have wasted your time.”

“No, you haven’t. I’m still glad I came, whether you want me to heal you or not. Like I said before, I needed the vacation, remember?”

“It’s not a vacation. Technically.”

She shrugged. “We’re staying up late and I’m not doing anyone’s laundry. Feels like a vacation to me.”

“It is getting late, isn’t it…” He frowned at the moon through the window. It had been too easy to ignore how limited their time was.

“Hey. Don’t change the subject.” She nudged him gently. “You were on a roll there.”

His lips twitched into a faint smile. Of course she wouldn’t let him off the hook that easily.

“You changed it first, talking about vacations. But anyway. I still don’t know what I’m going to do.” He sighed over his tea, which had the welcome side effect of reheating it. “I don’t want you to ask for the water for nothing.”

“Even if you don’t want me to use it, it wouldn’t hurt to have some in case of an emergency. You never know, traveling with Aang. He might, I don’t know, fall off a hopping llama or something.”

It was a joke, he knew; she could heal simple injuries like that. But neither of them wanted to imagine their friend suffering another wound that would need spirit water.

He nodded. “You still didn’t answer my first question, though. Do you think I should get rid of my scars, or keep them?”

Despite everything, he managed to keep his voice even. He was pushing his luck by asking a second time. But what she thought about this was important to him—more important than it had any right to be. If she told him to keep his scars, he knew he would.

And maybe, deep down, that was what he hoped.

Katara swirled her tea in her cup, but didn’t answer. What was she thinking? She hated them too, didn’t she; she was just thinking of a polite way to tell him—

“You remember when you helped me find Yon Rha, right?”

The sudden transition caught him off guard.

“Of course I do.”

As if he could ever forget. Her silhouette against the sunrise after a sleepless night, her raw power turning the body’s blood against it, her anger freezing rain to daggers. Exhaustion, pain, fear, relief. It had been the first time he felt like he truly saw her.

Ever since, he hadn’t been able to look away.

“You didn’t tell me what to do when I faced him,” she continued, oblivious to the warmth and guilt circling each other in his stomach. “I had to make that choice myself. I think this is your Yon Rha, Zuko. Whatever you choose to do will be right. But it’s your choice. I’ll be with you, no matter what you decide.”

He stared at her in stunned silence. He swore she’d hear his heart beating out of his chest. How did she know exactly what to say? She must have secretly talked to Uncle. But even Uncle didn’t know about his plan to erase his scars.

“Ride or die, huh?” He grinned a little, remembering the jokes Sokka had made about them after that trip, and then again before they left to face Azula. They’d brushed Sokka off with some huffing, and—in Katara’s case—waterbending.

She gave him a pointed look, and her eyes flickered towards his middle. “Just ride. No dying this time.”

“No dying,” he said with his hand pressed against that scar. He wondered if her answer would’ve changed if he explained his reasons for erasing and keeping that scar, rather than the one on his face. Her half-parted lips made him wonder if she wanted to ask. But she just drained her teacup and refilled it with her bending.

He could see inside the teapot; it was down to the dregs now. He didn’t really want them, and he didn’t need to buy any more time. He’d asked his question.

He dumped what he could into his cup anyway.

“Thank you, Katara.”

“It’s no problem. I trust you, remember?”

With that smile, she could’ve bent him as if he were water.

He buried his face in the rest of his strong tea, wishing he shared her confidence in him. This was a decision he only got to make once. His usual habit of bungling things the first time wouldn’t work here.

“So… do you still want me to get the spirit water?” She asked. The real question.

“You said it yourself. It won’t hurt to have it.” He swallowed the last of his tea. He’d warmed it too much; it scalded his throat on the way down.

He told himself that that was the only part of him that hurt.

“Right.” She nodded. “Tomorrow I’ll make sure to talk to Yugoda. Or today, I guess. I’ve kept you up late enough.”

“Last I checked, you weren’t the one who showed up at my house in the middle of the night.”

She laughed. “Fine. You’ve kept me up late enough.”

“Sorry.” He started clearing up what he could of the tea set, but she quickly washed it with a dancing stream of water and bent the dirty remnants into a basin.

“Don’t worry about it. I rise with the moon anyway, remember?”

He rolled his eyes but smiled. “Trust me, I remember.”

He’d never imagined they’d be able to joke about that comment, only a little over a year later. He’d never imagined he’d look at her and not see just a dangerous waterbender, but a… a good friend.

Someone who instead of fighting, he had almost died for.

His lightning scar seemed to itch, as it always did when he thought of that Agni Kai. Of all the stupid reasons to want to keep his scar, that was the stupidest.

Erasing the scar wouldn’t erase the memories. It wouldn’t change the past. She would always be a part of him, no matter what. He was beginning to wonder if even spirit water could fix that.

Or if he wanted it to.

But he had to hope it could, didn’t he? Like water through his fingers, Katara would leave again. He couldn’t keep clinging to the past.

“Zuko, wait.” Katara’s voice shook him from his thoughts. “I’m not letting you go back in that.”

She was already across the room, where he’d remained standing in front of the fire. The flames extinguished with a sharp flick of his wrist. He left the sconces lit, though, not wanting to plunge the room into complete darkness.

She pulled a nearly folded parka from the trunk at the foot of her bed. After holding it up and inspecting its length, she tossed it to him.

“You’ll be less noticeable this way. Everyone wears parkas at the North Pole. No one will think it’s weird if you pull the hood up over your face.”

He nodded. It was smart, definitely smarter than his pure black ensemble.

“You won’t need it?”

“I have a spare. Besides, I wouldn’t want you freezing out there.”

“Firebenders don’t freeze.” He shrugged on the parka anyway. It was a little small, but it felt softer than it looked; thick white fur lined the inside. Some of Katara’s clean scent still clung to it. He restrained himself from taking a deep breath.

So much for letting go.

“Look at that. Practically Water Tribe.” She crossed her arms and smiled as she looked him over.

He ducked his head in embarrassment, feeling a little like a turtleduck with how the fluffy collar covered his face up to his ears.

“It’s better than Earth Kingdom colors.” He tugged on the too-short sleeves. “Thanks.”

“You can thank me by not getting caught sneaking back to your room.” She gently shoved him towards the door. He chuckled as she herded him out, barely managing to get out a “goodnight.”

He took one deep breath and let it out, letting the freezing air clear his head again. He was right back where he’d started, still just as confused about what to do. Yet somehow, everything felt different.

This choice was his. He could determine his own destiny.

Maybe firebenders didn’t freeze, but as he made his way back, he still felt warmer with her parka enveloping him.

#zutara #tali writes #zuko #katara #atla #avatar the last airbender #fic tag #fic rec #souvenirs we never lose

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lettersnorth · 5 years

Text

October Prompt: Silence

Music Theme (First part) Music Theme (Second part)

The crushed stones crunched under her boots as she made her way up the walk. Pushing against the manor’s heavy oak doors, Aislinn shouldered her way inside. The Company manor appeared to be blissfully quiet. The caretakers were certainly around somewhere but the manor was a big place. No one came hurrying to greet her and given her current state of mind, that was just fine with her.

She paused in the foyer, her senses stretching in the quiet. Soft murmurs and tinkling of silverware came from the cafe. So, someone was home. She stared at the grand staircase for a long moment, torn between going directly upstairs to the library or her room. Travel worn and weary in more ways than one, she could use a bath. And a change of clothes. But she had always found solace and wisdom in those old tomes and her mind needed that as much as her body needed rest.

She swayed there, next to the marble fountain. Tired and wrung out like a threadbare tea towel. In the end Bertram hadn’t needed saving. She had told Ren, relayed the message. There was no need to track down another thrall. Her work on this particular project would cease. She still wasn’t sure if he had taken the news entirely well, truthfully she didn’t expect it of him, knowing what it meant for the brothers. But it was neither hers or Ren’s decision to make. It was Bertram’s and they would need to abide by his wishes. She would have to check in with Ren after he had some time to process. He was a system without a pressure relief valve, she reminded herself. As hard as this was for her, it was likely harder for him.

“I do applaud your juvenile efforts.”

A wave of prideful anger washed over her as she recalled Garrett’s sneering words. Mostly because she saw the truth in them now. That is what it all amounted to, wasn’t it? A fumbling, misguided, juvenile attempt to do what she thought was right.

Casting a forlorn look up towards the library, Aislinn sighed. She was exhausted, body and mind. Chances are, the words on the page would all run together anyhow in the state she was in. Best to regroup and tackle the problem fresh in the morning.

So she went to her room, unlocking the door, shuffling inside and dropping her pack on the floor. As she shut the door behind her, she heard the crackling of a fire in the fireplace. She hadn’t been home for weeks, the caretakers never wandered into personal rooms, there should be no reason for a fire to be lit. And yet. She felt as if the pressure in the room had dropped suddenly. Her ears popped. This sensation of hers came on suddenly and usually with only one purpose. Pressing a hand against one ear, she slowly turned and reached for the nearest light.

Her spine shot ramrod straight and she took several steps back, towards the door, all the while conscious of her heart trying to claw its way out of her chest like a frightened animal.

“How did you get in? Why are you here?”

The languid midlander currently reclining in a lounge chair, watched her reaction with interest. “Your Company runs a cafe. Anyone can walk in. As for your room, simple three pin tumbler lock on the door. I expected more.” Sterling said, stretching out his long legs before the fireplace, looking for all intents and purposes, most comfortable. “Don’t be so coy, Aislinn. Obviously, I’ve come all this way to see you. Sit down, let’s have a chat.”

“If you’ve something to say, say it and leave.” she stiffly replied.

He tensed in the chair, subtly, but Aislinn noticed. She took another step back, her innards growing cold before swiftly reminding herself her chakrams still sat on her hips.

“Such hostility.” he sighed. “Let’s get down to it, then. You’ve gone and attracted yourself some attention. Seems the Blades have suddenly renewed their interest in you. Why is that?”

He leaned forward in his seat and tossed a flyer on the coffee table. With one eye on him, she moved closer and looked down at the parchment. A wanted poster. A fairly accurate sketch of herself, right down to the scar across her face. She cursed under her breath. She told the lieutenant it wasn’t a good idea for her to be in Ul’dah. She told him. He had said she was the only engineer they had without Tyr. They needed her for the job. He was right. But look at what it had cost her.

“Do these people you’ve surrounded yourself with know? Your history, I mean. How you made ends meet in Ul’dah. The cartel. The drug running. That unfortunate issue with the Blade. You spent time in the gaol for that, didn’t you?”

There was no need to ask Sterling who he meant. He had obviously been watching her for awhile now. That was his way. Patient and unhurried, thorough so that when he did pounce it made the biggest impact. She was unnaturally still as he ran down the list of her past sins.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, this is Limsa Lominsa. Smuggling is par for the course. No one’s going to bat an eye if you mean to spout off.” she said, quiet but unsure.

He shrugged, hooking his claws into her uncertainty and dragging her down. “Let’s say, purely for example, I find you Ala Mhigans are rather simple folk that fall into two categories. Those mule-headed enough to stick to their principles and those that will toss them to the wind in favor of food and gil. That friend of yours seems to be the former.” he said as he rose from the chair. “Let’s also say, again, for example, that this Company you’ve found is full of disciplined, decent folk.”

Aislinn watched in silence as he slowly began to amble around her apartment, idly touching things as he went. It made her want to scream.

“You haven’t been honest and people like that hate dishonesty.” he picked up a half-built servo, studied it intently before putting it back in its place, all the while knowing he had her full attention. “I could help, if you like. Sit down and have a heart to heart with them.”

“That’s very obliging of you.” she said tightly. “But I’d rather you didn’t trouble yourself.”

“What about your Company Commander? Does he know he’s harboring a fugitive?”

The Commander. She hadn’t exactly made the best first impression with him, had she? Tyr had smoothed it over but now he was blowing in the wind. No one knew where.

“5,000 gil a moon and I keep this all quiet.” he stated. “That’s my price.”

“5...that’s ridiculous!” she started. “I’ll tell them myself before I give you one coin.”

“You could. But life’s not been kind to you, Aislinn. Can you really afford to lose the ties you’ve made here? And let’s not forget the Blades. I’m sure they’d be interested in your whereabouts. It’d be my sworn duty as a citizen of Ul’dah to convey such information.”

“Unless you were too busy. Extorting me and spending the gil.” she dryly replied. “The sum is too much.”

“Don’t give me that. You’re a smart one, you’ll find a way.” he said, with a shrug. “And if not we can come to some other arrangement.”

She jerked back, the blood draining from her face. Her thoughts must have been clearly written and on display because in the next moment he passed her a look a disgust.

“Not that. No one wants a cold fish in their bed. Gods.” he gave a sharp shake of his head as if the very idea repulsed him. “Just what kind of monster do you think I am?”

Her heart resumed its steady beat in her chest. She worked quickly to rally and recover. “An audacious plan coming from a man whose hands are no cleaner than mine. Blow me in and I could tell the Blades everything I know about the cartel.”

He hardly looked impressed with her threat. “How’d that go last time, telling the truth?” He asked, clasping his hands behind his back as he turned to face her fully. “I assume that when they threw you in the gaol you must have been shouting from the rooftops that their man was forcing himself on ‘innocent’ girls. And yet you still found yourself on the docket for a hanging.” he tilted his head, his tone turning reasoned and cogent. “This is a discussion between old friends. I see no reason to drag the cartel into this. You know how they can be, surely you remember.”

She remembered. Some days it was all she could do to forget. She would never be free of it, Aislinn realized with a sudden riptide of certainty. Of Ul’dah. Of the cartel. Of him. For every strike, he had a parry. Of course he did. This was Sterling. He never engaged in any fight he wasn’t absolutely certain of winning. The truth was a crushing weight bearing down on her. This was the rest of her life. Penance for surviving.

Without a word, she crossed to the cabinet near the door and pulled open the drawer. She took several small pouches of gil she had saved up and dumped them into one larger one before turning and tossing the purse to him.

He caught it with ease and tucked it into his riding coat with a smirk. “It would seem this concludes our business for now. I’ll show myself out.”

As he moved past her on his way to the door, he paused and studied her. Raising a hand, he motioned with one finger to the scar across her face, stopping just short of touching her. “That really didn’t heal up well at all, did it? What a shame.”

He never could resist a parting shot. She didn’t trust herself to reply but stared resolutely ahead, her fury written in the sharp lines of her clenched jaw and squared shoulders. The shutting of the door behind Sterling rang hollow in the otherwise silent apartment. Aislinn found herself unable to move, rooted to the spot, not knowing what she might do if she did.

She closed her eyes and reminded herself she’d walked through fire and escaped it. Not unscarred, but tempered, like steel. She could bend, but she wouldn’t ever break. Not again.

#FFXIV #ffxiv rp #ffxiv writing #monthly prompt #balmung #ffxiv crystal rp

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dreamworksworddump · 6 years

Text

Hidge sex worker au

Hunk closes the bakery early, for the third time since he’s opened it. The first time was for his Grandmother’s funeral. The second time was to visit Lance, who was hospitalized from a gas tank explosion. In comparison, this seems trivial. Who is he to shut the stoves off a quarter to six, to wipe the counters and flip the signs, for a meeting with a prostitute? But no, he thinks, shaking his head in reproach. The woman called her comrades sex workers, and when she’d handed him that card, it’d been in the middle of the afternoon, during his lunch-rush. She had been without shame at her job as the Madame, and had seen no wrong in passing the card over sandwiched between her neatly stacked twenty’s. Why should he?

Hunk pulls off his apron, folds it neatly, and sets it on the counter. He surveys his shop one last time before he leaves, and then locks the door behind him. The house is within walking distance of his shop, just a block away, where the preppy, residential front blends with the dying historical sector. He has searched the address up, and studied the route so well that he could walk there backwards. Still, anxiety lingers in the pit of his stomach.

He fingers the card, and brushes his thumb over it’s worn edge. The Castle, it reads in gold enamel lettering, where you may rest, a stranger no more. A woman bumps into him as she passes by, and nearly falls off the side of the curb onto the wet asphalt. Hunk catches her, out of reflex more than anything, and then steps back. The woman is tall, and thick-boned, like his mother. There is little else to link the two figures; his mother is twenty years older than she is, and the girl is the wrong color, has the wrong eyes. Still, when he smiles at him, his throat tightens, and his skin itches where she touched him.

“Thank you.” She says, her arm brushing against his as she passes by.

Hunk gurgles a belated reply, but his heart is in his throat, and the thought of having embarrassed himself in front of a stranger only makes it worse. He picks up speed, and pulls a bottle of pills from his vest. The familiar shape of the oblong pill steadies his shaking hand long enough for him to swallow it, dry. He can see the front porch of the house from here. He sits on a bench and tries to calm himself down.

There is nothing wrong with me, he thinks. I am a survivor, and I am doing my best. He brushes his hair back from his bandana, and sighs. He’s going to a prostitute today because he needs human interaction, and he doesn’t have enough friends to fulfill the aching hole inside. Great. He stands up, and stretches, relishing each cracking joint. Things could always be worse.

Hunk feels better by the time he gets to the door. It’s painted a nice, deep blue that contrasts nicely with the white and yellow siding. The Victorian style house reminds him of his Grandmother’s house, that his Grandfather had spent years building by hand. It seems cozy. He hesitates for a moment, hand held over the iron-cast knocker, and then decides to knock by hand.

From behind the door, he hears a thud, and the familiar voice of his customer calling to him to hold on. Her name comes to him as she opens the door, wearing an expensive silk robe over a pair of pink leggings and a t-shirt.

“Hello, Allura. Nice to see you.” He catches himself before he asks her for her order. His hands start to sweat.

“Oh, there’s no need for formalities, Hunk.” Allura drapes herself on his arm, and steers him inside and to a leather loveseat. “You’re here to do business after all.”

“I, um,” Hunk swallows. Allura does not make him anxious. Her demeanor has always reminded him of that of a monarch; not the queen, poised and prompted, but the mistress, who rules from behind the throne. However, this is her territory, and Hunk never feels at ease until he knows how he is supposed to react. “Yes.”

“Do you have a type?” She prompts, picking up a cup of tea, half drunk, off of the coffee table. The furniture is oddly muted- all browns and sepias, and it confuses him. He’d thought she’d be a prints, and bright colors kind of girl. “Or if not, I can set you up with one of my nicest girls. Plaxum, she’s great for a first time.”

Hunk starts, not realizing that he’d been silent for so long. He messes with his hem. A type, yes, a type. He doesn’t think he has one. He just doesn’t want anyone that’ll remind him of Her. Of the kneeling on rice, and running around tracks, and washing her feet after she’d whipped him. “Small.” He finally says. “Someone small.” And completely unlike her.

Allura nods and sets her tea down on a matching coaster. Her hand trails on his, flour still lodged in the beds of his nails, as she leads him deeper into the house. They walk through a kitchen, beautifully furnished, but sparkling clean, and up a flight of stairs. Pictures guide them; pictures of smiling girls, candid shots. Allura isn’t in any of them.

Allura stops before the first room at the top of the stairs, furnished simply with a bed and vase of flowers. “You can wait here while I get her. Is there anything you’d like to request?” She smiles conspiratorially. “We don’t judge.”

Hunk shakes his head.

Allura nods once more and disappears into the hall. She returns a moment later with a girl in tow. Allura leaves her in the doorway for a moment, and then, hearing no complaint, leaves, closing the door behind her.

The girl Allura has chosen for him is short, perhaps four feet tall, no more, with short, hazel brown hair, and eyes that gleam mischievously behind round-rimmed glasses. She wears a green sweater that swallows her, and a pair of brown cargo shorts, and no socks. She is nothing like Hunk thought a prostitute would look like.

He admonished himself for stereotyping, and then blushes, because the moment that he was supposed to start the conversation has passed, and now it is awkward.

“Hey.” She says, sitting beside him on the foot of the bed. “My name’s Pidge. You’re Hunk, right? From the bakery down the street? I love your peanut butter cookies. They’re the best.” Pidge smiles at him warmly, and leans on his shoulder, as if they were old friends. “You’ve never done this before, right?” Hunk nods. Pidge pulls a wrinkled and worn sheet of paper out of her back pocket, and then holds a finger up to her lips. “Don’t tell ‘llura, but I wrote this down so it’d be easier for you, ‘kay? We charge forty bucks the first hour, thirty for the following ones. If it’s sex, that is. You don’t seem like you’re too sure of yourself, and that’s okay. It’s twenty bucks for cuddling, though to be honest, we’ll both probably fall asleep and loose count, if that’s the way you wanna go. If you’re rough, that’s an extra twenty an hour. If I like you, I might take twenty off.” She winks, and Hunk isn’t sure how to respond.

Ah, but that’s a lie, isn’t it? His dick is already at half-chub, just from sitting next to her, listening to her rattle off prices. Her warm personality, and her ‘girl-next-door’ appearance have him feeling more comfortable than he has in ages around a woman.

He places his hand on her knee, and she stops talking, startled by the sudden contact from this statue of a man. “Can we- can we discuss the prices after?”

Pidge blushes, cheeks dusting pink like salmon. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to turn this into an infomercial. I can be quiet, if you want.”

Hunk shakes his head. “I would- I would like you to keep talking, please, about anything, and well, I’d like you to ride me.”

Pidge nods, and pulls her sweater off. It falls to the floor beside them, haphazard, like a burst of moss growing under a bridge. Hunk picks it up, and folds it neatly. When she takes her pants off, he folds that neatly too. Satisfied with the state of things, he pauses to study her. Pale, white skin; areola, dusty pink. A mole rests under her right breast. She pushes him down onto the mattress, a show of strength that is just that- a show. She unbuckles his pants, and tugs them down until he can kick them off.

“I’m going to school to be an engineer. I know that’s vague, but I can’t decide between robotics, or prosthetics, or some mix of the two. See, I’ve got this friend, who got a prosthetic overseas, but he hates it. Reminds him of what happened. Ever since he came back, I’ve wanted to make him a new one.”

From underneath the mattress, she produces a condom, cherry flavored, and rolls it onto him with expertise. Hunk feels awkward, just sitting there, but he knows that he’d feel even worse if he tried to touch her. Pidge doesn’t seem to mind his lack in participation. He’s got a feeling that she’s seen weirder.

As she lifts herself onto him, and slowly starts to lower herself onto him, her voice deepens, and starts to waver. He likes the sound of it, likes the way it makes him feel. Hunk forces back a groan just to hear her better. “I’ve got this idea for connecting nerves to the prosthetic so that it can move more- ah! More intuitively. The whole process would start with-” She takes a shuddering breath as she bottoms out. “Double modulating the-”

“Double modulating is redundant.” Hunk says, panting. He finds it hard not to thrust up into her when she feels magnetic, like she’s the South pole to his North. “Single modulating works fine.”

“Maybe, but when you’re dealing with a person’s limb,” she grunts as she shifts, and then starts to rise back up, skinny, deceptively strong arms steadying herself with his waist. Brown, and white, and scarred and unscarred- it all looks so aesthetically pleasing. The anxiety that usually smothers his heart eases, and he allows himself to touch, to trace one delicate nipple, to cup her tininess in his hands, so large compared to her. “It’s best to be extra, instead of unprepared.”

When she sinks back down, he can see his dick pressing through in her stomach, a bulge, hardly identifiable, if he wasn’t looking for it. He grips her shoulders, and pushes her onto the bed, one hand holding her hands above her head, the other pressing a thick finger against her clit, rubbing off-beat circles until her voice starts to break. “I-ah! I’m thinking wiring inside the arm, which is invasive, but ultimately- for gods’ fuckin’ sakes!” She moans, and fidgets beneath him, unable to break free. She muffles her noises into her arm, and when he fucks her, hard, and deep and everything that he didn’t know that he wanted, she comes apart like a present beneath him.

He comes after her, slow and receding like the tides, and the confidence, the sense of pride in himself disappears.

Hunk slumps against the wall, and brushes sweaty hair out of his eyes. He ties his bandana, and ties a knot in the condom, and dresses quietly as Pidge lays on her back, breathing heavily. If it weren’t for the rising and lowering of her chest, he might’ve thought he’d killed her.

As he tugs his pants on, she opens an eye, and smiles. “You’re a weird one, aren’t you? S’okay. I’m weird too.”

Hunk smiles back, and hands her two hundred bucks, fresh and crisp from the till. “Thanks.” He says, and hopes that that can convey all that words cannot; he feels free, for the first time in a long time, from his demons, and all else that lurks inside.

#vld #voltron #hunk #pidge #you asked for this

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